The Tower (1999) (10 page)

"And he spills?"

"Like a glass of milk," Tony said grandly. "He starts crying about how he didn't mean to shoot him and it was an accident and it's his mother's birthday and he wants to see a priest and on and on."

"No shit?"

"None." The men drank their beers in silence for a few minutes.

Robert took a long final drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out. "What was the videotape?" he asked.

"Blondes Back on Top. He got it outta my top desk drawer."

Chapter
15

S E T T L I N G into the seat of his '81 banged-up black 320i, Jade rolled the radio tuning knob through a cacophony of static. Giving up, he reached into his glove compartment, pulled out a CD, and slipped it in. Miles Davis, Kind of Blue.

The green lights floated overhead, one after another, as Jade swerved from lane to lane, darting between cars. He drove along the streets with his left arm extended out the broken window, his hand tapping the car roof furiously to the tune: "Du nu nu nu nu nu nu na. So what. Du nu nu nu nu nu nu na. So what."

The music was turned up so loud that even with the window down, Jade was sealed away in his own vessel of sound. It flowed over him, clearing his mind. Screeching down one-way streets and alleyways, he cut off cars, arriving first in line at red lights. Or he circumvented stoplights altogether by turning right, then zooming back to the street through corner gas stations and parking lots.

Du nu nu nu. His tires flew through puddles, spraying water into the air, reflecting the headlights of oncoming traffic and soaking the left sleeve of his shirt. Nu nu nu na. He rolled the wheel with one finger, bringing his steering hand down near his crotch to hold the turn as his car whipped around corners. And the movement he saw through his dirty windshield--the cars passing and the flare of the water and the pedestrians walking on the sidewalk--were all choreographed pieces of his dance, of his song, and he watched as they moved to the beat he pounded on the roof of his car. So what.

As he cruised, he focused on a green station wagon three cars back in the left lane. It had been with him for some time. Jade brought his arm back inside the car, and he hummed the music more softly as he tapped on the steering wheel. His eyes were glued now to the rearview mirror.

He made three consecutive lefts, which the station wagon followed, then he threw on a false signal. The station wagon imitated it, then also drove past the turn, just as he had.

"Rookies. Don't send me that," Jade muttered, smiling crookedly.

He jerked off the road suddenly, into the gravel parking lot of a small bar. The building was low-roofed, with flashing neon signs and an eternally pouring Strauders bottle in the window.

The two men in the station wagon had been baffled for some time.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Andrew asked, running his fingers through his greasy brown hair.

He wore a buttoned-up shirt with dark stains under his armpits; sweat dotted his forehead and cheeks as well. "You think he spotted us?"

"How the hell would I know any more than you? Maybe he's just drunk. He was in that last bar forever," his friend Kyle replied, scratching his neatly trimmed beard.

They both watched in horror as Jade's car skidded into the parking lot of the bar. They slowed, watching him as he got out of his car and headed inside.

"Keep going, keep going," Andrew hissed. "Speed up. Let's circle the block so he doesn't notice us."

Jade watched the car's reflection in the front window of the bar. He saw it slow to a halt, then accelerate rapidly, pulling out of view. Two men. Mid-thirties.

He pulled open the door, disappearing into the smoky haze. All right, you fucks, he thought, I'll wait for you.

He went up to the bar and signaled the bartender. A robust Greek man came toward him, grinning widely.

"Ahh. Mr. Jade. How are you, my friend? Would you like a black and tan? Your favorite, eh?"

"Actually, Nick, I'm okay right now. Just wanted to warn you I've got a tail. Might be a bit of trouble."

Nick's face darkened. Obviously, he had seen this drill before. "Fine. You keep it to the pool-table area." He started to go, then turned back, raising a finger. "And no guns. Mr. Jade. Not like last time."

"Don't worry," Jade smiled. "I'll behave."

Nick turned to go, but Jade touched him on the shoulder. "Hey, Nick, mind if I wait on your side of the bar?"

Nick hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

The two men walked into the bar. Andrew whistled nonchalantly, then whispered to Kyle. They pretended to talk to each other as they peered around, surveying the room. Jade watched them through the ordering window of the kitchen, noticing the bulge in Andrew's jacket.

Walking over to the bar with a forced stride, Andrew casually leaned one elbow on the counter, right into an ashtray. He lifted his arm up and shook loose a cigarette that had stuck to his sleeve. The woman sitting one stool over looked at him, slightly perplexed, then bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"Oh," Andrew said, smiling back. "This must be yours." He held the crushed cigarette out to her.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "I usually collect the butts when I've finished smoking them."

Kyle cleared his throat behind her, shoving his hands into his pockets. Andrew pivoted away from her and faced Nick at the bar.

"I'll have two beers."

"Well, sir, you see, we're a bar," Nick leaned forward to whisper. "And we have lots of kinds of beer here."

"Oh yes. Well, I knew that. I . . . I'll have two Coors drafts."

"We don't have Coors on tap, how's Strau--"

"Yes, yes, that's fine." Andrew played nervously with a coaster as he waited for the beers.

Kyle leaned forward, his beard brushing Andrew's shoulder. "Where the hell is he?"

"He probably went to the bathroom. Just shut up and we'll wait."

"Are these guys for real?" Nick whispered to Jade over the back counter. "Please, Mr. Jade, don't hurt 'em too bad."

"I'll try not to."

Nick returned to the bar with the beers. "Maybe you gentlemen would enjoy these frosty beverages over by the pool tables?" His smile was strained.

"Oh yes, that'll be fine." Andrew paid, then slid two quarters across the bar to Nick and winked at him.

Nick looked at the quarters, then put his fingers on them and slid them back. "You'd better hang on to these," he said. "It seems like you need them more than I do."

