Slow Burn (30 page)

“I have, and I appreciate it. But…”

“I’ll also have you know that you’ve managed to impress quite a number of people in this town. Important people who need help from time to time. The kind of discreet help a man with your particular set of skills could easily provide.”

I was going to ask him what he meant by that, but for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut up and let him keep talking. I took a drink. “That so?”

“It is, indeed,” he said. “This country has gone through a great many changes in the past few years, Charlie, and it’s in for a great many more in the years to come. As you may or many not be aware, my family has been close with the Roosevelts for quite some time.”

That was an interesting bit of news I hadn’t known.

“I have been particularly close with Franklin since childhood,” Mr. Van Dorn went on. “I was a great help to him getting to the governor’s mansion in Albany, and I imagine I’ll be of further help to him once he wins the presidency.”

“If he wins,” I said.

He smiled as though it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard. “Of course. If he wins. But assuming he does, I’ll be in a position of great influence in his administration. It would be a comfort for me to know that I had a man like you at my side.”

The weight of everything he’d been telling me hit me all at once. I’d led him around by the nose once already and that was once too often to suit me. “Harry, the knock against me isn’t all wrong. I’m damned near every bit as crooked as they said I was. Sure, everyone else was doing it, but that’s no excuse.”

“Yet you were enough of a detective to find my daughter’s killer and bring my son back to me alive.” Harry said. His face changed a little. “Speaking of which, I understand you already know I’m going to be a grandfather.”

My face reddened a bit. “I meant to tell you that, sir, but the time didn’t present itself. But I’m glad Jack was able to tell you himself.”

“Thanks to you, he was. I swore to you that I’d reward you if you brought my boy back to me and his mother. Well, Charlie, I’m glad to tell you your reward is here.”

“Sir, that’s not really necessary.”

“Of course it is. I’ve taken the liberty of making some calls on your behalf. I’ve arranged for you to be allowed to retire early from the department. Your military service will be counted toward your pension. You’ll be quietly promoted to Detective Lieutenant under the condition that you retire immediately upon your promotion. That way, you’ll be allowed to retire at that advanced pay grade. After that, you’ll come to work for me.”

“Work for you?” I wanted to laugh. Not because I thought any of this was funny, but because I didn’t know what else to do. “Doing what?”

“Whatever I, and my friends, need doing,” he said. “At least for a little while, until we can find something more suitable for you. Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll see to it that you’re kept very busy.”

An offer like that is a hell of a lot to take in all at once. All of those expectations. All of that responsibility. He seemed to read my mind, and put his hand on my arm. “You were a friend to me when I needed one, Charlie. Please let me be a friend to you now.”

I was still trying to catch up with everything he’d just told me when the house lights dimmed and the piano player started on the ivories. He wasn’t very good, but the piano wasn’t much in tune, either. Alice appeared through the curtain and the stragglers in the audience clapped. She started in on a rendition of “Stardust.” She winked at me while she did it, and I damned near passed out.

Hell of a girl, that Alice. She deserved a break like this. So did I. I picked up my glass and toasted my new best friend.

“Harry, you’ve got yourself a deal.” He smiled and clinked my glass. Alice warbled on a high note in the chorus, not that it mattered. Her voice was good enough for this place. It was good enough for me. The Scotch warmed my throat and, maybe — just maybe — all was right with the world.

Yep, things were finally looking up indeed.

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T
HE MAN
who called himself James Hicks checked his watch when he reached the corner of Forty-second and Lexington. It was just past eleven in the morning; more than an hour before he was scheduled to ruin a man’s life.

And plenty of time to smoke a cigar.

He braced against a sharp wind as he crossed Forty-second Street. A cold humidity had settled in over Manhattan and the weather reports had done a great job of whipping everyone into a frenzy over the coming storm. TV stations and websites hawked it as ‘The Big One’ and ‘Snowmageddon’ and the ever popular ‘Snowpacalypse.’ The experts were predicting over two feet of snow with high winds and freezing temperatures for the next few days. It was too early to call it the Storm of the Century, of course, but that didn’t keep the media from building it up that way.

