Big Jack (29 page)

“We’ll be clear in a minute.”

“He’s going to get him inside. He’s going to get him inside the apartment. Once he does . . . ”

 

Uptown, Trevor paid off the cab in cash. It occurred to him on the way up with Dix babbling a bit drunkenly beside him that he might not be able to get out of the city, out of the country immediately and he’d already left too much of a trail.

The cops had already interviewed and dismissed good old Chad, so they were unlikely to bother with him again anytime soon. But there wasn’t any point in leaving a credit trail in a cab to Dix’s front door.

This was smarter. Fifteen minutes, twenty, he’d walk out with millions. He’d stroll right by the doorman and down the block, catch a cab and pick up his car from the lot on Thirty-fifth.

He needed time to get back to his own place, pick up his passport and a few essentials. And he wanted a few minutes, at least a few, to admire the diamonds in the privacy of his own home. After that, he’d vanish. Simple enough.

He’d planned all of it already. He’d vanish, not unlike Samantha Gannon had done the last few days, but with a great deal more style.

A private shuttle to Europe, where he’d rent a car with a forged ID in Paris and drive himself to Belgium and a gem dealer he’d found through the underground. He had more than enough money for that leg of the trip, and once he’d sold some of the diamonds, he’d have plenty more for the rest.

Another transaction in Amsterdam, a trip to Moscow for a third.

Crisscrossing his way from point to point, using various identifications, selling off the gems here and there—never too many at a time—until, in six months perhaps, they were liquified and he could live the life he’d always deserved to live.

He’d require some face sculpting, which was a shame as he liked his face quite a bit. But sacrifices had to be made.

He had his eye on an island in the South Seas where he could live like a king. Like a fucking god, for that matter. And there was an exciting and palatial penthouse on the sumptuous off-planet Olympus Resort that would suit him very well as a pied-à-terre.

He would never, never have to pay lip service to the rules again. Never have to kowtow to his sniveling parents, pretend an interest in his mother’s obnoxious relatives or spend all those tedious hours every week in some box of an office.

He’d be free, as he was meant to be free. Claiming his rightful legacy at long, long last.

“Damn office again.”

Trevor tuned in to see Dix frowning at his beeping pocket ’link.

“Screw them.” Trevor laid a restraining hand on Dix’s. “Let them wait.”

“Yeah, screw them.” With the gin sliding through his bloodstream, Dix chuckled, dropped the ’link back in his pocket. “I’m so damn indispensable, I’ll have to up my fees.”

He strolled into the building beside Trevor. “In fact, I think I’ll take the rest of the day off. Let somebody else run on the wheel for a while. You know, I haven’t had a vacation in three months. Fricking nose to the fricking grindstone.”

He used his passcode to access the elevator. “You know how it is.”

“That’s right.” As Trevor stepped into the elevator with him, his heart began to trip lightly in his chest.

“Dinner party tonight. Jan and Lucia. You going to make that?”

It all seemed so petty to him now, so bland, so
small.
“Bored.”

“I hear that. Gets so it’s the same thing, day after day. Same people, same talk. But you’ve got to do something. Could use a little excitement though, something different. Something unexpected.”

Trevor smiled as they stepped off the elevator. “Careful what you wish for,” he said, and laughed and laughed as Dix unlocked his door.

 

Eve screeched to a stop outside Dix’s building. She was out of the car with her badge held up before the doorman could sputter an objection.

“Chad Dix.”

“He just came in. About ten minutes ago, with a companion. I’m afraid you can’t park—”

“I’m going to need a blueprint of the building and of the apartment.”

“I can’t help you with—”

She cut him off simply by holding up a hand, and looked over as Roarke pulled up. “I need the blueprints, and I need your security to shut down the elevators, block the stairwells on every floor. Roarke.” She jerked her head, knowing he’d get results quicker. “Talk the talk. Peabody, let’s get that backup.”

She yanked out her communicator to contact her commander and apprise him of the situation.

By the time she was finished, she was ready to confer with McNab and Feeney in the security office. The diagram of the building was up on screen.

“We send a uniform up to the other units on this floor. We determine what other tenants are in residence and move them out quick and quiet. Then we lock down the floor again. Make that happen,” she said to Peabody.

“Yes, sir.”

