Nydia guessed he had asked for the men’s room, but as soon as the two of them reached the middle section of the hotel where the elevators were, they stopped, looking to see which set of elevators to take.
Nydia had already dialed Beck. Listening to the phone ring, she said to herself quietly, “Pick up, motherfucker.”
41
There were two elevators that opened onto the fortieth floor. Beck waited and waited. He pushed the buttons again. It seemed like minutes had passed, but it was closer to thirty seconds. Finally, Beck felt more than heard the air being pushed ahead of the elevator rising to their right.
The elevator door vibrated. Beck reached behind him for Olivia, feeling for her as he faced the elevator. And suddenly, he cursed.
“Shit. We’ve been out here too long.”
He moved Olivia to the left, away from the corridor where they’d come from. He backed up quickly, gently guiding Olivia to the east corridor while he faced the elevator, gun ready as they moved out of sight around the corner.
Just as they made it into the east corridor, the elevator door opened and Beck heard somebody step out of the elevator. He craned his head around just enough to see two men in dark clothes head in the direction of Olivia’s room.
Beck moved very quickly, trying to remain completely quiet on the hallway carpeting. The elevator door had almost closed, but he just managed to get four fingers between the closing doors and force them open.
Olivia was right behind him. They slipped into the elevator, the doors closed, and before Beck could press any buttons, the elevator started to rise.
Beck snarled, “Shit.”
Beck’s agitation made Olivia nervous. She backed into a corner of the elevator.
The elevator stopped on the forty-fifth floor. A hotel waiter stood in the corridor with a room-service cart. He hesitated. Beck said, “Come on in. There’s plenty of room.”
Beck expected the elevator to reverse, but again it went up. He checked the digital numbers showing the floors the elevator serviced. This one served floors thirty-one to fifty-two. They rose past fifty, without slowing. The hotel waiter stood with his back to Beck, watching the floor indicators. Beck slipped the Browning into the pocket of his shearling coat.
* * *
One of Kolenka’s men pressed his ear against Olivia’s door, trying to hear movement inside the room. Nothing. He took out a small crowbar from underneath his overcoat and began to pry open the door just above the lock. It took a good deal of effort, but when the door popped free of the frame, it made surprisingly little noise.
The room was unoccupied, but the magazines and wrinkled bed top showed that someone had been in the room. They quickly searched for luggage or anything that might indicate the occupant would be returning, but there was nothing.
* * *
On the way up, Beck calculated how to play the situation.
If the two who had come up for Olivia got back on this elevator, what would they do? Would they know it was Olivia? Would they risk a move with a hotel employee on the elevator? What would happen when they hit the lobby? And who were they? How the hell had they found Olivia?
Beck’s thoughts were interrupted when the elevator stopped on fifty-two. There was nobody there. But just as the doors started to close, a woman appeared. She stopped the doors and stepped into the elevator. She was blond, dressed in a fake fur coat. She wore high heels and a blue dress that barely reached mid-thigh. She carried a large handbag on her left shoulder.
Hooker, Beck thought. And not a very expensive-looking one at that. She stepped to the back of the elevator, avoiding eye contact, hardly moving.
Her perfume filled the elevator, but it didn’t give the impression that she was clean and fresh. She looked worn out. Intent on leaving the hotel without causing any notice.
The elevator started down. Christ, thought Beck, if things go bad, if shooting starts, now there were two more people who could get hit. The complications had escalated exponentially.
But then again, the more people who got out in the lobby, the better their chances of getting to an exit before the two waiting downstairs could sort out who was who.
Then the elevator slowed down and stopped on forty, and all of Beck’s calculations changed.
42
Gregor Stepanovich checked his watch. One-forty in the morning. Kolenka’s men were to secure the woman in her room, then call him. He and his partner would go to the room he had rented for an outrageous price with the large rolling bag. The bag contained everything he needed and would be used to remove the body from the hotel.
