The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (9 page)

    
"How so?"

     
"I don't know. I haven't pinned that down yet."

     
"It must mean he's middle-aged, suspicious, and has
a nasty mouth."

     
She shook her head, grinning. "Not middle-aged, but
he is a bit older. Paul's in his thirties." Late thirties.

     
"Been married before?"

    
"Never. He's always traveled a lot."

    
"That wouldn't stop him from meeting women. It
sounds like he just brings them with him. I assume you
were just down in the Bahamas with this guy, too."

   
"Yes, I was." Susan curled her lip.

    
"And you know for a fact he's not married now."

    
"Come on, daddy. Don't start."

   
"Okay." Lesko raised his hands.

   
"He's a good man, daddy. He really is. And he's
definitely not married."

   
"Listen," Lesko waved off the subject and picked up
the check. "Fathers worry about their daughters. It
comes with the territory. All I can do is try not to be too
much of a pain in the
ass
about it. Excuse me."

   
"I understand that."

   
"That'd be another switch."

   
Susan winced as the dart struck home. "You know
something, Lesko?"

  
"What?"

    
"I'm dying for you to meet a woman just so I can be
as big a pain in the ass as you are.
Excuse me."

    
"Don't hold your breath. Anyway, when do I meet
Paul Bannerman?"

   
"Soon. As soon as we get back."

     
"What about tomorrow night? I can get my hands on
three more Knicks tickets."

   
"We just can't," she shook her head. "We're both
working day and night to clear off our desks. Anyway,
tomorrow night I'll be packing."

    
"It's the Celtics. What kind of a creep would pass up
a Knicks-Celtics game?"

    Su
san reached across the table. Lesko pulled his
hands away. "This is where you take my hand again
right? It's where you dig in your nails if I don't shut up?"

    
"As soon as we get back, daddy. Promise."

CHAPTER 3

There was more that Lesko wanted to know about
Susan's upcoming trip and about this new man who
seemed to have been very much in her life for the past
few months. But for the moment, all he wanted to do
was get her out of there and see if the guy at the bar
tagged along.

He did not look toward the bar as they walked to the
coatroom. But once there, and certain that a tail would
not be caught watching them leave, he had a moment
to study the man in the topcoat as he struggled into his
own. The man could have been a lawyer. Middle thir
ties, thinning hair, conservative clothes and haircut.
And he had money in his hand. He was leaving it on the
bar to pay for his still-unfinished drink.

"I can't eat like I used to." Lesko rubbed his stomach
as they reached the street. "You mind if we walk it off a
little?"

"Sure." Susan took his arm.

Lesko led her on an ambling stroll through New
York's theater district, stopping under two marquees to
read posters until Susan wondered aloud about his sud
den interest in the Broadway stage. A block behind
them, the man from Gallagher's bar was showing a simi
lar interest in a window display of "I Love New York"
souvenirs.

"Come on," Lesko kept his voice casual. "We'll walk
over to Eighth Avenue and get the subway."

He was strongly tempted to put her in a cab alone,
then walk around the next corner and wait for the man

to
catch up. On Eighth Avenue, after midnight, it
wouldn't matter how many people were
around or how
much noise he made. People would just walk by. Or
they'd hang around to see what might be left in the
guy's pockets when Lesko finished with him. Another
option was to put her in a cab and keep walking to see if
by chance it was Susan who was being followed. But first
and last he wanted Susan safely home. And he wanted
the man behind them to be on foot when he got her
there.

Susan's apartment building, on the Upper West Side,
was a block and a half from the subway exit at 79th
Street and Broadway. No doorman, but the entrance
was well-lit and there were two sets of heavy glass doors.
Lesko stopped at the outer doors and offered Susan his
cheek. She hugged him, instead.

Lesko hugged back. "I'll
give
you a call before you
go
,
all right?"

"Daddy, is anything wrong?"

"A little heartburn from the onion rings. I'll walk
some more."

A hundred yards behind him and across
the street there was a panel truck with the name of a
plumber on its side. The man had stopped behind it.

"Take care of yourself." Susan gave a final squeeze.
"Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart." Lesko held on to her.
"Listen, don't give me any heat about this, okay? I want
you to give me a wave from the window after you've
checked out your apartment and locked the door."

No use arguing. "Sure, daddy."

"Go on. Go to bed."

"We'll talk."

Lesko watched her through the lobby and then
stepped into the quiet street where he
waited five min
utes for the wave from the seventh floor window. Re
turning it, he motioned for her to close her curtains,
which she did
after a mimed gesture of exasperation. Satisfied, Lesko moved off toward Columbus Avenue, staying to the north side of the street to thwart any notion she might have of watching him go. He walked until he was well out of possible view
, then, almost abreast of the panel truck, he crossed abruptly to the
south side of the street. In his hand was his service
revolver, which he pressed against his thigh.

