“They think of her as their sister,” the woman said. “Maybe even as close as a surrogate mother as they’re going to get. Whatever you can do for them and for the rest of our charges would be very much appreciated. I’m not ashamed to say that we rely on any sort of generosity.”
“You have my complete support,” Katzev said. “But I’d like to make my pledge a surprise to Carmen. Can we keep this between us for now?”
“Of course! I’d love to surprise her.”
“That’s what I was hoping. I know she’ll be thrilled. Are the girls doing well in high school?”
“All three are excelling.”
“That’s terrific. I’m sure Carmen’s influence has helped. But schools are so important when college is likely the next step. Which schools are they attending? I might be able to get them into a private.”
“They all attend the same school and it’s one of the best.”
“Which one is that?”
“Forest Hills? Right near Rego Park in Queens?”
“That is a good school,” he said, writing it down.
“And difficult to get in to, but Carmen handled that for us. Carmen worked her magic. They should be getting out soon for the day. Would you like to come here and meet them?”
“Maybe another time,” Illarion Katzev said. “But soon.”
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER THIR
TEEN
The following morning, Carmen woke on a set of towels that smelled so strongly of bleach, she was surprised they hadn’t asphyxiated her during the night.
With the shades drawn, her room at the hotel was muted gray, but it was so bright along the periphery of the blinds covering the windows, she could see the sun shined outside.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, looked around. In the chair across from her were the bags of clothes she dropped off when she returned yesterday evening after shopping for clothes and toiletries in the stores near the hotel. Thanks to Babe McAdoo’s courier, on the desk at the end of the bed was a new MacBook Air. The hotel actually had Wi-Fi, which Carmen considered as close to a miracle as she ever would come to a miracle in her lifetime, so now she was once again fully connected to the world, which was critical.
She reached for the phone on the table beside her and pressed the button for the front desk. “I’d like a pot of coffee, please.”
“Here at the Holiday Inn Express, we have a complimentary breakfast that includes Gourmet Folger’s coffee, which is being served right now in our dining area.”
“Gourmet Folger’s? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“An oxy—?”
“Moron. Those two words have no business being together in the same sentence.”
“But that’s what it says on the can. ‘Gourmet Folger’s’. I’ve seen it myself.”
“And you didn’t question it?”
“What’s to question?”
“How about just delivering a pot?”
“You can have a fresh cup of coffee and so much more in our dining suite.”
“So, now it’s a suite?”
“Excuse me?”
“A moment ago, you called it a ‘dining area’.”
“It’s a large serving area, currently thriving with hungry customers.”
“Can you please just deliver me a pot of coffee?”
“While we don’t provide room service, our documented three-star service nevertheless abounds in our dining—”
Carmen hung up the phone and put her face in her hands. She rubbed it in an effort to wake up. She had to eat. She knew it. It had been two days since she’d had anything of substance.
But there was no way she was eating at this dump.
She went over to the windows facing the street, parted the curtains, winced at the bright light and saw a few restaurants across the way. Each looked reasonably busy, which was promising. She was meeting Babe and Jake later at Babe’s house on Park, but she had time for a quick shower and breakfast. She pulled out a pair of jeans, a bra, panties and a sweater from one of the bags, ripped off the tags, placed the clothes on top of the towels, grabbed her Glock from the bedside table, checked the magazine, placed the gun on the basin next to the shower, turned on the water and stepped into it. Surprisingly, the water pressure was strong and hot. Score one for the Express, she thought.
She was drying her hair with the hotel’s underwhelming mini-hairdryer when her cell rang, which was untraceable because it used satellite technology. She clicked off the dryer, went into the other room, and picked up the phone on the desk to see who was calling.
She felt a start when she saw that it was Katzev.
She debated on whether to answer. Instinct and experience told her it could go either way if she did answer, so she chose to let him connect with her through voice mail first. Best not to engage him now. If he left a message, he’d let her know why he was calling.
At least on some level, he will.
She held the device in her hands and waited. It took longer than she anticipated, but finally came the beep signaling a message was left. She put the phone on speaker and listened to it.
“Carmen,” he said. “Ignoring me? Really? After all these years? That’s a shame. Here’s another. I know how much you were hoping to attend Chloe’s high school graduation next year, but that won’t happen for one of two reasons. You’re either going to give yourself up so she can enjoy her graduation and thus live out the rest of her life, or I plan to kill her if you don’t come in. Of course, there’s a chance you might not come in, that you’ll just sacrifice her because you really are as cold as I think you are, so here’s the big picture. St. Vincent’s, where I’ve learned you give a great deal of money and support, has seven group homes around Queens and Staten Island. If you don’t come in, we will torch those homes late at night, when everyone’s asleep, including the other two girls you admire—Valencia and Shenika. Do you understand me? All inside will die. So, be sensible about this. You’ve lived an exciting life, so why cheat these presumably reformed kids from having a few adventures of their own? Haven’t they earned it? I’m hanging up now, but know this—if I don’t hear from you soon, you never know what I might do. Or already have done. You know the number. I suggest you call and we’ll set up a time for you to come in so we can discuss the reason we’re eliminating you. Deep down, you already know the reason. But to be fair, in case you’re somehow in the dark about it, we’ll tell you in person and give you an opportunity to respond before we act.”
