Taking Control (13 page)

“Sir?” I hear from the end of the alley. Breathing hard, I turn to face the driver of the car I called for. I glance at my watch. 6:50.

“You been there long?” I ask.

“Um, ten min—I mean, no, just got here,” he lies. He looks all of fifteen.

Beneath me, I hear a groan. I make sure to step on both their faces as I walk out of the alley, straightening my suit coat and pretending that I hadn’t just knocked two guys out. I need to take one of them with me, and I don’t think this young man is going to be too helpful. I pull out a hundred dollar bill and slap it in his hand. “Drive up to the Plaza and then forget about me.”

He nods wordlessly and gets in his car. As he speeds away, I call Steve.

He answers on the first ring. “Mate.”

“Had a little altercation, and I’m going to need a pickup.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Where are you?”

“I was outside your place. Tiny hasn’t come out yet.”

“No, you have to stay with her.” I’m sharper with him than usual, but I need Tiny to be protected.

“Mate.” It’s only one word, but I’ve known Steve a long time and can read all that he’s trying to say. Which is essentially that I’m acting like a goddamn fool because I can’t just call anyone to come and help me clean up this mess.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pace. “Call Jake and get him to send over a driver for Tiny. A female one,” I add.

“I’ll get the most female male he’s got on staff,” Steve says sarcastically and hangs up.

Walking back into the alley, Big Guy is starting to sit up. Small Guy is still out cold. I crouch down next to Big Guy. In the dusky light I catalog their clothes, appearance, and possible origin.

Both are wearing bad suits, which makes sense because the Financial District is thick with suits from those warehouse stores, but the average mugger doesn’t sport even the meanest suit. They are both white with sharp noses, heavy eyebrows, and shaggy hair. The light’s too low to see more; their skin could be anywhere from pasty white to deeply tanned.

Big Guy was big, broad-shouldered and slow. His friend was quicker but lacked power in his punch. Low rent thugs without real skill, although maybe against someone who had no fighting experience they’d be terrifying. I’m only irritated. Malcolm Hedder? Mitch Hedder? Richard Howe? One of them likely is behind this. “I’ve got dinner plans, so this needs to go quickly. How much money do you need to sell out the guy who hired you?”

Big Guy looks away, the blood flowing from his broken nose mingling with the blood leaking out the side of his mouth. “I’ll give you all the cash in my pocket for a name.” I wave the thick wad of cash toward him. “There’s fifteen hundred right here.”

Hesitantly he reaches toward it, but Small Guy has roused and raises himself on his elbows. “Don’t do it. You know what they said.” He turns and spits out a mouthful of blood and maybe a tooth or two. The words are tinged with a slight accent. Bosnian is my guess.

“I don’t have time for this. It’s either money now or one of you goes with me and my friends to get questioned for free.”

Big Guy looks back at the downed guy who shakes his head, the brows on his face beetling together to emphasize that he is adamant about being quiet. Big Guy gives my money a regretful look and then tries to punch me again. This time I’m waiting for it, and I lift up my arm to block him. Falling backward intentionally, I shove both legs into Big Guy’s chest so he is sent careening backward onto his friend. I’m up on the balls of my feet, ready for them, when Big Guy lumbers to a standing position and slowly pulls out a knife.

“You should’ve taken the money,” I say and then gesture for him to come forward.

“You started the party without me,” I hear behind me.

“Just trying to make my dinner date,” I quip.

Steve hands me a gun with a suppressor, and at the sight of the two of us with guns, Big Guy stands down. “Throw the knife to me,” I order. Big Guy tosses the knife and it lands about five feet away. To Steve I say, “Take the guy on the ground. He’s the one giving orders.”

Steve brushes by me and toward the assailants. Big Guy doesn’t even try to defend himself when Steve clocks him with the handgun. As the larger assailant crumples to the ground, his friend powers to his feet and runs toward the end of the alley, jumps on a dumpster conveniently located under a fire escape stairs, and runs off. Steve and I watch him go.

“I guess we’re bringing this guy home. Think Tiny will like the present?” Steve asks.

“He’s going to Kaga’s,” I order. “Drive me to the Plaza and then take him. I’ll deal with him later.”

“You need a little cleaning up,” Steve remarks, giving me a once over. He’s dragging Big Guy behind him, so I go over and pick up the dead weight’s other arm. We haul him out of the alley to the waiting Bentley.

