choreographed.
Gripping his black leather attache case, Dudman lowered his head and made for the inviting dark sanctuary of the limo beyond its open door. He edged past Chris, placed one foot off the curb in the street, and began to duck into the limo. The traffic signal had changed up the street; he was vaguely aware of a string of cars rushing past, the smell of exhaust fumes that would dissipate as soon as he was inside the limo.
It was the exact time that his foot touched the street and he was beginning his forward lean that he felt the sharp pain high on the right side of his chest.
What?
He was sitting awkwardly, one leg in the street extended beneath the limo, the other bent beneath his body. His attache case had come open and papers were scattered all over the sidewalk.
Did I fall? Slip off the curb?
He knew Chris was trying to help him up, looming over and gripping him, but he couldn’t feel anything from the neck down.
My suit…Ruined…
Chris was talking, his face contorted, but Dudman heard nothing.
“Chris, my papers…”
No one reacted. He hadn’t made a sound.
Then the pain in his chest was back, blossoming, exploding!
And suddenly it wasn’t afternoon. It was dusk. Dark. Nighttime.
The pain faded with the light.
As it turned out, the shot had actually been a simple one. The street Dudman’s agency was on ran one way, so the limo had been on Justice’s left, the driver’s side of the car. The angle and opportunity were brief, but there, for just a few seconds, diagonally above the trunk of the limo, a shooting line straight to the target. Dudman. Deadman.
Justice had time to lead Dudman crossing the wide sidewalk. The target paused as the limo door was opened. Dudman actually seemed to pose as he ducked his head preparing to enter the vehicle.
Almost simultaneous to the shot, Justice managed to take his left hand from the wheel long enough to drop the plastic vial out the window into the street near the limo.
That was important.
They would know he was the one. The bullet, the letter, the hammer of fairness and fate and balance, balance…
After the shot, he’d turned the corner and was gone. He was positive no one even knew for sure the shot had come from a passing car-any passing car.
Driving legally at the speed limit, blending with the thousands, millions of vehicles in New York, he had to giggle at how easy it had been. How easy it would be to execute anyone in the city.
He missed the moment of ice, but that couldn’t be helped. And Dudman did seem to hesitate getting into the limo, as if somehow he knew. Perhaps the cold moment of knowledge had frozen him, presented him to the bullet that would deliver him. Either way, this one had been warranted.
It had been righteous. He would do it again.
He would do it again.
Brake lights flared ahead. Horns honked. His foot darted from accelerator to brake and he brought the car to a halt with a brief skid and squeal of tires. Vehicles around him also slowed and stopped. All of them lined up neatly, drivers patiently staring at the traffic signal.
Red light. Had to stop. The law.
Da Vinci was a little out of breath from hurrying when he entered his office, and what he saw actually made him gasp.
The police commissioner was seated in one of the brown upholstered chairs angled toward the desk.
Da Vinci smiled, stammered, and absently smoothed back his slightly mussed hair.
“Startle you?” the commissioner asked. He’d moved the chair slightly so he had a better view of the door. Its legs had left deep depressions in the carpet, marking its previous position.
“Well…yes, sir, you did. It’s just that I’m not used to anyone being here when I come in after lunch.”
“Natural,” said the commissioner. “It’s your office.”
Da Vinci didn’t know quite what to say to that.
“I thought we needed to talk,” the commissioner said.
That the commissioner had come to da Vinci’s office, rather than the other way around, seemed to da Vinci to be meaningful. This meeting wasn’t for public consumption.
It was also meaningful that the chief wasn’t here. Trouble at the top? The kind of pressure the press and pols were applying could cause all sorts of dissent and ruptured relationships. But da Vinci had no doubt that the chief was, or would be, fully informed at some point by the commissioner. Timing could be everything.
Heavy, brooding, and intense, the commissioner was in civilian clothes, a chalk-stripe gray suit, white shirt, and blue silk tie. In his younger days, his knowing, solemn expression had spooked many a tough suspect into deciding to cooperate with the law. Whether you were a creep or a cop, gravitas was gravitas. He sat at ease and gazed balefully as da Vinci walked around to sit behind the desk.
“Adelaide Starr,” the commissioner said. “She’s getting to be a hell of a problem, Andy.”
The commissioner was one of the few people who called Deputy Chief Andrew Da Vinci Andy. Da Vinci didn’t correct him. “I take it we both saw her performance last night on the Matt Black show, sir.”
The commissioner nodded.
Da Vinci cleared his throat. “We’re still deliberating on what to do about it,” he said.
The commissioner raised his eyebrows. “We?”
“Captain Beam and his team, and myself, sir.”
“What are the ideas offered?”
Shit! Da Vinci hadn’t yet talked to Beam about Adelaide Starr’s latest stunt. “Obviously it’s a play for publicity on her part, sir. She thinks by casting the city as elitist, even un-American, she’s placed herself in the role of hero. Or heroine.”
“I know you’re sitting down, but I hear tap dancing, Andy.”
“We’ve decided we can’t possibly declare a moratorium on jury duty, sir. It would shut down the legal system. The problems it would cause are-”
“Unacceptable,” the commissioner finished for da Vinci. “So what’s your plan?”
“Still formative, sir.”
“You don’t have a plan?”
“Yet.”
“You’ve been outwitted by a clever young woman.”
“So far.” Da Vinci felt himself beginning to perspire.
The commissioner looked cool as ice cream. “Here’s what I want you to do, Andy. Issue a statement for the media, saying you’re aware of Adelaide Starr’s position and you’re taking it under advisement. But make it clear that as of now there are no plans to declare a moratorium on juries and, subsequently, trials by jury. That, you will point out, would be disastrous for the city, and a boon for criminals. It would be unfair to the very people Adelaide Starr is trying to protect. Lean on that final point: it would be unfair to all the honest New York citizens who would be the victims of emboldened criminals.”
Da Vinci smiled. “That makes good sense, sir.” And takes the load off me. “And it buys us time.”
The commissioner returned the smile and rose from his chair. “Tap dance, Andy. You’re good at it, and I mean that as a compliment.”
“Yes, sir. Er, thank you.”
“You need to dance more in public, Andy, if you get my meaning. This killer’s becoming too much of a hero. Or an anti-hero. You ever go to movies, Andy?”
“Sometimes. I’m awfully busy these days.”
“Anti-heroes are very popular. People transfer that to real life. Count the newspaper and TV features favorable to the police, and those favorable to the Justice Killer, and I don’t have to tell you who wins.”
“No, sir.”
