Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(70)

Ten minutes later, the driver made another turn and I realized he was headed for the Queensboro Bridge.

I leaned up and said, “Where are we going?”

The driver focused on traffic in front of us for a moment, beeping at a tourist from Delaware who was clearly unsure where he wanted to go. Then the driver called over his shoulder, “The mayor told me to bring you to an address in Queens. I didn’t ask any questions. Let me call and see if I can get any answers you might need.”

He pulled out his cell phone and started to speak. His conversation lasted until we were over the bridge.

We were on the upper level when the driver turned off to loop around back under the bridge onto Vernon Boulevard. We passed Queensbridge Park on our left. He was pulling past the sprawling Ravenswood power plant when he called over his shoulder, “I guess the mayor drove over here as well. He’s anxious to see his daughter. He says we can meet him by Rainey Park just up here.”

I looked across the seat and said, “You doing okay?”

She nodded, the ball cap pulled low over her face.

The limo was so big that any change in speed felt like a boat moving in water. We slowed and turned down a narrow street that ran along the north of Rainey Park, some blocks past the power plant and right along the backside of a big-box store. Cars were parked next to the building at first, probably those of the employees, but the driver continued to the nearly empty far end of the road, closer to the river, and stopped. I reached into my pocket for my phone.

As we came to a stop, the driver looked in the rearview mirror and said, “Please, sir, no calls.”

“What? I’m sorry, I need to check in with my office.”

“I don’t think so.”

When I looked up from my phone to see what would make the driver say something so crazy, I froze. He had turned around and held a small semiautomatic pistol in his left hand, pointed at my head.

Without the man saying a word, I knew to hand over my own pistol. I reached to my right hip and slowly unholstered my Glock. I handed it over the seat to the driver.

The driver said, “Phone, too.”

I sighed as I tossed my phone over the seat as well.

The driver added, “And Natalie’s purse.”

She handed the purse to the driver.

I felt like I was back in Estonia, staring at the barrel of another gun. When was this shit gonna end?





CHAPTER 98





AS I CONTINUED to sit in the rear seat of the limo, staring at the gun, I took a moment to look at the driver more closely. He was about forty with the smooth face of someone who hasn’t worked outdoors much their whole life. He had an accent, but I couldn’t tell where he was from. In New York, you just rolled with any sort of accent. As long as you could make out the general meaning of what someone was trying to say, everyone was happy.

This guy worked for Henry. He hadn’t said so in words, but someone holding a gun conveys a lot with just a look. I was in deep shit.

The driver kept the gun on me as he opened his door, stepped outside, and opened my door. He said, “C’mon, out of the car, Detective Bennett.”

When I was standing with him on the asphalt, he reached into the car and raised the privacy glass. Then he hit a button that locked the doors. Before he shut my door, he leaned into the car and said, “Natalie, you sit tight for a little while. Don’t even try to slip out of the car.”

Now it was just the two of us. I knew that wasn’t going to last for long. I asked the driver, whose head didn’t come up to my nose, “What exactly is this bullshit?”

The driver said, “Henry isn’t finished with you yet. He thought it was rude the way you left him in Estonia. He says you’re the kind of man who should understand payback.”

“What’s the girl got to do with this? He could’ve left her alone.”

“Henry doesn’t consult me about those kinds of decisions. I just handle problems in New York.”

“What’s he gain from this? How is this good for business?”

The driver shrugged. “I’d save those kinds of talking points for Henry. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Are you saying you don’t think this is bullshit?”

“I just understand you embarrassed Henry and now he needs to make a statement so people know he’s serious. He keeps all these cyber people in line with fear.”

In a crazy kind of way, that made sense. And because we were talking about a crazy person, I’m sure it made perfect sense to Henry.

I noticed a new Audi rolling toward us along the street and parking maybe fifty feet away. I turned toward it, then glanced over my shoulder at the limo. There was a lot to think about in this encounter.

I worked hard at keeping a disinterested expression when Henry popped out of the Audi wearing a gray Armani suit. He looked like one of the young investment bankers down on Wall Street, except for the Walther .380 pistol in his right hand. He smiled and said, “Detective Bennett, nice to see you again.”

“Wish I could say the same. But I’ll say this, Henry, you have definitely impressed me this time. I’ve only been back a day and you were able to travel across the Atlantic, use the phone you cloned from the mayor, and trick me with the fake text. By the way, the ‘little fat prick’ comment on the text was inspired.”