Stay (16 page)

David stepped to the side, out of the ebb and flow of the Shriners who milled about the hotel lobby. He unfolded the newspaper and found a handwritten note on hotel stationery.

Cops in the hotel. They found the Escalade in the parking garage.

L

Good of Larry to give him the heads-up. David folded the note and shoved it into the pocket of his Windbreaker. His eyes flicked to the hotel's main entrance. Two uniformed police officers were talking to the doorman, showing him a photograph.

Shit
.

David had no doubt they were showing around a picture of him. He wondered briefly if it was his driver's license photo or his service photo. Or something else.

He turned away before they could look up and spot him. He ducked into an alcove, a couple of potted plants on either side of him. He took out his phone and punched in a number.

She picked up after the second ring. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I'm in the lobby,” he said quietly. “But I can't come up.”

A pause. “Why not? What's going on? Why are you whispering?”

“Police,” David said. “I'm sorry. I've got to get out of here.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I'm already doing it,” David said. “I've got to take care of this now. Tonight. Or we'll never be safe.”

“What about Bert?”

David thought a moment before saying, “He sold us out.”

Amy's breath caught. A few seconds later, she said, “What are our options?”

“I finish it,” David said. “It's the only choice.”

Long seconds passed and for a moment David thought she'd hung up on her end. At last she asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” David said. “Stay where you are. Stay safe. I'll come for you when it's done.”

Another long pause. Finally she said, “I love you.”

He cleared his throat. “I love you, too.”

“Call me later.”

“I will.”

They hung up.

David glanced back. The two cops were crossing the lobby, coming toward him, not urgently but not casually, either. No way to get back to the Audi out front without walking straight past them.

He turned and headed deeper into the hotel.

“Sir?”

David ignored the voice behind him, kept walking but at the same pace.
Just act like you don't hear. Go about your business. You're not doing anything wrong. No problems
.

“Sir!” More vehemently this time.

David kept walking until he got around the corner and out of their line of sight, and then he broke into a run.

He found himself in the convention center part of the hotel, and the wide hall was packed with rosy-cheeked Shriners, drinks in hands, sports jackets, little fez hats perched at jaunty angles on balding heads. David dove into the crowd, hoping to lose himself completely before the police caught up with him. He allowed himself a glance back and saw two blue police hats bobbing along across the fez sea.

David paused at a table on which a fruit platter and an assortment of cheese and crackers had been mauled over by the crowd. Someone had absently set his fez on the corner of the table. David snatched it up and put it on, slumped his shoulders and bent to conceal his height. He continued weaving his way through the crowd into a large ballroom.

There was some kind of big party under way, a raised stage against the far wall with a podium and microphone, all the trappings of an awards ceremony or some similar event. David looked up and saw the netting covering the ceiling. It sagged with balloons, poised for a drop. The Shriners were ready to celebrate something big.

Looks fun. Wish I could join you
.

David headed for a door off to the side of the stage. If it went back to the kitchens, maybe David could cut through and circle back to the front where he'd left the Audi parked. Or if that was too risky he could head out on foot. He just needed to get out of the hotel. The closer he got to the stage, the thicker and rowdier the crowd became. Somewhere somebody had flipped on a stereo system and the Hollies' “Long Cool Woman” jazzed the crowd into a party frenzy.

He pushed through the mass of people until he reached the door next to the stage. He glanced back. The cops were gently but insistently easing people out of the way as they kept walking directly toward him.

Losing them in the crowd hadn't worked. He'd have to bolt.

He was about to dive through the door when he noticed the rope hanging down near the stage. He followed it up to the netting, thought about it for a fraction of a second, then gave the rope a yank.

The netting split and released the balloons, and along with it confetti glittered down like cheap starlight. The display had the desired effect. The crowd let out a big cheer, and partygoers hugged one another, slapped one another on the back, and the two cops suddenly found themselves in a logjam of revelers.

David went through the door and closed it again, muting the party behind him. He was in a service corridor. Less crowded, easier to move.

A waiter approached him with a tray of dirty glasses. “Sir, guests aren't allowed back—”

“This is a medical emergency,” David said quickly. “Larry Meadows said I could get to the bar from here. There's no fast way to get past that party crowd.”

“Oh, of course.” The waiter gestured back down the corridor. “Turn the corner and keep going until you come to the T intersection. Right takes you back to the kitchens, but turning left takes you up to the lounge.”

“Thanks.” David headed the way he'd been directed at a fast walk.

“Sir,” came the voice from behind. “Sir, we'd like a word if you please.”

David broke into a run. No point pretending anymore.

“Stop!” yelled the officer.

Their footfalls echoed loudly as they gave chase.

David scrolled through his options as he ran. Two New York street cops. Probably good tough men, but with David's training he could put them out of action quickly. But what if he hurt them too badly? He had to believe that he and Amy would come through on the other side of this mess okay, and when that happened he didn't want to have to explain injuring or killing two of NYPD's finest. There was too much to explain already.

No, he couldn't engage them on that level. The only choice was to evade and escape.

He rounded the corner and spotted a cart filled with dirty dishes and empty wine bottles. He grabbed it as he ran past, pulled it into the center of the corridor behind him and kept running.

A second later, David heard the crash and clatter behind him followed by some inventive curses from the cops, but he didn't bother to turn and see the result. He turned left at the T intersection and found himself in the hotel bar two seconds later.

The bartender cast him a curious glance as David emerged from the kitchen but was too busy and uninterested to say anything. David kept walking until he was out of the bar, through the lobby, and back at the hotel's front entrance again.

