Annihilate Them

by Christina Ross

  Gia told him exactly where they stood. “As you know, we’ve followed her for the past three days. In the wake of your news, Carlo and I will need to take her in the morning, because that’s the only time that she seems to be alone, with the exception of her early evening run. But we can’t take her then, can we? We’ll be focused on the Wenns at that point, so we’ll need to act upon her in the morning.”

  “What do you plan to do to her?” Rowe asked.

  “We’ll kill her,” Carlo said.

  “Really, Carlo? You’ll kill her? What a surprise.”

  Carlo said nothing, but Gia felt him burn next to her.

  “Tell me, Carlo—did you even pass the sixth grade? Because for me, the fact that you plan to kill her is pretty fucking obvious.”

  Before her brother went off the rails with an answer, Gia said, “We’ve leased a warehouse. We plan to ambush her when she’s on her walk to the gym, drive her to the warehouse, and put a bullet through her brain. Clean and simple.”

  Rowe’s eyes flashed with rage when she said that. “That’s it?” he said. “Are you fucking kidding me? After what that bitch did to me, you really think that a quick death is what I’m seeking here? I already told you that when it comes to Jones—especially when it comes to her—that her death must be epic. Have you forgotten that? Did you think that I might have forgotten that so you could get off easily? Janice doesn’t deserve anything clean and simple, Gia,” Rowe said as his voice became increasingly shrill. “She deserves worse—far worse. She should be dismembered, for God’s sake.”

  “Dismembered,” Gia said. “Are you serious?”

  “Close,” he said. “I told you from the start that I wanted her death to be epic. In fact, I believe the exact terminology I used was, ‘New York Times epic’, because I want the manner of her death to reflect just how deeply she betrayed me. So, tell me. Beyond a mere bullet to the brain, how else could she die? How could you really make her suffer?”

  “We could cut her throat,” Carlo said. “We could do it in such a way that it would take time for her to bleed out. If you want her to suffer, believe me, she’d suffer if we did that.”

  “Not good enough,” Rowe said. “So, now I need you to listen to me, because I have a proposition for each of you.”

  “What proposition?” Gia asked.

  “I want to be the one who kills her.”

  “You what?” Gia said.

  “You heard me.”

  She shook her head at him. “No way.”

  “Why? You’ve already told me that you have a warehouse waiting for her. I’m assuming you chose it for the privacy it offers. Why can’t I be waiting inside when you arrive with her? Why can’t you just pull her out of the car and tie her to a chair so that I can be the one who kills her? Both of you know what she did to me. Out of all of them, her death is the one that means the most to me. We were lovers, for God’s sake. I gave her everything—money, a multi-million-dollar apartment, jewels, and a way of life she never could have imagined. But despite all of that, she still threw me under the bus when she chose to give that press conference, which was designed to destroy me. You’ve got to understand how that made me feel. I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days, and with your help, I’ve decided that I want to be the one who kills her. I want to be the one who cuts her throat.” He paused for a moment. “And I’m willing to pay you double for her if you can make that happen for me.”

  Gia glanced at Carlo, who stared back at her.

  “You’d pay us four million to make that happen?” Carlo said.

  “I would.”

  “On top of what you’re already paying us for the Wenns?”

  “That’s right. And after Janice is dead, I’ll be out of New York so fast, no one will even know that I was there. And then you can have the Wenns for yourselves later that night without any interference from me. Their deaths mean plenty to me, but not nearly as much as Janice’s does. Hers is so personal to me, I can’t tell you. So, please, let me be the one who does it.”

  “This never was part of our agreement, Stephen,” Gia said. “You can’t just change the rules at the last moment. It’s not how it works. It’s not how we work. And it’s not what we agreed upon.”

  “Gia, how much of your plan have I changed?” he asked. “All I’m asking is for you to let me in that warehouse before you snatch her off the street—which you already planned to do—and then give me the pleasure of killing her. From what I understand, her death is going to take place where nobody will even witness it, so where is the risk? Listen to me for a moment. Before she dies, I want to be the one who looks her in the eyes and tells her to her face why this is happening to her—why I’m killing her. I want her to hear all of it from my lips—not yours. I’m offering you four million dollars to give me the pleasure of killing Janice myself, and I’m willing to transfer all of that money into your bank account right now if you’ll let me be the one who does it.”

  When Carlo touched her arm, Gia knew they needed a moment alone together.

  “Give us ten minutes to discuss this,” Gia said. “We’ll call you back.”

  Rowe moved to respond, but before he could, she severed the connection—and he was gone.

  “WE CAN’T FUCK AROUND here,” Gia said to her brother. “It’s too important. There will be too much happening that day. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Gia—maybe that four million is better than two?”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Carlo...”

