by S. J. Rozan
Her pale skin flushed crimson, but she put the phone down. I took advantage of the moment.
“Mrs. Ryan, John is in serious trouble.”
“If John is in any trouble at all, I’m sure it’s entirely the fault of the company he’s been keeping,” she said, turning the ice-ray eyes on Genna.
Genna bit her lips together. She seemed about to collapse into tears.
“Mrs. Ryan,” I said, “I think you’re pretty despicable and I know you don’t care much for me either, but we have no time for this. John’s been kidnapped. They’re demanding a ransom of a million dollars by tonight or they’ll kill him.”
Genna gave a tiny gasp when I said that, as though she hadn’t heard it before.
Mrs. Ryan, however, did not gasp. Her eyes widened and a blast of arctic anger flew from them. “Why, you cheap chiselers!” she exploded. “Get out of my house!”
“Mrs. Ryan—”
“Can you really have thought I would believe that? My goodness, whatever happened to the subtle, diabolical Oriental?” She calmed down and smiled a frozen smile. “On the other hand, I can’t imagine anyone else dreaming up a scheme this cold-blooded. Where is my son?” she inquired almost pleasantly. “Is he out of town, for just long enough for you two to think you could carry off this little plot? Disgusting.” She picked up the phone again.
I saw fear on Genna’s face, felt amazement on my own. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Calling the police,” she answered calmly. “Not just to throw you out. To have you arrested for extortion.”
You? I thought. Arresting people for extortion?
“No!” Genna burst, in a sob. She ran to the desk and wrenched the receiver from Mrs. Ryan’s hand. “You can’t! They’ll kill him!”
Mrs. Ryan, her mouth curling in revulsion, stepped quickly away from Genna. “Helga!” she called loudly. “Helga, come in here!” She stepped back again, as though she were afraid Genna was going to strike her.
Genna, however, stayed by the desk, squeezing the receiver in her trembling hands. “You have to believe us,” she begged. “They said they’d kill him. We had nothing to do with it. I’m afraid …” Her words trailed off with a catch as she wiped a tear from her cheek. She gave the receiver in her hand an uncomprehending stare, then, still looking confused, gently replaced it where it belonged.
“You’re not even a good actress,” Mrs. Ryan sneered. She seemed to have recovered some of her composure, although she kept a lot of white carpet between herself and Genna. “If there were any truth to this idiotic story, why wouldn’t the kidnappers call me directly? Why are you here at all?”
Genna swallowed. “Because it’s all my fault.”
“Oh, how touching. And what am I supposed to understand by that?”
“John was helping me. He wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if I hadn’t needed him.”
“He wouldn’t have gotten in trouble, Miss Jing, if he’d never met you.”
Just as I was about to say something I knew I’d be sorry for, the solid woman in the sensible shoes appeared at the head of the carpeted stairs. “Did you need me, Mrs. Ryan?” she asked placidly.
Mrs. Ryan fixed a stare at Genna and me. “Yes. These ladies are just leaving. Show them out.”
“No.” Genna raised her head and squared her shoulders. “Mrs. Ryan,” she began in a creaky voice that got stronger as she went, “you have to listen. If you don’t want to, then you’d better go ahead and call the police because I’m not leaving otherwise.”
Good going, Genna! I cheered silently. “Of course,” I put in, to help, “if the police do come, they’ll be interested in how you knew Wayne Lewis, and whether your relationship with him had anything to do with his drug business.”
Genna turned to me, her eyes open with surprise. Mrs. Ryan sent a wave of frigid air my way. I didn’t look to see what Helga’s reaction was, but after a moment Mrs. Ryan said to her, “Helga, you may go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And calmly Helga went, showing not a shred of unsatisfied curiosity.
“Mrs. Ryan knew Wayne?” Genna turned to me. “What do you mean drug business?”
“Later,” I said. “I don’t think Mrs. Ryan wants to talk about Wayne right now. I think she wants you to tell her about John.”
Mrs. Ryan’s face was harder than the white marble mantle. She didn’t speak.
