Mirage Man

by Trace Conger

  Messner's eyes widened, as if he hadn't thought of that scenario. "Fine." He locked up his car and climbed into the Jeep. A minute later, we were on the FDR en route to MCC.

  It took a half hour to get there. I stashed my weapon under the driver’s seat and looked over at Messner. He wore gray slacks, a black mock turtleneck and a camel topcoat, probably cashmere. I wore a pair of light-blue jeans, a gray sweatshirt and my green military jacket.

  "They going to let me in?" I said. "In these clothes, I don't look like I belong here."

  "Would you rather go back to the hotel and change into that ill-fitting suit? It's not much better." He smiled. "They'll let anyone in as long as they're with me."

  A few minutes later, we were in the lobby presenting our credentials to the woman behind the bulletproof glass. She told us Sontag was waiting in conference room two. We walked through the security door, through the metal detector and into the corridor where a guard led us to the conference room.

  Unlike my last meeting with Sontag, he was already in the conference room, but this time he wasn't shackled to the chair. Instead, his arms were crossed in front of him and his seat was tilted back on two legs, leaning against the white wall.

  Nothing about this was right.

  "Sit down," said Sontag.

  The guard closed the door behind us.

  I took a seat directly across from him. Messner sat at the end of the table to Sontag's right.

  "What happened?"

  Messner turned to me, both men waiting for my explanation.

  "I located Nicky at the house on Long Island. Victor Tan's men followed me there. I'd switched cars to avoid a tail, but they still found me. It's possible they might have tapped my cell." It took a lot not to mention Messner. "They ambushed us in Brookville. Nicky and I escaped. We made it back to the city, where Zoe Armstrong put us up. Victor found us there and sent a hit squad. They torched Zoe's place, but I was able to get Nicky out of that too. We went off the grid until the next morning. Messner had set up the sit-down and we arrived at the Gramercy Park Hotel as directed. Victor Tan was waiting for us in the hotel room. They shot Nicky in front of me."

  "How did you get out in one piece?"

  Sontag was pressing me. He had multiple scenarios running through his head, and in one of those scenarios, I led Nicky to the slaughter.

  "I didn't. There's a bullet hole in my leg thanks to Eddie Nash."

  "You weren't limping when you walked in here."

  "Painkillers haven't worn off yet. I suspect they will in the next twenty-four hours. I'll drop my pants if you want proof."

  "Not necessary," said Sontag, turning to Messner. "And you set up the meeting?"

  "That's right, just like you asked."

  "Did Victor approach you before any of this went down?"

  "No. I assume he had already aligned himself with Spiro and Napoli. Once I set up the sit-down with them, they probably tipped him off."

  Sontag nodded. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. A good thirty seconds passed without a word. Messner and I turned to each other, looking for some sign of what to do next.

  I was about to speak when the front two legs of Sontag's metal chair slammed into the tile floor. He uncrossed his arms.

  "There's something else we need to discuss." He stood up and paced the room. "Ever since they picked me up, I've been convinced someone in my organization was working with the feds to build a case against me. Someone was feeding them intel on my operation. Someone they might even try to put on the witness stand. A key witness. Someone to put me away for a long haul."

  I had covered my tracks as far as my cooperation with the FBI went, but my brain was scrambling to figure out what Sontag might know. He was pacing quicker now, and every time he took a step the table vibrated.

  "I racked my brain to figure out who would be so stupid," Sontag continued. "Who would betray me like that? Who had something to gain for cooperating with the police? And now I know."

  Messner and I looked at each other again.

  Why wasn't Sontag shackled? And why wasn't there a guard in the hallway when we entered the conference room like before? I looked up. The video camera in the corner of the room was unplugged.

  I had wondered the first time I met with Sontag in MCC how much influence he had on the inside. Now I had my answer. I'd walked into a trap for the second time today. Sontag had choreographed this entire meeting. The guard at the metal detector was likely gone, perhaps on a stroll to get a cup of coffee. The woman in the bulletproof booth was too isolated to hear anything. The video cameras were off, and I'd wager the rest of the nearby conference rooms were empty. It was just Sontag, Messner and me. Messner was the first to speak.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "One of our friends in the NYPD came across some information. The name of one of the federal agents on the task force investigating me. Porter and his men picked him up. Took him to Brooklyn where they tortured him with a pressure washer. Porter said they peeled a lot of skin off before they got a name, but they got one.”

  He stopped next to Messner, leaned across the table and stared straight through me.

  "You want to wager a guess on who it is, Connor?"

  This is how it happens. This is where Sontag kills me.

  "I don't know anything about it, Joseph. I'd never betray you like that. Why would the feds come to me anyway? I couldn't give them anything close to what they'd need to build a case against you."

  Sontag stood back up and walked to his chair. My heart started beating again at the thought of him sitting back down and talking this out. Maybe I could reason with him, tell him about my father. Maybe he'd understand since he was a father himself. But he didn't sit down. He picked up the chair, whirled around and crushed it into the back of Messner's head. He struck him so hard, that Messner's head smashed against the table and then ricocheted up again, blood pouring from his nose. He mumbled something and then Sontag slammed the chair into his head again. And then again, and again. When he was done, blood covered half the table and Messner's head was split open, fragments of bone and brain coating the chair still in Sontag's hand.

