The Protégé (13 page)

“Make it soon,” he said, ignoring her. “Work with Debbie.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe shine your shoes in between my snorting sessions?”

“And before we meet with him, I want to know two things,” he said, ignoring her. “First, what’s the source of the bad blood between Mitchell and the FDA, and second, how you know about my connection to Senator Clark.”

Three steps led down from the back of the kitchen to the alley, which was littered with paper and broken glass that sparkled in the dim light cast by a single bulb affixed to the brick wall beside the door.

“This doesn’t look good,” Allison muttered, peering both ways.

“Come on,” Stiles called, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, “I don’t want to be out here long. Hustle!”

Allison tapped Gillette on the shoulder as they walked quickly to keep up with Stiles. “Just so you know, I didn’t call the paparazzi.”

Gillette’s eyes shot to hers. “What?”

“I didn’t call them.”

“But you told me you did.”

“You actually thought I’d go to the trouble of putting together some big plan so your girlfriend would see us together in the newspapers? You think I’m at Everest to get a husband, but I’m not. I’m here to make money for my family. That’s it.”

Gillette looked ahead at Stiles, who was staring at his cell phone as he walked. “Quentin, what’s up?”

“The reception sucks back here. I haven’t been able to get the driver or my guys.”

Gillette pulled out his phone as they rounded the corner of the building at the end of the alley. “I think I’ve got—” He almost ran into Stiles, who’d stopped short.

“Jesus,” Allison whispered.

Gillette counted five of them, about twenty feet away. Shadowy figures on the sidewalk, standing side by side, their faces obscured. His eyes darted around, looking for help, but the street was deserted. No one here but the three of them and the figures ahead—moving slowly toward them now.

“Give me a number, Quentin,” he urged, stepping ahead of Allison and next to Stiles. “For one of your guys.”

“We aren’t going to have time for that.”

Gillette looked up from the phone. The men had stopped a few feet away. They were close enough now that he could make out their faces.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked calmly.

“Your money,” demanded the one in the middle. “Everything you got.”

“Look, we don’t want any trouble.”

“We don’t want no trouble, either,” said the one on the far left as the others chuckled, “we just want your money.”

“We don’t have anything,” Gillette said defiantly.

“Of course not. I can tell that by those cheap-ass threads.”

As the gang laughed again, Stiles went for his gun, a Glock forty-caliber pistol in the shoulder holster inside his jacket.

“Hold it!” warned the one in the middle, raising his right arm and pointing a revolver at Stiles. “I got you covered. I’ll kill you, I swear.”

Stiles froze, hand over his heart.

“Down,” the man ordered.

Slowly, Stiles dropped his hand back to his side.

“All right, now—”

Gillette hurled his cell phone at the man in the middle, nailing him on the forehead, and rushed him as he brought both hands to his face. Gillette hunched down as he closed in, driving his shoulder into the man’s gut, hurling him to the sidewalk. The man let out a loud groan as he hit the ground. As they rolled, Gillette heard the gun clatter away on the cement, and he heard Stiles yelling and Allison screaming.

Gillette was yanked up instantly. He swung blindly as he got his feet under him, clipping someone’s chin, then he was tackled hard by a shoulder that felt like the front end of a Mack truck. For a moment, Gillette and his attacker were airborne, then they landed on the street in a heap, tumbling over and over. He felt hands close tightly around his throat, and he brought his arms up, breaking the hold, kneeing the guy in the stomach at the same time and tossing him away. He jumped to his feet and saw Stiles wrestling on the ground with two of the men.

“Stop it!” Allison screamed. She was clutching the gun the man had lost when Gillette tackled him. Aiming the barrel in different directions frantically—at the men attacking Stiles, at the guy on the ground beside Gillette, then at a man coming toward her. “Right now!”

The man coming at her froze a few feet away when he saw the gun.

Suddenly Gillette heard the sound of an engine roaring to life, then squealing tires.

“Christian!” Allison screamed. “Look out!”

He turned into a pair of high beams just as the man who had tackled him grabbed him around the legs, bringing him down again. He grabbed the guy by the hair and slammed his head into the pavement, then scrambled for the sidewalk as the SUV raced past, running over the man lying in the street. The man’s body shook for several seconds, then went still.

The SUV screeched to a halt, and the driver’s-side window began to come down. Then the driver punched the accelerator and the vehicle roared away.

