She was holding his arm firmly. The contact unnerved him, which surprised Beck. The closeness of her, the touch, she had crossed the normal barrier that separated them.
Beck gave in to the desire to touch her back. He placed his hand on top of her hand, almost as if he were going to remove it. Her skin was incredibly smooth and warm. It seemed as if he could actually feel the sheen of it.
“Okay,” he said.
She let go of his forearm; he let her hand fall away from his immediately.
She turned away from Beck, leading him back to her front door. He took his coat from her, nodded once, and walked out the door, wanting to get outside quickly, to get away from Olivia Sanchez.
In a moment, he was making his way through the Escher-like maze of staircases and arches and walkways that connected the condo’s units. He checked his watch. He’d been there nearly an hour.
He spotted the black Mercury parked at the fire hydrant about thirty feet down the block. He slid into the passenger seat. Settled back and exhaled.
Demarco looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Beck shook his head. “Christ.”
“Christ what?”
“Christ sake this isn’t what I expected.”
“How so?”
Beck grimaced, scratched the back of his neck, ran his hand back and forth over the top of his head.
“That bad?”
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Not good.”
“Why?”
“It sounds like there might be some nasty players behind this.”
“Like who?”
“Like a fucking Russian arms dealer for starters.”
Demarco frowned. “How’d that happen?”
“Money, man. A lot of fucking money.”
“So now what?”
“I gotta get a handle on this fast. Have to try and make things right for Manny’s cousin, at least right enough so Manny will back off for now. And do it fast before too many snakes crawl out from under rocks.” Beck’s voice faded out, lost in his thoughts. “And not leave any trail.” Beck shook his head, stared out the windshield. “Shit.”
Demarco didn’t bother asking Beck what he was wrestling with. He just repeated, “So now what?”
Beck looked at his watch. Almost five o’clock. There was time.
“Fifty-seventh and Lex.”
5
Traveling against the rush hour traffic, Demarco and Beck reached Milstein’s office building on the northwest corner of Fifty-seventh and Lexington Avenue at five minutes to six.
Unlike most of the buildings up and down Fifty-seventh Street, the south-facing side of the structure was scooped out in a gentle arc, leaving a large area for an open plaza.
Demarco parked on the south side of Fifty-seventh facing east, in a no-standing zone.
At exactly 6 p.m. a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up and slid to the far end of the bus stop just in front of Milstein’s office building on the north side of Fifty-seventh. The Lincoln was a late model, cleaned and buffed to a high shine. There was no car service number displayed in the window. The driver filled most of the front seat. His head nearly touched the roof.
Beck jumped out of the Mercury Marauder, crossed Fifty-seventh, and blended in with the flow of pedestrians. He walked across the plaza and stepped through a revolving door into an opulent lobby that was surprisingly compact, about seventy-five feet wide from east to west, but only fifteen feet deep.
There was a small security desk just past the revolving door. Straight ahead six elevators emptied into a central corridor.
There were no turnstiles or security guards other than two men who sat behind the desk off to the right. A few people waved keycards at an electronic pad set into the west wall on their way out.
Beck stepped to his left, away from the security desk, out of the flow of people leaving the building. He watched carefully for a short man amidst the groups of people getting off the various elevators.
Beck checked his watch. Three minutes after six. And here he came, head down, slightly bent over, just as Olivia had described him. He was hatless—making it easier to spot his nearly white hair.
He wore a dark overcoat, tie and suit. Dress shoes.
Beck stepped in front of him before Milstein reached the revolving door, calling his name so that he would look up.
“Mr. Milstein.”
Milstein stopped, squinted up at Beck. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Olivia Sanchez. I’d like to speak to you about her.”
Milstein continued staring at Beck. “Are you a process server?” Before Beck could answer, Milstein answered for him. “No, or you’d have already served me. I don’t know you and I’m not interested in talking to you about Olivia Sanchez, or anything else.”
Milstein tried to step around Beck to get into the revolving door, but Beck blocked his path, saying, “It would be better if you talked to me.”
Even though Beck was much bigger than Milstein, the smaller man tried to shove Beck aside. He snarled, “Get out of my way.” Beck hardly moved, but Milstein quickly stepped around Beck and ducked into one of the revolving door sections. Despite his size Beck was just as quick as Milstein. As Milstein began to push the revolving door, Beck slipped into the section behind him, grabbed the door bar, and pulled back hard.
Milstein banged into the glass. Furious, he pushed hard to get out, but found himself trapped. He turned and yelled an obscenity at Beck. Beck shoved the revolving door forward, smacking Milstein with the heavy slab of glass, sending Milstein sprawling out onto the plaza. Beck followed quickly and lifted Milstein up by his right arm, pulling the smaller man nearly off his feet. He spun and pinned Milstein against the wall next to the revolving door.
He’d done it so swiftly that it almost looked as if Beck had helped a fallen man back to his feet. But the flurry of motion caught the eye of Milstein’s driver. When he saw Milstein fall, he quickly got out of the car to see what was going on with his boss.
Beck pinned Milstein firmly against the wall with his forearm and elbow.