Джеймс Паттерсон - Ambush

We met in the lobby of the Aloft Hotel, a little south of our office. The bar tucked in next to the side entrance was empty, and we sat at a table where no one could hear us. A skinny young waiter delivered my Coca-Cola and a glass of Scotch for John, the regulator.

Today John was a little more dressed up, with a long-sleeved plaid shirt and a bolo tie. His long silver-streaked hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and the beautiful woman who had been sent to keep an eye on him was nowhere in sight. I didn’t ask any questions about it.

He insisted on paying for his drink, and I noticed the first name Johann on his American Express card. Again, I wasn’t going to ask any questions.

The regulator said, “I heard what happened to the Dominicans I told you about. Did you have anything to do with their deaths?”

“Not at all.”

“You realize that no one on the street or in their crew believes they shot each other in an argument.”

“I don’t believe it, either.”

“The whole crew is running scared. Whoever they crossed has no sense of humor whatsoever.”

I said, “I was hoping you might have another lead for me or some information I could use.”

The regulator shook his head and said, “I was lucky to get those names. Things are odd right now with this unpleasantness going on between the Mexicans and the Canadians.”

“So you have no idea why they would want to kill me?”

The regulator said, “The question is, what would lead them to you? What connection do you have to the Mexican cartel?”

I thought about everything that had happened in the recent past. Brian being arrested. My being forced to shoot a teenage hit man named Diego in the Columbia library. The man who had corrupted Brian.

I snapped my fingers.

The regulator said, “There’s always a moment when things become crystal clear. What have you recalled, my friend?”

“Caracortada.”

This time it was Sergeant Marcia who said, “The guy we arrested in his underwear? What’s Caracortada mean again?”

The regulator said, “Scarface.”

I said, “He’s a dealer for the cartel. I locked him up a few months back, and he’s in Rikers Island right now.”

The regulator took a sip of the Scotch and said, “Perhaps he could help.”

Alex Martinez saw Bennett pull to the curb near the Aloft Hotel. She slipped her car into an overpriced lot and followed him and the other tall police officer into the lobby. Alex had been there before. She headed right for the lobby bar, where she almost ran into Bennett and the other detective, seated at a table tucked in behind the bar. There was something familiar about the man they were meeting.

Alex picked up her camera and snapped a few photos inside the lobby, as if she were cataloging the architecture.

A little girl in a pretty blue dress smiled and waved a tiny hand at her. Alex smiled back and knelt down so the little girl could see her camera more clearly.

The girl’s mother said, “Don’t bother the nice lady, Susanna.”

Alex said, “No — it’s fine. I miss my own daughters, so it’s nice to see a friendly little girl.”

It was true that she missed her daughters, but the little girl also provided her with better cover. No one would suspect her if she was kneeling down to chat with a little girl in the lobby.

Alex also used the opportunity to snap a quick photo of Bennett and the man he was meeting in the bar, an older man with long, graying hair.

Then Alex realized who it was. Johann Batterberg. He called himself John and claimed to be some kind of drug-world negotiator. She had once heard him referred to as “the narcotics whisperer.” He brokered deals between rival gangs, avoiding unnecessary violence.

Suddenly she realized that Bennett was working hard at trying to figure out who had ordered the hit on him. He must have reasoned that it was someone in the narcotics business. He was definitely a smart detective.

It was interesting that he was talking to the regulator. While the Austrian-born man was involved in a lot of different negotiations, the major cartels tended to ignore him completely. They gave no credence to the idea that anyone besides them wielded power in the business. She wondered what kind of information Johann could provide to Bennett.

Suddenly this was getting very interesting. She might have to move her schedule for eliminating Bennett ahead, before he figured anything out.

When the little meeting broke up, she already had her car ready to go. She watched Bennett and the other police officer as they stepped onto the street.

I didn’t bring Sergeant Tim Marcia to Rikers Island with me. I was a little embarrassed that I had missed such an obvious link as Caracortada. His real name was Albert Stass, and he had been born in Uruguay, then raised in Mexico. I had barely even met the man, even though I was part of the team that arrested him and sat in on his early hearings.

That didn’t mean I didn’t know a lot about him. He’d ruined my life. At least ruined it as much as any one man could. He had set up a network of high school students to sell various forms of methamphetamine and ecstasy. The Mexican cartel considered synthetic drugs the next logical step in their business plan.

Unfortunately, my son Brian was one of the kids Stass had corrupted. That’s how it started, anyway. Later he had used terror tactics to keep the kids in line. My son was so scared that he ended up going to prison without revealing any information.

Now this creep was a link to the person who was after me. Talking to him would also give me an idea who ordered the attack on my son in prison.

I met a friend of mine, corrections lieutenant Vinnie Mintus, who came with me to a special interview room where Stass was waiting. I had to calm myself down before entering, because the idea of seeing Stass in person made me think about committing a crime of my own.

When I was ready, I went in and sat down on a hard metal chair at a flat, scarred wooden table and looked across at Albert Stass. He was in his forties, and he really did have a fairly significant scar on his face. Other than that, there was nothing remarkable about the man.

He looked back at me with flat brown eyes.

I said, “Do you know who I am?”

“I know.”

“You know why I’m here to talk to you?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not telling you shit.”

I shrugged and looked over my shoulder at my friend, who worked at Rikers Island every day.

Lieutenant Mintus said, “You could help yourself out if you talked to us.”

“I’ve got a lawyer for this case. I got nothing to say to you.”

Lieutenant Mintus smiled and said, “I’m talking about the potential assault case for the guy you attacked in the cafeteria last week.”

“You mean the black gangbanger? All I did was shove him.”

“Shove, tried to choke — who could say?” The lieutenant gave him a grin that even made me nervous. “You know how things work around here. You could be isolated and secured until trial.”

“That ain’t right, and you know it.”

I said, “Is it right to lure kids into selling drugs?”

“ Allegedly lure kids into selling drugs.”

It was my friend the lieutenant who said, “Cut the shit. If you want to avoid some additional charges, just listen to the questions Detective Bennett has for you. You may not even think they’re important.”

Stass thought about it for a few seconds, then looked at me without much interest and said, “Go ahead.”

I said, “Who put out the contract on me? And why?”

“All I have is hearsay. It could never be used in court.”