Kolenka’s men were to deliver her to Gregor’s room and leave. That was the agreement. Which was fine with Gregor. He and Josef would have the woman all to themselves. Once they were in the room with the woman and secure, he would tell his driver to leave, call Markov, and the fun could begin.
He waited at the west end of the elevator bank. His man Josef at the east end.
Gregor checked his watch again. What was taking so long? She was probably sleeping. They should be in before she even woke up. Ah, he thought. They have to get her dressed before they take her out of the room. That must be it.
* * *
The elevator door opened on two men. Both were medium height. Both wore long, dark wool overcoats, dark slacks, and decent tie shoes. One wore a blue button-down shirt. The other a white shirt.
They had the hard-edged look of Slavs. Both grizzled. Thin and sinewy and feral. The good clothes couldn’t hide their predatory air. When the man in the white shirt reached to hold the elevator so his partner could enter, he revealed a tattoo of a Russian Orthodox cross on the back of his right hand.
Shit, thought Beck. Vory-v-Zakone. Definitely Kolenka’s men.
Between the four people already in the elevator and the hotel waiter’s food cart, there wasn’t much room for the Russians, but the hotel waiter said, “Please, come in. I’ll take the next one.”
He wheeled his room service cart out of the elevator, and both men stepped in.
Beck had been standing in front of Olivia. Now he moved to his left so that he seemed even more apart from the two women. Give the hunters the impression that the blonde was with Olivia. Two escorts working as a pair. But would they believe Olivia belonged in the same league as the blonde?
Beck made sure to not even glance at the two women behind him. He was certain Olivia had figured out these two were after her. Could she mask her fear? Would they sense her apprehension, like animals closing in on prey?
The Russians briefly checked out Olivia and the hooker, ignored Beck, turned to face the front of the car. The elevator started its descent. Beck gripped the Browning in the right hand pocket of his shearling coat.
He considered the situation. Maybe they would make it to the lobby. After all, the elevator had come from a different floor. There were two women instead of one. They hadn’t connected Beck to either of the women.
But what would these two do when they reached the lobby? What made sense?
Step out and confer with their partners, Beck supposed. Could they slip out unnoticed while that happened?
Beck made no move to look at the men on his left. He didn’t want to distract them from doing just what they were doing: standing still, facing front, looking at the numbers flashing by on the elevator’s display panel.
And then the Russian farthest from Beck did what men do. He turned to look over the blonde once more. He stared at her, blatantly, without apology, as if she were sitting in a store window. She completely ignored him. She stood in the back of the elevator, staring past him as if he weren’t there. And then he looked over at Olivia.
No, thought Beck. No. He felt the atmosphere shift. The Russian in the white shirt stared at Olivia a beat too long. Then his partner turned. They both stared at her, stared for way too long.
Beck had to move. Now. Hard and fast and now.
In the cramped space, Beck leaned right, raised his left foot, and stomped the
side of the Blue Shirt’s right knee, driving the leg down to the floor of the elevator. As he collapsed in Beck’s direction, screaming, Beck rammed his elbow into the man’s right temple, knocking him out, and driving him toward the second Russian.
As Blue Shirt crumpled to the floor, Beck whipped the barrel of the Browning into White Shirt’s face, cracking open his forehead and sending a spray of blood spattering against the rear wall of the elevator.
White Shirt fell back into the blonde, who couldn’t avoid him, but she was tough. She stifled a scream and shoved him away, which kept him on his feet. He lunged for Beck, blood pouring into his eyes, obstructing his vision, trampling his partner still on the floor, managing to get his arms around Beck’s waist.
Beck let the standing attacker drive him into the side of the elevator. Beck knew he wasn’t going down. There was no room to fall. White Shirt was bent over, arms around Beck, his face on Beck’s chest. He reared up and tried to ram the top of his head into Beck’s chin.
