by Leslie Glass
She tried Tang's home number. Voice mail picked up on the first ring. April left another message. "The line's busy. She may be home already," she said.
"Hold on." Mike plowed through all six lanes of Park and turned up Madison. There was still a lot of life on the avenue. The ritzy crowd that lived there was walking home, walking out to dinner. Walking and turning to see what the noise was about.
"Let's not scare the horses," April murmured.
Mike turned the siren off, and she scanned the street, searching the pedestrians for a solo walker, a good-looking Filipino with a sweet face, just in case....
They passed Tang's shop. At quarter to nine everything was shut tight. The lights on Madison illuminated dazzling clothes and accessories in boutiques only the very wealthy could afford. Once again April wanted out of the car. She wanted to run. For days she'd been wanting to run. Run and catch the killer. Knock him into hell. She didn't see Tang striding along in her Armani suit.
Mike cruised slowly past Seventy-first Street. Yves Saint Laurent was on the southeast corner. On the far side of the street was St. James. As they passed it, April saw that several homeless were camping on the front steps. No sign of Tang or Kim. Mike turned on Seventy-second Street. Ralph Lauren one corner. Around the block on Park he ran a light. April held her breath. Still nothing. They cruised down Park, then turned on Seventy-first Street with the light. It was a quiet street. As they headed back toward Madison, April could see the AA sign out on the side church door, indicating a meeting in progress. No one was outside.
Opposite the church, the town houses were grand. Tang's house was the grandest and widest of all. April detached her seat belt and scanned the area around the church. The west side of Madison on Seventy-first Street had its shady patches. Click. She scanned the dark areas back to the church where homeless were allowed to sleep on the steps and dozens of people were inside at an eight P.M. AA meedng. This was a perfect spot for a stranger. April's eyes went back to Tang's house, then ran east to Park Avenue. Two doormen, one on each side of the street, came out of their doors. One lit a cigarette. She had no sense of Kim's presence there. Maybe Clio, who knew Kim best, was wrong about him. Maybe he wasn't going to hide under Tang's skirt.
"I don't think he's out here," she murmured, trying to calm down. Mike slowed to a crawl.
"Cuidado,"
he warned as he pulled into the space in front of the garage door where the yellow sign said NO PARKING ANYTIME.
Upstairs on the second door of Tang's house the lights were on. April opened her door. Mike put a hand on her arm. "I'm going," he said.
"She doesn't know you," April protested. She knew what he was thinking. She wasn't wearing a vest; her powder blue suit made her a perfect target. Too bad. She was going anyway. They were out of the car and moving at the same dme.
April was troubled by the dark public spaces in the church behind her directly across the narrow side street. Homeless on the corner. What to check drst, the house or the church?
But okay. Fine, they'd go in together. Mike nodded and chose the house. April moved first; he took a position behind her. There was no stoop. The front door was at street level. A security camera hung from above. April rang the bell. Almost instantly someone spoke through the intercom.
"Yes?"
"Lieutenant Sanchez, Sergeant Woo to see Miss Tang."
"She's out to dinner." "Where?"
"May I see your ID?"
April showed her gold shield to the camera. "She's at Willow Restaurant, on Lexington Avenue." She gulped. Okay, that's where Ching was. "Let's
go"
Sixty-two
K
im walked up Lexington Avenue. He walked so slowly it got dark outside long before he reached Seventy-first Street. At first he started looking in windows, jewelry store windows especially, moving his feet along in their new Italian shoes. He thought of the ring he'd bought Clio when they got married, the bracelets and the earrings. A real diamond and real gold to make her happy. He was good to her. But she was not good to him. Angry all the time. He didn't like that.
After a while he lost interest in stores and studied his shoes. Kim's new shoes had soles that were so thin he could feel every bump on the sidewalk. They were beautiful, but thin. His head drooped and he started feeling bad about the shoes and all the things he did for other people and the poor way they repaid him for his kindness.
