Once Rutgers’s predator was seated I settled in.
“I was informed of the attempt on your life,” she said. She wasn’t impressed by the view or the size of my work space compared to hers.
“Bad news...” I said, feeling no compunction to finish the timeworn saying.
“Maybe now you’ll see how it is in your own best interest to cooperate with me.”
I laughed.
“Are you a fool?” Antoinette Lowry wanted to know.
“Lady, I killed two professional assassins while buck naked ten seconds after I’d woken up from a deep sleep. One I shot and the other I ended with my bare hands. Now you tell me what the fuck you could have done but get in my goddamned way?”
“Maybe if you shared information with me the attempt would have never been made.”
“Are you saying that Rutgers had something to do with those men?”
“No,” she said in a tone that revealed much more.
“But maybe somebody else?” I suggested. “Maybe Johann Brighton?”
“No.” This time she was much more certain.
“But there are some shadows up in there. You do business in places where the laws of man are different, sometimes virtually nonexistent.”
That was the beginning of our real conversation. I had shown that I was both capable and wise to the ways of her world. I could tell by the intensity in her gaze that she suddenly saw me as a worthy opponent — or ally.
“What do you know about your attackers?” she asked.
I covered the important details, as blasé as I could manage.
Antoinette listened closely, trying her best not to show how deeply the particulars of the attempt impacted her.
“Does any of what I say sound familiar?” I asked after cutting off the tale at the interrogation imposed on me at the Elizabeth Street Precinct.
“Why would it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one investigating the robbery.”
“From the sounds of it, Mr. McGill, you have called this contract on yourself. For all I know this attempt on your life might have nothing to do with my business.”
“Com’on, girl,” I said. “Don’t be coy with me. Does this shit sound like some street-level thug or even some kinda upscale mobster? Foreign assassins don’t only take a lot of money. You got to have serious connections to make something like that happen.”
“Maybe,” she conceded.
“Anybody hire me is already on a level way below that kind of action. And you know if they’re trying to kill me, I have to be getting close to that fifty-eight million.”
“Maybe you already have it,” Antoinette offered. “Maybe you ripped off your confederates in the crime.”
“Darling,” I said, “you know my history probably better than I do. You know how many times my life has been on the line and the limits of my lifestyle. Do you think I’d be here in New York if I had all those millions? No, I’d be in some country with no extradition treaty with the U.S., buying judges beach condos and bedding the local hotties.”
This long-held fantasy seemed to go halfway to convincing my current nemesis.
“Then why?” she asked.
“Lewis and I got Zella out of prison. That has to put a strain on the real thieves’ exit plan. They want to destroy anything having to do with Zella and her possible innocence.”
“But why come after you? If you didn’t have anything to do with the heist, then you pose no threat.”
She had brainpower to spare.
“Scorched earth,” I explained. “Kill the principals when releasing Zella and the crime comes back to her. I mean, why else would she and her supporters get killed?”
“Maybe.” She still wasn’t completely convinced.
“What else could it be?”
“Maybe it’s just the fallout between former partners.”
“Do you think for one moment that if I knew who was after me that they would still be breathing?”
Antoinette had my police files. She knew that I knew Hush.
“So what do you suggest?” she asked.
“Give me a number where I can get to you when I need to. I promise that if I crack this nut, I’ll share the meat with you.”
We traded information and I walked her past Twill and then the reception desk to the front door of my suite.
After she’d gone I asked Mardi, “What does your third eye tell you about her?”
“You were better off with the fever, boss.”
It was at that moment I realized that Mardi would one day inherit my business.
42
Deciding not to go back to my desk, I took the elevator down to the street.
Meandering in a westerly direction, I realized that I was not only angry but also confused. I wanted to gather up Hush and declare war on my enemies only I wasn’t sure just who the enemy was.
Minnie Lesser had something to do with it — though that made no logical sense. Johann Brighton was involved. And then there was Antoinette Lowry; was that child of the South trying to kill me too?
In the back of a yellow cab, headed for home, I sent a text to Bug Bateman in what felt like a vain attempt to keep moving forward.
When i got to our place I found a new key in the mailbox; it worked perfectly on the repaired and replaced front door.
Tatyana and Katrina were sitting side by side in the little front room, chatting in soft tones. My wife was smiling almost ruefully while Tatyana paid close attention to her every word.
“Ladies,” I said.
I went to the pink padded chair beside the maroon sofa and Tatyana moved to rise. Katrina put out a hand and the Belarusian sat back down. This interaction alone told a full story — albeit in a language foreign to me.
“How are you, Katrina?”
“Fine.” The soft smile was not reassuring. “I’ve made lasagna for you and the children.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“No, Leonid,” she said, “it is I who should be apologizing. Most men support their families with safe jobs at insurance companies and auto garages. I’ve been cruel to you and every day you’re out there with your life in the balance. If one night that danger spills into this house, I cannot blame you. I should have been working, taking some of the weight off of your shoulders.”
“I never asked for that,” I said.
“But I should have taken the initiative. I can see now that it is as much my fault as yours what has happened.”
“Katrina...”
“Tatyana has been supporting her family for years and she is so young,” my wife said. “When I was her age I expected men to buy me things and here she is doing for others.”
This was definitely not the woman I had married. Her words indicated a change so profound that I had no idea how to respond. I was a lone Crusader washed up on the shore of the New World after my ship had foundered, taking with it all hands but me.
“Can I make you a drink?” I asked. Old standards are always the best.
“Cognac,” my wife said.
I looked inquiringly at Tatyana. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
In the dining room I found Dimitri reading a hardback book.
“What you readin’?” I asked.
“Technics and Civilization,” he said, “by Lewis Mumford.”
“I once read a book by him. The City in History, or something like that.”
I took a seat next to my boy.
Dimitri closed the book, turning his attention to me.
“It’s my fault, right?” he said.
“What?”
“That Mom almost got killed.”
“Of course not. Those men were after me. And it’s not even my fault. I didn’t do anything to them.”
My phone chirped, telling me that it contained a message. I resisted the lure.