Rico Steele shoved the last bit of his lunch into his mouth and began grinding the hot dog, red onions, and mustard into a fine tasty pulp. He caught the liquid racing down his chin with a napkin and grinned at his partner.
“Food don’t get any better than this,” he said, still chewing. “Street vendors are the best cooks. And for some reason, they taste even better if the wagon happens to be parked over a sewer. Go figure.”
“You got mustard on the steering wheel,” Stone said as Steele pulled to a stop in front of a line of tractor trailers. Both men stared up the wooden stairs at the trailer door. The sign reading D’Elia’s Cartage sent Stone’s mind back to a murder that he and Steele had never managed to get a conviction on. It sent his stomach back to the sight of what the Haitian hit men had done to Franklin Boone just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“You ready to do this?” Steele asked. Stone figured they were both thinking the same things. These boys they were about to confront were a vicious bunch, and they had agreed on a plan calculated to enflame their anger.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Rico. Let’s go make like cops.”
“Yeah,” Steele said, opening his door. “Just remember, when this works, that it was my idea.”
Steele and Stone pulled their coats around themselves and mounted the stairs to the big trailer’s door. It was common for shipping companies to use doublewide mobile homes as offices on site, and Stone knew that the “managers” of this company liked to keep a close eye on their employees. He reached under his coat and loosened his automatic in its holster before pushing the door open.
The interior was furnished and appointed as a real estate office. The front of the trailer was set up as an office, with filing cabinets where the appliances should have been. The orange carpet was paper thin and stained with the dirt and grease of heavy traffic. It was warmer than necessary inside, and the air was so dry that Stone wondered how the three large plants could survive, until he realized that they were artificial. His nose crinkled at the cloud of cigarette smoke. Considering that Stone had been working side by side with a smoker for several years, the smoke had to be thicker than usual. The smoky trail led to a young lady sitting cross-legged on a big chair behind a desk at the front of the trailer.
The woman was as close to the actual color black as Stone had ever seen, and as thin as Steele’s excuses usually were. The cornrows covering her head were so tight that Stone feared they might pull her brains out of her skull. Her skirt was short, her legs crossed, her toenails manicured. She looked at him as if she would allow him only seconds to produce a good excuse for existing.
Instead he asked, “Where’s Dubois?”
“Who you?” the girl countered. “What you want?”
“I want to see Dubois,” Stone repeated. “Where is he?”
The girl put both feet on the floor and turned to face him. She took a long drag on her thin cigarette and blew it out toward Stone. “I don’t know no Dubois. But I hear bad things happens to them what’s looking for him.”
“I don’t have much patience,” Stone said, tightening his gloves on his hands. “And my friend here, he has even less patience.”
On cue, Steele slapped one of the potted plants off its table. It flew across the room and past the girl’s head to smash against the filing cabinets. She dodged to the side and the first shadow of fear passed across her face.
“You see, he’s losing it already,” Stone said. “The next thing he throws could go through that window. Or into your face. Where’s Dubois?”
“What de noise about?” The man asking that question was as dark as the girl and nearly as thin. He strode out of the back of the trailer in jeans and a black tee shirt. Dreadlocks trailed down onto his back and shoulders. “I’m Dubois. Who the hell are you?”
“You’re Dubois?” Steele said. “Sure don’t look like no Cardona boy.”
Stone stepped forward. “Let me introduce myself. I’m the next addition to your payroll. My friend and I, we know about your illegal operations and you’re going to make a major contribution to our retirement funds to keep us from sharing that information.”
Dubois scratched at his cheek and smiled. “Dat’s one possibility. Here go another.” Three men stepped out of the back room behind Dubois. All of them pointed small handguns at Stone and Steele. All were black, all were big, and none wore a smile. “You two jokers might just disappear. Now, what’s wrong with my possibility?”
“Just this.” Stone pulled his left hand out of his coat pocket and flipped open a small wallet. A New York City police badge glinted in the light. “I don’t think you want to start shooting cops at this late date.”
While Dubois stared hard at Stone’s badge, Steele pulled his gun and held it on the three armed men. Stone removed the cushion from the armchair under the windows.
“Now, tell your friends here to put their guns on this chair before my partner gets nervous.”
Dubois nodded, and two of the men put their guns on the chair. The third man hesitated and, for a second, Stone feared he might decide to try to shoot them. Stone’s right hand began to slowly slide beneath his coat.