  He shrugged at her. “How about if we just take a breath and break this down?” he said. “Let’s look at the plusses and the minuses. We’ve got a warehouse. We both know that we can get Rowe inside without an issue. That said, none of that changes how easy or how difficult it’s going to be to get Jones inside our car—it’s either going to go well, or it isn’t, but none of that involves him. In fact, none of what he’s proposing changes anything except for the person who kills her. I get it—he wants to get in her face. He probably wants to slap that face a few times, too, but whatever—let him do it. Beyond the fact that we’re going to have to deal with him in person, I don’t see this as a game changer. In fact, if we can pressure him to transfer that money in the next hour, which will give us a chance to shift it to another bank account so he can’t rescind it, I see this as a smart business move. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “I can’t. But let me ask you this—did you see anything off about him a moment ago?”

  “At first, he seemed a bit jittery to me, but that’s probably because he wasn’t sure how we were going to respond to his request. He seemed nervous, but in retrospect, that now makes sense. He didn’t know how we’d react. What he proposed, after all, wasn’t what we’d initially agreed to.”

  “I don’t know about this, Carlo. I’d prefer to finish this on our own.”

  “It’s four million dollars, Gia.”

  She looked at him for a moment, and then she shrugged.

  And so it was.

  “So, we do this?” she asked.

  “I don’t see an issue—and that’s not me just going after the money. It’s because I don’t see how he can fuck this up for us. Think about what he wants for a minute. We put him in the warehouse, we deliver Jones to him, he has his hissy fit about how much she deceived and betrayed him, and then he kills her. When that’s over with, the dude can get on a plane, get out of New York, and rest easy for the rest of his life.”

  She sat on that for a moment, turning everything that could go wrong in her mind, and then relented. “Fine,” she said. “Call him back.”

  When they did, they sealed the deal.

  “We’ll be in touch on Thursday,” Gia said. “We’ll give you all of the specifics then on where and when you will meet us on Saturday. Come alone. And come with a fresh set of clothes. Because, if you’re going to slice her throat, there’s a good chance that yo
u might hit an artery. If that happens, expect to be covered in her blood. Since that’s a distinct possibility, we can’t have you leaving the warehouse looking as if you just murdered someone. The warehouse has a bathroom and a large sink. And you’ll use it if you need to. Are we agreed upon that?”

  “We are. And thank you, Gia. Thank you, Carlo.”

  “Just transfer the money, Stephen. Because we will not go through with this if it isn’t in our account within the next hour.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Later, when they checked their account, the money was there.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AS WE LEFT VAN CLEEF with our bags in hand after an afternoon filled with fittings and shopping, I asked Blackwell and Lisa if they’d like to indulge in a martini with me.

  “Like that’s even a question,” Lisa said. “I’m in.”

  “I can always count on you, my little martini mistress,” I said. “Barbara?”

  “I eschew afternoon calories—as should both of you. That said, you’ve had a terrible week, Jennifer, so go and enjoy. Go and imbibe with your, uh, unusual friend.”

  “Unusual?” Lisa said.

  “Anyone who writes about the undead has to be peculiar,” Blackwell said. “And don’t challenge me on that, girl, because you’ll lose.”

  “Whatever, Bertha.”

  “You’re a horrible girl,” Blackwell said, and then she gave Lisa a kiss on each cheek followed by a warm hug. “Thank you for coming today,” I heard her say in Lisa’s ear. “Thank you for always having Jennifer’s back.”

  “As if I wouldn’t,” Lisa said. “I love you too, Bertha.”

  “If you do,” Blackwell said as she drew away from Lisa, “then make my inspiration for that particular character in your book epic.”

  “Done.”

  “Now,” Blackwell said, after she gave me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Where are you two going for your cocktails?”

  “I was thinking that we’d go to the St. Regis,” I said. “It’s only a few blocks from here. What do you think, Lisa?”

  “Where there’s a martini, lead me to the door.”

  “I thought so.” I looked at Blackwell. “We’ll be at the St. Regis. And each of us will be home long before Alex and Tank.”

  “You’re such good housewives...”

  Before either of us could let her have it for that, she raised a hand. “Your strings are so easily pulled. Can’t you two take a joke?”

  “That’s the thing,” Lisa said. “Sometimes it’s difficult to know when you’re joking.”

  “Thus my charm and also my influence,” Blackwell said as she fingered her bob out of her face. She nodded at the bags in our hands. “Cutter is waiting for us at the curb. He can drop you at the St. Regis, then he can drop me at Wenn and I’ll give your jewels to Alex and Tank to take home for you. Sound like a deal?”

  “Why do I get the feeling that this is just a ploy for you to try on my new diamond earrings, necklace, and bracelet?” Lisa asked.

  “Seriously?” Blackwell said. “Really? All you spent back there was a mere hundred grand.”

  “Mere?”

  “That’s right—mere. So, please, don’t worry about your trinkets—because I have no interest in your new set of pauper’s jewels.”

  “Pauper?” Lisa said.

  “You barely rise to that level. So, I’ll ask again. Would you like me to take your bags off your hands?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  “Don’t try to rob me, lady,” Lisa said.

  “Ha!” Blackwell said. “Bertha knows her some jewels, darling, and as cute as they are, she has zero interest in yours.”

  THE ST. REGIS WAS ON Fifth and Fifty-Fifth Street and was long considered to be one of the finest luxury hotels in Manhattan with one of the best-renowned bars in the city. So, when we arrived, we went straight for the bar in question.