Lesko considered the other man's options. He could try walking away, gambling that Lesko had not spotted him before just now, he could hide behind the truck or even under it, gambling that he hadn't been spotted at
all. Either way, Lesko had to assume he was armed and
that his hand would
b
e resting on the butt or hilt of a weapon. But the man showed more imagination than
that. By the time Lesko reached the far sidewalk his tail
from Gallagher's had become a lurching drunk who
stood at the panel truck's door fumbling through a set of
keys. Lesko smiled harmlessly as he passed. Then he
whirled, his left fist whistling as it slammed into the
man's kidney.

The man arched and gasped, sucking in a breathless
scream as Lesko took his head and rammed it against
the lettering of the plumber's name. Lesko raised his .38
and hooked it under the man's jawline
^'
keeping him from
falling as his free hand patted down the rigid body.

     He found a shoulder holster. It was empty. The Smith &
Wesson, also a service model, was tucked under his belt,
where it could have been drawn more easily. Lesko
pocketed the revolver, then patted further for
a second
weapon. Finding none, he tore loose the man's wallet
and pocketed that as well.

"We'll start with your name." Lesko's teeth were
bared.

"I can't ... I can't brea ...... The man's chest
heaved and his throat made choking sounds.
"Your name," Lesko repeated.

Another gasp. A shudder. Lesko could feel the man's body sagging down against the truck. But he could also
feel the muscles in the man's shoulders. They were taut,
not flaccid. And Lesko could feel the spring being read
ied in the younger man's legs. Lesko lowered the gun
and shifted it, unseen, into his left hand. Then he
pressed his right thumb hard between the man's shoul
der blades and backed off a step. "Okay, let's walk," he
said.

The man pivoted and sprang, his left hand whipping toward Lesko's thumb. He spun, his knee cocked in the
direction of Lesko's groin, the butt of his right hand
aimed at where Lesko's nose should have been, his left
hand groping for the gun that was no longer there. He
froze in mid-motion, realizing first that Lesko had
danced out of reach and second that the muzzle of
Lesko's gun had now appeared from the wrong direc
tion and stopped three inches from his forehead.

"Don't you feel stupid?" Lesko asked.

The man stared, then sagged.

Lesko knocked him cold.

Robert Loftus, his driver's license read. 21 Mayfield
Road, Arlington, Virginia. Credit cards said the same.
But no official ID. No business cards.

There was a stone stoop close by. A townhouse, No
lights except for the third floor. Lesko dragged him
from the curb and propped him in a sitting position on
the cold marble steps. He sat close to him, pressing him
firmly against one of the twin stone balustrades of the
stoop. Finding his penlight, he began a closer examina
tion of the wallet's contents.

Robert Loftus was a cop. Some kind of cop. Lesko
was sure of it the moment Loftus tried that disarming
maneuver. It's a good maneuver. Hardly ever fails. As
long as you know which hand you're disarming. Okay,
Robert. What kind of cop are you? Probably federal, if
your address means anything.

"Hey, Robert," Lesko whispered. He jabbed his ribs
with his elbow.

The younger man coughed, then moaned.

Lesko jabbed him again. "Come on. You're drooling
all over that nice coat."

"Wait . . ." Robert Loftus managed. "Wait a sec
ond." He lowered his face into his hands.

"You want to tell me who you work for, Robert?"

". . . No one."

"Yeah, well, I'm just going to have to keep your driv
er's license until I find out. What if you have to cash a
check for groceries, meantime?"

“F
uck you."

     
Lesko rammed his upper arm against Loftus's mouth
so he couldn't scream. Then he brought the butt of his
gun down hard on the other man's kneecap. It made the
dull, hollow sound of a brick being crushed.
Lesko felt
the man's teeth trying to bite through his coat but the
jaws had no strength. He waited for the first surge of
agony to subside.

"Just so we understand each other," Lesko said al
most gently, "you do know that's my daughter I was

with tonight, don't you? Just nod if you know."
Loftus's head jerked rapidly, his face contorted in
pain.

"Well, I have to tell you, I don't have any patience at
all with people who involve her in
things like this. On
top of that, you almost ruined a very nice evening. Who
do you work for, Robert?"

". .. The government."

"You want to be any more specific?"

"... Your government." He regretted the wisecrack instantly and reached to cover his knee.

But Lesko only sighed and slid his body even closer.
"You see, Robert, basically I believe that. Because if I
didn't think you were one of the good guys, I would
have already snapped your spine and dumped your
body over in Central Park somewhere so my daughter
shouldn't
worry she lives in a high crime
neighborhood.
Do you in any way doubt that, Robert?"

"No ... I know about you."