Crime & Counterpoint (18 page)

“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you,” Henri began as soon as he closed the double doors of his home office, “you’re not the kind of man I approve my daughter being with.”

Zach stood uncomfortably in the lawyer’s Pernod-spiced lair. “In your shoes, I don’t think I would either.”

Henri allowed a small, tight smile. “Well, I’m glad we can agree on that.” He walked silent as death towards the generous cherry oak desk and lowered himself into his executive chair, gesturing for Zach to take the seat opposite.

Warily, Zach sank into cool, padded leather and scanned the high-brow, erudite surrounds.

Henri leaned back, elbows on the arms of the chair. He pressed his fingertips together and watched the detective coldly. The air was so quiet, they could hear the time piece on the wall ticking.

Apprehension stole over Zach.

Finally, Henri picked up a pen from his brush-nickel utensil holder. He held it by the ends and rolled it like a cigar. “I overheard your…
conversation
downstairs. Ordinarily, I’d say it’s your business. But this is my girl we’re talking about.”

“Did you have this talk with Carter, too?” Zach replied, managing to maintain his swagger.

Narrowing his eyes, Henri increased pressure on the writing instrument. Abruptly, he dropped it back into the holder, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thick manila file. He landed it right in front of Zach with a thud.

Frowning, Zach lifted the cover. He saw the first page – his NCAA picture and football stats – and his boat of confidence sprang a leak.

“Relax,” Henri commanded, tone forbidding.

Zach tensed further.

“I know all about you. Your track record for catching the basest offenders, your high marks on service exams, your physical prowess and marksmanship. All very commendable. However, I’m also familiar with your anger issues, your proclivity towards abusive conduct. Self-sabotage.”

Zach scowled. “Do you have a point?”

“If you want to avoid the sharks, don’t jump in the water.” Henri waited for a response but received none so he proceeded. “When your sister died, you fell headlong into a mirror. A supposed accident which landed you in the hospital. When your parents divorced, you were surprisingly calm until you ended up in a nearly fatal car crash. In college, after your grandfather was diagnosed with brain tumors, you began misusing several illegal substances.” Henri stared shrewdly. “A simple ACL injury during the NCAA championship game is one from which you never recovered. It eliminated you from the draft after you’d already signed a $10,000,000 contract with the Steelers. Your girlfriend left you and then died in a DWI wreck. Tried to kill yourself afterwards.”

Surprise ricocheted through Zach’s temples, causing a vein to throb. “Stop it!”

Unruffled, Henri gestured to the folder. “It’s all there… with your university medical records.” He smiled flatly. “You were such a” – he looked up at the ceiling, stroking his powerful chin – “celebrity, and so the school psychologists swept everything under the rug, chalking it up to emotional duress. After all, a Heisman recipient attempting suicide? Imagine the embarrassment. I’m sure Abigail doesn’t even know.”

The muscles in Zach’s cheek and jaw worked as he fought the rising anxiety.

“You’re damaged.” Henri paused to watch Zach, practically seeing the memories play across his features. “People tend to excuse your visceral issues, thinking that all you need is a chance.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, running a finger along the gleaming, beveled edge of the dust-free cherry top. “But from one predator to another, you’re not fooling me.”

Henri pushed himself to standing and started a slow turn around his office. “I’m not blind. I know what’s been going on. And if you don’t tell me everything, I will make sure you lose more than your badge.”

Scalded, Zach sat stunned. Knowing he didn’t stand a chance, he spilled everything in detail…

When he concluded the retelling, Zach exhaled, feeling the acute stab of guilt as he awaited judgment.

Henri came to stand by his chair, studying Zach with shrewd, cold eyes. “You killed them to save her,” he verified with some disbelief.

“I did.”

Henri let silence reign for a few beats. “If anything happens to her, I guarantee that if you take my client to court, it will end badly for you. Judge Blankenship owes me several favors. And right now, she doesn’t have all the evidence.” Henri withdrew a memory card, the same kind that Cervenka had given Zach. “I don’t think I have to tell you what intentional manslaughter will get you.”

Not the type to be cowed by threats, Zach nevertheless ducked his head. “It wasn’t premeditated.”

“Then where’d you get the steak knife?” Henri countered, knowingly.

Suddenly, a light knock sounded at the heavy, dark-stained wooden portal.

“Come in,” Henri called, flipping his demeanor’s switch.

The door opened, and Carol brought her refinement and youthful beauty into her husband’s domain. “Here you are,” she exclaimed, acting mildly put-out. She sailed towards him on a fragrant current of jasmine and red rosé. Zach thought at once that Shelley looked quite a bit like her. The same Ipanema tan, the same chocolate hair, the same mouth. Only her eyes came from Henri. He seemed to recall attending a New York Philharmonic concert with his grandparents where she was the featured artist. And there was an even fainter memory in the back of his mind: something about a broken violin. And an accident.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Henri apologized, tone benevolent and sensual now. “I was just having a pleasant chat with Abigail’s prodigal grandson.”

