Marcus and Ackerman waited at the southwestern corner of Washington Square Park, two unmoving rocks in a flowing river of tourists and shoppers flocking into the niche stores and cart vendors that lined both sides of the street. The air smelled faintly of funnel cakes, which masked the scent of the ocean and fish market that was only a few blocks away. Following Oban’s instructions to the letter, they were both dressed in tuxedos. Oban had suggested a neutral location and said he would send a limo for them at 6:30 sharp.
Checking his Apple watch, Marcus said, “Two minutes to game time. By the way, don’t damage that tux. It’s a rental. And the Director has become very budget conscious lately.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m hoping we can handle this without getting any bullet holes in our clothes.”
Admiring his reflection in a passing city bus, Ackerman said, “We do look rather dapper.”
Rolling his eyes, Marcus replied, “Oh yeah, you’re ready for the cover of GPQ…Gentlemen Psychopath’s Quarterly.”
“I’m not a psychopath. You know how I feel about the misrepresentation of that term. I’d wager there are more CEOs of Fortune 500 companies who are suffering from psychopathy than those who are serial murderers.”
“Okay, okay. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”
“Not to mention,” Ackerman continued, “that true psychopaths are born that way, whereas I was forcefully designed and sculpted into my current glory.”
“I know, I think. I’m just being my normal grumpy self.”
“We are what we are, brother. Whether we like it or not. Do you blame me for what I am?”
“I really don’t know what the hell that means.”
“Let me rephrase.” Ackerman hesitated, apparently considering his words very carefully. “Do you believe that I had any choice in the things I’ve done?”
Marcus took a deep breath and said a quick prayer while rubbing the cross tattoo on his chest. “That’s a deep question. Honestly, I don’t know, Frank. I don’t blame you for anything that happened while you were under Father’s thumb. But after you got away from him, that’s when you really got started. You could’ve gone to the authorities. You could’ve explained things to people. Hell, you might’ve even been seen as a hero.”
“In other words, I could have played the role of the victim.”
“I’m just saying that you had a choice.”
“I’ve thought long and hard about that, brother, and I honestly don’t know if I did. When you’ve been taught to do one thing your entire life, and you’re dropped alone as a teenage boy into the world … Can that boy be expected not to do the one thing he’s been trained to do?”
Marcus said, “I don’t know that it really matters. It happened. It’s over. All we have is right here and right now. The past is gone, and tomorrow may never come. What you do in this moment and every moment after is all that matters, and I do believe that you genuinely want to do good. That’s all that counts right now.”
“That means a lot to me, little brother. If I were a person who was ever so inclined as to lovingly embrace someone, I suppose this would be such a moment.”
Marcus said, “Please don’t hug me.”
“I didn’t intend to actually embrace you. I was merely observing that I feel a vomit-inducing sensation that I can’t quite define and require your assistance in identifying it.”
“I don’t know, Frank. Could be happiness. Or pride. Or love. All I know is that if you try to hug me, I will take you down.”
As a long black limo pulled to the curb in front of them, Ackerman said, “That’s so cute. He thinks he could take me down. Adorable. It’s like when dogs wear people clothes.”
Under his breath, Marcus said, “That’s enough, jackass. Remember, be on your best behavior.”
A well-groomed young man, dressed in a classic chauffeur’s uniform, got out from behind the wheel and walked around the car. He didn’t say a word. He merely nodded and opened the door for them.
Ackerman bowed his head in thanks and then dropped into the back of the limousine. Marcus, however, took off his jacket and looked into the vehicle’s interior. It was all dark leather and smelled of hard liquor and ArmorAll. He also noticed a rubber floor mat just inside the door. He had been hoping to find one, which meant he wouldn’t need to use his tuxedo jacket. It really was a rental, and Andrew had been up his ass lately about accurate reporting and overspending.
Looking up at the chauffeur, Marcus put on his best tough-guy face and said, “I don’t turn my back on anybody, kid. You go get back behind the wheel, and I’ll be inside by the time you get there.”