The line went dead.
Carmen put down the phone and pulled her damp hair away from her face. She twisted it angrily behind her head, flipped it over into a knot and pulled it tight.
Those girls meant everything to her. Her contributions supported everyone at St. Vincent’s, but for years, those particular three girls had her love, her friendship and received as much of her time as she could give them. She might not be capable of having children herself, but she had these girls and they were like daughters to her. She’d known them for eight years, she knew their hopes and their dreams, she knew of their rotten pasts, and she’d do whatever she could to protect them.
He mentioned Chloe. Had he already done something to her? If not, he was about to.
She picked up the phone and called Spocatti.
“This is becoming a habit,” he said.
“Are you busy?”
“Actually, I’m still in Capri, enjoying the sun. I told Babe I’d help where I can. I have nothing on the books for another week, so I’m available to talk.”
“Where are you off to next?”
“Mexico.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Doesn’t matter. All of those unpleasant things I’ve been asked to do there will buy me a house here, where I’ve decided I want to live, at least part of the year. Have you been here?”
“Just once.” Years ago, her father took her to Capri for a job. She was young, the situation was tense, the job was difficult, but it also was thrilling.
When they finished, her father said he wanted to buy her a beer, which turned into five. They went to a small bar tucked away in some random corner of Capri. It was mid-afternoon, it was mostly empty and it had only one window that overlooked the street, but her father filled that bar for her with stories about his life that she didn’t know, but held onto now. “I don’t remember much of it,” she said. “It was years ago. I do remember that it was beautiful.”
“That’s all you remember about Capri?”
“I was there to do a job, Vincent. I wasn’t there to sightsee. And I especially wasn’t there for a one-night stand.” She didn’t mention her father. He knew nothing about him.
“Then you don’t know how to live. So, what’s the problem now?”
She told him.
“That Katzev is a crafty one,” he said. “We’ll get to him in a minute. First, I’m surprised by you, Carmen. You actually give money to the poor? Who does that? And why are you so enamored by children? Is that the reason you wouldn’t kill that little Hispanic bruja on the Wall Street job? The one falling asleep at the kitchen table? The one I eventually had to kill?”
“I don’t kill children, Vincent.”
“One day, over a bottle of wine in my new villa in Capri, you’ll have to tell me why. I mean, come on. They’re like whacking a piñata, only money falls out. If I’m asked to target some bumbling six-year-old for execution because his or her parents won’t get in line for my client, I’m on it. Quick money. You just sit quietly behind some bushes, watch them totter blindly around a playground like zombies, and when they finally settle down to dig in some dirt like the dogs they are—bam!—they’re suddenly bleeding out and creating the sort of mess that children tend to create. Then you’re off to the next job.”
“It’s not for me.”
“Your conscience kills me, Carmen, but that’s one of the reasons I like you. We all have our limits, though I’ve yet to find mine. Probably kittens.”
“Vincent—”
“So, about Katzev,” he said, the joking over. “He’ll do what he said he’ll do. We both know that. One of your girls will be dead soon if you don’t ring him up and offer yourself to him. If you don’t, he’ll probably target another. And so on until he starts setting buildings on fire. Are you prepared to die for these children?”
“Yes.”
“Who is this?” he asked, this time with a note of impatience in his voice. “Carmen? An impostor? Apparently, I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
“You don’t.”
“All right,” he said. “So you want to save humanity from Katzev.”
“No. I want to put a bullet through his head for killing Alex, for targeting me and for threatening those girls and St. Vincent’s. By the way,” she said, “the irony of St. Vincent’s name is staggering, don’t you think? Maybe it’s your call to action.”
“What do you want me to do, Carmen?”
“I need something on him. Maybe his real name, which I could threaten to send to my contact at the NYPD. I’d pay him dearly to investigate Katzev, which would put the syndicate in jeopardy. That’s the sort of information I need. Something that will frighten him to the point that he’ll back off until I can figure out where he lives and take him out myself.”
“We already know where he lives, Carmen.”
She was rendered speechless. A rush of questions rose within her, the first of which was why she wasn’t told about this earlier. Spocatti spoke before she could reply.
“Babe called Gelling this morning to give him an update on where things stand now. I hear it allowed him to take another breath and for his heart to strike another beat. So, good for Babe. Apparently, Gelling has been working his contacts since you met with him. He’s found your Katzev. Babe planned to tell you this afternoon, when you went to her house to strategize. Gelling also has other information, though Babe didn’t tell me what it was because I didn’t ask. Given the urgency of your current situation, I’d recommend that you contact her now, give her an update on Katzev’s telephone message to you and suggest that you meet immediately so you can get ahead of this before he follows through.”
