Pent Up

by Damon Suede

  “Even now, huh? You’re sure.” Charles cast a baleful gaze over the remains of his company and took a shaky breath. “You’re sure this is good? That he is.”

  “Yes.” Ruben shook his head. “It was. Is. And so help me it’s gonna be.” Did he mean that? He blinked and tried to remember what had made him feel certain enough to predict his own future. He had to get to the Iris.

  “And?”

  “Andy is in real trouble.”

  “What kinda trouble?”

  Keep telling the truth. Put a foot down.

  Ruben lowered his voice and his gaze to the floor. “Get arrested trouble.”

  “As in you get arrested?”

  Headshake. Ruben wanted to be gone, now. “He did some stupid things. Money things. But I can fix it, I think.”

  “So? Ruben, are you sure you should? ’Cause over here sitting on my fat ass, it sounds like all kinds of craziness has been going on with you as a stooge. While some banker takes you for a ride. Talk to the cops.”

  “We can’t have cops digging in this business.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not a superspy! The cops came twice this morning. Two separate visits. They’re coming back tomorrow. This is a crime scene, papá.”

  “Your apartment too. I came from there. Sorry. I took your cat to Daria’s.”

  “Thank God. I don’t have anything at my place anyways.” Charles shook his head. “Rube, the cops are all over this already. They’re asking.”

  “Then I gotta go back before they try to get me on the record.” Ruben looked hard at him. “Listen, you need to have one of your guys check my carbon monoxide detector. Okay? The detector I installed, Charles. Like, now.” A jerky nod.

  Charles started to stand, looking too curious to be safe. “The what? Why?”

  “Because I’m a fucking fool.” Sad smile. “Thanks, little brother.”

  “Wait—”

  But Ruben didn’t given him a chance to say anything reasonable before taking the stairs two at a time back down to the street. He had to get back to the Iris before Andy did anything crazy. He didn’t know if these assholes were watching, but from this point every wrong move put them both in actual, physical danger.

  Down on Fifty-Ninth, Ruben walked right out into traffic with his arm up. Like a born New Yorker. He could almost hear Andy’s voice in his head. As soon as the taxi stopped, he told him to head up West End and cut across at Seventy-Ninth. He didn’t want to have to fight the crosstown traffic, and going through the Park would save the most minutes. The car bounced and rocked as it rocketed uptown, hitting the lights in seamless sequence.

  He picked up the phone to call, but realized that if Andy didn’t want to stop fighting a call might start some horrible ball rolling. He couldn’t call Hope. Better to barge in and take control of the situation with his bare hands before anyone got sneaky or clever.

  At Park Avenue, he paid his ridiculous fare and hopped out, slamming the taxi door in his haste. The breeze had picked up, and wind-tears slid down his cheeks. He jogged through the lobby with a nod at the doormen. They all knew him now. He jabbed for the elevator and stepped inside the paneled cube.

  Ruben pressed for the penthouse to close the doors to prevent any other residents from joining him. As it climbed, he rocked side to side and jabbed the button.

  Except for the digital numbers flicking by overhead, the silent elevator still gave him the feeling that he wasn’t rising, that he hadn’t left the lobby at all, that he was trapped inside a stationary box. He tried to imagine Andy’s face the moment he walked into the penthouse. Surprise? Pity? Anger? Relief? He might punch Ruben, kiss him, curse him, thank him, throw him out… anything.

  Still together. Ruben wiped his mouth with a shaking hand.

  He would walk in and apologize.

  For what?

  He would admit that he was scared and stupid and Andy was right.

  He wasn’t.

  No, he’d say that he’d told Carlos about them being together, and everything would be okay because they weren’t alone.

  We are.

  Ruben nodded to himself anyways. “Still.” A drunk can get dry and a hitman can retire. Compromise. They’d pay the money back with interest, and the psychos could go back to terrorizing other innocent criminals—

  Then the silent doors slid open and the first thing he saw was blood on the floor.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NOBODY TRIPS over a mountain.

  Scarlet drips made a Morse-code trail which arced toward the library, and then there on the wall: a bloody handprint.

