NYPD Red

Chapter 59



BY THE TIME he got back to the apartment, Gabriel’s clothes were sweat-soaked all the way through. He wheeled the explosives into the bedroom, stripped down, took a quick shower, and tried to figure out what to wear for the next scene.

Lexi would know, but she wasn’t here. He rummaged through their wardrobe supply and did the best he could.

It was 10:30. He had time before Mickey’s parole officer showed up, but first he needed a drink. He grabbed one of Lexi’s champagne glasses from the dish rack and poured a shot of vodka. Not enough to get him buzzed. Just a little something to take the edge off.

He sat down at Lexi’s computer, booted up, opened Firefox, and checked her recent browser history to see what sites she’d been visiting. It was the usual crap—Perez Hilton, TMZ, Astrology Connection.

He checked her email. Maybe she sent him something and he didn’t get it on his cell. But there was nothing.

He opened her recent document folder. And there it was at the top of the list—AltScene.doc with yesterday’s date.

Alt. Scene? Lexi, what are you thinking?

He double-clicked and the document filled the screen.





ALT. SCENE:


EXT. FRANK E. CAMPBELL FUNERAL CHAPEL, MADISON AVENUE AND 81ST STREET—DAY


PANDEMONIA PASSIONATA looks so pretty in her little black mourning dress as she waits patiently behind the police barricade at Ian Stewart’s memorial service. The mourners file slowly out of the chapel, but she ignores the little fish. She’s here for the Big One. This is Pandemonia’s moment. Redemption time.



Who the hell is Pandemonia Passionata?

He kept reading. Halfway through the scene, he stood up, and stormed off to his closet.

The Walther wasn’t there.

He flung the champagne glass against the wall.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” he screamed, pounding his fist against the closet door.

It wasn’t anger. It was agony.