Soon (25 page)

25

PAUL AND ANGELA RENDEZVOUSED
in his car and discussed how she and Lucy had left it, that Angela would find her again the next day at the same spot—out of Mort’s view. Paul was glad Lucy had volunteered that Mort was back at the Babylon, but she seemed less certain she would leave him.

“Experience tells me she’s going to pass,” Paul said.

“Oh, I think she’s ready, Paul. It’s a major, major deal for these girls to make a decision like this. She’s right on the edge. It won’t take much to push her over.”

Before Paul dropped Angela off, he had a nagging feeling they were being watched. He had noticed nothing in the mirrors. Could it have been someone on foot, something in the corner of his eye? He had learned not to worry until he was sure, but he had to wonder about Lucy and how stable a contact she was.

Angela was right about Lucy’s readiness. As Paul sat listening to their conversation the next day, it quickly became evident what was wrong.

“Why the shades, Lucy?”

“Sunny day.”

“Yeah, that’s unusual here, isn’t it? It was the same yesterday and your sad, beautiful eyes were on display. Let me see.”

“No.”

“Come on . . . oh! Lucy! What did he do?”

Lucy’s voice was quavery. “It was just one shot, a backhand. His ring caught the bone.”

“What was that about?”

“I was out of sight too long yesterday.”

“And you’re still not ready to leave? Lucy, you have to get away from him. We can get you to a shelter right now.”

“I can’t go . . .”

Paul sat shaking his head, assuming Angela was shaking hers too.

“You think I’m stupid.”

“No, I don’t, Lucy. I’m sorry. But I can’t let you go back to him. You need to let me get you off the street now. Just say the word, and you’re out of here.”

Lucy hesitated. Then, “I’m not ready, ma’am. Maybe soon, but leaving Morty is one thing. Not knowing where my drugs are coming from . . .”

“You know you’ve got to get off that stuff.”

Pause. “Yeah, but . . .”

“There’s no easing off it, hon. You have to make a clean break, start over.”

“Spoken like somebody who’s never been a junkie.”

“I know. But we can help. Lots of girls at our place have been where you are. They’ll become your family. They’ll walk you through this.”

“I’m not saying I’m not tempted. But this is the only life I’ve known for more than five years.”

“Five years? You were a teenager when you started?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fainter, Paul heard a car and a male voice. “Say, ladies?”

Lucy sounded dead. “Oh no. Oh no. It’s—”

“Wonder if you’d be kind enough to give me some directions?”

Paul put the car in gear.

“I’m new here,” Angela began, “but my friend might be able to help—”

Lucy, whispering, “Don’t! It’s Morty.”

Paul backed up and pulled into traffic, wondering if he would do better to leap from the car and run three blocks, gun drawn.

Why didn’t I just stake out the Babylon last night and bust him
as soon as I saw him?

Traffic was gridlocked.
Should have called Chicago, played it
by the book, got some help.

“Can you see me clearly?” the man said pleasantly.

“Yes, sir.” Angela’s voice had gone from helpful to resigned dread.

“Then you had better do what I say or I will use this.”

“What do you want?”

“Get in the car as if you know me and nothing’s wrong.”

“Where are we going?”

The voice was angry now. “Stall and I’ll drop you where you stand. Lucy, stay put.”

Paul heard Angela slide in and shut the door. He honked and edged up onto the sidewalk, drawing shouts and gestures. As he sat within view of Lucy he caught sight of a late-model black sedan pulling away. No way he could pick through the traffic, and even if he could, there was little he could do if Mort had a gun on Angela.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Morty’s voice caught Paul’s attention again.

“Don’t have one. I have a family.” Angela sounded as if she was trying to cover her terror.

“You don’t say. Well, you’ve been playing a dangerous game for a woman with a family, talking to my girls. But I need women like you. . . .”

“Why?”

“I need to connect people with God.”

“And how would I do that?”

“I’d teach you. Hey, you’re gorgeous. Ever think about making some real money? Lucy makes more than you ever dreamed of.”

“I thought you were talking about bringing people to God. Oh, the Babylon. You staying here?”

Good, Angela. You’d have been a great agent.

Paul heard the car stop, doors opening and closing. “We’re going to walk to the elevators, and you’re going to come up to my place. One hint you’re not thrilled, you’ll regret it. Follow?”

“I can tell you right now I’m not interested in what you’re offering.”

