The Art Deco interior of the sprawling lobby gleamed gold, from the period lighting on the marble walls and floors and the gilded paint on much of the elaborate metal and stucco trim work. Jon and Halladay proceeded down a spacious hall with a very high ceiling and large portraits of famous men punctuating the walls. These included Chester A. Arthur, John Pierpont Morgan, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Thomas Edison, William Cullen Bryant, and others whose names Jon didn’t recognize, as the big hall opened into an even bigger one with an even higher and more elaborate ceiling. The main cavern of the lobby did have some security turnstiles (stylish in themselves) leading to four alcoves with banks of elevators on one side. Above each alcove and on the adjacent walls there were words like THRIFT, INDUSTRY, and SECURITY carved into the marble in large, prominent letters.
No one was manning the turnstiles, but there was a semicircular marble counter attached to one of the huge marble pillars in the center of the lobby, with two of the suited ex-soldiers standing behind it. Halladay approached them, showed his badge, and said they were here to talk to “Darth Render.”
He’s got no sense of appropriateness whatsoever, Jon thought to himself, but at least he’s consistent.
They were told to wait, and before too long a somewhat short and very thin man, meticulously dressed, approached them from one of the elevator alcoves. Though he looked slightly familiar, Jon knew this man wasn’t Render, because he had seen pictures and video of the GS boss.
“My name is Nelson Gant,” the man said, offering a semi-limp handshake to both of them. “I am Mr. Render’s Administrative Assistant. What can I do for you?”
Jon recognized the name—this was Render’s childhood friend, who had accompanied him throughout his rise to wealth and power. Jon didn’t remember for sure whether it was a literal fact or a metaphor, but he had read somewhere that in high school Render was a state champion wrestler, and Gant was the nonathletic friend who held the towel for him. There had been some of the inevitable tabloid rumors about a romantic relationship between the two men, of course, though the GS boss was married. But Gant himself was not, if Jon remembered correctly.
“You can let us talk to him, Mr. Gaunt,” Halladay said with irritation. “That’s what you can do for us.”
Jon noticed how “gaunt” the man actually was, now that he was close to them. His face had a skull-like quality to it, drawn and angular, and his thin black hair was perfectly cemented in place. “Death’s head” was the term that came to Jon’s mind, and stayed there as they interacted with the man.
“Mr. Render isn’t here right now,” he said, “but I would be willing to share any information that is public and necessary to an investigation.”
Jon was impressed, because the man managed to frame and limit any discussion with just one sentence. Halladay, for his part, was smart enough to know he was being handled, but not smart enough to know exactly how.
“What kind of legalese crap is that?” the big cop said with disgust. “You might as well just tell us what you’re hiding before we pull it out of your ass with pliers.”
Gant smiled, and the effect was even more unsettling than his previous rawboned frown.
“Officers Halladay and Phillips,” the thin man said, surprisingly knowing their names and again making an important statement with just a few words, “surely you understand that there are protocols we must follow anytime we communicate with law enforcement. It’s nothing personal, and we have nothing to hide.”
“Where is Mr. Render?” Jon asked.
“He is at his private residence,” Gant answered. “And would prefer not to be disturbed.”
“Would he prefer to be disturbed by you,” Halladay said, “by telling him we’re coming? Or should we just walk over there and disturb him ourselves?”
“I’ll tell him,” Gant said, after a few moments of mutual staring. He stepped away from the cops and put an earpiece in to make a call.
“Administrative Assistant my ass,” Halladay said to Jon, lowering his voice only a little. “He’s the Big Man’s number one henchman, his right-hand fan, would do anything for him. They grew up together.… Render’s literally a big man, was an athlete, has the looks and charisma. This little worm attaches to the friend he wishes he could be; the Big Man loves him because he’s so loyal. Classic.”
“Oh, so you’re a psychologist now?” Jon said.
“Mr. Render will see you for a few minutes at his home,” Gant said, returning to them. “But please keep in mind that he hasn’t been feeling well, and so he might need to cut the interview short.”
“Yer talkin’ pish,” Halladay said, resentful of being handled again and waving his hand at the well-dressed man. “We’ll interview him as long as we want.” At that, both he and Gant turned to leave in opposite directions, but Jon stepped after the thin man to ask him one more question.
“Mr. Gant,” he said, softly enough that Halladay wouldn’t hear. “My partner thinks you would do anything for Mr. Render.” Gant just looked at him, so he continued. “Would you carry out an order to kill, maybe even a lot of people, if you thought it would get him elected?”
“Mr. Phillips,” Gant said, matching his soft voice. “Gotham Security exists to save people’s lives, not take them. And that’s why Mr. Render doesn’t need any help getting elected.”
“Thank you,” Jon said, nodding, and shook his somewhat limp hand again. Then he turned and followed Halladay out of the building.
When he was back outside, Jon noticed that there was an enclosed walkway about ten stories high between the GS building and the next one over, which had been built in the same era with the same type of stone, but was taller, more streamlined, and topped by the thin clock tower. He had also noticed while inside that there were steps at the side of the lobby going down to an underground passage that led to the companion building. He knew that many years ago both buildings had been owned by Metropolitan Life, so that explained the walkways, but he asked Halladay if GS owned both of them now.
