For the Redmans.
Thank you.
Copyright and Legal Notice: This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.
First e-book edition © 2013.
For all permissions, please contact the author at:
mailto:[email protected]
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental. Copyright © 2013 Christopher Smith. All rights reserved worldwide.
http://www.christophersmithbooks.com
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgments
For their help with this book and other assistance, I’m particularly grateful to Erich Kaiser, my parents Ross Smith and Ann Smith, Justin Libby, Margaret Nagle, Reese Inman, Kevin Brockus, John Campbell, Brandi Doane, J. Carson Black, Scott Nicholson, Jackie Kennedy, Tyler Thiede, Trish Luckett, Anna Dobson, Sandy Dunham, Donna McKune, Lynn La Rue, Chris Casarino, John Michalak, Ricardo Sime, Kathy Routhier Parker, Heather Moore, Angela Brown, Gretchen Weller, Judi Warrington, David Nemeth, Ellen Beck, Martine Bound, Maria DeLalla, Judy Stambaugh, Bunny Marks, Vanessa Thomas, Debra McCann, Diane Cormier, Lisa Smith, Blanche, the team at Odyl, my friends at UMaine, and my amazing accountant and financial advisor, Jaime Berube. To all of you, I appreciate it.
I also would like to thank my readers, who are the best. I’ll see you soon on Facebook.
Additional thanks to the Amazon team, particularly Christopher Carlin, who has been indispensable and helpful on so many levels for which I’m grateful. Chris, a special thank you to you. You literally have opened doors.
Also, I’d like to thank my friends Ted Adams and Bari Khan for exposing me to the darker side of Manhattan, even if they didn’t know they were doing so at the time; to those other unnamed men and women who introduced the author to the real Manhattan while I researched this book; and to friends, old and new, all of whom either helped to shape this book or who offered support as it was written.
Thank you.
Books by Christopher Smith
on Kindle
Below are the U.S. links.
All books are available on all Amazon sites worldwide.
The Fifth Avenue Series
Fifth Avenue (Book One in the Fifth Avenue Series)
Running of the Bulls (Book Two in the Fifth Avenue Series)
From Manhattan with Love (Novella Three in the Fifth Avenue Series)
A Rush to Violence (Book Four in the Fifth Avenue Series)
From Manhattan with Revenge (Book Five in the Fifth Avenue Series)
Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series)
The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set
From Manhattan with Love and Revenge Boxed Set
The Bullied Series
Bullied
Revenge
Witch
War
The Bullied Series Boxed Set
Stand-alone Books
You Only Die Twice
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred One
Chapter One Hundred Two
Epilogue
List of Books by Christopher Smith
PARK AVENUE
A novel by:
Christopher Smith
Chapter One
August
New York City
Amused to be here again, Vincent Spocatti stepped out of the limousine, cut through the crowds on Fifth Avenue and moved into the absolute quiet of the Manhattan Enterprises Building. It had been three years since he’d been in this towering monster of glass and steel, and he hadn’t missed any of it.
He moved across the lobby, held up an ID for the guard sitting at the front desk and was asked to move to the hallway at his left. Spocatti did and approached a private elevator, wh
ich opened for him when he neared it.
Fancy, he thought.
He was about to meet the man who was the executor of Louis Ryan’s will and he couldn’t help wondering exactly how many Redmans he’d be asked to knock off this time.
He assumed it would be those who hadn’t died the first time around. Maybe more. Maybe less. Even in death, who knew with Ryan? Maybe there were others he wanted Spocatti to take down.
One can hope.
The elevator stopped on the forty-ninth floor. The doors whisked open and Spocatti was faced with a younger man who resembled him—just under six feet, muscular, dark hair, a handsome face drained of emotion.
“This way, Mr. Spocatti.”
They walked down a long, industrial-looking hallway. The offices on either side of him were empty. The same went for the sitting area that took up the middle of the space. There were no voices, no sounds other than the drum taps of their own feet on the marble floor.
