by Steven Henry
“Fists and brass knuckles,” she said.
“What about the gun?” the other cop asked.
Erin shook her head. “That wasn’t them.”
“So you fired the only shots?”
She shook her head again. “There was a bystander.”
“Civilian? What’d he look like?”
“I didn’t get a look at his face,” Erin said. That was technically true. “Look, guys, I’m tired. I’m gonna go inside and sit down. You want someone to take a statement, sure, but we can do it indoors. I’m freezing my ass off out here. And I gotta call my Lieutenant.”
Webb wasn’t happy to find work following him home, but he’d been a cop long enough to be used to it. When he answered her phone call, he sounded more bored than anything else. But as soon as Erin told him she’d been attacked, she had his undivided attention.
“Are you hurt?” he asked sharply.
“Just bruises,” she said. “I got a couple good hits in.”
“How many mopes?”
“Two.”
“You have them in custody?”
She clenched her jaw. “No.”
“How’d they get away?”
“They knocked me down. They were gonna work me over, but a bystander pulled a gun and took a couple shots at them, so they booked it. Bastards had a car waiting.”
“You got uniforms on scene?”
“Yeah.”
“You get the bystander’s statement? And maybe take him in on a weapons charge?”
She couldn’t help a cynical smile at that. The NYPD was big on getting unlicensed guns off the street. Even a Good Samaritan could get in a lot of trouble if he was packing. “No, he ran off, too. I’d say he played it smart.”
“Did you recognize the bad guys?”
“Nope. They seemed like a couple of average lowlifes.”
“Where was your dog while all this was going down?”
“Locked in my car. They got me just as I got out. I didn’t have a chance to let him loose.”
Webb paused, and Erin could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “You thinking this was a random street crime?” he finally asked. “You were in an unmarked car. Maybe they saw a small woman, alone at night, and thought they could make an easy score.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Or was it targeted? You piss anybody off recently?”
“Let’s see,” she said. “There’s the Russian Mafia, neo-Nazi terrorists, some of the Irish Mob, maybe a few buddies of that dirty cop I put away back in October... Want me to go on?”
Webb had the decency to laugh quietly. “Okay, fair point. We’ve all made enemies. Tell you what. You have things under control there?”
“Sure.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it. If you don’t think there’s more to it than a mugging or attempted assault, give it to the local boys. We’ve got enough to worry about.”
“Okay, sir.”
“And if you got hit on the head, get it checked out,” he finished. “Even if it feels like nothing. If you have a subdural hematoma, it can kill you in your sleep.”
“I’m a first responder,” she reminded him. “I know about closed-head injuries.”
“Okay, okay. I worry, that’s all. I’ve got two teenagers.”
“Really? I didn’t know you had family here.”
“They’re still in California, with their mom. They’re from my first marriage.”
“I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Teenage boys running around LA without fatherly supervision. What could possibly go wrong?”
“See you at work tomorrow, sir.”
“Bright and early, O’Reilly.”
Once the Patrol officers had taken her statement and gone on their way, Erin was left alone with Rolf, wondering why she hadn’t told the truth.
It wasn’t that she’d lied, exactly. She’d just left out a couple of things. Specifically, her opinion as to the identity of her rescuer, and her belief that the guys who’d jumped her were the same ones who’d been follower her earlier in the day. Taken together, those two opinions meant she was tangled up with the Irish Mob.
“We’ve got a choice,” she told Rolf.
He wagged his tail, ready to get on board with whatever she suggested.
“Either we steer clear of these bastards, or we take them on.”
The Shepherd cocked his head to one side, his long ears accentuating the gesture.
She smiled fondly at him and rubbed his neck. “I know what you’d say. But I don’t even know whose goons are coming after me. It can’t be Carlyle’s guys. His man stepped in to save me. Unless...”
She trailed off as a thought struck her. Could the whole thing be a setup? Some complicated plan to win back her trust? No, that didn’t make sense. That sort of plan was way too risky for a guy like Carlyle. She’d nearly been able to shoot the bad guys, and they’d been fighting her for real. She’d been in enough scuffles to know when a man was holding back on her and when he wasn’t. They’d been out to cause damage.
“Okay, so Carlyle’s the one guy in the O’Malleys I’m sure wasn’t in on it,” she said. “That means if I want answers, I need to talk to him. Damn it. I’m about out of whiskey anyway. I guess I could use a drink.”
Rolf nudged her with his snout.
“Yeah, you’d better come too.” She picked up his leash. He was instantly on his paws, ready and willing.
Chapter 11
Erin knew she had to be careful. The Barley Corner was a mob bar. There’d be wise guys in it. There was even a chance she’d run into the very same goons who’d just tried to beat her down. If she did, she decided, she’d haul their asses straight downtown. It’d mean being up half the night processing arrests, but it’d be worth it.
The dinner rush was in full swing, and the Corner was full. It was standing room only at the bar, the waitresses weaving through a crowd of burly men. The big-screen TVs showed some sort of rally car race, tough-looking automobiles slipping and sliding on an ice-bound course. It looked dangerous. The crowd was really into it.
