The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (138 page)

“We mean that,” Ira said.

“Our pleasure.”
 
He looked at Carmen.
 
“Let’s get Bobby.
 
We’re losing time.”

“Why are you doing this, Carra?”

That stopped Spocatti.
 
It was Wolfhagen who posed the question, and now Carra was coming over to him to answer it.
 

“I’ll keep this brief,” she said.
 
“When we were married, you never once told me you traded inside information.
 
You lied to me, you kept it all from me, and yet when it blew up in your face, it also blew up in mine.
 
Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past five years?
 
It’s taken years to rebuild my name, and I’m only halfway there.
 
As long as you’re alive, they still see you in me.
 
The stink won’t go away until you go away.
 
So, guess what?
 
You go away tonight.”

“Right now, I’m a guest at your home,” he said.
 
“The media has been chronicling it.
 
People saw me at your party.
 
How are you going to explain that?”

She reached out the tip of her whip and ran it along the curves of his face.
 
“I’m going to tell them the truth.
 
We had an argument over the home in La Jolla, which is mine and which I’ve decided to sell.
 
If they want to—and they will—they’ll document your phone call to me just as they’ll document that soon after it, you booked an immediate flight to New York City.
 

“Because you live there, you threatened me not to sell.
 
You flew here to tell me to my face that you weren’t moving.
 
You told me that if I sold, you’d hire someone to set fire to the house, which belonged to my father.
 
I took you in as a guest because it was better to keep you close while I figured something out.”
 

She paused.
 
“It’s only been a day, Max.
 
And guess what?
 
I have figured something out.
 
In the meantime, how could I have known that you had an ulterior motive to be here in New York?
 
How could I known everything you were doing on the side?
 
All these deaths captured on film.”
 
She shook her head at him.
 
“You’re not a very good person.
 
The world knew that once.
 
They’ll be reminded of it again.”

She looked at Spocatti.
 
“Bobby,” she said.
 
“Then the rest.
 
Move.”

He turned to Carmen—communication in a glance.
 
He began to step past Wolfhagen and Carra.
 
“You said there were towels at the bar?”

“They’re at the far end.
 
There should be enough, but Bobby was big, so who knows?”

“Right,” he said, and as he passed her, he swung violently around, dipped his hand into his holster and removed his gun.
 
Carra sensed the rush of motion and turned just as the butt of Spocatti’s revolver came straight at the side of her head.
 
She ducked and he missed.
 
Missed!
 
She stumbled back and he swung again, but not before her whip whirled around and struck him hard across his face.
 

Stunned by the blow, he shook it off while she ran across the room.
 
He charged after her.
 
She was quick, but not quick enough—those boots she wore were a bitch and they didn’t give her the traction she needed.
 
As she ran past Wolfhagen and toward the bar, where he knew there’d be a staircase, he saw Carmen swing at Wolfhagen’s head.
 
He collapsed on the floor just as Ira Lasker started for the door.

“Door!” Spocatti called.

Carra was running faster now.
 
She skidded as she rounded the bar.
 
He heard a thump behind him and knew it was Lasker.
 
He heard footsteps running his way and knew it was Carmen.
 
And then, suddenly, Carra turned to face him.
 

She swung the whip at him again, but this time he was prepared for it and caught it with his free hand.
 
He yanked on it and pulled her close into to him.
 
He could feel her breath on his face.
 
He could see wild fear and rage in her eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing,” she said.
 
“You’ve got your money!”

“You lied to us.
 
You never should have done that.
 
There are repercussions.”

She started to struggle, but when Spocatti slammed his gun against the side of her head, her eyes rolled back and she went down at his feet in a heap of unconscious sleep.
 

Carmen looked down at her.
 
“I want that suit and those boots,” she said.
 
“They’re fantastic.”
 
She looked up at Spocatti.
 
“But don’t worry, I’ll get them later.
 
What do you have in mind?”

Spocatti glanced across the room at Mark Andrews, who hadn’t moved because he couldn’t move.
 
He stepped farther away from the bar and onto the staircase that was on the other side of it.
 
She followed him and he quietly told her.

“We have time for all that?”

“I think so.”

“But what’s the point?
 
We should lock them in one of those cages, get out of here, make an anonymous call to the cops and be done with it.”

“The police are a little busy right now, Carmen.
 
