Badde thought, Ice water is fitting. Just like the blood in his veins.
Badde said, “So then you called the demolition crew?”
Tikhonov shook his head. “Dimitri.”
His assistant passed himself off as the new HUD expediter!
Yuri Tikhonov sighed. “Time is money, and it is time for the development to move forward.” He paused and locked eyes with Badde. “Just make sure it continues to do so.”
Tikhonov suddenly stood and said, “You’ll please excuse me.” Then he leaned over and kissed Janelle Harper once on the cheek, and left.
As Jan and Rapp looked at each other wordlessly, his business cell phone vibrated in his pocket. In the dim light under the table, its glowing screen read: ROGER WYNNE.
Badde slipped it back into his pocket, then looked at Jan, who was downing her martini.
“I need to visit the men’s room.”
He stood and made his way toward the bar, then to the windows on the other side. He called Wynne back as he looked out at the grand view the thirty-seventh floor offered.
“Found him, Rapp,” Wynne said when he answered. “Well, where Kenny’s been, anyway. A nice old woman by the name of Irma Graham just called here looking for Kenny. Said she missed him tonight at Fernwood Manor’s bingo, and that she hadn’t seen him since he put a bunch of boxes in the storage room of their Community Activity Center.”
That was bingo I heard in the background!
“Get someone over there to whatever you said—”
“Fernwood Manor at Cobbs Creek,” Wynne furnished. “And I’m already on my way.”
“Destroy every goddamn shred of paper. I don’t care if we ever have those votes again.”
Badde ended the call. Looking out the window over the city, he thought, Well, at least that’ll get rid of the absentee-voter stuff. Now Kenny can’t squeal—who’s going to believe him without proof?
I may again have just dodged going to jail. . . .
On the way back to the table, Badde paused at the magnificent bar.
There was a muted large flat-screen television tuned to the Eagles- Broncos National Football League game. Badde, acting as if he’d stopped to catch the score—Philadelphia was just barely beating Denver—took in the crowd, particularly all the attractive women.
Well, I’ll damn sure be coming back here.
The TV broadcast went to a commercial break.
One of the TV news talking heads came on with a tease for the eleven P.M. newscast. The box that popped up next to the news anchor’s head showed Francis Fuller awarding at least three ceremonial ten-thousand-dollar reward checks. The text below the pop-up box said HALLOWEEN HOMICIDES: COLD-BLOODED MURDER TURNS INTO COLD CASH.
And Kenny—and that drug dealer Cicero—are going to be next.
X
[ONE]
The Roundhouse, Third Floor Eighth and Race Streets, Philadelphia Monday, November 2, 9:12 A.M.
The Executive Command Center’s main bank of monitors—all nine sixty-inch flat-screen televisions—was filled with the beet-red, angry face of the Honorable Jerome H. “Jerry” Carlucci, Mayor of the City of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
He stared right into the camera with a searing fire in his intense brown eyes as he said with great force: “And never in all my years in this city—both during my years in the Philadelphia Police Department and my time in elected office as your mayor—never have I witnessed such careless disregard for our laws. And I am here to tell you that this is lawless chaos of the worst sort”—his fist could be heard pounding the lectern—“and I will not let it stand! There will be law and order in the great city of Philadelphia if I have to bring in the state police and our National Guard troops.
“And I am also telling you again that if you have information about any crime, you are to call our police department or the tips hotline—and no one else—and the police department will respond appropriately. This will not in any way cause anyone to be ineligible for any possible reward. It will, however, restore decorum to our fine city and dignity to its citizens.
“Now, to show how absolutely serious I am in this regard, just this morning four people who went to Lex Talionis in Old City—”