Erin didn’t see Carlyle, but she had a pretty good idea where he’d be. She worked her way over to his usual spot at the bar, Rolf doing a great job encouraging patrons to clear a path. There Carlyle was, an elbow resting on the bar, a glass of whiskey beside him.
With all the noise and confusion, he couldn’t possibly have heard her approach, but he still turned to look at her, tipped off by a pub owner’s sixth sense.
His eyes lit up with genuine surprise and delight. He stood quickly and took a step forward, then paused. His eyebrows drew together in sudden concern. Erin realized she must be a mess. She’d washed her hands and splashed some water on her face back at her apartment, but there wasn’t anything she could do about the hits she’d taken. One whole side of her face felt hot and swollen, and she was pretty sure she’d have a black eye in the morning.
“Erin, what’s happened?” he asked.
“Didn’t your bodyguard tell you?” she shot back.
It wasn’t often that Carlyle looked confused, but Erin was too tired, beat-up, and irritated to enjoy it. She didn’t give him much chance to answer. “Look,” she said. “We need to talk. Somewhere private.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “I’m thinking we do.” He led the way through the crowd to the door to the back stairs.
The moment the door closed behind her and Rolf, she turned on Carlyle. “Okay, start talking.”
“Would you care to come upstairs? We can be more comfortable.”
“I don’t want comfort. I want answers!”
“Perhaps I can supply them,” he said quietly. “Provided you begin with the questions.”
Erin took a deep breath. They were at the bottom of the stairs to his apartment suite, maybe eighteen inches separating them. Rolf watched her carefully, waiting for orders.
“Okay,” she began. “What do you know about a couple of goons,
driving a Lincoln Town Car?”
“That’s not much to go on.”
“They jumped me in my apartment’s garage after work.”
“Are you badly injured?” He raised a hand as if to touch her.
She shrugged him away. “I’m fine. Your boy Ian bailed me out. He shot at them and they booked it. They tried to run me down on the way out, but he dragged me behind cover. Then he ran off, too. So what gives?”
Carlyle was thinking hard. His eyes didn’t give much away, but she’d had some practice reading him. “I’ve not spoken with Ian this evening,” he said at last. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked if I’d been hit, then said I was good, and then he was gone.”
Carlyle smiled thinly. “That’s certainly the sort of thing he might say. You say this lad left immediately?”
“Yeah. Why’d he run off?”
“You’d have to ask him. But I imagine he mightn’t wish to be involved in your investigation.”
“If that was what he wanted, why’d he shoot at a couple of thugs right in front of me?”
“These men who attacked you. You say they ran away, so I assume they were able to move. Were either of them wounded?”
“I gave them something to remember,” she said grimly.
“I mean, were they shot?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then if that lad was Ian, he wasn’t shooting to kill.”
“How do you know?”
“Ian doesn’t shoot at people. And he doesn’t miss, not at close range.”
“Bullshit,” Erin said flatly. “Everybody misses in a gunfight. You want to know the stats when the NYPD start shooting? Sixteen percent hit rate. With all our training. And that’s at close-range, mostly inside ten meters.”
“Nonetheless,” Carlyle said. “Ian’s a hardened combat veteran, with a steady hand and a very keen eye. If he’d meant to hit your assailants, they’d not have survived. Or, at the least, they’d have been in no condition to run.”
“You’re saying he fired warning shots, to scare them away?”
Carlyle shrugged. “I’ve your word it was he who came to your aid. In that case, if your attackers are still breathing, it’s because he wanted them to be.” He held her eyes with his own. “Erin, darling, let’s have no misunderstandings here. You know the life I lead, the lads with whom I associate. So I hope you’ll take my meaning when I say there’s no man on Manhattan Island more dangerous than Ian Thompson.”
Erin matched him stare for stare. “That’s the guy you’ve got watching my back?”
“Aye.”
“Jesus Christ. Who’s coming after me?”
“The word’s gone out that you’re connected,” he said. “The sad truth, Erin, is that at this point, the lads in my world don’t much care whether you and I are truly involved with one another or not. They’re assuming we are. Too much has happened already, too many coincidences. You’ve saved my life one time too many. And there’s the matter of Thomas O’Malley.”
“That was a clean arrest,” she objected. It had been a cold case, a murder the nephew of Carlyle’s boss had ordered years ago, carried out by a dirty cop. Erin had dug out the mole in the department and flipped him, which had led to Tommy Jay O’Malley’s incarceration. It’d been a lot of things, but “clean” probably wasn’t the best word for what had happened.
Carlyle sighed. “Tommy Jay’s abrupt departure left a gap in my organization. I’ve been elevated to his former position. Combined with your remarkable tendency to turn up to protect me at opportune moments, there’s a pattern of behavior.”
“But if these guys think I’m working with you, why are they coming after me?” Erin demanded. “Are these jerks O’Malley goons, or somebody else?”
