The Vigilantes

[THREE]

Hops Haus Tower, Unit 2180 1100 N. Lee Street, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 9:58 P.M.

In the middle of the plush king-size bed facing a panoramic view of the lights along the Delaware River and beyond, Matt Payne and Amanda Law were lying on their left sides, spoon fashion, resting in the glow of the carnally exhausted. Matt had his arms wrapped around Amanda and across her slowly rising and falling bosoms. His right leg was draped over her right hip, his toes tucked back in just above her ankles. When he inhaled, he marveled at her soft warm scent-at once sweet and, from the perspiration, lightly salty-that felt rich in pheromones.

This is as good as it gets, he thought, and he gently kissed the back of her neck.

She grunted softly, appreciatively.

Then, even though his cell phone was in the pocket of his khaki pants that had been unceremoniously dropped on the floor at the far side of the bed and were now under a curled-up Luna, he heard the phone’s distinctive ping! that announced he had an incoming text message.

Okay, we’ve been lying here like this for at least ten minutes, neither of us saying a word. Or moving an inch.

Just intimately intertwined.

And it’s been nice. Incredibly nice.

So would I really ruin everything by checking that message?

I really really really don’t want to fuck up the moment, because-wow!-what a helluva romp that was.

Where does she get the energy? And the deep passion?

Incredible.

Then he heard another ping!

In his arms, Amanda moved a little.

“You’re not,” she softly said. But it was more of a question.

He didn’t reply.

“Are you?” she then said, her tone somewhat incredulous.

He thought: You probably would if it was yours going off.

He said: “Of course not, baby.”

And then there was another: Ping!

Then two others in a row: Ping! Ping!

What the hell?

“What’s going on, Matt?”

“I don’t know, baby. I told you I’m not going to check those.”

But I should. What the hell?

Ping!

She moved again, then suddenly squirmed out from under him.

“Well,” she said, “if you’re not, I sure as hell am.”

She reached down the side of the bed and grabbed the waistband of the khakis, tugging hard when she felt the weight of Luna on them.

“Sorry, girl,” Amanda said as she dug in the pocket and pulled out the phone.

Luna slinked across the room and went into her crate in the master bath. It sounded as if she threw herself down onto the hard plastic liner. Then Luna gave a heavy sigh.

Amanda looked at the phone’s screen.

She said, “Three from Tony-”

“What the hell?” he said, sitting up and adjusting the pillow to lean back on.

“-one from Kerry, and the last one’s from Denny.”

“Denny?” he said.

She held the phone out to him.

“That can’t be good,” Matt said. “He doesn’t like texting and only does it out of necessity. Wonder why he didn’t just call.”

He glanced at them, then saw that the time stamps of the various messages were not all from the last few minutes, as the multiple ping-pings would have suggested. Instead, the first one, from Harris, went back almost an hour. That suggested the messages had been stacked up somewhere, unable to get through. He then looked at his signal-strength icon, and it was flickering from the weakest signal to the icon that read: NO SIGNAL.

Payne shook his head, then read the first message from Tony Harris:

– ANTHONY HARRIS-

YO, MATTY. TURN ON KEYCOM CABLE CHANNEL 555 amp; BACK IT UP TO THE TOP OF THE HOUR. TROUBLE BREWING…

When Hops Haus Tower had been built, the entire property had been wired, so to speak, with super-high-speed KeyCom plastic fiber-optic digital transmission cables. The lines allowed for the advanced technology of KeyCom’s various communications packages-telephone, Internet, television-to be exclusively provided by KeyCom to the residents and the retailers.

There was a simple reason for this select relationship: KeyProperties was heavily invested financially in the complex. And while some complained that such a noncompetitive environment effectively violated at least a dozen antitrust laws in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania alone, the man who controlled both companies argued differently.

Frances Franklin Fuller the Fifth said that everyone did indeed have other options: “They are free to choose to live anywhere else and purchase the inferior communications packages offered there.”

Matt looked at Amanda and said, “Tony says I need to see something on channel 555 real quick.”

She nodded. “But be aware: If you run out the door on me two nights in a row…”

Matt smiled, then picked up the remote control, turned on the sixty-inch flat-screen television mounted on the wall, and hit the 5 button on the keypad three times.

Because the high-speed system was all digital, the control box for the television had a function that allowed any recorded program to be replayed or fast-forwarded for up to two hours. The fast-forward mode did not, of course, work for anything that was airing live. (“Now, that’d be revolutionary,” Payne had said when an installation tech was showing him all the system’s bells and whistles, “because if it could do that, it’d be tantamount to looking into the future.”) But a live newscast, once recorded on Key-Com’s massive servers, could be replayed.