“Mrs. Ryan,” Genna began earnestly, “please, just listen. A few days ago someone stole sketches of my work for next spring. They wanted money. Maybe it was stupid of me to give it to them, but so many things had been going badly for me lately that I just couldn’t take anymore. If things had been better, I’d probably have refused. Anyway, everything went wrong, and they never got the money. They called today and asked for more. John went to deliver it, but he didn’t just leave it. He followed them and they caught him. That’s why they called me, and that’s why I’ve come to you.”
Genna delivered this whole speech in tones entreating but controlled, looking Mrs. Ryan straight in the eye.
Mrs. Ryan was silent for a few moments after Genna was done. She folded her arms across her chest again. “Miss Jing,” she said, in a voice like ice floes cracking, “the fact that your story has a beginning, a middle, and an end doesn’t impress me in the least. But I believe we can strike a deal.”
“A deal?” Genna sounded as though she’d never heard the word. “We’re talking about John’s life.”
“I doubt that. But I’m prepared to give you a million dollars.”
Genna blinked. “What?”
“If you’re that interested in my money, you shall have it. We can call it a loan. An investment in your ridiculously named business. The loan will accumulate interest at a rate of ten percent per annum, but you need pay neither interest nor principal as long as you stick to the conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“That you never see my son again.”
“I—”
“If you do, Miss Jing,” Mrs. Ryan’s raised voice drowned out whatever Genna was trying to say, “the entire loan amount will become due immediately, and you can rest assured I shall make it my business to collect. In fact, I shall publicize the fact that you were willing to sign away the man you love for money.”
Genna’s face was pale with horror.
“Mrs. Ryan—!” I began hotly.
“You keep silent!” She turned on me. “This entire scheme was probably your idea. This woman and my son have been together long enough that if she were capable of inventing such idiocy on her own, she would have done so before this.”
Mrs. Ryan strode around the desk and sat down behind it. She opened the writing drawer and pulled out a sheet of elegantly deckle-edged paper. Across it she quickly stroked a gold-tipped fountain pen. When she was through she handed the paper to Genna. Genna took it slowly and ran her eyes over it, only seeming half aware of what she was doing.
“That’s not any kind of contract,” I said, pressing my feet hard into the carpet to keep from dashing over, yanking the paper out of Genna’s hands and tearing it up. “It wouldn’t stand up in any court.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Mrs. Ryan answered. “If the case were argued to a conclusion. If Miss Jing could afford the legal assistance it will take to fight the lawsuit I’ll bring the next time she and my son are seen together. I can keep a good number of lawyers in business for a very long time, Miss Jing,” she said, smiling for the first time at Genna. “Can you?”
Genna numbly shook her head. She handed the paper back to Mrs. Ryan. Mrs. Ryan gave Genna a pen—not the fountain pen, but a ballpoint from inside the drawer—and Genna leaned over the desk to sign it.
“Genna!” I protested. “You can’t sign that!”
She turned her head slowly to me. “I have to, Lydia,” she said in a distant voice. “It’s the only way to get the money for John.”
“You may as well drop that fiction now,” Mrs. Ryan snapped, seizing the paper the moment
Genna picked up her pen. She slid it into the desk drawer, then locked the drawer with a golden key. Genna, breathing shallowly, watched the paper disappear.
Mrs. Ryan lifted the receiver from the phone and pressed in a single speed-dial digit. “Mr. Morse, please,” she said after a pause. “This is Mrs. Ryan.” Another brief pause, then, “Fine, thank you, Peter. And you? Very good. Peter, I need a loan. Large but short-term. One million dollars, and I believe it must be in cash.” Another pause, during which she smiled condescendingly at Genna. Then she spun in her chair so that her back was to us, and she spoke in low tones. Genna, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Ryan’s silk-clad shoulders, studiously avoided my gaze while the conversation went on. “No,” I heard Mrs. Ryan say. “No, absolutely nothing. No, just an opportunity I can’t pass up. I know it is. Pardon me? Yes, quite beautiful.” She paused. “Yes, of course I have.” She dropped her voice again and murmured some sentences I couldn’t quite hear. Then, “We’ll collateralize it from the Dreyfus—yes, thank you, Peter, I’m sure you would, but I can—very well, thank you, I appreciate that. Yes, I’m sure. Perhaps later in the week, over cocktails? You’ll enjoy it. No, not anything we’ve discussed, something quite new. Yes, thanks. That would be fine. I’ll be here.”