“Hands behind your head!” someone yelled. “Now!”

Gillette glanced toward Stiles and saw two QS agents racing toward their boss, guns drawn. Then two sedans skidded around the corner—opposite the one the SUV was headed toward—headlights illuminating the scene brightly. The other two QS agents jumped from the sedans, guns drawn, too. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

Gillette bent over, hands on his knees as he sucked in air, watching the SUV’s taillights disappear around the corner.

7

“
I GOT FIVE MINUTES,
” Gillette said to Stiles, checking his watch. “Then I have to go.” He and Wright were leaving at nine-thirty to meet with the Hush-Hush CEO at the company’s headquarters down in the garment district. “What did you find out?”

“Nice.” Stiles pointed at the fresh scab on the left side of Gillette’s head near his eye. “Not as bad as a bullet to the chest, but it’ll do.”

It had happened when the guy had tackled Gillette and they’d tumbled into the street.

“For a rich guy, you’re pretty ballsy,” Stiles continued. “Chucking your cell phone at somebody pointing a gun, then going after him like that? Most rich guys I know are pussies. Which only makes sense. Why fight your way out of something when you can buy your way out? I was impressed.”

“Thanks.”

“With your
guts,
” Stiles said, grinning, “not your
smarts.
What in the hell were you thinking about, anyway? Two on five?”

“Those aren’t bad odds when it’s you and me. Besides, we had Allison. That tipped everything in our favor.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Look, it was my fault, Quentin. I told you not to have your men come with us. That was stupid. I had to do something. Figured all we had on our side was surprise. Besides,” Gillette said with a chuckle, “the guy was aiming at
you.
Now, what did you find out?”

“Sure, sure. Those guys last night? Hired guns. According to my people inside the NYPD, they’re part of a Brooklyn gang called the Fire. Pretty nasty crew. The Mob doesn’t even screw with them. They admitted taking money to assault us.”

“What does that mean? Were they supposed to kill us or just hurt us?”

“They weren’t supposed to kill us,” Stiles answered, “just beat the crap out of you and me, steal our wallets, and leave us there on the sidewalk. They were supposed to take Allison with them.”

Now it made sense. “Must have been a kidnapping. Well, looks like you’ve got another client. She ought to pay well, too. Maybe a few hundred thousand bucks a year for everything.”

“I don’t think it was a kidnapping,” Stiles said quietly.

“Why not?”

“The gang claimed they were supposed to drop Allison off a few blocks away, unhurt.”

“What?”

“Weird, huh?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Who hired them?” Gillette asked.

“The gang never knew his name, they just took his money.”

“Or your sources inside the NYPD aren’t telling you the whole story,” Gillette observed, flexing his right hand. His knuckles were killing him from hitting whoever’s chin he’d nailed during the melee.

“No, my sources are good. The gang claimed it was an all-cash deal, everything up front. They said they’d never seen the guy before.”

“Well, if it wasn’t a kidnapping, there’s a good chance Tom McGuire was behind it,” Gillette said. “He could have tipped the paparazzi off, probably paid a Parker Meridien hotel operator to tell him where Allison was going. He would have finished us off while we were lying there on the street. Allison would have been the gang’s witness that they didn’t kill us, and he would have gotten her out of there so he wouldn’t have had to kill her, too. He didn’t care about getting her, and he wouldn’t want the Wallaces on his ass.”

“The gang described the guy, but it didn’t sound like Tom McGuire.”

“At this point, I doubt Tom McGuire looks like the Tom McGuire we knew.”

“Probably not,” Stiles admitted. “It’s interesting,” he said after a short pause. “I told you I was in a gang when I was a teenager.”

“Yeah, up in Harlem. So?”

“We used to scam people by agreeing to roll a mark. Mostly guys who came to us pissed off because their girl was cheating on them, and they wanted us to beat the shit out of the other guy. We’d get the money up front, but we wouldn’t actually do it. I mean, why go through the hassle? You’ve got the dude’s cash, so what’s he going to do if you don’t beat the guy up? If he screws with one of your gang, he knows he’s dead.” Stiles paused. “But these guys from Brooklyn did it, and they’re one of the toughest gangs in the city. Why would they follow through?”

“Any ideas?” Gillette asked.

“Probably supports your Tom McGuire theory.”

