Company, he’d said, and in the background there’d been the noise of conversations, the sound of cutlery and dishes. It could have been a dinner party in Scarsdale or a restaurant just down the block. No way to tell.
He’d known my name. Of course, all that meant is that Lenz had told him about the incident at the club, or maybe that one of the cards I’d handed out to the girls had made it back to him — but all the same it made me anxious. I had the feeling that Murco Khachadurian had been paying closer attention to me than I had realized.
The more time passed without his calling back, the more nervous I got. What if he did know where I lived? It was certainly possible. That risk was why I hadn’t brought Susan here, and it was a good reason for me not to stick around either. Maybe there hadn’t been someone waiting for me in my apartment, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone watching the building from the street, or that there wouldn’t be momentarily.
I grabbed the cell phone and the gun, took one last look around for anything I might be forgetting. I was locking the door behind me when the cell phone started buzzing. I pocketed my keys and flipped the phone open left-handed, holding tight to the gun in my other hand.
“I ended my dinner early for you, Mr. Blake,” he said. “Now I’m ready to talk.”
“Good.” I started down the stairs.
“I want to know everything you know about Miranda Sugarman,” he said.
“That’s funny,” I said, “I was about to say exactly the same thing.”
“Well, then, maybe we can sit down together, share some information.”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I prefer the phone. Scarsdale is a little out of my way.”
“Who said anything about Scarsdale? We’re right here, Mr. Blake.”
I rounded the corner to the last half-flight of stairs. An enormous man was standing with one foot on the lowest step and a gun held casually in his fist. Behind him, a thin man with a grey crew cut was talking into a cell phone. He saw me and flipped it closed, raised the gun in his other hand. “Put your gun down, Mr. Blake. And the phone. You won’t need them.”
Chapter 14
Maybe in his prime Leo would have gone for the double play. Or maybe he would have turned around and run for it, back up the four floors and into the apartment, or maybe up five and out onto the roof. And maybe he’d have pulled it off. I didn’t have a chance.
I lowered the gun, put it down on the stairs, snapped my cell phone back into its holster.
The younger man came up to meet me, leaned over to snatch up my gun, and gestured me down to the foot of the stairs. He stood well over six feet and had a neck like a linebacker’s packed into a collarless shirt. It looked like he used the same grease in his hair that Lenz used. This must be Little Murco, though it had clearly been years since the nickname had fit.
Big Murco was a head shorter than his son but had the same olive coloring and a skinnier version of the same features. He looked a little like Jack Kevorkian, I thought. He held the front door open and his son prodded me in the back with his pistol. I stepped outside.
Across the street, a black four-door sedan sat with its engine running and its lights on. Had it been there before, waiting for me when I’d gotten home? I couldn’t remember. Most likely Little Murco — Catch — had been watching the building, maybe with instructions to call his dad when I showed up. Then I’d thrown a monkey wrench into things by calling him myself. If I hadn’t, would they have just kept watching, hoping I’d lead them to something — maybe to Susan — or would they eventually have come calling on me? I’d never know now.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the father followed me into the car’s back seat. Catch squeezed in behind the steering wheel.
“Nowhere. We’re just going to sit and talk. And you’re going to tell me what you’ve found out about that bitch who set me
He’d known my name. Of course, all that meant is that Lenz had told him about the incident at the club, or maybe that one of the cards I’d handed out to the girls had made it back to him — but all the same it made me anxious. I had the feeling that Murco Khachadurian had been paying closer attention to me than I had realized.
The more time passed without his calling back, the more nervous I got. What if he did know where I lived? It was certainly possible. That risk was why I hadn’t brought Susan here, and it was a good reason for me not to stick around either. Maybe there hadn’t been someone waiting for me in my apartment, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone watching the building from the street, or that there wouldn’t be momentarily.
I grabbed the cell phone and the gun, took one last look around for anything I might be forgetting. I was locking the door behind me when the cell phone started buzzing. I pocketed my keys and flipped the phone open left-handed, holding tight to the gun in my other hand.
“I ended my dinner early for you, Mr. Blake,” he said. “Now I’m ready to talk.”
“Good.” I started down the stairs.
“I want to know everything you know about Miranda Sugarman,” he said.
“That’s funny,” I said, “I was about to say exactly the same thing.”
“Well, then, maybe we can sit down together, share some information.”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I prefer the phone. Scarsdale is a little out of my way.”
“Who said anything about Scarsdale? We’re right here, Mr. Blake.”
I rounded the corner to the last half-flight of stairs. An enormous man was standing with one foot on the lowest step and a gun held casually in his fist. Behind him, a thin man with a grey crew cut was talking into a cell phone. He saw me and flipped it closed, raised the gun in his other hand. “Put your gun down, Mr. Blake. And the phone. You won’t need them.”
Chapter 14
Maybe in his prime Leo would have gone for the double play. Or maybe he would have turned around and run for it, back up the four floors and into the apartment, or maybe up five and out onto the roof. And maybe he’d have pulled it off. I didn’t have a chance.
I lowered the gun, put it down on the stairs, snapped my cell phone back into its holster.
The younger man came up to meet me, leaned over to snatch up my gun, and gestured me down to the foot of the stairs. He stood well over six feet and had a neck like a linebacker’s packed into a collarless shirt. It looked like he used the same grease in his hair that Lenz used. This must be Little Murco, though it had clearly been years since the nickname had fit.
Big Murco was a head shorter than his son but had the same olive coloring and a skinnier version of the same features. He looked a little like Jack Kevorkian, I thought. He held the front door open and his son prodded me in the back with his pistol. I stepped outside.
Across the street, a black four-door sedan sat with its engine running and its lights on. Had it been there before, waiting for me when I’d gotten home? I couldn’t remember. Most likely Little Murco — Catch — had been watching the building, maybe with instructions to call his dad when I showed up. Then I’d thrown a monkey wrench into things by calling him myself. If I hadn’t, would they have just kept watching, hoping I’d lead them to something — maybe to Susan — or would they eventually have come calling on me? I’d never know now.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the father followed me into the car’s back seat. Catch squeezed in behind the steering wheel.
“Nowhere. We’re just going to sit and talk. And you’re going to tell me what you’ve found out about that bitch who set me
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