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Lester came through the door first, clomping down the stairs on his way to open the exit door. Apparently, their state-of-the-art system couldn't tell which smoke alarm had been set off. Costa came next, followed by Misha and Sergei.
They never heard Eddie behind them. He swung up on the railing and kicked Sergei square in the back. The Russian rocketed forward, pulling Misha down with him to the landing below. Eddie ran down and planted a second footprint on Sergei's sports jacket as he pulled Misha to his feet. The kid was already drenched in sweat. Eddie jammed his Sig Sauer into Misha's cheek, hard enough to imprint the shape. With his mouth right against the kid's ear, he made a point to use his nickname.
"Misha, who stole the black BMW?"
The kid stammered something in Russian. Sergei tried to get up; Eddie put both feet, all his weight, on the center of his back.
"I need a name now, Misha."
Beyond the stairway door, he could hear the stampede of a drunken fire drill. Eddie held tight to Misha's shirt. "You little fuck," he said. "You'll die right here."
"Please," Misha said. "She'll kill me."
Eddie towered over the kid. He wrapped his forearm tighter around his throat and forced the gun into his mouth, the barrel clicking off the kid's teeth. He told him to believe he was about to die.
"Who is she?" Eddie yelled. "I need a name, asshole. She took the black BMW? She who? A name. Give me a name."
The stairway door opened. Richie Costa poked his face in.
Eddie squeezed tighter on Misha's neck. "Who the fuck is'she'?"
Eddie had both arms wrapped around the whimpering kid. Richie Costa swung from the side, a pure sucker punch. Eddie went to his knees, crumbling on top of the kid, both of them on top of Sergei in the crowded stairway. Eddie screamed at Misha, "Give me a name." Costa punched him again. Somebody kept yelling to get the kid out of there. The stairway door stayed open; security goons jammed the doorway. Lester yanked Misha up, pulling him under his arms. Eddie made it hard for him, holding on to the kid's soaked shirt. Costa tried to loosen Eddie's grip but couldn't. They tore Misha's shirt off. Eddie grabbed his belt. Then a lead pipe or a nightstick came down repeatedly on Eddie's forearms and wrists. At some point, he let go.
Chapter 12
Wednesday
7:00 A.M.
Southbound traffic on the West Side Highway, always jammed during rush hour, crawled more deliberately in the early-morning fog. The steady blur of oncoming headlights flickered like processional candles in the gloom. Eddie Du
This particular morning, Eddie owed his freedom to Russian practicality. The business manager of the Eurobar, rousted from his bed, didn't want any official reports of a scuffle gumming up a spate of license applications he had before the city government. He wouldn't press arson charges if Eddie was willing to walk away quietly. A sweetheart deal, too good to pass up. Live to fight another day.
Eddie squinted, trying to maintain a distance from the taillights ahead of him. He didn't need a car accident on top of everything else. After passing the entrance to the George Washington Bridge, the escaping traffic thi
The Eurobar's business manager had told Eddie he'd hired Misha as weekend kitchen help. The confrontation in the VIP room that Eddie had witnessed resulted from the security people catching Misha dealing drugs in the men's room. Sergei Zhukov, whose management duties seemed undefined, was merely in the process of ba
The only good thing that came out of the incident was that if Eddie had ever had any doubts Borodenko was involved, they were gone now. He'd been approaching this all wrong. He needed to forget about the stolen car and go after Borodenko at a higher level, start taking down some of his key associates. Misha, even if he had confessed, might not know what had happened to Kate. And "she," whoever "she" was, probably didn't know, either. Too low-level for the big secrets.
An old boxing truism says that if you attack the body, the head will die. He'd been attacking the body. Now he realized he didn't have time for that strategy. After a nap, some food, he'd be ready to hunt for the head. He parked his Olds in back of Christ the King school.
The Yonkers neighborhood where the Du
The North End Tavern was located just steps from that last bus stop. Every evening, dozens of workers coming off the bus from their "city" jobs stopped in for "just one" before going home to face the bride. For three decades, Kieran Du
Almost all the stores were still mom-and-pop concerns, many of them remaining in the same family for generations-among them a pharmacy, a small supermarket, a barbershop/beauty shop, and two bars. The glory days of the North End Tavern were in the past, but the new owners, Kevin and Martha Du
With all his heart, Kevin Du
It was after 9:00 a.m. when Eddie Du
"I'll get some ice for that eye," Martha Du