City of War by Neil Russell

Author:Neil Russell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Murder, Conspiracies, Action & Adventure, Rail (Fictitious character), Fiction, Conspiracy, Suspense, Black, Billionaires, Suspense fiction, General
ISBN: 9780061721687
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-02-03T00:54:12.589772+00:00

25

Private Sanctuary and Silent Requiem

I’d expected D. J. Kaplan to send my preferred town car or SUV, but when I got downstairs, Archer was sitting in a super-stretch Caddie up to her elbows in a platter of Spago sandwiches he’d included. Add in the case of designer water and the Nate’n Al’s chocolate chip cheesecake, and I smelled a favor request coming from D. J. before long. Archer offered me a ham and cheese. I declined.

I asked the driver, a burly guy named Buck who had Brooklyn written all over him, if he had the socks, and he handed me a brown paper bag. I opened it and found a Beretta 9mm. I’d have preferred something smaller, but at least D. J. hadn’t sent a Magnum.

Archer looked at the gun but made no comment and went back to her sandwich. I gave Buck the Princeton Street address. Then I dialed Benny Joe. I was pissed at myself for not having done this before, especially after my conversation with Marta Videz, but better late than never.

The phone rang for easily three minutes before he picked up. He sounded half-asleep. “What the fuck time is it?”

“How you doing with those negatives?”

“Guy was a helluva shooter. Had a real fuckin’ eye. I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”

“Forget it.”

“What the fuck! You got any idea how many hours I put in!”

“You can have the Babe Ruth pictures for your trouble.”

“You fuckin’ shittin’ me?”

“Nope, consider them yours.”

“Tell that rat fuck Praxis, okay?”

“Okay. Now here’s what I need, and you don’t have to do anything but exercise that brain of yours. You awake?”

“Wait’ll I open a beer.”

I heard rummaging, then a can being opened and its contents being gulped. Finally, Benny Joe said, “Bedroom fridge. What a fuckin’ country. Okay, shoot.”

“Where would a woman hide photographs?”

“This is like some kind of fuckin’ joke, right? Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me.”

“I’m serious. They would be important enough that they might get her killed.”

“In her snatch. How the fuck should I know?”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck out of bed.”

I heard groaning sounds and a loud burp. “Okay, asshole, I’m up.”

“Now walk around the room. Get the blood flowing.” I waited a few seconds. “You moving yet?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Now listen to me. You’re a genius with all things photographic. That means you think differently when it comes to cameras and film. If you were half as good at poker as you are at pictures, you’d know exactly what a civilian had when he bet out.”

“Jesus, what I do ain’t a fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, it’s not? Then why does the government keep trying to get you to come back? And why are all those assassination photos hanging on your walls? Because guys like you would stop in the middle of getting laid if an idea came to you that would beat one of your competitors at some bullshit thing no one else would even notice. You’re the ultimate competitor, Benny Joe. So kick Lee Harvey out of your fucking head for a few minutes, and put those cells to work on the problem.

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