by Neal Penn
Norwood hit “send” on the email he’d just completed – responding to interview questions forwarded through his website from a writer for Publisher’s Weekly. He kept the answers short and modest. Why yes, he did know he’d created a bit of a storm with his electronic publications. Why no, he was unaware they’d sold more than any other ebook last month.
Crane smiled as he watched the email disappear into cyberspace. The books would pay for as many girls as he could handle.
He called a driving service with a chair lift, then opened a box on his desk and withdrew several hundred dollar bills. He’d be buying a few rounds for the house tonight at the Viking.
In just under a half hour, Norwood drove his cart onto the lift on the specially made van. He was vibrant and happy. The driver commented on it and Norwood beamed.
“You know I’m a writer, right? I have to tell you, I’m Lester Twill. I was just interviewed by a prominent industry magazine.”
The driver kept looking ahead. “Whatever.”
“Yep,” Norwood said softly, more to himself than the driver. “That’s me.”
As the van drove away, John Sage stepped from the shadows in the alley next to Norwood’s brownstone.
He just had to kill Norwood. There wasn’t any choice. The man was a liability, and the picture meant there was heat now.
Still, he weighed the risks and determined he could give it a few weeks at least. They only had about six chapters left on the joint operation with Costa Rica. Maybe it could wait until after that was done.
Maybe no one would notice and he wouldn’t have to do anything at all.
Jesus, Tommy. You’re taking away my options, here.
Chapter Twenty
He heard the shot and didn’t hear much of anything afterwards.
It was like the muffling that happened when his window was shot out, but total silence in his right ear and a great deal of pain there.
Crane could feel the back of his head where the bullet must have exited; it was raw and hurt like hell.
Wait. There was no way he’d still be thinking with a hole in his head.
He opened his eyes and saw Tiny standing with his mouth agape, staring at him.
Tiny began shouting, but to Crane it sounded like a movie with the volume turned so low that the sounds were only barely discernable.
Crane looked down and saw the gun on the ground next to the other thug’s foot. His eyes traced a path up the man’s leg over his torso and up to his head. The man’s eyes were wide in horror. From his right temple jutted the blade of a knife, the hilt pressed against his left. Blood soaked the hood of his sweatshirt, plastering it to his cheeks and neck.
Crane couldn’t look away. The muffled noise made the whole thing surreal as hell as the man’s legs buckled and he crumpled to the ground.
Tiny looked shocked and then enraged. Crane, still disoriented, couldn’t move as Tiny charged towards him. He steeled for the hit, but then Crane saw a figure in black moving impossibly fast leap against Tiny, knocking him to the ground.
Crane had never seen her in action before, but Ray-Ray was everything he’d heard. Before the big man even knew he was on the ground, she was stabbing into his neck with some kind of small ice pick or knife or God knew what.
There was blood and screams but all Crane could see was the smile on Ray-Ray’s face.
It was the look every porn star tried to emulate, the look of a woman in ecstasy. She kept at Tiny’s throat until it looked something like hamburger, and when she finally stopped, Crane noticed her throat rumbling with laughter. He thanked God, Allah, Buddha, and Vishnu that his hearing still wasn’t working.
He watched as she walked to the other thug’s body and pulled her knife from his head. She turned and told Crane something, but he couldn’t hear her, so she pointed at Tiny’s body and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. Crane walked over and tried not to look at his neck. He fumbled with the big man’s pants until he found the envelope and withdrew it.
He felt Ray-Ray taking his arm and stumbled alongside her as she led him out of the alleyway and to a white van.
She opened the passenger door just as Crane leaned over and vomited. The heaving strained his ribs, he tasted the sour mixture of vodka and bile, and felt his eyes watering with the stink of it and the way air refused to come enough at a time to his lungs.
When he finished, he was surprised to find his hearing had fairly dramatically improved.
Ray-Ray was just finishing a threat about feeding him his testicles if he puked inside the van. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got inside. Ray-Ray climbed in, drove to the alleyway, and told him to get out and help.
In his mind, Cranee listed all of the chargeable crimes he was committing as he helped drag Tiny and the other mugger into the back of the van and shut the door behind it. They drove away, and he realized he missed the vodka he’d left on the pavement.
“Thank you, Ray-Ray.”
“For what?”
There was nothing in her tone of voice that indicated she’d just brutally dispatched two men, one of whom was twice her size, with knives against their guns.
“For saving my life.”
“I wasn’t saving your life, Mr. Crane. I was saving Nero’s money. Of course disposal of these two will take a few thousand of it, so consider that when you do your accounting. When will I see you for another installment?”
“I don’t know; the case is going well, and I should have more soon. I—”
“Soon is not a good enough answer, Mr. Crane. Nero will expect better.”
The van stopped. Crane realized it was in front of Noelle’s house. He stepped out and walked to the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
The pizza in Maryland sucked. That was the consensus at which the two arrived. They sat in the hotel room drinking bottled water—they weren’t allowed to drink good stuff on a job—and waiting for the boss to call.