“Not yet, I don’t think,” Halladay said. “They rent part of it, but don’t need more than that, so there’s other businesses in there.”
They passed in front of the old building with the clock tower and soon found themselves at the very end of Madison Avenue, looking up at the much newer tower of glass called One Madison, which was so tall and thin that it made Jon think of kids’ games where they tried to stack LEGOs or blocks as high as they possibly could without them falling over.
Two more of the muscled men in suits stood waiting for them at a private entrance to the left of a retail store on the ground floor, and walked them into the building’s lobby from the back. A couple of residents were coming in the front door as they waited for an elevator, and another man came out of the one they got in. As they rode up the fifty-plus stories with the two bodyguards, Halladay proved again that he wasn’t shy about speaking his mind around anyone.
“Asshole owns the top four floors,” he said. “The penthouse on the top three alone is worth about seventy-five million. Right place at the right time. The flagger hits, the river rises, and his construction company is right there, ready to cash in on it. And now his security company is right there to capitalize on our newest problems.”
“You don’t like him?” Jon asked, glancing at the stone-faced security soldiers.
“I don’t like anyone who’s power hungry. I don’t like Nazis.”
“Well, he can’t be that evil,” Jon said, and now gestured at the suits standing next to them. “These guys haven’t killed you for talking bad about him. Yet.”
“Let ’em try,” the Scotsman said.
When they reached the fourth floor from the top, the elevator stopped and all four men stepped out into what had once been one of the building’s “normal” apartments, but had been renovated into a meeting and office area for the Big Man, where he could come down from his deluxe penthouse to greet visitors. But even this floor was stunning, with high ceilings and breathtaking 360-
degree views of the city surrounding enough inner rooms to house servants, bodyguards, or others who might need to stay near the GS boss for whatever reason.
Gareth Render soon appeared out of another, smaller elevator next to the one they had arrived in, which Jon assumed was a private one connecting this floor with the penthouse. The older man was even taller than Halladay, and was definitely more muscular, though he had much less hair. He wore the kind of simple, casual clothing that might be seen on a construction company owner who had to visit the job site sometimes. And he was immediately and unquestionably hospitable to the two policemen, which to Jon actually seemed sincere. But the young detective had been fooled before.
“Ah, my brothers,” Render said, shaking both their hands in a way that seemed even more firm and genuine when contrasted with the way his assistant had greeted them. “Anyone who serves to make this city safer is a brother to me.”
“Nice place you have here,” Halladay said.
“Thanks a lot,” he answered. “But I actually live up there, on the top three floors.”
“Can we see it?” Halladay said, and both Render and Jon looked at him. They kept looking at him, so the big cop shrugged and explained himself. “I figure this is the only chance I’d get to be in a place like this—might as well take a look at it.”
Realizing Halladay was actually serious, Render “hmmmed” for a moment and then said, “I don’t see why not. The Mrs. is out shopping. Come on up.”
He led them back to the elevator they had arrived in, presumably because it was the only one big enough to hold all of them at once.
“I’m sorry it’s necessary to have these guys with us,” Render added, gesturing at the suits. “Frank here has been around a while, but you’re new here.… I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
Jon told him, and then fought hard to keep his mouth from gaping when they walked out of the elevator and into the penthouse.
9
The elevator opened into a small foyer adjacent to the great room that Render then led them into. It was two tall floors high and half as wide as the building, the transparent walls with huge panes of glass on two sides affording a vertigo-inducing view of the north and east ends of the city. The nearby MetLife Clock Tower, which was brightly lit and the same height as the penthouse, dominated the north side, while the Empire State Building was behind it and slightly to the left. The more famous skyscraper looked smaller than the first, because it was a half mile in the distance.
To their left was a bronze spiral staircase that wound through the upper two floors and was visible all the way up to the third floor, because the second was partial to allow for the high ceilings of the great room. The furniture and decorations were obviously expensive, but also rather sparse and generic.
“Three floors, as you can tell,” Render said, gesturing to the spiral staircase. “Almost seven thousand square feet, five bedrooms and baths. Another private elevator beside the stairs there, just for these top three floors.” He looked directly at Halladay, wearing a little smirk. “Did ya wanna ride it to my bedroom on the third floor, or have you seen enough?”
He said it nicely but it irritated the big cop anyway, and caught him off guard—so much so that he forgot his newfound manners toward Jon, and awkwardly deflected the attention to the younger man.
“Yeah, this is enough for me,” Halladay said. “But Country Boy here might want to check it out. I don’t think he’s ever been in a building this big.”
“Definitely the nicest view I’ve ever seen,” Jon said, gazing out of one of the tall, transparent walls.
“The only disappointment is,” Render said, gesturing at the dark city skyline, “I’ve never even seen a sunrise or sunset from up here. I sit out on the terrace with that fancy UV light on, pretending it’s daytime and getting some rays. Do you want to go out there?”
“No,” Jon said, “I just have some questions for you.”
“Okay,” Render said. “Have a seat.” They did, on the couches in the center of the big room. Except for the two bodyguards, who stayed standing in strategic spots. “Would you like something to drink?”