“No, Didi,” Dubois said, his voice still calm. “You know my rules. We don’t shoot de police. Just put the gun down, man.”
The gunman stared through his sights at Steele who was staring down his chrome barrel at the gunman. Then he clicked on his safety and added his gun to the chair. As he stepped back, Stone dropped the cushion on top of the pistols. Steele returned his focus and aim to Dubois. The obvious boss seemed unmoved.
“So, you a pair of crooked cops looking for a payoff,” Dubois said. “Not the first I met. But what makes you think you got something on me, eh?”
“The details of the murder of Franklin Boone,” Stone said, “and the evidence on the shooter, your shooter, who was let off the hook because one of the investigating officers appeared to be dirty.”
“Shit,” Didi said under his breath.
“We got all the dope from the records of a good source, brother,” Stone continued. “We could cause you no end of trouble, maybe bring your whole operation down, which would probably cause the Cardona mob to terminate your franchise. Lucky for you, we don’t want to do that. We just want our fair share of the income stream. Police retirement isn’t worth much.”
Dubois scratched at his chin, his eyes cutting briefly to Didi, then to the forty-four caliber hole at the end of Steele’s custom revolver. His lips pouted forward in thought.
“Well, then, what do you consider to be your fair share Mr. Policeman?”
Before Stone could answer, the door opened. The man who walked in was big in the usual construction worker way, and black, but his features were not Haitian. He froze when Steele’s gun swung toward him. Steele waved him over to join the others. He slowly raised his hands as he looked to Dubois for instructions.
“Relax, Andre,” Dubois said. “These men won’t really hurt anyone. They are the police.”
“No they ain’t.”
“Oh, yeah we are,” Stone said.
“It ain’t true boss,” Andre said, turning to Dubois. “I know these guys. He’s Rico Steele, and this one’s Mason. People call him Stone.”
“That what it says on my badge,” Stone said, holding it forward again.
“They was cops, but they got kicked off the force a couple of years ago”
“Even if that was true,” Stone said, “it doesn’t change a thing.”
“The hell it don’t,” Dubois said through clenched teeth. “I don’t like being lied to. And I got no good reason to be nice to blackmailers who ain’t on the force no more.”
Dubois nodded his head. Stone heard a thump and spun to see that the girl had brought a big notebook down on Steele’s head. Steele’s gun lowered, and Andre surged forward throwing a hard uppercut into Steele’s chin.
As Steele flipped backward over the desk, the other three thugs surged forward. Stone put one down with a left hook and stopped a second with a hard right cross. But the third man, Didi, smashed a shoulder into Stone’s gut, bearing him down to the floor. The other three fighters moved to pile on but were interrupted by a long shout from Steele, who dived from the desk with enough force to take all three of the others to the floor.
Stone slammed his elbow into the base of Didi’s skull and pushed the thug off his body, then braced to help Steele.
“That’s enough,” Dubois said in his strong Haitian accent. He had recovered two of the guns from under the chair cushions. One was aimed at Stone, the other pointed at Steele’s head.
“Boys, stand up,” Dubois said. “I don’t want my office messed up with all this kind of bullshit. Check them out, and make sure you get all the backup guns, phones and pagers and shit so they can’t be traced. As for you two fake cop wannabe blackmailers, I think we need to renegotiate our arrangement. Don’t you?”
Stone cut his eyes toward Steele. “Your plan.”
Gunny Robinson bowed to no one in his love for a good pizza, but he chewed the crust of his last slice without the usual joy.
Gunny shared a table with Robbie, who had talked nonstop through their lunch. He talked about football, his childhood, his job and the food, betraying no awareness that Gunny was barely listening. Gunny’s attention had shifted from Lorenzo Lucania to ADA Preston and back again in a continuous loop while he wondered what Lucania would do when the moment came. And what would he, Gunny, do?
Preston faced a young black woman across a table. Their food was long since finished, and he had ordered them drinks to continue the conversation. Gunny guessed by her mode of dress that the woman was a prostitute. Perhaps she wanted out of the life and Preston was bargaining for her testimony.
Giovanni’s Pizza and Restaurant was an inspired choice for their lunch. The few lunch patrons were embraced by the scent of garlic and butter, which for most people is homey and comforting. Giovanni’s was informal and very public, being right on the Grand Concourse. These were two things that would put the woman at ease. The fact that it was near the courthouse was certainly to Preston’s convenience.