“If you’re in the game, it’s fair play to them, as far as they’re concerned,” he said. “Whoever they may be. Being a copper may buy you a little protection, but not much. I’d assume they’ve some connection to the much-lamented Tommy Jay, were I a gambler.”
“You are a gambler,” she reminded him.
“Indeed,” he replied. “Do you know what these lads intended, when they accosted you?”
“They were looking for a punching bag,” Erin said dryly.
“It wasn’t an attempted hit, then,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “They’d have used guns if they wanted me dead.”
“So perhaps your badge does still shield you.”
“Not much,” she echoed him. “They made a solid effort at running me down on their way out. So what’s your stake in this?”
“Mine?” He looked surprised. “I’ve told you. You’re my interest in this affair. I can offer you some protection of my own, perhaps work with you to deal with these miscreants.”
“Your way, or mine?”
“Which would you prefer?”
She glared at him. “I’m a cop, dammit.”
“Then I assume you’ll be taking Ian in for questioning.”
Erin blinked. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“You recognized him, but you didn’t put his name to this business?” Carlyle asked quietly.
Erin didn’t answer, because she didn’t have a reason why she hadn’t given Ian’s name to the NYPD. It’d been an instinctive response. Maybe because he was an associate of Carlyle’s, and dragging him in might’ve pulled the whole business with Carlyle out into the open. She wasn’t compromised by her thing with Carlyle, she reminded herself. Except that by keeping his guy out of the incident, wasn’t she proving exactly the opposite?
Carlyle was watching her with his keen blue eyes, and she had the feeling he was guessing most of what was going through her head.
“So, what you’re saying is, I’m screwed either way, so I might as well come in with you because I haven’t got anything to lose?”
“I’m saying nothing of the sort. I want you to come in with me because I want to be with you, nothing more. I was simply pointing out the tactical advantages.”
“Are you ever not playing an angle?” she demanded. “Are you ever unreasonable?”
“Aye,” he said. “When it comes to the people I care for, I can be the most unreasonable man on this Earth.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t care if I impress you, but I’d like you to believe me.”
“And trust you?”
“Aye, that too.”
“Well, I don’t.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m sorry to hear that. How might I convince you otherwise?”
Erin shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Then we’re at a temporary impasse, you and I,” he said.
“Looks like it.”
“There’s nothing I can do for you?”
“I could use a drink.”
He smiled slightly. “Now that I can easily provide. You did tell me you were low on whiskey when last we spoke. You’ll take a bottle, with my compliments?”
“This doesn’t buy you anything,” she reminded him.
“I know. But if it pleases you, it’s well worth the price.”
She put a hand on the doorknob. Almost against her will, she added, “See you around, Carlyle.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Erin.”
Chapter 12
Erin was too wired on residual adrenaline to feel the lack of sleep. She knew from experience that she’d pay a price down the line, but that was a problem for another day. She went for her morning run, same as always. Every step of the way, she looked for threats. But either the thugs had been scared off, or they were keeping out of sight. She and Rolf didn’t see anything suspicious, not even a glimpse of her dangerous guardian angel.
The New York streets were eerily normal; cold, plain concrete and asphalt. It was hard to believe New Year’s had been only a couple of days ago. The city had recovered and gone back to business as usual.
Vic and Lieutenant Webb were al
ready up in Major Crimes when Erin arrived. Webb gave her a concerned look. Vic just grinned.
“You got mugged, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Stupid SOBs,” was his verdict. “You ready to do some police work?”
“Giving me orders? I outrank you,” she reminded him.
“And I outrank both of you, put together,” Webb said. “All three of you, counting the dog. Neshenko found Grimes’s hotel reservation. I got the warrant, first thing this morning. CSU’s gonna meet us there.”
“What’re we looking for?” Erin asked.
“Anything that’ll give us a handle on this case,” Webb said.
“Which hotel?” she asked.
“Wanna guess?” Vic answered.
She gave him a look.
“The Hilton,” Webb said. “Same one you interviewed Mil¬ler at.”
“Coincidence?” Erin wondered aloud.
“I’ve heard of coincidence,” Webb said. “I stopped believing in it about the same time I found out Santa wasn’t real.”
“Santa’s not real?” Vic echoed. “Damn.”
“What’s the matter?” Erin asked. “Lose a bit of your childhood?”
“It’s not that,” he said as they started for the door. “I was just thinking of all the shit I could’ve got up to when I was little, if I hadn’t been worried about that fat bastard looking over my shoulder.”
They didn’t go to the penthouse this time. Kathy Grimes had been staying in a much more modest room, not even a suite, on the twenty-third floor.
“What about Whitaker?” Erin asked as the elevator carried them up.
“What about him?” Webb answered.
“He staying in the same room?”
“Nope,” Vic said. “His room was down the hall. Guess their on-stage chemistry didn’t extend to real life.”
“Either that, or he was worried she’d pick his pockets while he was asleep,” Erin said. “I wouldn’t give that girl a room key, either.”
The CSU team was waiting in the hallway with a concierge. He looked over Webb’s warrant, nodded, and opened the door for them.
