Lethal People: A Donovan Creed Crime Novel (27 page)

“They’re both related,” Lou said.

“Enlighten me with the short version.”

“Victor was born with serious respiratory problems. About twenty years ago, he was in the hospital for a minor surgery when a nurse gave him an accidental overdose that put him into cardiac arrest. Someone wheeled him into an elevator on the way to emergency surgery and somehow managed to leave him there. Up and down he went from floor to floor in the elevator for more than thirty minutes before someone realized what had happened. They rushed him to the OR, but the surgeon botched the procedure and Victor su
ff
ered a stroke. Subsequent attempts to save his life rendered him a quadriplegic.

“Then the hospital made a feeble attempt to cover up the incident. Victor’s attorneys sued both the hospital and the drug company and managed to win the largest settlement ever paid to an individual in the state of Florida. After being released from the hospital, Victor’s parents placed the proceeds from the lawsuit into Berkshire Hathaway stock. By the time he was of legal age, he was worth more than a hundred million dollars. By then, his parents were dead, and he surrounded himself with the best financial people money could buy. He became a venture capitalist, funded several internet startups that hit the big time.”

“How big?”

“We’re talking close to a billion dollars at this point. Beyond his incredibly sophisticated computer system, state-of-the-art apartment, and cutting-edge electronics that have allowed him to function at the highest possible level, he had nothing else upon which to spend his wealth.”

“The doctor that severed his spinal cord,” I said.

“Baxter Childers,” Lou said.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have motive,” I said.

CHAPTER 35

T
ourists are often surprised to learn the true size of Little Italy. The entire area runs only three or four blocks along Mulberry Street, between Canal and Houston.

One of the cross streets is Hester, where Café Napoli has been in business more than thirty years. It’s open eighteen hours a day, beginning at 9:00 am. Victor had called in a favor and got us a table an hour before the breakfast crowd.

“Thank … you for … com … ing,” Victor said. He did have the dreadlocks Sal Bonadello told me about, and they grew long and filthy and hung down the sides and back of his body like thick ropes of dust. Were he able to stand erect, at least two of the strands would drag the floor. I wondered if they ever got caught in the spokes of his wheelchair.

Speaking of which, his wheelchair was incredibly high tech. I had no idea what bells and whistles it contained, but it seemed to have enough electronics on board to launch the space shuttle. It looked like something you’d find in the distant future. The back was enclosed and swept in an arc over his head, where it attached to a sort of roll bar that was at least an inch thick.

Victor moved his index finger on a touch pad, and several small computer screens silently retracted from the roll bar and positioned themselves at various angles about a foot in front of his head. Though I couldn’t view any of the screens from my position, one of them must have displayed a digital clock, because Victor glanced up at it and said, “Time … is limi … ted so … we should … get … star … ted.”

He wore a long-sleeved navy warm-up suit with three vertical white stripes on one side of the jacket. It was very expensive looking, probably hand-tailored, which made me realize how hard it must be for little people of limited means to find clothing. It’s one of those things you wouldn’t think about until you find yourself in this type of situation.

We were in the main dining area, where the walls were brick and covered with pictures and other memorabilia from Italy. Our table was larger than the others, but they all had white, floorlength tablecloths and small vases with colorful fake flower arrangements.

Hugo had been standing when I arrived, and he continued to stand. I wondered about that until I realized he didn’t have a choice. The table and chairs were too tall to properly accommodate him. So he stood and glared at me.

I nodded at him. “Hugo,” I said.

I saw a flash of dark yellow and realized Hugo had bared his teeth at me. If intense staring could cause a person to explode, I was doomed.

A young man approached us and said, “The kitchen’s not open yet, but I can bring you a pot of co
ff
ee and a bagel or pastry if you wish.”

“No liver?” Hugo snarled, without taking his eyes o
ff
me. I suddenly realized what made his stare so intimidating: he never blinked. In fact, he hadn’t blinked once since I’d arrived.

The server seemed confused. “I’m not a waiter. I’m just a busboy, so I don’t know the menu very well. I can probably scrounge up some lox or cream cheese.”

No one said anything, so I said, “I think we’ll just talk, but thanks for the o
ff
er.” Then I thought of something and added, “Could you remove the flowers?” I didn’t think Victor would put a bug in the flower arrangement, but why take a chance?

The busboy left with the flowers, and I started things o
ff
. To Hugo, I said, “You know, for a spiritual adviser, you’re pretty pugnacious.”

“Fuck you!” he screamed.

I shrugged. I was beginning to get used to the unblinking stare. To Victor, I said, “Do you need to frisk me? Make sure I’m not wearing a wire or tape recorder?”

Victor said, “Not … neces … sary. I … scanned … you … already.” He lifted his head slightly to indicate the screens.

I didn’t believe for a minute that he had the ability to scan me or he would have mentioned the gun I’d taped to the small of my back.

Victor said, “Just … don’t … reach for … the gun … behind … you.” Then he said, “Hu … go will … do most … of the … talking … for ob … vious … reasons.”

