by Myles Knapp
“Why?”
“I have no idea. I’m just her nurse. But she’s lucid and says she remembers some things.”
“Be there in a few.”
“I’ll let her know you’re coming.”
In less than half an hour, Pay sat down in Mary Ellen’s room.
Mary Ellen looked up drowsily. “No Richard?” Her voice was raspy.
“I can get him here if you want.”
She shook her head and mumbled, looking down where the blanket covered her chest, “No. I’d prefer to talk with you alone.”
“Why?”
“Because some of my story is embarrassing and I’m not sure how he’d look at me after he heard it.”
“You care what he thinks?” asked Pay.
“Um, I might.”
“So tell me.”
“This has to be in confidence. I’ll tell Richard when I’m feeling better.”
“I’ll do what I can. Anything you know puts Richard and my team at risk.” Pay let the statement hang.
“I understand. Before I get too tired, let me tell you what happened.”
Pay pulled a notepad from his jeans pocket. “Lots of questions.”
“Please, let me tell you what I remember my own way. If I’ve got the energy, I’ll answer your questions at the end.”
“Can save you some time. I’ve talked with Rock.”
Mary Ellen gasped. Over her head the beep of the heart monitor quickened.
“Don’t worry. He’s never going to hurt you again.”
“Did Richard help?”
“Wanted to, but this time it was one of my guys and me.”
“Rock set me up with this rich guy in a private VIP both. It was a pretty typical thing.” She couldn’t look Pay in the eye.
“I know. Saw the video. Everything you did in that booth was recorded in high def.”
“Has Richard seen it?” All of a sudden, Mary Ellen looked tired, small, and ashamed.
“No. But I wouldn’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe you better tell me what you know.”
“Video shows you drinking with some guy named Myron Baker. He told you his name was Mike.”
“I kinda remember something about a Mikey and martinis.”
“Do you know anything about him? We don’t think he was part of it.”
“He was just another guy.”
“That’s what we think, too. It would also help to know why you were dancing for the fat man.”
“What do you mean dancing for the fat man?”
Pay pulled out his phone and flicked through several mug shots. “Recognize any of these guys?”
Mary Ellen scrolled back through the photos until her quivering finger landed on Morano. “He’s the guy. Isn’t he?”
“Name’s Morano. He’s the guy who beat you. And we think Duncan works for him.”
“Doesn’t Duncan work for Centerfolds? I thought his job was to protect us dancers.”
“He’s also been helping the fat man spy on dancers and customers. We don’t know if the owners of Centerfolds know anything about it.”
“I figured out they were taking videos of some dancers, and I got some copies.”
“Did he give you cash if you got info on the big spenders?”
“Yes. Usually a hundred bucks.”
“What for?”
“Rock told me it was a tip for helping build the club’s client list. That management used the information to get the big spenders to come back. They offered incentives, like free limo rides, special private rooms and Cuban cigars. He invited me to some ‘anything goes’ private party, but I told him ‘no.’”
Pay considered how much information Mary Ellen could take in her current condition. “Let’s just say you were misled.”
“Tell me. Please. I can take it.”
Pay decided on part of the truth. “Looks like you were the first stage of a honey trap. We think the fat guy was using the information to bait blackmail high rollers. At this point we don’t know if anyone in the club’s management was involved or not.”
Mary Ellen started to cry and the beep of the heart monitor over her head increased alarmingly.
Ms. Nako appeared in the doorway immediately. Taking one look at Mary Ellen sobbing and the heart monitor, which read 150 BPM, and was climbing fast, she said, “Sorry Pay, but you better go.”
CHAPTER 61
As soon as the elevator door opened on the team’s second floor work area Pay shouted for Brooke and Chase. If was anyone was around, he wanted to update them on his conversation with Mary Ellen.
In the main room, he discovered the conference table was stacked almost to overflowing with Zero Halliburton briefcases. On the corner of the table was a note stapled to a white envelope. Brooke’s stylish script read, “This was delivered by messenger to your attention. There’s no indication who sent it. Chase ran everything through the scanner and the sniffer.”
Inside the envelope Pay found two sheets of paper. The first was drawn in a feminine hand. “Before he wound up in the hospital, which as far as I’m concerned is his own damn fault, Sam had just finished getting these ready to deliver to you. He’d probably have preferred to deliver them in person, but he won’t get out of the hospital for a while and I’m scared having them around. He doesn’t know I’m having them delivered. But given his last few days, I’m sure he would want you to have them now more than ever.” It was signed, Liu Hong.
The second sheet was a distinctive combination of block printing and shaky script Pay recognized as Sam’s. The note was short and to the point, like everything Sam and Pay did. It was probably one of the reasons Pay liked Sam so much.
“This is my gift to you and the Revenge Team. I don’t want financial constraints to ever keep you from helping someone. There’s more should you need it.” Signed, Sam.
Pay was pondering the briefcases when Brooke and Chase entered carrying pizza.
