Authors: Martin Bodenham
“You invested in BIX?”
“Sure. We filled our boots.” Rondell grimaced. “You seem surprised.”
“No, not at all. It was a good deal. Why wouldn’t you?” What the hell was Rondell playing at? Caravini said he hadn’t yet bought any BIX stock. Could he have just acquired them today? That would be good news. “This next one is pretty good.”
The smile returned to Rondell’s face. “Just one question before we get into that one.”
“Sure. What is it?”
Rondell stood up and walked over to Michael. “I need you to stand up.”
“What?”
“Please, stand up.”
Michael did what he was told, shaking his head. “Now what?”
Rondell leaned his face into Michael’s. “Are you wearing a wire, Danny Boy?”
A chill ran through Michael. He stepped back, his legs rubbing against the sofa. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a straightforward question. Are you wearing a wire?”
“No. I’m not. Why do you think—?”
“Then you won’t mind me checking,” Rondell started to pat Michael down.
“Why would I wear a wire?”
“Take your shirt off.”
“I’m not taking my shirt off.”
Rondell gripped the collar of Michael’s shirt and pulled at it.
Michael pushed him away. “Take your hands off me.”
Grabbing at the shirt again, Rondell forced Michael hard against the sofa. “What do you have to hide?”
As he lost his balance, Michael swung his right fist and connected with Rondell’s jaw, knocking him over.
Rondell climbed to his feet and lunged head-first at Michael, winding him as both men collapsed onto the floor.
Michael fell on top of Rondell.
Crushed under Michael’s weight and with his back to the floor, Rondell managed to put an arm lock around Michael’s neck.
Kicking out, with his shoulder blades cutting into Rondell’s ribcage, Michael tried to free himself. With the tight grip around his neck, it was impossible to break away. Seconds later, he stopped struggling.
“I’m not wearing a wire.” Michael used his hands to tear open his own shirt, exposing his bare chest. “Satisfied?”
Rondell kept the pressure on Michael’s neck.
“Time to stop the pretense now, Danny Boy.” With Rondell’s mouth no more than two inches from Michael’s left ear, Michael could feel his warm breath as he spoke.
Michael pushed back with his feet, but his leather-soled shoes struggled to get a grip on the polished wooden floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was difficult for Michael to take in enough air, let alone speak.
“I’m disappointed with you. We were getting along so well and all. Why did you have to spoil things?” Another tight squeeze on Michael’s windpipe.
Finding it increasingly hard to breathe, Michael tried to wriggle free, but the lock was too tight.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Rondell said.
When Rondell released his clasp a little, Michael said, “I don’t know what you think I’ve done.”
“I had a visitor recently, Danny Boy. He told me all about your little trip to his tattoo shop. Now call me judgmental, but you don’t strike me as someone who’d need a tattoo.”
“A tattoo? What are—?”
Another wring on the neck. “He said you paid him to kill me.”
“He’s lying.”
Rondell compressed Michael’s windpipe so he couldn’t breathe at all. “Funny how he was able to show me a picture of you in his shop. Explain that one to me, you little shit.”
Kicking against the sofa, Michael, now becoming desperate for air, pushed both of them along the shiny floor, but Rondell’s grip held steady.
“I know all about your meetings with Caravini, too. Did you really think I’d be that easy, falling for your crazy story about BIX? I’ve had to deal with much smarter men than you, my friend.”
Michael stopped pushing when Rondell released some of the pressure. He gulped in air, filling his lungs. As his oxygen level recovered, his brain kicked in. Rondell knew everything. Not only had Duane informed on him, but it was clear Rondell knew all about Caravini’s BIX scheme, too. How was that possible? That must be why Caravini was so desperate to try another deal. Somehow, he knew Rondell was onto them and was never going to buy BIX stock. In that case, he would have known he was sending Michael into a potential trap this time.
“What happens now?” The fight had gone out of Michael’s voice.
“We carry on where we were.”
“How is that possible?”
“We’ll deal with Caravini. The same way we had to remove one of his team when he started getting in our way before.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“He was the one who told us all about your trips to Federal Plaza to see Caravini. That was just before we threw him into the East River with a bullet in his head.”
“How long have you known all this?”
“Long enough.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I had to have time to teach you a lesson, something to get your attention so you wouldn’t try anything stupid again.”
“What lesson?”
“That bit of tail you had your eyes on at Corton Zander. She paid the price for your little game with Caravini. Pity. She was a looker. Next time, it will be one of your daughters.”
Pure rage erupted within Michael. This animal had killed Amanda and was now threatening to murder one of his girls. He kicked out and then rammed his elbow deep into Rondell’s groin. For a moment, the hold around his neck was released, and Michael rolled over, punching Rondell in the face as he curled up in pain.
When Michael clambered to his feet, Rondell lunged at him again, but this time, he was able to kick Rondell’s feet from underneath him. Rondell fell backward, and there was a loud crack as the back of Rondell’s head collided with the sharp corner of the metal desk.
Michael stood ready to continue, fists clenched and his knees slightly bent, waiting for Rondell to get to his feet, but he didn’t. Rondell just lay flat on his back, his glazed eyes partly open, his lips moving, but there was no speech. Seconds later, a pool of blood began to seep from the back of his head and onto the wooden floor.
