Death Logs In (8 page)

“Michael, I’m glad this dinner worked out at the last minute. Sorry for the short notice.” Perkins clearly had an agenda to discuss with Michael.

“This was actually good timing, Richard. I had just finished my meeting and happened to be only a few blocks away when you called. I’m staying in the city tonight and I didn’t have any firm dinner plans, so this worked out well.”

Perkins looked around the table, seemingly comfortable with the apparent goodwill all around.

“Michael, things are moving quickly on our merger plan. Cartan has agreed to replace two of its board members with the bishop here—and myself—after the merger. John will continue in his current role reporting to me and we should soon have a confirmation on an expanded role for you—along with significant compensation bumps and parachutes for all of us. This is going to be a good deal for each of us and most of the Gibraltar executives.”

Michael felt like an outsider. He couldn’t tell whether this dinner was a carefully orchestrated attempt to persuade him to enthusiastically support the apparently preordained merger or whether Perkins was simply hoping to engender friendly camaraderie by bringing him together with his more trusted allies—or, perhaps more accurately, conspirators. He glanced slightly to his right. His eyes met Sindy’s as she finished her cocktail.

He sensed the others were waiting for him to speak. “Well, this all sounds good. I must admit, you are obviously closer to this situation than I am. Fortunately, none of this has leaked out anywhere. I’m just trying to run the company, produce results and keep our people focused on their jobs.”

John Hightower took this as his cue for what appeared to be a question he had been waiting to ask. “Speaking of our human capital, Michael, how are we doing on the headcount reduction plan?”

Michael fought the urge to attack, took another sip of his martini and decided to attack anyway. “First, John, you know I don’t use this bureaucratic doubletalk. I don’t care what all the HR gurus call it today. It’s not ‘human capital’—it’s people. Good ol’ employees.”

Hightower jumped in quickly, “Michael, the term human capital is being used to show that people are, just like our other assets, valuable and worth protecting. They need to show up on a balance sheet like a building or—”

Michael interrupted him. “Don’t give me that crap, John. The part you like about making people an asset is that assets depreciate over time and then they’re worth less so we can just get rid of them.”

Bishop McCarthy and Hightower exchanged glances. Michael looked carefully at Perkins to see if, he too, had knowingly locked eyes but he didn’t see anything that suggested such an obvious agreement. Instead, Perkins tried to calm things down, to play mediator.

“Michael, John, I don’t care what we call it. People, human capital, employees, personnel. We just have to bring the numbers into line before this merger can get done,” Perkins said.

Michael knew he had played his hand as long as he could without jeopardizing his own job. If persisted any further, he’d be gone and Perkins would replace him with someone who’d be happy to implement the carnage in return for a CEO position, a few million in salary and even more in stock options.

Ignoring Hightower and directing his words to Perkins, he retreated. “Richard, you know I’m not naive. I know what needs to happen. At the same time, I need to make sure I can keep things stable—”

Never one to want to hear a balanced discussion of pros and cons, Richard Perkins cut him off. “Michael, there’s no ‘at the same time’—you need to get this done. Get me the list of terminations and the effective dates. Have it to me within the week.”

Michael knew the discussion was over. The issue was closed. Just as he looked over again at Sindy, a small team of servers converged on their table carrying plates covered with silver domes. As the dome was lifted off his plate, Michael gazed at the filet of bison with foie gras and Perigord black truffles. On any other night, with any other company, he would salivate over the prospect of the first bite. Not tonight. He knew Sindy was having a better time, alone.

As they began to bite into their entrees, Richard broke the silence. “I do have some good news, Michael. Something that I think will ease your qualms.” Then, looking at Bishop McCarthy, he added, “Perhaps, Bishop, you’d like to break the news?”

