"You are a smart woman, Rebecca. Thanks again. I really appreciate it."
"Don't thank me. Just try to stay alive."
Grady met Michael knowing she looked a little the worse for wear. For a split second she wondered if she regretted her decision to go home and figure out her life. Unfortunately, Michael Bowden would believe that she was going her separate way and the situation would feel like rejection. Men were that way.
"You look good in that." He smiled and gave a bit of a lopsided grin.
She wore a fancy pair of blue jeans, a braided belt, and a dark floral-print blouse.
"Then again," he said, "I don't recall ever seeing you in anything that looked bad."
In the foyer she put on her flak jacket under a heavy parka.
They took a cab to Pete's Tavern, and although she wanted to take his arm or give him some other physical signal of reassurance, she forbade herself.
"You don't look so happy," he said.
"I'm going to miss you," she answered.
They sat in a rickety bench seat with an old varnished table. The bar was crowded. It seemed the place was full of people who knew each other, people who shared little pieces of their lives in this neighborhood. Even though there were millions of people in Manhattan, somehow the people in this spot managed to have a sense of community.
"There is something I need to tell you," Michael said.
He told her the story of the encounter with the lawyer in the restaurant.
When he finished, she tapped the table. She knew the veins at the base of her neck would be standing out as her face reddened.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this."
"Well, don't get mad. I'm telling you now."
"You could get killed or kidnapped. You're practically a national treasure and I like you."
"Okay, well, I'm still here."
"Good. Let's keep it that way."
"But I've got to do my business." He tilted his head and smiled a little.
"You accepted protection from Sam and the governments who hire him. You're supposed to let us keep you alive. Don't forget that. And besides, is it all right if I care what happens to you?"
"You have a boyfriend. Responsibilities. I look out for myself. Always have."
"We have to call Sam. Do you object to my calling Sam?"
"Wouldn't matter if I did."
"You got that right."
It took a while to get Sam. They patched her through to his cell phone and it rang forever. Quickly she explained Michael's encounter with the lawyer in the restaurant and just as quickly Sam explained what he wanted.
"Sam's coming from LA to New York. He's going to that meeting."
"What?" Michael's brain was moving but not fast enough. "He can't."
Grady just smiled.
"Okay. How?"
"To get in the door," she said, and winked, "he'll pretend to be you."
Michael wasn't at all certain he would allow Sam to attend the meeting in his stead. But at the moment he was more concerned about meeting Georges Raval.
"I'd like to go to Abercrombie and Fitch." He tried to sound nonchalant, but he wasn't sure he had succeeded.
"Huh?"
"Abercrombie and Fitch. Haven't you heard of them?"
"Of course, they're a dude store."
"You said I was a dude. So can't I go?"
"You're not
that
kind of dude." She wrinkled her nose. "All right. I'll get us some cabs."
"I want to take the subway."
"The subway?"
She called Yodo over from his corner and they huddled with one of the other guards. No doubt there would be a lot of talk about "security" and the subway. They walked Irving Street to the 1 and 9 at Fourteenth Street and went down Manhattan to Wall Street. From there they walked the few blocks to the Seaport shopping area, where they found Abercrombie & Fitch. Michael did his best to peruse the merchandise, but he was much more interested in hearing Grady's stories about growing up in LA.
At 4:25 p.m. he glanced at his watch.
"I've seen enough," he said. "Let's go."
"Let's take a cab."
"I like the subway. We take the 1 and 9 to Christopher, and it's only a short cab ride or a good walk."
"Since when did you become an expert on the subway?"
"Since I got a map. There is a saying,
'Em Roma, se romano.' "
"What's that mean?"
" 'When in Rome I am Roman.' "
"Michael, you are up to something here and you're terrible at hiding it."
"Huh?" It was another pitiful attempt to cover up.
"You've been, like, glancing at your watch every five minutes."
"I'll explain in a few minutes."
"Why a few minutes?"
"You'll have to wait for an explanation. You can come or stay."
"Unless this is a birthday surprise—and it's not my birthday—you're out of your depth with this shit. You gonna tell me?"
Michael just kept walking, setting his mouth in a grim line.
And, damn it, she followed.
They boarded the subway for the ride back up the West side of Manhattan. Once again he got her talking about her life in LA, until they exited at the Christopher Street station. It was 4:45 P.M., too early for Georges Raval. Michael couldn't help looking around the entrance to the south bound anyway.
"Now what?" she asked.
"We go into Starbucks for coffee."
"Who are you looking for? Your eyeballs might as well be on gimbals."
They walked past the newsstand, crossed the street from the little concrete island that was the entrance to the Christopher Street station, and walked into Starbucks.
"I'll clear all this up shortly."
"Now would be a good time," Grady said.
"What's a macchiato?"
"Italian for stained as with caramel in the coffee. You're not going to distract me."
Two of the bodyguards remained outside. Yodo and two others spread out around the place and each took a turn going to the counter and ordering. Grady and Michael were first in line and each ordered a soy latte with almond syrup.
They sat at a small table which was a little low for his height.
