Amanda Davies jolted upright in bed, her shirt coated in sweat, her shoulders heaving from the nightmare she’d just awoken from. It took her a moment to get her bearings, for the world to take shape. She swung her legs around the side of the bed, then looked back over her shoulder at Henry. He was fast asleep, not quite snoring but making that
huuuunk…shhhhhhhh
noise that either kept her awake or put her to sleep, depending on her mood.
Henry was splayed on his stomach, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting boxers. There was a hole in the right leg large enough for her to put her fist through. She’d pleaded with Henry to throw out any and all underwear that had any fabric detachments, but she could tell from his absent nod that he would do no such thing. It didn’t bother her much, and truth be told, her scolding had much more in common with flirting than nagging. Their fights were few and far between, and any time temperatures seemed about to rise, a well-timed kiss or an “I love you” quashed it.
Amanda preferred it that way.
Her head pounded, and she quietly went into the kitchen to find a drink. The Brita pitcher was empty, and she didn’t feel like waiting for warm, filtered water. Instead, she pulled out a large container of fruit punch Gatorade and took a healthy pull. She wiped her mouth and took another. Then she put it back in the fridge, closed the door gently and sat down on the living-room couch.
She flicked on the television and muted it. A few reruns, some horrific looking jewelry being hawked on QVC, some late-night soft core porn, and a movie or two that she’d seen before and liked. Then she shut the TV off. She wasn’t really in the mood to watch, but she didn’t want to get back into bed while her heart was still beating fast.
She couldn’t remember the dream. Strange. She used to keep lengthy journals of just about everything that took place in her until-then boring life. Chronicling everyone she met, everything she experienced, and making an amateur go at deciphering her dreams.
At some point in the past few years, the dreams had stopped leaving imprints. She would recall
having
dreams, but for the life of her, she rarely remembered what happened in them.
She wasn’t sure if that was because she was more at peace now, but part of her wished she could remember what her subconscious might have been trying to say.
For some reason, right now, despite waking up in the middle of the night, Amanda did not feel tired. And she didn’t know how Henry could sleep, considering what he’d been through the past week. She supposed it might have been pure exhaustion, that his body just couldn’t take any more anxiety or stress without totally shutting down. She was glad for that, because when Jack O’Donnell showed up unexpectedly, Amanda knew this was only the beginning.
Jack had been gone for a long time, and his disappearance had weighed on Henry. Amanda had never felt let down like that, at least not in a professional sense. She’d been alone most her life, starting with the death of her parents when she was very young, and then shuttled between orphanages and foster care until finally settling in with Lawrence and Harriet Stein in St. Louis.
Death was different. Death left you feeling empty, not betrayed. And while he never said it, Amanda knew that was how Henry felt when Jack left.
She never wanted to worry about Henry, never wanted to be the kind of girl who waited up at night and screamed “Where were you?” when her boyfriend came in the door bone-tired.
Amanda knew where Henry was, or at least knew where he was not. Henry’s only mistress was his work. She trusted him, and he trusted her. Cheating was not in their DNA, and for all their faults that was one weight that thankfully would never press down very hard.
She had begun to wonder, however, what the future held for them. Love was not the issue. She believed Henry when he said he loved her, and knew he believed her when she said the same. But being young and nearly broke in New York City was a tough way to maintain a relationship. Settling down was something so out there they might as well have talked about buying a mansion.
Amanda wanted to get married. At some point. She wasn’t like most girls she knew, dreaming of the perfect wedding, waiting their whole life for one day that went by in the blink of an eye. Those girls missed the bigger picture, that a wedding was worthless if what it represented wasn’t pure. Marriage was not a celebration of that day, it was a celebration of what was yet to come. Amanda did not question her future happiness with Henry…but she couldn’t help but feel a little girly sometimes. And that wasn’t a bad thing.
Once the sports drink had settled her stomach and eased her headache, Amanda tiptoed back into the bedroom and snuggled in next to Henry. Moonlight streamed in through the venetian blinds, casting slits of light on the bed. Henry stirred a little, then turned over so he was facing her. Their bodies were still warm from the lovemaking earlier, and it made Amanda feel safe to have him so close.
Then Henry opened his eyes. Smiled.
“Hey you,” he said.
“Hey,” Amanda whispered.
“Feeling all right?”
“Yeah, just woke up. Bad dream.”
“Here,” Henry said. “Let me help.”
He untangled himself from the sheets and wrapped his arms around Amanda. His body was warm, toned yet soft, and she felt herself melting into his arms.
