The husband dropped the body as he darted for the hallway beyond the billiard table. That’s what Reagan had been waiting for. He lifted his pistol to fire just as the husband leaped for the open doorway. He fired twice, missing his target by a fraction of an inch.
“Shit!”
He looked back at the second Arab and the Serb who were emerging from behind the couch. They were both slapping fresh magazines into their pistols.
Reagan waved his gun at them. “Come on! He’s getting away!”
Reagan headed for the doorway, sensing the others behind him. He rounded the corner cautiously, gun up and ready. In this sort of situation, the prey had the advantage over the predator, especially if the prey had teeth. The husband could flee as fast as he pleased, but Reagan had to round each corner carefully, gun raised in anticipation of a possible ambush.
He moved down the hall to an intersection where another hall led out to a wide veranda. He waved the other two down the hall toward the veranda and followed the main hall himself. He came to a narrow stairwell and spiraled down.
And down.
On the ground floor, he paused at an outside door and looked at a row of eight hooks screwed into the wall. Car keys hung from seven of the eight hooks. He kicked open the door into the ground-floor garage, went into a crouch, and brought his pistol up to the ready.
Nothing.
He stood, looked around. The garage door to the street was open. Eight parking spaces and only seven vehicles. The space between a mint condition 1965 Corvette Stingray and a brand-new Land Rover was empty.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Reagan sighed heavily and returned to the billiards lounge upstairs where he found the Arab and the Serb waiting for him.
The Serb held the red gift-wrapped package in his hands. “This is what Mr. Payne was waiting for.”
“Don’t open it,” Reagan said.
The Serb’s face remained blank. “I wasn’t.”
All of their cell phones rang at once.
Reagan looked at his phone. No name but a number he recognized. “It’s him.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
David dropped the fat man and dove through the open doorway as the pistol shots whizzed over him. He tucked, rolled, and came up running. Down the hallway and then down the stairs.
That didn’t go like I’d hoped.
David’s plan had been to catch Dante Payne and his cronies flat-footed. If there was a chance to end all of this quickly, David wanted to seize it. Instead, he’d walked into a shooting gallery. He’d wanted to go on the offense, but now found himself running. Whatever advantage of surprise he might have had before was blown now.
He paused at a line of hooks on the wall with the car keys and examined his options. One of the key chains said Audi. He grabbed it and rushed into the garage.
Dante apparently enjoyed spending a chunk of his wealth on expensive automobiles. The Audi was a silver R8 Spyder convertible. The top was already down, and David hopped in and cranked the ignition. The garage door opener was clipped to the sun visor. David mashed the button. The garage door went up, and he pulled out onto the quiet residential street. He drove to the end of the block, and when he didn’t see any pursuit in his rearview mirror, he flipped on the headlights and pointed the Audi toward Midtown.
David fished his phone out of his pocket and composed a text to Charlie.
Two hours. You pick the Chinese restaurant. Prefer midtown.
A moment later:
Imperial Garden on 55th.
David confirmed the meeting and headed for the hotel as fast as he could without drawing attention. He’d ignored three more of Amy’s texts and was entering dangerous marital territory. Facing a room full of gunmen was something David was used to. God help him if Amy felt ignored.
He arrived at the hotel and eschewed the ramp down into the parking garage, choosing instead to park out front, uniformed parking valets scurrying out of his way as David brought the Audi to an abrupt halt.
One of the college-age valets stepped forward to open the driver’s side door for David. He was pretending the smudge on his upper lip was a mustache. “Valet-park it for you, sir?”
David pulled a roll of cash out of his pants pocket, peeled off a twenty, and handed it to the valet. “Can we keep it close? I might have to leave in a hurry.”
The kid sheepishly looked from David to the twenty-dollar bill in his hand and back to David. “Honestly, sir, I’m supposed to keep this lane clear. Lots of taxis. Lots of pickups and drop-offs. Just policy, you understand.”
“How about doing me a favor? Just this once.”
The kid looked pained. “I’m really not supposed to.”
David gave the kid three more twenties.
“This car won’t budge from this spot, sir,” the valet said. “Count on it.”
“Thanks,” David said. “Leave the keys in, okay? I might not have time to look for you.”
“Understood, sir,” the valet assured him.
David headed into the hotel lobby at a brisk walk, eyes darting into every shadow. His instinct was to hunt down Larry and find out if anything had changed. It was difficult to disregard his training. Secure the perimeter. Reinforce the defenses, plug the holes. But he had to see Amy. His wife was alone. It wasn’t fair to leave her sweating it out up there, not knowing what was happening. So he headed toward the main bank of elevators. He’d see Amy and let her know that—
He saw the bellhop on an intercept course for him.
At first glance, the kid didn’t seem like much, skinny and young. David scanned his clothing for pistol bulges but didn’t think the bellhop was packing. He tensed as the kid continued toward him, a basic instinct telling him to draw his weapon.
A more sophisticated instinct told him not to.