“Hey,” Matt said, “this is the cable channel for the live streaming news from Mickey O’Hara’s CrimeFreePhilly website.”

The news live stream looked exactly like any conventional television network newscast. It had a slick “News Center,” a studio set that consisted of a brightly lit anchor desk, behind which sat a pair of young, perky, and polished talking heads. On the wall behind them, CRIMEFREEPHILLY. COM NEWSCAST was spelled out in gleaming chrome letters that were splashed with various colors from filters on unseen klieg carbon arc lamps that hung from the studio ceiling. Below the chrome letters, the wall held a bank of four giant flat-screen studio monitors, each showing some working news story.

Matt hit the button on the remote control that restarted the newscast at its beginning.

“Good evening,” said the good-looking male talking head with dark hair and a bright smile. “Welcome to the nine-o’clock edition of tonight’s newscast at CrimeFreePhilly-dot-com. I’m Dusty Meyers.”

“And I’m Jessi Sabatini,” said the attractive redhead with a dazzling display of teeth who was sitting beside him. “Tonight’s top news: This weekend’s Halloween Homicides continue to mount in Philadelphia.”

Matt saw that the image behind her on the upper-right flat-screen studio monitor was of Francis Fuller standing at a lectern.

Matt hit the FAST FORWARD button, causing the audio to go temporarily silent and the two talking heads to begin bobbing as if on coil springs. They made very fast gestures.

Then the camera zoomed in on Jessi Sabatini. As she jabbered, a box popped up beside her bobbing head. In the box appeared a progression of photographs, mostly mug shots, of all the pop-and-drops with their names shown beneath them. Then there was a picture of Francis Fuller with his name underneath, and Payne hit the NORMAL PLAY button on the remote.

Jessi Sabatini was saying: “Corporate titan Frances Fuller, whose Lex Talionis has been very busy this weekend, gave a press conference earlier at which he presented ten-thousand-dollar rewards to some heroic citizens of Philadelphia. Our own Michael J. O’Hara was there and has the story.”

The image of Fuller filled the entire television screen.

“And so the circus continues,” Matt said to Amanda. “Hell, it was inevitable Five-Eff, my favorite Puritan, would make an appearance.”

There was a text box to the right of Fuller’s head reading:

FRANCIS FULLER, C.E.O. LEX TALIONIS, DISTRIBUTES $10,000 REWARDS.

Along the bottom of the screen was a line of text that moved from right to left reading: BREAKING NEWS… MAYOR CARLUCCI ANNOUNCES POLICE DEPARTMENT EMERGENCY TASK FORCE AS HALLOWEEN HOMICIDES CONTINUE TO RISE… BODY COUNT IN OLD CITY NOW UP TO FIVE…

The voice of O’Hara, who was off-screen, came from the television speakers: “This is Michael J. O’Hara reporting from Lex Talionis in Old City, where Frank Fuller has just made some Philly residents much richer for having helped make the city much safer.”

The camera pulled back and showed more of the room.

Francis Franklin Fuller the Fifth was in what appeared to be a conference room of his Richard Saunders Holdings office building. The short, portly forty-four-year-old, wearing his customary Benjamin Franklin outfit, stood behind a solid black lectern, both hands gripping its top. The front of the black lectern had a bronze plaque bearing the Lex Talionis logotype with the stylized-eyeball “o.”

The camera then pulled farther back and showed a line of people standing to the side. Between them they held three ceremonial bank checks fashioned from heavy white plastic sheeting three feet high and six feet long. Each had in the upper left-hand corner a large red representation of the Lex Talionis logotype. And each had been filled out in handwritten lettering with a fat-tipped black permanent marker.

Payne immediately recognized one of the women who held the reward checks. She was the first on the left, closest to the lectern.

“And look who he’s with,” Matt said. “That’s the mother of one of the dead pop-and-drops.”

It was confirmed by the name written in her check’s payee field: Shauna Mays.

Matt added: “We think that my mystery shooter popped her son, and then she and a gypsy cabbie dropped the body at Five-Eff’s.”

Matt thought: Women really can be the more ruthless of our species.

Despite her face and hand being deeply bruised, and still looking malnourished and dirty in the torn clothing she’d been wearing when Payne interviewed her earlier in the day, Shauna Mays stood there beaming.

She held-barely, as it was bigger than she was-a ceremonial check made out in the amount of ten thousand dollars. To her right-behind another ten-thousand-dollar ceremonial check that was written out to: Paco Ramirez, Yvette Iglesia, et alii, for Sasha Bazelon-stood a small pack of teenagers. Holding the check at each end were a tough-looking Latin male wearing baggy jeans and an oversize jacket, and a pretty, petite Latina with fiery eyes.