  “Andy!” Ruben jogged past the dining room, the kitchen, begging the silence to prove him wrong. The walls were dented in three places. Slashed paintings. Broken china crunched underfoot. Hard dark scuffs marred the hallway floor where something heavy had been dragged.

  The library had been tossed like a paper salad.

  Books and files all over the floor. Filing cabinet tipped over and its contents smeared in a crumpled stripe. Two of the screens were cracked and hung by their cables. The door to the terrace hung wide open, leaving the air inside hot, damp, and still.

  Where was the alarm?

  “Andy?” Quieter now, afraid of what he’d find. Without thinking Ruben grabbed the rail and pulled himself upstairs. A shaky nausea dragged at his limbs, weakening him with each step. The sultry stillness made him feel worse than he already did, which seemed impossible. “C’mon, Bauer. Don’t be a dick.” Up here the quiet air was hotter and the beds were all made. The electricity wasn’t out everywhere, but at the breaker three circuits had been thrown.

  He went downstairs through the library and found marks he could follow.

  Ruben’s bed had been stripped bare, for some reason. A lamp knocked to the floor, but there was no other damage to the room. They must have caught him sleeping in this room. In Ruben’s room.

  Alone.

  “My—” He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. “Fucking Christ.” Guilt washed over him.

  Andy had warned him, but as usual Ruben had ignored everyone’s advice because he knew best, because he was such a genius. After all, his perfect life spoke for itself.

  In the hall he found one of the pillows wadded against the baseboard. A shredded sheet, stained with more blood, stretched in tatters down the hall. Impromptu restraints. He crawled forward, following the trail.

  They’d wrapped Andy in the bedding to immobilize him and dragged him out of the building like a sack of laundry.

  Beaten? Unconscious? Probably. Jesus.

  Ruben stopped. The drunk in him wanted to crawl back into a bottle. The bodyguard needed to notify the cops. The man who loved Andy was gonna scream or puke or punch holes in the walls until he thought of his brother’s warning and laughed, without feeling an ounce of relief.

  He’d rowed his leaky boat out into deep water.

  Ruben’s mind raced as he squatted for a closer look. Scrapes and smears on the plaster walls and hardwood floor. Andy’d struggled, maybe? Or woken up and gotten an arm loose. He forced himself to take steady breaths. Pictures crooked, one fallen with its glass shattered. A quarter million in damage easy. Tallying the damage kept him from adding to it.

  With every move he was wrecking evidence, but what choice did he have? The gory handprint, whether Andy’s or someone else’s, was the last clear mark before the upstairs service elevator.

  Think.

  Ruben couldn’t involve the cops or the feds. Charles had already taken a big hit he didn’t deserve. Andy flew solo, and professional courtesy was thin on the ground. For a woozy second, Ruben considered calling his ex-wife in Florida, but to what purpose? A week ago he could have reached out to his sponsor, but Peach was gone and he’d done jack to get a new sponsor up here. He’d blown off AA on top of everything. Thinking with his dick. Thinking like a dry drunk.

  Sluggishly, he considered going to a meeting and then stopped. S’not about you, asshole. And then he knew:r />
  “Hope.”

  Before he questioned the impulse, he dug out his cell phone and called Andy’s assistant. She might not know what to do, but she’d know where to start and keep her mouth shut while they did it.

  She picked up on the fourth ring. “Stanford.”

  “Ruben here.” He took a breath. “We gotta serious situation.”

  Silence. The muttering behind her shifted. “Hold.” The sounds where she was changed. “Hadta step outside. Situation?”

  “How soon can you get here?”

  “You’re at the penthouse.” Not a question.

  “Mmh. And Andy is… not.” He didn’t want to reveal anything else on the phone. How much did Hope know about Andy’s stupid hitman sideline? “I’m not calling anyone.”

  “Ah. ’Kay. I’m there in twelve minutes.” A sigh. “Oso, you cool?”

  “No. No, it’s…. Just get here.” He punched END and went down to wait in front of the elevator like a sweaty trap spider. He wanted to catch her before she saw any of the mess, any of the blood.