  Sontag flung the bent chair against the wall. He stared at me and I stared back, struggling to process what just happened. Sontag knew something I didn't, and since I was still alive, I figured whatever that was didn't include my involvement with the FBI's investigation.

  I raised my elbows off the table to avoid the blood that crept closer to me.

  "Messner was working with the FBI," said Sontag.

  "Why would he do that?" I asked. Was Messner working with the feds too? Maybe they brought him in independently of me. It's likely they had multiple informants to get a full view of Sontag's operation.

  "Who knows," he said. "Maybe they had some leverage on him. It doesn't matter now. They've got what they got, and he's not going to give them anything else."

  I looked back at the unplugged camera on the wall. How was he able to set this up? Why weren't an army of guards smashing through the conference room door?

  "So, about Nicky," said Sontag, changing subjects like there wasn't a dead attorney with a shattered skull splayed out in front of us.

  "I did everything I could, Joseph—"

  "I know you did. And I don't hold you responsible for his death. But now I need you to do something else for me. Victor Tan orchestrated a coup. You're going to find him and kill him. I doubt I'm asking you to do anything you weren't already going to do."

  He was right about that.

  "You know where I can find him?"

  "No clue. Porter probably knows. Given his history with the organization, I don't think Victor can cut him out. Not yet, anyway."

  "Right." I wiped Messner's splatter off my face.

  "But be careful, Connor. There's a chance Porter's been wrapped up in this for a while. Go in there assuming he's going to kill you. Or at least sell you out. Or talk to Gretchen." He tapped his fingers on the
table. "I assume you know about Victor and Gretchen."

  "I knew about them, but I didn't know you knew."

  "I know everyone she's been with, Connor."

  I swallowed hard as Messner's body slid out of the chair onto the floor.

  "Once I kill Victor, the entire New York criminal underworld is going to come for me. How are you going to stop that blowback?"

  "Cash," he said. "I'll buy your freedom. Don't worry about it."

  "No offense, but it's hard not to worry about it."

  "Money makes this thing go round, Connor. And I've got a ton of it. You kill Victor Tan, and you'll walk away a free man. I promise you that."

  That didn't do much to make me feel any better, but given what Sontag was able to arrange in this conference room, I didn't doubt there were still strings he could pull. I stood up and went for the conference room door.

  "And Connor," said Sontag. "Enjoy your vengeance."

  I turned the doorknob and stepped into the hallway, unsure what I’d find there. It was empty. No guard. No nothing. I turned the corner, passed the unmanned metal detector, the empty lobby, and walked out the front door.

  Any hesitation I had that Sontag had lost his mojo on the inside was gone. He still had enough juice to buy off an entire shift of Bureau of Prison employees. I no longer doubted his ability to buy my freedom after I killed Victor.

  But first I had to find him.

  25

  The Prodigal Son

  Sontag was right about the payoff money. He might be able to finance my freedom after I put Victor down, but that wasn’t my only concern. There were three crime families in New York, and within the next few days I’d be a wanted man with all three of them. Sontag could likely protect me from any blowback from Victor’s death, but Spiro and Napoli would still be on my tail for witnessing Nicky’s assassination. I was a loose end and like Sontag said, nothing ties up loose ends like cold hard cash. I knew Spiro and Napoli could be bought because Victor had done just that. He financed the hit on Nicky that put him in the position to take over Sontag’s organization. I planned on buying my way out of their crosshairs, but that was going to take the kind of money I didn’t have.

  I hoped Zoe would float me a loan to get out from under Spiro and Napoli, but her financial help always came with strings, and I had to be careful of what I agreed to. I was a mile away from Hoster Hall when an NYPD cruiser pulled behind me and flashed its lights. I pulled over near Lenox Hill Hospital. The uniformed officer told me to get out of the car and walked me to his cruiser. Valerie Cheatham was in the back seat.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re using the NYPD as your personal taxi service.”

  “Cut the shit,” she said. “We need to talk.” She picked up a folder from the seat between us. "Does the name Alex Werner mean anything to you, Connor?"

  "No, why?"

  She opened the folder and tossed a glossy photo in my lap. The man in the photo was dead and had been carved up pretty badly.

  "That image jog your memory?"

  "I don't know who this is."

  "This is one of my agents. What's left of him. NYPD pulled him out of a Brooklyn storm drain yesterday. He's on my Sontag Taskforce."

  This must be the agent Porter tortured to get the information that Messner was cooperating with the feds. I decided to keep that tidbit in my pocket for now and see where Valerie was going.

  "I don't know anything about this," I said.

  "Someone in Sontag's organization tortured and killed a federal agent. That doesn’t go unpunished. I had to talk to his wife yesterday. I had to tell her I was sorry about what happened to him, and I promised to do everything in my power to find out who was responsible. And that's what I'm going to do. And you're going to help me."