“Why?”

“Whoever convinced them to come after us must have had something on them. You know, information he threatened them with so that if they didn’t do it, they’d go to jail. That’s the only way I can see it happening. McGuire might still have friends inside the FBI, people who might even be helping him stay hidden. Even with everything he did. He could have gotten information from them.” Stiles hesitated. “Just a theory, but it’s possible.”

“Yeah,” Gillette said quietly, a bad feeling snaking up his spine—as if he was being stalked. With each day that had passed without a murder attempt, he’d felt safer. Suddenly he didn’t feel safe anymore, even with Stiles back. “Why would the gang have talked? Why wouldn’t they just shut up and post bail?”

“Good question. Maybe they were so pissed off about losing one of their own. You know, the guy that died? They said the SUV that ran him over was driven by the guy who paid them.”

“
STOP WORRYING
about it,” Gillette said as they walked through the double glass doorway and into the Hush-Hush lobby. He’d caught Wright checking out the scab on the side of his face several times. “They want our money, they won’t care about a scratch.”

“What happened?” Wright asked, still staring.

“I got into it with a few idiots outside a restaurant last night.” Stiles had been able to keep their names out of the newspapers. But he realized that Allison might blab about it later, so he couldn’t make something up.

“What happened to your posse? The QS guys. Why weren’t they around?”

They reached the receptionist desk, and Gillette motioned for Wright to speak to the young woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her computer. She was pretty, dressed to show it all off. Her silk top hung low over her breasts, revealing the top of a lacy dark purple bra.

“We’re here to see Tony Maddox.”

The young woman looked up at Wright, then Gillette, seemingly impressed with anyone who was here to see the CEO. “Your names?” she asked, giving Gillette a friendly smile, her voice more respectful.

“I’m Christian Gillette, this is David Wright.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gillette. Just a moment.”

“Why weren’t Stiles’s guys around to protect you?” Wright asked again as the woman buzzed Maddox’s assistant.

Gillette glanced around the lobby. The walls were covered with pictures of women in lingerie. “I got careless; it wasn’t Quentin’s fault.”

“What happened?”

“I told you, I got into a fight.”

“How’s the other guy?”

“Dead.”

Wright laughed loudly. “No, seriously.”

“David, let’s talk about the meeting,” Gillette said. “Given that you were on your phone the whole way down here and we’ve only got about ten seconds.”

“Hey, I’m trying to get us in to see these guys at that Bermuda insurance company. They’ve got a big operation up here in New York, and like I said, they can probably do half a billion. I figure you want me to run that down as fast as possible, Chris.”

“Do you want me to lead this meeting?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t screw up,” Gillette warned. “I think we’ll be able to flip this company in a couple of months for two to three times our investment. Faraday and I have it all arranged.”

“What?”

Gillette hadn’t told Wright about Faraday’s connection to the French apparel company. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, spotting a young woman coming toward them. Probably Maddox’s assistant. “Just make sure the meeting goes well. There’ll be a big bonus in this for you if the deal works out.”

“Hello, gentlemen.” Like the receptionist, Maddox’s assistant was pretty and well dressed. “Please come this way.”

They followed her down a short hallway and into an impressive office, expansive and modern-looking.

“Hey, guys,” Tony Maddox called in a friendly voice, standing up and dropping the headset he was wearing onto the desk. He was short, silver haired, deeply tanned, and dressed casually. “This is Frank Hobbs, my director of corporate development.”

“I know Frank,” Wright said, stepping in front of Gillette and shaking Maddox’s hand, then Hobbs’s. “Frank and I went to business school together. How are you, pal?”

“Good.” Hobbs was tall, dark, and thin and wore plastic-rimmed glasses. Unlike Maddox, Hobbs was in a suit and tie.

“Thanks for giving me the heads-up on this, Frank.”

“Sure.”

“Guess it paid off to be in study group together first year, huh?”

Hobbs smiled and looked at the others. “Paid off for me,” he said appreciatively. “David taught me how to value stocks. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Gillette winked at Hobbs. “Well, I hope you didn’t take
everything
he said seriously. David tends to overpay. Which is why I’m here.”

When the laughter had died down, Maddox stepped around Wright. “You must be Christian Gillette,” he said, extending his hand.