“That’s fi ne,” I said, wondering what else his wheelchair could do. “So tell me: how did you hijack the spy satellite?”

“That’s proprietary,” Hugo snapped. “Military experiment. Need-to-know basis only.”

“Yeah, well I need to know,” I said. “I’ve been ordered to find the people who breached the satellite’s computer system, and kill them. I’m asking you nicely here, but this is nonnegotiable.”

Hugo sneered at me as if I were an insect. “Is that a threat?”

I sighed. “I came here hoping to strengthen our relationship, but if it’s not to be, I can always just snap your necks.”

Hugo still hadn’t blinked, but he turned to face Victor. “May I approach?” he asked. Victor nodded. Hugo unzipped Victor’s jacket. Victor’s entire torso was covered with explosives.

I tried to act una
ff
ected, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. But I don’t think I fooled anyone. Still, I pressed on. “Where’s the detonator?”

Hugo looked down at the table. At first I didn’t understand. Then I said, “You’re joking.” I slid my chair back a couple of feet and slowly lifted the tablecloth. There were two midgets under the table. One had a .38 pointed directly into my crotch. The other had a detonator taped to his left hand. His right index finger hovered just above a large red button. I took a deep breath and nodded to the two midgets under the table. “Relax, okay?” I said. Then I put the tablecloth back the way I’d found it.

“Actually,” I said, “I don’t care how you hijacked the satellite. I just want to be able to tell my boss why it won’t happen again.”

“He already knows. They installed a patch to block us.”

“Does it work?”

“It does,” Hugo said. He smiled and added, “For now.”

Victor said, “We … won’t … breach it. I pro … mise.”

I studied my vertically challenged employer a moment. He had a boyish face, made pu
ff
y from what I assumed to be years of drug use. I was about to say something when he suddenly flashed a smile. Not just any smile, or a creepy one, but a full, genuine, winning smile. Encountering it this way, in such an unexpected manner, startled me more than seeing the explosives on his body or the midgets under the table. Victor scrunched up his face in a way that reminded me of kids on a playground, him being the last kid hoping to be chosen for a team, the kid no one wants to pick. Then, in a small, vulnerable voice, he said, “Can we … just … be friends?”

It was an amazing moment to witness, an instant transformation from deadly to helpless. At that moment, he seemed sweet, almost adorable. If Kathleen had been there, I’m sure she would have said, “Aw, how cute.” But Kathleen wasn’t there, and she didn’t have a gun aimed at her crotch.

“Good enough,” I said. “I’ll try to keep my people o
ff
your backs. So what happened to Monica?”

Hugo said, “You know Fathi, the diplomat?”

“Father or son?”

“Both. But the father, the UAE diplomat, we sold Monica to him.”

Victor and Hugo were full of surprises, so why should I have been shocked? But I was. In fact, I was so stunned, I couldn’t think of a sensible question. So instead I said, “Was she alive at the time?”

Hugo laughed. “He wouldn’t have much use for a dead sex slave.”

I tried to wrap my brain around it. “Is she still in the country?”

“Her body is.”

So she was dead after all. Darwin would be pleased. But something still didn’t compute. “You hired me to kill Monica, and I did. Then you tracked me on spy satellite, grabbed her body, brought her back to life, and sold her as a sex slave. Now she’s dead again, right? Well pardon the pun, but that seems like overkill. Why didn’t you just hire me to kidnap her?”

Hugo said there were two reasons. First, it would have been a conflict of interest, since they planned to sell her to terrorists and I’m a counter-terrorist. Second, they wanted to see if they could bring her back to life after a trained assassin had done his best to kill her.

“So I was what, part of a medical experiment?”

“Yes.”

Hugo reminded me that their army of little people included scientists, microbiologists, and specialists in almost every field of research. One of their people had developed a revolutionary antidote to botulinum toxin, and since they had targeted Monica anyway, she would be their first test. They figured I’d give her the most potent injection possible, which I did. If she survived, they’d sell Monica to Fathi. If not, they’d keep working on the antidote.

“And it worked,” I said.

“That is correct. We intend to make one hundred million dollars selling the antidote to the military.”

“Our military?”

“Ours, theirs, whoever.”

“Back to the conflict of interest,” I said. “I’m not comfortable working with you if you’re also working with terrorists.”

Hugo sneered. “That is absurd. Your government works with terrorists every day. They call it infiltration. We do the same. We infiltrate them for our own purposes, which shall not be revealed to you.”

Though my head was swimming, I managed to ask him about the two other targets they wanted me to kill. Hugo said they were part of a social experiment.

“First a medical experiment, now a social experiment.”

Hugo said, “That is correct.”

“Can you give me the Cli
ff
s Notes on that?” I asked. Hugo looked at Victor before answering. Victor nodded. Hugo turned back to me and said, “Victor wishes to understand the true nature of evil. Before you injected Monica, we gave her a chance to name two people who caused her pain in her life. You will kill those two people and get two names from each. Victor believes we all have at least two people who have caused irreparable harm in our lives. You will exact vengeance for all the victims.”