  At just shy of four o’clock, the bar was busier than I’d expected it to be as we approached it. Was there a convention in town? Could be. But whatever the case, even this crowd was nothing compared to what was to come. Later in the evening, I knew from past experiences that this place would be as packed as it always was. The King Cole Bar was known as the birth place of the Bloody Mary, but beyond that, it also was known as a place where business men and women met throughout the afternoon to strike deals or to form new relationships that would lead to new deals.

  Which likely was what I was seeing now...

  “How did we get this lucky?” Lisa said as we moved toward the center stools that overlooked the St. Regis’ signature piece, the famed 1906 Maxfield Parrish mural King Cole. It was as wide as the bar, and it was magnificent. “These seats are primo. Has somebody left for the restroom? If so—their loss! Let’s sit here.”

  After we sat down, I looked around the room, and saw a host of familiar and unfamiliar faces. I smiled and nodded at a few of them as I placed my clutch in my lap and a handsome bartender in his early thirties approached us with two martinis—one dirty with three olives for Lisa, and one with a twist for me.

  “Here you are, ladies,” he said as he placed the drinks in front of us. “Compliments of Mr. Wenn, who sends both of you his love and who also hopes you enjoy the best view of the mural.”

  “Alex did this?” I said.

  “Management received a phone call from him a few minutes ago, Mrs. Wenn. We were more than happy to make sure that you had the best seats in the house.”

  “You mean you moved people from these seats because of us?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Oh, God...” I said.

  Lisa looked at me. “Look, it is what it is, so get over it. What I want to know is how Alex knew we were even coming here.”

  “Blackwell,” I said. “She must have told him that we were coming here. She probably texted him or something. And now we have this.”

  “Well? Then good for us,” Lisa said. “God, I love Alex.”

  “You and me both, sugar. This is just who Alex is, and just what Alex does.”

  I looked at the bartender. “Thank you for all that you’ve done,” I said.

  “It’s our pleasure, Mrs. Wenn.”

  He was about to walk away when he hesitated and then looked tentatively at Lisa. “I could get in trouble for saying this,” he said. “We’re told not to recognize celebrities. But as quickly as I can, I have to tell you that I’m a huge fan of your books, Ms. Ward. Thank you for writing them.”

  “Oh,” Lisa said, clearly taken aback that he’d recognized her. “Well, thank you for reading them.”

  “Do you mind if I ask when the next one comes out?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m flattered that you’d even want to know. It’s slated for this fall. I’m in the process of finishing it now.”

  “Then I have something great to look forward to,” he said. “Now, please, enjoy your drinks and thank you for choosing the St. Regis.”

  When he walked away, I lifted my glass to her. “You’re a celebrity,” I said.

  “I am so not a celebrity.”

  “The hell you aren’t. I believe there was a time when you owned much of Times Square. And that this fall you’re going to own it again. So, get over yourself. Touch glasses with me. I’m so proud of you, Lisa. Look at how far we’ve come—three years out, and it’s still surreal.”

  “Here’s the thing,” she said. “I’m fully on board when it comes to toasting to the surreal. Because after what you and I have been through since we landed in this city? Surreal doesn’t even come close to defining us. So, cheers, lovey,” she said.

  We clinked glasses and sipped.

  “It’s as smooth as silk,” Lisa said. “And mine is perfectly dirty!”

  “You always have been a dirty girl,” I said.

  She raised up her hand. “When it comes to my martinis? Guilty. Not so much elsewhere.”

  “And despite your success, you’ve never changed.”

  “Neither have y
ou, and I think it’s fair to say that your success is a wee bit greater than mine.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I said. “My success is wedded to my husband’s success. It’s not the same. You achieved your success on your own. And I’m thrilled that I can say that. I really am. I love you, sweetie.”

  “Best friends for life,” Lisa said.

  “To say the least.”

  “I can’t believe that Alex got us these seats and sent us these drinks so quickly. He’s superhuman.”

  “I got lucky when I met that man,” I said. “The total love of my life—and this is just another reason why.”

  “To your marriage,” Lisa said as she raised her glass to mine.

  “Hear, hear,” I said as I sipped. And then I leveled her with a look. “So,” I said. “It’s been a while now. And you can’t keep dodging the question with me, Lisa. When are you and Tank going to get married? I’ve asked you a dozen times, and you always find a way to snake away from the answer. What gives?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Fine, I do. Look, last Christmas was a disaster. I couldn’t be with you and everyone else because Tank and I were with his parents in NObraska. And trust me on this, Jennifer—I was not a hit with them. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was way too much for those two ultra conservatives to handle—even though I tamped myself down for them. Even that version of me was like looking into the pit of hell for them.”

  “So what?” I said. “Either Tank wants to be with you and be married to you, or he doesn’t. Which is it?”

  “It’s not Tank,” she said. “It’s me. I haven’t told you this, but he wanted to elope with me the moment we got back home from visiting his parents last Christmas. He was angry about their cool reception of me. He wanted to lock this down then.”

  “But that was three months ago—why didn’t you tell me that?”