The October List Part 26

'And get a drink spilled on you.'

'It sounded like you were working too, a business call.' She nodded at the two mobiles that sat in front of him. An iPhone and a Motorola Droid.

'I was doing a project with a partnership in Aruba. It just closed today. I've been banging out the details since nine.'

'Congratulations. And my sympathies.'

'Thanks.' Daniel laughed and sipped the scotch. 'I went for a swim at my health club and came over here ... to unwind.'

She smiled at the echo.

The talk veered slowly from the professional. Personal stats were recited. They both lived in Manhattan. He told her that he had two sons, living with his ex in Nyack.

'My husband and I have joint custody.' Gabriela tugged her phone from her Coach purse. She scrolled and displayed a picture. 'This's Sarah. She's six.'

'Adorable.'

'She's into ballet and gymnastics. But she just discovered horses. Oh, does she want a horse.'

'Where are you in the city?'

'Upper West. Two bedroom, a thousand square feet. We could probably fit a horse in, but I don't think they do well in elevators.'

'And Sarah's dad?'

She said, 'No. He's okay in elevators.'

'You're pretty funny.' Spoken as if Daniel didn't date women who were.

'Tim lives on Long Island,' Gabriela continued. 'But not in the horse stabling neighborhood.'

Daniel gestured to the bartender, who responded immediately. 'Another for me. And the same for her.'

'No, really,' Gabriela protested.

'Cheaper than buying you a new Neiman Marcus blouse.'

'It's Macy's. But I didn't mean no to the drink. I mean no to what I'm drinking. I'll upgrade to the Merry Edwards pinot noir. Since he's buying.'

Daniel lifted an eyebrow, impressed at her choice.

A moment later the drinks appeared. She wondered what tats the bartender was hiding with the makeup.

Occupy! Down with the One Percent!

Or maybe something simple: f.u.c.k Capitalism.

She thought about saying this to Daniel but, while he'd probably laugh, she decided not to.

When the new gla.s.ses arrived, they tapped and talked about the agony and ecstasy of living in the city. About Ground Zero, which was visible from Limoncello's. The Trade Towers would forever cast indelible shadows over the city.

Then a dozen subjects arose in easy conversation: restaurants, traveling, parents, politics the last in a safely glancing fashion, though their views seemed similar.

When they were close to finishing their drinks, Daniel looked at his watch. Didn't sneak a glance, just lifted the heavy Rolex and noted the time.

She nodded. 'Dinner plans, sure.'

'Actually, no. I have a meeting.' Daniel's eyes circled, her hair, her face, her eyes. 'You have to get back to your daughter?'

She sniffed subtext. 'I'll pick her up tomorrow. She's at her father's tonight.'

'Don't know if you're interested, but that meeting? You have any interest in helping me out?'

'Doing what?'

'Actually, I'm meeting an interior designer to pick out upholstery.'

She shook her head. 'That's not a good come-on line.'

'I'm having new leather installed in my speedboat.'

'That's a better one.'

He opened the backpack he used for a briefcase and took out a booklet of leather samples. She flipped through the pages, which were organized by color. Her favorites were the rich oranges, the sort she imagined as the color of seats in brash sports cars. The names were words like 'carrot,' 'pumpkin,' 'amber,' 'tomato.'

But her favorite was called 'Princeton,' presumably after the school colors of the New Jersey university. It was the boldest offered by the company.

'I do have a preference,' Gabriela said slowly. 'But how can I say for sure without seeing the boat?'

'We can fix that.'

CHAPTER.

4.

1:30 p.m., Friday

3 hours, 30 minutes earlier

The Prius, tinted in Toyota's wan, innocuous light blue, eased through the winding streets of Bronxville, New York, past mansions nestled in s.p.a.cious yards of yellowing gra.s.s, waning gardens, banks of damp September leaves.

Accustomed to driving his Maserati, Daniel Reardon didn't much care for the car, though he hadn't expected power. It was mostly the quiet of the engine he objected to. He'd heard there were some cars that now added sound s.e.xy engine noises through speakers. This was a cheat and he thought it ridiculous. Daniel liked authenticity, for good or bad. The Maserati's Tubi exhausts, for instance, resonated at a high pitch that could, in the upper gear ranges, threaten to pierce your eardrums.

He loved that.

Faint cla.s.sical music was on the radio but it dimmed when an incoming call announced itself. Daniel answered and spoke to his client in the awkward language of business that is at the same time vague and precise. Finally, some technical legal and financial decisions made, he offered a pleasant farewell to the man who'd earned The Norwalk Fund close to two hundred thousand dollars last year. He disconnected. The cla.s.sical music rose once more. Mozart. The clarinet concerto. An odd instrument and very difficult, he knew, to play well. He'd dated a girl once who'd been a cellist in a symphony orchestra. She'd explained that the reeds had taken her the most time to master. 'You've got to negotiate the sound from them.'

Daniel had liked that expression quite a lot, which was why he remembered the sentence, while the image of the girl had all but vanished years ago.

