Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls (39 page)

“That video was playing.
 
Everything I’d hoped for was gone.
 
I’d brought a gun with me for protection, but when I went for it, Wolfhagen was quicker and he shoved my head through the window.”
 
She stopped at the memory of it.
 
“I must have blacked out, because when I woke, I wasn’t in the car.
 
I was in his club and Wolfhagen had just murdered a man.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see his face?”

She shook her head.
 
"He was tied down.
 
His forehead was strapped to the table.
 
I could barely see his profile.
 
There was too much confusion.”
 

“What did Wolfhagen do to him?”

“He slit this throat."

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he was Wolfhagen.
 
Because at that point, he was so high, he was delusional.
 
He literally thought he was a god."

"What else do you remember?"

"Shouting.
 
Things getting out of hand.
 
People screaming.
 
But I’d lost a lot of blood at that point and my memory isn't as clear as it should be.
 
I think I was coming in an out of consciousness.”

“Who was there?”

“A lot of people.
 
When I got home, I wrote down the names of those I could remember.
 
I think there are some who think I saw the murder, and those who don't.
 
But I did.
 
Wolfhagen would have killed me too if Peter Schwartz hadn’t gotten him out of there.
 
He would have killed me.
 
And do you know what I keep thinking after all these years?
 
You know what I go to bed with every night?
 
A part of me wishes he had.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because I was scared.
 
I thought they'd come after me.
 
I've always thought that.
 
It's why I took a self-defense course.
 
It's why I took classes on how to shoot a gun.
 
There are too many people who know I know what happened.
 
I thought I'd be dead years ago.
 
It's why I told you I can't be connected in any way to this because they'll come for me.
 
I'm surprised I'm sitting here now."

"Wolfhagen filmed everything that happened at that club, didn't he?"

"He did, but only a few people knew about it.
 
That whole club was designed for blackmail.
 
That's the reason it was created.
 
It's one of the ways Wolfhagen got his inside information.
 
When he wanted a favor from a senator or from the president of a corporation, a bit of information that could make him a fortune on the street, all he had to do was invite them to the club.
 
He'd slip something into their drink, they'd do something stupid, it was all caught on tape.
 
Then, when it was time to collect, he'd pick up a phone, invite that person to lunch at his office, and if they refused his favor, he'd show them how well they performed at their audition.
 
Maybe they'd be fucking a prostitute.
 
Maybe it was a hell of a lot worse."

"How did you find out about the tapes?"

"Mark.
 
When I was on that table, he threw a towel over my face.
 
When I took it off, he put it back on and leaned down to my ear.
 
He told me there were cameras.
 
He told me not to remove the towel."

"But it was too late at that point.
 
You already were on camera."

"That's right," she said.
 
"And that's why I took the disc marked November 2007 from Schwartz’s hidden room tonight."

"Where is it?"

"I destroyed it.
 
There are more out there--there have to be--but at least I got one of them.
 
At least I got that."

His cell phone rang, which startled each of them.
 
Maggie ran a hand through her hair while Marty answered.
 
There was static on the line.
 
Movement on the other end. “Hello?” he said.

A man’s voice:
 
“Put Maggie Cain on the phone.”

Marty’s heart skipped a beat.
 
Did somebody know they were here?
 
Nobody had entered the cafe since they'd sat down, but that didn't mean that someone couldn't be waiting for them outside.
 

He looked at Maggie, who was now watching him intently, her slender body so taut, he could almost feel the tension as if it was a wire stretching between them.
 
“There’s no one here by that name,” he said irritably.
 
“Who is this?”

"Put her on the phone, Spellman."

"Who are you?"

"Put her on the phone."

"Not until you tell me who you are."

“It’s Mark Andrews,” the man said.
 
“And I know she’s with you.
 
If either of you wants any chance of ending this, you'll do as I say and hand her the phone now."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

9:38 p.m.

In the safe house on Avenue A, Carmen grabbed a satchel of supplies, followed Spocatti into their shithole of a bathroom and ripped open his shirt.
 
She paid no attention to the buttons that popped off and ricocheted off the peeling walls.
 
She was in a hurry.
 
They needed to move.

She could sense Spocatti looking down at her.
 

"Horny?" he asked.

