by Dakota Banks
Although she judged herself harshly, Anu didn’t feel the same way. Nothing happened.
Chapter Fourteen
Amaro had his feet up on the coffee table when Maliha came out of the shower. She was surprised that she had the urge to tell him to put his feet down.
What is this, kill a man, come home and act motherly? Twisted.
She sat next to him on the couch and put her slippered feet up next to his. He took no notice, but Hound, sitting across from them, raised his eyebrows repeatedly, like in a cartoon. The lower part of her robe had fallen open and was revealing a good deal of thigh. She rolled her eyes at him and tucked up the robe.
All I can say is Glass had better get back soon. Her man’s about to explode like a volcano of molten sperm.
Eliu was asleep. Her normal sleeping patterns were disrupted by stress, and when she was able to fall asleep, she did so, day or night. Hound had offered to get some pills for her from Chick, but she declined.
Hound had started poking through Wayra’s wallet without her. “Eighty bucks, three credit cards, a photo of his daughter maybe.” He handed Maliha a picture of a girl about seventeen years old cuddling a newborn baby.
Ouch.
“Driver’s license and Social Security card,” Hound continued. “He’s not supposed to carry that card. I’m going to have an easy time checking him out. Two theater ticket stubs. Might be a wife or girlfriend in his life.”
“What play did they see?” Amaro said.
“Romeo and Juliet.”
“Girlfriend,” Amaro and Maliha said simultaneously.
Even rotten men can have girlfriends. I wonder if she knows about his tendency to strip strange women. His ex-tendency.
“See if you can find the girlfriend, but don’t waste a lot of time on it. We have more urgent business,” Maliha said.
“You didn’t tell us much about your meeting with Wayra,” Amaro said.
“Nothing much to tell.” She turned her head away. “He intended to rape me, and I didn’t take it well.”
“So he’s no longer among the living,” Hound said. “Hell, Maliha, we could have gotten useful shit out of him. You said he wasn’t the actual kidnapper, just some guy on the payroll, but still. If you’re going to off every guy who looks at you with lust in his heart, well, there goes half the population of Chicago. I could’ve interrogated him and I doubt he would have worked up any lascivious thoughts about me.”
“It happened fast, okay?” Her tone was harsher than she’d meant it to be. Hound clamped his lips shut and put an I was only trying to help look on his face.
“What Hound means is that he’s sorry you had to go through that, as am I,” Amaro said.
“What’s up with the security cameras?” Maliha said. She was anxious to move on.
“I looked at the recording made by the building’s cameras in this hallway and found nothing. The relevant portions of the recording were nothing but static. It’s a military-grade disk wipe, just like I did on the dash cam video of Maliha running away,” Amaro said. “I just finished installing my own high-speed camera system to watch the hallway and especially right in front of your door. There are four matchstick cameras out there now.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I thought you installed those weeks ago.”
Amaro shrugged. “Uh, it’s done now.”
“Hey! We depend on you. You could be more responsible.”
“I could,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “Sorry.”
From his tone of voice, she wasn’t sure he was feeling apologetic. Her lips tightened into a sour expression, but she dropped it.
“What could do that kind of damage to digital recordings besides software?” Maliha asked.
Amaro shrugged. “Ultraviolet light. Magnets. Microwaves. Maybe heat. Static discharge, like when you rub your shoes on the carpet and then touch a doorknob.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the entrances to the building?” she asked Hound. Geez, a little democracy and the place falls apart.
“Hey, I’m too valuable to sit around on surveillance. I got reliable assistant investigators who do that.”
“What he means is that his legs get stiff when he sits too long,” said Amaro.
Hound glared at him but let it go.
“Have you two had a chance to go over the dossier yet?”
“Yeah,” Hound said. “Watch the video on the flash drive first.”
They sat in silence as Amaro played the video on a large-screen TV. It started when the patrol car pulled into the alley and ended with Maliha leaving the scene.
“I like the extra touch of blood all over you,” Hound said.
“Somebody made a copy before I had a chance to wipe out the video,” Amaro said.
“Well, duh,” said Hound.
“That somebody wants me to kill the man in the dossier. Can you give me a rundown on him?” Maliha said.
“You mean you’re actually considering doing this assassination?” Amaro said.
“If we don’t want Yanmeng to meet up with a chain saw, it seems like a good direction,” Hound said.
Maliha felt her frustration about the danger Yanmeng was in boiling over. She lashed out with a pink-slippered foot and snapped the leg of the coffee table. Amaro, his feet jarred loose from the table, stood up in surprise.
“Sorry about the chain saw,” Hound said.
“What he means is that we need to find Yanmeng fast so you don’t have to do this,” Amaro said.
“Damn, kid, when I need you to translate for me I’ll fucking well ask for it,” Hound said.
We’ve been having too much “together” time.
“Listen, I know we’re all tense about this, but arguing among ourselves plays into the kidnapper’s hands. We’re supposed to have a truce, remember?” She lowered her eyes. “I’ve been meaning to buy a new coffee table.”
“He started it,” Hound said. He folded his arms on his chest and frowned.
