Shattered Legacy (19 page)

“Good morning, Cindy.”

He heard a muffled grunt. “Samson? What do you want? What time is it?”

“It’s late. Or early, depending how you look at it.”

“Don't you ever sleep?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

There was silence, then a long, tired sigh. “What do you need?”

Tyler's hand moved over his front pocket. Wrapped in a napkin was the shot glass that Merrick had used at the Red Skeeve. He’d pocketed the glass moments after Merrick left him, and had been careful to keep his own prints off it. “Your husband's with the NYPD, right?”

“Why?”

“I need some fingerprints checked out.”

“He's a transit cop, Samson.”

“I know, but you’ve told me that he knows people. If I gave him an item with prints, could he get me a name?”

“If you want prints run, why don't you go to the FBI?”

“Cindy, I really can't do that. I need your help.”

“Hold on.”

The sound became muffled, and Tyler heard the back-and-forth of voices. A few moments later, Cindy said, “He'll get it done for you, but this can't be connected back to him.”

“It won't. Tell him I said thanks.”

“Well, he knows you've always been good to me, and he's happy to know that you're going to give me an extra paid week off this summer.”

“Of course.” Tyler smiled. Sweet Cindy was finally learning to play hardball.

“What time will you be in?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. But before you go to the office tomorrow - I mean, today - could you stop by my hotel room and pick up the item?”

She sighed again. “Yeah, I'll be there.”

“Thanks Cindy. You're the best.”

Tyler hung up and reached in his pocket for more change to make one final call. There was someone else that he needed to speak with. And because of what Merrick had said, he knew that it couldn’t wait until morning.

He dialed the number from memory. It was one that he had not called in a long, long time. He braced himself he heard the line ring once, then twice.

“Hello?”

He took a breath, and released it. “Hello, Javier. It’s Samson Tyler.”

There was a moment of silence. “Samson? Do you know what
time
it is?”

“What did you know about Templar’s financial dealings?”

“What are you -”

“I want the
truth
.”

“Samson, I’m not talking about the company with you.”

Tyler slumped against the brick wall. He had worked for the man for two years. Javier Ristau had been Templar's previous general counsel. He had been Samson Tyler's mentor and - until Merrick had suggested otherwise - his close friend. Ristau had let Tyler assume a strategic role in planning Templar's legal defense against the Securities and Exchange Commission's investigation a few years earlier.

“Samson?”

“Were you
lying
to me back then?”

“When? What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about! I’m talking about the SEC investigation.”

“Are you drunk, calling me at this hour? I have nothing to say to you, Samson. I don’t work for the company anymore. Leave me alone.”

Then Ristau hung up.

Tyler slammed down the receiver. He’d always suspected Ristau had known more than he let on, but until tonight he’d never made a conscious connection between the SEC case and Ristau’s departure from Templar Enterprises.

Tyler didn’t know what compelled him to call the man. Maybe it was the alcohol and exhaustion. What was he expecting? A chat about old times?

He shook his head, and then looked over as a gray Lexus turned the corner. Flashes erupted from the passenger side of vehicle, and the next few seconds became a blur.

With the first round of gunfire, bullets struck the wall around Tyler, tearing away hunks of brick and spraying him with bits of rock. The pay phone took several slugs. Quarters spilled to the pavement. Behind iron bars, the glass door of the deli shattered. The building alarm screamed.

Tyler dove to the ground. He flattened himself against the sidewalk, hands over his head as glass and debris rained over him. Then the gunfire stopped, though the echoes continued to sound in his head. Bits of glass tinkled to the ground for several long seconds. Slowly, he lifted his head and pushed himself up on his elbows. He gasped for breath, realizing with surprise that not a single bullet had hit him.

The Explorer roared up in front of Tyler, blocking him from the Lexus. A second round of bullets punched into the bulletproofed side windows and windshield of the SUV. Tyler blinked and looked up. Through the open passenger window, he heard Perry Newbold shout, “Get in!”