“You might want to change your mind about that. I know who you are.”

Paul called Koontz. “I’m going to bust this guy, hopefully within the hour. Get local NPO to the Babylon, but tell them not to move till I say. Mort Bagdona is Jonah. He has a hostage. It’s all going down pretty fast.”

Paul checked the side arm strapped to his leg, then called the number on the card Angela had originally given Lucy. Willie answered.

“Paul Stepola. You still standing by to rescue Lucy?”

“Tomorrow, sure.”

“I need you to do it right now.”

“But we have a meeting tonight, and—”

“Lucy’s available for pickup right now. I’ll get Angela back to you later. Got it?”

“I guess, but—”

“Willie, trust me. I’ll explain later. Do this now.”

“You’ve been a bad girl,” Morty was saying, “infringing on my territory.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you do. You’re trying to pull people away from me. You’ve got your own idea of what God wants.”

“Who told you that?”

“Well, not Lucy, if that’s what you’re wondering. But she should have. That was a serious breach of loyalty. That’s why she’s going to get what’s coming to her too.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“Not unless you make me. Keep quiet on the elevator.”

Paul pulled up to the Babylon and left his car at the curb. He rode the elevator to the exclusive floors and found hotel security. He motioned the man close with a nod and showed his credentials. “I’m on a stakeout and I have backup coming. I need to borrow your handcuffs, and I need a key that gets me into the suites on the penthouse level. Come on, I know you have one. . . . Thanks. Local bureau NPO will be downstairs soon. I’ll call when I need them.”

The man looked as if he had been deputized by Wyatt Earp.

“You’re in 2200? Bet it’s a big place.”

Angela, you’re a pro. Keep talking.

“Wait till you see it.” The door opened.

“Two floors! Do you play the piano?”

“Comes with the place. Make yourself comfortable.”

“That’s a lot to ask. How comfortable can I be?”

Paul positioned himself at the end of the hall where he had a view of the entrance to the suite and could also see anyone getting off the elevator.

“I told you I’m not going to hurt you unless you make me.”

“I won’t make you.”

“Then you’ll join me?”

“In what way?”

“You see yourself as a woman of God. I’m a man of God. I want you on my team.”

“Doing what?”

“Recruiting. People need God, ma’am. They really do. And He has told me the true pathways to Himself. I teach you those paths; you teach the seekers.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do think so. God told me to seek you out, to sign you up. He said He would prepare you. If you refuse, He will be angered, and He will tell me what to do with you.”

26

PAUL KEPT RUNNING SCENARIOS
through his mind. If Jezebel was right, Morty Bagadonuts really believed he had a pipeline to God, so there was no telling what he might pull. In-stinct told Paul he had the man right where he wanted him, in a confined, finite area. The last thing Paul wanted was a high-speed chase.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to tie you to a chair,” Mort said. He actually sounded cordial. No surprise that he could persuade people—he had their best interests at heart.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll cooperate.”

“How I wish that were true,” Mort said. “But we’re going to be here awhile. I’m hoping to persuade you to join me willingly tonight for a peyote and performance prayer meeting.”

“Where’s that?”

“West of here.”

“And what does that entail?”

“I present to my congregation two divinely prescribed paths to God. A natural, created compound that puts the mind on a sacred plane, and the physical love God created.”

“Drugs and sex.”

“If you’re going to be the queen of heaven, you’ll not be so crass.”

“You really don’t have to tie me, you know.”

Paul heard Mort working with what sounded like rolls of tape.

“Eventually we must consummate our union, becoming one under heaven.”

Angela didn’t respond.

“You’re misguided, Angel,” Mort said, and Paul was struck that he had come so close to her name. “Your heart is in the right place, but it’s not right to try to convert people unless they have no religion. My girls already have faith.”

Paul called the main number of the Babylon and asked to speak to the chief of security.

Angela said, “I have faith too, so why are you trying to convert me?”

Paul asked security if room 2202, immediately to the right of 2200, was occupied.

“Two gentlemen are registered in that room, Agent Stepola. Our motion and heat detector tells us they are not currently there.”

Paul moved quickly down the hall, using the universal key to slip into 2202. The men were reasonably tidy, and housekeeping had already cleaned the two-bedroom suite. The gigantic flat-screen TV was embedded in one wall, and on the other a wide, chrome column rose from floor to ceiling with a sliding panel in the center.