Finally, the one in the suit grabbed the pizza box, still full except for two slices, crumpled it, and stuffed it into the small wastebasket next to the little desk the hotel provided for its business travelers.
“I’m goin’ out to get some burgers or something.” He picked up his wallet from the end table and started for the door.
“The boss ain’t gonna like calling us and not getting an answer.” Watch Cap wanted the burgers, too, though, so his tone wasn’t very convincing.
“There will be an answer, stupid. You’re staying here. I’ll bring them back.”
“How come you get to go out and get the food? I wanna go out and get it.”
“Fuck you. I’m going out to get it.” He started to turn the handle when the phone rang, so he stopped and waited while his partner answered it.
“Yeah? ... Oh hey, boss, I ...” Suit grabbed the phone from him. “Aw, Jesus, I was talking to him.”
The conversation only lasted a few minutes and he replaced the receiver and stretched. “Alright, we can go out to eat now.”
“So what did the boss say?” They were already both heading for the door.
“He said don’t kill him yet, just scare him.”
“Okay, I can do that. I can scare the shit out of the little prick.”
“How you gonna do that? You’re about as scary as a Muppet.” They’d reached the car, and Suit dropped behind the wheel and fired it up.
“What’s a ‘Muppet’?”
“Didn’t you ever watch Sesame Street? It’s Kermit the Frog, Cookie Monster, all those puppets.”
“Why don’t they just call them ‘puppets’ then?”
“Cause they’re not puppets, they’re Muppets. What are you, stupid? You never heard of the Muppet Show?”
“I never watch TV. When’s it on?”
Up ahead a little strip mall advertised local food. “It’s not on anymore, you moron, it was back in the 70s. Hey, want to try crab cakes? That sounds even better than burgers.”
“I wasn’t even alive in the 70s. How
am I supposed to know about some stupid puppet show?”
“It’s Muppets. God, sometimes I wonder about you. So do you want to try the crab cakes or not? I gotta turn off or keep going.”
“I’ll try them. They gotta be better than the pizza.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“My God!” Noelle rushed to him when he stepped through the door. “What happened, Roddie, are you okay? Oh, Jesus, honey.”
Crane knew he looked bad, but he’d already determined his nose wasn’t broken and part of him was absolutely willing to go through the whole episode again if it meant he could hear Noelle call him honey again.
“Nothing to worry about, Elle. It’s not broken.” He walked directly to the counter – or, more specifically, to the vodka on the counter, and poured himself a full glass.
It burned like hell going down, but it more than made up for the pain a few seconds later as he felt his nerves give way to a measured relaxation.
“But what happened? Did your mob client do this to you?” She was running water over a dishtowel in the sink. Crane sat down at the table.
“No, just some punks who saw the envelope and wanted to make a quick buck. It was my mob client that ki … kept them away from me, but not before they got a good punch in.” She stood in front of him now, dabbing at his face with the wet towel. She dabbed the bridge of his nose, and he winced.
“I swear, Roddie, it’s like you attract drama. You’re some kind of problem magnet. I don’t know why the hell I…” She trailed off and shook her head as she brought the towel back to the sink. Crane took another long drink of the vodka. “Anyway, I did some research for you. I have some ideas about how to find your friend.”
“Elle.” There was something wistful about Crane’s voice. Noelle turned around to look at him. His nose was a little swollen, but with the blood cleaned up, he looked a lot better.
“Yeah, Roddie?”
“Are your parents proud of you?”
She hadn’t been prepared for that question. “Uh…I think so. Mom was a professor, so she loved when I became a librarian. Dad wasn’t all that happy about it, but I started researching his deals, showed him ways he could make more money. That convinced him, and that’s why they were able to retire a little early and move to Florida.” She caught a glimpse of something in Crane’s hair and stepped up to him. “Why do you ask? And why do you have a bunch of plaster or something in your hair?”
“My parents were never proud of me. Andy was this brilliant science kid, right. Won all the fairs, got tested as a genius, accepted to Harvard at sixteen. Tonya and Billy were both these superhuman athletes, right. Me, I was just normal. I was just a kid. Nothing was ever good enough. I had to work twice as hard to be half as good, but Mom and Dad didn’t give a damn.” He paused and drank some more of the vodka. “I wanted to be rich, you know. More successful than any of them, like that would make Dad proud. It was stupid, though, because even after Mom and Dad were gone, I still did all the crap I did. I was still…” He sighed and Noelle thought he might have choked back a sob. “I never realized I could get so tired of hearing about money, making money, everybody wanting money. Everyone says money is evil, but really, it’s just exhausting.
“Roddie, why are there pieces of plaster in your hair?” She started pulling them out, little white and red chunks of building materials of some kind or another.
“Oh, one of the muggers shot at me and hit the wall behind me instead. Hurt like hell,” he chuckled, but it was mirthless, “and I thought the bastard had actually shot me in the head.”
He reached for the vodka, but she took the glass and put it in the sink. “You’re going to need to wash that out of your hair. Come on, I’ll help you.”
“Can we do it later? I still need to track down the author.” Crane’s eyes drifted to the sink, and Noelle noticed.