She ignored him. “I haven’t decided what to do yet. I resent someone trying to use me for personal gain, but let’s face it, if I refuse, the next package could contain Yanmeng’s head. So right now, I’m playing this as I would any assignment from good old Rabishu. I want to learn as much as possible about the target.”
“Nathan Presser, forty-three, divorced from his second wife, no kids with her or his first wife. Presser might be shooting blanks, because he and his second wife Janice were in the process of adopting a baby when he sprung the divorce on her. He’s a political fund-raiser now, formerly a real estate developer, and before that owned some food franchises.”
“Successful? I’ve never heard of him before,” Maliha said.
“Not particularly, at his former jobs. He’d make some money, then make bad investments and lose it. When he hit on fund-raising, though, he really took off. Current net worth approximately sixty-seven million. You wouldn’t hear of him. He’s a back-room kind of guy.”
“So he’s got a knack for squeezing money out of people for worthless causes. Is he strictly local in our fair city?” Hound said.
“In the past couple of years, he’s moved up to national-level fund drives. He’s getting a good rep.”
“My guess is that he stumbled on something he wasn’t supposed to find out and has become a nuisance for the kidnapper. What should we call this kidnapper, anyway?” Maliha said.
“Mr. String Him Up by His Prick,” Hound said.
Maliha laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Maybe something a little shorter than that.”
“Shorter in what way?” Hound asked.
“Mr. X, the mystery man,” Amaro said.
“Sold. Where does the target live?” Maliha said.
“Moved to Washington, D.C., right after the divorce,” Amaro said.
“Any ideas at all on where Yanmeng is being held?” Maliha asked. “We think he’s heavily sedated, remember? Has anyone checked medical clinics?”
“I’m on that nex
t,” Hound said.
Eliu came out of her room. The conversation stopped. She stared at the broken table leg, started to say something, and thought better of it. “Anybody hungry?” she said.
There was a soft knock at the door. Everyone in the room froze. Then Amaro hurried over to the computer he’d dedicated to receiving the input of his newly installed hall cameras. The screen was divided into four rectangles, one for each camera, and they were all showing nothing but static. Amaro slammed his hand down on the table in frustration.
“What about your reliable assistant investigators?” Amaro said.
“The best that minimum wage could buy. Fuck.” Hound’s scar stood out as anger flooded his face. “Christ, haven’t we just done this knock-at-the-door thing?”
Maliha headed to the door, with Hound at her heels. When they got there, he drew a gun and motioned for her to open the door quickly. She did so, but no one was there.
There was a box on the floor outside her door.
Hound went to the emergency stairs again, but came out in a minute. “Nobody there. Whoever it is must be using the elevator. I’ll go talk to the doorman, and so help me, if my assistants are asleep, I’m gonna fry their balls in butter.”
Maliha picked up the box, took it to the kitchen, and opened it. Eliu stayed where she was in the chair in the living room. Yanmeng’s bloodied thumb was inside, along with a note that said, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
Eliu stood her ground this time. She compressed her lips into a line and her eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. She said nothing, and didn’t cry. Anger was taking hold of her, and Maliha knew just what that felt like.
I wouldn’t want to be Mr. X if Eliu gets hold of him. There’s more than one martial artist in the Xia family.
“I need more on Nathan Presser. I need his whole background, who his friends are, what he’s been up to lately, his routines.”
Hound and Amaro nodded.
She moved closer to Hound and spoke for his ears only. “Be sure Eliu stays here. Don’t let her go out looking for Mr. X. Keep the body parts on ice.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Agreed.” He hadn’t missed the look on Eliu’s face.
I haven’t thought this through. But there’s no time.
Chapter Fifteen
Maliha took her private jet to Dulles International Airport in Virginia. She rented a silver Nissan Sentra under a false identity, Ginger Wade, and headed out to D.C. on a half-hour drive that took her an hour and a half due to traffic. She checked into a boutique hotel in the business district on Capitol Hill. For a walk-in at 6 P.M., all the hotel had left was a suite with a whirlpool tub and two large-screen TVs. It wasn’t her idea of staying under the radar, but she liked the location. She sent Amaro a text to let him know where she was.
If Mr. X is watching me, he knows I’ve gone to D.C. to do the job. There shouldn’t be any more parts arriving at the condo. I’m cooperating, at least so far.
Maliha unpacked her weapons. She didn’t know what the situation would require, so she brought everything, from her CheyTac M200 Intervention long-range rifle system to swords and knives. It was depressing to see them all laid out on the bed.
Just like old times, with someone else jerking my strings.
There was more snow on the ground here than in Chicago, an odd reversal for the time of year. Fresh snowfall made the view out her window, all the way from the back of the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial, a postcard scene. What remained on the ground of Chicago’s snow was piled in dirty mounds, recently glazed with ice by the rainfall and drop in temperature.
Why is it I live in Chicago, anyway? I guess it’s because I love the place, filthy snow and all.
Maliha flipped through the dossier on Presser again, looking for clues for why someone wanted this man dead. From the scanty information provided, he seemed to be an all-around good citizen.