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe a word. “Of course you were,
mi amor
,” she crooned.

Henri extended an arm to her once she neared, which she was quick to fill. He drew her close, and she perched on the arm of his chair with the uncanny grace of an airline stewardess.

Zach welcomed the distraction and watched the interaction between the obviously still-in-love couple. Henri took one of her hands and massaged her palm, murmuring something in French. She clenched, however, like his ministrations hurt, and he stopped right away.  

“I came because Jared and Carrie are waiting for you before we do toasts.”

He stood up to walk her to the door. “Very well. I’ll just be a minute.”

She smiled. “Alright. But after this, you’re all mine. No more business tonight.
Comprendes?
” They shared a sensuous, lover’s kiss, and he sent her off with a pat to her backside, for which she threw him a fleeting glance of amused displeasure.

Upon closing the heavy door, Henri turned around, face instantly masked by darkness again. Wordlessly, he went around his desk and opened the top drawer. He pulled out another file about twice as thick as the one on Zach and stacked it atop the other. “Ivan Kazanov. He’s your real problem. Not Cervenka.”

Completely confused, Zach started to open the file, but Henri slapped his hand down on top.

“I have a few terms you’ll have to agree to first.” Henri speared Zach with a cold gaze. “That club? Stays open. You find a way to bring Kazanov and his associates down without infringing upon The Purple Gazelle’s daily operation, or I will make sure he knows what you’re up to.”

Zach scowled. “That place is infested.”

Henri’s face didn’t lose its steel plating. “Which brings me to my second requirement. I expect you to protect Shelley at all cost,” he stated, leveling a cold gaze at Zach as he slowly circled the desk. “I don’t care if the FBI asserts themselves, if Judge Blankenship’s favor runs out, or if you get arrested. Her safety is your top priority.” He stopped and loomed over Zach like a bloodthirsty shark. “I don’t think you can afford the alternative. Do we have a deal?”

Henri extended his left hand. Zach peered into the man’s dark eyes and reluctantly sealed the agreement, certain he was signing away his soul.   

Part IV

Money Jungle

By the stretch of floor-to-ceiling windows in apartment 2C, Carter stood at a pub-height, two-seater in the back corner of the living room, comparing notes with Zach. The place was quiet with only Upper West Side traffic painting the backdrop. Ashleigh was at St. Patrick’s Cathedral already with her soon-to-be sister-in-law as one of the bridesmaids. But Shelley was here in her bedroom getting ready behind closed doors.

Afternoon sun streamed upon both men who were already dressed for the occasion: Carter in Calvin Klein with a powerful striped tie and Zach in perfectly-cut Armani, white shirt, and ice blue solid tie – the official color of today’s wedding. A centerpiece bowl of rose petals in jasmine-scented water vibrated as Carter pushed it aside to make room for their spread of documents and Zach’s overstuffed file.

“Can’t believe you actually did your homework,” Carter said aloud.

Zach had neglected to mention the source of this wealth of material. But he hadn’t stayed at NYPD headquarters all night for nothing – ever since leaving the Mitchel’s estate, in fact. Strangely enough, he displayed no signs of sleep-deprivation, and his hard countenance was instead lit by fire.

Carter turned to a full-page color photo of Kazanov, fuzzy but clear enough. He was looking over his shoulder in a crowd in Rockefeller Center, cell to his ear. “You recognize this guy?”

Zach’s jaw shifted. “He’s the one who threw me in the river.”

Carter appraised him sharply. “Seriously?”

“I know the face.” The palpable horror of waking up beneath that oppressive bed came back to him. The darkness. The pain. The hopeless struggle. All-consuming anger began to roil, filling his veins and swelling the blackness in him. Blinded for the moment by uncontrollable fury, Zach clenched his fist and looked away.

“Ivan Kazanov is in the Brother’s Circle, the Russian syndicate. They’ve taken an interest in the Red Fisher’s business, cooperating with his crime ring,” Zach said, pointing out a series of roundabout ACH transfers in excess of 12.5 million dollars. “All laundered funds go straight to The Purple Gazelle. They’re using the club to legitimize the cash made on black market weapons.”

Carter scrutinized the bank transfers, pressing his palms into the “So how does he get the money back?”

“Narcotics. Cervenka’s got the drug connections,” Zach answered, sliding his hands into his slacks pockets. He strolled to one of the windows and looked out into the cloudy afternoon. “He needed cash. The local chapter of the Brother’s Circle wants drugs.”

“So then why isn’t it working out between their syndicates?”

Zach’s gaze sharpened. “Maybe it was just a one-time thing.”