It was not so far from Forty-second Street to Seventy-first Street, but Kim was not just walking up Lexington; he was walking through his whole life. By the time he reached Seventieth Street he was feeling so uncomfortable in his skin he wanted to break right out of it. Burst open and do something. Nothing he'd done yet had worked to make his life okay. Nothing was enough. Everything felt too tight inside him, and he didn't know what to do to make his skin fit again. He had no home, no job. His heart hurt and he thought it wasn't fair that people did so many bad things and only he should suffer, only he be singled out for punishment.
He was at Seventy-third Street before he realized he'd passed Seventy-first Street. He lifted his head. He saw the street sign and realized he'd gone too far. He turned to go across Seventy-third Street. There was a restaurant on the corner. He hesitated, suddenly alert to a familiar place. He knew this was a restaurant where Tang sometimes went with her husband, with important people he recognized.
Tables were set, and people were sitting outside. He stopped to look through the window, and there Tang was! But tonight she was not with an important person. His whole body felt the shock of seeing Tang with a customer. And it was not just any customer. Tang was sitting at a table inside the restaurant with the girl who was supposed to be his next angel. Ching Ma Dong!
Kim stared at them, horribly upset that Tang was taking the time to eat with a customer. She never did that. And the worst thing was that the two women— his boss and his next angel—were smiling and laughing as if he'd never existed. They looked completely happy, as if they didn't care about all the bad things that happened to him.
Sixty-three
M
ike hurried back to the car, but April hesitated on the sidewalk, studying the street. Maybe they shouldn't move so fast. There were other choices here. That church, for one thing. Homeless on the front steps. The street was really quiet, a good place for action no one was expecting. April shivered and pulled out her phone to try Tang's cell number again. Still no answer.
"Let's go,
querida."
Mike was already back in the car.
"Right, let's be where she is."
He called for an address while she crossed the sidewalk.
"Hurry up. Get in the car. Ifs on Seventy-third Street."
Okay, okay.
Back in the car April didn't attach her seat belt. Cops had special dispensation on the job. Some cops never wore seat belts. A macho thing. Right now Mike didn't do his either. He pulled out fast, and her heartbeat accelerated with the car. Upper East Side was about as high end as New York City got, and Mike was pushing it in a part of town he didn't know. Nineteenth Precinct. The radio crackled as he wove around one-way streets. Nothing was going down. It was a quiet Monday night.
He sped north on Madison. Up on Seventy-third was another church. Homeless were gathered there, too. At Seventh-fourth the brakes squealed as he took the turn too fast and raced down the block, only to grind to a halt at Park, where four of the six lanes were moving fast.
A radio call came in. It was a nothing. Mike turned off the radio and neither said anything as they waited for the light to change. Ten thousand times every single day cops just got in cars and cruised around. Sometimes they were looking for something that hadn't even been thought of yet. Sometimes they were looking for a certain person, or a certain kind of person. Or certain activities in highly predictable locations. Sometimes you found what you were looking for, and sometimes you didn't.
April read the scene. At first there didn't seem to be much in the way of unpredict
able on Lexington and Seventy-third Street. The restaurant they were looking for was a building that had once been a private house. A few tables covered with snowy tablecloths were set out on the sidewalk for spring dining, just a few for brave diners. They were decorated with candles and sweetheart roses. Five of the tables were filled.
Ching and Tang Ling were not sitting at one them. In the navy sky above the stars were coming out. It was a pleasant scene. Only one thing was out of place: Kim Simone was against the wall at the restaurant window. Mike and April both saw him at the same moment, saw the carryall over his shoulder.
"There he is. No fast moves," Mike said as he slid to a stop, double-parking on Lex before the intersection.
As if April didn't know. Adrenaline kicked in as they took a moment to observe him. Kim didn't seem to be doing anything except standing there. That was good. No one was paying him any attention. That was good, too. He wasn't nervous. The canvas carryall was hanging by its straps over his left shoulder. His back was to them, so his hands were not in view. Mike called Dispatch to give their location and to request backup.