Beck turned away, but the man’s head banged into the side of his jaw. Before White Shirt could do any more damage, Beck leaned over him and drove the butt of the Browning down into his spine, liver, kidney—shot after vicious shot, again and again and again with as much leverage and strength as he could muster. His attacker let out guttural grunts of pain. He was paralyzed, but Beck didn’t let up. He kept hitting him until he felt the man’s grip loosen, then he kneed him in the chest, driving him off, and kicked him to the other side of the elevator. White Shirt fell over his comrade on the ground, but still grabbed for Beck’s leg.
Beck rammed his foot into his face, breaking White Shirt’s jaw, and knocking him out. He fell in a heap, half on top of his partner, who screamed at the added weight on his torn knee. The pain revived Blue Shirt. He reached for his gun. Beck backhanded the butt of the heavy Browning into his temple, knocking him unconscious, just as the elevator landed on the ground floor.
But the elevator door wouldn’t open fully because White Shirt’s body was jammed against it. Beck pulled him off the door, maneuvering him out of the way so he and Olivia could get out.
Olivia seemed frozen in the corner, but the hooker moved, deftly stepping over the Russians. She muttered a curse as she made her way out of the elevator, touching her face to feel for any blood spatter, intent on getting the hell out before hotel security arrived.
Beck shoved one of the inert bodies farther into the corner and pulled Olivia toward the open elevator door. He leaned out to see who was in the lobby. The blonde had already walked past the bank of elevators, turning toward the Fifty-eighth Street exit.
He spotted two men, one at each end of the elevator area. On the west side stood Gregor Stepanovich, with a large rolling luggage bag. At the east side, stood his partner.
Beck didn’t linger. He pressed the elevator button for the fiftieth floor, stepped off, and led Olivia toward the east corridor in the direction the hooker had taken, figuring she had momentarily distracted Gregor’s partner on that side. She had, but not enough to prevent Gregor’s man from seeing Olivia, clearly terrified, and Beck with blood smeared on the side of his face and chest.
He raised a gun in Beck’s direction. Beck had the Browning down against his leg. Beck stopped, pushed Olivia away from him, raised the Browning, knowing he would not get the first shot. His only hope was that the man would miss at ten feet. And then, Nydia Lopez appeared out of nowhere behind the gunman. She jumped to gain height and leverage, and came down with a smashing overhand blow across the back of his head. She hit him so hard that he flew forward and fell flat on the marble floor, out cold, his face smacking into the lobby’s marble floor.
Just then a gunshot shattered the two-o’clock-in-the-morning serenity of the Four Seasons.
Olivia ran toward Nydia. Beck dropped into a crouch, turning to face Gregor, who had already twisted around the corner, taking cover from Beck and his Browning.
Beck didn’t fire. He immediately turned back and ran around the corner for Olivia and Nydia. Nydia held Olivia’s arm with one hand and her compact Smith & Wesson M&P .40 with the other.
“Go!” Beck shouted, pointing toward the Fifty-eighth Street exit. Even if Gregor ran after them, they should be able to make it out the door.
Beck shoved the Browning into his coat pocket, ignored everyone and everything except Nydia and Olivia. He ran ahead of them toward the back of the hotel, sure that they would be running right behind him.
As they reached the far end of the hotel, he slid around the corner, and hustled down the steps to the ground floor exit. Outside, Beck could see a doorman and someone who looked like a hotel security guard struggling with a large man trying to get into the hotel.
There was a Cadillac Escalade parked in front of the hotel. The driver’s-side door was open. The SUV was empty. It had to be the driver fighting to get into the hotel. He had already tossed aside the doorman. The security guard, a young black man who nearly matched the driver’s size, was clearly have troubling grappling with what Beck figured was the last of the team sent to get Olivia.
Beck turned and told Nydia, “Get her into that SUV.”
Beck burst out of the exit door and jumped into the scuffle without breaking stride. He pulled the driver’s head back with his right hand and punched him in the throat with his left.
Beck didn’t even pause to see the result. If the security guard couldn’t take him down now, he didn’t deserve the job.
