The mayor, the honorable Leonard H. Griffin, stood inside the door of the great foyer, hands on his wide waist, talking to the Police chief, Miles Farley.
His face held little emotion as he conversed in low tones to the city’s number one cop. No doubt the mayor was hearing whatever it took from the Chief to ensure the Chicago leader that he and the CPD were on top of this catastrophe, that they would make arrests very soon, that no one gets away with this kind of thing anymore.
Amanda Blunt shifted her weight to the left, just fifteen feet or so from the two men. The cool surface of the gold coin comforted her palm. It was in direct contrast to the warm air coming from the front entrance of the mansion. The hot air streaming from Farley.
Such bullshit.
She knew it. The mayor knew it, and Farley knew it.
Raymond’s people, her people, would never be caught. They had planned well, were too smart, and would be ghosts to this investigation. Especially given Raymond’s learned appreciation for tying up loose ends. He’d been a fast learner in that regard.
The mayor placed his large, ebony hand on Farley’s shoulder, whispered something in his ear, then turned away, his gaze taking him clearly into her direction.
“Mayor.”
Three long strides and he was in front of her, his expensive cologne beating him by a fraction. He’d moved without looking away from her. Then again, he’d always had a difficult time looking away from her, hadn’t he?
“Amanda. Are you all right? I heard about you being struck during this terrible ordeal.”
She rubbed the wound with just the right amount of effort. “I’m fine, Mayor. We’re all tougher than we think, when it gets down to it. I’m simply happy to be alive.”
With strong arms, he gave a hug that seemed to be one of casual concern, but they both knew it was more. “It would have been difficult to handle if something more had happened to you,” he whispered.
“I’m all right.”
He then held her at arm’s length. “I can see that,” he answered with the famous, infectious grin that contributed to him getting elected. That and a few favors from his friends.
Releasing her, he moved to her side, waving at another pair of detectives and CSU specialists that were part of a seemingly endless stream of cops. Once they had passed, he touched her with his elbow. “So why weren’t you killed like the others who stood up to them, my dear Amanda? And before you answer, remember that I know things as well.”
His comments made her smile from true amusement. She took his hand.
“Like I told Detective Garcia, I wasn’t a politician. That seems to be the common thread for dying tonight. As far as what you think you know, well, let’s simply say that knowledge comes and goes, like memories, taking on a different face over time.”
She squeezed his hand then released it. “Those memories are somewhat like elections, Mayor. They can hinge on the smallest of detail that sticks in voter’s minds when they get to the polls, whether that detail is true or not.”
“True, but that doesn’t change truth, my lovely Amanda.”
“Truth? What a fickle thing that is. At any rate, what if I told you I could guarantee your next election, Lenny? What if I could put you in office for the next twenty years after that?”
Griffin waved at another group of law enforcement men and women.
“I’m listening,” he said without looking in her direction.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I can give you the people who did this and help stamp out a large portion of drug trafficking and violence in the South side of this city in one fell swoop.”
His eyes grew a bit wider, but he kept his composure like the good politician he was. He straightened his black bow tie, shifted his weight away from her, then exhaled.
“Hypothetically, you can do that?”
“Hypothetically, I can do many things, Lenny, those included.”
“I could have you arrested and force you to talk to help avenge these poor souls.”
“You could try. But that could get messy. I wonder what your wife, and the rest of the world, would think of those pictures of you and me in Aruba, the ones with you wearing nothing but handcuffs and me.”
He saluted two Lieutenants brought in from the CPD as they hurried toward the mansion. They both returned the salute and continued on.
“You’re a bitch. I always knew that, but I’m still addicted to you. And you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” he hissed.
“We’ve discussed addictions many times. They are forever present, if not expressed. I’m one of yours.”
“Say I, hypothetically, agree to acquire this important information. What would be in it for you?” he asked, this time, looking in her direction, his large dark eyes staring directly into hers.
She gestured for him to bend near to her. He did. She told him.
Backing away a step, he looked up to the bright stars speaking to a bright moon. His mind was obviously working.
She waited.
Finally, after a minute of what had started out to be one of the hardest decisions of his life she suspected. It then became an easy decision for him. Ambition never really has a competitor, it always wins.
“That’s what you want?”
“It is.”
“Do we shake on it or find a quiet room to consummate this agreement?” he asked.
“Neither, for now. We can discuss both tomorrow, after you become the hero of The Windy City, again. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“None of these people can be taken alive. Not one. Loose ends are not good for future endeavors.”
“I see. I believe that can be arranged.”
“See that you do.”
With that, she slipped a piece of paper into his hand.