John Miller - Inside Out

Sam embraced Johnny. “Man, let's get back down to New Orleans,” Sam told him. “I need to get some real food in me.” In a move that was totally out of character, he waved at the assembled reporters like a victorious politician.

“We got a jet waiting, boss. Compliments of some friends of ours,” Johnny Russo informed him. “You'll be back home in a couple hours.”

“Man,” Sam said loudly, “I wish to God Bertran Stern was alive to see justice served.” He took a cigar from his pocket and bit the tip off before putting it into his mouth. Once inside the limo, however, Sam instantly lost the festive facade.

As they pulled off, several cars filled with photographers and reporters fell into traffic behind the limo.

“Where'd you get this car from?” he asked Russo.

“From the Rizzo brothers. We checked it over good anyway.”

Sam didn't want to talk any business in any car, but he needed to make an exception. “Let me hear some music.”

Johnny called out to Spiro. “Let's have some music!” Spiro turned the music up loud and fiddled with the controls until the rear speakers were fully engaged.

“What you found out about Sean?” Sam asked, speaking into Johnny's ear.

“Nothing,” Russo admitted. “Like she vanished off the face of the planet.”

“You tellin' me you still don't know where she's at? What did Herman say?”

“I haven't been able to contact him. Maybe he's lying low.”

Sam shook his head. “No reason to. Nobody can touch him.”

“All I know is he ain't answering his phone.”

Manelli chewed down hard on his cigar. “Do this,” he hissed softly, his lips almost touching Johnny's ear. “I gotta get her. You find her and bring her to me. You put the word out to everybody with eyes in the country. Every airport, bus, train, car rentals, cabbies, Teamsters, whatever. A hundred grand, a quarter million, whatever it takes and no questions. You need special people, hire them. You just make it happen.”

He sat back. “Tell me, how was Bertran's funeral?”

“I didn't go,” Johnny said, swallowing hard. “I couldn't make it with everything that's going on. It was on Sunday.”

“They put their folks in the ground fast,” Sam agreed. “He was a good lawyer.”

Finished talking, Sam removed the cigar and yelled at the driver, “Spiro, cut that noise! You killing my ears.”

Richmond, Virginia

Sean had left the hotel using a group of youthful German tourists for camouflage. She ate a late lunch at the coffee shop two blocks up the street. On the way back to the hotel, she stopped into the convenience store to pick up a six-pack of Evian. The clerk had the television set on-the words CNN NEWS UPDATE filled the screen.

The announcement said that two of the eight passengers aboard the Justice Department's jet that crashed Thursday night in Virginia were protected witnesses in transit along with five United States marshals and Assistant United States Attorney Avery Whitehead from New Orleans. The reporter stated that Whitehead had been spearheading the prosecution of Sam Manelli for conspiracy to commit murder. The names of the six marshals were being withheld until the next of kin were all notified. The newscaster said that the director of the FBI and the attorney general had scheduled a press conference for Thursday, to make further announcements on the status of the investigation into the crashed jet. There was no mention of the four UNSUBs or that a deputy marshal was killed on Rook Island, and the news report didn't connect the deaths of the sailors to the crash in rural Virginia.

The newscaster announced that there was breaking news in Atlanta, and the screen changed to show a reporter holding a microphone. The camera panned to a door where a stocky man strode toward a waiting limousine. Sean felt so dizzy she feared she would throw up.

The CNN reporter tied Manelli's release to the downed jet and reported that the dead witness had been a “confessed” contract killer who had implicated Manelli as having hired him to commit a dozen murders. The reporter said that all of the charges against Sam Manelli, which had been based on the deceased killer's accusations, had been dropped.

On the screen, Sam, standing beside Johnny Russo, waved at the reporters, a frown on his face. Sean felt as though someone had winded her. It was as if he was waving at her, that he could see her, knew she was there, watching him, fearing him.

Sean turned for the door, but the clerk's frantic calls brought her back to the counter where she had abandoned the six-pack of water and her twenty dollar bill. Sean smiled, waited for her change, and carried the sack out.

As she turned and made her way down the street she became aware of twin shadows-hers and another closing in from behind. Her heart started to pound as she slipped her hand into her coat pocket, gripping the Smith amp; Wesson. The shadow man reached out-Sean spun and found herself facing Wire Dog.

“Sally!” The cabdriver's smile evaporated at the ferocity of her glare.

“You son of a bitch!” she hissed, leaving the gun in her coat pocket. “You scared me.”

Sally,” Wire Dog started. “I-”

“Are you crazy?” she snapped.

“I saw you go inside. I thought-”

Sean could see Wire Dog's cab parked in front of the hotel as she stormed up the street. “Don't you know better than to sneak up on people?” she demanded.

“I'm sorry.”

Checking for traffic, Sean crossed the street, Wire Dog beside her. “I have to leave tonight,” she said. “There's been a change in my deadline.”

“I'll take you to the airport-what time?”

“Eight o'clock sharp.” She had decided she would just grab the first flight to anywhere.

It looked like most of the residents of the hotel were in the lobby, socializing. Max was sorting through the mail at the counter. He set it aside when Sean approached.

“Miss McSorley,” he said. “I hope you are finding our ‘Wolfe' room inspirational.”

“I've gotten a lot done. It turns out I have to leave tonight. I want to tell you how much I've enjoyed my stay.”

“It has been a grand pleasure having you.” Max bowed his head. “I do hope you will return.” He peered at her over his half-glasses and winked. “Good luck.”

As she walked toward the elevator she noticed a young woman seated on a couch beside an older woman, who was laughing at something the other had said. Seeing that the ancient elevator was gone, Sean decided to take the stairs. As she climbed the steps, she was thinking how nice it was to hear people laughing. The two women in the lobby reminded her of how much she missed her mother.

The hunter had spent the morning waiting in the van, watching the street. Hawk's partner had passed his position several times, haunting the streets in the district hoping to luck onto the target.

At ten A.M. Hawk had gone into the hotel. He told the manager that he intended to purchase and renovate a commercial building in the area and said he would be looking for a quiet place to live while the construction was going on. The elderly manager took the bait and assured him that the hotel was home to a large number of monthly residents. He had several suites with kitchenettes. The hunter praised the magnificent lobby, the detailed plasterwork, the marble floors.

The hunter had asked, since he would be bringing in craftsmen for the project, how many rooms were available for transient guests. The manager said that floors four and above were for temporary guests. A look at the keyboard on the wall behind the counter told the hunter that twenty-two keys were missing from the pegs that corresponded to the rooms on floors four through eight. He thanked the manager, promising to get in touch as things progressed on his project.