Chapter 49 Lake

49

Lake

As Gabriel Lake sat behind the wheel of his new car, he thought about the morning's events. Tony Two Fucks had met him at the old New York Life Insurance Building. Lake got out the driver's seat, closed the door and hit the fob to lock it.

‘What the fuck is that?' asked Tony.

‘It's my new car.'

‘You paid money for that fuckin' thing?'

‘It's a car. It's got four wheels and it drives.'

Tony shook his head, and Lake followed him into the grand entrance of 108 Leonard, which had originally been home to the New York Life Insurance Company, before it was extended, and then subsequently had its clock tower erected. Now, a hundred years later, it was home to more than one hundred and fifty luxury apartments. Tony whispered something to the building's doorman, who took them straight to see the building manager in a side office off the marbled-floor reception area.

Lake waited on the leather couches, admiring the ornate gold filigree on the ironwork that decorated the walls. Tony came out of the office with the manager, carrying a floor plan. Lake selected an apartment on the south side. Top floor. Beneath the clock tower.

‘We can accommodate our resident in one of our hotels while the maintenance work takes place. The apartment will be on all major rental sites within the hour,' said the manager.

Tony swore at him in a way that Lake took to be greatly affectionate, then bear-hugged the man until his face turned Coca-Cola red and then let go of him enough to allow his feet to touch the floor. Lake wondered what it must be like to be on the wrong side of Tony Two Fucks if this was how he treated friends.

Lake sent a text message to Eddie to confirm the apartment was ready, then headed back to his car.

Tony didn't like his car. Still, it was a car. Lake didn't care much for aesthetics.

After a phone call with Eddie, he drove to the Jacksons' to meet Eddie and Clarence.

‘What the hell is this?' asked Eddie as he got into the backseat with Clarence.

‘It's my car,' said Lake.

‘It's a Pontiac Aztek,' said Eddie.

‘Is it? I don't know. It's white, which is a surprise. I thought it was brown when I bought it. But it drives okay.'

Clarence took a look around the interior and let out a moan.

‘I'm going to walk Clarence home then get to court. Bloch will watch Ellis and Bale. You follow Ruby Johnson, the Jacksons' nanny. If I'm right, she is going to make some plays. Get pictures.'

And so, for the rest of the morning, Lake had followed Ruby Johnson. He'd watched her wave off Alison and Tomas to a hotel. John left for court, then Ruby left. He watched her go buy a sports bag, and then head to a bank.

The bag was empty when she went in.

The bag was full when she came out.

Lake took pictures on a digital camera with a zoom lens. Slowly, he pulled out into traffic and drove for a hundred yards. Then pulled in. Ruby didn't use the subway, and for that he was glad. Lake didn't like underground spaces. She seemed to prefer the bus, and that was easier to follow, as most New Yorkers who drove the city got stuck behind a bus for at least part of their day.

He kept back a couple of cars, not wanting to alert Ruby that she was being followed. After ten blocks, he noticed that the car up ahead stopped when the bus stopped, and had a couple of opportunities to get around it, but never did. A sleek, black Lincoln.

Lake felt something cold walk over his skin. The Lincoln was following Ruby.

He once knew a man who drove Lincolns just the same as this one. Didn't matter what city he was in, the man always hired or bought black Lincolns to drive.

A man he never wanted to see again. The man that Eddie had met.

Ruby hopped off the bus a block from her apartment building. Lake pulled ahead of the bus and the Lincoln. He looked at the driver as he passed, but the man had his arm on the window rest, hiding his face. Unable to get a good look, he sped up, overtook the car and checked his rearview mirror. The driver had his head down.

An uneasy feeling began in his stomach, and he felt a dull pain in his right shoulder. That joint was held together with wires and screws, limiting his full range of mobility. A .45 caliber round had torn through his shoulder, some years ago. It was one of a number of bullet wounds he'd suffered. Trauma surgeons had saved his life, and stopped the bleeding from the stomach wounds and the shot that cut through an inch of his thigh. Those injuries had healed well.

The shoulder was a problem some days.

Usually, it ached in the cold.

Or when he had nightmares about the shooting in the heroin stash house where he'd almost died from those wounds. He would wake up covered in sweat, his shoulder screaming.

Lake shook his head. Tapped a beat on the steering wheel as he came around the block and parked across the street from Ruby's building. He just got stopped in time to watch her go inside.

There was a Starbucks on his side of the street. He connected to their Wi-Fi, emailed the photographs of Ruby to Eddie.

His phone rang one minute later.

‘Is that blackmail money?' asked Eddie.

‘Got to be. I'm sure she didn't save enough cash to fill a gym bag from changing diapers and washing floors.'

‘How much is in there?'

‘No idea.'

‘Send the name and address of the bank to Bloch. She'll find out.'

‘What about Bale and Ellis?' asked Lake.

‘We don't have enough bodies to watch everyone. Right now, the game is all about Ruby Johnson. Stay on Ruby and keep me updated.'

As Lake ended the call, his passenger door opened. There were internal locks on the Pontiac, but either they didn't work or Lake didn't know how to switch them on.

A man dressed in an expensive black suit got into the passenger seat beside Lake and shut the door. As he got in, Lake's nervous system went into overdrive. Adrenalin flooded his veins, the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and Lake, instead of moving, was frozen in place for half a second from the shock of seeing this man. The incongruity.