“You need to wash that junk out of your hair. I told you I did some research. I already know where he is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You what?”
Crane jumped from his seat. But he regretted it immediately: an immediate wave of dizziness crashed over him. He staggered, and Noelle put her shoulder under his arm to steady him. It took a good three or four minutes for the room to stop spinning. It wasn’t the vodka so much as his ear. Ears had a lot to do with balance; he wondered if his eardrum had been ruptured.
“Come on, Roddie.” Noelle pulled him away from the table. “Let’s use the bathroom downstairs.”
He allowed himself to be guided, her arm under his shoulder to the guest restroom. After ten or twelve paces he was able to walk by himself, but he let her continue to support him and thrilled at the contact.
When they reached the restroom, she sat him on the edge of the bathtub and turned on the water. He felt her hands working on his scalp, felt her putting on shampoo, lathering it. It stung, and he flinched. She gently continued, cooing at him in a motherly way, and he wondered why the hell she did that. She hated all the emotional crap, hated the way people required anything other than logic. She was like some kind of goddam Vulcan that way. But somehow she doesn’t mind taking care of me.
Crane flinched again as her fingers worked a piece of wall from his scalp. “Did you say you found our guy?”
“No,” she said as she reached under the sink and got a plastic cup. She pushed his chest backwards about a foot so he leaned over the tub and began pouring water over his hair. “I said I knew where he was. He’s somewhere in Minneapolis.”
“Are you sure?” Crane felt stupid the moment he said it. Noelle just stared at him. He’d once asked her to research a guy cheating on his wife and she’d found where he’d hidden $292,000 worth of gold coins, artwork, and silver bullion. And all that had taken her fourteen minutes. “Sorry. I just, I guess I didn’t think it would be that easy, even for you.”
“I didn’t say it was easy; you were out for almost twelve hours, remember? Still, I read the books in the series and—”
“All of them?”
“Yes, all of them. Don’t interrupt. In each book, there’s a scene at a bar in Minneapolis. It’s called the Raider Saloon in the books, and there are pretty clear descriptions of the place. I did some searching online and came up with the real bar, a place called the Viking Pub. Took a look at some of the pictures online, and except for the gay men all over the place, it’s the same place.”
“Gay men? Do you think he’s gay? Maybe that’s why he took off.”
Noelle thought about it for a moment but shook her head. “Who runs away because they’re gay? It’s like everyone has a gay relative nowadays.”
“Maybe, but he left in what, 1970? That was a little different. You know, back then it wasn’t something people could just come out and talk about.”
“I’m confused. You’re looking for this author because he disappeared forty years ago?”
“Oh God, Elle. I’m sorry. I’m looking for a kid who disappeared forty years ago, and it’s his picture on the book. I figure if this Twill guy isn’t the kid, he can lead me to him.”
“Well he won’t be a kid anymore, that’s for sure. Who is he?”
“Dennis Winslow. His sisters live in—”
“Olive and Evelyn Winslow?” Noelle’s face had a strange, puzzled look.
“Yeah, you know them?”
“I think we need to talk about your client, Roddie.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Gladys, will you come in here, please?”
Sage was really starting to worry him. The program had been well underway when he was recruited to succeed the previous CEO. Sage was already gone. He had been the first, but each of the operatives eventually lost their controllability.
One by one, they’d break off, and one by one, the CEO had arranged for their elimination. From asset to liability almost overnight, and the timing of the break was unpredictable. He’d eventually decided to eliminate all of the project’s participants, even those who were still with the progra
m. The risks were too high.
Now, if Sage had reappeared ... He almost shuddered but noticed Gladys at the door and suppressed the urge.
He nodded to the chair and she sat down. “I need you to take a message. Have Drake in Afganistan, Andrews in—where the hell is he, now?”
“He’s in Chechnya, sir.”
“Right, have Drake and Andrews get three of their guys each back in country ASAP. I need them for an urgent operation. Make sure the message is coded and—well, you know all that, Gladys. Whatever gets them here fastest is what I want. Don’t worry about expense.” He sighed. “Could you also bring me a drink, Gladys? Something strong.”
“Certainly.” She stood and walked away. He found it strange that he still looked at her ass when she did.
God, maybe he was just sentimental. Maybe lonely. How long since Marie had died? Ten years now. He didn’t really miss her, but he missed having a wife, missed having someone in his life who wasn’t on the payroll.
The phone on his desk rang. It was Gladys. “I’ll be right in with your drink, sir. Aiken is on the line, says it’s urgent. I told him you were unavailable and—”
He sighed. “No, I’ll take it.”
He heard the whine of the transfer and then heard Aiken’s voice. “Boss, this guy Twill just put out a press release yesterday about his next book. It’s about a dangerous joint operation in Costa Rica.”
“So?” Gladys brought his drink and he took a sip. He nodded thanks and watched her leave.
“That’s Project Jaguar, sir.” A sinking sensation hit him, followed by an involuntary shudder. He put his highball on the desk. “Sir, are you there?”