She swiveled her chair around again, hung up the phone and stood. “Your ‘ransom’ money will be here in half an hour. My banker thinks I’m purchasing art on the black market. He’s thrilled with the prospect.”
“Mrs. Ryan,” Genna said earnestly, having one more try, “what we’ve said is true. John’s in danger. This money is for him.”
“Miss Jing, you can continue with this ridiculous story for your own entertainment if you want, but it really doesn’t make any difference to me. You’ll get your money, and you’ll walk out of my son’s life. Then he’ll no longer be in danger.”
She smiled at Genna, a smile as cold and stabbing as winter sun flashing off snow. “You may wait in the foyer,” she told us. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t sit with you. Helga will let me know when Peter’s messenger arrives.” She stood waiting for us to move, to herd ourselves back to the foyer.
And we did. We sat on striped-silk chairs while Mrs. Ryan stalked down the hall I’d been taken along on my first visit here. She disappeared, but the unruffled Helga appeared at almost the same instant, taking up a respectful post across the foyer from us. I was sure she was there to make sure we didn’t stuff our pockets full of Mrs. Ryan’s valuable knickknacks, but to Helga’s credit she didn’t stare at us, didn’t seem to even notice us. She stood blankly eight feet from the door as though she had nothing else to do all day but await the arrival of one million dollars.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The million dollars came. It came in a rectangular package the size of a phone book, carried up by a mustached man in a uniform like the concierge’s. Helga thanked him and brought us and the package to Mrs. Ryan, who was two rooms away in the wood-paneled study. Mrs. Ryan cut the brown paper wrapping to reveal the piles of green inside. She leafed through one package of bills, counting them, and then counted the packages. Then she taped the paper up again and held out the package to Genna.
“Now get out of my house,” she said.
Genna’s hands moved, as if trying to express something for which she had no words. I had words myself I was trying not to express. Genna’s hands gave up; she took the package. Turn and leave, Lydia, I told myself, just walk away, and I was two steps into that when Helga reappeared in the doorway.
“Telephone, ma’am,” she told Mrs. Ryan. “For the young ladies.”
“You left this number?” Mrs. Ryan’s eyes flashed angrily at Genna. “How dare you?”
Helga said, to the space between us, “It’s young Mr. Ryan.”
Genna’s eyes flew open. Mrs. Ryan’s mouth set.
I lunged for the phone.
“John? Where are you? Are you all right?”
“Lydia?” John’s voice sounded strained but controlled. “I don’t know where I am. I’m blindfolded. They say they’ve been watching and they know my mother’s banker just sent over a package. They say it had better be their money.”
“It is their money, John. Are you people listening? Are you on this line? Stay calm and tell us what to do.”
Genna reached for the phone, to take it from me, but I shook her off and stopped her with a look.
“There’s no one on the line but me, Lydia,” John said. “It’s a cellular phone. They said it’s stolen, so you can’t trace it. They told me to tell you that.”
“What else did they tell you?”
“They say to tell you to bring the money. They said … they said soon.”
“I want to talk to them.”
“They won’t let you. I’m supposed to give you instructions.”
“All right.” Roland would know that I’d recognize his voice if he spoke to me. This was no time to say anything about that, though, no time to let Roland know I already knew. We’d deal with that after the exchange was made. “Tell me where to go.”
But before he could, the phone was wrenched from my hand.
“John?” Mrs. Ryan snapped into the receiver. “Where are you? What’s going on?” Silence. Then, “Who are you? Put my son back on the line. Of course I don’t, not a word—It can’t—Wait! What—John? John! Yes, yes, all right.” With no words and a look on her face I hadn’t seen before, Mrs. Ryan handed the phone back to me.
“John?”
“Lydia?” I could hear John draw a ragged breath. “An abandoned building in Alphabet City.”