Sullivan Street was still quiet when Michael peered out of the front door of the warehouse. Glancing around, Michael crossed the road to the car park and climbed into the Lexus. He looked at his bloodied knuckles. His hands were shaking, his breathing rapid. What had he just done? Was Rondell dead?
He reached inside his jacket pocket and took out his car keys. As he started up the car, Michael realized he would be an obvious suspect. He had plenty of motive, and Caravini knew he was going to be meeting Rondell sometime over the next few days. But there was still something he could do. Turning off the ignition, he reached over to the glove box and took out the loaded pistol.
When Michael walked along the corridor, approaching Rondell’s office, there was a slight scraping sound. As he opened the door, Rondell was still lying on his back, but he’d managed to slide a couple of feet along the floor, leaving a blood trail behind his head. Rondell’s right hand was reaching for the telephone cable hanging between the handset on the desk and the wall socket.
Rondell made a half smile. “I knew you’d come back, Danny Boy,” he said, as if each word was a painful effort. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me like this.”
Michael kicked the cable, ripping it from the wall socket, and then stood over Rondell and stared into his eyes. “This ends now,” he said, lifting the pistol and pointing it at Rondell’s head.
“Please, Danny—”
After the first shot, Michael said, “That was for me.”
He let off another round. “And that was for Amanda.”
Minutes later, Michael was in the Lexus, heading away from the port. As he drove, a wave of calm washed over him. Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare was finally over.
Chapter 59
W
HEN
C
ARAVINI
R
ANG
H
IM
at the beginning of the following week, Michael had long been expecting the call. By now, he must have learned of Rondell’s death, but Caravini gave nothing away during their short conversation. Rather than talk on the phone, Caravini insisted on a face-to-face meeting at his offices, so they agreed to meet the following morning.
Michael had already been over the events at Sullivan Street a million times in his mind, and still he felt the same: Rondell was an evil killer who would never have stopped, and the only way to prevent him from shattering more lives was to take him out. It was strange but, over the past six months, Michael had not slept as well as he had during these last few days. It felt right.
Once Abi showed Michael into Caravini’s office, Caravini’s face said it all. It was a mixture of anger and resignation.
“I guess you’ve heard about Grannis?” Caravini asked before Michael could even sit down.
“I read something about it in The Journal. I can’t say I’m sorry for the man. Any idea who did it?”
The corners of Caravini’s mouth rose slightly. “I know no more than you do.”
“My guess is a man like Grannis had a lot of enemies. From what I read, there’s speculation it was a professional killing.”
Caravini stared at the bruises and abrasions on Michael’s knuckles. “What happened to your hands?”
Michael withdrew his hands from view. “Nothing. Just some heavy yard work over the weekend.”
“Is that right? I didn’t have you down as the gardening type.”
“What did you want to see me about?”
“Did you go see Grannis with the latest deal?”
Michael shook his head no. “Never got to see him. When I called him last week, he told me he was heading out of town for a few days, so we agreed to meet up when he returned.”
“I guess he never made his trip?”
“Looks that way.”
Clasping his hands together, Caravini leaned forward onto the table. “You know this doesn’t change anything.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Grannis wasn’t the only crook down at Cedar Street. They’ll continue running the fund in his absence. I still intend to bring them down—all of them. We’ve got too much invested in this thing.”
“You don’t need me for that.”
“Sure we do. They never did trade the BIX deal and, as you say, you never got to share the latest one with them.”
“You really expect me to carry on as though nothing has happened?”
“Sure, but let’s wait for them to make their move. I want to see who takes over from Grannis first. Once we know that, we can decide where we go from there.”
“We have an agreement.”
“I know, and it requires you to deliver another deal.”
“That was for Grannis, and he’s dead.”
“Conveniently for you.”
After the meeting, Michael decided to walk from Federal Plaza back to his offices. The clean, fresh air felt good in his lungs as he strode. It was clear Caravini suspected Michael had something to do with Rondell’s killing. But what could he prove? Even if they found Michael’s DNA at Sullivan Street, he could say he’d been there several times before, some of which were at the request of the FBI. Their written agreement would be evidence enough for that. Besides, Rondell would have had a whole line of enemies, many of them higher up the suspects list than him. Any one of those could have done this. And while Caravini made a big noise about carrying on with his investigation, without Grannis at the helm, the hedge fund was likely to wither away. Caravini would soon find bigger, higher-profile targets to chase.
Finally, this thing looks like it’s over
.
Chapter 60
T
HREE
W
EEKS
A
FTER
R
ONDELL’S
S
LAYING
, Caravini was enjoying a late breakfast at home. Cindy had just left the house to go to her jazzercise or aerobics class, or whatever the hell it was that made her leave dressed in tight Lycra every Saturday morning, when there was a knock on the front door. Caravini exhaled loudly through his nostrils, put down his slice of whole wheat toast, and muted the TV in the kitchen before answering the door.
“What have you forgotten?” he said as he opened it.
“Your wife looks cute in a leotard,” said Bull Neck, filling the doorframe.
“Who the fuck are you?” Caravini went to close the door, but Bull Neck’s foot was jammed in the way.
“Is that any way to greet a visitor?”
“We’re coming in,” Glass Eye said from behind Bull Neck before they barged into the hallway.
Bull Neck pinned Caravini to the wall by wrapping his right palm around the front of his neck, making it difficult for him to breathe.
“Ease off a little,” said Glass Eye, shutting the door behind them. “I need him to be able to speak.”