Based on the data Hicks had been able to draw from the University’s OMNI satellite array, he predicted the snow would be about a foot; with wind and ice being more problematic than the snow itself. He could remember a time not too long ago when New York would barely notice eight inches of snow, but panic was en vogue these days. Welcome to the post-9/11 world where preparation was paramount.

He understood why meteorologists exaggerated snowfall predictions. They were covering their asses against being wrong. If it was a little more, then they were close enough to claim accuracy. If the snowfall was a little less, at least it wasn’t as bad as everyone had feared. Accountability took a backseat to relief and everyone went on with their lives. Either way, the weather folks had covered their respective asses.

Hicks hadn’t worried about covering his ass in a long time. He didn’t need to. Because in his line of work, small mistakes were forgotten and big mistakes got you killed. Such harsh, immutable constants brought a certain resignation to Hicks’ life that he found almost peaceful. Danger can be a comfort as long as you know it’s there.

Hicks headed for the concrete ashtrays placed in the alcove of the Altria Building across from Grand Central Terminal. There were a few cigar stores in the area where he could smoke indoors in warm comfort; maybe stir up some conversation with his fellow smokers on such a cold and blustery day.

But Hicks didn’t want comfortable and he sure as hell didn’t want conversation. He was working and needed the cold air to keep him sharp, especially before rolling up on a new Asset in less than an hour.

He stood out of the wind in the alcove of the Altria building and lit his cigar. It wasn’t a cheap cigar, but far from the most expensive stick on the market. There was a time for savoring good tobacco and now wasn’t it. Today, the cigar was merely a tool to help him stay focused and calm while killing time before his appointment. Because although Hicks had flipped hundreds of people from being regular civilians into Assets for the University, he still believed that changing a man’s life forever deserved some pause.

Most of Hicks’ colleagues didn’t give much thought about the Assets they forced into the University system. They focused their efforts on researching the right prospect to turn; digging deep into the person’s past for that one knife they could hold to their throat to make them comply. Past offenses and indiscretions they didn’t want to see come to light. Current mistakes that could get them fired or ruin their marriage. Hicks’ colleagues ran checks and analyses on a potential Asset’s personality profile to make sure he or she could stand up to the passive pressures of the University’s constant influence in their lives. If they passed all the OMNI simulations, then an Asset was approached, broken, and put to work. If an Asset cracked and killed himself or had to be eliminated, then OMNI was simply directed to change parameters to account for the shortcomings in the analysis model. It was all as simple—and inhumane—as that.

OMNI was the University’s Optimized Mechanical and Network Integration protocol. The name was a relic of the group’s past and had been around almost since the University’s beginning. It was a term that had long since been outdated, but had managed to remain in use. When new hires asked details on which network, they were told ‘All of them.’ They soon saw the powerful reach of OMNI for themselves.

But Hicks had been running Assets long enough to know human beings never fit neatly into a computer program, no matter how advanced it was. Turning an Asset was like adopting a stray dog or a blind cat. They were being brought into an established environment and made to go against their own nature for your own benefit. The pet owner expected companionship and affection. The pet was expected to respond in kind or catch a rolled up newspaper in the nose.

Assets were expected to provide the University with information or access or options it needed at the time, but didn’t have. If the Asset played along and did what was asked of him, he made out well. If he refused or got cute, they got the University’s equivalent of a newspaper in the nose: a bullet in the brain.

From the shelter of the high alcove, Hicks checked the clock high above the façade of Grand Central across the street. The clock was; flanked by the stone images of a strident Mercury, a sitting Minerva and a lounging Hercules. The gods of speed and industry and commerce all concerned about time. Just like everyone else. Hicks found it a refreshing scene. Not even the gods were free of mortal troubles.

And in about forty-five minutes, Hicks would attempt to enroll a money man named Vincent Russo into the University system.

Hicks took a good draw on the cigar and let the smoke slowly escape through his nose. The frigid wind caught it and blew it across Forty-second Street. The streets were empty thanks to the impending storm, so there was no one around to complain about the stray smoke.