Andrew and Kyle made their way over to the pool-table area and pulled up stools. They sat on them awkwardly, sipping their beers. Gazing around, they tried to locate Jade inconspicuously.

A woman laughed heartily, throwing her head back and slapping her knee. She seemed faint from laughing, leaning into the large man next to her for support. Smoke, sweat, and the thick smell of beer hung heavily in the air, mixing with loud voices to form an oppressive atmosphere.

The kitchen doors banged suddenly as Jade kicked them open. Both Andrew and Kyle dropped their beers as they saw Jade's form moving swiftly toward them. Their glasses shattered on the floor.

Jade crossed the room in four strides, throwing the pan of greasy water on his second step and the pan on his third. They arrived on Kyle's face simultaneously, the water splashing over his eyes and cheeks, the pan smashing into his forehead. He screamed and rubbed his face, temporarily blinded.

Andrew remained frozen in his seat. Sweeping Kyle's stool over with his shin, Jade pivoted and threw a high side kick to Andrew's head. The outside of his foot caught Andrew just under the chin and smashed his head against the dartboard. Andrew's eyes bulged as he saw the dart stuck in the cork right next to his nose. Jade held the stretch, his leg extended to Andrew's jaw.

Jade cleared his throat once, then spoke. "If you move at all, I will break your neck into fragments. Understand?"

Andrew wiggled his head against Jade's foot. Jade decided it was a nod.

He turned his attention to Kyle, who had rolled to his hands and knees. Blood seeped through the back of his shirt, and Jade realized that he had knocked him onto his own shattered glass. Kyle staggered to his feet, wiping the grease from his eyes. He was too dazed to try anything, so Jade looked back at Andrew.

"Now, with a slow, even movement, reach inside your jacket and remove the gun."

With trembling fingers, Andrew reached inside his jacket. His hand emerged, holding a camera.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jade groaned. He slowly emerged from his zone, his vision widening, and he realized where he was. The bar had fallen quiet and everyone was staring at them, slack-jawed.

Jade lowered his foot from Andrew's jaw, remaining perfectly balanced on his other leg. Kyle tried to lean against the wall beside Andrew, yelping as the effort forced the glass deeper into his back.

Andrew tried a smile, but his quivering cheeks would not comply. "Andrew Straussman. The San Francisco Daily." His wavering hand went to his front pocket and he held a shaking press badge before Jade's face.

Jade looked away with a laugh, but it turned into a snarl. The jukebox rolled over a new record in the background and the spectators shifted uneasily on their feet.

"I have people following me who are assassins, hit men. I've put away rapists, murderers, child molesters. Do you really think I'm not alert enough to notice two reporters? What if I'd fuckin' shot you? Do you know how much trouble you would've gotten me into?"

Blood matted Kyle's beard. "You're right. I . . . we . . . we're sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now what do you want?"

"We just wanted a statement about today's shoot-out," Kyle said, wiping his face. "Cover story. You know, 'The Day Care Affair.'" He spread his hands nervously.

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Well, we wanted to see where you live."

"And looking in a phone book was too much of a mental leap?"

Andrew and Kyle looked at each other sheepishly. The people in the bar began to go back to their business, a few of them pointing over at Jade and whispering to their friends.

Jade turned to leave.

"Do you think you'll get the Atlasia case?" Andrew called after him above the din of the bar, his last hope of ensnaring Jade in conversation.

Jade whirled around. "Atlasia? Allander Atlasia? How'd he break? Where is he? What happened?"

A smile appeared on Andrew's face, broadening with each of Jade's questions. He finally had something Jade wanted. He thought for a moment and decided to press his advantage.

"Well . . . I can't quite release all our informa--"

His sneakers left the ground before he could finish his sentence. One shoelace had come untied and was soaked with blood and spilled beer.

Jade's grip on Andrew's shirt tightened. "Information," he snarled. "Now."

"Dusk. Last night. Not located."

The arms relaxed and the grip loosened. "Thank you."

Jade dropped Andrew, and he collapsed to the ground. By the time he got up, Jade was gone. The reporter turned and looked at his blood-stained companion.

"You look like I feel," Andrew said.

"Don't flatter yourself," Kyle replied, wiping his beard. "You look like shit too."

Jade heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him and turned to see a woman with enormous breasts wearing a red, low-cut dress. She twirled a lock of hair around a finger as she walked up to him, looking him up and down, noticing his six o'clock shadow, the hard line of his jaw, and his green, green eyes.

"I think you could have a really good night tonight," she said huskily.

Jade's eyes danced over her cheap outfit, taking in her costume jewelry and her ruby-red lipstick. "Yeah?" he said. "Thanks for the premonition."

He slid into his driver's seat.

A cloud of dust enveloped the woman as the car pulled away, and she felt the soft sting of gravel particles across her cheeks and in her hair.

Chapter
16

H E R blond ponytail swaying with each step, Agent Travers walked down the sleek black corridor with a briefcase handcuffed to her wrist. She ran her card down a slot in one of the large metal panels and a segment of the wall rolled back to reveal another long corridor. At the end of the second corridor, she placed her eye in front of a laser scanner. The check cleared with a series of beeps and a huge steel door clicked open. Travers entered the inner sanctum.

The room she stood in was the office of the man behind the men behind the scenes at the FBI. As far as anyone knew, the room was his home as well, for nobody ever saw him enter or leave the building. He seemed to be eternally present, a single beating heart within the labyrinthine network of subterranean corridors.

The room was empty except for a large black desk, with accompanying chair, that sat in the middle of a dark rug, and a single chrome-and-leather chair placed facing the desk. There was an enormous computer on the desk, and several video monitors were within easy view of the man sitting there, giving him access to an immense range of FBI intelligence that he could recall with the punch of a key. Though he was a solitary man in an airtight room, he seemed to know everything.