Pseudonym

by Neal Penn

  Oh God, Noelle, I’m so sorry. He checked the restrooms in front, but they were empty. I’m sorry.

  As he thought the words, he realized that he was sorry for more than just the moment. He was sorry for Sammi, sorry for not following her out west, sorry that he had become a washed up loser, a man of … Oh, fuck it.

  He looked down each row of seats as he made his way to her seat. No sign of her. There was a stewardess opening up each of the overhead compartments that the passengers had left close, and Crane felt bile rise in his throat.

  He was certain for a moment that the flight attendant would find her in one of the compartments, her body bent like one of those serial killer victims that always get found in a suitcase or a trunk. The stewardess looked at him with an alarmed expression and he realized he was holding his breath and staring intently at her.

  “I’m sorry. I...uh…” Crane swallowed hard. “I’m looking for a passenger. She didn’t get off the plane.”

  Her tone was instantly sympathetic. “What did she do when you got off?” Crane felt a wash of emotion. He hadn’t been so afraid of loss since Sienna.

  “I was in first class. She bought a ticket at the last minute and was back here.”

  “Okay.” The stewardess flipped open the last baggage compartment, and Crane almost laughed with joy to see that it was empty. “I’ll start in the very back, and you keep working this way. We’ll meet in the middle, but she’s probably in the terminal. Did you turn your phone back on when you left the plane?”

  “Yes.”

  Even so, Crane checked to make sure. Then he dialed Noelle’s number. The irritating Nokia ring tone came right away, a little muffled, from the middle rows. Crane rooted around until he found her purse beneath what was probably her seat. “Jesus.”

  The stewardess looked at the purse, a little surprised. “She probably just forgot it. Relax; people don’t disappear at 20,000 feet.” Crane’s stomach fell to somewhere around his knees.

  The woman was trying to be reassuring, but her tone was anything but. The woman sighed. “Look, she’s somewhere. Take a deep breath, and I’ll start in the back.”

  She turned and walked toward the back. Crane put Noelle’s purse over a shoulder and started up again. Not in 24, 25, 26. Not in seats ABC or D.

  He’d once defended a man who killed a woman on a plane. He’d poisoned a drink with some kind of a barbiturate. Now he remembered the prosecution’s expert: “Thiopentone is designed to induce coma in patients with catastrophic trauma. In the amounts the victim received, death would have been almost instantaneous, but at least relatively painless.”

  Oh God, Noelle! He was short of breath now, in a panic. His client, And I got the motherfucker off, had stuffed the victim in the lavatory. He stopped searching the seats and walked toward the bathroom. It was like walking in molasses. He had to concentrate on every step, every movement of his legs.

  Too soon, the door was in front of him. The little sign above the door said ‘Vacant’.

  For twenty or thirty seconds Crane just looked at it . Then he opened the door and found Noelle crumpled on the floor.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “I’m here.” The voice was cold on the other end, but Aiken had heard it enough before that he didn’t get the icicles up and down his spine he used to.

  “Thanks for the quick response, I—”

  “We’ll expect compensation for the speed. I’m not accustomed to dropping everything, even for a client who pays as well and as often as you. Chartered flight or not, I’m not comfortable with quick decisions. They lead to mistakes.”

  Aiken sighed. “I understand.”

  Outside contractors were frustrating. He could bully employees and the inside contractors, the talents that were listed as independent contractors for tax or security purposes, but almost everyone who was truly unaffiliated with the company was self-important.

  On the other hand, this one was good enough to justify the ego. “Will you be able to complete the first part of the job in the time frame suggested?”

  “I took the assignment with an understanding of the time involved.” It was like every question was a goddamn assault.

  “I understand. I also know that I’ve asked for something nearly impossible—”

  “You want me to kill random citizens.” Aiken winced, but he knew this contractor would be using a secure phone, as he was. “That’s not impossible. This may very well be the easiest job you’ve hired me for. Why are you lacking in confidence about my ability to comply with your instructions? I can get right back on the plane and—”

  “No. Please.” He paused for a moment and considered his words carefully. “The importance of this job is the issue. Although the execution is certainly well within your proven skill set, the job is critical to us, and so I am a little more concerned about it than I might ordinarily be. However, there is no question that you will accomplish the objectives as you always have. I apologize for any suggestion otherwise.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Do you have the necessary tools? The specific type and model is critical. I have arranged one for you if you—”

  “I have it.” It must have been in Minneapolis already. There’s no way post 9-11 anyone could get the gun on a plane, and it would leave too great of a trail to try to check it with the luggage.

  “Are you sure it’s no trouble to get started right away?”

  “I’m not going to have this conversation again. You’ve given me instructions, and unless you need to amend them in some way, I’ll get to work.”

  Aiken nodded and remembered he was on the phone. “Very well. Thank you again for the quick response and the attention to detail you always show.”

  “Keep an eye on the news.”

  Despite himself, he felt a chill.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Tears welled up in Crane’s eyes as he saw her on the floor. He didn’t think he could make it through another funeral. She moved, though, and in a moment, he realized she was alive and well. Alive and well if being hog-tied and gagged with a handkerchief could be called that.

