Badde then shrugged. "I don't know. If we didn't do it, then we didn't do it."
"It's perception," Jan said. "People believe what they see, not necessarily what the facts are."
"Then maybe we can blame it on miscommunications. Throw some poor campaign volunteer under the bus." He paused in thought. "Actually, that might be a really good idea. An extra diversion."
Jan Harper didn't say anything, but she was coming to realize that the more she knew H. Rapp Badde, Jr., the more she found that he wasn't at all shy about making people sacrificial lambs for his purposes.
Sure, it's not unusual in politics, where the rule is always to protect the politician.
But he almost does it for blood sport.
And who's to say he wouldn't do it to me?
Jan glanced around the room, then looked at Badde, who she saw was also scanning the crowd. Suddenly, his eyes went wide.
"Don't look now," he said, looking behind her toward the entrance. "Wait till I tell you."
"What?"
"Yuri just walked in."
She turned. When she saw him, she smiled and waved once, then turned back toward Badde.
Yuri Tikhonov had a slender, compact, five-foot-five frame. His dark hair was cut stylishly long, the back touching his collar. He had a narrow face with piercing blue-gray eyes. He wore a custom-made dark two-piece suit and ice-blue shirt with French cuffs.
Tikhonov was making a direct line for the table, stopping only to shake hands with a few of the well-dressed men and kiss the cheeks of many more ladies.
Badde, still looking in his direction, was starting to stand. He said somewhat disgustedly, "The bastard acts like he owns the place."
Jan said simply, "He does, Rapp. I thought you knew."
When she saw him standing, she suddenly said in a loud whisper: "Badde!"
He looked at her with an annoyed expression that was meant to say What now?
She nodded toward his crotch and waved her hand over hers. "Your napkin!"
He looked down, said, "Shit," then removed the black linen napkin from where he'd tucked it into his belt.
He tossed the napkin onto the lounge seat just in time to hold out his right hand. He turned on his best politician's charm. "Yuri! How very good to see you again."
The Russian ignored Badde's hand and, instead, first leaned over and lightly kissed Jan on both cheeks.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Janelle," he said, taking a step back and spreading his arms. "You look fabulous! A movie star!"
Then he turned to Badde and offered his hand.
"We do need to talk," he said by way of greeting.
Badde motioned for him to have a seat, and he took it.
"This won't take long," the Russian said, all businesslike. A waiter arrived and delivered to him a glass of ice water. "How soon does the project move forward, now that the holdouts have left the property?"
Rapp looked to Jan.
She said, "Theoretically, crews could start tomorrow. Realistically? Probably a month."
They watched as Tikhonov sipped his ice water and considered that.
"Not good enough," he then said. "Sooner. Too much time has been wasted."
Ever the politician, Badde smiled and lied, "Of course, Yuri. Sooner."
He looked at Jan and said, "Sooner, right?"
"Rapp, I'm not sure-"
"Sooner," Badde repeated, almost as if it were an order, then looked at Tikhonov.
Tikhonov locked eyes with him.
"No promises," the Russian said. "I want it done."
Badde then said, "Just so you know, there may be a small delay. We first have to manage a misunderstanding that we killed one of the holdouts by sending the wrecking crew and-"
Tikhonov interrupted him: "It will be no problem. That will be found to be nothing more than an unfortunate accident-"
Rapp interrupted: "That's what I thought," he said, giving Jan a glance.
"-and they will find that the others died of natural causes unknown," Tikhonov concluded.
"How can you be so sure?" Badde asked, clearly surprised.
Tikhonov considered his reply a long moment, then simply said: "Succinylcholine."
"What?"
"A muscle relaxant," Tikhonov said conversationally, "sometimes called suxamethonium. Injected, it causes the heart muscle to relax till it stops. Has a very short half-life. Undetectable after perhaps an hour."
Badde again glanced at Jan, then at Tikhonov. "You did it?"
Tikhonov, stone-faced, took a sip of his ice water, then said, "Of course not. Friends."
Badde thought, Ice water is fitting. Just like the blood in his veins.
Badde said, "So then you called the demolition crew?"
Tikhonov shook his head. "Dimitri."
His assistant passed himself off as the new HUD expediter!
Yuri Tikhonov sighed. "Time is money, and it is time for the development to move forward." He paused and locked eyes with Badde. "Just make sure it continues to do so."
Tikhonov suddenly stood and said, "You'll please excuse me." Then he leaned over and kissed Janelle Harper once on the cheek, and left.
As Jan and Rapp looked at each other wordlessly, his business cell phone vibrated in his pocket. In the dim light under the table, its glowing screen read: ROGER WYNNE.
Badde slipped it back into his pocket, then looked at Jan, who was downing her martini.
"I need to visit the men's room."
He stood and made his way toward the bar, then to the windows on the other side. He called Wynne back as he looked out at the grand view the thirty-seventh floor offered.
"Found him, Rapp," Wynne said when he answered. "Well, where Kenny's been, anyway. A nice old woman by the name of Irma Graham just called here looking for Kenny. Said she missed him tonight at Fernwood Manor's bingo, and that she hadn't seen him since he put a bunch of boxes in the storage room of their Community Activity Center."
That was bingo I heard in the background!
"Get someone over there to whatever you said-"
"Fernwood Manor at Cobbs Creek," Wynne furnished. "And I'm already on my way."
"Destroy every goddamn shred of paper. I don't care if we ever have those votes again."
Badde ended the call. Looking out the window over the city, he thought, Well, at least that'll get rid of the absentee-voter stuff. Now Kenny can't squeal-who's going to believe him without proof?
I may again have just dodged going to jail…
On the way back to the table, Badde paused at the magnificent bar.
There was a muted large flat-screen television tuned to the Eagles- Broncos National Football League game. Badde, acting as if he'd stopped to catch the score-Philadelphia was just barely beating Denver-took in the crowd, particularly all the attractive women.
Well, I'll damn sure be coming back here.
The TV broadcast went to a commercial break.
One of the TV news talking heads came on with a tease for the eleven P.M. newscast. The box that popped up next to the news anchor's head showed Francis Fuller awarding at least three ceremonial ten-thousand-dollar reward checks. The text below the pop-up box said HALLOWEEN HOMICIDES: COLD-BLOODED MURDER TURNS INTO COLD CASH.
And Kenny-and that drug dealer Cicero-are going to be next.
X
[ONE] The Roundhouse, Third Floor Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Monday, November 2, 9:12 A.M. The Executive Command Center's main bank of monitors-all nine sixty-inch flat-screen televisions-was filled with the beet-red, angry face of the Honorable Jerome H. "Jerry" Carlucci, Mayor of the City of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
He stared right into the camera with a searing fire in his intense brown eyes as he said with great force: "And never in all my years in this city-both during my years in the Philadelphia Police Department and my time in elected office as your mayor-never have I witnessed such careless disregard for our laws. And I am here to tell you that this is lawless chaos of the worst sort"-his fist could be heard pounding the lectern-"and I will not let it stand! There will be law and order in the great city of Philadelphia if I have to bring in the state police and our National Guard troops.