Patterson Array - NYPD Red

You keep working at it, you get the million-dollar smile. I got it.

“A friend of mine had to go out of town and she gave me two tickets to see La Traviata, ” she said.

“And let me guess-you love opera, but none of your friends do.”

“Actually, I hate opera…I take that back. I only went once, twelve years ago, and I walked out after three hours, and I think they still had another seventeen and a half hours to go. But I’ve got these tickets, and I’m trying to broaden my cultural horizons. Kind of a post-Fred renaissance.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have to be honest with you. I’ve never been. I know all the cliches like ‘it ain’t over till the fat lady sings,’ but I’m a virgin.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I couldn’t possibly ask someone who loves it. I’d be stuck there. But if you go, we can make a deal. If one of us hates it, we’ll stay-at least for a while. If both of us hate it, we bail out, and go bowling, or find a tractor pull somewhere.”

“In my case, a tractor pull would actually broaden my cultural horizons. When?”

“Saturday night.”

“If I’m not still chasing maniacs, it’s a date.”

We sat and talked for another half hour. By the time I had to leave, I was sure of one thing-Cheryl Robinson was ready for her post-Fred renaissance. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to be part of it.

Gabe was nervous. The director always refers to a big important scene as the money shot. But this one really was the money shot. He couldn’t afford to get it wrong-the ending of the movie was hanging on it.

The good news was that the production trailer was on a relatively quiet street, and it was only 6:00 in the morning, a solid hour before the foot traffic picked up.

The bad news was that he was right smack between Columbus Circle and Lincoln Center, an obvious target for terrorists. That meant there would be eyes-both human and electronic-all over the place. Add to that the fact that his getaway car was the D train, and his accomplice was a rank amateur, and he came to the conclusion that a guy would have to be crazy to pull a stunt like this.

Fortunately for me, he reminded himself, I am crazy.

There was no time for an elaborate disguise, so they decided to go commando. Ski masks.

The train stopped at Columbus Circle and they went upstairs and headed uptown on Broadway. When they got to 62nd, they walked west. They crossed Columbus Avenue, and there were the trailers-three of them-parked in a No Parking zone, blue film commission permits taped to their doors.

“Keep walking,” Gabe said.

Jimmy’s bike wasn’t there yet.

They walked to the corner of Amsterdam and waited.

They didn’t have to wait long. Jimmy Fitzhugh’s Suzuki came up Amsterdam, turned right on 62nd, and stopped at the first trailer half a block away.

“Walk fast,” Gabe said.

Jimmy chained his bike to the trailer hitch and headed for the steps.

“Masks,” Gabe said.

The masks went on and they got to the trailer just as Fitzhugh was unlocking the door.

Gabe followed him up the three steps and shoved him inside. Lexi followed and slammed the door behind them.

They were in. He couldn’t believe it, but they were in.

Gabe pointed the gun in Jimmy’s face, and, as expected, there was zero resistance.

“I got about five hundred bucks in my pocket,” Jimmy said. “It’s all yours. No problem.”

Silence.

Gabe kept the gun pointed at Jimmy, then reached around with his other hand and poked Lexi.

Even with her mask on, she appeared to be petrified. Frozen. This was her big scene, and she forgot to say her lines.

For ten seconds the three of them just stood there. A silent tableau. Gabe waiting for Lexi to say something. Lexi forgetting that she had something to say. And Jimmy Fitzhugh trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Finally, he made a stab at it.

“Yo tengo dinero,” Jimmy said. “Cinco. Cinco hundred dollars. No habla espanol, but I got five hundred bucks.”

Gabe pointed his gun at Fitzhugh, then at a desk chair.

“You want me to sit down?” Fitzhugh said.

Gabe nodded, and Fitzhugh sat.

He was in his forties, but athletic-not one of those three-hundred-pound bikers you see riding on the Thruway. He was an aging jock and proud of it-a gym rat who played tennis, squash, and Broadway League softball. Gabe had no doubt that given the chance, Fitzhugh would pounce on him in a heartbeat and take him down.

With the Walther trained on Fitzhugh, Gabe backed up to where Lexi was standing and got as close to her ear as possible.

“Say your lines,” he whispered.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She turned to Fitzhugh. “We want the money.”

“You speak English?” Fitzhugh said.

“Of course I speak English,” she said. “What kind of a stupid question is that? I repeat. We…want…the…money. Now.”

“I’ve got five hundred in my wallet. It’s all yours. Let me just reach into my pocket, and-”

“You think we came all the way up here to get your wallet?” Lexi said. “We want the drug money. Open the safe.”

Gabe could feel his chest tightening. Open the safe was in the script. We want the drug money was not.

“Who the fuck are you?” Fitzhugh yelled. “Do you work for Monte? Did he send you?”

“We work for ourselves!” Lexi yelled back. “Now open the safe.”

“I don’t have the combination, and I don’t know anything about drug money.” He stood up. “And if you want to know what’s good for you-”

Gabe slammed him across the face with the butt of the Walther. Fitzhugh fell back in the chair, both hands pressed hard to his bloody cheek.

“Open the safe now or die!” Gabe screamed, waving the gun at him and hoping that the pain and the fear would prevent Fitzhugh from recognizing his voice.

Fitzhugh was moaning. “Okay, okay. Please don’t shoot. I got two kids.”

He dropped to his knees and wiped his bloody hands across his shirt.

“Keep watch!” Gabe yelled at Lexi, hoping that two more words wouldn’t make a difference.

Lexi went to the trailer window and parted the blinds with her fingers.

“There’s people walking out there,” she said. “Hurry.”

Fitzhugh opened the safe and backed up. Gabe looked inside. No weapons. No nothing, except for a gray metal lockbox.

“The key is in my desk drawer,” Fitzhugh said.

Gabe waved him toward the desk with the gun.

“Hurry!” Lexi yelled, stamping her feet. “I think someone’s coming.”

Fitzhugh opened the top desk drawer and took out a small key. Then he pulled the lockbox from the safe.

“There’s enough in here for three separate buys,” he said. “Let me give you a piece of advice. You take a bundle, and I guarantee you nobody will chase you. You take it all, and Monte will hunt you down, rape your girlfriend, slit her throat, and put her in a coffin. She’ll be the lucky one, because you’ll go in after her-still breathing. Then he’ll bury the box and forget where he left you.”

“Open it,” Gabe growled, more concerned with getting out than being recognized.

Fitzhugh unlocked the box and flipped the top.

Three neat stacks of bills. Hundreds on top of each stack. Not very thick, but drug bundles didn’t have to be thick. They’d all be hundreds.

“Trust me,” Fitzhugh said. “You really don’t want to take them all.”

The Chameleon picked up one of the packets, then hesitated.

“I’m not kidding, Gabe-hurry up!” Lexi yelled frantically from her spot at the window. “I swear to God someone is really coming.”