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“My mother didn’t buy it, I guess,” he said. His voice was tighter than before. “She needed convincing.”
I shot a look at Mrs. Ryan. Her face was pale.
“Alphabet City,” I said into the phone. “Where?”
He gave me a Third Street address. “You put the money in the basement, in the boiler room. Then you leave. They’ll pick it up. Then they’ll let me go.”
“No.”
“Lydia—”
“Tell them no. You and the money, at the same time. They walk away with the money when I walk away with you.”
The murmur of voices came to me faintly through the phone. I strained to hear but I couldn’t make anything out.
John came back. “They say no.”
“Then I say no. Tell them there’s no point in arguing this one. I’m not paying for merchandise I haven’t seen.”
“I’m the damn merchandise, Lydia!”
Genna and Mrs. Ryan were both staring at me. Genna’s mouth was partly open. I turned away from them. “I know that, John,” I said quietly. “I’m trying to save your life.”
More murmuring on the other end of the phone. Then John said, “Okay. Come to the building, now. Alone. They say you know what will happen if you try anything tricky—”
“And so do they, if they do. Tell them that.”
A sudden click. John was gone.
“What’s happening?” Genna managed.
“I’m leaving.” I hung the phone up and took the package from her. “I have to take them the money.”
Mrs. Ryan’s arms were folded across her chest as they had been when we came in, but now she seemed to be less containing herself than holding herself together. Or maybe she’d suddenly realized what a cold place this was that she lived in. “My son,” she said to me, in a voice used to giving orders, not used to this. “If any harm comes to him, so help me—”
I turned and walked out of the room. Genna hurried after me. We left Mrs. Ryan standing in the study, finishing her threat to an empty room.
TWENTY-NINE
You can’t come,” I told Genna as we rode the elevator down. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care, Lydia.” Genna’s eyes pleaded with me. “I’m not scared.”
“Not just dangerous for you,” I said. “For John. They said I should come alone. It’s too risky, Genna. You can’t come.”
The elevator doors slid apart and we marched quickly through the formal lobby. Joseph the concierge watched impassively as the doorman pulled open the street door for us.
I surveyed the street for a pay phone. There aren’t all that many on York Avenue. “Come on,” I told Genna, and dashed down the block to the one I’d spotted, on the far corner. I dropped a quarter in and called Bill’s number. I didn’t expect him to be there, just hoped for a miracle, but I didn’t get one; his service picked up. I had nothing really to say to them—tell him I’m making a ransom payment and trying to get a kidnap victim back safely, ask him to call me, maybe we can do lunch? I left a message that I’d called and that he should call Genna. Then I called my machine, and heard his voice.
“Lydia,” he said. “Something. I’m following it up. I’ll call again.”
Beepers, I thought. After this is over, assuming everyone’s still standing, Bill and I have to get beepers.
“What’s going to happen?” Genna asked me. I guessed her whispery voice was as strong as she could make it.
“Here’s exactly what’s going to happen,” I said. “When I get where I’m going, I’ll give them the money. They’ll turn John over to me. They’ll leave and then we’ll leave.”
Boy, did that sound easy.
“I want to come.”
“No. Go back to your studio.”
“That’s what John said! I wanted to go with him to drop the money and he said, go back to the studio. And look what happened!”
“Genna. No. Go on back. Keep trying to call Bill, and give me half an hour. If I don’t call you, call Francesca Rossi at the Thirteenth Precinct. Tell her what happened. She’ll send the cops.”
“Lydia—”
“Genna!” I barked. I stopped myself, seeing her flinch. “I’m sorry,” I said in a softer voice. “But please. You can’t come. We don’t have time to argue about it.”
I hailed a cab and climbed in. As it pulled away from the curb, I turned and saw Genna out the back window, standing on the sidewalk, pale face staring after me. I turned away again. As storefronts and streetlights flew past, I was struck by the courage it had taken for her to do as I’d said, to not come, to go home and wait. Courage I didn’t think I’d have had, if the strained voice on the other end of the phone had, for example, been Bill’s.