Yankee Stadium being within easy walking distance might not have impacted Preston’s choice, but it did mean that the place was familiar to Lucania’s crew as well. Gus sat with Lucania just inside the dining room, watched by all the movie stars hanging on the wall. Gunny and Robbie sat at the G-Bar, across the room from Preston and his date. Mike was in the far corner, silently nursing a drink. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch, Gunny thought. He had known a couple of snipers in the corps, the guys who really got the job done. They were like Mike. No bluster, no bravado, just a steely resolve, like robots waiting to be programmed to do what they were created to do with mechanical efficiency.
And what of Lucania? Was he on the road to becoming one of those men?
Gunny glanced out the front of Giovanni’s at the Grand Concourse. The wall of glass panes almost gave the impression of eating at an outdoor café. It felt so open, so public, that anyone would think they were safe from the dark forces there. The only problem was, the dark forces didn’t care.
Preston had been taking notes on a spiral notepad, but now was putting the pad away. He and the girl were apparently exchanging their parting words. She looked worried, but he was working hard to be reassuring. Gunny could imagine him telling her that she was in absolutely no danger. If Lucania was going to make a move, the time was now.
“There’s the signal,” Robbie said. He smiled, nudged Gunny with an elbow, and headed outside. He was an invisible man whom no one would remember seeing as he went to the car. As the door swung closed behind him, Gunny watched Mike stand up and stretch. Finally Lucania stood. His eyes met Gunny’s and he made a funny movement that could have been a shrug of the shoulders. He seemed resigned to his fate.
Mike strolled toward the bar. Lucania moved toward Preston. Gus, in his corner, followed the action with cool detachment. Preston and the girl were unaware of the ballet going on around them. And finally, Gunny stood. He walked toward Preston, ahead of Lucania without acknowledging the man’s existence. Gunny stopped once to push a chair into its table, making Lucania’s walk easier. He walked right past Preston and waited.
Lucania stayed cool as he approached the mark. Gunny could feel his own pulse. He saw no alternative. He turned to face the front of the building, which put his side to Lucania. If Lucania pulled a weapon, Gunny would shove him down and take his chances with the other three. There was no bouncer, but maybe the bartender had a weapon behind the bar. That could occupy Mike until Gunny could whisk Lucania out of there. With luck they would escape a bullet from Gus.
Three paces away from Preston, Lucania slid his automatic from its belt holster. His eyes were on Preston’s temple, ignoring Gunny. Two seconds from murder.
“Freeze!” The voice came from the door. All eyes turned in that direction. Gunny watched the small-framed girl in a fawn pantsuit striding toward Lucania. Lucania saw her over his right shoulder but could not spin around without showing his pistol. However, the woman was fishing for something in her purse and because of that she was unintentionally showing hers. At that moment her gun was easily accessible. For an hour he had been preparing himself mentally to fire, but he was not ready for a gun fight.
Gunny saw confusion on Mike’s face, but none of their crew moved. The woman marched past Lucania, gave Gunny a dirty look, and stopped beside Preston. She pulled a badge holder from her pocket and shoved it in front of Preston’s puzzled expression.
“Kings County?” he asked. “What do you want with me and why are you interrupting my lunch?”
“Come now, Mr. Preston. You know the trouble you’re in, and so do these gentlemen, obviously government types moving into my territory.”
The entire restaurant hushed as if the patrons were holding their collective breath. The young woman glared her arrogance at Preston for a moment, as if waiting for someone to speak. Lucania managed to pocket his weapon in those brief seconds before the Asian woman looked up at Gunny. “And you are?”
After a brief pause that could have been cause by confusion or just as easily embarrassment, Gunny said, “FBI, ma’am.”
Chastity smirked. “You ain’t in charge.” Gunny held his straight face and cut his eyes toward Lucania. She followed his eyes. “You, huh? Are we going to have a turf battle here?”
Lucania took a deep breath, but his voice did not shake. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re damned right we won’t,” Chastity said. Then she waved toward the door to the kitchen as if signaling a confederate to stand down. “The county has jurisdiction on this case, and I’m taking the subject into custody right now.” Then she turned a gentler tone toward the seated man. “I had hoped to do this without making a scene, Mr. Preston, but I didn’t count on these guys trying to get involved.”
