From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (11 page)

St. Vincent’s Services is where Carmen
chose to give a significant chunk of her money. He learned that St. Vincent’s
served more than seventy adolescents who directly benefitted from Carmen’s
generosity. Earlier, he called St. Vincent’s and spoke to a woman about making
a donation. “I want to make sure that this is where my friend, Carmen Gragera,
makes donations. We were talking about it at dinner the other night. I’m fairly
certain she said St. Vincent’s.”

The woman brightened at the sound of
Carmen’s name. She said that they had a close relationship with her and that
she was instrumental in the lives of many of their charges.

“We know Carmen well,” the woman said.
“She’s an angel, that one. She treats the children, regardless of their age or
what they might have done in their pasts, with respect and kindness. I can’t
tell you how many lives she’s changed. We’d be so grateful for your
support.”
 

“Is there any child in particular that
Carmen has
adopted
as her own?” Katzev asked.

“That’s easy,” the woman said. “There are
three. All young women, who at this point in their lives, are probably too old
for adoption. Two are fifteen, the other one is on the cusp of seventeen.
They’ll likely be with us until they graduate high school, which won’t be long
now. Carmen writes to them monthly and she visits them when she can. I think
she sees elements of herself in them, especially Chloe, whom she’s closest to.
I know she thinks she can help them just by being close to them and offering
advice about how best to go forward with their lives.”

“And who better than Carmen for that?” he
said without a trace of sarcasm, though within, he wanted to laugh at the
absurdity of it. “What are the names of the other two girls?” he asked.

“First names?”

“Sure.”

Giving out first names didn’t rub against
the rules of confidentiality set forth by St. Vincent’s board of directors. She
gave him the names, which he wrote down.

“They think of her as their sister,” the
woman said. “Maybe even as close as a surrogate mother as they’re going to get.
Whatever you can do for them and for the rest of our charges would be very much
appreciated. I’m not ashamed to say that we rely on any sort of generosity.”

“You have my complete support,” Katzev
said. “But I’d like to make my pledge a surprise to Carmen. Can we keep this
between us for now?”

“Of course! I’d love to surprise her.”

“That’s what I was hoping. I know she’ll
be thrilled. Are the girls doing well in high school?”

“All three are excelling.”

“That’s terrific. I’m sure Carmen’s
influence has helped. But schools are so important when college is likely the
next step. Which schools are they attending? I might be able to get them into a
private.”

“They all attend the same school and it’s
one of the best.”

“Which one is that?”

“Forest Hills? Right near Rego Park in
Queens?”

“That is a good school,” he said, writing
it down.

“And difficult to get in to, but Carmen
handled that for us. Carmen worked her magic. They should be getting out soon
for the day. Would you like to come here and meet them?”

“I can’t today,” Illarion Katzev said.
“But I definitely will visit soon.”

BOO
K TWO

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following morning, Carmen awoke on a
set of towels that smelled so strongly of bleach, she was surprised they hadn’t
asphyxiated her during the night.

With the shades drawn, her room at the
hotel was muted gray, but it was so bright along the periphery of the blinds
covering the windows, she could see the sun shined outside.

She swung her legs over the side of the
bed, looked around. In the chair across from her were the bags of clothes she
dropped off when she returned yesterday evening after shopping for clothes and
toiletries in the stores near the hotel. Thanks to Babe McAdoo’s courier, on
the desk at the end of the bed was a new MacBook Air. The hotel actually had
Wi-Fi, which Carmen considered as close to a miracle as she ever would come to
a miracle in her lifetime, so now she was once again fully connected to the
world, which was critical.

She reached for the phone on the table
beside her and pressed the button for the front desk. “I’d like a pot of
coffee, please.”

“Here at the Holiday Inn Express, we have
a complimentary breakfast that includes Gourmet Folgers Gourmet coffee, which
is being served right now in our dining area.”

“Folgers Gourmet? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“An oxy—?”

“Moron. Those two words have no business
being together in the same sentence.”

“But that’s what it says on the can.
Folgers
Gourmet
. I’ve seen it myself.”

“And you didn’t question it?”

“What’s to question?”

“How about just delivering a pot?”

“You can have a fresh cup of coffee and so
much more in our dining suite.”

“So, now it’s a suite?”

“Excuse me?”

“A moment ago, you called it a
dining
area
.”

“It’s a large serving area, currently
thriving with hungry customers.”

“Can you please just deliver me a pot of
coffee?”

“While we don’t provide room service, our
documented three-star service nevertheless abounds in our dining—”

Carmen hung up the phone and put her face
in her hands. She rubbed it in an effort to wake up. She had to eat. She knew
it. It had been two days since she’d had anything of substance.

But there was no way she was eating at
this dump.

She went over to the windows facing the
street, parted the curtains, winced at the bright light and saw a few
restaurants across the way. Each looked reasonably busy, which was promising.
She was meeting Babe and Jake later at Babe’s house on Park, but she had time
for a quick shower and breakfast. She pulled out a pair of jeans, a bra,
panties, and a sweater from one of the bags, ripped off the tags, placed the
clothes on top of the towels, grabbed her Glock from the bedside table, checked
the magazine, placed the gun on the basin next to the shower, turned on the
water, and stepped into it. Surprisingly, the water pressure was strong and
hot.
Score one for the Express
, she thought.

She was drying her hair with the hotel’s
underwhelming mini-hairdryer when her cell rang. She clicked off the dryer,
went into the other room, and picked up the phone on the desk to see who was
calling.

