The look down revealed that, as his hands dug hard as he could into the curve of the patio’s stone wall . . . no.
It was not a sheer drop down to the sidewalk below.
Instead, just below, there was a smaller patio, perhaps for private parties, that jutted out with just enough room so that should someone, perhaps, let go from above and fall? They wouldn’t fall far at all . . .
“Okay,” Celia Kole said. “Now let go!”
Billy thought the task being presented was theoretically doable. Still a bad landing, twisted ankle, maybe a good chance of something broken.
But then the alternative—recalling the knife and the equally homicidal mobsters above him—made that risk nothing to even consider.
He released his fingers and fell down, landing on the hard stone floor. But despite sudden pain, he kept on his feet as Celia—rather adeptly, former school gymnast perhaps?—landed beside him.
But when he looked up, he saw that this small patio here was not empty.
Two men in suits stood there, as if waiting.
“Okay, get moving, Blessing. There’s a back stairway to this private area. But you have to hurry.”
Billy hesitated just a moment, debating whether he had any options here.
Which is when Kole said, “My guys here are not like the gorillas up there. They can quickly get you under control and navigate you downstairs—whether you want to or not. But maybe best you move under your own steam?”
The men didn’t move at all as Celia spoke. And they certainly did look a tad more polished and professional than the two goons that Marco Pierce traveled with.
Still, Billy didn’t want to test their abilities. Especially when—once again—that knife appeared, only now pressed to his side. Billy wasn’t sure what organs it would hit should it be quickly plunged in.
But he was pretty sure they could be some mighty vital ones.
“Move,” she said again. The knifepoint again doing its twisty dance.
But they had taken only a few steps when suddenly, they were joined by others.
And—whaddyaknow—Billy at last saw some familiar faces . . .
* * *
First, Lola Bristow, looking rather smashing for the gala party, stepped out of the side stairwell entrance onto this small patio. The gun she was holding did nothing to diminish the glamour.
Billy thought, She certainly is something different when out of her khaki uniform.
Then just as quickly, ADA Martin Williams appeared, also with a gun out.
But that was not all.
Though he should probably be home watching reruns of Law & Order or some such—Detective Deacon Solomon. And though officially retired, he too held a gun out.
And it suddenly seemed Billy was saved. The trio of mobsters and their plans were about to come to an end on this rather pleasant New York night.
But not so . . .
* * *
Celia Kole responded quickly.
“Ah. Well. No plan ever goes perfectly smooth.”
Williams acted as the ringmaster for this circus playing out.
“You can tell your men, Celia, to lose their weapons. You too. Then we will escort you all down. Have a lot of support people . . . in the building, on the street. It is, as they say, game over.”
To which Kole said: “Such a cliché. And I’m afraid that is not a ccurate. You see, Mr. DA, I have an extremely sharp blade pointed right at the upper torso of Billy here. One jab in, and well . . . no more Billy Blessing.”
Billy listened to this revelatory news. He could see its impact too on Lola, who moments ago had the confident look of someone in charge of the situation. Now her face dropped.
Billy had seen enough movies to know how this would go. Despite those guns pointed in this direction, Kole had the edge.
At least Billy hoped—alive—he was indeed that “edge,” and not just expendable.
Williams tried to frame the argument differently: “You won’t get far. Even if you get past us—”
“I will.”
“There are all the other people, waiting, ready—”
“Whom you will order to stand down. Or again, old Billy here—”
Not that old, Billy thought.
“—will breathe his last. A shame. Used to like him on TV too . . . I mean, when I had time to watch mindless TV.”
Mindless? Billy thought. God—the insults were coming fast and furious tonight, it seemed.
Billy saw Williams pause. Hesitating as he debated his options. And Billy knew that, unless the option of a stabbed, dying Billy was perfectly acceptable, Williams would simply have to do exactly as Kole asked.
So . . .
“Alright. Okay.” He gave a nod to Lola, then Deacon.
Deacon offered some commentary: “Son of a bitch . . .”
They all lowered their weapons. Except, of course, for Celia Kole.
“Now, on your radio. Tell all your assembled troops to completely and totally ignore us.”
Again—a pause. But then followed by Williams turning to what must be a microphone on his coat lapel.
“All units, all units. Williams here. Stand down until further notice. Do not interfere”—he looked right at Kole—“with anyone attempting to leave the building.”
And that would appear to be that, Billy guessed.
But then a thought.
Funny the things that occur to one, when in such situations.
Which, in truth, Billy had never been in before . . .
* * *
Celia hissed at him, close to his ear. A rather unpleasant sound.
“Walk.”
And Billy did, toward the door to another staircase, which would lead out to a street where he assumed a car would be waiting to speed him and the not-so-nice lady with a knife at his side . . . away.
To a place where he would be questioned in what—he assumed—would be a highly unpleasant manner.
As to his “protection,” albeit well-armed? Now all were frozen with the possibility of seeing the person they were here to protect, suddenly— a mere quick jab away from death.
Tough spot, Billy thought.
Yet—not totally without options. Or at least . . . one.
Because while his time in prison wasn’t terribly long, he did acquire a few useful skills since the community there just loved sharing tips and techniques of all kinds.
And in this particular moment . . .
He had a move that he learned there that might prove useful.
It was, he guessed, his only shot.
So he moved.
* * *
Billy turned his head slightly and said to Celia, just as a distraction: “I assume you know where you are taking me? Just wanted to check.”
Her lips were still close to his ear. “Just walk, nice and steady. Got that?”
Which is all Billy wanted. To get her to say a few words. Just the smallest of distractions as he brought both arms back quickly.
His right arm smacked into Celia’s hand that was holding the knife, pushing it momentarily away.
Then his other arm jabbed into Celia’s midsection, hard. A backward blow designed to knock the wind out of the apparently murderous woman.
Then he spun around. She did have her two accomplices with her after all, and they were now quick to react.
But Billy took steps backward—rather difficult since he saw that this staircase was narrow, the stone steps broad.
Her partners in literal crime were hurrying.
And now, well, that move done pretty smoothly, Billy had cleared the decks for the cavalry to arrive.
Williams and his men hurried into the stairwell, quickly disarming Celia’s two assistants.
He watched Lola hurry past him and get her own revolver up, aimed at Celia Kole’s head. Celia still held the stiletto knife, but now, well, like the old saying . . .
You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
And like that, it was over . . .
* * *
Lola, now pushing Celia Kole—gun barrel at her head—back to the patio area, where Billy assumed more police awaited, grinned and said, “Very nice work, Billy.”
He followed her, suddenly reduced to a bit player in the scene, even as outside he could see the swirling colors of so many police cars arriving, sirens blasting.
And on the patio, someone had already cuffed the other key players: the former “Tony Hill,” Sammy Rose, and Marco Pierce of the Hamptons with his goons, now surrounded by well-dressed DA agents and the police.
But in moments, uniformed NYPD policemen, their personal radios squawking, entered the patio as well.
The patio was suddenly buzzy and full.
And with the local authorities taking over, Lola walked over to Billy.
“Okay, Billy Blessing. Guess that’s it for tonight?”
“Guess . . . so,” Billy said. But then a rather important question: “Does this mean that, with all these lovely people under arrest, well, I’m done with it all? Back to North Fork? Back to NoFo Eats? Cooking and the quiet life?”
Lola looked around. “I’d say it does.” Then back to Billy: “Why—you gonna miss this?”
To which Billy said: “Oh, I really doubt that . . . And—well, don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
Lola smiled at that as Billy started walking past all those handcuffed mobsters to the doors that would lead to the ballroom downstairs where everyone must be wondering . . .
What the hell just happened up there?