Notorious (28 page)

T
he midtown restaurant had
recently received a third star from Michelin and was normally impossible to get into, but Evan Diamond had called ahead. He'd been tipping the maître d' for years with a heavy hand, but that wasn't what got him the primo table, one of the nice round ones along the windows that faced onto Fifty-first Street. All he had to do was mention Atari's name. Goddamn thug could get any table he wanted in any restaurant in the entire goddamn city. But what was he thinking—Atari was his friend now, his meal ticket.

The paparazzi were three deep outside when Alexei pulled the Mercedes up to the curb.

“Crap, look at this,” Diamond said. “He expects Bo to walk into this shit? Bo's gonna turn around and run in the opposite direction.”

As usual, Alexei said nothing, and only looked at him steadily in the rearview mirror.

“You have everything you need?” Diamond asked.

An inclining of the head, barely a nod.

“Just make sure it's permanent. A lot of people are gonna come looking for her. She needs to stay gone.”

“Will not be problem,” Alexei said. His voice, on the rare occasions when he spoke, was low and hoarse, rusty from lack of use.

“No?” Evan asked.

“She is bent. Cops know this. They are happier when she is dead because a problem disappears.”

“Very astute analysis. I hope you're right. You'll remember to park this car where we agreed and use that one Bo got us. It's waiting for you in Brooklyn where I showed you on the map.”

“Of course,” Alexei said, annoyed.

Diamond looked in the rearview mirror and straightened his tie. Time for the close-up. Alexei was efficient and experienced and didn't want any instruction beyond what he'd already been given. He was also somebody who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut, as Diamond well knew. This wouldn't be the first time he'd entrusted Alexei with this type of sensitive task.

Diamond nodded crisply at Alexei as he pushed open the car door. Outside, he gave a jaunty wave to the paparazzi, relishing the sizzle and pop of the cameras as he plowed toward the door of the restaurant. With a crowd like this lingering, Atari must already be inside. Reporters shouted questions at him, but all the words ran together into a roar. Diamond was anxious about keeping Atari waiting. Their truce was fragile; he understood that, and the thug was used to star treatment. No sense in screwing up over a matter of formalities.

“We're feeling strong,” he shouted, clasping his hands together in a victory sign. He didn't intend to stop for long enough to give a statement, but a mousy woman with glasses got right up in his face.

“Mr. Diamond, any truth to the allegation that Atari Briggs had a DEA agent killed to stymie the case against him?”

He should have ignored her. That would have been the smarter thing to do. But the question got under his skin, and something
smug in her expression set him off. Instead of backing away or going around her, he grabbed her by the front of her shirt. The shocked look on her face egged him on.

“You people just make this shit up, don't you? With no concern for the consequences.”

“I'm not making it up. Let me go!”

The cameras were clicking all around. Diamond was dying to punch the self-righteous bitch in the face, but that would have consequences, whereas what'd he'd done so far would not. He released her, turning toward the cameras, trying to rearrange his face into a normal expression so he didn't come across as a raving lunatic.

“This is what I'm talking about, the kind of vicious mudslinging that Atari Briggs has had to put up with since the government decided it was gonna string him up and make an example of him. What DEA agent? What killing? We never heard a word about this, and suddenly Atari is a cop killer? You people ought to be more careful about slurping up the filth the government puts in your bowls every morning. They plant a story and you think that gives you the right to ask the question. We deny it, but you slap a headline on it and call it journalism anyway. The reputation of an honorable man, an artist, a fine human being, is dragged through the mud, and meanwhile everybody throws up their hands and says, ‘Who, me? It's not my fault.' Wise up, people, you're being used. If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.”

He turned and marched into the restaurant, feeling pleased with himself over that pithy little diatribe. He wasn't surprised that the story about the murdered agent was starting to circulate, although he wasn't thrilled about it, either. He'd expected it, and he'd take it in stride. A visit from the FBI would be more troubling, but if that happened, he'd take that in stride, too. His ducks were in a row, he was prepared, he was confident. He hadn't been anywhere near that trailer in the wasteland and neither had Atari. Just like they weren't
anywhere near Carroll Gardens tonight. And if Alexei Grinkov had been, or was, well, Alexei Grinkov was a figment. Alexei Grinkov did not exist, not on paper anyway.

