The Vigilantes Part 37

Well, maybe one or both confidential informants will want to cash in the wannabe Roman for a twenty-grand reward. . . .

Matt then went to Rapier's message: -CPL KERRY RAPIER-.

THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW THAT I HEARD FROM FORENSICS ON THE PRINTS FROM KENDRIK MAYS'S HOUSE. GOT A HIT: IT'S YOUR OLD BUDDY SNU 2010-56-9280 d.a.m.n. But no surprise there. The mystery shooter strikes again.

Finally, he got to Coughlin's.

Payne was amazed that Coughlin had actually thumbed out a cleanly written text message, and he wondered how long the two sentences had taken him. They read: -UNCLE DENNY-.

BE PREPARED FOR CONFERENCE IN ECC TOMORROW 0800. YOUR PAL 5-F JUST CAUSED CARLUCCI TO REALLY BLOW HIS CORK AGAIN.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t," Matt said as he quickly thumbed and sent the reply: "Yes, sir. I'll be there."

"What, Matt?" Amanda asked.

"I was right. Something from very high up. Uncle Denny says that Carlucci has blown his cork and that he will hold another conference first thing in the morning. Which means I'll have to be there at oh-dark-thirty. Anytime he plays the Boy Scout motto card, it's code for me to really be on my toes."

"Be Prepared?" she said, reading the screen.

"Uh-huh."

Amanda then reached over and picked up the television remote from beside his knee. She hit its red OFF b.u.t.ton.

She then snuggled up to him and tugged his cell phone out of his hands. She turned it off, too, and slipped the phone back into his pants pocket.

Then she put her head on his shoulder and softly said, "That's tomorrow, sweetie. Now it's Be Prepared for tonight."

[FOUR].

Two Liberty Place, Thirty-seventh Floor 50 South Sixteenth Street, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 10:12 P.M.

"Seriously?" Jan Harper said, her tone sharp and incredulous. She tried keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard in the five-star restaurant high atop one of Philly's tallest buildings. "Rapp, I don't know if you can cover your a.s.s this time. Those guys are dead. And the demolition company is raising h.e.l.l that we-HUD-said it was clear to take down those condemned buildings. And I don't know who gave them the go-ahead."

Badde heard Jan, but he was paying more attention to how she looked in the posh Vista Fiume restaurant. And thinking how, when they'd walked in, she'd looked like she owned the place. The young bankers and lawyers and other professionals had turned.

The beautiful people, Badde thought. Badde thought.

And I'm with one of the prettiest women in the room.

Not bad for the son of a barber from South Philly.

This really is a cla.s.sy joint.

Maybe after I get through all this, and the fund makes a little more money, I'll get a condo here. Move on up. I heard Risken bought a six-million-dollar one just before he ran for governor. Not bad company for me to be a.s.sociated with. . . .

Taking up half of the entire thirty-seventh floor, "River View" had a high-cla.s.s international feel, more like a large open-air nightclub than a restaurant. All its gleaming wood-inlaid tables featured undulating lounge seats that faced the windows and their commanding views of the city and the rivers bracketing it. The ambience thrummed with a high energy.

While Vista Fiume set a new nightlife standard for Philadelphia, it still wasn't on par with the chicest and toniest restaurants and nightclubs that were offered in New York, the City That Never Sleeps. And the Philly nightlife certainly wasn't anywhere near that of, say, Buenos Aires, where the Argentines began partying well past ten-thirty and did not slow down until the sun came up.

But judging by the international clientele, Badde thought, scanning the room, Badde thought, scanning the room, it's coming. it's coming.

Those foreign models are gorgeous-and Jan fits right in.

When he had driven the Range Rover up to the cobblestone circle drive of the Hops Haus Tower, Jan had been waiting just inside the main gla.s.s doors. The bright lights of the lobby made her look like a model. Her curvy body looked stunning in a black velvet dress, her silky light-brown face complemented with an elegant short strand of pearls.