He ran out into the street and jumped into the driver’s seat of the double-parked SUV. Keys were in the ignition. He turned over the engine, shoved the gearshift into drive, and accelerated east on Fifty-eighth, tires squealing, the trucklike SUV fishtailing down the street.
Police sirens were already converging on the hotel. Beck turned left onto Park Avenue, blasting through a red light, just missing a cab.
The light ahead was green and Beck floored the accelerator. The four-hundred horsepower engine hesitated, and then the massive torque kicked in and he streaked through the intersection as the light turned red. He continued accelerating, catching green lights one after the other until the light on Sixty-sixth turned red while he was a half block away from the intersection.
He braked hard, hoping Nydia and Olivia had had time to get their seat belts on. He hadn’t, but braced himself on the steering wheel. They slid into the intersection. Luckily there was no cross traffic. Beck managed to wrestle the big SUV into a right turn and headed east on Sixty-sixth. He braked hard at Lexington, peered to his left looking for empty cabs. He didn’t see any, the light changed and he continued east at a normal speed, stopping at Second Avenue. He pulled the SUV into an empty space near a fire hydrant, shut everything down, took a deep breath, and turned to Olivia and Nydia seated behind him.
“Fuck. You two okay?”
Nydia said, “Yeah.”
“What’d you hit that guy with? Couldn’t have been your fist.”
Nydia pulled out a set of brass knuckles.
Beck pictured the blow. Thought for a second how hard that man’s face smacked into the marble floor when he went down.
“Thanks. You saved us.”
“No problem,” said Nydia.
“Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“You okay?”
“When I stop shaking. God, what happened back there?”
“You guys almost died,” said Nydia.
43
Gregor Stepanovich knew after missing with his first shot that he wouldn’t get another. He had to leave. There was no point. The police and hotel security would be on him before he could kill Beck, or capture the woman.
He had turned and walked out of the front entrance of the Four Seasons as fast as he could, nearly shrieking with frustration that Beck had gotten away from him yet again. It took every shred of his willpower not to chase after Beck, shooting at him until his gun was empty.
What the hell was he doing here? Guarding the woman, obviously. Even so, Gregor couldn’t
believe Beck had wiped out three men he couldn’t have known were coming. How does this fucking guy keep doing this?
He had lost another man. He assumed Kolenka’s two men were also lost.
Markov would be furious. Kolenka? Who knows? This might send the old Vory over the edge. Good, thought Gregor. Kolenka has plenty of men. Maybe this will persuade him to send them against Beck.
Stepanovich vowed never to go after Beck, or anybody connected to him, without enough men to crush him. Next time, there would be no chance for Beck to fight him off. Stepanovich vowed to literally shoot Beck into unrecognizable pieces.
No one tried to stop the tall, raging Bosnian from leaving. He walked straight out the door, hailed a cab, and was gone before anybody could identify him as the man who had shot off a gun in the lobby of the Four Seasons.
* * *
They’d all piled into a cab on Second Avenue. Nydia directed the driver to her neighborhood up in East Harlem. Beck thanked Nydia again, dropped her in front of her apartment building, and then gave the driver directions for the long ride to Red Hook.
He sat on the right side of the cab’s backseat. Olivia to the left. Beck didn’t much want to talk, but he had to know how they had found her. Manny wouldn’t be stupid enough to check her in under her real name. And Beck was sure he had rented the room for cash.
“You checked into the hotel with Manny, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did they know your name?”
Olivia paused. For the first time Beck heard her curse. “That fucking idiot, Raymond.”
“Raymond? Who’s Raymond?”
“The manager.” Olivia turned to Beck. “Look, I know him. He comes on to me every time he sees me. Offers me discounts at the spa. Preferred rates at the hotel. I have lunch in their lobby café a lot. He saw me check in.”
“So you asked him for the preferred rate?”
“No. No. I specifically told him that”—Olivia made a quotation mark in the air—“I wasn’t supposed to be there. That I was checking in under a different name.”
Among Thieves Page 23