“It won’t take that long,” Jon said. “But thanks.”
Halladay leaned back and sprawled out on the plush pillows, but Jon sat up straight on the edge. Render did something in between on his.
“I’m wondering how much you want to be the Mayor of Manhattan,” Jon said.
“I don’t want to be the Mayor,” Render said, seemingly puzzled by the question. “I would prefer the title ‘Protector,’ but we couldn’t legally word the referendum that way. Once I’m elected, I’ll reorganize and give others most of the responsibilities of a Mayor, while I devote myself to making sure the city is safe. Along with my Builders, and any current police officers who can buy into what I’m trying to do.”
He looked meaningfully at the two cops, as if offering them a job—with some major conditions.
“‘Builders’ are what you call the members of the small army you’ve put together,” Jon said. “Right?”
“Right. I initially hired many of them to provide security for our rebuilding projects around the city after the flagger … the first time we hammered impending chaos into lawfulness. The second is about to happen. I decided to keep the same nickname for my employees once the material rebuilding was done, because I realized that we now need a spiritual rebuilding … to provide peace of mind for the people of the city.”
“So that’s how you went from the construction business into the security business.”
“They’re so related,” Render said, leaning forward and getting into it more. “Have you been to our headquarters down the street?” The two officers nodded. “Maybe you noticed the words carved into the marble above the elevator halls?” Now only Jon nodded. “We had our offices there years ago when my father was still alive and running our construction company—one of the reasons I bought the building. But when I worked there, every day I would walk under the word SECURITY into elevator bank D, to get to my office. So every day I was reminded that buildings were about providing security for people, especially in a scary place like Manhattan.
“When the flagger hit,” the GS boss continued, “our company replaced the ruined structures with new ones that could keep the city safe. And now we have to finish the job by replacing the ruined infrastructures of a liberal Mayor and soft law enforcement. What good will it have done to build a place where we can live, if we can’t live in peace and safety?”
“You’re definitely running for Mayor,” Halladay said, with a look of bored dissatisfaction. “You’ve got all the talking points down perfectly. But you’re like all the other Nazis.… You just want to be in charge, plain and simple.”
“You should be grateful, Frank, like most of your fellow officers are.” The big bald man sat back again while he said this, and then directed his next comment toward Jon. “According to the technicalities of the law as it stands now, my men aren’t allowed to work on the streets. They do anyway, of course, because it’s the right thing to do. But they give the credit officially to the MPD officers who arrive at the scene.… It’s good for the city and it’s good for the cops.”
“Yeah, and that’s why you have so many of them in your pocket,” Halladay said. “But I’m my own man … so, sorry if I don’t kiss your Nazi ass like everyone else.”
“I know why you don’t like me,” Render said with a smile. “It’s because you know that when I’m in power, I won’t let you continue your little arrangement down on Lexington.”
Halladay shifted in his seat, but didn’t reply, so Jon redirected the conversation.
“You didn’t answer my original question,” he said to Render. “About how much you want to win the vote on Tuesday.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you just admitted that you break the law to accomplish what you think is best for safety on the streets. Would you be willing to do that to get elected?”
�
��Within reason, I guess.” The big old man knitted what was left of his brows and sat up again. “What are you suggesting?”
“Well, it seems to me that the murders we’re investigating make people feel unsafe, and if more of them happen tomorrow during Dayfall, that would make people more inclined to vote for someone who says he can keep them safe.”
Render stood when he realized what Jon was implying, and unleashed a stream of profanity that said “construction foreman” much more than “Mayor.” Jon stood, too, responding with “Leave my mother out of this,” and the two bodyguards stepped toward the two men, who were now about a foot apart. Jon was much younger, but he was also much shorter and not built as powerfully as Render … so it wasn’t clear whether the guards would have to intervene on behalf of their boss or not. Halladay didn’t move from his spot on the couch, but his mouth was hanging slightly open.
“My goal in life is to protect life, of any kind, at all costs,” Render said through clenched teeth. “I would never take it or allow my men to take it, unless it was necessary to protect others’ lives.”
“Maybe you think it’s necessary in this case,” Jon said with equal conviction, not backing down from the argument or the staring contest, “so you can get elected and ‘save more lives.’” He put the last three words in quotes with his fingers.
“No,” Render said, actually considering what Jon was saying. “That’s a line I wouldn’t cross. I’ve offered to help the police in any way I can with the Dayfall killings, and that offer stands.”
“Why don’t you guys just sit down?” Halladay said. “You look like two fighters before a boxing match … except from two really different weight classes.”
Jon and Render took his advice, because they both knew any further escalation would do nothing good for either of them.
“I guess it’s more sad than anything,” Render said, genuinely seeming to feel that way now, and obviously thinking about something as he spoke. “That you or anyone would ever think I would be involved in murder. That’s what I’m trying to stop, along with other hurtful crimes that thrive in the city because this Mayor is more concerned about diversity, civil rights, and philanthropy than she is about security. But you can’t have one without the other.” His tone was pleading now, the talking points seeming more personal than the two cops would give him credit for.
Dayfall Page 6