Either this is a test to see if I’ll follow orders or this guy has a big secret. What if he is some random man? Do I trade his life for Yanmeng’s?
Her mind was whirling with alternatives, none of them good. She decided she’d try to relax in the tub and then get some dinner. After that, she hoped, her team would have some news for her.
She started drawing water for the tub and tossed aside her travel clothes.
Come, wash off the dust of the journey. That’s something I’ll always have left of Abiyram.
Remembering Abiyram got her started on thinking about Jake, the blood gold, and his possible role in the assassination of her dear friend. She’d shoved aside the heartbreak and the whole subject of Jake when she was swept up in rescuing Yanmeng, but Jake kept making his presence known.
Jake is Ageless. He could speed right by Hound’s surveillance crew at Harbor Point and disappear fast from in front of my door. I don’t know about the static, but it’s worth mentioning to Amaro and Hound. He wouldn’t need me to kill someone for him, though, unless this is some kind of crazy control scheme.
There was a knock at the door. “Room service.”
She walked back toward the door and considered what to do. She hadn’t ordered any room service.
“I didn’t order any room service.”
“Compliments of the hotel, ma’am.”
She thought about ignoring it or telling the man to leave the tray outside her door, but then thought it could be an opportunity to get more information about Mr. X.
Could even be Mr. X.
“Just a minute.”
She went into the bedroom and selected a pistol from the weapons on the bed, picked the right magazine from her supply, and loaded it. Standing off to the side of the entry door, she undid the chain and twisted the deadbolt lock open. The waiter opened the door and began to push his cart into the room. She quickly checked his aura and found that he had some tendrils of black, an imprint of something he’d done that wouldn’t make his mother proud. He wasn’t Mr. X. Still, that twinge of black made her uneasy.
She pointed the gun at him. “Hold it right there.”
Being confronted by a naked guest pointing a gun at him wasn’t in the waiter’s job description. His eyes were round and his jaw dropped. He raised his hands.
“I . . . I don’t have any money,” he said.
“Just do as you’re told and you won’t have a problem. Step inside and close the door.”
The young man was in his mid-twenties. He did as he was told and started to tremble.
“Tell me where Yanmeng is,” she said.
“I don’t know anybody like that, please don’t kill me—”
Maliha stepped closer and planted the tip of the barrel on his forehead. “I said, tell me where Yanmeng is.”
“Please . . .”
She stepped back but kept the weapon pointed at him. “Uncover the plate.”
He did so, but his hand shook so much he dropped the metal cover on the floor. It was a plate of sliced fruit and cheese with a bowl of chocolate-covered cherries in the center.
“I’ll take it back if you don’t want it,” he said.
She lowered her gun. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll keep it. And don’t say anything about this.” She signed the bill to give him a generous tip. It was the least she could do after the scare she’d given him. He backed out of the room with the cart, his head bobbing nervously.
She plucked a cherry from the bowl and headed back to the tub. Muscles relaxed but mind still worried, she went out for pizza from Matchbox on Capitol Hill. She called ahead and lucked out getting someone else’s cancelled reservation for one, probably due to the weather. She walked there, with snow falling gently, leaving footprints on the sidewalk. Walking back to the hotel, hers were still the only footprints, and they were filling in with snow.
Later she placed an encrypted phone call to Amaro and waited for the authentication to complete. “What’s up?” she said. “I just had pizza.”
“We had Chinese delivered. If we’re through discussing our dinners, we do have some news for you,” Amaro s
aid.
Maliha heard Hound’s voice in the background. “Gimmee that phone.”
It sounded like there was a brief scuffle for the phone, and then Hound came on. “It’s me.”
“You’re reverting to boyhood, both of you. Couldn’t you just put me on speaker?”
“Oh yeah. Hold on. Okay, we’re both here. You know, this is a lot of stress on all of us. You might cut us a little slack.”
“Sorry.”
“We have what I think you wanted to hear. Nathan Presser is no angel. Remember he was a real estate developer?” Hound said. Without waiting for her to answer, he went on. “He was buying up property in Florida for a high-end condo building with some retail stores on the ground floor. The land was mostly undeveloped but it had great highway access to Naples. A gem in the rough. Once he got the building through, he was planning a whole village of homes, schools, and shopping.”
“Okay so far,” Maliha said.
“The only problem was that there was an old mobile-home park in the way,” Amaro said. “You can probably guess where things are going from here. Nathan pressured and intimidated the residents to leave. The last two holdouts turned up dead.”
“Convenient for him. Was anything ever proven?”
“No. The police screwed up the investigation. Evidence was lost, witnesses changed their minds. Some say money changed hands, but no one was able to prove that, so Nathan got off,” Amaro said.
“He did the killings himself?”
“He was overheard talking to one of his partners about blasting two people in the face, said he wished he’d done it sooner because of all the trouble they’d caused him,” Hound said. “The project went through. His partners bought him out during the first phase of construction, so he’s not associated with it anymore. That was the last time he worked in real estate. Even though he wasn’t convicted, somebody powerful might have scared him out of the business, and out of the state.”
