Tick Tock

Chapter 91

DESPITE THE CHARMING Mr. Duques's assertions to do everything humanly possible, for the rest of the day, we put full-court pressure on the city DA's Office to speed things up on a warrant. Emily even placed a call to the FBI's New York Office White Collar Squad for any guidance they could give in cutting off Apt's money supply.

By 7:30, we hadn't heard back from anyone, but at least it seemed we were barking up the right money tree now. Also, no one else had been ritualistically killed-at least that we knew of. I love progress.

I was going to give Emily a ride back to her hotel, but she begged off, saying she needed to get some shopping done for her daughter.

"Get some sleep, partner," she said as we departed in the parking lot. "You're going to need it."

I turned down the police radio as I began my drive home and slid in a Gov't Mule CD that I kept in the glove box. A machine-gun roll of skull-whomping drums started up, followed by a soul-piercing electric guitar. The hard-wailing Southern rock turned out to be just what I needed to reduce my about-to-pop blood pressure. I turned it up as high as it would go as I punched my Impala toward the FDR.

My stress felt purged as I pulled into my beach bungalow's driveway an hour later.

"Finally. There you are. I was getting worried," Mary Catherine said as I crossed the porch and opened the front door.

"What's up?" I said.

"Did your phone battery die or something? The phone's been ringing off the hook. Your FBI agent friend said something urgent just came up and to call her right away."

I quickly checked my phone. Emily had left three messages. I must have missed it over my head-banging.

I called her back.

"Emily?"

"You need to come back to the city right away, Mike. Karen from the CIA just called me again with new info that she said might lead us straight to Apt. She's coming to my hotel room. You need to get here as soon as you can."

"On my way," I said before hanging up.

"I take it you're not staying for dinner," Mary said.

I nodded and then glanced beyond the kitchen doorway at all the kids seated at the dining room table. Beside a cauldron-size metal pot, Juliana was passing out plates of pasta. That's when I inhaled the scent of garlic and olive oil.

Sweet glory of angels!

Mary had made a massive batch of her world-famous meatballs and sauce.

I glanced at my phone.

Too bad I was going to have mine for tomorrow's breakfast.