  Pinned to her shirt was a note with handwriting that looked like a fourth grade student – a bad fourth grade student – wrote it.

  It said, “Give up the job and go home.”

  Crane pulled out the gag and asked if she was okay.

  “Two goons just tied me up and crammed me in an airplane restroom, Roddie. No, I’m not okay.” He nodded and reached for the ropes. Then he stopped.

  “Hey, you remember that night back at Langerston Hall?” He was smiling broadly, giddy with relief.

  She looked confused. “The dorm?”

  “Yeah, you remember that night when I said we could spice things up with a little light bondage, maybe try a little spanking?”

  As soon as the words had tumbled out of his mouth, he realized it was an incredibly stupid thing to say, having removed the gag already. The tirade lasted about thirty seconds before he put his finger to her lips.

  “Hush, I was only joking.” He pulled at the knots and got her untied. The two of them made their way through the plane, out the door, and out of the walkway. “So was it Lenny and Squiggy?”

  “What?”

  “Tall guy in a suit, short guy with a watch cap?”

  “Tall guy and short guy, yeah, but no watch cap.”

  “They’re the guys who’ve been hassling me. I thought at first they were working for Nero, but when they showed up at the airport, I figured out they were involved in the whole Winslow thing.”

  He led her to the baggage claim area, and waited while she went to the office to get Lolly. He saw her bag and picked it off the carousel.

  The two made their way to the ground transportation area and Crane walked toward the nearest rental car counter but Noelle stopped him. “I already reserved a car. We can go straight to the lot.”

  Jesus, she’s perfect. “Sorry about wanting to play happy time with you while you were tied
up. You have to admit, though, you make it hard for a guy to resist being turned on around you.”

  “Yeah, Roddie.” Probably too soon, schmuck. “It’s a little hard to think about sex with you or anybody when you’re in the middle of being kidnapped.”

  “You want to go to lunch? There are a couple of really nice restaurants in town.” She thought about it for a second and then upped the pace to cross the drive ahead of traffic. When Crane caught up, she pointed at the lot across the way. A large Enterprise sign hung above it. “What do you say, Elle? I don’t think the Lone Ranger and Tonto back there wanted to hurt you. They’re just trying to scare me off.”

  No response. He stopped her and turned her around to face him. “Do you want me to give this up and go back home?”

  “Go back home?” She looked shocked. “I want you to nail these fuckers to the wall!”

  Crane resisted the urge to tell her how hot she looked when she swore. “No problem. That’s on the agenda. In the meantime, can we get lunch?”

  “Okay, but don’t expect a lot of conversation. I can’t believe you brought me into all of this crap, Roddie. Sometimes I feel like I should just let you drink yourself into the gutter.” She looked at her watch. “We better get a table somewhere now. I want to get to the Viking Pub by about seven. I want to ask Lester Twill a few questions.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Sir?” Gladys was back on the intercom.

  Maybe it was time to retire. He had plenty of money. He could retire and give up the constant hell storm. It wasn’t as if he’d enjoyed it for a long time, anyway. He could travel a bit, go through Europe again. Hell, he could afford to take Gladys with him, just tell her he was hiring her to manage his transition. Maybe it would end up as more than that. Who knew?

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry, Gladys. I called you because I need another drink – a strong one.”

  “Um, I’ll bring that right in, but you didn’t call me. I called you.”

  Jesus, he really was starting to lose it. “I’m sorry, what can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Aiken asked me to tell you that the news is on Channel 27.”

  He thanked her and reached into his top desk drawer for the remote. One button opened the sliding wooden doors, and another turned on the flat screen television. He turned it to 27.

  A helicopter shot of police cars surrounding a small park looked back at it. On the bottom of the screen, the words Is a sniper terrorizing Minneapolis? were printed in bright yellow next to an extraordinarily tacky story logo of a shadowy man with a question mark for a face holding a rifle. He turned up the sound.

  “Authorities have no comment yet about whether the death in Bottineau Park is in any way related to the two shootings early this morning downtown, but a source close to the investigation says the police are definitely investigating the two incidents as a single perpetrator set of crimes.”

  He turned the volume back down. Aiken’s plan was working. He pressed the intercom button, but Gladys walked in with his bourbon before he spoke. He took it, thanked her, and took a sip. “Gladys, would you arrange a bonus on Aiken’s next check, please?”

  “Certainly, sir. How much?” She was wearing a fragrance he liked. What was that, sandalwood? Goddammit, grow up. “Sir?”

  “I’m sorry. Just match his check.” She nodded and walked out the door, and he stared at her as she did until he caught himself and looked at the screen. The special report was over and one of those television judges appeared to be berating a pimply teenager. He pressed two buttons, the television went dark, and the doors slid closed.

  He should probably call off everything until the reinforcements arrived. He’d tell Crane’s tail to just kill him and be done with it. Still, if Crane had already tracked Sage to Minneapolis, he was way ahead of the company. They wouldn’t have known he was in town if he hadn’t taken a shot at the mercenaries. No, he’d keep Crane in play, let him hassle Sage a little bit, see what happened.

