The Darkest Day

TWENTY-SEVEN

There were no preceding footsteps, so they had to have approached with stealth or caution, but he heard them shuffle outside the apartment door an instant before it was kicked open.

‘Federal agents,’ shouted one. A woman.

The voice carried weight and resonance and confidence. It was the well-practised shout of someone who believed in the absolute authority and righteousness of the words. She sounded to Victor like the real thing.

Which was a serious problem. He would have preferred it to be a bluff, and the woman a killer trying to catch him off-guard. Killers were easier to deal with. There wasn’t any grey area. It was always a simple case of killing them before they killed him. He could lie in weight and ambush the first one, disarming him or her of their gun and perhaps using them as a human shield while he shot their partner before torturing anything useful out of the one alive before finishing them off.

Government agents were different. It was all grey area. There were no black-and-white decisions. Killing them was to be avoided at all costs. The fallout would be huge. No expense would be spared in the attempt to bring him to justice. Killing drug lords and arms dealers and corrupt spies and fellow assassins might bring him to the attention of law enforcement, but killing government agents who were doing their job would unleash a whirlwind of retribution. Also, they were not going to be an immediate threat to his life, which meant killing them would be hard to justify to what remained of his conscience. He would if he had to — if it came down to taking their lives or spending the rest of his behind bars, but only then.

There was nowhere to hide in the apartment, so he raised his hands, said, ‘Don’t shoot,’ and stepped out into the hallway.

Both agents had him in their gunsights in an instant. The one on the right was the woman he had heard. She was young, with olive skin and jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight the hair at the top of her forehead was thinning. She wore a grey trouser suit and stared at him with the same authority and confidence he had detected in her voice.

The man next to her was tall and well built. He had a thick neck and a solid, angular jaw. His hair was clipped military-short and his skin was tanned and smooth. He looked a few years older than the woman. His gaze was locked on to Victor with a more evaluating quality.

Neither had expected to see him.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ the man demanded.

Victor kept his hands above his shoulders. He stood passive, but unafraid. ‘I’m saying nothing until I see some ID.’

‘We don’t have to show you shit.’

‘Then this conversation is going to take a very long time.’

The woman stepped forward. ‘We’re from Homeland Security. I’m agent Guerrero. This is agent Wallinger.’

Victor said, ‘I didn’t ask your names. I asked to see your ID.’

‘Don’t make us arrest you,’ the man said.

‘Arrest me if you want to. But I’ve done nothing wrong so I’ll be walking within the hour and you’ll look like an idiot in front of your boss.’

The man glared. The woman took her left hand from her right and lowered her gun. ‘I’m going to put this away and take out my ID. Okay?’

Victor nodded.

She inserted the pistol back into a black leather holster attached to her belt on the right hip. Then she reached beneath her suit jacket and withdrew a badge booklet, also black leather. She opened it up and held it out for Victor to see.

‘It’s dark,’ he said. ‘I can’t read it from here. Step closer.’

She did. The man adjusted his aim on Victor, looking as though he would like nothing more in the world than to paint the wall with the contents of Victor’s skull.

The woman stopped out of arm’s reach and he examined the badge. Occupying one half was a golden Homeland Security badge. On the second half was a photograph of the woman before him. Agent Miriam Guerrero. The photograph was a few years old. Guerrero’s hair was thicker at the front. It was genuine as far as Victor could tell, not that he had ever come this near to a Homeland Security ID before. But if they were pretending, they could have shot him by now. There was no need for a continued deception.

Victor gestured to the man. ‘His turn.’

The man did nothing but stare at Victor and hold his aim.

‘Let’s make this easy, shall we?’ the woman named Guerrero said to the man.

‘Fine,’ he said in return.

He put his gun away and showed his ID to Victor with almost the exact same movements that Guerrero had. Maybe they were even trained how to identify themselves.

Guerrero looked to Victor. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘My name is Jimmy Marino. I’m a credit enforcement agent.’

He showed the ID. It was fake, but the best money could buy. They would need to being up the identity from the DMV’s database to see that Victor’s picture did not match Mr Marino’s. If they could tell it was fake by eye alone then they were the best anti-fraud agents in the whole country.

‘You mean you’re a debt collector,’ Guerrero said.

‘Miss Margolis is behind with her rent. The landlord hired me to get his money.’

Wallinger handed the driver’s licence back, then said, ‘Company ID.’

‘I don’t carry any. I’m a one-man band.’

Guerrero said, ‘Business card then.’

‘I work on personal recommendations only.’

Wallinger looked him over. ‘So, let me get this right, you’re a debt collector who works for himself, who doesn’t carry business cards because he only works on personal recommendations?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Why do I think you’re in a more organised kind of activity?’

Victor said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Wallinger said, ‘Then let me make it more obvious: I think you’re mob. I think you’re an enforcer. Would I be close?’

