Lethal People: A Donovan Creed Crime Novel (31 page)

Chris waved his brother o
ff
, tried to keep the calm in his voice. “Let’s all just relax,” he said. “Look, gentlemen, we’ve all seen this a hundred times in the movies. You can threaten me all you want, but in the final analysis, we all know you’re blu
ff
ng. You have no intention of throwing me out the window, so let’s just sit down and—”

Quinn threw Chris Unger out the window.

CHAPTER 40

S
al raised his eyebrows and said, “Holy shit!”

I addressed Sal while keeping my eyes glued to Big Bad. “Are we going to have a problem with you over this?” I asked.

“Fuck no,” said Sal. “Tell him to toss Bernie, too!”

Double X’s eyes went wide. He stopped gasping and lay perfectly still, trying to make himself as small as possible in the room. I wondered if this type of behavior was acceptable in the quad cage.

Garrett Unger, Greg and Melanie’s former attorney, remained where he stood, ashen-faced, dumbstruck. He grabbed the corner of Chris’s desk for support and stared at the window, his mouth agape. This was a man whose source of power derived from thoughts and words—which might explain why his lips and mouth were moving a hundred miles an hour as he mumbled sentences none of us could understand.

Garrett Unger slowly eased himself down. Though his body quickly conformed to the contours of the chair, I wasn’t convinced his mind was suitably focused.

Quinn turned to face him.

“Wh-wh-what do you want to know?” Garrett asked.

“Think about it,” I said.

“B-But … I c-c-can’t.”

I looked at Quinn. “Augustus?”

Quinn took a photograph out of his pocket and tossed it into Unger’s lap. The picture had yesterday’s date stamped on the lower right-hand corner, along with the time the photo had been taken. It was a simple photograph, depicting a typical family scene: an afternoon lunch at Denny’s, a small boy sitting at the table playing Nintendo DS while his older sister sat beside him, lost in her teenage thoughts, their mother talking to the waitress.

In other words, Garrett Unger’s wife and children.

“Wait!” said Garrett Unger. He’d just lost his older brother, but the photograph helped him understand he was a brother second, a husband and father first. He began collecting himself. He took a couple of deep breaths and said, “This information doesn’t leave the room, okay?”

I don’t know what type of people Unger was used to dealing with, but I hoped to hell they occupied a higher rung on the honesty ladder than Sal, Big Bad, Quinn, and me.

“You have my solemn word.” I said, solemnly.

Big Bad laughed out loud.

Quinn said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Sal said, “Talk or fly.”

Unger nodded. “Okay, okay. I can give you his name.”

That comment surprised me. “Whose name?” I said.

“Arthur Patelli.”

“Who?”

“The guy who set fire to the house. That’s what you’re after, right?”

I shook my head. “You can’t be this stupid, even for a lawyer. But I don’t have the time to straighten you out right now.”

I looked at Sal. He held up his hands and said, “Lawyers, Christ Almighty. What you gonna do, huh?”

I said, “Garrett, look at me.”

He did.

“You want to save Joe DeMeo or your family?”

“What?”

“DeMeo or your family. Which one?”

He looked down at the picture in his lap. “How can you even ask that question?” he said.

“Well, you’re an attorney.”

He nodded. “I’ll do anything to save my family. Please don’t hurt them. Just tell me what you want.”

Sal said, “Guys, I don’t wanna—whatcha call—eat and run, but you just tossed a law partner out the window, and even if no one in this fancy shithole saw it, someone on the street did.”

I looked at him. “Good point. We’ll take Garrett with us and trust you to come up with a cover story for DeMeo.”

Sal asked, “You brought a car?”

I shook my head. “We’ll take Chris’s car.”

Sal said, “If you had his car keys you could.” He laughed. “Who’s gonna jump out the window and get the keys?”

“My guess, they’re in his desk drawer,” I said. “In my experience, a man who wears an Armani suit doesn’t want bulging pockets.”

Big Bad slid the desk drawer open, fished out the car keys, and dangled them from his ham-sized hand.

“Good call,” Sal said. “Don’t forget the cameras. They get us coming and going.”

“Quinn will take care of the cameras,” I said.

Speaking to Quinn, I said, “Augustus, will you do me a favor and clean this mess up while I get Garrett in the car? I’ll send the elevator back up for you in a minute.”

I grabbed the mumbling Unger, and we followed Sal and Big Bad into the private elevator and down to the partners’ parking garage. Big Bad found Chris’s Mercedes by pressing the remote and following the chirp. He opened the trunk and helped me toss Garrett inside. I scanned the garage for external security cameras and found none. I guessed the partners didn’t want video proof of their meetings with criminals or perhaps dalliances with call girls. I didn’t ask what happened to Chris Unger’s secretary, but I had a feeling Sal’s car had plenty of traction in the back.