“I could fall asleep like this every night,” she said.
“Why don’t you?” he replied.
“Hey, don’t offer if it’s not going to happen.”
“I wouldn’t. Consider this your parking space. Reserved for Amanda Davies.”
“What’s the monthly rate?” she said.
“You already paid it. Earlier tonight.”
They both laughed, and she felt herself falling back to sleep.
“Are you excited to work with Jack tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes beginning to close.
“Excited, a little nervous. He’s never seen me in action.”
“You’ll be great,” she said.
“Yeah, I think there’s still a great story out there. Hopefully the old man can help me find it.” He gave her one squeeze, and she gripped his arms. “Good night baby,” he said.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t need you to tell me to be careful, do I?” Amanda said.
“Come on, Amanda,” Henry said. “What would I need to be careful of?”
The first swing of the crowbar shattered Kenneth Tsang’s kneecap. The second nearly dislodged it completely, ripping it away from the tendons that held it in place, rendering the entire leg practically useless.
Kenneth Tsang was lying in the basement of the nightclub where he’d spent so much time over the past few months. Tsang had made himself well into six figures working for Malloy, and had begun to trust the man completely. Which was why when Malloy asked him to be there at four in the morning, dressed to the nines, Tsang did not even ask why. He simply showed up, was ushered inside and subsequently had his right leg shattered beyond recognition.
Tsang lay on the floor, writhing in pain. At first he screamed as loud as anyone Malloy had ever heard, and Malloy worried for just a brief moment that the soundproof walls might just not hold up for a guy this sissified. After the second blow, however, the screams turned into a pathetic whimpering, and now Tsang lay there on the floor, still wearing his three-thousand-dollar suit, with one pant leg torn to shreds.
A small puddle of drool began to accumulate under Tsang’s head. He’d thrown up on himself. Not surprising. Pain and fear would do that to you. He was trying to crawl away, crawl anywhere. Sad, really. The door was locked. A blind man with no legs could get around faster than Tsang with that busted wheel. But he still crawled and blubbered and begged for mercy.
“P-p-please,” Tsang blurted, thick spittle flying out with every syllable. “D-d-don’t…”
Malloy just stood there holding the crowbar. Then the door opened and the dark-haired woman strode in. Tsang looked at her, confused, then he looked back at Malloy. For a moment, his eyes relaxed. Malloy knew exactly what he was thinking.
She’s a girl. She’s here to save me. The brutality is over.
If only he knew who this woman was.
“Hello, Kenneth,” the woman said. She knelt down by his crippled form. He tried to raise his head, but was too weak. Without hesitating, she grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head backward until his eyes met hers.
“How are you feeling?”
“P-p-please,” Tsang repeated. “Let me go. I…I swear…I won’t tell anyone.”
The woman looked over her shoulder at Malloy.
“What do you think?” she said. “Should we let him go?”
Malloy said nothing. Just shrugged.
The woman released Tsang’s hair. His face splatted against the floor, leaving another drool mark.
“Do you know why you’re here?” the woman asked Tsang.
“N-n-no,” he gasped. “I…I need to go…”
“I know this isn’t exactly fair to you,” the woman said. “In the past, we’ve only made examples out of employees who’ve stolen from us. Lied to us. Betrayed us like Stephen Gaines.”
“I n-n-never betrayed you,” Tsang said.
“I know you haven’t, Ken, I know you haven’t. But Gaines is dead, shot to death. A little too professional for my tastes. Being shot in the head sucks, but it doesn’t convey the same fear as, say, well…”
She pointed at Tsang’s mutilated leg.
“That leg, that sends a message.”
Tsang spat out, “Then…then let me go.”
The woman clicked her tongue against the side of her mouth and shook her head.
“It’s not just the leg, Ken. It’s what they see when they find you. Or find your body. I’m not a big fan of talking to people before I kill them, but you’ve been a pretty loyal guy and I think you deserve an explanation.”
Malloy could see fear beyond rational explanation in Tsang’s eyes, the kind of fear that came not from knowing your fate, but from having no idea just how much pain you could possibly be in.
“Tomorrow we begin the most important phase in our company’s history,” she continued. “You’re a finance guy, Ken. You understand when companies begin new phases, how important it is to make sure everyone’s in line. Make sure everyone has the same goals. And do you know what the single biggest motivational tool is in any company? Do you, Ken?”
Ken shook his head. At least he tried to.