Although Badde-who had stopped by his City Hall office and changed into a plain dark two-piece suit and open-collared s.h.i.+rt he'd worn two days earlier-would never have admitted to it, he felt far out of her league.

And that had only become more apparent to him when they'd arrived at Two Liberty Place, a first-cla.s.s high-rise that was the city's third-tallest building. It featured executive offices and condominiums costing upward of seven million dollars, among the most expensive in town.

Then Jan had really proven she owned the place when she told the maitre d': "The reservation is under Harper, and it's for table eighty-two, please."

After they were seated, and Rapp Badde could tell the table had the best view in the place, he said, "You've been here before!"

She smiled. "No, I just made a few calls while getting ready. Then made the reservation. A friend said table eighty-two is supposed to have the best sunset view. And she said I should have crab cakes and lobster, and my date should get either the tenderloin or veal. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, the mini cheesesteaks. Get some before Yuri arrives."

Badde then thought: And what the h.e.l.l does the Russian want to talk about all of a sudden? I've been racking my brain over that since Jan said we were coming here. And what the h.e.l.l does the Russian want to talk about all of a sudden? I've been racking my brain over that since Jan said we were coming here.

He really is an impatient one-an impatient one with a temper.

Forty-eight-year-old Yuri Tikhonov was an international investor who had earned his first billion dollars between the ages of thirty-five and forty-after, it was rumored, having more or less left the employ of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, Russia's external spying and intelligence gathering agency, formerly the KGB.

Tikhonov now had investments in companies around the world, though primarily in Russia, Europe, and the United States. He held forty-nine percent of Diamond Development in Philadelphia, while the other fifty-one percent-the majority of shares-was owned by minority investors or minority-owned companies, including one Urban Ventures LLC.

Tikhonov was quietly friendly with various members of the Russian mafia, a group viewed as far more merciless than the Italian mob. It was said that the only reason the Russians hadn't come in and simply wiped out La Cosa Nostra was that they felt the crimes of the Sicilians-petty by comparison-weren't really compet.i.tion. The Wops kept the cops plenty busy chasing cheap hookers and sports bookies, and were thus a convenient diversion from the Russians' own high-dollar illicit activities, everything from corporate fraud to money laundering.

Badde had learned that it didn't take a mathematical whiz to put two and two together and figure out that a lot of the investment money going into the Diamond Development projects was dirty cash getting cleansed.

But no one-particularly a politician hoping to run for mayor of Philadelphia in the next election-was ever going to question the minority lead investors (brought together by Tikhonov) about where their funds had been borrowed from (venture capital firms serving as sh.e.l.ls for the Russian mob).

If that happened, the money-and the "multipurpose professional entertainment venue" and other major projects-would find a city not so inquisitive and unfriendly to capital investment.

Jan Harper took a bite of her crab cake appetizer, then carefully picked up her martini gla.s.s and sipped the bright green appletini.

"Seriously," Badde said, nodding after taking a swallow of his vodka-and-tonic c.o.c.ktail. "Who's anyone going to believe more? The office of a city councilman or a bunch of Dago dirt movers? I've got that possible liability-"

"Plausible deniability, Rapp," she interrupted, her tone now slightly disgusted. "I told you that it's called plausible deniability. What you deny is believable. And to that point, I'm not sure that's the case here. Three people are dead, and it looks like HUD sent a crew out to do it." Rapp," she interrupted, her tone now slightly disgusted. "I told you that it's called plausible deniability. What you deny is believable. And to that point, I'm not sure that's the case here. Three people are dead, and it looks like HUD sent a crew out to do it."

She looked at him as she went to sip her martini.

He looks p.i.s.sed. And he is.

But it's not because I corrected him.

It's because I interrupted.

Badde then shrugged. "I don't know. If we didn't do it, then we didn't do it."

"It's perception," Jan said. "People believe what they see, not necessarily what the facts are."

"Then maybe we can blame it on miscommunications. Throw some poor campaign volunteer under the bus." He paused in thought. "Actually, that might be a really good idea. An extra diversion."