  The bourbon was good, but it wasn’t calming him down at all. He pressed the intercom. “Gladys?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I wonder if … I would … Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Certainly, sir. I’m always available to you.”

  “No, I mean, would you like to have dinner with me, not work?”

  “Oh.” There was a pause, and he felt his cheeks grow warm. “I would very much like to have dinner with you tonight.”

  “Thank you.” He let go of the intercom and sipped his bourbon. Then he fumbled for it again. “Uh, Gladys, I—”

  “I’ll make reservations and arrange for a car, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Also, the men are back from Marbury. They’re waiting in the lobby.”

  “Okay, send them up.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  By the time the crème brulee was served, Noelle had calmed down. A two-hundred seventy-five dollar per person meal tended to calm women down, Crane figured.

  He was enjoying himself. He’d had two shots of Diva vodka at seventy-two dollars a shot. Evidently, the brand was filtered in gold and diamonds. Well, screw it, the Winslows were paying. He signaled to the waiter for the check and looked at her. She was beautiful, just beautiful.

  “I was wrong, Elle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was wrong not to follow you west and do law school out there. I was wrong to stop calling. I was wrong to start a firm with Ty. I was wrong to marry Sammi. I was—”

  “Come on, Roddie. It’s not time to exorcise our demons right now.” She excused herself and headed to the restroom.

  The waiter arrived with the check and he handed him a credit card. He was just getting it back when Noelle returned. He scrawled a signature, gave the server a twenty-five percent tip, and stood up.

  They’d already checked into the hotel, a suite—so much for sharing a bed.

  “Alright, let’s head toward the Viking, then.”

  “No, Roddie. Why don’t you head back to the hotel? I’ll go to the pub and see what I can figure out. You hit Google and see if you can get us any other leads.” She was already heading to the door.

  “No fucking way, Elle. I’m not sending you anywhere alone.” She ignored him and kept walking. He caught up to her right outside of the door. “Elle, I don’t want you going out alone like that.”

  “It makes sense, Roddie. They’re following you, not me. If we both go there, there’s a bigger chance they catch up to us.”

  “What do you mean, they? How the hell do you know it isn’t Twill who sent those goons?”

  She looked down at the ground for a moment and then back at Crane. “That’s a possibility, but it’s a slight one. If he’s not dead, Winslow has been hiding underground for forty years. There’s no way he’d have connections that would allow him to send anyone after us.”

  “I’m not comfortable with ‘slight’, Elle. If you’re going there, I’m going with you.”

  She stared at him for a moment, but he wasn’t budging. “Okay, fine. You stay in the car though. God, you’re worse than Ty.”

  That was a low blow. “Yeah, well Ty’s called me twice now warning me off of you. Guess he doesn’t like his girlfriend hanging out with his ex-partner.”

  She looked like she was going to slap him. Then she breathed in and out deeply. “I ended it with Ty. He’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t need you and him bantering about me like I’m a piece of property.”

  “Hey, I told him you could do whatever the hell you wanted to do, I—”

  “You’re damn right I can, Roddie. Let’s get to the bar. We’re wasting time.”

  Chapter Fifty

  There were only two people on earth who ever had the balls to call Nero Walker fat, and both of them, his uncle and his father, were dead.

  It was funny, really, because those two were the reason nobody dared to call hi
m fat until he took over the business, and the killers he kept on hand were the reason nobody dared to do it now. The way he figured it, pulling in about forty thousand dollars a week after expenses was a pretty useless accomplishment if he couldn’t enjoy it.

  He was enjoying it now. He sat at his table at Roani’s, one of three restaurants he owned, and watched the waiter open the second bottle of Chianti while he finished off a plate of zucchini stuffed with sausage and garlic. The waiter poured his wine as another arrived with a plate of veal cutlets in red sauce.

  Nero smiled at the last bite of the squash. Life was pretty fucking good. He saw Chucky at the front door and told the waiter with the veal to bring a plate of spaghetti for him and another glass for the wine. Then he watched as Chucky walked over, motioning for him to sit when he got close enough.

  Chucky was straight to business. “Boss, I think we got a problem.”

  Nero deliberately took a long sip of wine. Then he cut a piece of veal, dipped it in the marinara, and took his time tasting it and chewing it. Finally, he turned his gaze at the newcomer.

  “What’s up?”

  “Pookie’s been skimming from Tailspin.” Tailspin was one of two skin clubs Nero owned. It was the one for the lower-class clientele. Businessmen went to The Captain’s Gentlemen’s Club. Druggies and guys looking for cheap whores went to Tailspin.

  “Who the fuck cares? We expect that.” In his business, there was an amount of skimming expected, and that place wasn’t relevant. Tailspin wasn’t there for the cover charge. In fact, Nero didn’t figure in the take for the bar at all. He got his cut from the prostitution and occasionally used the place to blackmail officials who were less than cooperative. Of course, he ran a great amount of illegal cash through the place to wash it.

  “He’s not skimming from the till, Nero. He’s taking girls and setting them up for him at a motel down the street.”

  Ah. Now that was different. That was disrespect. Why couldn’t people be satisfied with a good thing? Now he had to kill that little fucker and find someone to replace him.