F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 by The Portero Method (v5.0) Page B

sudden
stab of cold fear. “It was approved! What the hell are they trying—?”
                 “Careful what you say, Portero. The
wrong people might hear and you could find yourself back where you came from,
living on your pension while pimping for your mother—and happy to be allowed to
do so. Comprende?”
                 Lister’s unexpected attack rocked
Luca. “What? What did you just say?”
                 Rage flared through him, making him
want to reach through the phone and kill. He didn’t care about the swift and
inevitably deadly reprisal from SIRG, he wanted to crush Lister’s larynx,
wanted to see his eyes bulge, his face turn purple while Luca screamed in his
ear that yes, my mother was a whore, but only because she had to be and she’s
not anymore, and yes, she doesn’t know who my father was, but…
                 “Sorry,” Lister said. “That was
uncalled for. I’m just…you wouldn’t believe the pressure that’s coming down.”
                 Luca said nothing. All right, so SIRG
was squeezing Lister, big time. That still didn’t give him the right…
                 “Look,” Lister said. “Whatever you
thought they said before, they now say the lawyer is not key .
If he goes, he can be replaced in minutes by another lawyer, maybe a better
one, who might cause even more problems.”
                 Lister paused, as if expecting a
comment. They’re right, Luca grudgingly admitted. No shortage of lawyers. But
he said nothing.
                 Lister went on: “The sims—this particular
group of sims— are key. No other group has come forward
looking to unionize, only these. Why, we don’t know. Why, we don’t care. Point
is, SIRG wants the focus of your efforts from now on to be the Beacon Ridge sims . Are we clear on that?”
                 “Completely.”
                 Calmer now, Luca already was
germinating an idea. A simple plan. A
one-man job. And he knew just the man.
                 This time there’d be no slip-ups
because he’d take care of it himself.
                 Because this had
become personal.
                 Romy Cadman had made him look bad.
Hurt his reputation. Now she was going to hurt.

           12
     
                 WESTCHESTER
COUNTY , NY
                 “I’m fine, really,” Romy said.
                 She stood in an empty ladies’ room
speaking to Zero on the secure PCA he’d given her. It was clear after last
night that she was under surveillance, so she’d picked a spot at random and
wound up in a coffee shop not far from the federal district courthouse in White
Plains . At this hour—10:32A .M.—the dining area
contained only a handful of late breakfasters, and the ladies’ room was empty;
she’d checked all the stalls before calling.
                 “You’re sure? Absolutely
sure?”
                 The concern in his voice touched her. “Absolutely. Those martial arts lessons you made me
take came in handy.”
                 “I never thought you’d be in physical
danger, but I felt it best you be prepared for it.”
                 “If nothing else, it’s helped me keep
my cool.”
                 Relative cool, she thought. Her
nerves were still jangled. She’d tried to rest at the motel—in her own room,
much to Patrick’s dismay—but sleep had remained steadfastly out of reach; so
she’d compensated this morning by drinking too much coffee, which did nothing
to settle her nerves.
                 She caught sight of herself in one of
the mirrors. A little haggard looking, but not half bad for
someone who’d ducked an attempt on her life just a few hours ago.
                 “But murder?” she said. “Somehow I
don’t see the brothers Sinclair sitting around and deciding to have us