We’ve got time.
 
We finish this our way, then we call the feds, the cops, the media.”

“They could die if we do this.”

“Not if we do it right.
 
And we have to do it right.
 
I want them in jail.
 
Death is too easy.
 
I want a spectacle.
 
I want something people won’t forget.
 
And don’t think I’m not thinking about our own safety.
 
That comes first.
 
We do have time for this.
 
Cain and Spellman aren’t here for a reason.
 
They can’t get through.
 
The streets are either jammed or blocked.
 
Enough time has passed for them to be here, but they’re not.”

“They could be close.”

“Then we lock the door and deal with them if I’m wrong.”

“Cain is good.
 
You saw what she’s capable of.
 
She took me down and she shot you.
 
Don’t forget that.”

“She also had surprise on her side,” Spocatti said.
 
“This time, we’ll be ready for them.”
 
He holstered his gun.
 
“They’re coming,” he said.
 
“And so will everyone else.
 
But Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker lied to us.
 
They deserve what’s coming their way.
 
Let’s really give the world something to talk about.
 
Let’s crank this into the stratosphere.
 
Let’s fuck with people’s heads.
 
You with me?”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

A knock came at the door.

Worse, a knock came at a door that might be unlocked.

Carmen immediately came across the open space, wishing the lights weren’t on.
 
She pulled out her gun and held it on Andrews.
 
She put her finger to her lips and pressed the barrel to his temple.
 
All over her face was one message.
 
If you say one fucking word, you’re dead.
 
I will kill you.
 
You will die.
 
There’s no option.
 
And then she pushed him across the room, to the very spot where Carra lay unmoving.

Spocatti pulled Bobby out of the entryway, into the large room and behind one of the cages.
 
The man had almost completely bled out.
 
Behind him, he left a broad swipe of congealed blood.
 

There was another knock on the door, this time more aggressive.
 

Carmen lowered the lights and now Bobby’s blood, while sticky, appeared black on the dark floors.
 
As another knock came, this one the most impatient yet, they quickly moved Lasker and Wolfhagen behind the bar.

They looked at each other.
 
It was Spellman and Cain, they were sure of it.
 
They rushed across the room and moved to the curtained window to peer outside, but they couldn’t see anything.
 
The tall hedges on either side of the entrance blocked their view, though not of the street, which was teeming with people.
 
Some were running.
 
Others were on their cells and walking quickly.
 
All were moving toward the Park.

They couldn’t see who was knocking.
 
And then the knock came again.

Spocatti went to the door while Carmen moved in place just behind the wall that separated them.
 
She drew her gun.
 
She heard Spocatti put his hand on the doorknob.
 
And then she heard a voice the moment he opened it.
 

“I’m Jennifer Barnes,” a woman said.
 
“Channel One.
 
I apologize for knocking so late, but I noticed your lights are on and this is important.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I think I was given the wrong address,” she said.
 
“I was sent to 11 West 82nd Street, but it doesn’t exist.
 
I’ve been walking all over this neighborhood and saw that you’re 11 West 83rd, so I thought I’d stop to see if this was the correct address.”

Carmen pressed her back against the wall.
 
Her gun was poised and ready.
 
She could hear the people on the sidewalks in ways that she’d never heard them in this soundproofed house.

“Who are you looking for?” Spocatti asked.

“It’s complicated.”

“How can it be complicated?”
 

She hesitated.
 
“It has to do with a federal investigation.”

“Ah,” Spocatti said.
 
“What did you say your name was again?”

“Jennifer Barnes.
 
I’m a reporter at Channel One.”

“And how did you get this address?”

“I’m working with Detectives Mike Hines and Linda Patterson.
 
They gave it to me.”

“Who were you hoping to find?”

Another hesitation.
 

“I’ll need to know, Ms. Barnes.”

“I’m here to see Mark Andrews.”

“I see,” he said.
 
But he said nothing more.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Barnes said.
 
There was an edge to her voice.
 
“I’m sorry if I interrupted.
 
I think I might have the wrong address.”

“Actually, you don’t,” Spocatti said.
 
“Ms. Barnes, you’re at a federal safe house.
 
If you’d like to see Mark, step inside.
 
But I’ll need you to stay with me in the entryway while I phone my superior.
 
Before we go any farther, he’ll need to question you.”