Bishop McCarthy swallowed hard on his bite of well-done filet mignon while a tiny amount of its yellow béarnaise sauce seeped out of the corner of his mouth. After two or three seconds, he recovered and picked up on Perkins’ cue. “Yes, Michael. We are very excited about this. And, I agree with Richard, it will ease some of your concerns regarding how we treat your employees or, as I suggest we call them, ‘the Lord’s assets.’ ”

Michael looked over at Sindy’s table, wishing he was sitting in the empty seat facing her and enjoying his tender buffalo steak. Instead, he knew he was trapped in enemy territory. He looked at the bishop, trying to conceal the sarcasm that he feared was betraying him. “I can’t wait to hear.”

McCarthy was anxious to speak. “As you may know, Gibraltar was going to make a modest contribution to St. Joseph’s School here in the Bronx, my parish. Instead, in a bold gesture of genius, John came up with an even better approach. One that not only helps our underprivileged Catholic school children but will also improve the perception of our new, post-merger organization. At the same time as the merger is announced, we will disclose an even larger contribution—ten million dollars—by Cartan Holdings and Gibraltar Financial to build a new church and school on the lot adjacent to our rectory. So, you see, Michael, while we may have some negative publicity regarding the layoffs, many more needy children and parishioners will benefit from your generosity.”

Michael was tempted to ask him right then and there about the dead kids, but he knew he couldn’t prove anything and would only wind up prematurely revealing his hand—and his plan to bring an end to everything threatening him and his family.

Thankfully, the waiter approached the table. Looking at Michael he asked, “How is everything so far this evening?”

Looking around at the table, Michael simply smiled and said, “Everything is perfect, thank you.”

He looked for Sindy, but her table had already been cleared.

Chapter 17

New York City

I
t didn’t take long for Michael to explain everything that had gone on at dinner. After all, Sindy observed most of it, and even though she couldn’t hear the conversation, by closely watching the four men, their body language, their facial expressions, the glances exchanged and ignored, the food devoured or left in disgust, she had an excellent idea of everything that had transpired.

After several after-dinner drinks that Michael served in the living room of his St. Regis suite, they resumed their talk while sitting up, half-naked, against the large down pillows on the plush king-sized bed. Although he was feeling the limoncellos, he was still wired from the dinner discussions. He reached over to the side of the bed and, touching the control panel, dimmed the lights to create a soothing atmosphere.

“I’ve got a plan. Have you ever been to Rome?”

“Yes, a number of years ago. What’s the plan and how soon do we leave?”

“I’m not sure yet. Originally, I was going to have Richard Perkins or some others use their connections to make some introductions for me with a cardinal and his aide, a monsignor; they’re the ones protecting Sharkey. It was to be under the guise of a Gibraltar initiative. But I realize now that I’ve got to get higher, above them.”

“Did you ever think that maybe you’re being too slow, too corporate in how you’re approaching this?”

“I don’t have everything I need yet to go. Don’t worry. I have someone watching them in Rome. I know more than they think.”

“Who?”

“Let’s just say someone I trust. I can’t tell you yet and—I promise you—you don’t want to know. “

“And what about Hightower and McCarthy over here? Not to mention this Frank—we don’t even know what he looks like. They’ve got plans for you and they don’t involve you sitting behind a mahogany desk. Actually, they may be thinking mahogany but as in a casket.”

“Isn’t your job to protect me from them?”

“As long as I’m with you, no one’s going to get to you. You can relax.”

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“I have something else I think you need even more.”

Loosening her bra and leaving it to hang loosely, unfastened, she pulled down her black lace bikini panties and turned over on her stomach. She turned her head back and, looking at Michael, said “Why don’t you do something to me we’ve never done before? Maybe something that hurts.”

Chapter 18

Greenwich, Connecticut

A
s she drove up the quarter-mile stone driveway to John Hightower’s mansion, Sindy Steele could hear the tortured erratic breathing coming from the plastic wrapped and duct-taped parcel in the back of her FedEx truck.

His house sat atop a hill on a perfectly manicured lawn surrounded by tall trees. Steele knew that Hightower lived alone and that no one in Greenwich was likely to notice when commonly accepted delivery vehicles entered their neighbor’s property. In any case, this driveway was hidden from any neighbor’s view. So she felt assured that no one took note of the white FedEx truck with New York license plates making a late-afternoon delivery.