“By the time we leave for the ceremony,” Mort was saying, “you will not feel forced. But you will have been converted. God made the substance that will free your mind.”

“Peyote?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s nothing but mescaline, and natural or not, it’s still illegal.”

“According to the laws of men. But can you fathom the presumption of man trying to outlaw something God created?”

A call came through Paul’s receivers. He rushed to the back bedroom and slipped into the closet so as not to be heard through the wall. “Stepola,” he said.

“Sir, the occupants of 2202 are on their way up.”

“Detain them. Don’t let them into this room.”

“Sorry, but we noticed them too late. NPO is here also, by the way.”

“Keep them downstairs for now. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Paul hurried to the door and peeked out the peephole. Two suited men were getting off the elevator; the taller one was black. Paul rushed back into the bedroom and crouched by the door. He heard a key and watched as the main door opened and the men entered. The black man turned on the television and settled into a chair while the other kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch.

Paul didn’t want to startle them, so he thought about phoning from the closet and telling them he was here and why. But he noticed both were armed. Before he did anything, he wanted to know which side they were on. He stayed and listened.

“I’d like to at least see her first,” the tall black man said.

“Me too, but Morty said just sit tight.”

“All we do is sit, Jimmy.”

“What’re we supposed to do if she doesn’t cooperate?”

“I don’t think he cares. He doesn’t want to know.”

“They in there?” Jimmy said. “I don’t hear a thing.”

Jimmy moved past the other man, who sat watching the mute TV, and stood by the service door. “They’re talking, Danny,” he whispered, “but I can’t make it out.” He returned to the couch. “I’m starving. You want something?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re getting.”

Jimmy phoned in their order.

Paul was in noman’s-land. It was three against two, and Angela was neither armed nor trained, and she was bound. The problem was, to kill one he’d have to kill all three. Maybe that happened in the movies, but it rarely did in real life.

“He shoulda used us to grab up the girl,” Danny said. “But no, we would make too big a scene. He had to do it himself.”

“Well, he did, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and we’re just yesterday’s celery, waiting here—”Jimmy laughed. “We’re what? Yesterday’s celery?”

“Or whatever they say.”

Paul could hear Mort still trying to sell Angela. “See, with peyote your mind goes to a different dimension, and God speaks to you.”

“You’re going to have to force them down my throat.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that. I want you to see that this is a monumental moment in your life. You may have thought you were serving God before, but you’ll hear Him speak today.”

“Tied up and against my will?”

“That’s just a precaution. We’ve got an hour, and I can’t sit here holding a gun on you the whole time.”

Jimmy rolled off the couch and stepped into the bathroom. Paul pulled his side arm from the leg holster and crept up behind him, waiting. As soon as Jimmy pulled up his zipper, Paul pressed the barrel of the gun into the base of his neck. “Not one sound,” he whispered, reaching for Jimmy’s gun. He patted the man down and found no more weapons.

“How many pieces is your friend carrying?” Paul said, and he could feel Jimmy shaking. Jimmy held up one finger. “If you’re lying, you get it first. Now I’ll follow you out. You tell Danny, very quietly, to put his gun on the floor and kick it to me.”

As they shuffled out to stand behind Danny, Jimmy squeaked, “Danny, let me see your gun.”

The big man didn’t turn. “Hmm?”

“Danny?”

Danny turned and instinctively rose, reaching for his gun.

“Don’t,” Paul whispered. “I can put you both down in a half second.”

“Put your gun on the floor and kick it over here,” Jimmy said. “Please, Danny, do it.”

Danny, scowling, did as he was told, never taking his eyes off Paul’s. With Jimmy’s piece in his pocket and Danny’s in his left hand, he quietly told Danny to lie facedown on the couch. “Any noise, any signal, that’s all the excuse I need.”

He had Jimmy take the sheet off the bed in the back bedroom and tear it into strips. “Tie Danny’s wrists and ankles together behind him, then connect them with another strip. I’m going to check your work, and if it isn’t perfect, you won’t be going home tonight.”

Jimmy was so enthusiastic he made Danny madder. He tied his wrists behind him first, then his ankles, then lifted Danny’s feet and struggled to tie them together, leaving him in a most uncomfortable position, feet up behind him, bound to his wrists. The connector between his wrists and ankles made it impossible for Danny to even squirm.