Augustus joined us a moment later, and we drove out of the garage and into tra
ffi
c. I called Beck Building security and said there was a bomb in the building set to go o
ff
in two minutes.

“Who are you!” the security guard demanded.

“In the quad cage, I’m known as Double X,” I said.

I gave them a few minutes to complete the evacuation of the building. We hit the interstate heading north on 75, and Quinn placed a call to the detonating device.

From the interstate, we had a wonderful view of the top of the building as it exploded and burst into flames.

Big Bad called and said, “Double X gone to that big quad cage in the sky.”

CHAPTER 41

“
W
hat about my family?” Garrett Unger asked.

We were at headquarters in Bedford, Virginia, in the interrogation room. Lou stood by the door with his arms crossed, wearing a bored look on his face. Quinn was listening to a jazz mix on his iPod. I tossed Unger a disposable cell phone.

I said, “You’re going to stay here as my guest until you get a call from Joe DeMeo. If Joe’s smart, he’ll give you a password to some of his numbered o
ff
-shore accounts. Lou already set one up for me. When you get the passwords from DeMeo, you’re going to transfer the funds from DeMeo’s account into mine. When Lou gets confirmation that the money’s where it should be, I’ll remove the threat to Mary and the kids.”

We all waited for him to ask the question we knew was coming. He didn’t disappoint. “What about me?” he asked.

“That’s a toughie,” I said. “On the one hand you were plotting to kill me a couple hours ago, and that displeases me. On the other hand, I need you alive in case someone at the bank requires oral or written confirmation for the transaction. As DeMeo’s attorney, I’m sure you can produce whatever is needed to a
ff
ect the transfer.”

He was looking at me in a pitiful way.

“I won’t lie to you, Garrett,” I said. “You were a major player in the killing of Greg, Melanie, and Maddie Dawes. Because of your participation, Addie’s life has been shattered.”

“Killing me won’t bring them back,” Unger said. “All I did was allow it to happen. If I hadn’t, DeMeo would have killed my family.”

“You were in a tough spot,” I said, “and you’re still in a tough spot. As you say, killing you won’t bring them back. But money’s the great healer, and enough money will help all of us cope with the loss.”

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said.

I thought about that for a minute. “Garrett, we’ll see how it all plays out. If you help me get at least twenty million dollars from Joe DeMeo, I won’t kill you.”

He looked at Quinn. “What about him?”

“Same thing.”

“You’ll let me walk?”

“Hell, I’ll even have someone drive you home.”

“Can I take a cab instead?”

“That’s fine, whatever.”

“Can I call my family?”

“Not until this is over.”

He nodded. “In the meantime,” he said, “where will I sleep?”

I said, “Quinn and I are going out of town in a couple hours. Until I get back, you can sleep in my bed.”

“That’s very generous,” Unger said. “Thank you.”

I waved my hand in a dismissive manner. “Think nothing of it,” I said, wishing I could be there to see his face when Lou escorts him to my subterranean prison cell for the night.

CHAPTER 42

C
olby, California, was a small town, and it wasn’t unusual to spot Charlie Whiteside coming out of his shrink’s o
ffi
ce on Ball Street. It was no secret that Charlie’s depression had gotten him washed out of the Afghanistan war. Used to be, pilots of unmanned aerial vehicles, UAVs, had it easy. Charlie could sit in an air-conditioned room at Edwards Air Force Base and launch remote-controlled killer drones while munching fast food. He’d put in a day’s work studying live surveillance footage, lock onto the occasional target, press the button on a joy stick—and be home in time for dinner with the wife and kid.

In fact, it seemed such an easy way to fight a war that in the early weeks of therapy, it had been di
ffi
cult for his shrink to understand just what it was Charlie was whining about.

“You’re a guy,” she said, “who’s had to deal with frustration and ridicule your entire life.”

Charlie had closed his eyes as he ran the highlight reel through his mind. “And much worse.”

Charlie wasn’t exaggerating. While his parents had been normal, it had taken Charlie many years to grow to his full height of thirty-two inches. His father, having dreamed of spawning a scholarship athlete, found it impossible to derive joy from any of Charlie’s accomplishments. For her part, Charlie’s mother had accepted his condition from the beginning—but with a stoic detachment and much embarrassment. While neither parent clinically abused him, neither did they embrace or nurture him. They took care of him in a casual way, met his physical needs. But had anyone cared to notice—and none did—it would have been clear that Charlie’s role in the family dynamic had been relegated to that of accessory in his parents’ lives.