The Legacy (4 page)

A musty smell from thousands of ancient volumes crowding the walls reached Coles nostrils. He hesitated for a second to scan the mammoth space, but didnt linger long in the entrance. He moved quickly to the west wall, knelt down, pulled several atlases from the bottom shelf, placed the cassette case against the back of the bookcase, replaced the atlases and walked calmly away. He found an open seat near the middle of the room and sat down in the spindly wooden chair. He hadnt taken his eyes from the entrance for more than a few seconds since entering the large room, not even as he had hidden the tape behind the atlases, and the blond man hadnt appeared.

A young woman studying a faded New York Times glanced up, went back to her paper, and then looked up again. Cole was acutely aware of the perspiration pouring down his face and the thin streak of blood staining one arm of his white shirt.

Are you okay? she asked.

Im fine, he said without taking his eyes from the door. I recently graduated from law school, and the bar exam is coming up. Im just a little tense.

The young woman smiled nervously, as if unsure what to make of the out-of-breath young man with the sweat-streaked face and the bloodstained shirt. Finally she picked up the archive copy of the Times as well as her book bag and walked away. She was new to the city and had been warned that it was full of lunatics.

Cole gazed at the door. There was still no sign of the blond man. His eyes flashed to the spot in the stacks where he had hidden the tape, then back to the door. Still no blond man.

Cole leaned over, hiding his arm beneath the table, removed the onyx cuff link, pulled the torn shirt sleeve up above the gash and inspected the wound quickly. It was nothing serious. He rolled the shirt sleeve back down and, wrapping his fingers firmly around the shredded material, applied direct pressure. Two to three minutes of this and the blood should coagulate.

Cole allowed his head to fall back against the chair but still didnt remove his gaze from the entrance. Maybe his imagination was indeed playing games with him. A cleaning woman with a gun. A blond man chasing him down Fifth Avenue. The notion that they were after him seemed almost silly, now that he thought about it. He laughed and shook his head, then groaned as he felt a sudden stiffness in his neck. Hed suffered a good deal of pain and probably cost New York City several hundred thousand dollars in damages as a result of that imagination, but the hell with it. He had in his possession a tape of President Kennedys assassinationone proving conspiracyand he controlled history. That justified at least a trace of paranoia. Hed make up the damages to the city after hed sold his piece of history to the highest bidder. Right after he had taken care of his in-arrears mortgage that Lewis Gebauer had somehow found out about, as well as a few gambling debts he had recently accumulated. There should still be millions left over.

Millions of dollars others would love to get their hands on, too, Cole suddenly realized.

He sat up in the chair. Maybe others had known about this tape and had been waiting years for that Chase safe-deposit box to be opened because they couldnt access the box themselves. The people at Chase had been very careful and had required a picture identification and a signature from Cole before they would allow him to inspect the contents of the box. Even if others had known about the tape, they wouldnt have been able to retrieve it if they werent named in bank records as individuals with access to the box.

Cole laughed once more. There he went, letting his imagination get the better of him again.

He checked the entrance one last time. Fifteen minutes had elapsed since hed hidden the tape behind the row of atlases, and still hed seen nothing suspicious. He took a final look around. Then he rose unsteadily and, without retrieving the tape from its hiding place, limped toward the door. His right ankle had begun to swell as a result of his collision with the taxi at the corner of Fifth and Forty-second.

Five minutes later he had ridden the elevator to the first floor, staggered down the library steps past the lions and hailed a cab.

NICKI ANDERSON WAS tall and sleek, with silky gold hair that cascaded down her back. Her face was perfectthin yet sensuoushighlighted by wide emerald eyes, a delicate nose and bee-stung lips. Her skin was fair and unblemished, her body toned but full of soft curves. She was an exquisite product of her Scandinavian bloodlines. Still, in New York City exquisite women were like restaurants or taxis or pigeonsthey were everywhere.

Six months ago Nicki had left Duluth, Minnesota, and moved to New York to follow her dreama modeling career on the fashion runways of Manhattan. It was costing her middle-class parents most of their retirement cache, but they were convinced that Nicki would take the industry by storm and that the resulting cover-girl fame would earn Nicki and them much more than stocks and bonds ever could.

Nicki had presented her portfolio to all the top agencies but had been unceremoniously rejected. She didnt tell her parents, because even one rejection would have crushed them. Two months ago she had caught on with a smaller agency that was finally beginning to find her work. It had been a difficult road, but through it all she hadnt lost her smile.

Cole eased onto the bench seat at Emilios, a casual, out-of-the-way Upper West Side cafe where he and Nicki could relax. Hey there, he said as he sat down. His senses were on alert, eyes constantly scanning the place for anyone who might have followed him from the library.

Hello, Cole. Nicki leaned across the small, scratched table, took Coles face in her soft palms and kissed him gently on the cheek. She had always greeted Cole this way, even as a child back in Duluth, and he liked it, especially because she wasnt this way with others. Even with friends, she was reserved.

You look great, Cole said approvingly. She wore an oversized sweater and faded jeans. It was an all-American country-girl look he thoroughly enjoyed.

Thanks. Her expression turned curious as she sat back in the seat. What in the world happened to you?

He glanced down, worried that blood from the cut on his forearm had seeped through the bandage and the dark blue sweater he had purchased on his way from the library. But nothing was visible on the sweater. What do you mean, what happened?

You look like youve been through a war. Your hairs all messed up, youre perspiring and your hands are shaking. Ive never seen you like this. Are you okay?

Im fine, he assured her. He wasnt going to tell her anything about his sprint to the library or the cut on his forearm. There was no reason to alarm her simply because he had allowed his imagination to run wild. Once he had sold the tape, then hed explain what had happened.

