Londongrad

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

On the way to the airport, I made one stop.

Roy Pettus was at a hotel on Lex, a Radisson so new you could smell the carpets. A girl at the desk gave me his room number after I badgered her and I went up to the ninth floor and banged on his door.

“It’s open,” Pettus called out, and I went in.

It was a nondescript room. The furniture was new and ugly. There was no sign Roy Pettus had been here except for the leather suitcase he was packing and the smell of Camels.

He snapped shut his bag, sat in one of a pair of small armchairs and gestured to the other one.

Pettus crossed one leg over the other. He wore pressed jeans, a white shirt and the cowboy boots.

I couldn’t sit. I started for the door, then turned around. I hated the idea of being in hock to Pettus.

“I can trust you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You have to keep your mouth shut. I need you to help me keep the media off this. I need time. I need ten hours of time. I don’t know who else can call in that kind of favor.”

“Go on.”

“Valentina Sverdloff is dead.”

“Tolya Sverdloff’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Somebody left her in her own bed. Last few hours. I was there earlier, she wasn’t there, I went back, she was there.” I stared at him.

“How?”

“She was probably suffocated. Somebody put a pillow over her face.”

“While she was asleep? Somebody who had access to her place?”

“I think so.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I offer you my condolences, and also to Mr Sverdloff,” he added in that peculiar old-fashioned way.

“Tolya doesn’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“London,” I said.

“What else can I do for you?”

He got up, went to the bathroom, returned with a glass of water and handed it to me. He looked at the bag I had put on the floor.

“You’re going to London to tell her father?”

“Just the media, please. Just make sure it’s kept quiet until I tell Tolya. That’s all. If that’s possible. Is it possible? Roy?”

“I can try.”

“Thank you.”

“You think somebody went after her to get at her father?”

“Yes. Maybe. If they did, then he’s in trouble. I have to go over. I have to tell him first, I have to do it in person. You understand that?”

“Of course.” He put out his hand. “I’ll see what I can do, Artie. I’ll try to help you. How old was she?”

“Twenty-four this week.”

“Same as my girl,” he said. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon.”

“I’ll be in touch,” said Roy Pettus.

“Thank you,” I said.

He shook my hand, walked me to the door, watched me go down the hall towards the elevator.

After I left, I realized Pettus had not asked me for anything in exchange. He didn’t ask me for favors, he didn’t propose I go to work on some Joint Force or attach myself to the Brits, get him intelligence, or spy on Sverdloff, he didn’t ask anything at all, just patted me on the shoulder and shook my hand.

But in Pettus’ mind, I was now his, I was in his play, maybe only with a walk-on part. He had wanted me in London, and he was getting what he wanted, I thought as I boarded the plane that evening. He never asked, never said a word, it was enough for Roy Pettus that I needed him. In some way, he’d ask for a payback, in some way, some time, and by the time the plane took off it felt like a threat.