Ded Reckoning (21 page)

Hunter then calls Dee.  She picks up after one ring.  Says, "Hello."

"Dee.  Hunter. Listen carefully ..."

"Where the devil are you?  I've been worried sick.  Have you seen the papers or the TV?  My God, even here you've made the news.  That guy ..."

"Calm down.  Yes, I have.  Now listen.  Check out of the hotel immediately and go find a clothing shop.  Buy a couple of British looking outfits.  Keep checking your six.  Take a taxi, in fact take two or three, to the Cavendish Hotel.  It's in Mayfair, 81 Jermyn Street.  Corner of Duke and Jermyn. I'm already checked in using our Bravo ID.  Go to the desk and ask them to ring your husband and have him come to the lobby to meet you.  Or, if they'll give you a key, come up.  But we want the desk folks to know and remember Ian and Sally Hansford.  And while at the desk have them make dinner reservations for us at their restaurant.  It's the Petrichor or something like that.  Okay?"

"Got it.  I suppose I understand all this mystery.  How long have you been in town?"

"Got here on time.  Thought I was being tailed."  He fabricates his reactions.  "Went through four cabs, two tube rides, one going and one coming back, and a bus and a short walk.  Wasn't anything that I could spot.  Had a feeling.  Keep sensing eyes on me."  The latter two comments not part of his fabrication, but an affirmation of real sensory input.  "We're probably okay, but we, or I, now have some problems.  Get a move on.  We'll talk about the changes when you get here."

"Okay.  See you shortly.  Glad you're okay.  God, I was scared to death."

"Not to worry.  Now, move it."

"Anything in particular?"

Hunter pauses, then says, "You're still at it.  Knock it off."  He hangs up, and calls the hotel's Concierge obtaining a list of the best, the most prestigious cigar shops in the Regents Park, Mayfair area of town.  Memorizes them as he does everything.  Hangs up and waits for Dee to show up and for her to make a show of that.

 

 

Mary Kate sobs uncontrollably as she and Sean listen to her Uncle Mike tell them the bad news.  Her father is missing.  Reported kidnapped although Muldoon thinks something is astir or afoul.  And that Patrick Shanahan was killed, no accident.  Perhaps by the police but most likely by a man named Hunter Kerrigan who was a friend of the girl targeted.  Sean holds Mary Kate firmly, consoling her while gritting his teeth and suppressing his own emotions.  Tears, both of sorrow and anger, hate.

The O'Rourke lass can't stop and her uncle is not helping by prancing about the room, red-faced and swearing.  Hurling threats aimed at the police, the Kerrigan man and whoever they are that took his brother.  And also toward Muldoon for not killing everyone involved.  Of course, that's not possible.  Not yet.  The news is fresh and unclear.  Not absolute.  A lot of speculation from the American press and that aspect jumped upon by some daily, scandal oriented rags here.  But, no pictures of the Kerrigan man.

In due course, Sean is successful in calming Mary Kate and guides her to her room to rest, perhaps sleep.  He tells her, "I'll be back later to see you.  I need to see my brother and my mum."

Mary Kate sniffles, "Oh, Good Lord, your brother.  I was thinking only of me self.  I'm sorry, Sean.  Oh Jesus, Joseph and Mary."  Her sniffles start again and quickly turn into sobs as she mumbles,   "Of course, me love, of course.  Go."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yes, and no.  I will be better when you return to me."

Sean leans over as she lies on the quilted spread on her bed.  Brushes his lips upon hers and says, "Rest.  Sleep.  I'll be back shortly, and before I leave I'm goin' let your Uncle Mike know where we stand.  I stand.  Is it right by you?"

"Yes, Sean.  'Tis right by me."

He gets up from where he has been sitting next to her on the bed and allows her hand to slip from his as he turns and leaves the room.

In the living room, Sean says to the uncle, "Sir, it is perhaps the wrong time, but as I was going to ask Mary Kate's father, your dear brother, I'd be wantin' to court her, proper like. As a result I be asking you.  But understand, first I must be with my brother and my mum.  Then to see Muldoon.  And then a duty to perform.  Do you understand, sir, and do I have your permission?"

"Aye, I understand and ya do.  Now get along.  I will be seein' you and Muldoon me self at the pub."  He nods.  Offers his hand.  They shake.

