“We’ve been waiting for you,” Mayor Wagner said. “Over there.” He pointed at a little launch bobbing at the end of the pier.
“Well, I’ve been waiting for you, right here.”
“Why?”
“Because this thing weighs almost as much as I do,” Tricia said. “Your boss wants it, you can carry it.”
“All right,” he said, “no need to get huffy.” He snapped his fingers at his cohort. “Now, howsabout you get up and put your hands out to the side?”
She stood, lifted her arms, and suffered through her first frisking of the morning. She was getting to be quite an old hand at it, no longer even flinching as a stranger’s hand brushed over her backside.
While the smaller man took care of patting her down, the larger one bent, gripped one of the footlocker’s handles in each hand, and lifted the thing effortlessly into the air.
The smaller one plucked the box of photos out of her pocket. “What’s this?” he said.
“Those are Nicolazzo’s photos,” she said. “Feel free to take a look if you don’t believe me.” But an expression of horror crossed his face and he handed the box back to her.
“No, thanks,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Kagan and me, we’re not allowed to see them,” he said. “Uncle Nick made that very clear. His eyes only.”
Kagan nodded forcefully. He’d given the impression of paying only cursory attention to what was going on around him, but this point he clearly felt was important.
“Okay,” Tricia said. “Suit yourself. How about the money, you want to take a look at that?”
He laughed. “What, to make sure it’s not just a lot of cut-up newspaper? Come on. Nobody’d be that stupid.”
“No, I guess not,” Tricia said.
“Let’s get a move on. We’re already running late.” He gestured for her to walk ahead of them down the pier.
She walked. “What should I call you?” she said as they neared the boat.
“Mr. P,” he said. “It’s short for Pantazonis.”
“Greek?” Tricia said.
“No, Zulu,” he said.
They boarded the boat, Tricia first, then the two men. There wasn’t a huge amount of room, and Tricia found herself sitting on the footlocker again. What the hell, she figured. Maybe it’ll hatch.
Kagan fired up the engine and they cruised out of the dock, heading for open water. As they hooked around toward the mouth of the bay, they passed a large wooden billboard proudly proclaiming this the future home of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, courtesy of a list of public servants that started with City Construction Coordinator Robert Moses.
Where Moses wants a bridge, Tricia thought, he gets a bridge.
Apart from the spray flying in her face and a bit of seasickness that kicked in when the waves got choppy, the ride wasn’t too unpleasant. Neither man spoke to her, nor did they talk much to each other. Pantazonis spent most of the time hunched over, trying to stay dry, while Kagan stood straight and tall in the front like a bald Viking and steered with his eyes on the horizon.
It felt like it had been at least half an hour before Tricia got her first glimpse of Nicolazzo’s yacht. It looked deceptively small until they drew closer, and then suddenly revealed itself to be many times the size of the boat they were in, more like a small cruise ship than like anything one man should have for his own use. Kagan cut the power and they coasted in gently, bumping hulls as they arrived. Several heads appeared at the railing above them and a rope ladder was thrown over the side.
“Go on up,” Pantazonis said. “We’ve got a winch for the box.” And sure enough, while Tricia carefully climbed the ladder, trying hard not to lose either the purse looped around her wrist or her shoes along the way, she saw a cable being lowered beside her toward the launch. As she stepped off the ladder onto the deck of the ship, she saw the cable begin retracting, hauling the footlocker on board.
She looked around. There were five men there, all of them unfamiliar. “Where’s Uncle Nick?” she said.
“Right here,” Nicolazzo said. She turned around. He was standing at the midpoint of the deck, one hand on an open door. “Won’t you join me?” he said. “I’ve got some people downstairs who are dying to see you again.”
Two of the men pushed her forward, gripping her tightly by the arms. A third pulled her purse out of her hands, and turning she saw it was Pantazonis.
“Wait, I need that—” she said, but it was already gone, and he with it.
So much for the plan, she thought. Now what?
At Nicolazzo’s insistence, she preceded him down a narrow staircase and along a low-ceilinged hall to an open doorway. She ran inside when she saw Coral, her arms tied behind her around the back of a wooden chair. Her face was bruised, but that could have been a remnant of her fight with Stella; she didn’t seem to have any new monograms on her cheeks. But her hair was tangled and there were pouches under her eyes and even when she saw Tricia she was slow to respond. The last few days clearly hadn’t been good ones for her.
“Cory,” Tricia said, hugging her tightly, “are you okay?”
Coral didn’t say anything, just nodded as Tricia stepped back.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Tricia said.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Coral said softly. “You should’ve taken Artie back home.”
“Don’t talk like that. The only one going home is you.”
“I hope you don’t mean that,” Charley said from behind her.
She turned. His black eye was as richly colored as it had been the last time she’d seen it, though the swelling had gone down a bit. Otherwise he seemed not too much the worse for wear—except, of course, for the tape wrapped around his right index finger. It looked like they’d splinted it with a Popsicle stick.
“Oh, Charley, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d never—”
“Sure,” Charley said. “We both do. But you can still make it up to me by giving this guy what he wants.”
“That is excellent advice, Mr. Borden,” Nicolazzo said. “I am glad you’ve come around to my way of thinking. You, too, Miss Heverstadt.”
At a gesture from Nicolazzo, Kagan carried the foot-locker in and deposited it heavily on a fold-down counter bolted to the wall.
“You want me to open it?” Kagan said.
“One thing at a time,” Nicolazzo said. “My pictures...?”
Tricia handed over the leather box. He slid the cover off and flipped through the photographs one by one. He nodded when he reached the last one. “Very good.” The box vanished inside his jacket pocket.
“Now the money.” Nicolazzo shooed Kagan away and lifted the two spring latches holding the footlocker closed. He eyed the money inside with a combination of satisfaction and wariness. Choosing a stack of bills from the middle, he riffled through it. His expression didn’t change, but even from where she was standing Tricia could see at a glance when the real bills ended and the newspaper began. Without saying anything, he picked up another stack and riffled through that one, then a third. He put them back in place.
“Kill the sister,” he said.
“Wait!” Tricia shouted. She yanked the pawnshop ticket out of her pocket, waved it overhead.
“What’s that supposed to be, Miss Heverstadt?”
“The rest of your money,” Tricia said. “You didn’t really think I’d bring it all here, did you?”
“I did expect that, yes. It’s what I told you to do.”
“If I had, what would have prevented you from killing all three of us and just dumping our bodies over the side?” She walked up to Nicolazzo, handed the ticket over. “I needed a way to ensure you’d let us go. You’ll get your money, every penny of it—but only once we’re safe on land.”
“You left my money at...a pawnshop?”
“Some of it,” Tricia said. “Some is in that footlocker. I’m afraid most of it is at the pawnshop, though.”