Michael Ares - Dayfall

Jon was impressed, because the man managed to frame and limit any discussion with just one sentence. Halladay, for his part, was smart enough to know he was being handled, but not smart enough to know exactly how.

“What kind of legalese crap is that?” the big cop said with disgust. “You might as well just tell us what you’re hiding before we pull it out of your ass with pliers.”

Gant smiled, and the effect was even more unsettling than his previous rawboned frown.

“Officers Halladay and Phillips,” the thin man said, surprisingly knowing their names and again making an important statement with just a few words, “surely you understand that there are protocols we must follow anytime we communicate with law enforcement. It’s nothing personal, and we have nothing to hide.”

“Where is Mr. Render?” Jon asked.

“He is at his private residence,” Gant answered. “And would prefer not to be disturbed.”

“Would he prefer to be disturbed by you,” Halladay said, “by telling him we’re coming? Or should we just walk over there and disturb him ourselves?”

“I’ll tell him,” Gant said, after a few moments of mutual staring. He stepped away from the cops and put an earpiece in to make a call.

“Administrative Assistant my ass,” Halladay said to Jon, lowering his voice only a little. “He’s the Big Man’s number one henchman, his right-hand fan, would do anything for him. They grew up together…. Render’s literally a big man, was an athlete, has the looks and charisma. This little worm attaches to the friend he wishes he could be; the Big Man loves him because he’s so loyal. Classic.”

“Oh, so you’re a psychologist now?” Jon said.

“Mr. Render will see you for a few minutes at his home,” Gant said, returning to them. “But please keep in mind that he hasn’t been feeling well, and so he might need to cut the interview short.”

“Yer talkin’ pish,” Halladay said, resentful of being handled again and waving his hand at the well-dressed man. “We’ll interview him as long as we want.” At that, both he and Gant turned to leave in opposite directions, but Jon stepped after the thin man to ask him one more question.

“Mr. Gant,” he said, softly enough that Halladay wouldn’t hear. “My partner thinks you would do anything for Mr. Render.” Gant just looked at him, so he continued. “Would you carry out an order to kill, maybe even a lot of people, if you thought it would get him elected?”

“Mr. Phillips,” Gant said, matching his soft voice. “Gotham Security exists to save people’s lives, not take them. And that’s why Mr. Render doesn’t need any help getting elected.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, nodding, and shook his somewhat limp hand again. Then he turned and followed Halladay out of the building.

When he was back outside, Jon noticed that there was an enclosed walkway about ten stories high between the GS building and the next one over, which had been built in the same era with the same type of stone, but was taller, more streamlined, and topped by the thin clock tower. He had also noticed while inside that there were steps at the side of the lobby going down to an underground passage that led to the companion building. He knew that many years ago both buildings had been owned by Metropolitan Life, so that explained the walkways, but he asked Halladay if GS owned both of them now.

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Halladay said. “They rent part of it, but don’t need more than that, so there’s other businesses in there.”

They passed in front of the old building with the clock tower and soon found themselves at the very end of Madison Avenue, looking up at the much newer tower of glass called One Madison, which was so tall and thin that it made Jon think of kids’ games where they tried to stack LEGOs or blocks as high as they possibly could without them falling over.

Two more of the muscled men in suits stood waiting for them at a private entrance to the left of a retail store on the ground floor, and walked them into the building’s lobby from the back. A couple of residents were coming in the front door as they waited for an elevator, and another man came out of the one they got in. As they rode up the fifty-plus stories with the two bodyguards, Halladay proved again that he wasn’t shy about speaking his mind around anyone.

“Asshole owns the top four floors,” he said. “The penthouse on the top three alone is worth about seventy-five million. Right place at the right time. The flagger hits, the river rises, and his construction company is right there, ready to cash in on it. And now his security company is right there to capitalize on our newest problems.”

“You don’t like him?” Jon asked, glancing at the stone-faced security soldiers.

“I don’t like anyone who’s power hungry. I don’t like Nazis.”

“Well, he can’t be that evil,” Jon said, and now gestured at the suits standing next to them. “These guys haven’t killed you for talking bad about him. Yet.”

“Let ’em try,” the Scotsman said.

When they reached the fourth floor from the top, the elevator stopped and all four men stepped out into what had once been one of the building’s “normal” apartments, but had been renovated into a meeting and office area for the Big Man, where he could come down from his deluxe penthouse to greet visitors. But even this floor was stunning, with high ceilings and breathtaking 360-degree views of the city surrounding enough inner rooms to house servants, bodyguards, or others who might need to stay near the GS boss for whatever reason.

Gareth Render soon appeared out of another, smaller elevator next to the one they had arrived in, which Jon assumed was a private one connecting this floor with the penthouse. The older man was even taller than Halladay, and was definitely more muscular, though he had much less hair. He wore the kind of simple, casual clothing that might be seen on a construction company owner who had to visit the job site sometimes. And he was immediately and unquestionably hospitable to the two policemen, which to Jon actually seemed sincere. But the young detective had been fooled before.

“Ah, my brothers,” Render said, shaking both their hands in a way that seemed even more firm and genuine when contrasted with the way his assistant had greeted them. “Anyone who serves to make this city safer is a brother to me.”

“Nice place you have here,” Halladay said.

“Thanks a lot,” he answered. “But I actually live up there, on the top three floors.”

“Can we see it?” Halladay said, and both Render and Jon looked at him. They kept looking at him, so the big cop shrugged and explained himself. “I figure this is the only chance I’d get to be in a place like this—might as well take a look at it.”

Realizing Halladay was actually serious, Render “hmmmed” for a moment and then said, “I don’t see why not. The Mrs. is out shopping. Come on up.”

He led them back to the elevator they had arrived in, presumably because it was the only one big enough to hold all of them at once.

“I’m sorry it’s necessary to have these guys with us,” Render added, gesturing at the suits. “Frank here has been around a while, but you’re new here…. I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

Jon told him, and then fought hard to keep his mouth from gaping when they walked out of the elevator and into the penthouse.

The elevator opened into a small foyer adjacent to the great room that Render then led them into. It was two tall floors high and half as wide as the building, the transparent walls with huge panes of glass on two sides affording a vertigo-inducing view of the north and east ends of the city. The nearby MetLife Clock Tower, which was brightly lit and the same height as the penthouse, dominated the north side, while the Empire State Building was behind it and slightly to the left. The more famous skyscraper looked smaller than the first, because it was a half mile in the distance.