From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  He pressed a button. “My mother went through the same sort of shit with my father. I was too young to do anything about it. I’m glad to help.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  The doors slid open and they stepped inside. He pressed the button marked “29,” the doors whisked shut and the elevator started its ascent.

  “The room wasn’t free,” she said. “I plan to pay for it.”

  “Actually, it is free. I had it comped for you. I told them that I spilled a drink on you and that you asked for a room so you could clean up. We’re not full. It’s not a big deal. They’ll treat this like any check-in. You’ll need to be out by noon tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be long gone by then,” Carmen said.

  The elevator slowed. The doors slid open and they stepped into a small waiting area before they turned into a warmly lit hallway.

  Her room was at the far end of the hall. When they reached it, he slid the key into the slot, unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Carmen was expecting something nice—it was the Waldorf, after all—but she wasn’t expecting a corner suite with two stunning views of the city.

  She went over to the windows and looked down at Park, where traffic was light. At some point, it had started to rain. The streets were shiny and bright. Jake’s face flashed before her eyes.

  Where are you? she wondered.

  “The bathroom is through there,” he said. “You’ll find a robe and toiletries. Extra pillows are in this closet. I also comped you on room service, so if you’re hungry in the morning, indulge yourself. Get the blinis with caviar. You won’t regret it.”

  “You’re very kind,” she said.

  “It was my pleasure, Carmen.”

  “Would you like a drink? I’m sure there’s something in the fridge.” She went to the small refrigerator that was tucked beneath the work desk and opened it. “And there is. They have everything. Would you care to join me? Vodka?”

  He walked over to the door and put his hand on the doorknob. “I should be leaving.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve probably been on your feet for hours.” She smiled as she crossed the distance between them. She looked into his blue eyes and was about to shake his hand when she reached up, grabbed each side of his head and jerked it so sharply, his neck broke.

  There was no struggle. Just surprise in his eyes before they became dilated with death. He slumped forward and fell hard at her feet. His legs quivered for a moment, a rush of air escaped his lungs and then he went still.

  She looked down at him. “I never told you my name, Jon, so they must have told you. And that means they also know where I am.” She shook her head at him. “What a waste. Are they waiting for you downstairs? Of course, they are. I bet they’re waiting for you to return so you can bring them up here. Then you’d be expecting the rest of the money they promised you. That’s where you weren’t thinking. You’ve seen their faces. Already, you know too much. They would have killed you even if I hadn’t. Then they’d leave here with me.”

  She put her hand in her coat pocket, felt the Glock and edged open the door. No one in the hallway. The service elevators were straight ahead of her, but they were at the opposite end of the hall.

  She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she needed to leave before they came on their own. She pulled Jon’s keys out of his pants pocket, left the room and started moving quickly toward the elevators, listening for any sign of one coming her way. On one level, she wished that was the case. That way, she could take the stairs, bypass them and grab another elevator on another floor.

  But they were waiting for him. They needed him—at least for now. How long would they wait before they decided something was wrong? Ten minutes? Fifteen? If she were them, that’s how long she’d wait. Then she’d worry. Then she’d act.

  At the service elevator they exited earlier, she tried three keys on his keychain before she found the correct one, turned it in the lock and was able to press the down button. The doors slid open, suggesting that no one had used the elevator since they left it. She stepped inside and pressed “K” for kitchen. The elevator plunged.

  She tried to still her nerves, but it was difficult. How would she get out of here? Some of them would be waiting in the bar area while others would be guarding the building’s exits. She looked up at the dial and her mind raced while the floors sped by. Soon, she’d be next to a room filled with kitchen staff. If they saw her, they wouldn’t just question why she was there again. They’d also want to know why she wasn’t with Jon. What would she say if someone asked? Worse, because Jon had escorted her so quickly through the kitchen, her scan of the place was too brief to see if there were any cameras tucked in the corners. She didn’t know if she was about to be on surveillance or not, but if there were cameras in the kitchen and depending on where they were located, she could be.

  The elevator slowed. The doors slid open to the sounds of talking, laughter, the clatter of trays and the clinking of glassware and silverware. With the bar and restaurant closed, the atmosphere was more relaxed than it was before. The evening was winding down.

  She looked up at the ceiling for a camera, but there was none. At least not here. The kitchen was something all together different. She knew there were cameras in there somewhere. There had to be. The moment she entered that kitchen to escape, she would be recorded as she tried to leave unnoticed. Not that it mattered much. She walked through the kitchen earlier. They already had her on tape.

  She looked left, saw her first obstacle, and also noted how fleeting her anonymity would be.

  The doors to the service elevators were now open. The interior room was no longer private.

  A man standing at a stainless steel table with a butcher knife in his hand looked up at her. Medium height. Blondish hair. Maybe forty. On the muscular side.