Her phone made an audible click, letting her know a new message had been left. She thanked Vincent, hung up and listened to the message. It was from Sheila Paige, one of the administrators at St. Vincent’s she’d known for years. She sounded on the edge of panic, which was unlike her. As she listened, Carmen understood the woman’s panic and why her own stomach sank now. He did it.
He stole Chloe away.
CHAPTER FOU
RTEEN
Out of all the property Illarion Katzev owned in Manhattan, he owned only two warehouses, the first of which was unusable because it was filled with items he didn’t have space for at either his hotels or his restaurants, the second of which was perfect for his needs now because it contained only his growing collection of high-end new and vintage sports cars.
As such, this warehouse was spacious—none of the cars was parked remotely close to each other. Better yet, there was plenty of room for the other cars Katzev planned to purchase soon, such as the Gullwing Mercedes he was thisclose to buying.
The ones he owned now simply were here for him when he needed them for a night out on the town or when he just wanted to see them, touch them, sit in them and be reminded, with surprise, even at this point in his career, that they belonged to him.
He loved them all, these gleaming works of art that shined in the spotlights positioned above of them. As a boy in Aberdeen, when he was just poor Iver Kester, the picked-upon kid who collected car magazines and dared to dream that a better life existed beyond the poverty he’d come to know on the farm but not accept, he never thought that he’d ever amass a collection such as this.
In the center of the room was something different.
Sitting on a metal chair beneath another spotlight was a young woman with a black hood over her head. Her wrists were cuffed and her hands were in her lap.
Two armed men stood on either side of her. Beyond asking to use the bathroom or for the occasional drink of water from the fountain beside the bathroom, she hadn’t spoken since they abducted her late yesterday afternoon when she was leaving Forest Hills High School to return to the group home St. Vincent’s provided for her.
Now, she simply sat there with her mouth shut, a gift she probably learned from her days on the streets when keeping quiet sometimes was enough to keep one alive.
Katzev went over to her and, for the first time in several hours, snatched off the hood. The sudden gesture and the blinding light startled her to the point that she reared away from him—not so much in terror, but given the look on her face, also in rage.
He knelt down beside her.
She leaned further away from him, a lock of her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in her face, and she pushed it back over her ear with her cuffed hands. Her bottom lip quivered, but he sensed it wasn’t out of fear. Just looking at her now, sensing the heat of hatred coming off of her, he half-expected her to spit on him.
“How are you, Chloe?”
The girl moved to speak, thought better of it and remained silent. She glanced around the warehouse. Looked at the cars again. Saw the two men on either side of her. Saw their guns. And then, in front of her, she saw something new. A video camera on a tripod. It was pointed at her.
“It’s fine,” he said to her. “You can talk. You’re not dead yet. I’m giving Carmen nine hours to secure your protection. Do you think she will?”
“Why am I here?” she asked.
“Because Carmen loves you,” Katzev said. “What’s your last name, Chloe?”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you politely and I want to know. You certainly don’t want me to be impolite, do you?”
“It’s Philips.”
“Chloe Philips. Nice ring to it. How old are you, Chloe?”
“Sixteen. Seventeen in two months.”
“One day—before you kn
ow it, really—there will come a time when saying that soon you’ll be another year older in two months will end. That is, of course, assuming that Carmen comes through for you. If she doesn’t, you might just top off at sixteen going on seventeen.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He behaved as if he didn’t hear her question. “Are you from the projects, Chloe? From a poor family? Taken away by the state because you were mistreated? Malnourished? Wound up at St. Vincent’s in an effort to turn your life around? Is that your history? Your cheap shoes say it is.”
She looked up at him in defiance. “That’s about right,” she said. “Although you left out the part about my father being a drunk and my mother running off with any man who’d have her, including the last one, who beat me. But, yeah, that’s pretty much it. That’s me, cheap shoes and all.”
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Is that Carmen’s influence or does it come naturally?”
“Carmen taught me to stand up for myself, but when you come from the streets, as I have, you learn how to deal with scumbags like you during the first few years of your life. Carmen just helped me to hone my craft, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“Carmen would think you’re being reckless right now.”
“Maybe. But it’s obvious what you’re going to do to me, so why should I give a shit? Why not go out with a bang? My life hasn’t exactly been wrapped up in some big fucking bow, asshole. It’s been shit from the start, so why should it end any differently?”
“I have to say—you are well spoken for someone so young.”
“I do well in English.”
“That should take you far.”
She ignored his sarcasm and looked around the warehouse. “Are all of these your cars?” she asked.
“They are.”
“They look like they cost a lot of money.”
“They did.”
“So, you’re over-compensating for a little dick?”
He wanted to reach out and slap her across the face, because he did, in fact, have a small penis. But if he did, he knew that would just send her fury into silence, which he didn’t want.
From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set Page 14