  "I came back to New York to find out who wanted me dead, not thin out your task force."

  "I don't think you had anything to do with it. It's not your MO. But you are going to help me figure out who did this."

  "How's that?"

  "You're going to talk to Sontag's men. Find out what they know. And you're going to wire up.”

  Valerie was running the same play she ran two years ago when she pressured me to get information on Sontag's operation, but this time was different. When I was feeding her intel on Sontag, I could do it my way, take my time and move in a way that didn't shine a spotlight on me. I could tell by her twitching fingers that she wanted to take down whoever was behind her agent's death quickly, and quick usually meant poorly planned, which leads to mistakes and dead informants.

  "No way," I said. "I go poking around and it won't take long for them to figure out what I'm up to. And by the looks of that photo, Sontag's men can do worse to me than you can."

  “Then I’ll just haul you in for it.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “I know, but Sontag’s people don’t. Maybe I haul you in, hold you for a few hours and tell the media we’ve got a suspect in agent Werner’s death.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Who cares? Sontag’s men will be stepping over each other to put you down so you don’t talk.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Don’t care. You get me the information I need, or I take you in.”

  Just like before, Valerie had the leverage she needed to move my hand.

  “Alright. I’ll see what I can do, but you have to let me do it my way.”

  She reached into her pocket and handed me a USB thumb drive.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a transmitter. There’s a switch on the bottom. Activate it and it’ll transmit your conversation to a recorded line. These things are ubiquitous. Everybody’s got one. No one will think twice if they find it on you.”

  I slipped it in my pocket.

  “I want evidence on anyone and everyone involved in agent Werner’s death.”

  “I get this for you and you never show up in my rearview again.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Valerie nodded and the officer opened the rear door. I got out but stuck my head back in.

  “Now I’ve got a question for you,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Were you working with Lyle Messner? Was he cooperating with your investigation into Sontag?”

  “The lawyer? No way. Attorneys are off limits. Why?”

  “Sontag was under the impression that Messner was working for you.”

  “Then I’d hate to be him right now.”

  “Me too.”

  I closed the door and the NYPD cruiser sped off before I reached my car.

  My to-do list was growing longer, and I was running out of time. I could get Valerie her evidence, but that was going to have to take a back seat to Victor. The longer I stayed in New York the more likely Victor was going to find me. But I like breathing, and I wasn't going to let that happen. I had to kill Victor before he killed me.

  I had a small window I could use to my advantage. Nicky's body wasn't even cold yet, and Victor had only been the acting boss of the Sontag Clan for a few hours. The feds didn't even know about it, or Valerie would have mentioned it in our little meeting. Victor's accession wasn't the typical mob promotion, and it was going to take time for the rest of the clan to learn what happened and fall in line behind him. It's not like there's a newsletter or an email chain. It would take a few days for him to organize and meet with his managers and set whatever plans he had in motion. In that window was chaos, a day or two when everyone was on a different page. If I was going to take Victor out, it had to be soon. But I still had to find him, and that meant another conversation with Porter.

  Victor couldn't have pulled off his coup without Porter's help, and if Porter was involved, he might be able to lead me to Victor. I didn't like thinking about it, but I had to keep in mind another reality. There was a chance I couldn't get to Victor, and I needed to have a backup plan, a way to protect myself if I failed.

  Po
rter was going to give me that insurance policy; he just didn't know it yet.

  26

  Begging and Eggs

  Over the last few hours, I'd witnessed Nicky Sontag's assassination, been shot through the leg, watched Joseph Sontag bludgeon his attorney's head with a chair, and been threatened by the FBI. But for some reason, all I wanted to do was eat eggs and pancakes. I also needed to talk to Zoe, but she wasn't going to be happy with what I had to say.

  I parked in front of Dalt's Diner, a few blocks down from Hoster Hall, and rang Zoe. I asked her to meet me at the diner and she agreed. While I waited for her, I ordered a water, two eggs over medium, bacon, and a short stack of Georgia pecan pancakes. Ten minutes later, Zoe walked into the diner and sat down beside me, waving off the waiter before he made it to the table to take her order.

  "What do you want now?" She stared at me through her mirrored sunglasses.

  "I need a loan. A pretty big one."

  "Why?"

  "It's a long story, but I need to get Spiro and Napoli off my back.”

  “How did you get into debt with them? Figured you were smarter than that.”

  “I was standing next to Nicky Sontag when Spiro and Napoli had him killed. I need to throw some cash at them so they don’t send anyone after me.”

  She snatched a piece of bacon from my plate. “And how much is that going to cost you?”

  I swallowed hard. “I figure two million?”

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

  The old couple behind our booth turned to look at us.

  "What makes you think I'm going to give you two million dollars?"

  "Not give. It's a loan. And I only need one million from you.”

  “Only one million?” She shook her head and cupped her hand over her mouth. “Fuck me.”

  “I’m good for it. You know me.”

  “Who are you shaking down for the rest?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Can you help me or not?”