Tyler did not need to be told twice. Pushing himself up and ducking low, he staggered to the vehicle. He fell hard against the door, fumbled with the handle, opened the door, and heaved himself inside.

The Lexus took off with a squeal of rubber on pavement, blowing through the traffic light ahead.

“Get down,” Perry ordered as they tore away from the curb, cutting off two cabs. He moved his head back and forth, trying to see around the webs of cracks where slugs had struck the windshield.

Tyler yanked his seat belt over his chest and struggled to buckle himself in as the vehicle swerved back and forth across the lanes. Several cars angrily blasted their horns as they were passed.

“Keep down,” Perry shouted.

Tyler snapped the buckle and crouched down behind the dashboard.

The traffic lights at the next intersection were yellow as the Lexus blew through the next intersection at fifty miles an hour.

Then the lights turned red. There was no way the Explorer was going to make it through in time. Perry jammed on the brakes. The tires screamed as the vehicle came to a shuddering stop in the center of the marked crosswalk.

Teeth clenched, Perry stared in impotent fury as the Lexus turned at the next intersection and disappeared. He smacked the steering wheel, swore loudly, and then glanced down at Tyler. “Are you hurt, man?”

“I don’t think so.” Both his hands were on the dashboard, his head between his knees, gasping for breath. Slowly he sat up and looked around. Pedestrians were crossing the street, walking around the vehicle as it sat in the center of the crosswalk. No one seemed to notice that half the Explorer was riddled with bullet impacts.

Tyler took a few deep breaths, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Wow,” he said, giving a long exhale. “This night just keeps getting worse.”

***

Lynn Anholt was waiting in Tyler’s hotel room. She was not in a good mood.

She was sitting at the desk, dressed in a gray jogging suit, as Samson Tyler and Perry Newbold returned at four in the morning.

“Now you know why I wanted to keep you out of public sight.” She remained seated and spoke to the men calmly, as if she was discussing the weather, but her expression remained icy.

Tyler glanced over at Perry. His bodyguard managed to hold a sullen dignity.

“Get some rest,” Lynn told Perry. “I’ll deal with you later.”

The bodyguard opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

“Your job is to protect the client, not to hunt down bad guys.”

“Lynn, I was trying to get a license number.”

“Not while the client is with you, you don’t. What the hell were you thinking, Perry?”

“He did the right thing,” Tyler said. “He wanted to catch the bastard. I did, too.”

Lynn glared at Tyler, and then looked back at Newbold. “Get out of my sight.”

The bodyguard gave a curt nod and left the room.

When they were alone, Lynn stood up, shaking her head like a disapproving parent. “I don't care if you like me or not, Mr. Tyler, but I have a job to perform. That job requires that I protect your sorry ass, no matter what. To do that, we need to communicate openly and honestly.”

“I understand.”

“Do you know who attacked you?”

“No.”

“Any ideas at all?”

“Look, we already made a police report at the precinct. I don’t feel like going over everything again.”

“Mr. Tyler, I know that being under protection can be inconvenient -”

“You could say that.”

“- but you have been less than cooperative with me. One of my people nearly got killed tonight because you wanted a night on the town. I deserve an explanation.”

Lynn shook her head as she watched Tyler walk into the bathroom and close the door behind him.

“You know,” she called after him, “this reminds me of a situation from a few years back, when I was hired to protect a General Motors executive who was meeting some Colombian businessmen in Bogotá. The assignment would have gone off without a problem, if only the CEO had bothered to mention that before leaving the States he had received death threats against his family. He feared that word of the threats would chill the Colombians' enthusiasm to do business, so he didn't bother to mention the fact to anyone, even to me.”

“You know about my death threats,” Tyler called back. “You saw the picture that was sent to me.”

Lynn leaned against the doorjamb and continued her story. “On the first day of the trip, as we were leaving the airport in a government vehicle, one of the tires went flat. As the driver was changing the tire, he found a pipe bomb taped under the wheel well of the limousine. It turned out that the bomb had been planted there by our Colombian liaison, who was working for a state-sponsored competitor. The situation led to a quick termination of contract negotiations between GM and the Columbian government. It nearly caused an international incident.”