He didn’t find the absence of others completely unusual—it was, after all, the Lord’s day. But Manhattan Enterprises hadn’t died when its founder, Louis Ryan, was gunned down in a foiled murder attempt three years ago at the opening of The Hotel Fifth.
Spocatti expected to see a few people here, those eager climbers who worked through their weekends hoping their superiors would notice and potentially promote them. But this floor, at least, was empty, which told him plenty. They cleared it for a reason. He was here to meet one man and that man obviously was working under privacy.
They stopped in front of a large stainless steel door.
“I’ll need your gun and anything else you might have on you.”
“Of course.” Spocatti opened the light blazer he was wearing and removed the Glock G23 from its holster. He dipped his hand into an inside pocket and took out two magazines and a speed loader. He handed them over. There was a five-inch knife fastened to his left calf and another Glock G23 on his right calf. He gave them to the man and then reached behind him and pulled out his favorite Glock G19, which was strapped to a belt around his waist.
“I think that’s it.”
The man put the weaponry on the table behind him. “Would you mind if I check?”
“I expect you to.”
Spocatti held up his hands and got the pat down. He was clean. The man picked up the G19 and admired it. “I always wanted one of these.”
“Despite what you hear, it’s better than the G23. It’s more precise. It feels better in the hand. The weight is correct. While that could just be personal preference on my part, I doubt it. Since I used it the last time I was here, I figured I’d bring it along and show it the city again.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“It’s good to see the city every now and then.”
The man motioned to the door. “Mr. Cullen is inside. He knows you’re here. I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”
Spocatti caught the veiled threat and stepped into the room, which was bright with sunlight. James Cullen was seated at the far end of it. He was a middle-aged man, somewhere in his fifties with a crown of silver hair. He was dressed in a beautiful dark blue suit that Spocatti himself wouldn’t mind owning. When Cullen stood to come around the desk to greet Spocatti, Spocatti couldn’t help noticing by the way the man walked that one of his legs was prosthetic.
“Lost it to cancer,” Cullen said. “Miss it terribly.”
“I imagine you would.”
“You should see me going through airport security,” Cullen said. “It’s a nightmare. Bells. Whistles. Frightened children. Long faces. Flashing lights. Awful. One of these days, I’m going to take the damned thing off, send it through with my shoes and wait for the fallout. At least that will be amusing.” There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes when he held out his hand and shook Spocatti’s. “Good to see that you have your legs. And I assume that Jason took your arms?”
“So to speak.”
“I’m happy you decided to come. I wasn’t sure whether you would.”
“Last time I wasn’t exactly successful.”
“The body count suggests a degree of success.”
“Not really. George and Leana Redman are still alive.”
“And Michael Archer. Did Louis get in the way?”
“You could say he was never part of the solution.”
“Well, you can rest assured that I’ve never been one to interfere. I’m also not, as they say, as emotionally invested as Louis was. In the event of his death, he trusted me to carry out the orders in his will. There was a provision in the will that demanded I wait until the third anniversary of his death, which was a week ago, to carry out the instructions he held for me in a safe deposit box. I’m the only one with access to that box and I’m the only one who knows what those instructions are.” His face brightened. “But I bet you can guess.”
“More dead Redmans?”
“That’s one way to put it. And, yes, at least what’s left of them, as well as a host of other assorted types. Given the tenuous circumstances Louis put himself in, he at least was smart enough to plan for a future in which it was he who died that night and not George Redman. He was aware that anything could go wrong and so he prepared for it. I admire his forward-thinking tenacity. Just because he was shot dead by those awful police people doesn’t mean he needed to stop what he started.”
“But he was wrong,” Spocatti said. “George Redman didn’t kill Ryan’s wife. Redman’s wife did it. She admitted to it and is in prison because of it.”