She unzipped her coat and got comfortable, but he kept his eyes on the subway staircase and the newsstand not one hundred feet away where he expected to see a man in a coat with a carnation.
"In a few minutes I'm going to meet a man. We will follow him; then I will go alone into an apartment building. If it doesn't look good, we go to the Lutheran church."
"You know this man?"
"Not exactly."
"No way can you go by yourself into a building."
"Get used to it."
"No. I won't get used to it. How about a compromise? How about we stand back so you can talk in private."
"We need real privacy. You must wait outside the building"
"It's too risky."
At that moment Michael saw a man in a dark coat crossing the street to the Christopher Street station. In the press of bodies he couldn't see the lapel. Slowly he rose, intent on the man and his coat. Then he saw the white carnation. The man was blond with longish hair and a beard. He walked easily— younger than he expected. And big. Could it be the right man? Then the man stopped right beside the newsstand near the subway stairs, just as he had said. It had to be him. Michael rose, went to the door of Starbucks, brushed his fingers through his hair, and put on his gloves. With a quick swipe of the hand, the carnation was gone.
Quickly the man began walking down Christopher. Michael followed and immediately Grady was on his arm, the whole entourage following.
As they walked down the darkened sidewalk amongst New Yorkers and tourists, the cabs were jamming the streets and crowds were going home. The air was cold and the psychic intensity of rush hour was running high.
"Can you see him?" she said to Michael.
"Sometimes."
They were passing the Lutheran church.
"You'll need to stop in a minute while I keep going a little way ahead of you. I need some space."
"No way."
The tension in him began to mount. For reasons he couldn't fathom he felt danger.
"What's happening, Michael?"
"Ahead. The man in the dark coat will soon cross the street and go into an apartment building. I will need to go alone inside."
"You're out of your mind."
"Then let me be out of my mind. This is important."
"Let's talk about it first," she said, stalling for time.
They were walking slowly now past a commercial building. She thought she saw someone step out from between two buildings ahead and then step back. Quickly she looked behind to Yodo and the other two guards and then to the one in front. Immediately behind them and in front of Yodo walked two men in heavy overcoats that seemed more grim than the weather. Not feeling right, she nodded to Yodo, suggesting that they cross the street. Yodo turned and looked behind and her eyes followed his and she focused on two more men coming up through the crowd. And then two more to the side.
"I need to go alone."
She barely heard Michael. A man had something in Yodo's side. She suspected a gun or a knife, although there were suddenly more people swarming and she couldn't be sure. Sam had been teaching her to listen to her instincts.
"You really need to stop here," Michael was saying. "Is someone following us?" he changed his thought in mid-sentence.
"Definitely!"
Yodo nodded to cross the street before whirling and striking one of the men.
"Come on," she said, grabbing Michael's arm. Michael hesitated. She yanked and screamed, "Go." They ran across the street through a meager break in the traffic. A couple of irate cabbies slammed on their brakes, probably needlessly. Others didn't and they blocked their pursuers.
To the far side of the street, there was a building of perhaps twelve stories and a smaller one beside made of a cut stone that was an elegant off-white. There was a service entrance and a space between the buildings. Along the sidewalk were awnings and near the small building wrought iron fences, stoops, and steps, a confusing array of obstacles and hiding places depending on the motivations of the observer. Right now she wanted to escape and her eyes were scouring, looking for someplace to go. There were enough men that they could be drugged and "helped" into a car or van before the police or anyone else could do anything.
They ran down the street, dodging startled people, some of whom shouted obscenities. She headed for a side street. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw all five of their bodyguards, including Yodo, in some kind of street fight. One of the men broke free to follow across the street and was immediately tackled. A man was running down the sidewalk, pushing through the crowd toward Yodo, shouting, "Police." She wondered for a second whether he was really the police.
When she and Michael rounded the corner of the side street, Michael grabbed her arm and pointed to a heavy six-inch black pipe that went up the side of the cut stone building. It was an inch from the building held by brackets bolted into the mortar, and no doubt into the wood superstructure beneath. There was just enough room between the pipe and the building to allow space for fingers. Looking more monkey than man, Michael climbed up rapidly, hand over hand, with his feet walking up the building in an amazing display of agility. His adrenaline had to be through the roof—he showed almost no sign of the wounded thigh that had nearly killed him. His climb attracted several onlookers. Then she saw what he was doing. One story up was a fire escape ladder that he grabbed and extended downward so that she could easily climb. As she started to grab the rungs, two men came running around the corner. For a couple of seconds they slowed as if to talk and reassure her.
"Hold it, we don't want to hurt you; we just want to talk." The man had a French accent. As she climbed, they kept coming.
Banging her shins, she went rapidly and then they were at the base of the ladder climbing as well. As she reached the first landing, Michael's body hurtled past her, traveling feet-first into the lead man and knocking him into the next. Michael hit the ground on top of them and, as quick as a cat, was on them removing their guns. The two men struggled on the ground, trying to rise, obviously with broken bones. She hoped Michael hadn't crippled them. People were coming warily closer.