“It’s fear,” the woman said. “Fear of being fired. Fear of being downsized. Fear of losing an income that you worked so hard for. Fear of losing the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to. And, really, isn’t that exactly why you came to work for us in the first place?”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Ken blubbered. “I won’t tell…”
He tried to crawl again, slapping his arms against the concrete floor like a seal.
“I’m growing tired of this,” the woman said. She walked over to where Ken was lying, raised her hand above her head and brought the crowbar down on Kenneth Tsang’s left arm with a sickening crunch.
Tsang howled in pure agony and tried to roll over, but his maimed knee wouldn’t allow it.
“Now you’re triple-jointed,” the woman said. “Anyone…I suppose what I’m trying to say, Ken, is that there are no hard feelings here. But right now your body is worth more dead than alive to us. Tomorrow morning, when they find you, you will matter more than you ever have in your life. Your body will create that fear we need. Two bullets in the back of the skull is a quick, painless exit. This,” she said, nodding toward him, “this is something you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, let alone yourself.”
“My mother…,” Ken blurted.
“Will miss you very, very much.” The woman raised the crowbar above her head, looking Kenenth Tsang directly in his watery eyes.
“Who…who are you?” he said, his lip trembling.
“I was given a name a long time ago,” the woman said. “Beware the fury of a patient man.”
Then she brought the crowbar down again.
The boat approached the dock, and the driver pulled up alongside and tied a rope to a cleat. Once it was fastened tight, he went to help Malloy with the body.
“Hey, Len,” Malloy said. “Got you out of bed, it seems.”
“First time I’ve been awake past midnight in a year,” Leonard said.
“If I had a pad as slick as yours I don’t think I’d ever leave. How’s the new flat screen?”
“Sixty-inch plasma,” Leonard said. “Just hooked up the surround sound. I could watch movies all day on that thing. Just screened
Saving Private Ryan.
I swear I thought the Germans were actually shooting at me.”
Malloy laughed. “You’re a good man, Len,” he said. “Now come on, help me out.”
The two men went over to the nondescript white van, opened the back door and hauled out a green burlap sack.
“Jesus Christ,” Leonard said. “What the hell you got in here?”
“Mutilated boy,” Malloy replied.
Leonard looked at him. “That’s not funny.”
Malloy said, “I ain’t laughing.”
“You’re serious,” Leonard said. He looked at the bag, felt it. “This feels like a bunch of mush.”
“Then that means we did it right.”
Leonard sighed. “You gotta do what you gotta do. Can I ask who this is?” he said as the men carried the bag over to where the boat was idling.
“Ken Tsang,” Malloy answered, his eyes staying on the bag.
“Fuck, man, are you serious?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Tsang was one of our best earners. Why the hell did it have to be him?”
“Because then everyone else will know how vulnerable they are. If Tsang can go down, so can anybody.”
“You don’t think you could have pulverized, I don’t know, Ben Purvis and gotten the same reaction?”
“Ben Purvis is an idiot who can barely tie his shoes. He’s going to end up dead sooner or later. He croaks, people just assume he got what was coming to him. With Tsang, people will tighten up like they’re about to get a hot poker up their ass. We need everyone alert, everyone game.”
Leonard Reeves shook his head as they gingerly stepped aboard the boat. Reeves gently placed his side of the bag onto the floor. Malloy dropped his like a sack of potatoes.
“You don’t need to be gentle with this thing,” Malloy said. “He’s deader than oatmeal. In fact, he might actually be the same consistency as oatmeal right now.”
“You’re a sick fuck, Malloy,” Reeves said.
“And you’re a rich prick, Len,” Malloy replied.
“Fair enough. Where we headed?”
“There’s a buoy out by the Marine Transfer station in the East River.”
“Ninety-first Street I think,” Reeves said.
“We’re going to tie our friend up, and then…” Malloy reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Balloons?”
“We want Mr. Tsang here to be found right quick.”
“Did you have to make them pink?”
Malloy laughed. “I’m a romantic.”
“All right, let’s go. I want to be back in bed by six o’clock.”
“No problem. You will be.”
“Good. And hey, Malloy, did you guys take care of the girl? You know, the reporter?”
“Paulina Cole?”
“Yeah, her,” Reeves said. “Didn’t you guys have something planned for her?”
“It’s taken care of,” Malloy said.
“She’s kind of hot for an older broad,” Reeves said. “Hey, wouldn’t it be kind of funny if I screwed her?”
“After what I did to her this afternoon,” Malloy said, “I don’t think she’s going to let any strangers come near her for a long, long time. Or her daughter.”