“Clearly you’re very good at these high-finance shenanigans yourself,” Wells said. “I’ll take it.”
“You can wire it to my offshore account. I’ll give you the number.”
Wells sat down at his computer and began to type. “One question,” he said. “How do I know you won’t wait for me to wire the money and then kill me?”
“You took my youth, my dream years, but my honor is still intact. If I take your blood money, I swear on the graves of my parents that I won’t kill you. Not now. Not ever. And once I walk out that door, you’ll never see me or hear from me again.”
Wells nodded and went back to typing. Segura walked to the bar and was about to pour himself another drink when the doorbell rang.
The video camera at the front door flashed a picture of the visitors on Wells’s screen.
“It’s those two goddamn detectives,” he said. “What should I do?”
Segura removed a gun from his waistband. “Take off your clothes. All of them.”
CHAPTER 69
Kylie had no patience. She rang Wells’s doorbell a second time.
“Who is it?” he responded over the intercom.
“Detectives MacDonald and Jordan, NYPD,” she said. “We need to talk. It won’t take long.”
“It’s rather inconvenient right now,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“It’s rather inconvenient to have a mass murderer wandering around our city, Mr. Wells,” she said. “Since you’re at the top of his hit list, maybe you could drop what you’re doing and spend a few minutes with the people who are trying to get to him before he gets to you.”
“Point well taken, Detective,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
She stepped away from the intercom and threw her hands up in the air. “This is the same bullshit we got from Langford. Nobody wants to talk to the cops.”
“Langford didn’t want to talk because he was guilty of murder,” I said.
“So what’s Wells’s excuse?” Kylie said. “Do you think he knows that we’re the mayor’s stooges, and he’s not in the mood to talk about building housing for the homeless? Or do you think he’s totally in denial about Segura, and he figures if he makes us go away, then the problem goes away?”
“Or there’s a third possibility,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like maybe he’s in the middle of something, and we came at a really inconvenient time.”
The front door opened and Princeton Wells stood there, his hair wet, his feet bare, and a towel around his waist. He reeked of booze.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “Kenda and I were in the hot tub.”
“We apologize if we caught you at a bad time,” I said.
“Bad time? Hell, you caught me at a great time. And if the two of you want to join me and Kenda in the hot tub, it could be a fucking fantastic time.”
“Mr. Wells, I know you’ve turned us down before,” I said, “but in light of what happened with Nathan Hirsch, NYPD is prepared to offer you police protection. Do you want it?”
“Sure. You can protect me from that blonde in the hot tub. She’s insatiable. I swear to God that woman will be the death of me.”
“Sir, have you been drinking?” Kylie said.
“Nonstop, Detective. It’s my go-to coping mechanism. As far as I know there’s no law against it, so if there’s nothing further…”
“There’s one other thing. The mayor would like you to call her.”
“Tell Muriel she’s on my list,” he said. “No, no, wait: Tell her the truth. Tell her Princeton Wells is on a bender, but he’s safely locked up in his great-grandmother’s mansion, which is like the Fortress of Solitude, only with better decorating. Also tell her that the Tremont Gardens project will go on as scheduled. It’s Del Fairfax’s legacy, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it die with him. I’m a little sauced right now, but tomorrow morning I promise I will be sober, and I’ll start writing checks, making phone calls, and moving heaven and earth to get it done. I swear.”
“Mayor Sykes will be happy to hear that,” I said.
“Then we’re good,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said, and shut the door.
“I don’t get it,” I said as Kylie and I walked back to the car.
“What don’t you get, Zach? That rich people are assholes? That Princeton Wells would rather get drunk and get laid than get out of Dodge?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that he never asked us where we are in the investigation. With Nathan Hirsch it was always, ‘Did you find Segura? Did you arrest La Grande?’ For a man who is the killer’s next target, Princeton Wells seems remarkably uninterested in how the manhunt for Geraldo Segura is going.”
“Which just reinforces my rich-people-are-assholes theory.”
I looked at my watch. “I’ve given the city enough of my life today,” I said. “I’m going to punch out and go home.”
“What are you doing tonight?” Kylie asked.
“Probably have dinner with Cheryl, catch something on Netflix.”
It was true. I just left out the part about my plan to trap her boyfriend into helping me rob a high-stakes poker game.
CHAPTER 70
Trying to hide the truth from your girlfriend is a risky proposition. And when said girlfriend also happens to be a shrink, a cop, and a hot-tempered Latina, the risk factor goes up exponentially, and secret-keeping becomes more of a death wish.
So I decided to do a one-eighty from where I was that morning. As soon as I got to Cheryl’s apartment, I told her everything. She might not approve, but she couldn’t slam me for withholding information. I started with my dinner with Q.
She stopped me immediately. “Q points a finger at these two guys, Jessup and Jewel, and you believe him?” she said. “He has no evidence.”
“Cheryl, this is not a jury trial. Q is a world-class snitch. He said, and I quote, ‘These brothers are spending money like the sultan of Brunei died and named them sole beneficiaries.’ Unquote.”
“That’s specious logic.”
“It’s street logic,” I said. Then I launched into the details of my undercover meeting with the two hip-hop promoters at Rattlesnake. She didn’t say a word until I got to the name of my alter ego.
“Fly Boy?” she said, laughing.
“Johnny Fly Boy Wurster,” I said. “Funny how I got that name.” I told her my story about being thrown off a seventh-story balcony and walking away without a scratch.
She shook her head. “Those two guys actually bought that?”
“What’s not to buy? It’s like Freddy No Nose or Sammy the Bull. It’s a nickname with a story behind it.”
“And they believe you’ve recruited them to stick up a poker game at a private home and get away with a million dollars.”
“A million two,” I corrected. “Eight players at a hundred and fifty K a pop.”
“So now what?” she asked.
“At this point, they’ve had twenty-four hours to think about the score. They figure it’s a piece of cake, and they’re already spending the money in their dreams. So now I’m going to throw a monkey wrench into the deal. Do you want to watch?”
“Of course I want to watch,” she said, adding some more white wine to her glass and sitting down on the sofa with her legs curled underneath her. “As long as you understand that my fascination should in no way be misinterpreted as an endorsement of your actions.”
“Understood,” I said, taking it as a small victory. “Jessup is the less trusting of the two. If the sting is going to work, I have to get him to take the bait.” I got out my burner phone, put it on speaker, and dialed Jessup’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Tariq, this is Fly Boy,” I said. “I got bad news. That sweet deal we had planned for Saturday night—I’m pulling the plug on it.”