Jan Harper didn't say anything, but she was coming to realize that the more she knew H. Rapp Badde, Jr., the more she found that he wasn't at all shy about making people sacrificial lambs for his purposes.

Sure, it's not unusual in politics, where the rule is always to protect the politician.

But he almost does it for blood sport.

And who's to say he wouldn't do it to me?

Jan glanced around the room, then looked at Badde, who she saw was also scanning the crowd. Suddenly, his eyes went wide.

"Don't look now," he said, looking behind her toward the entrance. "Wait till I tell you."

"What?"

"Yuri just walked in."

She turned. When she saw him, she smiled and waved once, then turned back toward Badde.

Yuri Tikhonov had a slender, compact, five-foot-five frame. His dark hair was cut stylishly long, the back touching his collar. He had a narrow face with piercing blue-gray eyes. He wore a custom-made dark two-piece suit and ice-blue s.h.i.+rt with French cuffs.

Tikhonov was making a direct line for the table, stopping only to shake hands with a few of the well-dressed men and kiss the cheeks of many more ladies.

Badde, still looking in his direction, was starting to stand. He said somewhat disgustedly, "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d acts like he owns the place."

Jan said simply, "He does, Rapp. I thought you knew."

When she saw him standing, she suddenly said in a loud whisper: "Badde!"

He looked at her with an annoyed expression that was meant to say What now? What now?

She nodded toward his crotch and waved her hand over hers. "Your napkin!"

He looked down, said, "s.h.i.+t," then removed the black linen napkin from where he'd tucked it into his belt.

He tossed the napkin onto the lounge seat just in time to hold out his right hand. He turned on his best politician's charm. "Yuri! How very good to see you again."

The Russian ignored Badde's hand and, instead, first leaned over and lightly kissed Jan on both cheeks.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Janelle," he said, taking a step back and spreading his arms. "You look fabulous! A movie star!"

Then he turned to Badde and offered his hand.

"We do need to talk," he said by way of greeting.

Badde motioned for him to have a seat, and he took it.

"This won't take long," the Russian said, all businesslike. A waiter arrived and delivered to him a gla.s.s of ice water. "How soon does the project move forward, now that the holdouts have left the property?"

Rapp looked to Jan.

She said, "Theoretically, crews could start tomorrow. Realistically? Probably a month."

They watched as Tikhonov sipped his ice water and considered that.

"Not good enough," he then said. "Sooner. Too much time has been wasted."

Ever the politician, Badde smiled and lied, "Of course, Yuri. Sooner."

He looked at Jan and said, "Sooner, right?"

"Rapp, I'm not sure-"

"Sooner," Badde repeated, almost as if it were an order, then looked at Tikhonov.

Tikhonov locked eyes with him.

"No promises," the Russian said. "I want it done."

Badde then said, "Just so you know, there may be a small delay. We first have to manage a misunderstanding that we killed one of the holdouts by sending the wrecking crew and-"

Tikhonov interrupted him: "It will be no problem. That will be found to be nothing more than an unfortunate accident-"

Rapp interrupted: "That's what I thought," he said, giving Jan a glance.

"-and they will find that the others died of natural causes unknown," Tikhonov concluded.

"How can you be so sure?" Badde asked, clearly surprised.

Tikhonov considered his reply a long moment, then simply said: "Succinylcholine."

"What?"

"A muscle relaxant," Tikhonov said conversationally, "sometimes called suxamethonium. Injected, it causes the heart muscle to relax till it stops. Has a very short half-life. Undetectable after perhaps an hour."

Badde again glanced at Jan, then at Tikhonov. "You did it?"

Tikhonov, stone-faced, took a sip of his ice water, then said, "Of course not. Friends."

Badde thought, Ice water is fitting. Just like the blood in his veins. Ice water is fitting. Just like the blood in his veins.

Badde said, "So then you called the demolition crew?"

Tikhonov shook his head. "Dimitri."