Among Thieves by John Clarkson Page B

think he’s going to turn his attention elsewhere for now.”
    Walter responded, “I’m not sure I know what that means. There must have been more than that. You don’t have to tell me, of course.”
    â€œIt’s complicated. But we came to an agreement.”
    â€œSo you think it’s possible he’s done bothering you?”
    â€œPerhaps. But I definitely want to know who that man is. Do you have any way of finding out?”
    Walter saw a chance to earn back some of the status he had lost. “Absolutely. And I intend to find out as soon as I can.”
    â€œHow? How soon can you find out?”
    â€œI can start with the one who had the gun on me. He had a neck tattoo that I could just make out under the collar of his coat.”
    â€œWhat was it?”
    â€œThe number thirteen. Tattoos are very good leads for identifying someone. Hopefully, I find him, he’ll lead me to the other one.”
    â€œThat’s the one I want to know about.”
    â€œYou should know about both of them. But you realize I’m going to have to work through a contact on the police force. Unless you want to bring this to the police now. Which might be smart.”
    Milstein had no intention of calling in the police.
    â€œLook, I don’t see the point of bringing in the police. You can find out who those men are quicker than they can, can’t you?”
    â€œYes. Mostly because we don’t have to get anybody up to speed on this if I do it. I’m going to start right after I leave you. Best way is to go into the NYPD databases at the Real Time Crime Center. I might be able to make something happen tonight. If not, first thing tomorrow.”
    Milstein quickly thought through the issues. The fact that he might know who that man was before noon changed things. Gave him options with Markov, and perhaps leverage with Crane. But Pearce couldn’t know anything about that.
    â€œOkay, do it as fast as you can. Call and leave me a message on my cell if I don’t pick up. Whenever you have something. I don’t care what time. By mid-morning, latest. Don’t worry about driving me tomorrow. Just keep on this until you find out who those men are.”
    They had reached the front of Milstein’s building.
    â€œOkay. Good night,” said Milstein abruptly as he turned off the sidewalk and headed for his lobby.
    Walter continued east.
    Halfway to the lobby door, Milstein unhooked the dog. Owen, the smiling red-haired doorman opened the door and Tam romped into the lobby. Milstein followed hunched over, softly rubbing the front of his neck where Beck had squeezed his windpipe. He checked his watch. Time to call Markov back. This was going to be a much different phone call than five hours ago.

 
    11
    Milstein’s wife had arrived home while he was out walking the dog. She generally kept her distance from him when he returned because she disliked the smell of cigar smoke that lingered on his clothes and his breath.
    Milstein heard her in the bathroom down the hall near their bedroom. The dog hurried on into the bedroom, clearly preferring the company of Milstein’s wife.
    He checked his watch and continued into the living room, pulled out another disposable cell phone from the desk drawer, and hit the speed dial. He sat down in the plush upholstered chair near the window overlooking Seventy-ninth Street, still wearing his down coat, keeping it on to dispel the chill that seemed to have seeped into his bones.
    Leonid Markov answered on the second ring, “Yes?”
    â€œLeonard, it’s Frederick. We have a problem.”
    Markov was riding in a 1989 S-Class Mercedes, driven by his regular driver, Vitaly. It was nearing midnight, but Markov was wide awake, heading toward an apartment building he owned in the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn.
    He had cleaned himself, showering and soaping in the hotel bathroom, soaking under a hot shower for nearly a half