"Shut up, Vincent."

"Because I'd be happy to fuck you," he said.
 
"Release some of this unnecessary tension between us.
 
Consider it my way of apologizing for leaving you behind."
 
He grabbed a handful of her ass, but she was fast.
 
Just as quickly, she grabbed his crotch and squeezed it hard, so much so that he released his hand and, through the pain, put it on top of hers.
 
He squeezed his crotch with her.
 
"How does that feel?" he asked.
 
"Big enough to make you forget you had a bad day?"

She knocked his hand away.
 
"I don't need your mercy fuck, Vincent."

"It wouldn't be one."

"Let me fix your arm."

He put her hand back on his crotch and she was surprised by how much it had grown.
 
"What do you say?" he said.
 
"I fuck you, you do your nurse duties and then we get back to work?"

She'd be a liar if she said she wasn't attracted to him, but this isn't how she played it, and she knew it was the same for him.
 
He was testing her, just as always.
 

She put a hand on his shoulder.
 
"You're sweet, Vincent.
 
And that's quite a package you've got.
 
Your old man would be proud.
 
But I'm going to clean your arm now, you're going to let me do it and then we're going back out.
 
You know why?"

He had an amused look on his face.
 
"Tell me,” he said.

"Because if we don't finish this job soon, we'll have blown it.
 
The police are onto us.
 
So are Maggie Cain and her P.I., who now knows for certain that we're working for Wolfhagen.
 
If this isn't front-page news by tomorrow, then it will be the next day.
 
And all those people who once testified against Wolfhagen who aren't already dead will know that soon they will be.
 
And then they'll flee."
 

"Schwartz won't flee."

Spocatti took him out days before Carmen arrived from Spain.
 
There were two others in the city sitting in their own chilled living rooms, poised exactly like Schwartz.
 
Only, those people had been dead longer.
 
"No," she said.
 
"Not unless those maggots sprout wings."

She removed the last of his shirt.
 
He hadn’t lost much blood.
 
Cain's bullet only grazed him.
 
Still, if she didn't clean and stitch it properly, it would become infected and then they'd really be in for it.
 
Given their records, there were no hospitals available to them.

She removed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the satchel and soaked a clean cloth with it.
 
She pressed it against his arm and wasn't surprised that he didn't wince.
 
"I'm not losing out on a $10 million bonus for you, Vincent."

"I don't expect you to.
 
I was just offering you my cock, Carmen.
 
Frankly, I'm offended you don't want it."

She looked up at him and was about to speak when the look on his face stopped her.
 
Gone was any trace of humor.
 
Back was the cold man with the hard eyes and the set mouth that reminded her again why she never could trust him.
 

He took the bottle of rubbing alcohol from her hand, poured it over the wound and allowed it to splash into the sink.
 
He saved half for the clean-up and handed the bottle back to her.

"Get a needle," he said.
 
"Stitch me up.
 
It's past nine-thirty.
 
I want to be out of here in fifteen.
 
We have four people on our list and we're getting through them tonight."

She looked surprised.
 
"I thought there were five."

"There were," he said.
 
"But I had an opportunity to take out Alan Ross earlier today and so I did."
 
She was about to speak when he held up a hand.
 
"I’m not explaining it to you.
 
Later, you can watch the footage yourself to see how it went down.
 
Just stitch me up so you can take care of that scrape on your forehead and make yourself look pretty.
 
We know Yates’ routine.
 
He’ll be sitting at that bar in twenty minutes."

*
 
*
 
*

When they left the building, Carmen was a new woman.
 

Her face was clean, she’d applied fresh makeup, brushed her hair, concealed the scrape and changed into a short black dress that revealed long, slender legs and a robust bust.
 
Her dark hair tumbled down her back and swung when she moved.
 
In her ears were faux black diamonds that concealed tiny microphones.
 
The brooch she wore was a camouflaged miniature camera.
 
She was beautiful, she knew it, and just how deeply she knew it was reflected in the confident way she held herself.
 

She was wearing heels for the first time in what seemed like months and even though she hated them, she knew how important they were.
 
This next job was all about illusion.
 
As pretty as she looked right now--and as sexy as she was without going over the top--it was just a tool to generate the interest of one man.