Paul had Danny open his mouth and told Jimmy to wrap several lengths of strips around Danny’s head and between his teeth like a bridle bit. He could emit no sound. Paul tugged at all the bindings.

“Good job, Jimmy,” Paul whispered. “Now put your left hand between your legs from behind and your right hand between your legs from the front.”

Jimmy squinted as if he didn’t understand, but by squatting slightly, he managed it. Paul cuffed his wrists, then nudged him onto the floor where he flopped onto his back. Paul tied his ankles and put a gag on him. Paul frisked Danny one more time to confirm he’d had only the one weapon.

The playing field was finally even. Mort began sounding as if he were at the end of patience. “Listen, Angel, you can have a life like you never dreamed.”

“Like Lucy’s? No thanks.”

“C’mon, missy. She’s on the hard stuff. If she’d stayed with the natural, she could be sitting where you’re sitting.”

“What a privilege,” Angela said. “And where does she get the hard stuff, Morty?”

“Jonah. The only reason she gets it from me is that I don’t want some scumbag ripping her off. She could get off it if she’d switch to peyote and do what I say spiritually.”

For the next twenty minutes, Angela seemed to be trying to engage Mort in small talk to keep him from force-feeding her the drugs.

Paul jumped when he heard a noise behind him, coming from the chrome column in the far wall. The panel slid open to reveal a wide dumbwaiter, and there sat Jimmy and Danny’s room-service order. Paul removed the tray and set it on the floor, then pushed the Received button, which closed the panel.

Paul studied the mechanism, realizing that every penthouse suite had to be equipped with the same. He examined the wall that adjoined 2200 and found nothing until he reached the bathroom. There, jutting from the wall three feet inside a utility closet was what had to be the back side of the dumbwaiter that served the next room. It was painted over, but when he lightly tapped it with a fingernail, Paul found it was metallic.

He moved back out into the living area and tried to determine how far from the chrome column Mort and Angela sat. He decided they were far enough for what he had planned, knowing Angela’s life depended on it.

Back in the bathroom closet, Paul found the back of the column enclosed by screws and a thin sheet of metallic ductwork. His car key was all he needed to painstakingly and quietly remove the back panel. It opened onto the dumbwaiter, where there was a horizontal floor every five feet or so. A flange on each floor could apparently be programmed to trip a lever, which would open the sliding door in the room and display the delivery.

Paul squeezed a leg between the exposed floors and tested the load-bearing strength of the platform. It floated some but seemed solid enough. He gingerly slithered all the way in until he was crouching, facing the sliding door that opened into 2200.

Kitchen smells wafted through the shaft from twenty-two floors below. And it was steamy. Paul knew it was only a matter of time before someone on a floor below placed an order and the whole mechanism would move. He had to act now.

“We leave in about half an hour, so I want you to willingly take the prescription of God,” Mort said. “It will be the most wonderful feeling you have ever had. And God will confirm what He told me, that you are to be mine. And you will assist me on a mission for Him that will bring many souls to heaven.”

Paul slipped his weapon from the holster under his pant leg and reached for the lever, his face dripping.

“Receive these in your mouth.”

“I won’t.”

Mort was clearly angry now. “You will or you’ll regret it. Open your mouth.”

“I told you I wouldn’t do it.”

“Maybe you’d like a gun barrel in your throat. Open up.”

Angela apparently obeyed.

“Now chew them.”

Angela whimpered. “No!”

“All right,” Mort said. “I’ll fill your mouth with water, and you’ll have to swallow to breathe.”

Paul waited a beat, hearing Mort leave the room. He pushed the lever and the panel slid open. Angela was taped to a chair. Paul put a finger to his lips. Her eyes bulged and she spit out the dope. Paul slid behind a door between her and where he heard water running.

The water stopped. Mort returned, glass in one hand, gun in the other. Paul was behind him now.

Mort knelt before Angela. He stuck a thick finger into her mouth as she tried to squirm away. “You spit them out?” he said, incredulous. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.”

Paul edged close and raised his weapon over his head. He brought it down so hard on Mort’s forearm that he heard both ulna and radius crack as Mort’s gun went flying. Mort screamed and flopped onto his side, staring terrified into Paul’s gun.

With his free hand, Paul freed Angela. “Call security,” he said. “Tell them we’ve got Jonah and two of his lackeys in custody and to send up the NPO.”