  In spite of the kitchen noise, he must have heard the elevator doors slide open. He was wearing a white uniform spattered with blood. The ends of the sleeves were wet with it. On his head was a tall chef’s hat. It was pristine in ways that the rest of him wasn’t.

  On the table were several long tubes of whole filets encased in plastic wrap. To his left were stacks of freshly cut steaks, unwrapped. Earlier, when Jon led her through the kitchen, she hadn’t noticed him, so it was unlikely that he had any context of who she was or that Jon had called out to the group that she was his girlfriend and that he was helping her.

  Their eyes met. There was a moment when it appeared that he was going to put the knife down on the table. But he didn’t. This was Manhattan, after all. To him, she was an intruder, someone who had no business being here. So, why was she here? And how did she get inside that elevator without the required key?

  He came around the table with the knife at his side and a questioning look on his face.

  She stepped out of the elevator and moved into the interior room.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  She put a finger to her lips, removed the Glock from her coat pocket and pointed it at him. “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s find out.”

  CHAPTER FI

  VE

  She motioned for him to come inside the room. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he took a long look at that gun and decided that he better.

  Carmen stepped back to minimize the chance of being seen by others. “Back here,” she said. “With me.”

  He moved closer.

  “If you cooperate, I won’t kill you. If you do something stupid, I’ll take everyone out.” She nodded at the butcher knife. “Put it down.”

  He hesitated, but then did as he was told. He put it down on one of the empty carts next to him.

  She looked beyond him into the kitchen. It was only a matter of time before someone walked over and spotted them.

  Move.

  “I need a jacket like yours,” she said. “Not clean. Filthy. And I’ll need
a hat. Can you find something that will fit me?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a laundry chute in the locker room. At the end of our shifts, we drop our whites into it.”

  “Then step into the elevator. I’ll have to use what you’re wearing.”

  Here, just off the kitchen, a key wasn’t necessary to open the elevator doors, so she pressed a button. The doors beside her slid open. She cocked her head toward the empty elevator and he stepped inside. She put her foot in front of the right door to block them from closing while keeping her gun trained on him.

  He took off his chef’s hat, then started to unbutton his jacket, which went just above his knees. “It’s too large for you,” he said.

  “I’m not going for couture.”

  That stopped him and he looked at her with new eyes. For him, humor was unexpected in a situation such as this, but then he didn’t know Carmen or how she viewed the world.

  She started to twist her hair into a chignon, which was difficult considering she was holding a loaded gun. Still, she’d done it before and she did it now. It wasn’t exactly as neat as her mother taught her when Carmen was a teen in Spain, but in this situation, it would do.

  He handed her the jacket, which had the coppery scent of blood on it. “I assume you want the hat?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  He gave it to her.

  “Step back,” she said.

  He did and she slipped into the jacket. It was huge on her, but she didn’t plan on being seen long in it. With the gun in her hand, she struggled with the buttons while also keeping an eye on him.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Don’t talk.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  If she told him, it might keep him quiet for another minute, which is all she needed. “There are people here who want to kill me. I need a disguise that will get me out of here. This is as good as it gets.”

  “Who wants to kill you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She put the hat on top of her head, but it was too big. The bonus? It was made of paper. She took it off, folded a section in the back and ran her bloody sleeve inside the crease. She pressed down and held it for a minute to make sure it would stick. It did, but for how long? Blood was like glue, especially when it started to congeal. She felt it might work, but who knew? There was no certainty in situations such as this. Gently, she put the hat back on her head and this time, it fit.

  “I might be able to help you,” he said.

  “I had a similar offer tonight. Didn’t work out.”

  “Look, if someone here is trying to kill you—”

  She stepped forward and swung her gun at him in an arc that was so swift, it connected the butt of her gun against the side of his temple before he knew what hit him.

  She could have killed him, but she didn’t want to. Unlike Jon, he’d done nothing to betray her. He’d be able to identify her, but so would the hotel’s security cameras, which were worse because of the hard evidence they offered. Even though she hadn’t seen any cameras, that meant nothing. She knew that somewhere during her time here, she’d been captured by them.

  She reached out and caught him as he fell. She hit him just hard enough to knock him unconscious. She leaned him against the corner of the elevator.

  “You’ll be all right,” she said. “Take a Tylenol when you wake up. Maybe three. And thanks for not making a scene. Most would have.”

  She turned to the panel behind her and pressed the button that would take him to the forty-seventh floor. She stepped out as the doors slid shut, she heard the elevator lift and then she turned her attention to the kitchen.

  * * *

  There was only one way out and it was through the service entrance. Would they be waiting for her there? Absolutely. But they didn’t know when she’d come through the door, which gave her the edge.