To his great relief, the Audi was still where he'd left it. It comforted David in some strange way to know he could still count on a New York City parking valet to take a bribe seriously.

He hopped in, cranked the ignition, and pulled into traffic. A glance in the rearview mirror showed him two pissed cops bursting out of the hotel room. They watched him drive away, one already bringing a radio to his face to report what had happened.

David gave himself exactly five minutes to ditch the Audi. It was an exquisite vehicle but far too conspicuous.

He zigged and zagged until he found himself on a quiet street. At the very least he could park the car and walk away. The subway could take him to meet Charlie, but David didn't like the idea of waiting around on subway platforms the rest of the night. He had too much work to do. He needed a vehicle.

A second later, he spotted a likely suspect. He pulled the Audi alongside a guy who was just getting out of his car with a bag of takeout. David wished the guy didn't look so honest, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

And what does a dishonest guy look like anyway? An eye patch and a tattoo of a skull on his neck?

“Hey,” David called. “That your car?”

The guy paused, frowned. “Yeah.”

David took the keys out of the Audi's ignition, held them up for the guy to see. “Trade you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I'm serious,” David said. “I've got to get out of here, and I can't take this.”

The guy's eyes went from the Audi to his twelve-year-old Toyota. It had minor body damage along the front fender. David could tell he was thinking it over.

“I don't know, man,” he said. “Seems like some kind of setup.”

“You probably know somebody who can make this work,” David said. “A cousin or a friend with the right connections.” David's father was fond of a saying.
In every heart there is a little larceny
. Even chopped for parts, the Audi was worth twenty times the guy's junker.

But he'd paused too long to think about it.

“I'll trade you.” A voice from the shadows.

David's gaze shifted to the next stoop, a man sitting in the dark, grubby, drinking a can of something from a little paper bag.

Damn, I didn't even see him. I'm rustier than I thought
.

The guy with the takeout looked relieved and walked away.

The guy on the stoop heaved to his feet with a grunt and took a set of keys out of his pocket. He gestured with his chin at something across the street.

David looked. And was not impressed. “What is that?”

“A 1977 Dodge Aspen.”

“That's more rust than I've ever seen on a single car before.”

“I work on the engine myself,” the guy said. “Changed the oil last week. New spark plugs. That V8 hums, man.”

David sighed. “Right.”

They traded keys.

“Just let me get one thing out of the trunk,” he said.

He watched as the man opened the trunk, the hinges complaining with a rusty squeal that made David wince. The guy took out a stained and ratty canvas tarp and tossed it over the Audi.

He looked at David. “You'd better get moving.”

David nodded. “Good doing business with you.”

David climbed in behind the wheel of the Dodge. The interior smelled like cigarettes and stale beer. A cardboard air freshener in the shape of a pine tree hung from the rearview mirror.
Nice try
. He rolled down the window.

He cranked the engine and was relieved when it turned over on the first try. He revved the engine experimentally. It ran just as smooth as the guy had claimed it would.

Good enough
.

He hit the headlights, pulled away from the curb, and went to find the Imperial Gardens Chinese restaurant.

*   *   *

Dante Payne stood fuming in his billiard parlor, surveying the damage and dead bodies. The carpets would have to come up. So much blood. A stupid and idle thought, but there it was.

“He dares.” Payne's voice trembled with barely controlled rage. “In my own home, he dares.”

Yousef stood behind the bar and found a bottle of good Pinot Noir already opened. He poured himself a glass, sniffed it, and sipped. Not bad. “If you knew this man the way I do, you would not be surprised. He will not wait passively while you go after him.”

“Yes, thank you for your assessment, Yousef,” Payne said sharply. “I realize I should have waited for you to handle things. You've made that abundantly clear, so give it a rest.”

Yousef shrugged and appraised the other three gunmen in the room—the living ones. Upon first blush all of them seemed competent and dangerous, but there was something about the Chechen that gave him pause. Arrogant hostility boiled just below the surface, some festering resentment that threatened to erupt. If that happened at the wrong moment, it could be bad. They all carried scars inside and out, harbored grudges, nursed vendettas. Yousef himself had been lured to the city for just such a chance at payback. But a man waited until the right time, kept control of himself, remained professional.

The young Chechen—Reagan was his name, Yousef recalled—seemed on a hair trigger. He would bear watching.

Payne cursed and paced the room. He paused over one of the corpses, the fat one. He kicked it, hard. “Useless bastard!”

The body shifted, and something that had been half hidden underneath the body caught Payne's eye, he bent and picked it up, showed it triumphantly to Yousef. A small package wrapped brightly in red. The relief upon seeing the package erased all thoughts of the ruined carpet.

“You see, Yousef, my methods are not entirely without merit after all,” Payne said smugly. “Here we've won half the battle already.”

Payne unwrapped the package slowly, savoring the moment. He tossed the wrapping aside. He opened the box, looked into it, and the smiled dropped abruptly from his face.

He slowly withdrew the ceramic mug, turned it over in his hands like he was examining some obscure alien artifact. There was a crude illustration of a curvaceous woman in a skimpy nurse's uniform followed by the words
Get Well Soon
.
There are better things to do in bed
.

“Son of a bitch!”

Payne hurled the mug against the wall where it shattered into dozens of pieces.

Yousef turned his back to hide his grin and topped off his glass of wine.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Noodles. Pork. Duck. Ribs. Pot stickers. Egg rolls.” Charlie Finn scanned the table, frowning at the spread. “No, no, something's missing.”

“There's enough here to feed Hong Kong,” David said.

“There is a delicate balance of flavors at stake here,” Charlie explained. “I need just a little bit of every—” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “Dumplings!”