The bellhop dodged drunken Shriners and doggedly beelined for David. He clutched the rolled-up newspaper with purpose. Gun, thought David. It would be simplicity itself to hide a pistol in the newspaper. Again, he itched to draw his pistol on the approaching bellhop but restrained himself. David’s eyes pinballed around the lobby again in case the bellhop was a decoy, but didn’t see anything obvious.
The kid stopped abruptly in front of David, bowed crisply, smiled, and offered the newspaper. “Mr. Sparrow, here’s the newspaper you asked for.”
A pause. Then David reached out and took the newspaper. “I almost killed you.”
The smile dropped from the bellhop’s face. “What?”
“Never mind,” David said. “Thank you for the newspaper.”
The bellhop nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and sped away.
David stepped to the side, out of the ebb and flow of the Shriners who milled about the hotel lobby. He unfolded the newspaper and found a handwritten note on hotel stationery.
Cops in the hotel. They found the Escalade in the parking garage.
L
Good of Larry to give him the heads-up. David folded the note and shoved it into the pocket of his Windbreaker. His eyes flicked to the hotel’s main entrance. Two uniformed police officers were talking to the doorman, showing him a photograph.
Shit.
David had no doubt they were showing around a picture of him. He wondered briefly if it was his driver’s license photo or his service photo. Or something else.
He turned away before they could look up and spot him. He ducked into an alcove, a couple of potted plants on either side of him. He took out his phone and punched in a number.
She picked up after the second ring. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m in the lobby,” he said quietly. “But I can’t come up.”
A pause. “Why not? What’s going on? Why are you whispering?”
“Police,” David said. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m already doing it,” David said. “I’ve got to take care of this now. Tonight. Or we’ll never be safe.”
“What about Bert?”
David thought a moment before saying, “He sold us out.”
Amy’s breath caught. A few seconds later, she said, “What are our options?”
“I finish it,” David said. “It’s the only choice.”
Long seconds passed and for a moment David thought she’d hung up on her end. At last she asked, “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing,” David said. “Stay where you are. Stay safe. I’ll come for you when it’s done.”
Another long pause. Finally she said, “I love you.”
He cleared his throat. “I love you, too.”
“Call me later.”
“I will.”
They hung up.
David glanced back. The two cops were crossing the lobby, coming toward him, not urgently but not casually, either. No way to get back to the Audi out front without walking straight past them.
He turned and headed deeper into the hotel.
“Sir?”
David ignored the voice behind him, kept walking but at the same pace. Just act like you don’t hear. Go about your business. You’re not doing anything wrong. No problems.
“Sir!” More vehemently this time.
David kept walking until he got around the corner and out of their line of sight, and then he broke into a run.
He found himself in the convention center part of the hotel, and the wide hall was packed with rosy-cheeked Shriners, drinks in hands, sports jackets, little fez hats perched at jaunty angles on balding heads. David dove into the crowd, hoping to lose himself completely before the police caught up with him. He allowed himself a glance back and saw two blue police hats bobbing along across the fez sea.
David paused at a table on which a fruit platter and an assortment of cheese and crackers had been mauled over by the crowd. Someone had absently set his fez on the corner of the table. David snatched it up and put it on, slumped his shoulders and bent to conceal his height. He continued weaving his way through the crowd into a large ballroom.
There was some kind of big party under way, a raised stage against the far wall with a podium and microphone, all the trappings of an awards ceremony or some similar event. David looked up and saw the netting covering the ceiling. It sagged with balloons, poised for a drop. The Shriners were ready to celebrate something big.
Looks fun. Wish I could join you.
David headed for a door off to the side of the stage. If it went back to the kitchens, maybe David could cut through and circle back to the front where he’d left the Audi parked. Or if that was too risky he could head out on foot. He just needed to get out of the hotel. The closer he got to the stage, the thicker and rowdier the crowd became. Somewhere somebody had flipped on a stereo system and the Hollies’ “Long Cool Woman” jazzed the crowd into a party frenzy.
He pushed through the mass of people until he reached the door next to the stage. He glanced back. The cops were gently but insistently easing people out of the way as they kept walking directly toward him.
Losing them in the crowd hadn’t worked. He’d have to bolt.
He was about to dive through the door when he noticed the rope hanging down near the stage. He followed it up to the netting, thought about it for a fraction of a second, then gave the rope a yank.
The netting split and released the balloons, and along with it confetti glittered down like cheap starlight. The display had the desired effect. The crowd let out a big cheer, and partygoers hugged one another, slapped one another on the back, and the two cops suddenly found themselves in a logjam of revelers.
David went through the door and closed it again, muting the party behind him. He was in a service corridor. Less crowded, easier to move.
A waiter approached him with a tray of dirty glasses. “Sir, guests aren’t allowed back—”
“This is a medical emergency,” David said quickly. “Larry Meadows said I could get to the bar from here. There’s no fast way to get past that party crowd.”