  So did the bloody chef’s jacket and hat she was wearing. They wouldn’t be expecting her in either of them. The disguise might buy her time, but it wouldn’t buy her much. It would take a moment for it to register, but after a moment, they’d recognize her face. And when they did, they’d act. She didn’t know what their orders were. Shoot her right there? Bring her in? She had a feeling it was the latter. Katzev would want his say for her part in killing Laurent—if that even was what this was about.

  She needed something more. Something that would shake them and distract them.

  What she considered was risky, but it might work. She pulled out her cell, which was no ordinary cell. It was a satellite phone, which looked like a cell, only with a thick antenna on top of it. With it, nobody could trace her. She dialed 911 knowing that.

  The line rang once. When the dispatcher came on the line, Carmen saw another opportunity. She entered the kitchen with the phone concealing the left side of her face and walked straight across to the double set of doors that led to the stairwell and ultimately to the service entrance. People along the periphery. Her step was relaxed, not rushed. Nobody stopped her. Nobody said anything.

  But the dispatcher was talking.

  “What’s your emergency?” the woman repeated.

  Carmen waited for the doors to swing shut behind her before she descended the stairs and told her about the tragedy she’d just come upon.

  * * *

  At the base of the stairs was the door Jon told her about earlier. It was bolted shut, but she had his keys. After several tries, she found the right one and then waited for the sound of sirens to arrive outside.

  It took five minutes and when they came, they arrived in force. As she knew they would. She did, after all, call in a triple homicide.

  She told the dispatcher that there were multiple stabbings on the sidewalk between St. Bartholomew’s Church on Park and 50th Street. “You’ll find them on 50th,” she said breathlessly to the dispatcher. “Right across the street from the Waldorf. Three people on the sidewalk. I think they were robbed. One might still be alive. Please, hurry!”

  She waited until she was sure the police were there and then she unlocked the door and stepped out.

  It was still raining.

  The night sky was alive with the sound of sirens and the rapid movement of flashing lights. People were gathering. Some—the cops—were shouting.

  Ahead of her, on the sidewalk, were two hulking men. Both in black. She looked left and right. Saw cops checking the street. Saw bellhops and valet drivers watching the action. Saw one of the two brutes turn to look at her. Dismiss her. Then turn to look at her again. She saw him nudge his partner’s arm as she walked to the street, which now was clogged with traffic. A cop was preventing any movement from going forward. This was a potential crime scene. Another cop was on Park, where the traffic was moving.

  She started to walk toward him.

  The two men watched her. Her hand was on her Glock. Her heart hammered in her chest, not so much out of fear but because of the thrill of knowing that she had outwitted them.

  As she walked near them, she looked at each of them. Recognized one of them from a job she did years ago, though she couldn’t remember his name. She saw the anger on their faces. The resentment of what she’d created. They knew she set this up. It was as clear as the lights strobing across their pissed-off faces.

  “Tell Katzev to fuck off,” she said to the one she recognized. “And then tell him to watch his back.”

  “You’re going to die, Carmen.”

  “You think so?”

  “Just a matter of time.”

  She walked past them. Heard the rain tap against her hat. Wondered if they’d make a move. Wondered if this was it. Without Alex in her life, a part of her didn’t care if her time was up. A part of her would be happy to be nailed in the back of the head and go straight into the darkness where Alex would greet her. She missed him that much. More than anything, she wanted to be with him again. But because of what happened to him, a larger part of her wante
d very much to stay alive and do what she’d set out to do. She returned to Manhattan for revenge. She planned to make them pay for what they did to him. And to her.

  “I guess that’s true for each of us,” she said over her shoulder. “Katzev is cleaning house. You two might be next. I’d give some thought to that if I were you.”

  “You won’t make it, Carmen.”

  “Knowing Katzev, you might not either. But look at me. Keep your eyes on my ass, boys. I’m walking away from you right now.”

  CHAPTER SI

  X

  She woke the next morning at a Holiday Inn Express on Union Street in Brooklyn. It was a shithole, but it was next to the subway and it was out of Manhattan, which was good enough for her.

  When she checked in late the night before, the woman at the reception desk said in a drowsy, monotone voice that they were happy she chose the Holiday Inn Express and how wonderful it was to have her here. The rest was just as canned, which Carmen sometimes liked to toy with, especially when she was as stressed as she was then. Verbally boxing with someone relaxed her.

  She appraised the woman behind the counter. Dry blonde hair ruined from a kitchen-sink dye job. Heavy red lipstick that drew attention to a chipped front tooth turned yellow from smoking. Heavy makeup that was darker than her natural skin color and which stopped at her jawline. She hadn’t blended it down toward her neck. She looked ridiculous. Carmen watched her go through the motions of customer service as if connecting with a customer was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Let’s see what she’s got.

  “How was your day?” the woman asked.

  “Murderous,” Carmen said.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “No. Literally, it was murderous.”

  The woman lifted her eyes to her.

  “I can’t believe I got through it. It almost killed me.”