The young man’s expression remained neutral. He simply bowed and walked back to the driver’s door.
Tossing his coat at Ackerman, Marcus bent down to step inside the vehicle. As he did so, he snatched up the floor mat, rolled it up twice, and stuffed it between the door and the latching mechanisms. Then, with his right hand, he gripped the door to make sure it was pulled tightly enough to keep an alert from sounding to the driver. But, if all went as planned, the rubber mat would also keep the locking apparatus from fully engaging.
Ackerman said, “It would appear, dear brother, that you are expecting a trap.”
“I’m always expecting a trap. And, according to my research, seventy-five percent of the time there is a trap.”
“Is that an actual statistic?”
“Be useful or be quiet.”
Ackerman said, “Very well. All the glass in here is bulletproof and impact resistant, so I hope your little trick works. Otherwise, we will be at their mercy.”
“What are you thinking they’ll use? Some kind of knockout gas pumped through the vents?”
“That would be the safest and most effective method. Lock us back here and pump in the gas. We’re restricted from shooting our way out. And we can only hold our breath for so long. Not very sporting, but effective.”
“Okay, if they try gas, we’ll take turns breathing at the crack in this door.”
Ackerman leaned forward and grabbed one of the crystal carafes, which contained a light-brown liquid. He popped the top and sniffed. “Smells like twenty-five-year-old Scotch.”
“Don’t drink that.”
With a little shrug, Ackerman sat the bottle down and started fiddling with the controls for the entertainment system.
Marcus asked, “Are you taking this seriously?”
Grabbing a handful of mixed nuts from a tray beside the liquor, Ackerman leaned back and said, “I’m taking it very seriously. If you are holding the door open so we can breathe, couldn’t they just stop the car, roll down the little divider window, and shoot us?”
Marcus considered that for a moment, and then he said, “Here’s what we’ll do. If they start pumping gas, and it’s safe, we’ll jump for it. Then we’ll have the advantage. We’ll have time to get set up before they can come back at us.”
“What if the gas is odorless, and they’ve already activated it?”
“You’re getting on my nerves more than usual today. I just want you to know that.”
“It’s likely a side effect of your self-inflicted head trauma.
“Never mind that. I always keep an extra burner phone on me. We’ll stash it back here, just in case.”
Marcus fished into his jacket to grab the burner phone, but then the limo pulled over to the side of the road, and he heard the front passenger door open and close. They had just picked up another passenger.
The protective glass began to roll down, and Marcus, releasing the door, snatched a hidden pistol from his sleeve and aimed it at the glass. On the other side of the glass waited a muscular man holding a Beretta equipped with a long sound suppressor. The driver stared straight ahead, as if none of this was happening.
Marcus suspected this was the same man Ackerman and Emily had encountered at Willoughby’s. The newcomer’s face was round with a large, overly pronounced chin. His countenance was oddly childlike and menacing at the same time. His nose had clearly been broken on multiple occasions. Scars etched his skin. Some small, perhaps from fighting. Others—surrounding the lower jaw—appeared to be surgical. During his analysis, Marcus also noted the presence of cauliflower ear, a condition often suffered by wrestlers and MMA fighters.
The new passenger said, “So you’re aware, every surface in the rear of the limo is actually coated with a mild neurotoxin. It won’t kill you, but it will render you unconscious and give you a hell of a headache. You both should be asleep within the next thirty seconds, give or take. You wanted to see the Diamond Room. This is how that happens.”
The man with the facial scars and the gun started to roll the window back up, but then he stopped and added, “And, before you pass out, please pull the mat out of the door. It makes this awful buzzing sound up here. Appreciate it, gentlemen.”
Marcus gritted his teeth so hard that he thought he was going to snap them to pieces. They had been thoroughly and completely outplayed. Again.
He said to Ackerman, “Do we stay or do we go?”
“Our new friend wasn’t bluffing. We won’t get far,” Ackerman said. Then, throwing another handful of nuts into his mouth, he added, “I say we sit back and enjoy the ride. Hopefully, this neurotoxin has some psychotropic effects.”