Sean nods and leaves.  Once down the flight of stairs and onto the street, he begins to jog toward his home.  Fists clenched, and his teeth not clinched only because of the need to breathe as he picks up the pace.  However, the tears do flow now that he's alone.

 

 

Muldoon sits at his usual table in the far corner of the pub.  His massive hand wrapped tightly around his pint.  His other forged into a fist.  His pit-bull son across from him.  Silent, brooding and beet-faced.  Veins throbbing with every angry heartbeat.

The father hisses, hatred dripping from every word like venom from an asp. "My source called again.  The press is saying that this Kerrigan man chased and killed our own Paddy Shanahan.  He says the police and Feds are saying nothing of much."

His son, Conor blurts, "Let me go and ..."

"Shut your face, Conor.  I'll be doin' the talkin' and thinkin' here.  Like I was sayin' ..."  

"Bellowing be more like it."

Muldoon, the Irish father in him, and the PIRA leader as well, backhands his son across the face.  Conor rocks back in his chair, tipping over his pint on the table.  The empty pewter mug roles off the table and rattles on the floor.

"I said shut your chops, and I mean just that, lad.  Now then, as I was sayin', they found Mickey's body floating in the bay.  In that filthy bay in that far away city. Damn.  DAMN.  There will be blood let for this, I swear on all the Saints."

Conor is quiet, having been severely admonished.  He recovers his mug but has no ale to cool his overheated radiator.

Both turn and look at the same time towards the commotion at the door of the pub.

The Shanahan brothers have arrived, along with Mike O'Rourke, and are stalking toward the table like hungry lions on the hunt.

 

CHAPTER 15

 

"Flank your adversary when possible

and protect yours.

Don't drop your guard."

Two gunfighters' rules

 

 

Rocco says, "Sweetheart, go soak in the tub and relax.  I have another call to make.  Then we will go out and splash some paint on this town.  Show off another of your new outfits.  We will have to leave tomorrow.  The boss says."

"Oh, Rocco, my love.  I will do as you ask.  But, I could live here forever."  She raises her eyebrows, and smiles.  "But only with you."  She pushes herself off the bed and saunters, naked, to the bathroom.  She dips her head and rotates it, eyes focused on Rocco's, and says, "Only with you.  But, do what you must.  I will soak until you call me," then after another two steps, again turns her head, peeks over her shoulder and smiles, "or until you come join me."  She gives Rocco an inviting waggle of her hips, closes the bathroom door behind her.

He stares at the closed door.  Erotic visions racing across his mind.  Then, when he hears the water running, it rinses him back to reality. He moves to the phone and calls an associate in Palermo telling him where this woman, Chiarin Romeo Russo, lives.  Rocco informs his friend what he must know and instructs it done by this evening.  His confederate on the other end of the line groans, and mumbles, complaining.  Rocco interrupts the whining, "This is not a request.  This is an order.  Do it."  Then in a warmer tone, Rocco closes by telling him not to call him, that he will call back this evening.  Then adds, "You will be well rewarded, my friend
.
 
Grazie
."  

When he finishes the call the water is no longer running.  He can only hear Adrianna singing an aria from Puccini's,
La Boheme
.  Her voice is strong and good.  But, as in everything, there is a gap between good and professional.  However, Rocco believes she is capturing Mimi's plight.  

He strolls out onto the balcony.  Dwells a moment or two on what his boss, Roberto Catalano, might be up to, then dismisses the thought.  
I do what I'm told and
what I must.  Life is good for me.  Not so for Bruno.  He didn't listen.
 

Then says aloud, "A soak will be good in the bath oils, and Adrianna will make it even better."

Rocco knows the time in the bath will make him forget Pisces, but not for long.  But for the moment to be sure.

 

 

Dee arrives at The Cavendish and makes more of a splash than the front desk clerks bargain for, and they react by ensuring the dinner reservation and presenting her with a key to her husband's room.  Anything to rid themselves of the "lady".  They maintain their British reserve for longer than most, but the indignant Sally Hansford has gotten the best of their English steadfastness.  When Dee, Sally to them, leaves the desk for the elevator, one clerk whispers to the other, "Poor Mr. Hansford.  Seems like such a nice chap.  A gentleman he is."

The other replies, "She's a ruddy bitch."