Just a tough day on Wall Street, huh? she teased.

Yeah, he answered quickly, not really concentrating on what she was saying.

Oh, come on, Cole, Nicki pressed. I know how stressful it can get on the Gilchrist trading floor, but you handle that every day. What happened?

A couple of guys tried to mug me on Broadway while I was walking over here. I didnt want to say anything because I know everybody back in Duluth told you how dangerous New York City is, but it wasnt a big deal, really.

Did they take your suit jacket? She pointed at his sweater, grinning. Cole always wore suits.

What? Oh, the sweater. He forced back a wince as he shifted in the seat. The heat in the Gilchrist Building went out today for a while. Thats why Im wearing it, he lied. I just forgot to change back to my suit coat when I left.

Do you always keep a spare sweater at work?

As a matter of fact I do, Agatha Christie. She was like a pit bull sometimes. Once her curiosity was aroused, she didnt let things go without a satisfactory explanation. He tried to change the subject. How was your day?

Great. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. I waited tables at lunch, worked out for a few hours at the gym this afternoon and when I got home there were a couple of guys waiting in the lobby of our building. A couple of really big guys.

Oh?

A white-aproned waiter with a long ponytail interrupted their conversation. Good evening, my names Jimmy. Can I get you two something to drink?

Ill have a glass of merlot, Nicki said, smiling up at the short thin man with hair as long as hers.

Coke, please. Cole didnt bother looking up.

Ill be right back with your drinks. Jimmy darted off.

Coke? Nicki laughed. Since when do you drink pop after work? I dont think Ive ever seen you order anything but alcohol after a tough day on the Gilchrist trading floor.

I dont feel like drinking tonight. He shouldnt indulge in anything that would make him vulnerable, even though a good stiff scotch would go a long way toward taking the edge off his nerves and deadening his physical pain. Tell me about these two big guys waiting for you in the lobby.

They werent waiting for me, they were waiting for you.

What did they look like? Cole asked, trying to seem unconcerned.

Like mobsters.

He rolled his eyes. Oh, come on.

Im not kidding, Cole. They wore flashy suits and lots of gold, and sunglasses even though it was almost dark outside. They wanted to talk to you. I told them you wouldnt be back for a while, but they said theyd wait anyway. That was around five oclock. They werent in the lobby when I came back down to walk over here. They were polite, but they still gave me a bad feeling. Somehow they knew I lived with you.

Did one of them have curly blond hair? Cole realized that asking in detail about the mens physical characteristics might set off a warning bell in Nickis head, but he had to know. Almost yellow in color?

No, both of them had dark hair.

Jimmy returned and placed the wine and the Coke down on the table. Are you two ready to order? he asked.

We havent even looked at the menu yet, Cole answered. Could you give us a few more minutes?

Sure. Jimmy turned and moved off to take an order from a couple at another table.

Were you expecting a visit from someone with curly blond hair? Nickis voice wavered slightly, as if she were suddenly uneasy.

No. Cole picked up his glass, touched it to hers and guzzled half the soft drink in one gulp. He was thirsty as hell.

Then why were you so specific about one of the men having curly blond hair? she wanted to know.

Why are you so full of questions tonight? Cole spiced his tone with a hint of irritation, hoping she would drop the subject.

Because I care about you, she answered gently. Did the men in the lobby of our building have anything to do with that incident a couple of weeks ago?

Cole let out a long, slow breath. One night after a brutal day on the floor a few months ago, he and a trader on the corporate bond desk had gone out for a few drinks. The evening had culminated at an underground casino in Brooklyn called the Blue Moon. Cole had always heard rumors that these kinds of gambling establishments existed in New York, but had never been to one. The very private club offered craps, poker and blackjack as well as tuxedo-clad dealers and scantily dressed women who brought free drinks to the gamblers. It resembled an exclusive high-roller room in Las Vegas or Atlantic City, except that it was overtly controlled by the Mafiacontrolled by people who would extend credit while you sat at their gaming table, then suddenly cut it off. And if you didnt repay them as required, they might cut off something other than your credit.

Over the past few months Cole had become a regular at the Blue Moons craps tables. Two, sometimes three nights a week he would take a cab across the East River to roll the dice and relieve the stress of a trading floor day full of losses he couldnt seem to shake. After just one knock the decrepit basement door would creak slowly open and he would step from a seedy Brooklyn street into a world of tacky opulence. Surveillance cameras had tracked his progress down the trash-strewn stairway, and the men at the door were given approval by other men watching screens in the control room to allow Cole immediate entry into the establishment. He was a good customer building up quite a tab.

Two weeks ago the men at the Blue Moon had finally demanded a five-thousand-dollar payment on his hundred-thousand-dollar gambling debt. It was late, and by that hour he had just enough money left in his wallet to pay for a cab ride back to Manhattan. He couldnt tap an automated teller machine because he had already maxed out his limit for the twenty-four-hour period. And there were only a few dollars left in his lone account anyway. He was living paycheck to paycheck these days.

However, the three large men crowding around him in the back room of the Blue Moon didnt want to hear excuses. They wanted money, and Nicki was Coles only option. He was aware that she frequently kept a good deal of cash in the apartment and could withdraw more from an ATM if she needed it. An hour later she had put together a thousand dollars and made it to Brooklyn. The men in the back room agreed to accept just the thousand dollars, but they made certain Cole understood that he needed to come up with the other four thousand quickly.

Cole had repaid Nicki during the cab ride back to Manhattan by offering to forgo her next months rentexactly one thousand dollars. She had accepted the offer and up until now hadnt mentioned the incident again. He had been hoping the issue was dead, but obviously hed been wrong.