In his gray Ca.n.a.li suit, Daniel was certainly dressed for this area. He seemed like any other businessman returning home early from his White Plains law firm or investment bank.

He drove carefully. The streets were slick with colorful layers; wind and rain had conspired to thin the canopy of oak and maple, decimating the foliage (almost literally, removing about every tenth leaf or so Daniel grew irritated when people used the verb incorrectly).

He steered onto Henderson Lane, presently deserted of traffic, and continued past houses less opulent than the mansions but just as quiet. The windows of the structures were dark, mostly, and he spotted not a single person on the clean sidewalks. At a four-way intersection, he braked to a stop and let a Grand Cherokee, dark red, precede him, turning into Henderson. Daniel accelerated slowly and fell in behind the vehicle.

Several blocks away, when the SUV eased up to a stop sign, Daniel stabbed the brake pedal. The Prius skidded on the leaves and tapped the b.u.mper of the Jeep gently.

He frowned and glanced forward. He saw the eyes of the occupants of the Jeep: the driver's in the mirror and his college-aged pa.s.senger's directly; the girl turned to gaze with some generic hostility.

Daniel winced and climbed out. He joined the driver, standing by the Jeep's open door. He shook his head. 'I am so sorry!'

The stocky man in a navy sport coat, tan slacks and blue shirt grinned ruefully. 'Not like you were doing a hundred miles an hour.'

'I didn't think the leaves'd be that slick. Man, it was like ice. I just kept going.' Daniel looked into the front seat. He said to the girl, clearly his daughter, 'Sorry, you okay?'

'Like, yeah. I guess.' The blond girl returned to her iPod. The day was warm but she wore a stocking cap pulled down tight over her long hair and the sleeves of her thick sweatshirt extended nearly to her fingers.

The two men walked to the back of the SUV and regarded the vehicle. The Cherokee driver said, 'They make 'em tough. I was going to say American cars, but, h.e.l.l, I don't really know where these babies're built. Could be Tokyo.' A nod at the Prius. 'And that could've been made in Arkansas. Parts of it anyway.'

Daniel looked around the immaculate neighborhood. All was still deserted. 'Thomas, listen carefully. Are you listening?'

The driver kept grinning. Waiting for an explanation. When there was none, he asked. 'Do I know you?'

'No, you don't. Now, I want the name of the bank in Aruba your investment partnership uses. And the main investment account number and the PIN.'

'Wait. What is this?'

Daniel unb.u.t.toned his jacket and displayed the narrow grip of an old Smith & Wesson revolver. A .38 special.

'Oh, my G.o.d.' His eyes went to his daughter, lost in the elixir of music.

'Just give me the information and you'll be fine. She will too.'

'Who are you ...?' His voice rose into a filament of sound, not unlike a note from a reed instrument.

'Hold on, hold on,' Daniel said, keeping a smile on his face, just in case anybody did happen to be behind one of those black windows. 'Don't panic. You don't want to do that. This is just business. All I want is that information. I'll verify it and then you go on your way. You'll be out twenty million dollars but no one will get hurt. Besides, you didn't exactly get that through socially minded investments, did you?'

'You're insane,' he whispered. Panic was gone, anger had taken its place. And fast. 'You f.u.c.ker. You do this in front of my daughter? Who are you working for?'

'Thomas, you don't have much time. I'll shoot your daughter first, because I need you alive to give me-'

'All right. Don't even mention that! Don't even say it! All right, I'll give it to you.'

Daniel placed a call.

'h.e.l.lo?' came the low, melodious answering voice.

'Andrew.' He handed the phone to Thomas and instructed, 'Give him the information.'

'I don't have it memorized!'

'She gets shot first and-'

'I just mean it's in my phone! It's encrypted. It'll take a minute.'

Daniel said into the phone, 'He's got to decrypt it.'

Andrew Faraday said through the tinny speaker, 'Okay. But hurry.'

Daniel glanced into the Jeep. The girl seemed irritated that she couldn't find a song on her playlist.

With Daniel watching, to make sure that Thomas didn't hit 911, the businessman began typing on his mobile. He lost his place. He took a deep breath. Daniel told him, 'Stay calm. Take your time.'

'He said hurry!'

'Calm,' Daniel said.

Thomas started over. He nodded at the screen and took the phone from Daniel's hand. He began reciting numbers.

Daniel took back the iPhone. 'Well?' he asked Andrew.

He heard keyboard taps. A delay. 'It's good.' The phone disconnected.

The whole incident from car tap to confirmation had taken four minutes, just the time for two drivers to good-naturedly swap insurance info and agree there'd be no point in calling the police.

'Now get in your car and drive home. It's okay. You gave us what we wanted. It's all over with now. Just go home.'

Thomas turned and reached for the Jeep's door with shaking hands. When he'd opened it, Daniel took a paper towel from his pocket and, wrapping it around the grip of the gun, drew the weapon and shot the businessman twice in the back of the head. He leaned down and looked in the pa.s.senger compartment, where blood flecked the dashboard and the windshield and the face and hat of his daughter, who was screaming as she stared at her father's twitching body. She was clawing frantically at the door handle.