“Shit, I’m going to need a new car after this,” I say.

“Pretty much.”

I get into the front with Steve and flip down the visor. I’ve got a cut over my eye and a faint bruise on my cheek. In the tiny mirror, I can see that my collar is speckled with blood and spit. “And I’m going to need a shower.”

The car’s clock says its 7:00. “How late will Tiny be?” I ask.

“Car’s picking her up now, so maybe a half-hour?”

“Call the driver and tell her to delay as much as possible and take me to Kaga’s. We’ll dump this guy in the basement. Kaga should have something for me to wear.”

Kaga isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Aquarium would be the perfect place to lock up a criminal.

“Aye,” Steve answered.

“Tiny’s driver
is
a woman, right?”

“It’s a guy, but I told him to pretend like he didn’t have a dick because if he touched Tiny or looked at her wrong, you would cut it off.”

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

“Just watching your back.”

K
AGA
MEETS
US
IN
THE
alley behind the bar. “I’ve got a better place than the bar for this type of delivery,” Kaga observes, peering into the backseat.

“I don’t have time to go over to the docks. I’m supposed to meet Tiny at the Plaza at 7:00.”

“You need a new watch then, because it’s 7:20 right now.”

“Are you done busting my chops?”

He looks at me. “Looks like someone already did that for me.”

“Is it that bad?”

“In the light of the Plaza dining room, you’ll still look like you took a header to the face, but come in. I’ll have Priya apply some makeup to you. At least you can get through dinner without too many questions. What you tell Tiny after is something you can work on during dinner.”

“Thanks,” I grouse. Big Guy is conscious but steps out of the car meekly. I guess the three of us have subdued him. Plus Kaga’s Japanese, and for some reason, every non-Asian still thinks Japanese guys excel at martial arts. Kaga does and can kick your ass in under five seconds, but it’s still a stereotype that pisses him off.

“Did you have other babysitting duties tonight?” Kaga asks Steve as we escort the assailant down into the basement of Kaga’s nightclub.

“Yeah, told him he needed another bodyguard, but he didn’t listen.”

“You fight with one hand, you will be defeated,” Kaga intones.

“Jesus Christ,” I complain. “You pull that zen shit out to mock me. It’s a wonder Buddha doesn’t smite you.”

“I pull out the zen shit to mock everyone, not just you. I can’t fathom why you think you’re special like that,” Kaga replies.

He stops at a large door with a bar across it. He pulls the heavy sucker open and gestures for our prisoner to step inside. There’s a chair, a water spigot, and a bucket in the corner. The floor is damp, as if it’s been freshly washed. The assailant balks at first but as we stand around him, arms folded, he walks in. Kaga secures the door behind him.

“Do I even want to know why you have this room?”

Kaga shakes his head. “Not really. Let’s get you a different jacket.”

“And pants,” Steve interjects.

My pants look fine. I turn to tell Steve so, but then notice a rip down the side. “And pants.”

Upstairs in Kaga’s office, Priya has a suit over a chair and a table full of makeup. I stick my finger in some sticky shit and grimace.

“Do I really need this?”

Priya looks at Kaga, who’s leaning against his desk. “What will you tell Tiny?” he asks.

“I fell at the office?”

“She’s going to think you’re cheating on her.”

“How so?”

“Because no one falls at his office,” Kaga replies drolly. “If you make up a story she’ll automatically assume you’re cheating on her. It’s either you got in a fight or you’re cheating. I guess you’ll decide which one she’ll forgive faster.”

“Kaga, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to stick my boot up your ass.”

He shrugs and opens his mouth to deliver another platitude while Steve snickers in the background. Sighing, I give in. “Make me beautiful, Priya.”

“I’m only skilled enough to minimize your bruises. I can’t work miracles.”

Her snarky comment leads everyone to laugh. Even me.

After Priya works her magic, she leaves the three of us alone.

“I feel like a goddamn clown.” I pat my face lightly.

“You look scary enough to be a clown,” Kaga observes.

I give him the finger, while busily looking up the number to the Champagne Bar. “Who’s the manager of the Champagne Bar at the Plaza?”

Kaga knows every important bar manager in the city. “DeWight Jones.”

