Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue by Christopher Smith

the kind of money and power it’s going to take to bury him and each member of his family.   They’ll all pay for what George Redman did to your mother.   But I’ll need your help.”
    Before he could react, Michael glimpsed the front-page picture of the spotlight that lay crushed in front of The Redman International Building.   For a moment, he just stared at it, his mind making connections he never knew existed.   He looked up at Louis.   “You rigged those spotlights with explosives.”
    “Let’s just say I made it happen.”
    “But you nearly killed a man.”
    “Not the right one, Michael.   George Redman is still alive.”
    Michael tossed the paper onto the desk.   “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
    “That’s the plan.   But there are many things to be done before that day, and when it does come, it won’t be me pulling the trigger.   It will be you.   And you’ll do it for your mother.   That is, of course, if you still want me to pay off Santiago.”
    And there it was, the reason his father agreed to help him.   Michael shook his head, disappointment, anger and hurt threading through him.   Just once couldn’t the man help him?   Just once couldn’t he do the right thing?
    He pushed back his chair and stood. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m no murderer.”
    Louis’ jaw tightened.   “You’d better think twice about that, Michael.   Your own is about to be committed.”   He glanced at his desk calendar.   “How long has Santiago given you to come up with the money?   Two weeks?   A month?   Your time is running out.”
    “I’ll find another way to get the money.”
    Louis crushed the cigarette in an ashtray.   “Who are you kidding?   If you could have gone elsewhere for the money, you would have.   You proved I’m your last hope just by coming to me.”
    He reached inside his desk drawer and removed his personal checkbook.   “If you want my help, I’m here--but only if you’re willing to help me correct the past.”
    Michael was about to speak, but then decided it was pointless and left for the door. Before stepping out of the room, he stopped and looked at his father.   Louis’ eyes were as cold and as bitter as the silence that hung between them.   “If George Redman did what you say he did, then he should pay for what he did to Mom.   But there are other ways.   There’s the law.   I’ll be damned--”
    Louis raised a hand.   “Don’t say any of this to me, Michael.   Say it to your mother. She’s the one you need to explain this to, not me.”
    Only his father could make this more difficult than it was.   “I’m not a murderer.”
    “But your mother was murdered.   So, why couldn't you be?   We all could be.”
    Michael left the room.
    When the door clicked shut, Louis reached for the phone on his desk and punched numbers.   Michael would see his side sooner than he expected.   “It’s Louis, Vincent.”   He looked at the picture of his wife.   He had sworn long ago that he and Michael would avenge her death together.   Michael just needed a little stimulation.   “I’ve got another job for you, but you must move quickly.”
     
     
    *   *   *
     
     
    Michael knew something was wrong the moment he finished climbing the six flights of stairs and saw that the door to his apartment was ajar.
    The first thought that raced through his mind was Rufus.   If someone was in the apartment, then why wasn’t the dog barking?   Had the intruder already left?   Michael couldn’t be sure.
    He started down the hallway, moving slowly, his senses acute.   He glimpsed an empty wine bottle lying beside the freight elevator, picked it up and tossed it once between his hands.   The bottle was heavy, solid.   It could fracture jaws, break bones, cut flesh.
    He passed the apartment to his right and heard the sound of a child crying, the tinny blare of a television that was turned too loud.   Canned studio laughter wafted