Step On A Crack

Chapter 88

WITH THE ABSENCE of traffic on Christmas morning, I got back to St. Patrick’s in near record time. Even the pedestrian and media crowd had thinned out considerably, but I had a feeling that after they finished opening their presents, they’d be back for their fill of blood sport.

As I was coming across the plaza of 630 Fifth, a red-suited Santa walked past with a tray of coffee and a submachine gun strapped across his back. It was Steve Reno.

“Where you delivering presents, Santa? Fallujah?” I said.

“Trying to keep up morale, Mike,” Reno said through his cotton-ball beard.

“You have a harder job than me,” I said.

Paul Martelli almost tackled me as I got off the elevator at the command center.

“We did it, Mike,” he said. “Five minutes ago, we got the last of it. All the money. It’s ready to go.”

“Any chance we’ll be able to trace it?” I asked.

Martelli shrugged his shoulders. “We know it’s set to go to an account in the Caymans. They will wire it somewhere else immediately, then somewhere else. Eventually, we could probably put enough political pressure on the bank down there to tell us where it was sent, but by then it will probably have been shot to another numbered account in Switzerland or who the hell knows where. The white-collar crime guys are working on it. If we are able to trace it, it’s going to take some time.”

Well, at least we had gotten the money together, I thought. That was something.

I turned as Commander Will Matthews came out of the boardroom. I winced at his stubbled cheeks, the red-rimmed eyes. All he’d gotten this Christmas was an ulcer.

“We ready to go?” Will Matthews said to Ned Mason.

Mason stood up, cupping a phone receiver, and said, “Bank’s just waiting on you to give the final word.” Mason looked eager to get this over with, too. He hadn’t been much help, but at least he had stayed around to observe.

Will Matthews took off his five-point cap and clawed a hand through his flattop before he took the receiver.

“This is Borough Commander Will Matthews,” he said. “I hate like hell to say this. Wire the money.”

I followed my boss back into the boardroom and stood with him as he silently gazed at the cathedral.

Finally, he turned to me.

“You get those bastards on the phone one more time, Mike. Tell them they got their blood money. Now let these poor people go.”

“How do you think they’re going to try to get away, Commander?” I finally said.

“Let’s just see, Bennett,” Will Matthews said, gazing malevolently across Fifth Avenue. “The suspense is killing me.”