“Oh, of course.” The waiter gestured back down the corridor. “Turn the corner and keep going until you come to the T intersection. Right takes you back to the kitchens, but turning left takes you up to the lounge.”
“Thanks.” David headed the way he’d been directed at a fast walk.
“Sir,” came the voice from behind. “Sir, we’d like a word if you please.”
David broke into a run. No point pretending anymore.
“Stop!” yelled the officer.
Their footfalls echoed loudly as they gave chase.
David scrolled through his options as he ran. Two New York street cops. Probably good tough men, but with David’s training he could put them out of action quickly. But what if he hurt them too badly? He had to believe that he and Amy would come through on the other side of this mess okay, and when that happened he didn’t want to have to explain injuring or killing two of NYPD’s finest. There was too much to explain already.
No, he couldn’t engage them on that level. The only choice was to evade and escape.
He rounded the corner and spotted a cart filled with dirty dishes and empty wine bottles. He grabbed it as he ran past, pulled it into the center of the corridor behind him and kept running.
A second later, David heard the crash and clatter behind him followed by some inventive curses from the cops, but he didn’t bother to turn and see the result. He turned left at the T intersection and found himself in the hotel bar two seconds later.
The bartender cast him a curious glance as David emerged from the kitchen but was too busy and uninterested to say anything. David kept walking until he was out of the bar, through the lobby, and back at the hotel’s front entrance again.
To his great relief, the Audi was still where he’d left it. It comforted David in some strange way to know he could still count on a New York City parking valet to take a bribe seriously.
He hopped in, cranked the ignition, and pulled into traffic. A glance in the rearview mirror showed him two pissed cops bursting out of the hotel room. They watched him drive away, one already bringing a radio to his face to report what had happened.
David gave himself exactly five minutes to ditch the Audi. It was an exquisite vehicle but far too conspicuous.
He zigged and zagged until he found himself on a quiet street. At the very least he could park the car and walk away. The subway could take him to meet Charlie, but David didn’t like the idea of waiting around on subway platforms the rest of the night. He had too much work to do. He needed a vehicle.
A second later, he spotted a likely suspect. He pulled the Audi alongside a guy who was just getting out of his car with a bag of takeout. David wished the guy didn’t look so honest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
And what does a dishonest guy look like anyway? An eye patch and a tattoo of a skull on his neck?
“Hey,” David called. “That your car?”
The guy paused, frowned. “Yeah.”
David took the keys out of the Audi’s ignition, held them up for the guy to see. “Trade you.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious,” David said. “I’ve got to get out of here, and I can’t take this.”
The guy’s eyes went from the Audi to his twelve-year-old Toyota. It had minor body damage along the front fender. David could tell he was thinking it over.
“I don’t know, man,” he said. “Seems like some kind of setup.”
“You probably know somebody who can make this work,” David said. “A cousin or a friend with the right connections.” David’s father was fond of a saying. In every heart there is a little larceny. Even chopped for parts, the Audi was worth twenty times the guy’s junker.
But he’d paused too long to think about it.
“I’ll trade you.” A voice from the shadows.
David’s gaze shifted to the next stoop, a man sitting in the dark, grubby, drinking a can of something from a little paper bag.
Damn, I didn’t even
see him. I’m rustier than I thought.
The guy with the takeout looked relieved and walked away.
The guy on the stoop heaved to his feet with a grunt and took a set of keys out of his pocket. He gestured with his chin at something across the street.
David looked. And was not impressed. “What is that?”
“A 1977 Dodge Aspen.”
“That’s more rust than I’ve ever seen on a single car before.”
“I work on the engine myself,” the guy said. “Changed the oil last week. New spark plugs. That V8 hums, man.”
David sighed. “Right.”
They traded keys.
“Just let me get one thing out of the trunk,” he said.
He watched as the man opened the trunk, the hinges complaining with a rusty squeal that made David wince. The guy took out a stained and ratty canvas tarp and tossed it over the Audi.
He looked at David. “You’d better get moving.”
David nodded. “Good doing business with you.”
David climbed in behind the wheel of the Dodge. The interior smelled like cigarettes and stale beer. A cardboard air freshener in the shape of a pine tree hung from the rearview mirror. Nice try. He rolled down the window.
He cranked the engine and was relieved when it turned over on the first try. He revved the engine experimentally. It ran just as smooth as the guy had claimed it would.
Good enough.
He hit the headlights, pulled away from the curb, and went to find the Imperial Gardens Chinese restaurant.
* * *
Dante Payne stood fuming in his billiard parlor, surveying the damage and dead bodies. The carpets would have to come up. So much blood. A stupid and idle thought, but there it was.
“He dares.” Payne’s voice trembled with barely controlled rage. “In my own home, he dares.”
Yousef stood behind the bar and found a bottle of good Pinot Noir already opened. He poured himself a glass, sniffed it, and sipped. Not bad. “If you knew this man the way I do, you would not be surprised. He will not wait passively while you go after him.”
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