  For a moment, he remembered Andy ambushing him on that first day, barefoot and holding a drink Ruben couldn’t take. Jerk.

  True to her word, Hope turned up in just over ten minutes, wearing fancy sweats and a crease between her eyebrows.

  As she stepped off the elevator, Ruben held up his hand. “Before you see, I need to know how much you know about everything.”

  “What is going on?” She looked wary and tried to walk around him.

  “Andy’s gone.”

  Her forehead crumpled but she didn’t comment. She scanned the dim hall and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Did you hurt him?” Strained calm.

  “No! Course not.”

  Hope peered warily into the hallway, eyeing the crime scene. “Where the fuck is he? Ruben?”

  Ruben shifted back and said, “I have no idea. And if you have no idea, then Andy is in deep shit.”

  She stopped at the blood. “Jesus. His?”

  “I think.”

  “You weren’t here when it happened.” Her gaze flicked around the walls.

  “We had a fight. Personal, not professional.” With luck she wouldn’t press him on that. “And not physical. Last night. I left.”

  “Lord.” Hope inched down the hall, pausing to take in the red spatter. When she got to the handprint, she hugged herself. “Lord. And why aren’t we calling the NYPD?”

  Ruben met her eyes. Thin ice here. “We can’t. Andy wouldn’t… doesn’t want them here.”

  Slow turn, slow question. “Why?”

  “This isn’t a robbery, Hope.”

  “You don’t know that. Money at this scale? Whole apartment is an enlarged motive with a universal adapter. Everybody wants to rob him.” Beat. “He’s done something.”

  How much could he trust her? “He’s made some, uhh, questionable decisions.”

  Side-eye from Hope. “That’s what trading is, Oso. Questionable. Risk money to make more. Mostly someone else’s. Andy hasn’t done anything illegal. I’d know. I see his trades. I take his calls.”

  Maybe he could give her enough to figure it out without betraying Andy’s confidence. “Not illegal, say….”

  “Hffft. Andy isn’t a criminal. Or not more than any other investment banker.” Hope squinted, cold and savvy. “How much do you know about finance?”

  “Are you shitting me? I dunno. Nothing. Buy low, sell high?”

  She crossed her arms. “Anytime someone makes money, someone else loses it. Anything that helps you predict the future better improves your odds. Only no one can predict the future, exactly. Unless you cheat.”

  “Well. Uh. What if Andy’s participated in some iffy deals?”

  “Finance is about margins. Boundaries.” Hope stepped into the library and frowned at the mess. “The real dough is right up on the edge of what’s right and wrong. But we don’t steal.”

  “No, but say Andy had a grudge, wanted to inflict some justice.” Ruben spread his fingers and let her do the math. “Is that possible?”

  “With the SEC watching?” Hope sat at her desk. “If Andy wanted to retaliate, he’d have to protect himself, visibly.” She looked up, the idea brightening her face as it took shape. “Unless he played to lose.”

  “Howzat?” Ruben blinked. As usual, Hope was gonna end up being the smartest person in the room. “Like a mistake?”

  “An on-purpose. Collateral damage.” She looked more curious than shocked. “Oh, that’s good.” Off his look, she added, “Occasionally people took heavy losses in Apex, but that’s the law of the jungle. Most of these folks can afford it. Apex was high-risk for a reason.” A secret grin.

  Ruben spoke slowly. “He invests his own money to gain their trust and then walks them into a disaster he can survive.”

  She nodded. “But the victims can’t. Well, think about it. Andy’s not a bank. He follows laws, but he’s fallible. Mistakes happen, right?”

  “Sucks for them.”

  “Assassination by margin call.” Hope rocked back and took a breath. “Only they’re not dead-dead, just dead in the water. A financial hitman.” She looked to him for confirmation.

  Ruben blinked but didn’t contradict her. He hadn’t blabbed and she’d put it together. Now, at least he had an ally without feeling like he’d betrayed Andy again. “Maybe. He musta buried a couple big-time assholes in his time.”