“So she is, but Ryan didn’t know that when he died. He thought it was George.” He held up a finger. “About Elizabeth,” he said. “As you’d expect, she is a model of good behavior in the clink, even when she’s scrubbing toilets with those little brushes they give her or when she’s serving the other inmates their ladles of swill during the dinner hour. Or supper hour. They probably call it supper there. Anyway, none of that matters. Louis hated George. Even if George didn’t kill Anne, he’d still want Redman dead, right along with the rest of his family. Or what’s left of them. I know that with certainty. I know it in my bones and I can feel it in the toes of my fake foot. So, we just go forward with it. Before his death, he funded a special account that will fuel what he wants done now.”
“And what is that?” Spocatti asked.
Cullen handed Spocatti a sheet of paper. On it was a list of ten names. Spocatti read through the list and then stopped at the final line Ryan had written in his own hand beneath the names. “He wants this done in a week?”
“Sooner if possible. I think he hates the fact that they’re still enjoying life while he’s just a pile of ash.”
“There are ten people on this list.”
“Yes, there seems to be. Is that too much of a burden?”
“Depends. What are the restrictions?”
“None. Well, that’s not exactly true. It would be good if you got some sort of photographic evidence after you killed them. That would be nice to have on hand.” He pointed at a name on the list. “With the exception of her, each person is grand enough to warrant a grand obituary, so I’m not concerned about seeing their names in print. But a photo or two of the grisly aftermath? Between us, I think the world should see their dead faces. That’s something I can make happen on the Internet, if only for Louis. We were friends for years.”
“Did you play Topple the Conglomerates together?”
“Did we what?”
“Never mind. What’s the payment?”
“Twenty million dollars. If you agree to do the job, you’ll receive half now and the other half later, when I confirm that the job is done.”
“I know some of the people mentioned here. Who are the others?”
“Just people Louis hated. You know, society types who snubbed him because he was self-made and thus, in their eyes, worthless despite his billions. Board members that prevented a business deal from happening. A love interest he once had that never panned out because the woman expected m
arriage, of all things. Louis was very sensitive. I think he got a kick out of revenge.”
“Even in death.”
“Apparently so. And what better way to get it, really? Nothing to fear. This time, he’s safe in the arms of heaven and able to watch it all unfold at a distance.”
“Did you just say he’s in heaven?”
Cullen blinked.
“I thought so. When do you expect me to get started?”
“Straight away.”
“Straight away means today, which is impossible. I need to know where these people live. I need to know where they eat, work and sleep. I need to plan for each death. This isn’t something you just toss at me and expect it to go down smoothly with no thought behind it. That’s not how I work. I won’t be visiting Elizabeth Redman in the clink, as you say, for you.”
“How many days of thought do you need?”
“A week. Then I can pull this off for you within a month starting from today.”
“Within a what?”
“It’s a month or I’m out.”
And Cullen clapped his hands. “Good. A month it is, then. Given the size of the list, I thought you were going to ask for two, which would have driven me to a bar. Not that you wouldn’t have found me at one, anyway.” He reached in his pocket and handed Spocatti his card. “You can reach me at that number at any time. It’s exclusive to you. I will always answer, just please make sure it’s worth my time.”
Spocatti watched him cross to his desk and sit at his computer. “At which bank do you want the money deposited?”
“We haven’t agreed on money yet,” Spocatti said. “You gave me your number. Now I’ll give you mine.”
Cullen looked up. A mix of confusion and expectation bloomed on his face.
“The job will cost you fifty million,” Spocatti said. “Twenty-five million now, twenty-five million when I’m finished.”
“Really, Vincent? Fifty million? Really? That’s a lot of money for someone who couldn’t complete the job the first time around. George and Leana Redman are still walking free. So is Michael Archer. In a matter of weeks, Leana Redman opens her own hotel on Park. George Redman’s Redman International continues to thrive in a difficult economy. He’s happily putting up that ridiculously giant skyscraper over on Columbus Circle. Those three are soaring while Louis is dead.”
Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Page 1