Matt said, “Those in the middle must be the crowd Javier told me about. The ones who caught the punk responsible for Principal Bazelon’s death. And that pretty teen girl looks like she is probably Javier’s baby sister.”

Matt did not recognize the woman holding the third oversize reward check, but like Shauna Mays, she appeared rough-looking and underfed. Judging by the name on the check, it was most likely Michael Floyd’s mother.

Then Matt noticed the two extra legs standing beside her, and when the check moved, Michael’s head appeared around its right end.

Matt turned to Amanda and said, “That’s the kid I was going to tell you about. Very strange.”

Hanging on the wall behind them was a white banner emblazoned with:

YOUR HOME FOR HELPING CLEAN UP YOUR HOMETOWN:

WWW.LEXTALIONIS.COM AND WWW.CRIMEFREEPHILLY.COM

The camera went back to Fuller. And the voice of O’Hara said: “Let’s now go directly to Fuller’s press conference…”

As if trying to bring attention to them, Francis Fuller took an inordinate amount of time to straighten the tiny round Ben Franklin glasses at the tip of his big nose. Then he cleared his throat. He smiled and leaned forward to speak into the black stalk microphone that curved up from the lectern.

“Thank you for coming,” Fuller began. “I do have an important announcement today. My assistant, however, tells me we’re to start with your questions.” He pointed forward, toward the unseen reporters. “Yes, madam?”

A female reporter’s voice asked, “There’ve been a total of six dead dropped here-”

“Five dead evildoers,” he corrected, “and one looking like he soon may join them.”

“Okay, five dead, one nearly so. What is your reaction to Mayor Carlucci’s statement earlier today that clearly was triggered by these dead men left here at Lex Talionis?”

“Well, of course I agree with Mayor Carlucci, whom I consider not only a fine leader of our city but also a close personal friend.”

“Bullshit,” Matt said.

Fuller went on: “We agree that evildoers must be held accountable for their actions. I fully support Jerry’s efforts and those of our hardworking police department. Which is why today it’s been my great honor as a citizen of Philadelphia to present the reward checks for ten thousand dollars”-he gestured toward those holding the ceremonial checks-“to these fine folks who have helped rid our society of those who chose not to be law-abiding. Today alone we have two additional evildoers who will never again roam our free society to harm the innocent. And we have Xavier Smith-now at Hahnemann University Hospital in critical condition and under police guard-a career criminal with more than twoscore arrests who has been brought to justice. Regardless of any differences the mayor and I may or may not have, I would suggest that real progress in cleaning up our city is being made here at Lex Talionis.”

Amanda said, “You know, rationally, I can’t say that I disagree with Fuller.”

“Not you, too?” Matt said incredulously.

She shrugged and said, “It’s really no different from what my father said about humans not being very far removed from other animals. He compared the criminals, particularly the most heinous, to hyenas, saying they were nothing more than opportunistic savages. And that it took a predator, like a lion, to weed them out, essentially cleaning up its environment. If someone had done that a long time ago with Delgado and Jimenez, a lot of people would never have been hurt.”

Matt looked at her for a moment.

Well, I can understand her wanting vengeance for being abducted.

He then said: “I’m afraid to ask what you think about the mating ritual of the female praying mantis.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, grinned playfully, and replied, “Nothing to lose your head over, sweetie.”

On-screen, Fuller was taking his time pointing toward the crowd, then said, “You, sir. Your question?”

A male voice said, “How do you respond to those who say that your reward to ‘remove evildoers from free society’ actually encourages killing, as opposed to simple capture and arrest?”

Fuller tried to square up his short, paunchy body, and then said with strong conviction, “I believe the results, as noted, speak for themselves. Next question.”

“And the Law of Talion is above our legal system?” the same reporter asked.

“No. Of course not. I would simply characterize it as a more effective system, both for dealing with the worst of our criminal element and for discouraging others who consider crime acceptable. People have choices. Some make very bad ones, time and again.”

He picked up from the lectern the Wanted sheet for Kendrik LeShawn Mays. He held it out toward the crowd and cameras. The mug shot was clearly visible on the television.

“Take, as an example, this latest evildoer. Among his many other crimes, Kendrik Mays preyed on children, forever corrupting their innocence for his sexual pleasure. He was a fugitive, on the run for years after serving time for involuntary deviant sexual intercourse and rape of an unconscious or unaware person. It is my understanding that his victim was a fourteen-year-old girl whom he drugged and then committed unspeakable acts upon. Mays’s mother told me that he continued such corrupt and contemptible behavior right up until his moment of Lex Talionis.”

Fuller paused dramatically, then went on: “I put to you that the traditional legal system failed not only to either change or stop Mays, but that it also failed to protect us citizens from him. And there are countless other evildoers just like him, ones fearless of the legal system.”