  “Or not.” She tapped a perfect plum nail on the glass desk. “Killing someone puts them out of their misery. This would feel way worse than murder, and riskier too. When you kill someone they don’t stick around to return the favor. They want payback.”

  “Let’s say you’re right.” He put his hands in his pockets, ready to beg. He tried to ignore the blood. “If all this is payback, this is someone with a grudge. I’m not saying it’s crooked.”

  “But it is, and any fool would say the same.”

  He looked around at the wreckage. “No kidding.”

  Hope grimaced. “He tossed the missionaries right into a pot and started a fire under them. Cannibal stew.”

  Ruben sat back. “Until one of them gets antsy. Andy adds some salt.” Meaning himself. Hiring Ruben had been a warning.

  She eyed the mess. “Looks like one little missionary boiled over.”

  Sudden flash of Fifty-Ninth Street and a crowd grabbing at a tornado of hundreds. “He knew them.” And right then, Ruben realized. He glanced down at his battered hands. “The mugging. He knew. He knew ’em.”

  She blinked. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they tried to abduct him three weeks later and he didn’t want the cops.” He paced, the pieces slowly floating together in his mind.

  “Abduct?” Her eyebrows rose.

  Ruben didn’t have time to explain. “I beat the living shit out of them and they bolted. Andy knew who they worked for.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Not strangers. I’m the only stranger. You see? Everyone else is a known quantity. The clients, the staff, social circle. He couldn’t afford to have me recognize anyone.”

  A deep frown broke her face. “Jesus. He set you up. These guys musta given him no choice!”

  “Hope, how do I find him?” He opened his arms to the disarray. “He needs your help. I do.”

  She looked toward the blood in the hallway.

  Ruben opened his fists. “I shoulda been here with him.”

  “Maybe. But you weren’t and Andy’s a grownup. We should call the cops, Ruben. What you’re talking about—”

  “No. Please. Those goons weren’t sent to kill him. They’re more scared of jail time than he is. This is about the money. An IOU.” Sweet, sharp certainty swelled up in him like uncorked champagne. “Someone wants a piece. A share.” He turned to Hope and squeezed her hand, only half seeing her. “We can pay Andy’s bill and walk out the door.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I knew he was nutty. I knew he had enemies. I knew he’d face
d a couple nasty margin calls, but who hasn’t?”

  Ruben paid attention to the quiver in his liver. “Apex.” Predator.

  “What about it? Whole fund always made a tidy profit. Nothing flashy. Totally out of character for him, finance-wise.”

  Ruben nodded at the financial crawl on the cracked screens around the library. “We’re looking for an Apex client in this up to his neck and hurting. Whatever the deal was, our guy lost plenty because Andy lost even more.”

  She nodded, righted the laptop, and started tapping. “Enough to risk violence? Wall Street and jail time don’t exactly mix.”

  “So… a certain type of investor. Small fry with intentions in over their head. They want to seem scarier than they can be.” Ruben circled the desk again.

  “Wolf tickets. They’re selling wolf tickets. Know what I mean?” She laughed hollowly.

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Big talkers. Threats and ugly promises. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ types. For all their slick shit, they still act like Neanderthals.” How many times had Andy griped about the blue bloods he’d grown up with? “Part of the tribe.”

  Except…the trouble had stopped until they’d turned up in tuxes at—

  “Saint Anthony’s.” Hope finished his thought first. “He took you to show you off to the stiffs and rub their faces in it. He got cocky. Someone in Apex got the message.”

  “Maybe Andy wasn’t paying attention to the right people.”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “His Apex guys are always the wrong people. Big jerks, stupid risks. Andy wouldn’t let me play, ever. The deals looked so solid, and I had a couple bucks socked away. Andy never came out and said no, but he shut me out.” She squinted and mock-laughed. “Was I pissed! Jeez, I thought I was gonna kill him. But, I think he was helping out his family.”

  His Clan of the Cave Bear. For a second Ruben could see Andy’s guilty eyes a few inches in front of him at the Museum of Natural History by the Stone Age dioramas. “Fucking idiot.” Ruben wiped his face roughly.

  Hope turned.