“I don’t understand,” Preston said.
“Don’t worry,” Chastity said in a softer tone. “We’ll look out for you. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.” Then she winked at the woman on the other side of the table and gave Lucania a hard stare.
“We need to file a report, boss,” Gunny said.
“Right,” Lucania said. “Let’s move, team.”
Gunny jogged through the door with Lucania right behind him. Mike followed, his brows still clenched in confusion. Ten yards from the restaurant Gunny stopped as their car screeched to a halt in front of them. Mike stopped behind him with Gus on his heels, still fingering his weapon.
“Now what?” Mike asked as they dived into the car.
“Stick to the plan,” Lucania said over the squeal of their tires when Robbie hit the accelerator. “We’ve got to be long gone before that bitch thinks to contact the FBI to ask who we are.” Then he turned to face Gunny. “That was quick thinking back there, man. And thanks. If you hadn’t spoken up when you did she might have gotten suspicious enough to ask for our ID. Then things could have gotten ugly, since I know she saw my piece. You might have just saved my life.”
Gunny thought so too, but not in the way Lucania meant.
Steele and Stone shared the loveseat against the wall of Dubois’ office. Steele sat with his head hanging down, his mouth set in a grim line, staring up at the boys who just kicked his ass. The boys were milling about the room. Dubois sat in the armchair across the room. He was comfortable, since the boys had recovered their guns and, at any given time, one or two of them was pointed at Steele and Stone. Their own guns were on the front desk, on top of their coats, along with their cell phones and Stone’s pocket tape recorder. While Stone stared at his piece like it was a girlfriend someone had stolen from him, the thin girl scuffed her way out of the back of the trailer with beers for each of the black men, except Stone of course. After handing out the beers she took up station at her desk again and picked up the chrome Smith and Wesson.
“Careful with that,” Steele called. “It’s customized and damned touchy.”
The girl ran a finger along the long barrel in a way that made every man in the room wish he were a revolver. “Guns is sexy,” she said. “At least, this kind is. But what’s with the holes in the top of the barrel up here at the end?”
“It’s magnaported,” Steele said. “Those slots send some of the gasses up and out when I fire. That reduces the muzzle climb, so I can get back on target faster.”
“Fancy toy for a cop,” Dubois said. He was smoking, but had switched to a greener tobacco and held the smoke deep in his lungs before releasing it. Then he wandered over to the table and picked up the pocket recorder. “And you was planning on recording our conversation I see. Also illegal, inadmissible in court. Again, odd behavior for a cop. But then, you ain’t a cop, are you? You ain’t even a wannabe. You a used-to-be. Is that right?”
“The whole force will be looking for us if we disappear,” Stone said, “just as if we were still active on the force. Once a cop, always a cop.”
“They got no friends on the force,” Andre said, kneeling down beside Dubois and accepting the passed joint. “These hotshots didn’t have no friends in Manhattan South before they got turned out. Real hot dogs they was.”
While Andre took his toke Stone said, “Well, which is it, son? Were we hot shots or hot dogs?”
Andre passed the joint to the next man. “They broke too many rules and made too many busts and basically pissed too many people off. I heard they was on the force for more than a dozen years when the shit got thick.”
“Oh yeah?” Dubois said. “I bet the white boy got caught getting rough with one of the brothers. Or maybe one of the sisters.”
The floor was hard under Stone’s ass, and the smell of the grass was irritating his nose. “I never hit a crook who didn’t deserve it.”
“No, man, it was the money that got them,” Andre said. “Got greedy, just like now.”
“What happened?” Dubois asked.
Andre swallowed half his beer. “It was a big drug bust. They brought in the pushers, but the next day, half the drug money up and disappeared. Everybody knew they took it, but from what I heard it was hard to prove. I heard that internal affairs was chasing them around pretty hard.”
Dubois laughed hard. “You saying they got kicked off the force?”
Andre shook his head. “They both quit before they could get thrown in jail. I heard they doing P.I. work now.”
“They still crooked,” Dubois said, standing. “They come in here trying to muscle in on my business. What I wants to know is, how they get onto me.”
“We read the tea leaves,” Steele said with a smirk.
“You a funny man,” Dubois said. “Didi?”
Didi stepped forward and bent to press his gun’s muzzle against Steele’s right knee. Steele waved his hands wildly.