“Champagne Bar, how can I help you?” a pleasant voice intones.

“Ian Kerr. I’d like to speak to DeWight Jones.”

“Certainly. Please hold.”

Muting the volume on my end, I ask Kaga, “What are you stocking over there?”

“Ordering something to appease the old man?”

I nod.

“The twelve-year Subu.”

“Mr. Kerr, so kind of you to call us. What can I do for you?” DeWight Jones has a baritone that would rival Barry White.

“Mr. Jones. Tadashubu Kaga conveys his regards. Thank you for taking my call. I’m in need of your assistance. My fiancé Victoria is there, and she and her companion are waiting for me to arrive. I’m running very late. I wondered if you could deliver food as well as a bottle of the twelve year Subu for the gentleman and a Singapore Sling for my lady. She’s got golden blonde hair and wears it very straight. Likely she is the only female under thirty in your establishment wearing pants.”

“I see them. They’re sitting by a window and appear to be thirsty. I will remedy that immediately.”

“Fantastic. I’ll be there shortly. Please start a tab and I’ll cover it.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kerr. Please tell Mr. Kaga that it would be a pleasure to serve him soon.”

“He’ll be in within the week,” I promise recklessly. Kaga glares at me, but I’ve committed him now and he’s far too honorable to back out.

“We’ll be delighted to see him.” DeWight sounds downright giddy. “And you, of course,” he tacks on.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“They’ll be treated as our most important guests,” he says. “They won’t even realize the time is passing.”

“Thank you.” I end the call.

“Why is it we’re friends again?” Kaga is annoyed.

“Because I’m one of the few people who can afford to sit down at the poker table with you,” I say, stripping out of my ruined suit pants.

“True.” Kaga hands me the replacement pair and Steve sits impassively, watching the bar floor start to fill up. “What do you want to do with our guest?”

The suit pants are slightly short and the shirt is a bit too billowy for my taste, but after I shrug on the jacket, I decide that it’s better than showing up looking like I’d been in a bar fight over in Queens. “No torturing without me,” I instruct.

I signal Steve that I’m ready and we head out. Kaga follows behind. “It’s called
Chinese
torture. I’m Japanese, or did you forget?”

“Your people have been oppressing the East for centuries. I think you know plenty of good torture techniques.”

“Only a couple. And Genghis Kahn was the one who oppressed the East for centuries. We only did it for a couple of them. Khan was Chinese. Or Mongolian, if you want to get technical.”

“By all means,” I reply dryly while climbing into the car. “Let’s be precise and accurate. I’ll be over in the morning. Treat him well. Maybe a good night’s sleep and a full belly will loosen his lips.”

ELEVEN

S
TEVE
BREAKS
A
HALF
DOZEN
traffic laws to get me to the Plaza by 8:15. I’m over an hour late and starving. Hopefully DeWight has brought over a lot of food. It’s a good thing Big Guy didn’t take my money because I’m going to need the bills for tipping. DeWight, as any high end manager would, recognizes me when I walk in. These guys live and breathe the society pages because they don’t want to make the mistake of offending someone who might be powerful enough to get them fired.

“Mr. Kerr, your table is right over here.” DeWight directs me to three club chairs situated by the window overlooking Fifth Avenue.

I slip him a hundred dollar bill. “I need a steak, medium-rare, and another glass for the whiskey.”

“Of course,” he says and smoothly secretes the money into his pocket.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say as I reach the table. Leaning down, I inhale the lemon scent of Tiny and all the shit of the day drifts away. She has that perfect calming effect on me. Everything is going to be fine so long as we’re together.

“Hey, I missed you,” she says and raises her sweet face for a kiss. I want to linger. Hell, I want to drag her off and fuck her blind, working off the adrenaline that the attack had spiked, but now isn’t the time. Not while her stepfather looks on with avidity. I press against her lips for a quick, hard kiss, so she knows that I missed the hell out of her too.

“Hedder.” I give him a short nod and avoid his hand as I sit down. As unobtrusively as possible, I examine Hedder for any hint that he knew of the attack. His glib face shows no signs of satisfaction or dismay. My inspection is inconclusive.

I draw Tiny as close as the bulky club chairs allow, placing her hand on my thigh and covering it with my own. Her hand is slightly cold. Whether that’s from her drink or Hedder remains to be seen.