“Emergency evac in Dix’s unit, here.” She tapped a finger on the screen. “Can that be sealed from this location?”

“Sure.” Feeney jerked a thumb toward McNab to put him on that detail.

“He won’t be going anywhere,” Eve stated. “Got him locked, got him boxed. But that doesn’t help Dix. We wait and Whittier remains unaware of our presence, maybe he just walks out, but odds are he kills Dix, takes his prize, then tries to walk. That’s his style, that’s his pattern. We move in, we’ve got a civilian in the crosshairs. We let Whittier know we’re here and he’s sealed in, he’s got a hostage.”

“Has to be alive to be a hostage.”

She met Feeney’s gaze. “Yeah, but he doesn’t have to stay that way. Big place,” she continued, studying the diagram of the apartment. “Chad’s got himself a big-ass place. No telling where they are in it.”

“They came in chummy,” Feeney reminded her. “Maybe he takes the toy, leaves Dix alive.”

She shook her head. “Self-preservation comes first. Dix is too big a risk, so he has to eliminate him. Easier to do it now. He’s killed twice before and gotten away clean.”

To better absorb the whole of it, she stepped back from the screen. “We seal it up, we seal it up tight. Isolate him. Let’s go with decoy first. Delivery. See if we can get Dix to open the door. He opens it, we get him out, move in. He doesn’t, we assume he’s dead or incapacitated and we take the door.”

She pushed at her hair. “We work on getting eyes and ears in there, but we try the decoy now. This turns into a hostage situation, you take the negotiations?” she asked Feeney.

“I’ll get it set up.”

“Okay, somebody get me a package. McNab, you’re playing messenger. I want three of the tactical team up, positioned here, here, here.” She tapped the screen again. “Feeney, security and the coms are on you. McNab, let’s move.”

She looked at Roarke. “Can you ditch the locks on the door without letting anyone inside know?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders. “Let’s rock.”

 

 

 

Inside the apartment, Dix suggested another drink. “Since I’m blowing off the day, I might as well make it worthwhile.”

Calculating, Trevor watched him get out a martini shaker. The doorman had seen him come inside. Security disks would show him entering. If he needed a little extra time, it might be wise to set the stage for an accident. Alcohol in the bloodstream, a slip in the bathroom? He could and would be gone before they found the body. Gain a little more of a buffer while they investigated what would appear, on the surface, to be a drunken fall.

My God, he was clever. Wouldn’t his grandfather be proud?

“Wouldn’t say no to a drink. I’d really like to see the piece.”

“Sure, sure.” Dix waved him off while he mixed drinks.

He could send a text message from Dix’s ’link to his office, Trevor decided. Set it to transmit ten minutes after he left the building. Security and the doorman would both verify his exit if need be, and the message would appear—until they dug deeper—to have been sent by Dix himself, alive and well, and alone in his apartment.

God was in the details.

He could knock him out, anywhere, then cart him into the bath, angle him, let him fall so that his head hit the corner of the tub, say.

Bathrooms were death traps, after all.

“What’s the joke?” Dix asked as Trevor began to laugh.

“Nothing, nothing. Little private moment.” He took the glass. His prints wouldn’t matter. In fact, all the better that they show up on a glass. Nice, companionable drink with a friend. Not trying to hide a thing.

“So, what’s wrong with your father?”

“He’s an anal-retentive, stiff-necked, disapproving asshole.”

“A little harsh, seeing as he’s dying.”

“What?” Trevor cursed himself as he remembered. “Being dead doesn’t change what he is. I’m not playing the hypocrite over it. Sorry he’s sick and all that, but I’ve got to live my own life. Old man’s already had his, such as it is.”

“Jesus.” With a half laugh, Dix drank. “That’s cold. I’ve got issues with my father. Hell, who doesn’t? But I can’t imagine just shrugging it off if I knew he was going to kick. Pretty young for taking the slide, isn’t he?” He squinted as he tried to remember. “Can’t have hit even seventy yet. Guy’s just cruising into his prime.”

“He hasn’t ever been prime.” Because it amused him, Trevor spun out the tale. Lying was nearly as fun as cheating, and cheating came very close to stealing. Killing didn’t give quite the same rush. It was so damn messy. It was more of a needs-to-be-done kind of chore. But he was beginning to believe he’d enjoy ending Dix.

