I always mean to leave the bolt fastened, she thought, nervously, but it hadn’t been fastened just now. Sometimes, like yesterday, when I go outside for a few minutes I forget to slide the bolt. I must have done that yesterday. After I finally fell asleep last night, I woke up so suddenly. Was it because I heard a sound that startled me awake? If I had been in a sound sleep and hadn’t turned on the light, would someone have tried to come in? Had someone been out there?
The incongruous thought ran through her mind that the reason she hadn’t slept well had a name.
It was Ryan Jenner.
55
Sammy Barber worked as a bouncer at the Ruff-Stuff Bar from nine p.m. till closing. The so-called nightclub was basically a strip joint, and Sammy’s job was to make sure none of the drunks got out of hand. He also had to protect the D-list celebrities and their hangers-on from being bothered by jerks who tried to get too close to their tables and slobber over them.
It was a job that had lousy pay, but it kept his profile low. It also meant that he could sleep late, unless he had been hired to do a hit job and had to tail someone until he got his chance to make that target disappear.
On Saturday evening Sammy was in a foul mood. The first bungled attempt to kill Farrell had left him unsure of himself for the first time in years. And the fact that the old crow had seen him push Farrell and could describe him was scary. In the last couple of years, he had bumped two people onto train tracks without anyone suspecting they hadn’t fallen accidentally. Then, yesterday afternoon, from the alleyway behind her house, using a long-distance lens, he had taken a picture of Farrell’s back door. When he developed it, he could see that the top half of the door consisted of squares of glass covered by a metal grille. The grille was a laugh. He could see that it would be easy to cut out the pane nearest the lock and reach his hand in to turn the knob. If there was a security bolt he’d just have to cut another pane to get to it. Simple stuff.
At three o’clock in the morning, he had gone through the alleyway, hoisted himself over Farrell’s joke of a fence, and had taken out his glass cutter. One minute more and he’d have been inside her apartment, but in the dark he hadn’t seen whatever it was that had caused him to stumble. It was heavy and he didn’t knock it over, but it almost made him lose his balance. His foot hit it hard and gave it a push, and it made a scraping sound on the patio. It was probably one of those stupid lawn statues.
Farrell had good ears if she had heard it, Sammy thought, and I guess she did, because the next thing I knew, a light went on inside the apartment. That was it for
Restlessly, Sammy began to consider alternate ways to get at Farrell, but then his eyes narrowed. The place was starting to fill up with the usual losers, but two guys in business suits were being led to a table. They’re cops, Sammy thought. They might as well be wearing their badges.
It was obvious that the waiter who seated them knew that, too. He looked across the room at Sammy, who nodded, meaning he’d spotted them.
Some jerk who’d been pretty loaded when he came in was staggering to his feet. Sammy knew he was heading for the D-list rapper, who was sitting with his groupies in the celebrity section. The drunk had been trying to get that guy’s attention for the last half hour. In an instant, Sammy was on his feet, and with quick steps, surprising for his bulk, was at the drunk’s side. “Sir, please stay right here.” As he spoke he squeezed the guy’s arm hard enough to make him get the point.
“But I just wanna pay my reshpechs…” He looked up into Sammy’s face and his vacant expression changed to a frightened stare. “Okay, okay, pal. Don’t wanna make problums.” He slumped back into his seat.
As Sammy turned to go back to his table, one of the two men he’d spotted as cops signaled to him.
Here it comes, Sammy thought, as he made his way across the room.
“Pull up a chair, Sammy,” Detective Forrest invited, as he and Detective Whelan passed their badges across the table to him.
Sammy glanced at them, then looked quickly at Whelan, remembering that he had been the lead detective on his case and a witness at his trial. He could still remember the disgusted look on Whelan’s face when he was acquitted. “Nice to see you again,” he told him.
“Glad you remember me, Sammy,” Whelan said. “But you always did have a way with threats, I mean words.”
“This joint is clean. Don’t waste your time looking for trouble,” Sammy snapped.
“Sammy, we know this dump could serve as a day care center,” Forrest told him. “We’re only interested in you. Why did you bother to change from your sweat suit to your version of dress-up clothes when you picked up your car at the pound? You remember, Thursday, you were in such a hurry to follow Dr. Farrell when she left the hospital that you didn’t even take time to feed the meter?”
Sammy had been questioned enough in the past by cops that he had trained himself never to appear to be nervous. But he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.
“We all know what I’m talking about, Sammy,” Forrest told him. “We hope nothing happens to Monica Farrell, because if it does, Sammy, you’ll think you were caught in a tsunami. On the other hand, we’d be very interested to know who hired you.”
“Sammy,” Whelan asked, “why were you parked in front of the hospital? Just in case you forgot, as Carl just told you, the security cameras show your car being hauled away.”
“Not feeding the meter cost me big bucks, but no one ever mentioned that it was a crime. And when you look at it, it helps the city. All those extra bucks, you know what I mean?” Sammy was beginning to feel confident. They’re trying to rattle me, he thought, scornfully. They’re trying to get me to say something stupid. They wouldn’t talk to me like this if they could prove anything.
“By any chance do you know Dr. Monica Farrell?” Detective Forrest asked.
“Doctor who?”
“She’s the young woman who fell, or was pushed, in front of a bus the other night. It was in all the papers.”
“Don’t get much chance to read the papers,” Sammy said.
“You should. They keep you abreast of current events.” Forrest and Whelan stood up together. “Always interesting to chat with you, Sammy.”
Sammy watched as the two detectives worked their way through the now crowded tables to the exit. I can’t be the one to take Farrell out, he thought. I’ve got to hand off the job, and I know just the right guy to take my place. I’ll offer Larry one hundred grand. He’ll snap at it. But I’ll make sure it happens while I’m at work so I have a rock- solid alibi. Then those cops will be off my back. And I still come out ahead. I got paid one million to do it, and I subcontract the job for one-tenth of that!
Smiling at the thought, but with a sense of failure, Sammy admitted to himself that for the first time in his long career as a hit man, he had bungled two attempts to carry out his contract to eliminate an unwanted problem. Maybe it
Like I told Dougie, I always keep my word.
56
Tony, Rosalie, and little Carlos Garcia went for a drive on Saturday afternoon. They were on their way to visit Rosalie’s sister Marie and her husband, Ted Simmons, at their home in Bay Shore, Long Island.
Tony had been working nonstop for almost two weeks between the chauffeuring jobs and events at the Waldorf, where he was a waiter. As he explained to Rosalie, the minute October came all the big charities had their black-tie dinners. “Sometimes I hear the people I’m driving talk about how many of these affairs they’ve gone to in