As she approached the set of four garage doors in front of her, she pressed a series of buttons on a calculator-like device, disarming the alarm system. Then, a stream of tiny red lights flashed until the garage doors all began to open. Three of the stalls were occupied with luxury cars, a black Mercedes, a silver BMW and a dark green Jaguar XKE. The fourth stall was empty.

She pulled the small truck into the garage and pressed the buttons again to close the doors behind her. She knew that she had plenty of time before Hightower returned home from his usual night of Manhattan barhopping.

She laughed to herself as she proceeded to unwrap her package. This will sober you up fast, Johnny boy, she thought. And don’t worry, there’s no signature necessary, but first, some assembly is required.

___________

John Hightower tightly gripped the leather steering wheel. He checked the orange glowing dashboard. It was 10:45 PM. He always hated driving at night, particularly in the rain. He knew he’d had too much to drink.

He exited the Merritt Parkway at the North Street ramp and, trying to stay focused on the road despite imperfect vision, an unusually dark, moonless night and a driving rain, he steered his navy blue Range Rover the two miles down North Avenue and, as he did so routinely now, turned right at his royal blue mailbox. As the rain came down harder, in sheets, thunder erupted and bolts of lightning streaked through the sky above. Hightower loosened his grip on the steering wheel. He was home and safe. He drove the last lap up his driveway and, as he approached the four garage doors, he pressed the clicker button above his windshield.

He was anxious to get inside, out of the storm and, as soon as possible, go to the bathroom. He knew he should have gone before he left the city. He wondered what had become of the attractive blonde who, he thought, had been so drawn to him at the Carlyle bar. They had spent three hours together drinking and laughing, when she suddenly checked her watch, excused herself, went to the ladies room and never returned. After sending someone in to look for her, he finally concluded that she had had second thoughts and simply left him. Hightower had chalked it up to the capriciousness of American women. It had been a long drive this evening.

The garage door didn’t budge. When rushed, he often pressed the button prematurely, before he was within range of the remote-controlled sensor. He pressed it again, pushing down hard and holding it until he saw the door begin to rise, revealing a still-dark interior. As the door lifted, disappearing into the garage ceiling, the interior light attached to the ceiling brightly illuminated the space immediately in front of his Range Rover. Hightower stared mindlessly into the void in front of him. Once the garage door had completely disappeared from view, he placed his foot on the accelerator pedal. But, despite his scotch-induced grogginess, something he saw caused him to stop; something was out of place, terribly wrong. At first, it simply didn’t register; as though his brain was unable to interpret what his eyes were seeing.

The interior of the garage was now like a theatre stage—flooded with the glare from the Rover’s powerful headlights and the lights attached to the garage door opener in the ceiling.

With the car idling, he opened his eyes wider, hoping, perhaps, that the vision in front of him would recalibrate, reshuffle and then make better sense. But, as he sat staring ahead, it only became clearer.

First, he saw the dangling legs, attached to black shoes and socks, black trousers, hanging, as though suspended like a mobile in midair. He raised his eyes, following the legs to a torso, and a full body, hanging, and, finally, a head and face, unnaturally red and grotesquely twisted to the side and downward. It was moving—the motion of the rising garage door mechanism had apparently caused the body to swing, as though it was trying to escape.

Hightower couldn’t move his eyes away from what he hoped he was imagining. Although lifeless, this dangling body was bizarrely familiar in its black jacket and white cleric’s collar. Time froze as he continued to stare ahead at what appeared to be a perfectly staged panorama, until he was sure that what he was seeing was really there.

Finally, he looked down at his cell phone on the console near his seat and, with a shaking hand and trembling fingers, punched in 911.

The strong voice came through the Range Rover’s speaker system, “Greenwich police, what is the nature of your emergency?”

“I’ve just pulled up to my garage. There’s a man hanging from the ceiling.”

Chapter 19

Flushing, New York

F
at Lester knew that his life was falling apart. He felt like he’d jumped off a skyscraper and was in a rapidly accelerating free fall. He knew he’d be meeting the pavement soon. His conversation with Rizzo made him wish it was now.