The Vigilantes

[THREE]

Hops Haus Tower 1100 N. Lee Street, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 7:01 P.M.

It was well past dusk as Matt Payne drove up the cobblestone drive to the circle entrance of the high-rise condominiums. After dropping Harris and Rapier at the Roundhouse, he’d run by his tiny apartment on Rittenhouse Square, grabbed a fast shower and shave, and changed into an old comfortable pair of clean khakis, a long-sleeve navy cotton polo shirt, and boater’s deck shoes. His shirttail was out, concealing the Colt Officer’s Model. 45 tucked under his belt on his right hip.

Parking in a slot across from the massive water fountain on the circle drive, he looked up and marveled at the impressive main entrance. The soaring three-story, stainless-steel-framed wall of thick clear glass gave a fantastic view of the lobby, all the more striking at night with its brightly lit gleaming marble floors and walls.

Payne walked through the main entrance doors and waved to the concierge on duty behind the main marble-topped desk. David Suder was a dark-haired, dark-eyed twenty-eight-year-old with a muscular frame that looked as if it had been forged from hardened steel. He wore a nice two-piece dark woolen suit, a starched white shirt, and a dark necktie that almost looked out of place on him.

“How you doin’, David?” Payne called out.

“Good,” he replied, smiling. “How goes it with you, Sarge, I mean, Mr. Payne? You look like you’ve had a rough one.”

“It’s ‘Matt,’ David. And indeed I have. But it’s getting better by the moment.”

“Glad to hear it. Check six, Matt.”

“You, too, David,” Payne called back as he reached the heavy sliding glass door that led to the elevator bank.

He punched in the unique code for Unit 2180 on the keypad. In mid-October, Amanda had changed it to 0-9-1-0 for September 10, the day she said her life had been profoundly changed-the day when Matt had saved her from her murderous abductors.

The glass door whooshed open sideways. Inside the elevator, he entered the code again and hit the 21 button on the panel for the penthouse floor.

As he rode up, he thought about the day that he’d met David Suder, who he knew wasn’t really a concierge. As a general rule of thumb, concierges didn’t address guests as “sergeant” and caution them to watch their back for bad guys-“check six” being good-guy jargon that meant for them to be wary of who might be sneaking up behind them, also known as their “six o’clock.”

Suder now worked for Andy Hardwick, and Hardwick had introduced them when he’d told Matt there’d be extra protective eyes watching the penthouse floor and the owner of Unit 2180. But until recently, David had been Philadelphia Police Department Officer Suder, a rising star assigned to the elite Narcotics Strike Force. Earlier in the year he had taken the corporal’s exam and passed both oral and written parts with scores high enough to put him in the top ten percent, and on “The List.” Only those on The List got immediate promotions; everyone else would have to wait for a slot to open, which could take weeks, months-or maybe never even happen. After The List expired in two years, those not promoted would have to retake the exam with a new group of candidates.

But there was one caveat: funding. And because of severe budgetary cutbacks this year, there were fewer corporal slots, and only the top five percent had been immediately promoted.

Officer Suder had not been happy about that, to put it mildly.

Shortly thereafter, Andy Hardwick had been buying a few rounds down the street at Liberties Bar, catching up on Roundhouse scuttlebutt with old buddies still on the force, and he’d heard all about Suder’s displeasure at getting the shaft thanks to City Hall bean counters.

The next day, Hardwick had taken Suder to lunch. Before they’d even been served their desserts, Hardwick had effectively poached him from the Philadelphia Police Department with the offer of a salary that was almost twice what any corporal could ever dream of earning.

But I simply could never do residential security, Payne thought.

Fortunately, I don’t need the damn money. That’s moot.

But more to the point: Where the hell’s the thrill in private security? The satisfaction?

What’d be the equivalent of what I’m doing now?

Heading up Task Force Operation Poolhouse Clogged Toilet?

“Ma’am, the sign clearly states that no personal sanitary items are to be flushed. I’m afraid we’re going to have to write you a ticket on this one.”

He snorted as the elevator made a ding, stopped, and the doors parted on the twenty-first floor.

Then again, Marshal Earp, no one would be shooting at you.

And you’re not exactly going gangbusters with collaring the doers in Op Clean Sweep.

As he put the key in 2180’s heavy brass deadbolt lock, Matt could hear Luna softly whining on the other side of the door. Her wagging tail was thumping against the door.

Having her so happy to see me is a nice welcome after a long lousy day.

Now I only hope that I can get Amanda to wag her lovely tail, too.

When he turned the knob and pushed the door inward, Luna stuck her black nose and curly-haired muzzle around its edge. Matt reached down to scratch her head as he opened the door.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now take me to your gorgeous master.”

As he stepped inside the doorway, Matt heard Amanda’s sultry voice: “She already has.”

He looked up from Luna and saw Amanda standing there. She was barefoot, but wearing a stunning gold sequined cocktail dress. It clung flawlessly to her well-toned body, as if it was almost a second skin. And it shimmered miraculously. The front was cut low and wide, generously enough to show a great deal of incredible suntanned cleavage while not revealing more than a sexy suggestion of her marvelous bosom. Her thick wavy blond hair, hanging free and full, was silky and luminous.

Wow! Payne thought. The goddess glows!

She looks so full of life, her eyes so warm and inviting.

And that dress! It radiates like a sea at sunset.

Sorry, Luna. Your greeting just got bested.

Far, far and away…

And he saw that Amanda-Perhaps even better, though it’d be the absolute last damn thing I’d ever admit to-was holding a cocktail napkin wrapped around a squat, heavy crystal glass that was dark with what had to be an intoxicant.

