“Should’ve let us do it our way,” Corcoran said.
“Here’s the printout,” Feingold said.
“Another stolen phone, I’ll bet,” Endicott said.
Feingold read off the name and address. The VoiceStream subscriber was right here in the heart of the city.
“Roll on it,” Corcoran ordered. “Just two of you. Waste of time, anyway.”
Jones came back into the room.
He saw their faces.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re heading out again,” Corcoran said. “Zip up your fly.”
“Lieutenant,” Carella said, “can I have a word with you?”
“Why, certainly, Steve. What is it?”
Big grin on his face. Cut off a man’s legs and then smile right into his face.
Carella took him aside.
“If nobody minds, I think I’ll just mosey on home,” he said, sounding like John Wayne, and feeling like Roberto Benigni.
“Why’s that?” Corcoran asked.
Carella looked him dead in the eye.
“I have nothing to do here,” he said.
“Your help was requested, Steve.”
“You should have refused it.”
“We’re always open to suggestion.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “Lieutenant,” he added.
“I beg your…”
“So long, Corky. Have fun.”
“Just a second here.”
Carella did not give him even a millisecond. He turned his back and headed for the door. Loomis caught up with him in the corridor outside.
“I’m sorry as hell about this,” he said.
“I had no right being here in the first place,” Carella said.
“I asked for you.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“They’re just smelling blood,” Loomis said. “They still haven’t caught whoever sent those anthrax letters, probably never will. They keep sending out alerts to protect their own asses should someone blow up the nearest nuclear plant or television station. So now they think they’re going to make headlines when they catch these sons of bitches who’ve got Tamar, even though they can’t even trace a fucking phone call. What they don’t understand is that I don’tcare if we catch these people. All I want is Tamar back.”
“Well, I can’t help you accomplish that, Mr. Loomis. They won’t even give me a shot at that. Look, you’re in good hands here. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”
“What is this, some sort of club here? They kick you in the teeth, and you’re still defending them?”
“They know what they’re doing.”
“So do you.”
“I told you. The last kidnapping case I investigated…”
“Did you get the victim back?”
“Yes, but…”
“That’s all I want here.” He put his hand on Carella’s shoulder. “Stay,” he said. “Please stay, Steve.”
“No, I can’t do that. Too many other crimes out there screaming for my specific talents.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”
“Neither does humiliation,” Carella said. “Good luck, Mr. Loomis. I hope this works out for you.”
“Thank you.”
There was nothing left to say. Loomis extended his hand. Carella shook it briefly, and then walked toward the elevators.
He felt oddly elated.
THIS TIMEhe came into the room alone.
He was wearing the Arafat mask again.
He said, “There’s been a slight hitch.”
She looked at him.
“The count was short.”
She kept looking at him.
She hoped he realized she didn’t believe him.
“We’ve asked Mr. Loomis to get the rest of the money by tomorrow morning.”
“Short by how much?” she asked.
“A lot.”
“Well, how much?” she insisted.
She was already thinking she had to escape somehow. She was already thinking these dudes were full of shit. They would take the money, however much money they were now expecting, and then they would kill her. It was as simple as that. She would have to get out of here somehow.
“I’m telling you all this…” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said.
“…so you’ll know it’s not our fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?” she asked. “Who was it came onto that launch…”
“This is nothing personal,” Avery said.
“Oh, fuck you,” she said. “Ofcourse it’s personal.I’m a person,you’re a person, this isvery personal!”
“I can assure you…”
“What’d you do?” she asked. “Tell Barney one thing, and then change your mind when you saw all the attention I was getting?”
She could see only the brown eyes behind the Arafat mask, but she knew she was right on target.
“Isn’t that right?” she said. “I’m all over television, isn’t that it? I’m hotter than that fucking D.C. sniper was!”
He said nothing. The brown eyes were saying it all. The brown eyes were clicking like windows on a Vegas slot machine. Maybe she’d gone too far. But she knew they were going to kill her, anyway, so fuck it. Go all the way, she thought.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said. “You saw what was happening, so you raised the ante?”
“The ransom was always the same,” he said. “Your boss gave us a short count.”
“He’s not my boss,” she said. “In fact,he works forme. ”
She didn’t mention that whatever the ransom was now, it had been two-fifty a couple of hours ago. President Bush with the big tits and the red hair and the green eyes and the freckles had told her so, and if you couldn’t take President Bush’s word, whocould you trust in this rotten world? She didn’t mention this because she didn’t want the girl to get in any trouble. She had the feeling that the girl…
“I’ll keep you informed,” Arafat said, and went to the door. Before he went out, he said, for the umpteenth time, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
And was gone.
She listened for the click of the lock again.
Waited…
Waited.
There.
A heavy dull click.
She guessed that doing something stupid would be trying to open the handcuff with a bobby pin she didn’t happen to possess. Or doing something stupid would be trying to cut a deal with Ol’ Brown Eyes Arafat, who was obviously the mastermind here, the arch criminal, the genius behind this hare-brained little kidnap scheme. But he had already double-crossed Barney, so what chance wouldshe have with him? Besides, suppose he had a partner higher up someplace who was calling all the shots, which was a distinct possibility, and something she didn’t even want tothink about.
She knew she could not deal with Saddam Hussein. She remembered him hitting poor Jonah with the rifle stock and then slapping her so hard she’d almost lost consciousness. No, Hussein was not the one to approach here.
The girl, in fact, was the only one with whom she felt she might stand the slightest chance.
The girl wasn’t stupid, but she was vulnerable.
Yes, she would have to work on the girl.
HAWES KNEWthat Honey Blair reported to work at six each evening, and didn’t leave the studio till sometimes two or three in the morning, which was even worse than working the Graveyard Shift. He called her office at a quarter to seven, hoping she wasn’t already out roaming the city on assignment.
She picked up on the third ring.
“Honey Blair,” she said.
“Hi,” he said. “This is Cotton Hawes.”
There was that telltale moment of silence that told him she didn’t know who the hell on earth Cotton Hawes was.
“The detective,” he said.