The snow had turned to heavy sleet. Melanie exited the glass lobby doors, heading across the plaza toward the empty street. Small icy pellets hit her face, stinging her, collecting on her hair and eyelashes. She pulled her coat tighter, looked up at the strangely backlit gray-white sky and wondered if her flight would be canceled tomorrow.
Making it uptown was starting to look like a chancier proposition than getting to Puerto Rico. Melanie stepped off the curb, squinting through the driving sleet at oncoming traffic, looking for a cab. But the wide avenue, which ran through a canyon of tall courthouses and office buildings, was virtually deserted given the hour and the weather. Several blocks down, a few vehicles sat at a red light. The light changed, and they struggled slowly toward her, fighting for traction. A beat-up white van fishtailed on the glassy blacktop, then righted itself. Melanie spotted a taxi with its off-duty light on and hailed it frantically, but the driver ignored her.
After a few more minutes, an enormous plow sped by, spitting foamy black slush from its blade, forcing her to jump up onto the curb to avoid getting splattered. Once it passed, she stepped into the street again and sank into a puddle up to her ankles. The frigid water soaked right through her good suede boots.
Melanie trudged out of the puddle, feeling like the last person left on earth. Nobody out on foot, no vehicles approaching as far as the eye could see, the clicking sound of pelting sleet muffling everything else. She was beginning to feel vulnerable out here all alone. Not to mention cold and wet. Two more minutes and she’d give up and take the subway. She hated the deserted platforms at this hour, but the street on a night like this was hardly better. Anyway, who knew how long it would be before the next taxi happened by?
Across the avenue and up several car lengths, the headlights of a parked SUV flashed on. Strange. Melanie couldn’t recall seeing a person approach that car or hearing its engine start up either. Maybe she’d been distracted by her search for a cab? The enormous vehicle was covered in crusty snow, its outline softened and obscured. But as it maneuvered to pull out of the tight parking space, Melanie recognized it as an Escalade by its size and shape. It looked black, too-the same make and model Expo’s bodyguards were known to drive. In less than a minute, judging from its angle, the massive thing would pull free and head toward her. It would be in perfect position to run her down, too, with nobody to stop it and no witnesses. Melanie couldn’t see in through the tinted windshield. Granted, some soccer mom from Connecticut could be behind the wheel just as easily as Expo’s thugs. But she was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. Best not to stick around to find out.
There was only one small problem: To get to the only subway entrance, Melanie had to cross the street, making her a sitting duck if the Escalade came after her. She glanced over her shoulder at her darkened office building, but it was even farther away than the subway. And at this hour, if the lobby security guard took a bathroom break, you could stand there for ten minutes pounding on the locked door to no avail.
She looked back at the Escalade. It was nearly out of the space now, its massive wheels swinging toward her ominously, as if in slow motion. Shit. Run for it!
Melanie bolted into the street and raced for the subway entrance with all her strength. At the same instant, the Escalade finally escaped its parking space, tires spinning and crunching the sleet as they gripped the road. Fricking thing had unbelievable traction! Melanie was halfway across the street in one shot, heart in her throat, cold air stinging her lungs. Goddamn boots! You had to be vain and wear three-inch heels! Her eyes were fixed on the subway entrance, but her ears couldn’t ignore the roar of the Escalade close behind her. She hit the opposite sidewalk at a dead run, mere feet now from the subway stairs. Fumbling in her pocket for her MetroCard, panting with fear, she turned to look over her shoulder just as her boots hit a patch of ice. Melanie’s legs flew out from under her, her tailbone connecting with the hard cement and sending a wave of pain shooting up her spine as she skidded forward. In her peripheral vision, she saw six thousand pounds of steel jump the curb, barreling straight for her, as the sound of her own screams filled her ears.
37
BUD HAD a new cell phone in a fake name, to take Jay’s incoming calls. The way things had heated up lately, you couldn’t be too careful. No point in getting caught now. He planned to make it to payday, and Friday was only forty-eight hours away.
The fucking thing was already ringing as he walked in the door to the apartment. He glanced at the caller ID. What a surprise-Jay’s cell. Some wannabe kingpin this guy was! He couldn’t do a goddamn thing on his own.
“Yeah?” Bud said.
“Look, I think we might got a situation. I’m not sure,” Jay said, a roar of music and voices behind him. He must be at Screen.
“What?” Bud asked.
“Kid’s in here asking around about one of Whitney’s friends.”
“By name?”
“He says Carmen.”
Bud was silent for a moment.
“Well?” Jay demanded.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” He sighed. “What’s the kid look like?”
“Real freak. Pierced up the wazoo, dreads, the whole nine yards.”
Okay, him. Now Bud had a clearer picture of what was going on.
“Did he say anything else?” Bud asked.
“Yeah, actually. Wants to score some H.”
“You should really be more careful what you say over the phone, you know, Jay.”
“Far as I’m concerned, anybody listening can suck my dick.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. You better hope nobody is.” We both better, Bud thought. His mind was racing, thinking about what the kid’s angle might be here. He had his suspicions, and if they were on target, action needed to be taken. Fast. “Listen, Jay. If the kid’s into all that, you think maybe he wants to make a quick buck?”
“What, like Friday?”
“Why not?”
“I thought you had a girl lined up.”
“It’s always good to have a fallback. This is why I was a better Boy Scout than you. Be prepared.”
“You were a fucking pansy, is what you were.”
“It was a joke, for Chrissakes. But about this pierced kid, I think we should chill out. It doesn’t mean anything, him asking around about shit. Whitney hung out at the club, maybe some of her friends did, too. So what?”
“That’s it? I coulda thought of that myself.”
“What do you want me to say? Ice the kid?”
“Nah, you’re right. That would draw unnecessary attention.”
“You bet your ass it would.”
“Were you serious, though, about Friday?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I mean, why the fuck not?”
“It’d never work! You gotta see this kid. He’s a walking advertisement for profiling.”
“What if you cut his hair?”
“He’s got a real crazy tattoo down the side of his face.”
“So? If the feds are watching, they’ll be looking for rich girls, not freaks with dreadlocks.”
“Huh. Well, you got a point. Okay, maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all. We can at least give it a shot. I’ll have Lamar chat him up, see if he bites.”
“Good. Now, what about that other thing we talked about before?”
“I sent Pavel to take care of it. He’s out now. Haven’t heard. It might not go because of the weather.”