It was like watching a five-hundred-pound alligator get into your car. Disbelief comes first. Then reaction.

Lake reached for his gun, but the man gave him a look. Wagged his forefinger in the air, like he was remonstrating with a child, and then tutted.

‘You're not as fast as you used to be, Gabriel. Do you mind if I call you Gabriel? Mr. Lake seems too formal. Especially after all that we've been through together.'

‘Are you going to tell me your first name?' asked Lake.

‘I think Mr. Christmas is just fine, for me. Oh, what the hell – let's go crazy . . . You can call me Christmas. What do you think of that?' he asked with a genuine smile.

‘I think I'm going to kill you the first chance I get,' said Lake.

‘Now, Gabriel, that is rude. Here we are, sharing a case together, getting to know one another, reconnecting after all this time . . . It's disappointing. Almost as disappointing as this car. Did you steal it from a junk yard?'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘We're talking,' he said, completely focused on Lake. Such intensity. Eyes like a traction beam locked on Lake as he asked, ‘Why are you following Ruby Johnson?'

Lake didn't miss a beat and fired back, ‘Why are you following Ruby Johnson?'

The questions were like two sharp blades clashing.

Neither of them spoke. Lake met the man's iron gaze. Silence filled the car's appalling interior. He could hear his own heartbeat like a timer ticking down to some horrific end.

Two killers. Inches from one another. In a car filled with boiling quiet.

Somehow, Mr. Christmas appeared to piece together Lake's motives.

‘Your client's babysitter is really quite something, isn't she?'

‘I don't know yet. She's a player in a game that has cost a lot of lives. How much money is in that bag she's carrying?'

It was an innocent question, and for a moment Mr. Christmas weighed whether he should answer. The exact amount didn't make a difference. It was clear to both men she was carrying a lot of cash.

‘Quarter of a million,' said Mr. Christmas.

The tension that had built between them seemed to evaporate. Although Lake couldn't see it, he felt the man beside him take his state of readiness down a few notches. As if every muscle fiber that had been tensed now let go into easy company.

‘We're two old hands at this game. You and I. Between the two of us, we have killed a lot of people . . .' said Mr. Christmas, but Lake didn't let him finish.

‘Don't put me in the same coffin you crawled out of. We're not the same. I don't kill for money. I do what's right.'

‘What's right? Is that what happened in that stash house? Was it right that you went through that building killing everyone in it, whether they were armed or not?'

‘You seemed to think it was okay.'

‘You were bleeding out, Gabriel. It was a valiant effort, but that last man . . . You were on the floor, barely conscious . . .'

‘And you shot him in the face. I wouldn't have gone near that house if I wasn't chasing you down. It was your fault. All of it.'

‘Was it my fault one of your colleagues wanted you dead and led you to walk into that trap? No. You were lucky I was following you. It was me that pulled your near lifeless body out of there and called a paramedic. You're alive because of me.'

‘You mean I nearly died because of you.'

‘Don't you see? We are the same. We're linked. Now, we have a common goal. Young Ruby's machinations are causing all kinds of repercussions.'

‘You were given a contract to kill her. Who hired you?'

‘Oh, come now, Gabriel. You know my methods. It's all done through the office. I'm not great at customer care, nor administration. I take the call; I pull the trigger. Someone else handles the paperwork.'

‘Call your office, or your guy, or whoever deals with your shit. I want the name behind the contract. And Ruby Johnson has to keep breathing until I can prove my client is innocent.'

‘I'm not entirely sure that is ethical,' said Mr. Christmas.

‘You're a professional hitman. I'm not sure you can claim the moral high ground here.'

‘What if I said no.'

‘You'll say yes ,' said Lake.

Mr. Christmas tilted his head to one side, said ‘Why?'

‘Same reason you pulled me out of that building.'

He considered this for a moment, said, ‘The identity of my principal shall remain confidential. However, in the spirit of this conversation, I shall allow Ms. Johnson some additional time. Just as I am permitting your employer.'

Lake gritted his teeth, said, ‘Thank you. Eddie isn't my boss. He's a friend.'

‘And yet you didn't tell him about me.'

‘We all have secrets.'

‘Indeed. Now, if you don't mind, I do have to relieve Ms. Johnson of the funds she has so readily and fruitfully acquired. Give my regards to Mr. Flynn. I'm sure I will meet him again soon.'

As Mr. Christmas opened the passenger door and turned to get out, Lake thought about making a move for his weapon. The man's back was turned. He was vulnerable for one, maybe two seconds. Enough time for Lake to draw his pistol and put three rounds in the hitman's back. Two in the lungs. One shot in the spine.

Mr. Christmas gently closed the passenger door of the Aztek.

Lake's fingers crushed the steering wheel. Then he relaxed his shoulders, cleared his mind for a second, inhaled deeply and tried to get his heart rate below one thirty. The cold pain in his shoulder eased. After a few seconds, he took out his cell, called Eddie. Told him everything that had happened. The bag. The money. The hit. He didn't relay the entirety of the conversation. The part about Mr. Christmas saving him from the last shooter in the stash house, he kept that to himself for now. Eddie had already seen the photos Lake had sent of Ruby and asked him to send them to Bloch too.

‘Where is Christmas now?' asked Eddie.

‘He's just crossing the street to go into Ruby's building.'

‘I'm on my way.'