“Glad you could make it,” she said, her tone warm, genuinely meaning it. “I was beginning to worry.”

As she turned her head slightly to the right, offering her left cheek, Matt said, “Sorry, baby, crazy day,” and kissed her affectionately.

She held out the glass and flashed her dazzling smile.

“Macallan Eighteen, half water, two ice cubes.”

He took it and grinned. “You not only have an incredible mind, but also a very dangerous memory.”

She smiled again. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

“That said, you’re not only an angel but a lifesaver. I’ve been longing for one of these all day.”

As he took a big sip, she reached for his other hand and tugged him toward the interior of the condominium.

“Come on and sit down. Relax.”

With Luna leading the way, they went into the living room and sat on the big, soft, black leather couch. It faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the lights of the city twinkled far into the distance. From the high-fidelity digital music player that Matt had bought Amanda when she started spending so much time at home came the soft, soothing voice of Diana Krall singing “Besame Mucho.”

Matt looked at Amanda, thought, Kiss me much, indeed-then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek again.

She smiled almost shyly.

He sat back and suddenly said, “You’re not having anything?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and glancing back toward the kitchen.

She pushed herself up off the couch and said, “I’ll be right back.”

“How was your day, baby?” Payne asked as she went.

Amanda called back, “Interesting. Thanks for asking. I was going to tell you about it. But first enjoy your drink.”

Uh-oh.

Was that a red flag, or maybe a yellow caution one, that just went up?

Matt watched over his shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. As he looked back at the lights outside, he could hear the sounds of her getting something out of the refrigerator and unwrapping it.

Oh, shit. She’s had food prepared.

So she was waiting for me to reply when I sent that text.

But I was up to my ass in alligators…

Then that made him think: Surreal.

Four dead just three blocks from here.

Absolutely surreal…

He heard the soft padding sound of bare feet approaching.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Amanda said, putting an enormous platter of antipasto on the low marble table in front of the couch. Her other hand held a crystal stem, its huge goblet full of red wine. “I thought we could do this instead of any dinner.”

“It looks marvelous. I love it. Thank you.”

He reached down and grabbed a giant black olive and wrapped it in a large, thin slice of salami, then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed, nodding appreciatively at her, his eyes following her as she dropped back onto the couch.

She scooted closer beside him, holding her wineglass up and then tucking her bare feet under her golden-sequined fanny.

Just beautiful, he thought. And so damn sexy.

He touched his glass to hers, and said, “Cheers!”

He then watched as she reached to the table and picked up a salad fork.

She attempted to delicately spear a prosciutto-wrapped rectangle of cantaloupe. Twice. On the third attempt, made very slowly, she hit her target. She chewed the morsel and followed it with a very generous gulp of her wine.

Over the top of her glass, she made eye contact with him. When she’d swallowed the wine, she smiled.

My God, she truly is a goddess.

But why do I suspect that may not be her first glass of vino?

Or her second?

And that is a huge glass…

Matt drained the rest of his eighteen-year-old single-malt.

“I’ll make you another, sweetie,” she said, immediately kicking her feet out from under her.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead to keep her seated.

“You stay. You’ve already made all this. I can pour my drink. Think I’ll move on to the cheap stuff.”

He walked over to the wet bar. He filled his glass with ice cubes, then poured a hefty double of Jameson’s Irish whiskey. He looked over to the couch. Luna now had her head in Amanda’s lap as Amanda absently petted her and looked out the window while sipping more wine.

This is certainly getting interesting.

She’s clearly in thought about something.

And damn near in her cups.

He caught himself suddenly yawning.

Oh, shit. Hope I don’t fall asleep. That will really ruin the mood.

And leave it to me to really piss her off.

“I don’t see you forever and the few minutes you’re here, you fall asleep!”

As he sat back on the couch, Amanda was holding the glass by the stem and swirling the wine around the goblet.

Kind of anxiously… nervously.

Then he noticed her left foot moving back and forth.

If that was attached to a churn at an Amish dairy, she could be making butter for all of Lancaster County.

Amanda turned to him.

“Want to talk about your ‘crazy day’?” she said. “It’s horrible that more people are dead and just up the street. Do you know who did it? And are they-you, I guess I mean-close to catching them?”

Matt took a sip from his drink, then said, “The simple answer is ‘no’-to all that. No, we really don’t know who. And I’m really mentally racked from thinking about the whole thing. So that means I’d really rather not talk about it. I hope you don’t take that the wrong way.”

Amanda smiled.

“Oh, not at all,” she said. “I do understand. Sometimes you have to step back.”

“How about you? Anything at the hospital?”

She nodded. Then she leaned forward and put her wineglass beside the antipasto platter on the marble table.

She really is in deep thought.

She turned to him, and suddenly he could see tears starting.

My God. What the hell has got her so upset?

“Matt, you saved my life. I will never forget that terrifying moment I realized who they were and what they’d done-and knew that was the end for me. But then… then you suddenly were there. And I heard your voice calling out to warn Tony Harris, ‘It’s me, Matt Payne!’ I truly thought I was hallucinating.”

Oh, shit. In vino veritas…

Matt stared into her eyes and felt his throat constrict.

And I remember that moment, too.

Inside that pillowcase they’d taped over her head, she whimpered.

When I cut her free, the last person in the world I expected to find a prisoner in that hellhole was the woman I loved.

It was an unimaginable moment.

She reached back for her glass, took a big sip, and said, “You saved my life, Matt. Now it’s my turn.”