“Hey! Whoa! What the hell? It was the lawyer! Jesus!”
Didi leaned back, but Dubois moved closer.
“A lawyer put you on me?”
“Check the tape,” Stone said with a bored expression. “You think we only tape losers like you?”
Curious, Dubois pressed the play button. He listened to Steele’s voice first, saying, “…you tell us the name of the contact person at each of the businesses you’re so cozy with. We explain the new vision of the world to them, and they share their ill-gotten gains with us. They get protection from the information you let us have, and you continue your business setup. Take D’Elia’s Cartage Company. You give me the man you work with over there, and we’ll take it from there.”
Dubois said, “You was trying to hustle him.”
But then came Jerome’s voice saying, “Yeah…I’ll give you the people over at D’elia’s Cartage, they’re cold blooded killers. They’ve avoided prosecution for years because they’ll do whatever it takes to stay in business.”
That was followed by Stone’s voice saying, “They could come after you.”
Jerome’s next words were, “If I go down, I’ll take a lot of them with me. If you really saw the evidence I have in my records, you already know that.”
“That bastard,” Dubois shouted, hurling the recorder across the room. “He was selling us out. How the hell did you get onto him in the first place?”
“It was easy,” Stone said. “We were following up on the Boone case.”
“Hey, Didi,” Dubois said, accepting the joint back at last. “They was looking at your case.”
“Really?” Stone said. “You must have started young, Didi. And you got out of doing time because of some falsified evidence of improper procedure on the part of the arresting officer. It took a while, but the false evidence finally led us back to your defense attorney.”
“Yeah,” Steele put in, “so we went to visit the little weasel. With a little persuasion, Jerome opened up like a ripe melon.”
“He gave you up to save his own skin,” Stone said.
“Yep, he folded after a little light pressure,” Steele added, grinning. “What a wimp. Then he offered us the deal,”
“Shut up.” Stone dug an elbow into Steele’s ribs.
“The deal was his idea?” Dubois asked. When no answer came forth, he pointed at Stone, and Didi moved his pistol to Stone’s right knee.
After five seconds of silence, Stone sighed. “Look, he told us you like to play it safe, no cop killing, no gunning down every possible leak. He thought you’d fold for protection money easy if we came in like cops, as long as we kept the amount reasonable. He gave us the details and the leads for a cut of our take.”
Dubois spun and slammed a fist into the wall. “He set me up, that little bitch. Taking my retainer every damn month, and he does this to me?”
“He need to die,” Didi said.
“Yeah he does,” Dubois said, pacing past his other men. “He knows too much about my whole operation. But, damn. Nobody looking for us now. Can’t go around taking out lawyers.” Dubois finally put the joint back in his mouth, popped a Bic lighter, sucked the joint down to a tiny roach and dropped it on the floor. He looked up to say more to Didi when Steele spoke.
“You let us go, and I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Shut up,” Stone said. “We’re not crossing that line.”
“Wake up, Stone,” Steele said, shoving his partner’s shoulder. “We ain’t cops and we ain’t lawyers and these guys are getting ready to drop us in the East River. We need to make some friends in here.”
“And you’re going to do that by putting that cannon of yours down Jerome’s throat?”
“Shut up,” Dubois said. Steele and Stone turned to watch him stroll over to the desk and pick up Steele’s revolver. “You said this gun is a custom job?”
“From scratch,” Steele said. “Custom sights, custom action, trigger job, the works.”
“One of a kind,” Dubois said to himself. “So no ballistics could trace a bullet from this gun back to me or my boys. But I got the gun. What I need with you?”
“You need me because none of your crew would ever get within range of Jerome. He expects to see me.”
Dubois paced back to the two detectives, nodding his head as if weighing his options. He held Steele’s gun by its barrel. Steele felt the Haitian eyes burning into him, one more lying white man. Steele sat up straighter and tried to look trustworthy.
“You know, I think I will let you do this thing,” Dubois finally said. “And I will let you go, after it’s done. But I don’t think I trust you, crooked ex-cop. And besides, I want to see the lawyer go down.”
“You want to watch?” Steele asked. “Fine by me, as long as we go free after Jerome is dead.”
Dubois smiled a crooked smile, his teeth very white against his dark skin. “You can get close to him. After you do, you’ll get me in too, me and maybe a couple of my friends here. Then I can watch you put the dog down.”