They would take this real slow. The suspect didn't look jumpy, didn't appear to have a gun in his hand. Certainly not a rifle. They exchanged looks. Best case, they would get out of the car. They would cross the street. They would move across the sidewalk. There would be no sirens. They would not say, "Police, freeze." They would distress no diners. There would be no scene. They would get to Kim and each take a side of him. Then they would walk him quietly away from the restaurant, the diners—Tang Ling and Ching.
Mike broke the tense silence. "Did he see you today?" he asked.
"Don't know."
"Lef s take it real easy."
Okay.
Her vote was for easy. April nodded and popped open her door. Mike opened his. Then, as if he could read their minds, Kim started moving. He slowly slid down the side of the building in that narrow space between diners and building. He was walking, not a bit nervous. He didn't see them coming. He was completely cool, heading toward the door of the restaurant as if it were an everyday thing, but nothing about it was everyday to Mike and April. Kim's hand was in the bag, and he was going inside, where Ching was. April wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth.
She was out of the car. She was running across the street into traffic. Horns honked as they dodged cars. People at the tables outside were startled. Kim disappeared through the door. Mike swore as April was the first to follow him in. Her hand was on her Glock. She did not want to unholster it. She did not want to have to shoot it in a crowded place. She wanted to grab the suspect and take him out quietly.
It didn't happen.
Lucky for her the light was the same inside and outside. She could see Kim moving into the restaurant. Then she saw where he was going. Tang Ling was in the back at a table for four. Ching was sitting beside her. They were drinking champagne. Between herself and Tang, the restaurant was filled with people. Diners, servers, people drinking at the bar. Lots of people. Mike was at her elbow. Kim was moving through the human traffic. Nothing stealthy about the way he was moving. April didn't see a gun. She still didn't see a gun. She thought they were all right. They were going to be all right. Mike was now ahead of her. She knew the plan.
"Excuse me, sir." Mike moved quickly toward Kim. He wanted Kim to turn around and focus away from Ching. He wanted to see if there was a gun. He wanted to take Kim's arm.
Kim turned around, surprised. "Me?"
"Do you have a reservation?" Mike asked.
Kim shook his head. "I have a friend here."
"Excuse me, watch your back." A waiter with a full tray got between them.
Kim turned away from Mike and started walking again. April was parallel to him, hurrying down the aisle between two rows of tables to get between him and Ching. She saw his hand go into the bag. She saw it come out with the gun.
"Police, freeze," she barked.
Tang Ling put her hand to her mouth and stood up. "Kim!" Ching stood up, too. She looked confused. Her body blocked Tang, but nobody blocked her.
"Get down! Down on the floor!" April screamed. She charged Kim. He raised the gun and fired at her. She felt the burn of the bullet and hit the floor, rolling between tables toward his feet. He lowered the gun to shoot her again.
Mike pushed the waiter to one side and the tray crashed to the ground. People were screaming, rising from their chairs, trying to get away. They blocked the area so Mike couldn't get through. Tang stood there, frozen with her mouth open. Then she found her voice.
"No. No," she screamed. "No, Kim, don't."
Kim spun around. April rolled again closer to him. Blood poured from her forehead, she felt the searing burn. Her heart knocked in her chest and her breath came hard. Blood ran into her eyes. She wiped it away with her sleeve.
"Police! Freeze!" Then, "Get down," April screamed. But no one was obeying her.
"No, Kim. Please." Tang stood there screaming and shaking her head at Kim as he raised the gun, aiming at Ching.
"Don't!" she shrieked.
But he was beyond noticing her, the people, the noise, the cop at his feet. His eyes, his whole concentration was right in front of him, his last angel.
April rolled one last time, aiming for his knees. She chopped him hard, then pulled him down. Kim was already toppling as he squeezed the trigger, firing off two more shots. Mike hurled himself on the two of them, reaching for the .38 as Kim tried to fire again.
