Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

“I said shortly,” Eric said. “Make it five. And here’s something else, Ryan. I want that check tripled or there’s no deal.”

There was a silence.

“Answer me,” Eric said. “It’s all here. But it’s triple or nothing.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Louis said. “I’m not paying you-”

“The information’s worth ten times that amount and you know it,” Eric interrupted. “Now, what’s it going to be? You’re down to four minutes.”

“All right,” Louis said. “I’ll triple it.”

Eric smiled grimly, his stomach tense. Now for the bluff. “And, Louis, in case you decide not to come through with that check, and in case anything happens to me, I want you to know that before I called you, I called a friend about this. If he reads my obituary, the world soon will be reading yours. Remember that. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck with me. I’ve already set things into motion should anything happen.”

He severed the connection and dialed the front desk.

“This is Eric Parker,” he said to one of the doormen on duty. “I’m expecting friends. No need to call me when they arrive. Just send them up to Diana Crane’s apartment.”

He put down the phone, removed the files from Diana’s briefcase and substituted them for the files he had seen in the drawers to his right. The folders were an identical deep green. He snapped the briefcase shut and put it back as he had found it. By the time Diana realized the switch, Eric hoped to be somewhere in Europe, perhaps Switzerland, with the money Louis Ryan owed him.

He tucked the folders beneath his arm and reached for his crutches. No sooner had he left the room and tackled the winding staircase that he heard someone ringing the doorbell.

He hesitated, wondering if Ryan had believed his bluff. He knew there was a chance that he might open that door and take a series of bullets in the chest.

It was a risk he’d have to take.

He went to the door and looked through the peephole. Standing in the hallway was a tall, rugged-looking man in his early thirties with tousled dark hair. He was wearing an unseasonably warm black leather jacket. His hands were cupped behind his back.

Eric wished the man’s hands weren’t concealed, but he opened the door anyway.

They stared at each other.

The man in the hallway looked at the folders beneath Eric’s arm, then at the cast on his leg, the bruises on his face. The edge of his mouth lifted into a smile.

Eric held out a hand for the check.

The man’s smile faded. He reached into his jacket pocket, removed the check and handed it to Eric. “Give me the files,” he said.

Eric unfolded the check and saw that the amount had indeed been tripled. Relief overcame him.

He gave the man the files and closed the door in his face, locking it quickly.

It was over.

He pressed his back against the door as elation swept through him.

He was now worth ninety million dollars.

Diana moved quickly down the hallway, perhaps too quickly given the crisis she was leaving, because all eyes were on her as she hurried toward the bank of elevators.

Why was Eric on her computer? What was he hoping to find? Was he just bored and using it to see how things were working out with the deals he left behind when George fired him? Or were there other reasons?

She was about to reach the elevators when someone behind her called out her name. She turned and saw Jack Douglas. He was standing just outside his office. On his face was a look of concern and curiosity.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She needed to get out of there.

“I’m fine.” She pressed a button on the elevator.

“No, you’re not,” he said, coming toward her. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“It’s really nothing-

“What is it?”

She looked at him. Tall and muscular, his body as rugged as steel. Regardless of what Eric was up to, she decided having someone like Jack accompany her to her apartment might be a good idea. She motioned him over.

“Will this remain between us?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m depending on that,” she said, and so she took the risk. “Eric Parker is staying with me. I just learned he’s on my computer, which is connected to Redman International’s main database and which obviously has created a major security breach since Eric no longer works here.”

The doors to the elevator whisked open.

“I don’t know what he’s doing,” she said. “But he received no permission from me to use that computer. I’m concerned.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She nodded and they stepped inside. “This is going to sound stupid,” she said. “But do you have access to a gun?”

The question surprised him. “No,” he said. “But why would I need a gun?”

Diana pressed a button and looked at him as the elevator dropped. “Because if he’s doing what I think he’s doing, we might need it and the police.”

For Eric Parker, there was only escape.

He left the door and went to gather his things. On a table, he placed the check next to his watch and wallet and then he went to the staircase-that fucking winding staircase-and started to climb the stairs that led to the guest bedroom Diana offered him.

It was a struggle to reach the top, but he made it and went to the bedroom, where he grabbed a duffel bag and started tossing clothes into it.

He didn’t need everything, just enough to get him on a plane and out of the country. In the bathroom, he took only what was necessary. In his briefcase, he checked to make sure his passport was there. He went back to the bedroom and picked up the phone. He called his travel agent and ordered a first class ticket to Switzerland. A flight was leaving in two hours. The e-ticket would be waiting for him at the ticket counter.

Perfect.

He dialed the front desk. “It’s Eric Parker. Would you hail a cab for me? I’ll be down in 10 minutes.”

As he replaced the receiver, he heard a door open and click shut. It came from downstairs. A rush of panic shot through him, but he stilled it.

She was home.

Eric thought about how he would handle this and decided there was only one way. Get out of this bedroom, get down the stairs and face her.

He was leaving. She didn’t have to know where he was going. By the time he got to the airport, she’d likely learn that he’d gotten into her computer. But at that point, it wouldn’t matter-he’d be well on his way to a country that would protect him.

He snatched his duffel bag, tossed it over his shoulder and grabbed his crutches. This wouldn’t go well, but he’d keep it brief. He was out of there.

He went to the bedroom door, opened it and took a step back.

Standing just beyond the door wasn’t Diana. It was Mario De Cicco and with him were two men, each holding guns now pointed at Eric’s face.

De Cicco moved into the room with such force, Eric staggered back. His cast caught on the floor, he nearly fell, but he reached for a chair and righted himself so he wouldn’t go down.

De Cicco glanced at the duffle bag. “Going somewhere?”

Eric said nothing. He noticed that De Cicco and his men were wearing gloves. On their feet were paper booties that covered their shoes. He felt a rush of fear and knew why they were here. They were going to kill him.

“Answer the question, Eric. Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m going back to my apartment. What the fuck is it with you?”

“When you put out a contract on Leana Redman, it means everything to me.” He moved toward Eric, knowing this needed to be brief.

“How did you get up here?” Eric said.

“They let us in. Apparently, you were expecting friends. We just breezed through, so thanks for that.” He moved closer to him. “Beating Leana Redman was your first mistake, Eric. Taking out that contract was your final mistake.” He stepped aside. “Walk through the door.”