“Some genetic deal,” he decided. “His mother passed it to him. Son of a bitch probably passed it to me. Some brain virus or happy shit. He’ll go loony before he kicks. We’ll have to put him away in some plush cage for mental defectives.”

“God, Trevor, that’s really rough.” A glimmer of the man Samantha Gannon had enjoyed eked through the haze of gin. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. Look, forget the money. I didn’t know it was something like this. I wouldn’t feel right taking money for the loan when you’ve got all this on your head. Just to keep it clean, I’ll draw up a paper, a receipt, but I can’t take any money for it.”

“That’s big of you, Chad.” It got better and better. “I don’t want to trade on sympathy.”

“Look, forget it. Your father’s got a sentimental attachment to the piece, I get that. I’m the same way myself. I couldn’t enjoy owning it if I thought about him being upset, under the circumstances, that it was sold off. When, ah, the rest of the collection comes to you, and you want to unload any of it, just keep me in mind.”

“That’s a promise. Hate to cut this short, but I really should get moving.”

“Oh, sure.” Dix drained the last of his drink, set the glass aside. “Come on back to the display room. You know, the reason I took this apartment was for this room. The space, the light. Samantha used to say I was obsessed.”

“She’s your ex, what do you care what she used to say?”

“Miss her sometimes. Haven’t found anyone else who interests me half as much as she did. Talk about obsessions.” He stopped, blocking the doorway. “She got so wrapped up in that book she couldn’t think about anything else. Didn’t want to go out, barely noticed if I was around. And what’s the big deal? Just a rehash of family stories, and that bullshit about diamonds. Who cares? Could it be more yesterday?”

Yes, Trevor thought, it would be a pleasure to kill this tedious moron. “You never know what’ll juice the unwashed masses.”

“You’re telling me. The thing’s selling like it was the new Word of the Lord. You were pretty interested,” he remembered. “Did you ever read that copy I passed you?”

“Scanned through it.” Another reason to snip this thread, he reminded himself. And quickly. “It wasn’t as compelling as I’d thought it would be. Like you said, it’s yesterday. I’m a little pressed for time now, Chad.”

“Sorry, sidetracked.” He turned toward the wide etched-glass door. Through it Trevor could see the floating shelves, the glossy black cabinets all lined or filled with antique toys and games. “Keep it locked and passcoded. Don’t trust the cleaning service.”

The lock light continued to blink red, and the computer’s voice informed him he’d entered an incorrect passcode.

“That’s what I get on three martinis. Hold on a sec.”

He reentered while Trevor stood vibrating behind him. He’d spotted the shining yellow bulldozer, parked blade-up on a wide, floating shelf.

“You’re going to need a box for it,” Dix commented as he rekeyed. “I keep some stored in the utility closet off the kitchen. Some padding there, too.”

He paused, leaned on the glass door until Trevor imagined bashing his head against it. “You’re going to have to promise to return it in the same condition, Trev. I know your father’s careful, and you’ve got a decent collection yourself, so you know how important it is.”

“I won’t be playing in the dirt with it.”

“I actually did that when I was a kid. Can’t believe it now. Still have a couple of trucks and one of the first model airbuses. Bunged up pretty bad, but sentimental value there.”

The light went to green, and the doors slid open. “Might as well get the full effect. Lights on full.”

They flashed on, illuminated the nearly invisible shelves from above and below. The brightly painted toys shone bright as jewels with their ruby reds, sapphire blues, ambers and emeralds.

Trevor’s gaze tracked across, and he noted the wide curved window, without privacy screen. Casually, he crossed over, as if studying the collection, and checked the windows on the building next door.

Screened. He couldn’t be sure, not a hundred percent sure there wasn’t someone on the other side looking over. He’d have to make certain Dix was out of view when he put him down.

“Been collecting since I was ten. Seriously since I was about twenty, but in the last five years I’ve really been able to indulge myself. Do you see this? Farm section. It’s an elevator, John Deere replica in pressed steel at one-sixteenth scale. Circa 1960. Mint condition, and I paid a mint for it, but it was worth it. And this over here . . . ” He took a few steps, swayed. “Whew. Gin’s gone to my head. I’m going to grab some Sober-Up. Look around.”