"Get out of the way," Mike barked at April.
But she wasn't going anywhere. The three grappled on the slippery floor, fighting like dogs. April panted, kicked, and slipped in somebody's dinner. Ice scuttled through puddles of wine and blood. She kicked again, aiming for a sensitive place. Kim was twisting, twisting away from them like a practiced mud-wrestler, grunting as he fought to keep his weapon. Mike had him down. Kim twisted out, lashing out with a handful of spaghetti. He threw the long hot strings in Mike's eyes. Mike swiped at his face and sprang to his feet, holding on to Kim's silk shirt.
Then Kim was up, still waving the gun, kicking back. Mike grabbed his arm and hauled it behind Kim's back. Kim howled but didn't drop the gun. It was aimed now at the back of his head. People were screaming, and now the sirens were wailing, too. Blood was all over April's face. She was soaked with it. She'd lost her sight and was losing her grip. But she fought on. She didn't want Kim firing the gun again. He twisted one last time, almost into her arms. As he turned, she punched him in the gut and the gun dropped out of his hand. April and Mike landed in a tangle on the floor, pinning their man just as a dozen officers from the Nineteenth Precinct arrived on the scene, responding to a second call, a third one, everyone with a cell phone calling in. Man with a gun, woman with a gun, officer down. They came.
Sixty-four
O
ne A.M. again. Tuesday, May eighteenth. Lenox Hill ER. Inventory. One brand-new powder blue pantsuit covered with blood and torn in five places. In other words, shot to hell. Likewise, one white blouse, not silk though, just linen blend. One well-loved leather jacket and contents of pockets, including several Rosario notebooks and cell phone. One pair of snakeskin cowboy boots. Trousers, formerly gray. Tie, indecipherable. Shirt, good, but bought on sale over two years ago. Still viable, two 9mm Glocks, one shoulder holster. One wallet with credit cards and driver's license. Two gold shields. One cop shot in the head who'd been removed from the scene in an ambulance at nine-thirty-seven P.M.
The nurses cleaned April up before a team of doctors came to look at her. That meant washing the blood out of her face and hair while not messing with the four-inch swath that oozed from her temple and the side of her head. She was awake enough to know that she was being handled by a lot of people, -her clothes were removed, and she had a headache worse than any migraine. She wanted Mike and Ching to know that she was all right. She wanted to go home, but she was seeing funny and she wasn't
going anywhere until everything was checke
d out. That was what they told her at eleven.
At midnight the hospital was alerted that the mayor was en route. After that, no way she was going to be released until they were through with her. If the mayor wanted a photo op with a fallen cop in a hospital gown, with some major hair loss and a huge bandage on her head, he would get it.
Night from hell. TV cameras don't roll anymore; the red light comes on and they record. The mayor was recorded with the police commissioner standing behind him as usual. Sergeant April Woo looked dazed in her hospital gown as she and Lieutenant Mike Sanchez received the city's official thanks. It wouldn't be aired tonight, but by morning the whole world would know that wedding guru Tang Ling, targeted by a deranged member of her own staff, had been saved by two of New York's finest.
At one-thirty-five April and Mike departed from the hospital wearing sweatsuits with the Lenox Hill logo. April's top was the zip-up kind with a hood, because nothing would go over her head. Somebody had driven the unmarked vehicle with her purse in it to the hospital. She was moved from the wheelchair into the backseat of it. She and Mike were being driven home. Mike got in beside her and cradled her in his arms.
"Querida, que tal?"
he whispered as soon as they got under way.
Que tal?
What's new? Ha.
The good side of April's head lolled against his chest.
Que tal,
that was Spanish, right?
"I almost lost you," he murmured, kissing her bandage, her hand, whatever he could reach.
"Nah, bad shot," she mumbled. She loved him so much it almost took her past the pain. Almost.
"Oh, baby.
Te amo."
"Uh-uh. No, you
te amo. Mi te amo,"