“Tony’s combo,” Chase said, cracking open a pair of Red Stripe beers while Brooke poured herself a white wine.
“We got a present from the Hong’s.” Pay nodded at the table and knocked back some beer. “Grab a case.”
Locks clicked open.
Pay whistled.
Chase broke into a big grin.
“Mine’s full of hundreds,” Brooke laughed.
“Sam’s note says he wants to make sure we never turn anyone down for lack of cash.”
Chase was counting cases. “Ten.”
It took Brooke almost a minute to count the bundled bills in her attaché. “There’s $500,000 in this one.”
“Holy shit,” said Pay.
“We’ve got enough for Jon D’s surgery,” whispered Brooke.
“What surgery?” Pay frowned.
“He didn’t want you to know because he knew we couldn’t afford it. Doc says there’s a new procedure that will eliminate his pain. He might even be able to walk without the canes. But his insurance won’t cover it.”
“How much does Doc say it will take?”
“Maybe a briefcase and a half.”
“Put the cases in the safe and mark Jon D’s name on two of them.”
CHAPTER 62
Pay called Liu Hong. “How’s Sam.”
“Darn fool’s doing better than he deserves. I was surprised when they released him this morning.”
“I’m guessing he’s sitting right next to you.”
“The old grump’s in the other room watching Cheers reruns, whining about how he hurts and running me ragged asking for something to eat or something to drink, more pain pills, more ice, a pillow and a blanket…name it. Now he wants me to rub his feet. He’s wearing me out and he’s only been home half an hour.”
Pay heard Sam groaning in the background. “Honey, w
here’s the remote?”
“How’s the head? Docs said he had a concussion?”
“The head trauma specialist told me Sam had the fastest recovery he’d ever seen. They think it might have had something to do with all the walking.”
“So he’s gonna be ok?”
“Right now the biggest threat to his health is a few broken ribs, and me.”
“Honey, I really need the remote.” Sam’s voice was getting stronger and more insistent.
“You would have thought they’d give consideration to how much work it will be for an old lady like me, and kept him another month or two.”
“Really need your help, please?”
Liu’s voice raised a couple of decibels. “Give it a rest, Sam. I’ll be there in a minute.” Her voice returned to normal as she refocused her attention on the phone. “Doctors say I’ll have to put up with him for the rest of his natural life. Which right now I’m hoping is going to be real short.”
Pay laughed, “I thought Asian wives were supposed to be demur. Sort of fade into the background.”
“My mom, sure. I’m American to the core, however. Born and raised in Oakland.”
“Can I drop by and visit? I’d like to thank you both.”
“Let me get him settled in and hire some help first.”
Pay heard more urgent noises in the background.
“Pay, I’ve got to go. Time for his meds.” She mumbled, “I may have to give him a few extra tranquilizers.”
CHAPTER 63
Chase, Pay and Barbara Jane were working out. Richard stood to one side, watching them go at it.
Pay was boxing. Working the double bag. Jab. Jab. Jab. Missed upper cut. Jab. Jab. BOOM. Right hook. Jab. Jab. Missed uppercut.
Every time Pay missed a punch Chase screamed, “Morano just cut your throat.”
Chase was kickboxing on an oversized heavy bag. Hard. Elbows. Knees. Fists. But even throwing perfect punches, he could barely get the huge bag to move.
Barbara Jane was running, side-stepping, jumping, skipping, and crawling through a complex razor wire obstacle course.
A bell rang and they rotated positions. The difference was unbelievable. On the double bag, Chase never missed. Combination after combination, his hands flew.
Across the room, Pay moved quickly through the first part of the course but slowed dramatically as he struggled to get his bulk under the lowest razor wire.
Barbara Jane didn’t use her hands on the heavy bag, but her kicks were as violent as Chase’s punches.
The bell rang again and Pay slammed the heavy bag. His punches weren’t as fast or pretty as Chase’s, and he couldn’t get his feet high enough off the ground to execute a proper Muay Thai kick. Nor could he move fast enough to complete multi-kick combinations. But Richard felt the explosions from his kicks across the room.
Chase danced through the obstacle course, as Barb’s fists blurred the double bag.
Five minutes later, they switched again. By then, the mat where Pay stood was coated with sweat. Chest, face and ears flushed red, perspiration drenched his hair, streamed down his face and dripped off his chest, pooling on the floor. He lumbered from bag to bag. Gulping water by the bottle, he looked exhausted.
By comparison, Chase was fresh. Of course it would be hard to tell if his dark brown skin was flushed, but there was no sweat on his closely shaved scalp. He flowed from station to station, and his water remained untouched. Until Pay plodded over and drained it in one go.
Barbara Jane couldn’t match Pay for power, or Chase for speed, but she bested them both on the razor wire.
Twenty minutes or so had gone by when they stopped, and Chase waved Richard into the room. Pay collapsed onto a folding chair at the edge of the mat. Chase jogged to the blender and began mixing a protein shake.
Richard sat beside Pay. “Don’t you guys think we should be looking for Morano?”