“Lucky you found the bomb.”

“Yeah, we were lucky. But had the executive been truthful from the start, the situation would never have happened. We would have run background checks on the government liaison and his staff. As it turned out, only sheer luck saved our lives. Since then, I’ve learned never to trust my clients.”

Tyler came out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his hand. “So you don’t trust me?”

“Who was that woman in the club? We weren’t able to track her after she left the place.”

Though the question floored him, Tyler did not miss a beat. “You tried to follow her?”

“You look surprised, Mr. Tyler. You really didn’t think that Perry was your
only
bodyguard at that club, did you?”

He regarded her for a moment, and then glanced away, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

“You know more than you let on, Mr. Tyler. Keeping things to yourself may get you killed.”

He looked back at her, and finally his facade began to crack. Even though he did not entirely trust her, he decided to give her some information to gauge her reaction.

“The woman at the club has been supplying me with information about the government investigation into my company.”

“Who is she?”

“She goes by the name of Merrick. I don’t know her first name.” Noting Lynn’s skeptical look, he added, “If she wanted to kill me, she could have done it in the club. I really have no idea who did the drive-by.”

“Do you trust this person?”

“I don’t know anything about her. She contacts me. She might be a government whistleblower.”

“Or she may be
working
for the government. Has that occurred to you?”

“It has.” He pulled his tie loose and twisted his collar open. “I have some people to see on business tomorrow. That means I have to travel. But we’ll play it safe. We’ll do things your way. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Lynn studied him for a long, expressionless moment, and then crossed the room to leave. “Have a good night, Mr. Tyler. Call me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Just one last thing.”

She paused at the door and glanced back.

“My assistant is coming by in a few hours to pick something up. Please make sure that I see her when she arrives.”

“Certainly.”

“And … I’m sorry about your vehicle getting shot up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Tyler. It’ll just get itemized as an expense.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Flanked by his two bodyguards, Samson Tyler strode through the foyer and approached the oversized reception desk of Mallon, Greenberg and Partners.

The receptionist looked up as the group approached her circular desk. She was an older, heavyset woman with too much makeup and a tight orange-brown perm.

“I’m here to see Javier Ristau,” Tyler called out as he approached. “Where is his office?”

The woman frowned and looked at each in turn. “Do you have an appointment?”

He strode past the desk. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll find him myself.”

“Wait!” the woman called out, but the three were already moving down the hallway, checking the nameplates beside each office door.

At the end of the hall, Tyler yanked open the double doors. Javier Ristau was standing behind his desk, holding a file. He looked startled as Tyler and his bodyguards strode into the corner office. The place was richly furnished, the bookshelves stuffed with law books that were too old to be anything more than decorative. Awards and membership certificates hung on the walls. A small sofa and coffee table sat in the corner.

Tyler paused and raised his hand as he glared at the surprised occupant. “Lynn? Perry? We'll need some privacy.”

“We’ll be right outside,” Lynn replied as she and Perry turned to leave. They closed the door behind them.

“You and I need to talk,” Tyler stated, marching toward the other man’s desk.

Ristau stared back for a long moment, and then simply gestured to the empty sofa along the wall. “Make yourself comfortable, Samson. I didn’t expect a personal visit so soon.”

Tyler remained standing, arms crossed over his chest. Ristau looked more tanned and healthier than Tyler remembered, though his hair was a bit grayer. He was a tall man, dressed in a pressed blue shirt and gray slacks, with the paisley tie partly twisted open.

Ristau had signed on as Templar Enterprises’ general counsel following Sinclair Dorian’s reacquisition of the company. He later became a member of Templar’s operating committee. Ristau had personally hired Tyler, and the two worked well together. While Ristau had the age and experience, Tyler had the raw skill and drive that had been invaluable when the company hit rough times.