John Locke - Lethal People

“Not rare,” he said, “but very shy. You almost never see them in such an urban setting. See the bright red face and black wings? That’s the male of the species.”

I couldn’t care less and hoped my expression showed it. DeMeo watched the bird fly off . Then he studied me a moment. “You’ve come a long way for this meeting,” he said. “I should let you conclude your business so you can enjoy our warm climate and friendly atmosphere.” He winked at me.

“Actually, I wanted to talk about your business,” I said.

“To which business are you referring? I have lots of businesses.”

I reminded him that a couple of years ago, he wanted to hire me to kill people who had signed contracts for structured settlements. I asked if he personally okayed each hit.

“This is a very disrespectful question,” he said, “considering I haven’t even patted you down.”

I told him whoever he hired to kill the Dawes family in Montclair had been sloppy. I told him a little girl survived and I wanted him to personally underwrite her medical expenses for a complete facial reconstruction. Further, I wanted him to write a certified cashier’s check to the estate of Greg and Melanie Dawes in the amount of nine million dollars so Addie could try to cope through life with the disability his actions had caused.

DeMeo laughed out loud. “You got some stones,” he said. “I always said that about you.”

“Me and my stones will give you five days to come up with the money.”

DeMeo’s eyes grew hard. “An ultimatum?”

I tried to think about it from his perspective. “Mr. DeMeo, I don’t want to come across as disrespectful. Nine million plus the surgeries, that sounds like a lot of money. But let’s be honest: it’s no more than a bucket of sand off the beach to someone like you. I would consider it a personal favor if you do this thing for this one small girl. In return, I’ll owe you a favor.”

“I can make you stay out my business for all time with a simple hand gesture,” he said.

“And you’ll be dead before I hit the ground.”

“Your giant? We’ve got three people on him.”

“My girl.”

“The blond?”

I nodded.

DeMeo turned to me, made a show of opening his jacket. “I’m just reaching for my phone,” he said. He pressed a key on the touch pad and said, “You have the girl?” Then he said, “Why not?” He turned his attention to me and said, “Nice bluff , but that’s all it is. She’s not here.”

“You believe that, go ahead and give your signal.”

He smiled that Cheshire cat smile again and said, “I don’t think it would have worked out, you working for me.”

Then we parted company.

I took a deep breath. I had faced down Joseph DeMeo and lived. Of course, it didn’t mean much, since Joe had no intention of paying the money.

I made my way to the front of the cemetery and stood a block away from the black sedan and waited for Coop’s signal. Cooper Stewart had been driving limos in the LA area for more than ten years. Before that, he’d been a capable light-heavyweight with a stiff jab. Coop was tall, maybe six five. His rugged face showed extensive scar tissue around the eyes, confirming his status as a journeyman, not a contender. Augustus Quinn knew Coop better than I did, but I’d ridden with him several times and trusted him. Coop gave the signal, and I walked over to the limo and climbed in.

“Your phone rang while you were out there,” Coop said. “About twenty minutes ago.”

I checked the display and found that Janet had called. A large shadow crossed the window, and I looked up and saw Quinn standing a few yards away. Coop flashed him a signal, and Quinn opened the side door and joined me.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Pretty much the way I thought it would. No sale.”

“What’s our next move?”

I motioned for Quinn to raise the privacy glass so we could talk. Though we trusted Coop, we were in DeMeo’s town. No sense forcing him to choose between us.

“DeMeo made you out there,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” Quinn said. “He had nine guys surrounding the place.”

“Still,” I said.

“According to Tony,” Quinn said, “they been there since midnight.”

Midnight! No wonder they saw him. “Who’s Tony?”

“One of DeMeo’s guys. At the end, we talked some. He recommended a restaurant, Miceli’s.”

“He’ll probably be waiting there for you with an Uzi,” I said.

Quinn shrugged. “So DeMeo won’t pay. No surprise there. Got a backup plan?”

“We’re going to rob him,” I said.

“Joe DeMeo.”

“Unless you’re scared.”

“How much you taking?”

“Twenty-five million,” I said, “maybe more. Ten for Addie, two for each of us.”

Quinn cocked his head. “That leaves more than ten million on the table.”

“We’ll need some help.”

Quinn nodded. “I’m in.”

We lowered the partition, and I told Coop where to take us. Quinn said, “Hey, Coop, you know a restaurant called Miceli’s?”

“I do,” Coop said. “Pizza’s good; all the waiters sing to you. They got a pie they call the Meat House: pepperoni, sausage, meatballs, salami. If you decide to go there, get that one.”

We turned the corner and passed a couple of protesters holding global warming signs. “Not much of a turnout,” I said.

Coop chuckled. “There’s usually a bunch of them. They got a chart from the fifties, tells them what the average weather used to be. Every day it’s warmer than that, they gather at that corner to bitch about it. But when the weather’s this nice, most of them sneak off to the beach.”

I hit the voice mail button on my cell phone, and my ex-wife Janet shrieked, “You bastard!” She went off on me with such gusto I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Quinn laughed, and Coop just shook his head. I grinned. I mean, I wasn’t happy she was upset, even less happy she blamed me for it, but what was I going to do, right? She finished her screaming fit with a flourish, and Quinn said, “What the hell did you do to her, anyway?”

“She didn’t go into detail,” I said, “but the bottom line is she’s not getting married.”

Coop said, “So … is that bad news? Or good?”

“Bad for me, good for her,” I said. In my mind, I allowed one of my spinning plates to crash.

CHAPTER 19

After her divorce from Donovan Creed three years ago, Janet and Kimberly moved to the sleepy town of Darnell, West Virginia, where Janet’s best friend, Amy, had made a comfortable, happy home after marrying one of Darnell’s native sons.

Amy made it her mission in life to find Janet a husband. Janet gave it a shot, but after two years of dreadful setups, she was about to swear off men completely. Then, suddenly, Amy introduced her to a nice guy from Charleston.

Janet was caught completely off guard by the casually sophisticated Ken Chapman—so much so that a mere eight months of heavy dating led to a wedding announcement.

Kimberly thought her mom was rushing things, but she had to admit, Janet was happy for the first time in years. To her father, Kimberly played down the courtship, saying, “I think what’s happening is Mom is talking herself into being in love, but it doesn’t feel right.”

One sunny morning while Janet was straightening up the living room, she opened the front door to find a thin, pretty girl in a sunhat wearing large, round sunglasses. The lady introduced herself as Kathleen Gray and said, “I don’t want to cause you any problems; I just want to talk to you about Ken Chapman.”

Janet stiffened. “Look Miss … whatever your name is …”

“Gray.”

“Miss Gray. I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, but I’m rather busy right now, so if you don’t mind …”