Doubled over on the chair, face resting in his sweat-soaked Muay Thai gloves, gulping air, Pay grunted and pointed a gloved paw in the general direction of Chase and the refrigerator.
“Rich, that’s his way of asking you to get him a Gatorade,” Chased shouted over the blender.
“Pay looks beat.”
“Shaddup,” mumbled Pay through his gloves.
“We never miss more than two days of workouts. It’s an absolute, ironclad rule. Helps keep us alive. Miss any more than a couple of days and you get slow and sloppy.”
“Chase, you look pretty good.”
“Thanks. But wait until tomorrow. Pay’ll look great and I’ll look like a shaved Shar-Pei.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s heavy lifting. Deadlifts. Squats. Bench Press. Clean and Jerk. Snatch. …Stuff like that.”
“He won’t be so pretty tomorrow.” Pay groaned.
Chase handed Pay a tall glass filled with something that looked suspiciously like blended grass. “This’ll make you feel better.”
“Not as good as a quart of beer.”
“C’mon, we talked about that. You said you wanted to drop a few pounds.”
Pay scowled.
Chase danced back until he was out of Pay’s reach. “Not that you’re fat. It’s just that any extra weight’ll slow you down. With Morano out there, we both have to be in top shape. And you can’t rehydrate on alcohol. That can leave you dragging for days.”
Pay stripped off his gloves and chugged the green glop. “Deal was if I drank that entire quart of blended cow cud I got a beer, right?”
“One.”
“Damn.” Crouching down, he reached all the way to the back of the refrigerator. Hiding behind Chase’s bottles of organic fruit juice and bottled spring water was a quart bottle of Stella. Pay smiled, twisted off the top, turned the bottle upside down, and Richard watched it disappear as fast as it came out.
Chase shook his head. “That’s not exactly what we agreed on.”
“Better than the six-pack I’d usually have.”
CHAPTER 64
Since taking down MacDonald, Richard had done nothing but help with surveillance, attend Revenge School classes, chug painkillers and go “home” to the Hyatt. If you’d asked him how long he was going to stay at the Hyatt he’d have told you: “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever go home again.”
But he was surprised to find that as his self-defense skills improved, his attitude changed. With his pepper spray, his pistol and his new attitude on aggressive action, he was a completely different man than he’d been a few days ago.
And now he wanted to go home.
His first call was to Officer Delgado. “Hi, this is Richard Johnson. I’m the guy with the nearly dead girl in his bed.”
“I remember.”
“I want to go home.”
“Last time we spoke you said you’d never go back.”
Richard could hear computer keys clicking in the background. “Some things have changed.”
“You’re free to go home anytime.”
“I imagine the place is a wreck.”
“I can guarantee its worse now. There are a couple of places that do crime scene clean-up. I’m not really supposed to recommend any.” Delgado just let the idea lie there.
“If it was your mother’s house, what would you do?”
“I’d call Aftermath, Inc.”
“What do they do?”
“Make your house better than new in a few days. They put in new rugs, and paint. I’ve heard they’ll even restock your fish tank.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
“I really don’t know. But they work with insurance companies. Richard?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to ever see you again in this type of situation. Before you move back into the place—and if I’m ever as
ked, I’ll never admit I said this—get a gun.”
“What would you recommend?”
“You know anything about guns?” Delgado asked, like he expected the answer to be ‘no.’
“A little.” Despite his lessons with Matt at the range, Richard knew he still had a lot to learn.
“Best thing for home security is a tactical shotgun.”
“A shotgun? Isn’t that what the Mob uses?”
“Yeah. In the movies they used sawed-offs, which are illegal and not what I’m recommending. There are a bunch of good reasons a guy like you should consider a regular shotgun.”
A guy like me. God, I hate that. “I’m listening.”
“The most important thing a weapon does is kill people. The second most important thing a weapon does is scare the crap out of people without shooting it at all. Worst thing a weapon can do is kill the wrong person.”
“So why’s a shotgun better than a pistol?”
“Because anyone who’s seen an action movie knows the sound a shotgun makes when you rack a load. If a smart crook hears you pump the action they’ll run like hell.”
“So I could scare somebody without shooting them?”
“Yeah. Plus, with a shotgun you might hit what you’re aiming at.”
“But in the movies a shotgun seems like it’ll kill anything that moves.”
In the background, Richard heard someone yell, “Delgado, we gotta go. Move it!”
“Great thing about a shotgun, if you load it with low penetration shot the pellets will hurt or kill whoever they hit. But they won’t go through the wall and kill your neighbor.”
“I’ll check into that.”
“Tactical shotgun is what cops get for their families.”
“Is that what you have?”
“Yes. But I’ve also got an alarm system, good locks, a Rottweiler, and a 9 mm Glock. Just the Rott would have prevented everything that happened to you, but I don’t think the landlords going to like you having one in your flat.”
Richard heard the voice grow more insistent. “Delgado!”
“Gotta go.”