His gaze passed over Atari's bodyguards sitting at the bar, but his brain registered them.

At the table, the client was hardly suffering in solitude. The woman fawning on him was a TV personality with an instantly recognizable face. They were drinking champagne and gazing into each other's eyes. Atari knew how to work his assets, and Diamond admired his willingness to use them. He slid into the seat beside Atari and introduced himself to the woman.

“Yes, we were watching your impromptu press conference through the window,” she said. Up close, she was Botoxed all to hell. Amazing what they could do with makeup to keep somebody looking fresh on camera.

“You missed your chance,” he joked.

“I was lucky to be in here instead of out there with the riffraff,” she said. “Atari just promised me the first interview after the trial, win or lose.”

“I'm sure he didn't say that,” Diamond exclaimed.

Atari smiled. His teeth gleamed brighter than the pearls around the woman's neck. “You're right. I said win. There is no lose.”

“Silly me,” the woman said. “Can you forgive me?”

“You're forgiven. But if you excuse me now, I got to consult with my lawyer.”

“Thank you, Atari. I'm so excited. You're adorable, and I'm a huge fan. Best of luck with the trial. I'm sending positive thoughts your way.”

“Thank you, and thank you as well for the champagne.”

She left them alone. An open bottle of Cristal stood in a silver ice bucket beside the table. Diamond signaled the waiter to pour him a glass.

“Where's Bo?” Atari demanded. “I agree to a face-to-face and you keep me waiting?”

“Maybe he got spooked by all the paparazzi. I don't know why you had to do it here.”

“Because I like roast monkfish. What the fuck you think? I'm about to go on trial. I need to project some confidence or the press is gonna turn on me.”

“Fine, but it may have a price. You really think Bo's gonna run the gauntlet out there?”

“What's the problem? He's off probation. He can consort with whoever he wants. Thought I was doing the man a favor. All these years, I been hearing how he resents my lifestyle. I figure I buy him a nice dinner to seal the truce, and he goes and disrespects me.”

“Relax, he'll show.”

“A second ago you said he wouldn't.”

“Let me borrow your phone. I'll call.”

“What, so yours can't be traced? Use your own.”

Atari was trying his patience. Diamond had to remind himself how much he was getting out of this gig. Not only the publicity, but all of the connections that Atari brought to the table for Diamond's operation with Bo.

Diamond sighed and pulled out his phone, but just at that moment, Bo walked into the restaurant. The hostess looked nervous at first as she took in his scar and his tattoos, but then she nodded her understanding and led him toward their table. All eyes followed Bo, though in a different way than they had Atari. Atari Briggs looked like a superstar. Kevin Bonner just looked like a criminal.

Atari was standing up, reaching out. Bo tried to get by with a gangland handshake, but Atari grabbed him and pulled him into a bear hug.

“Yo, my brother, it's been too many years.” Tears stood out in At
ari's famous brown eyes. “Too many misunderstandings. Too much trouble.”

Diamond had never seen Bo express emotion, and the man did not break character now. He extricated himself from Atari's embrace, sat down, and looked around the restaurant.

“What the fuck,” he said.

“Have some champagne and chill out,” Diamond said, filling Bo's glass. “Atari's trying to do a nice thing to celebrate our new partnership before the meeting tonight.”

Bo gave Diamond a killing look, one that said he'd just crossed a well-established line.

“What?” Diamond protested. “So I said the word
meeting,
big fucking deal. I didn't say who with. The tables in here are not wired for sound, I promise you.”

“The lawyer's right,” Atari said. “Relax and enjoy yourself. We'll have a nice meal. We'll do the meet. Then you come back to my hotel with me and I'll hook you up with some Russian girls. We got as many as you want. They all had their teeth fixed, and the passports say they're eighteen, so we ain't got no R. Kelly problems, you feel me?”