Steele grinned back at Dubois, afraid on some level that he had inhaled enough of the dope smoke to get a contact high. “Well, if I’m on the team now, think I could get one of them beers?”
The powder blue MX-5 pulled into a parking space in an uptown parking garage. Chastity Chiba continued her conversation on her cell phone while she set the emergency brake and shut down the car.
“Yes, the homing device worked fine, G. I had no trouble finding him. And you were right. A little bluster and a simple lie were all it took to put an end to the assassination attempt. And after I explained the deal to Preston, he agreed to keep mum and lower his profile for a while. But I wish you had told me this Lucania character had backup. I could have been topped by the cover man.”
“Hey, I didn’t know the plan,” Gorman said over the phone. “All Gunny told me was that he would be on hand and that the hit was set for today. I’m glad you were able to step in.”
“Yeah,” Chastity said, getting out of the car. “I’d hate to see our big boy involved in the murder of an assistant district attorney. And I hope he’s got a good story so no one figures out he’s the reason the murder didn’t take place.”
“Did he see you?”
“He sure did, G,” Chastity said, getting into the elevator. “Heard every word I said.”
“Then he knows enough to come up with a good cover story,” Gorman said. “Are you positioned to continue with the other plan?”
“Yes sir,” she said as the elevator stopped. “In fact, I’m about to start the fun part now.”
Chastity dropped her telephone into her bag just before she walked into Dr. Benson’s office. She used a very different stride passing the receptionist than she had when she approached as detective Kwan. The receptionist jumped in her seat when Chastity raised her right foot and kicked open the door to Benson’s inner office.
The door slammed against the wall behind it, revealing Dr. Benson at his desk and a female patient on the lounge to the right. Chastity walked in, stopped in the center of the floor and raised an arm to point at the patient.
“Get out,” Chastity said. “It’s about to get ugly in here.”
Chastity was smaller and shorter than the patient, but her voice carried the kind of authority that few can ignore. The woman gathered her purse and headed for the door.
“Close it behind you,” Chastity said, and again the woman obeyed. By then, Benson was on his feet.
“Who the hell are you?” Benson asked. “What’s the meaning of this? You can’t just come barging in here like this?”
“I’m a very sick woman,” Chastity replied, opening her purse, “and I’m here to deliver a message. First, of course, I need to get your attention.” Chastity pulled her tiny Baretta out of her handbag and pointed it at Dr. Benson’s face. Benson sat, and got very pale. She walked slowly toward his desk, until the muzzle of her automatic was an inch away from Benson’s nose.
She could see that Benson was fighting to get control of his breathing. In his panic she was sure he did not recognize her, and might not put the two Japanese women together in his mind until well after she left, which was fine with her. He tried to make eye contact and probably was working to remember whatever medical school had taught him about dealing with lunatics.
“All right, young lady, you have my complete attention,” he said, with only the slightest waver in his voice. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”
“First, let me set the stage a little better,” Chastity said. With her left hand she slid two photographs out of her purse. One was her favorite of Marty and Francine getting physical. The other was a close-up of one page of Amy Brooks’ patient record. She let Benson stare at them for a few seconds, so he would have no doubt what they were.
“Now the message,” she said over the tiny front sight of her pistol. “Francine Brooks cannot win a divorce settlement from her husband. She can’t win because of the photo on your left, clear proof of her infidelity. More importantly to you, if she goes to court, the judge will receive the photo on your right, along with several others proving conclusively that you prompted and elicited Amy Brooks’ testimony of child abuse, which is a total fabrication. This I believe would end your career.”
Benson nodded his head, and watched the pistol follow his nose up and down. “May I ask why this is an issue for you?”
That was gutsy, Chastity thought. It deserved an answer. “Clearly, Francine Brooks failed to tell you how well connected her husband is. There are people who don’t want him dragged into a divorce court.”
“People?”
“Yes,” Chastity said, hopping to slide her left hip onto the desk. “The people who hire people like me to deliver a message, and sometimes to bring unhappiness to those who fail to get the message. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Benson said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Simple. You will initiate no further contact with Francine or Amy Brooks. If Mrs. Brooks contacts you, you will explain that you can no longer help her, and you will encourage her to find another therapist for Amy. One who will be interested in actually helping her.”