“He wanted you to take out two men who are associates of Kazanov.” Carter held up the list Zach had marked up thoroughly with red ink. “Clearly, something’s going on.” When Zach said nothing, Carter grew suspicious. “You know… you never did say how it was you came to be at the shipyard that night.”

Zach didn’t look around.

“Did Cervenka give you a tip?”

Chest tightening, Zach wouldn’t speak.

“Did it ever occur to you that he may have led you out there to be slaughtered? Potentially twice?” When Zach didn’t answer, same as ever, Carter stormed over and grabbed the man’s arm, forcing him around. “Look. I don’t know what he’s saying, but you can’t let him get to you.”

“He knows where Kazanov is. He’ll tell me if I ask.”

The deep-throated rumble and the look on his face told Carter exactly what was going through Zach’s mind. He lowered his voice. “I can’t defend you in court if you deliberately cooperate with Cervenka.”

But Zach was too far gone to pay attention.

“And God forbid you get imprisoned or worse. Come on, man. Think about your family. Carrie. Your grandmother.”

Zach’s face changed.

Seeing he’d struck a nerve at last, Carter stepped away. He moved back to the file and continued sifting. “Good news is this might be enough to shut down the club, at least.”

Zach tensed. “I think we should hold off.”

Carter shot him a look. “Let me guess. The Fisher’s orders?”

If only
. Zach checked his watch – show time. Quickly, he grabbed the stuffed folder. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heavy with concern, Carter watched Zach tread across the wooden floors and exit the apartment.

As soon as that door shut, another opened, and Carter’s attention immediately diverted towards Shelley’s room with commendable eagerness.

She stepped out, and her gaze flicked around the room first before settling on Carter. He might have noticed the disappointment in her eyes except he was too busy taking in her divine appearance. The satin designer gown she wore was a strapless, fuchsia confection which accentuated her slender curves and flared at the bottom skirt, giving her a divine hourglass figure. A simple tear-drop diamond hung suspended against her caramel skin from a thin gold chain. She’d pulled her long, mahogany hair back at the sides to show off the matching set of earrings and her elegant neck. Gracing her feet were silver, crystal-studded sandals that added an additional two and a half inches to her 5’7” height. She could easily pull off such a chic, bare-shouldered look with her olive skin thanks to her mixed heritage.

Shelley stared at him expectantly, the rose of her dress magnifying her large brown eyes. Her tinted lips curved in an amused smile as she awaited Carter’s assessment.

A slow grin broke out across his classic features, and he came towards her, awe and appreciation written in his gaze. “Beautiful doesn’t even do you justice.”

She beamed genuinely then.

“God, I’m afraid to even touch you.”

“Then I’ll touch you,” she said, reaching up to fix his tie though it didn’t need it.

He groaned pleasurably. “Don’t say that to any other guy. They’ll take it the wrong way.”

She tilted her head and assumed an innocent expression. “What way?”

He just smirked. His hands gripped her smooth arms, sliding up them, following her shoulders’ contours. “I’ve, uh, been wanting to ask you something. Officially,” he said, drawing her close. He fished inside his pocket and came out with the same glittering ring.

Her face lit with uncertainty though she knew what daddy wanted.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now if you don’t want to.” He slipped the ring on her fourth finger. “But I thought it might help your image today.”

She smiled again but less brilliantly, shoving aside thoughts of Zach. “Okay,” she said softly.

“Okay, you’ll think about it? Or…” he asked, brows elevated.

“I’ll marry you,” she said, forcing herself to look happy.

He grinned fully like she’d made his life. Lifting her face, he slanted his mouth across hers, expressing his thankfulness.

Shelley tried not to compare, not to think of Zach. But she couldn’t stop remembering the sweet torture of being in his embrace. The passionate release she’d felt as she kissed Zach in return came back to her. These thoughts warmed her and took her away from the moment, carrying her to a fairytale where she could have her soul’s desire.

But Carter’s hand pressed into her spine, playing a note that was off-key. And her blissful hunger died. She realized where she was, with
whom
she was, and she wrenched her heart back into that secret chest of dreams. Oh my God. Had she really just agreed to marry this man?

After they parted, Carter was the only one looking like a drugged fool. “You’ve gotten really good. Been practicing?” he teased.

Her only response was to smile weakly.

“This might be a little presumptuous,” he said, touching her exquisite, “but I got a room at the Plaza for us. In case you said yes.”

She attempted to look as upset as possible. “Oh no. I’m expected at the club,” she said gently.

A fissure of irritation broke through his smile. But he kept his response patient and understanding. “Well, that’s alright. But hey, you won’t have to for much longer.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You let me and Zach worry about that.”

The very mention of his name caused her to feel sick. As Carter helped her into her coat, the diamond on her left hand became an iron anchor. And suddenly, she wanted to run.