Amanda said, “And I don’t disagree with that, either.”

Matt caught himself nodding, then he stopped himself just before he said aloud: That’s what’s known in my business as job security, baby.

Fuller pointed to another reporter: “Yes?”

“What are your thoughts about Operation Clean Sweep?”

Matt said, “Now, this should be interesting.”

Fuller nodded solemnly, took a long moment to gather his thoughts, then said: “My first thought on the police department’s task force is this: If anyone can make it successful, it’s the Wyatt Earp of the Main Line.”

He paused and almost grinned.

Matt blurted, “Five-Eff, you sonofabitch!”

Fuller went on: “And I mean that sincerely. Sergeant Payne is not only a fine law-enforcement officer, but a fine friend of mine, too.”

“Bullshit,” Matt said again.

“Now,” Fuller said, “with all due respect to my good friend Mayor Carlucci, I say this to his statement concerning this new task force: Why waste effort trying to stop someone who is doing good by removing the evildoers from our city? Such people should not be condemned and hunted but, rather, encouraged in whatever way. Indeed, rewarded. And that’s why Lex Talionis is here today. And it’s why it will be here tomorrow and the days after.”

Francis Franklin Fuller the Fifth then smiled and raised his right index finger, wagging it at shoulder height.

“And that brings me to today’s big announcement,” he said. “I am genuinely honored to say that, henceforth, Lex Talionis will double each new reward to”-he poked the air with his index finger for each word-“twenty thousand dollars!”

The microphone picked up the loud and indignant voice of a young male just out of camera view: “Say what? And we only get ten grand, muthafucka?”

Matt Payne chuckled. “That was that backward kid.”

Then he thought: Wait. He’s doubling the reward?

He thumbed the remote control to back up to where Fuller raised his finger, then watched him poke the air and say, “Twenty thousand dollars!”

“Sonofabitch! There’ll be mayhem in the streets!”

Amanda said, “You’re right. Now what happens?”

Matt looked at her. “I don’t know exactly, but it’s going to have to come from someone with stars on his white shirt. Or higher. And soon.”

Matt looked at his phone and quickly read through the other texts.

The second one from Harris, time-stamped almost thirty minutes earlier than the other, read:

– ANTHONY HARRIS-

GOOD NEWS: THE PRINTS CAME BACK FROM IAFIS ON REGGIE JONES. ONE WAS A NO-MATCH. BUT THE OTHER WAS A HIT FOR (I SHIT YOU NOT) A DRUG DEALER NAMED MARCUS CICERO, AKA MARC JAMES, WHITE MALE, AGE 28. LONG LIST OF PRIORS.

Matt shook his head.

Some druggie murderer trying to pass himself off as a Roman emperor? What’s up with that?

Then he read Harris’s third text, the most recent, which was time-stamped fifteen minutes after the second one:

– ANTHONY HARRIS-

FYI-THERE’S NOW AN UNDERCOVER SITTING ON JAMES’S LKA IN PORT RICHMOND. HE’S WORKING A COUPLE CI’S TOO.

Well, maybe one or both confidential informants will want to cash in the wannabe Roman for a twenty-grand reward…

Matt then went to Rapier’s message:

– CPL KERRY RAPIER-

THOUGHT YOU’D LIKE TO KNOW THAT I HEARD FROM FORENSICS ON THE PRINTS FROM KENDRIK MAYS’S HOUSE. GOT A HIT: IT’S YOUR OLD BUDDY SNU 2010-56-9280

Damn. But no surprise there. The mystery shooter strikes again.

Finally, he got to Coughlin’s.

Payne was amazed that Coughlin had actually thumbed out a cleanly written text message, and he wondered how long the two sentences had taken him. They read:

– UNCLE DENNY-

BE PREPARED FOR CONFERENCE IN ECC TOMORROW 0800. YOUR PAL 5-F JUST CAUSED CARLUCCI TO REALLY BLOW HIS CORK AGAIN.

“Oh, shit,” Matt said as he quickly thumbed and sent the reply: “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

“What, Matt?” Amanda asked.

“I was right. Something from very high up. Uncle Denny says that Carlucci has blown his cork and that he will hold another conference first thing in the morning. Which means I’ll have to be there at oh-dark-thirty. Anytime he plays the Boy Scout motto card, it’s code for me to really be on my toes.”

“Be Prepared?” she said, reading the screen.

“Uh-huh.”

Amanda then reached over and picked up the television remote from beside his knee. She hit its red OFF button.

She then snuggled up to him and tugged his cell phone out of his hands. She turned it off, too, and slipped the phone back into his pants pocket.

Then she put her head on his shoulder and softly said, “That’s tomorrow, sweetie. Now it’s Be Prepared for tonight.”