‘I don’t know why you would think that, Agent Wallinger. You must be a naturally suspicious person,’ Victor said, gaze even, but with just enough arrogance in his eyes to help Wallinger along the wrong path. Any path that led away from Victor’s true profession would do, but Wallinger had already made a wrong assumption. It would be wasteful not to exploit it. ‘Or are you suggesting I’m involved in organised crime because I have an Italian surname? Because that would make you a bigot.’

Wallinger frowned but kept his lips tight.

‘I’ve committed no crime,’ Victor continued. ‘You’re the ones who kicked the door open. I used a key supplied by the landlord. If I wasn’t meant to be here you wouldn’t have had to wreck the door, would you? You could have simply walked inside.’

‘Whatever,’ Wallinger said.

‘Where’s your warrant?’ Victor said, even though he knew they didn’t need one to enter private property if they had reasonable suspicions of criminal activity or a threat to national security.

‘We don’t need one,’ Wallinger said, looking smug.

‘We’re going to look around,’ Guerrero said and gestured to the floor. ‘You, don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back.’

And they were, in less than a minute. There wasn’t a whole lot to look at. Victor did as instructed and stayed in the same spot.

Wallinger said, ‘There’s a good boy,’ on his return, as if talking to an obedient dog. The taunt had no effect on Victor but he narrowed his eyes and flexed the muscles of his jaw because that’s what Marino the debt collector would do.

‘What are you guys doing here?’ Victor asked.

Neither answered.

‘The door’s going to need repairing. I’d like to be able to explain why when I’m asked about it.’

They ignored him. Wallinger adjusted his belt while Guerrero typed out a message on her phone.

‘What’s Angelica done?’

‘Who says she’s done anything?’ Wallinger asked.

‘Two Homeland Security agents kicked in her front door. You wouldn’t do that for a parking ticket.’

‘Maybe we just need to ask her some questions.’

‘So you didn’t think to knock?’

‘Maybe she’s in danger.’

Guerrero said, ‘When did you last see Miss Margolis?’

‘I’ve never met her before.’

‘Do you have any idea where she might have gone?’

‘If I did, I would be there now. I wouldn’t be wasting my time here, would I? I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Okay,’ Guerrero said. ‘You’re free to go.’

‘I didn’t realise I hadn’t been.’

Wallinger frowned at him.

‘You know,’ Victor said. ‘If you tell me what this is all about then maybe I’ll be able to help.’

Guerrero said, ‘A minute ago you said you didn’t know where we could find her. If you’re withholding information from us then that’s obstruction of justice and you’ll go to prison.’

‘Why would I withhold information from you?’

‘So you can collect the debt she owes before we get to her.’

‘Ah,’ Victor said. ‘Now I understand.’

Wallinger said, ‘What do you understand?’

‘Angelica wouldn’t be able to pay the debt once you track her down, so you’re not looking to protect her or ask her questions. She won’t be able to pay off her debt because she’ll be in custody.’

Wallinger and Guerrero didn’t respond. They didn’t need to.

‘Look,’ Victor said. ‘I’m just a guy working on commission. There’s no way I’m going to get in the way of a federal investigation for my cut of Miss Margolis’s outstanding rent. Look at this place; do you think I’m going to get rich off fifteen per cent of three months’ arrears? You honestly think I’d risk prison for a few hundred bucks?’

He smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. Guerrero smiled too. Wallinger shrugged and shook his head.

‘Exactly,’ Victor said, exaggerating the syllables. ‘And I got to say,’ he added. ‘You scared me to hell when you guys burst in here waving guns around. I’m not used to that kind of thing.’

Guerrero looked apologetic. He probably reminded her of some little kid in floods of tears because she had charged into someone’s family home. ‘We have to work on the assumption that there are armed and dangerous people inside and enter accordingly. If there are, then we’re ready for them. If not… well, someone like you might get shook up a little as an unfortunate consequence.’

Victor pursed his lips and blew air through them. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘We’re well trained,’ Wallinger said.

‘You’d have to be.’

They stood in silence for a beat before Guerrero tapped Wallinger on the arm and gestured for the door. Then she handed Victor her card.

‘If you find out anything —’

‘I’ll let you know.’

They headed to the door.

‘Say,’ Victor called after them. ‘Since I’m going to strike out with this collection, I wonder if you could help me with my next one.’

‘No chance,’ Wallinger said. ‘Do your own damn job.’

Guerrero added, ‘I’m afraid we’re not able to assist in commercial matters.’

‘Fine,’ Victor said. ‘I’ll remember you said that if I hear about Margolis’s whereabouts.’

They stopped and turned his way.

‘Fine,’ Guerrero said. ‘Shoot.’

‘I’ve only got a couple of questions,’ Victor explained. ‘Are the Mets playing today?’

Wallinger said, ‘What kind of question is that?’

‘No,’ Guerrero answered. ‘They’re not playing today.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ Victor nodded. ‘What about if I told you a six-digit number? What’s the first thing that comes to mind?’

The look they gave to one another told Victor they had no idea even before she turned back to him and said, ‘Sorry, not a clue.’

‘What about a five-digit number?’

She looked at him like he was an idiot. ‘Zip code, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Victor said.