HE STAYED MUTE. Truth to tell, I was kind of annoyed with myself.
So she didn’t share the details of all her Special Agenting with me. Big deal. I did introduce myself with that quip about the mafia for fuck’s sake. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference who the damned Bond villains of the piece were.
If there were anyone I’d be afraid of in this whole damned mess, it would be her. Even more than the big guy that wore Kevlar over his Kevlar. Every time I turned around I saw another skill that she was Ninja-level scary good at.
In my experience, when a cop has climbed up the ranks to Precinct Commander or above, some could be pretty evil, some were pretty solid guys. Either way, they were mostly a little soft and porky. They worked hard in the ranks, risked their lives on the daily, so on and so on. Once they got some seniority, they usually felt they’d earned a chance to enjoy life, at least a little.
It wasn’t that she’d held out on us with any vital information. She’d said there were politicians involved. I hadn’t asked who, she hadn’t told me and I didn’t much care.
No, it just gave me a pang that she didn’t trust me. And all the while I hadn’t trusted her. Still didn’t, come to that, though I was starting to think I should revisit that particular probelm. Yet, here I was mad at her for something she didn’t share.
It’s definitely best not to let a woman get mixed up in your feelings. It gets damned complicated, and fast.
Noah said to her, “So, Paul Butler is the only name you’ve got now, am I right?”
“Apart from Carmine and Vassily, that’s right.”
“So. That’s who you need to talk to.”
I said, “Should we get the mayor and the president to be in the meeting, too?”
Noah grinned. “He’s just a guy. I’m surprised at you.”
“Just a guy surrounded by all the cops in New York City.”
“Sure, but wait up, there was something on the news just now.”
“You been kicking back with Fox and Friends?”
“Get a grip. No, I saw a ticker on the screen up there.” He pointed up to a corner of the bar where a TV screen showed one of the rolling news channels. “There was footage from Bryant Square and the back of the New York Public library. The ticker said Butler would hold a press conference there this after noon.”
I said, “We’ll all just get press accreditation and hop on over. What could be simpler?” Noah shook his head while I said, “He’s bound to want to hang around and chat after, right? After he’s given the news about the slayings in a public park. Do you think he’ll have many people with him?”
“No more than a few hundred cops. Plus marksmen.”
“Nothing to it.”
Noah said, “There may be a way.”
The sports bar was just a couple of blocks from the library, and it wasn’t too busy in the middle of the afternoon. I pointed to the screen nearest to our booth asked Laney, our bouncy server, if could she set it to the news channel that was covering the press conference. She said no, because it would piss off the manager.
“He hates it when there’s anything on the screens but sports. The news channels are all politics, and he hates politicians.”
She looked up at me with a cute tilt of her head. “I kind of feel the same way, you know? But we keep a couple of tablets for saddo’s — sorry — for the customers who want to watch something else. Should I get you one of those?”
When she’d taken our order she went and got a tablet and set it up for us to watch tap into their digital channels.
Butler stood tall behind a lectern in the sunshine. The buttons on his immaculate uniform shone and he was on a raised platform on the steps of the 5th Avenue entrance to the library. He looked around slowly at the cameras with that watchful, commanding look that cops use to be reassuring in dangerous times. The look that says, ‘We’ve got this. Put your faith in me.’
The park at the back of the library must still have been too messed up for the image he wanted to project.
Thick lines of uniformed police surrounded the platform, looking outward. News crews surrounded them all.
He made a speech that began, “My fellow New Yorkers,” and it made me think that we were in for a very long afternoon.
He talked about the victims of this ‘heinous crime,’ and he said, ‘one of whom was a serving FBI agent,’ but he covered his bases by adding, ‘although his exact reasons for being here at the time of the shootings have yet to be determined.’ That was obviously to leave some scope for putting blame on Schultz or maybe even the FBI if he needed to. He talked about how the incident, ‘shattered the peace of the lives of good citizens.’
He was just getting into the part where the ‘hard-working, law abiding New Yorkers’ should be confident they could ‘rest assured,’ about the ‘inexhaustible efforts’ that he knew they would expect ‘New York’s finest’ to deliver up for them.
Right in the middle of one of his over-wrought and over-written sentences, everybody ducked. Everybody, all at the same time. He looked around, startled. The cameras swivelled, hunting for a reason, something to explain why all the cops were crouched with their guns drawn, and all looking around.
Then the picture zoomed in on Butler. Two tiny green laser dots danced on the breast of his tunic.
Vesper took up the phone and looked at me. She pushed the button to dial.
Butler had seen the dots, too. Just like any normal person, he touched them, as if he could brush them off. Then I saw his shoulders make the instinctive flinch to duck. To his credit, he resisted. He kept his poise and stayed standing.
He looked about him, trying to see where the lasers might be coming from. But he knew that was useless, just as useless as hiding behind the flimsy podium would be. I was impressed, though, that he had the presence and the guts to stand in the firing line. This looked like a man with a serious political future in his mind.
Then he stopped. Looked down and took out a phone. He glared at it and looked back up before he answered.
Vesper spoke quietly. “Stay still, Commissioner. Do not move.” On the tablet the camera zoomed in on his face. His eyes hardened and his lips tightened.
Vesper told him, “You don’t have to talk yet.”
Butler glowered around him. “You don’t have to worry about seeing me,” she said. “I can see you. That’s all that matters.”
He stood. Straight and still, he held his composure. Until she said, “We know about the boilerhouse project, and we know about your involvement with it.” His face reddened as he drew his breath in.
He looked at the phone, as if he might be able to do something to it. Something that would change this situation. He took a step back.
“Stay where you are. Stay at the podium. This can all go smoothly, but you will have to do exactly as I tell you. Nod to show that you understand me.”
He nodded once, slowly.