Once at the room, Sally Hansford inserts the key, unlocks the door and pushes it open.  She picks up her briefcase in her right hand.  Enters the room with her clothing bag slung over her left shoulder, bulky and heavier from her shopping trip.  She feigns staggering under the load.   Finds Hunter, or her husband for the moment, Ian, slouched in a chair next to the phone offering no help.

He smiles, and carrying a grin says, "Ah, Lady Sally.  Cheers.  Rest your tush.  Put down your bag and briefcase before you wilt.  And relax your weary British bones."

"Hunter, you ..."

"Ta, ta.  It's Ian, dear.  Ian Hansford from Manchester.  You need to remember that.  Gad, we've been together for years. I take it this Hunter chap is your lover, or some such understanding?"

"You wish, or better, we can start that arrangement here."

"I knew it the moment I said it.  My mistake.  Again, not a chance.  Now then, put things up.  Sit.  Would you care to have something sent up, or will water do?"

"Water's fine.  Give me a minute or two."  Sally Hansford goes about emptying the outfits out of the bag and hangs them in the closet.  Pushes his one suit, one shirt and slacks to the side, then kicks off her shoes and takes the briefcase into the bathroom.  Within minutes she's back, a bit refreshed but still with a crabby look on her face.  Her opening remark is a clear indication of her frame of mind.

"Tell me again why we're here, and not where we were supposed to be."

Hunter does.  Same story about the tail.

"Bull-pucky.  If you're going to stick to that, fine.  Okay.  Here's one for you."  She plants her hands on her hips and steps directly in front of Hunter.   "Tell me what the hell my sister was doing visiting you at the guest house."  She pauses, staring at him waiting for an answer.  When one doesn't come immediately, she snaps, "Well?" Folds her arms beneath her heaving breasts.  "This ought to be good."

"Well, I was hoping you weren't aware of that.  Embarrassing but innocent.  At least on my part."

"I don't care what's embarrassing and what's not.  I doubt innocence on either part."   She keeps her arms as is but now begins to rock back and forth.  "What was she doing there?  Better yet what were the two of you doing there?"

Hunter says, "Dee, she came to make a pass at me.  I wasn't having any of that and calmed her down and explained it had nothing to do with her.  That I was on a job and didn't have time nor the longing to get involved.  Same as I told you.  It's no different.  So, get over whatever is buggin' you.  Besides, if you knew she was there, you knew she wasn't in the place long enough for anything to happen anyway."

Dee, now having found a chair, shifts uneasily in the seat.  She takes a long, slow drink of the iced water, glaring at Hunter over the top of the glass. Finished, she places the glass down wittingly on an adjacent table.  Exhales audibly and says, "Well, okay.  I suppose you're right.  I mean about the length of time."  She pauses, "But you give me twenty minutes alone with you in any room, much less a bedroom, something will happen."  She looks intently at Hunter.  "You're not that ... what was the word, innocent."  She stands, then immediately plops back down in the chair.  Tilts her head to one side.  "Do you have an interest in her?"

"No.  Nor you.  How many times do I have to tell you?  This is business.  A damn nasty business.  You should know.  If I hear this subject from you again, or anything close to it, I'm sendin' your butt back.  And remember that, because we will be in this room alone, together, and perhaps others before this is over."  He stands, then says,   "Now let's talk about what we need to do.  In London."

"Fair enough.  What?"

He tells her that they will check out Pisces' former flat, and also talk to the other tenants if possible. And to the leasing manager if he's about.  He tells her the next step will depend on what, if anything they find.  If nothing, he explains they will eat dinner here, or leave and go elsewhere but will make enough of a scene to be noticed and remembered.  Lady Hansford and her timid English husband.  Then says, "Later you make arrangements for us to depart for Pisa, via Geneva and Rome."

Dee nods.  "Is that it?"

"Yep."

They finish their water and leave together after each makes a quick wardrobe change.  One in the bedroom, one in the loo.  A couple, visiting London.  The English gentleman and the proper bitch, accents included.  

 

 

Agent Ryder, sits on the edge of his desk, glances at Detective Bradovich, then stands and walks behind his desk.  Takes his habitual warm and friendly stance by thrusting his hands into both pockets, back to the window that overlooks downtown San Diego with the bay in the background.  "I've been ordered to conduct this press conference and level with these folks.  More or less level.  Facts as we know them.  Your people okay with that, Gene?"