She felt a start when she saw that it was
Katzev.

She debated on whether to answer. Instinct
and experience told her it could go either way if she did answer, so she chose
to let him connect with her through voice mail first. Best not to engage him
now. If he left a message, he’d let her know why he was calling.

At least on some level, he
will.

She held the device in her hands and
waited. It took longer than she anticipated, but finally came the beep
signaling a message was left. She put the phone on speaker and listened to it.

“Carmen,” he said. “Ignoring me? Really?
After all these years? That’s a shame. Here’s another. I know how much you were
hoping to attend Chloe’s high school graduation next year, but that won’t
happen for one of two reasons. You’re either going to give yourself up so she
can enjoy her graduation and thus live out the rest of her life, or I plan to
kill her if you don’t come in. Of course, there’s a chance you might not come
in, that you’ll just sacrifice her because you really are as cold as I think
you are, so here’s the big picture. St. Vincent’s, where I’ve learned you give
a great deal of money and support, has seven group homes around Queens and
Staten Island. If you don’t come in, we will torch those homes late at night,
when everyone’s asleep, including the other two girls you admire—Valencia
and Shenika. Do you understand me? All inside will die. So, be sensible about
this. You’ve lived an exciting life, so why cheat these presumably reformed
kids from having a few adventures of their own? Haven’t they earned it? I’m
hanging up now, but know this—if I don’t hear from you soon, you never
know what I might do. Or already have done. You know the number. I suggest you
call and we’ll set up a time for you to come in so we can discuss the reason
we’re eliminating you. Deep down, you already know the reason. But to be fair,
in case you’re somehow in the dark about it, we’ll tell you in person and give
you an opportunity to respond before we act.”

The line went dead.

Carmen put down the phone and pulled her
damp hair away from her face. She twisted it angrily behind her head, flipped
it over into a knot, and pulled it tight.

Those girls meant everything to her. Her
contributions supported everyone at St. Vincent’s, but for years, those
particular three girls had her love, her friendship, and received as much of
her time as she could give them. She might not be capable of having children
herself, but she had these girls and they were like daughters to her. She’d
known them for eight years, she knew their hopes and their dreams, she knew of
their rotten pasts, and she’d do whatever she could to protect them.

He mentioned Chloe. Had he already done
something to her? If not, he was about to.

She picked up the phone and called
Spocatti.

“This is becoming a habit,” he said.

“Are you busy?”

“Actually, I’m still in Capri, enjoying
the sun. I told Babe I’d help where I can. I have nothing on the books for
another week, so I’m available to talk.”

“Where are you off to next?”

“Mexico.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Doesn’t matter. All of those unpleasant
things I’ve been asked to do there will buy me a house here, where I’ve decided
I want to live, at least part of the year. Have you been here?”

“Just once.” Years ago, her father took
her to Capri for a job. She was young, the situation was tense, the job was
difficult, but it also was thrilling. When they finished, her father said he
wanted to buy her a beer, which turned into five. They went to a small bar
tucked away in some random corner of Capri. It was midafternoon, it was mostly
empty, and it had only one window that overlooked the street, but her father
filled that bar for her with stories about his life that she didn’t know, but
held onto now. “I don’t remember much of it,” she said. “It was years ago. I do
remember that it was beautiful.”

“That’s all you remember about Capri?”

“I was there to do a job, Vincent. I
wasn’t there to sightsee. And I especially wasn’t there for a one-night stand.”
She didn’t mention her father. He knew nothing about him.

“Then you don’t know how to live. So,
what’s the problem now?”

She told him.

“That Katzev is a crafty one,” he said.
“We’ll get to him in a minute. First, I’m surprised by you, Carmen. You
actually give money to the poor? Who does that? And why are you so enamored by
children? Is that the reason you wouldn’t kill that little Hispanic bruja on
the Wall Street job? The one falling asleep at the kitchen table? The one I
eventually had to kill?”

“I don’t kill children, Vincent.”

“One day, over a bottle of wine in my new
villa in Capri, you’ll have to tell me why. I mean, come on. They’re like
whacking a piñata, only money falls out. If I’m asked to target some bumbling
six-year-old for execution because his or her parents won’t get in line for my
client, I’m on it. Quick money. You just sit quietly behind some bushes, watch
them totter blindly around a playground like zombies, and when they finally
settle down to dig in some dirt like the dogs they are—bam!—they’re
suddenly bleeding out and creating the sort of mess that children tend to
create. Then you’re off to the next job.”

“It’s not for me.”

“Your conscience kills me, Carmen, but
that’s one of the reasons I like you. We all have our limits, though I’ve yet
to find mine. Probably kittens.”

“Vincent—”

“So, about Katzev,” he said, the joking
over. “He’ll do what he said he’ll do. We both know that. One of your girls
will be dead soon if you don’t ring him up and offer yourself to him. If you
don’t, he’ll probably target another. And so on until he starts setting
buildings on fire. Are you prepared to die for these children?”

“Yes.”

“Who is this?” he asked, this time with a
note of impatience in his voice. “Carmen? An impostor? Apparently, I don’t know
you as well as I thought I did.”

“You don’t.”

“All right,” he said. “So you want to save
humanity from Katzev.”

“No. I want to put a bullet through his
head for killing Alex, for targeting me, and for threatening those girls and
St. Vincent’s. By the way,” she said, “the irony of St. Vincent’s name is
staggering, don’t you think? Maybe it’s your call to action.”