Benson was calmer now, and Chastity sensed that negotiations and clear rules put him in his comfort zone.
“And if I do as you say, this all goes away for me?”
“Yes,” Chastity said. “You’re in the clear, and nobody ever sees those unpleasant patient records. Unless of course you try this kind of crap with another patient.”
“All right,” Benson said, daring a small smile. “I’d say your message has been successfully delivered. You can take that gun out of my face now.”
Chastity felt her hatred of this lizard rising. In some ways he was worse than that lowlife Marty. Marty was only operating on a base level of selfishness. Benson was operating on a higher level of evil sophistication. He felt he was getting away scott-free and would surely try this kind of stunt again.
“One thing remains,” Chastity said, leaning closer to him. “I need to be sure I’ve sealed the message into your brain.”
Chastity pushed her gun an inch closer, so that it rested on the bridge of Benson’s nose, between his crossing eyes. While the cold steel held his complete attention, she raised her left hand. Her fingertips came together as a single point. She thrust that point, very quickly into the cleft just above the center of Benson’s collarbone. His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open, but only gasping, choking sounds came out. His hands went to his throat, almost as if he were strangling himself. The noise grew louder the whole time Chastity was putting her gun away and turning to leave. At the door she turned back to face him.
“You won’t forget me now, will you, doc?” Benson shook his head. She stepped out of his inner office and again walked past the receptionist.
“You call the police yet?” she asked the girl. The receptionist nodded her head as Chastity left the office. Chastity was feeling a wave of euphoria as she walked out of Benson’s office. This was one villain who may have been scared straight for good. She wondered what kind of story he’d give the police.
Back in his own inner office, Paul Gorman sat at his desk watching threatening clouds moving in over the city. His windows admitted enough light for him to see all he needed to see: his coffee cup, the big clock on his wall, and his yellow pad. The aroma of fresh coffee helped Gorman come closer to being relaxed. The clock ticked loudly enough for him to hear in the silence, adding order to his universe. The pad was littered with scribbles and circles that would appear random to anyone else. To Gorman, it was just one more way to try to force the universe into an orderly pattern. His focus was not broken when the telephone rang. He merely switched it from one point to another. He was prepared for news from one of his operatives, or to have another long conversation with Hassan about expenses and how they affected their specific mission.
“B.B.I.”
“Hi, Paul. Are you all alone there?”
“Hello, Patsy dear.” How oddly wonderful that just hearing her voice could still drain the tension from him and bring a smile to his grizzled face. “Is it so odd for me to answer the phone all by myself? What’s up?”
“Well, I was a little worried, that’s all. Not ’he’s been shot’ worried like I used to be sometimes. But you left so early and, well, I just wanted to check in and see that you made it to the office okay.”
“Honey, I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Gorman said, his eyes straying to the clock. “Some of the kids might be in kind of tight spots and…”
“Paul? Is that another line ringing?”
“Yeah, baby,” Gorman said. “I’ve really got to take this.”
“Go, honey. But keep me in the loop, okay? I love you.”
Gorman sucked up all of her warmth he could before breaking the connection. “And I love you right back, baby.” Then he pushed the button that switched him to the second line.
“Hello, G. Chiba here. I’ve just left Dr. Benson’s office. He agreed to cooperate.”
“Of course he did,” Gorman said. “I know that you asked him nicely.” He knew that Chastity reveled in the role of being his blunt instrument, much as her imagined father was for the British Secret Service.
“Sir, do you have my next destination?”
“Yes,” Gorman nodded, sipping hot coffee and scanning his notes. “Brooks has gone back to the hospital for his follow-up this afternoon. That’s the best place for this anyway. Are you good with all this? Any trouble with the rest of the plan? You’re a pretty important component in the day’s proceedings.”
“I appreciate that, G, and of course I can handle it,” Chastity said, with a grating amount of bravado. “But I have done a lot of running today and I’m wondering how I got so lucky.”
Gorman added coded marks to his yellow pad while he talked. “Simple. Gunny’s breaking with the mark, after which I need him to report here in person. And both Steele and Stone are in a situation. You’re the linchpin right now, kid.”
“Thank you for trusting me with all this,” Chastity said. “You know I won’t let you down. But I couldn’t help but notice there was a name you didn’t mention.”
“You’re right,” Gorman said softly. Now, if he only knew the whereabouts of Ruby Sanchez.