“That’s right,” Gillette acknowledged, noticing Maddox’s gold bracelet and pinkie ring as they shook hands. Also noticing his quick glance at the scab. But Maddox said nothing.

“I’ve read a lot about you lately.”

“Yeah, thanks to that damn freedom of the press thing.”

Maddox laughed heartily. “A real bitch, huh? Bitten me in the ass a few times, too.” He pointed at two comfortable-looking couches in a corner of the office. “Let’s sit down.”

As they did, Maddox’s assistant came back into the room and poured coffee, then picked up a tray from a table near the couches and served croissants.

As the young woman leaned over in front of Gillette, her loose blouse hung low, exposing her breasts. He looked away, over at Maddox, who was smiling back.

“This is a fun business, Christian,” Maddox said. “If we can find a price that works for both of us today, you’re going to have a great time.”

“Tony, what’s the ownership structure of Hush-Hush?” Wright asked.

“I own ninety-five percent,” Maddox answered, giving Wright a cursory glance, then refocusing on Gillette. “My brother owns the other five, but he hasn’t been active in the business for a few years and I control the board. I made the decision to sell the company. He has to go along with whatever I say.”

“Why sell now?” Wright wanted to know.

This time Maddox didn’t even bother looking over at Wright, just kept talking to Gillette. “I know I look a lot younger, but I’m fifty-five. I’m getting tired. This thing has been my baby for the last eight years, and I love it, but it’s worn me out. Plus, we’re growing so damn fast at this point. Faster than we were a few years ago. The problem is—and I didn’t realize this when I started the company—but the faster you grow, the more money you gotta put
in
the business. I’m old, Christian, I want to be taking money
out.
”

“Sure.” Gillette could see that Wright was aggravated at the lack of attention from Maddox. “Tony,” he said, pointing at Wright, “I want you to know that if we do a deal, David will be responsible for Hush-Hush. He’ll be the chairman. He’s just been promoted to managing partner. He’s one of our top guns.”

“Oh.” Maddox turned slightly toward Wright and gave him a respectful nod. “I see.”

“Could you give me a snapshot of the company’s financials?” Wright asked.

“I’ll handle that one, Tony,” Hobbs spoke up. “This year we’ll do around four hundred million in revenues and thirty in net income. That’s up from two hundred twenty-five and ten last year.”

“Sweet,” Wright said, turning to Maddox. “So, what do you want for it?” he asked bluntly.

Maddox shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Jeez, I thought you’d make me an offer.”

Before Wright could say anything, there was a knock on the door and Maddox’s assistant stuck her head into the office. “Tony, we’re ready.”

“Okay.” Maddox nodded. “Guys, I thought before we got into any hard-core negotiations, we’d have a little presentation. You should have a firsthand look at what we do. That okay with you, David?”

Gillette saw the gleam in Maddox’s eyes and knew exactly what was coming.

“Yeah, sure.”

Maddox waved at his assistant.

She pushed the door wide open, then stepped back to let a statuesque woman whisk into the room. The young brunette wore just a sheer white bra, a lacy white thong, and high heels. She walked seductively to where the men sat, hesitated in front of them for a few moments, hands on her hips, chest pushed out, then turned her back to them and stood still again for a few seconds in the same pose. As she walked out, another woman entered. A blonde this time, wearing a black teddy.

Gillette glanced over at Hobbs, who was looking down, then at Wright, whose chin was in his lap. Finally he looked at Maddox, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“
YOU DID AN
excellent job with the Hush-Hush meeting,” Gillette said. He and Wright were headed into an elevator to go up to the Apex Capital offices for their meeting with Russell Hughes. “I liked the way you cut off the show after the third woman.”

“I knew what Maddox was doing, obviously.” Wright shook his head as the doors closed and the elevator began to rise. “But, Jesus, those women were incredible.”

“That’s the fashion business.” Gillette had been worried that Wright would give away the farm, but he’d handled himself well. The way a protégé should. “Six hundred million’s a fair price, especially since it’s growing fast. I was proud of you for not offering too much.”

Wright smiled. “Trust me, I thought about offering Maddox whatever he wanted when I saw that first woman.”

Gillette laughed. “You should have seen your face. Your jaw was in your lap.”

“You think he’ll take six hundred?”

“I think he’ll call his investment banker, who’ll tell him it’s worth more.”

Wright nodded glumly. “Like they always do.”