Bo had a drink, they ordered some appetizers, and everybody started to unwind. This would be a big step tonight, introducing Atari to the supplier. Once an associate met your supplier, he could go around you. He could cut you out. Time was, Diamond wouldn't have trusted Atari that far, but times could change. Atari wasn't their enemy anymore. Lester's getting whacked had turned into a bonanza, bringing them back together after so many years. God bless the prick who'd done it, whoever he was. Diamond was amazed at how easily Atari had come back to the fold, but catch a man at a vulnerable moment, solve his problems for him, and naturally he was going to be grateful. Atari was ready to put his celebrity at their disposal. A worldwide narcotics operation with the purest product, backed
by that kind of glamour, protected by the umbrella of Atari's fame. Every cartel in the world would come calling, begging for a piece of the action. The money would come rolling in, and Evan Diamond would be as rich as he'd dreamed.

It felt good, having the old team back together like this. Diamond looked at his watch and saw that Alexei would be in Brooklyn by now, which kicked his mood up yet another notch. As soon as that unpleasant little business was settled, everything would be going his way.

I
t was just beginning
to get dark when Melanie exited the Carroll Street subway station on her way to Jennifer Lamont's apartment. She'd gotten a call summoning her back from the Medical Examiner's Office because Evan Diamond had made contact with Jennifer by telephone. It was beginning to look like the savvy lawyer had fallen for their ploy, and actually planned to rendezvous with Jennifer tonight. It was twenty to seven already. Melanie planned to give the girl a final pep talk before Diamond arrived, then cram into the surveillance van with the agents. Participating in undercover operations was not in her job description, but this was an unusual situation, requiring skills no DEA agent could provide. Their normal cooperator was a hardened gangsta from Bushwick or a slick killer from Cali who merely needed to be told where to stand and what to say, not a fragile and barely functional Assistant U.S. Attorney who needed her hand held. Giving Jennifer emotional support could end up making the difference between success and failure on this mission.

Melanie turned on to Jennifer's block. The streetlights were coming on, and the perfume of simmering tomato sauce floated out
toward Melanie from somebody's kitchen. She'd bet that the people on this block knew their neighbors. The idea of moving to Brooklyn was really beginning to grow on her. Melanie's building in Manhattan was mostly singles and professionals with few families. She'd love to have neighbors with kids who would invite her and Maya over for dinner. The air smelled fresh here, and it almost felt like the country compared to where she lived. Maybe that was the answer—find a place with a little backyard, and investigate preschools for Maya. A change of scene would do them good, and this was a lot less drastic than moving to Miami.

She saw Jennifer's apartment up ahead and slowed her pace. The street was deserted. It was about fifteen minutes before Diamond was expected to arrive, and she'd agreed with Tommy Yee that she'd make contact to check whether there'd been any unexpected developments before she approached the apartment. He'd told her to call his Nextel. If he answered and gave her an all clear, she'd go in. If not, she was to go around the back and wait in the surveillance van.

Melanie was scrolling through her directory looking for Tommy's number when she felt something hard poke her in the back. She didn't have to turn around to understand that there was a man standing behind her, and she didn't need to see the object to know that it was a gun.

“I recognize you. You are prosecutor,” he said quietly.

He spoke with a heavy Russian accent, and from the direction of the sound, she could tell that he was tall. Somehow the image of the redheaded man from the surveillance photo, the one with the battered face, popped into her head.

“My wallet is in the bag. Please, just take it and don't hurt me.”

“Why you are here? You visit your friend, no?”

He had to be the man from the picture. There was no other explanation. He worked for Diamond. He'd murdered Papo. And now he'd come for Jennifer.

He dug the gun in harder. It took Melanie's breath away.

“Answer me or I kill you.”

She thought about lying, but it was no use. He knew who she was.

“Yes, I'm visiting a friend who lives on this block,” she said.

“Take me to her apartment. Now.”