Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(42)

“Uh-huh,” I said, leaving out the fact that I’d gone down the exact same road two nights ago. “And how did you land on Berringer?”

“Zach, the man sticks out like a boner in a Speedo,” Reitzfeld said. “Everyone else is a regular—same faces month after month, year after year. This Berringer character starts dating Kylie, gets her to introduce him to Shelley, plays twice, which is all it takes to get the routine down pat, and bingo—the third time he’s in the room, the game gets hit by a couple of bozos who couldn’t organize a two-car funeral if you spotted them a hearse and six pallbearers.”

“Can you prove anything?”

“Probably—if Shelley would let me.”

“What do you mean if?”

“When I told him I thought Berringer could be the brains behind the hit, he told me to back off. I love the old man, but he just doesn’t think like a cop.”

“That’s why he made you head of security at Silvercup Studios.”

“It’s a great title, Zach—very impressive on my business card. I’ve never seen Shelley’s business card, but it should say Control Freak. He doesn’t want me to follow up on C.J. because he doesn’t want Kylie to get hurt. He says her husband has caused her enough pain, and he would rather protect her than recover eight hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s insane,” I said. “I know Kylie: if her boyfriend is guilty, she’d want you to nail him.”

“That’s why I’m calling you. You’re her partner. Shelley won’t listen to me, but he’ll listen to you.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“It can’t hurt to ask him.”

“Yes it can. If I tell him to go after Berringer, and he says no, I can’t then turn around and do it anyway. But if I don’t say anything…”

“Don’t ask permission; ask forgiveness,” Reitzfeld said. “But you’d have to investigate on your own. Do you mind?”

Did I mind proving Kylie’s latest was a crook? I grinned. “I can deal with it. Give me a few days.”

“Thanks. So tell me about losing the DA’s hundred thousand dollars.”

“How about I tell you over a beer at my retirement party, which will be coming around a lot sooner than I planned if I don’t find the money?”

He hung up, and I sat there, staring at my phone. I was planning my next move when a text message popped up on the screen. It was from Kylie.

Where R U?



I tapped out an answer.

I was meditating. Thanks for harshing my zen.



She texted back.

Your zen can wait. Cates wants us.



I let her know I was on my way, then hit Q’s number on my speed dial.

He answered on the first ring. “Detective Jordan,” he said. “Rumor has it that you and Judge Rafferty had quite a costly adventure on the High Line.”

“The good news is His Honor no longer thinks you’re blackmailing him.”

“For which you have my undying gratitude,” Q replied. “If you ever need any—”

“Forget ‘If you ever.’ I’m collecting now.” I filled him in on the poker game robbery that went down at the Mark.

“So you want me to be on the lookout for two gentlemen of dubious earning power who are spending money like a couple of scratch-off winners.”

“Yes,” I said. “And Q…this one is between me, you, and nobody else.”

“Please, Detective,” he said. “You know my reputation. I’m as discreet as a whisper in a windstorm.”

“And you know my partner,” I said. “If she finds out, I’ll be as dead as a flounder in a frying pan.”

I hung up and headed for my meeting with Cates. As I double-timed down the stairs, I realized I was smiling. I know it’s not healthy, but for me, there’s something gratifying about proving to the woman who dumped me for another man that once again, she’d made the wrong choice.





CHAPTER 40



“Uh-oh,” Kylie said as the two of us walked down the hall to Cates’s office.

Her door was shut, the privacy blinds on the glass wall were down, and there were two large men standing directly outside her office. I knew them well: Mayor Sykes’s bodyguards.

“Well if it isn’t Cagney and Lacey,” Kylie said, never missing an opportunity to bust balls. “Glad to see that the taxpayers were smart enough to pay two of you to protect the mayor from the evils that lurk in the halls of an Upper East Side police precinct.”

“Ah, the ever delightful Detective MacDonald,” the larger of the two large men said, putting his hand on the doorknob. “Let’s see if you’re still smiling when you come back out.” He held the door open, and Kylie and I went in.

Cates was behind her desk. Sykes was sitting across from her. “He’s taking hostages,” the mayor said as soon as the door closed behind us.

“Ma’am?” I said. “Who’s taking hostages?”

“Princeton Wells. The Silver Bullet Foundation was supposed to break ground on Tremont Gardens next month.” In case we hadn’t been paying attention to the speeches on the night of the hotel bombing, she added, “It’s the city’s permanent housing project for homeless people that Del Fairfax designed. But Wells is putting it on hold until the person or persons responsible for the deaths of his two partners are brought to justice.”