Run Away(100)

“It’s all I could get on this short of notice.”

“Then buh-bye.”

Cornelius said, “Come on, Rocco.”

“I want more.”

“You’ll get more,” Simon said.

Rocco hemmed and hawed a bit, but the cash on the coffee table was calling to him. “So here’s how it is: I got something to tell you first. It’s pretty big. But then my boy Luther…Luther, you still there?”

From the phone: “Yeah.”

“Okay, you stay there. Just in case they try something. A little insurance.” Rocco flashed his teeth. “So when I’m done, I’m going to tell Luther to come in here, because he’s got something way bigger to say.”

Cornelius said, “We’re listening.”

Rocco picked up the cash. “I got a confirmed sighting of Paige.”

Simon felt his pulse quicken. “When?”

Rocco started counting out the bills. “Two days after her old man got murdered. Seems your daughter stayed around here for a while. Hid maybe, I don’t know. Then she got on the six.”

The six train, Simon thought. Closest subway stop.

“Someone was pretty sure of that,” Rocco said, still counting. “Not definite. But pretty sure. My other boy though, he’s convinced he saw her. No doubt at all.”

“Where?” Simon asked.

Rocco finished counting, frowned. “This is less than ten grand.”

“I’ll get you another ten tomorrow. Where did he see Paige?”

Rocco looked at Cornelius. Cornelius nodded.

“Port Authority.”

“The bus terminal?”

“Yeah.”

“Any idea where she was going?”

Rocco coughed into his fist. “Tell you what, Mr. Greene. I’m going to answer that question. Then Luther—Luther, get ready, okay?—is going to tell you the rest. For fifty K. I’m not going to negotiate either. You know why?”

Cornelius said, “Rocco, come on.”

Rocco spread those huge hands wide. “Because when you hear what Luther has to say, you’ll give us the money to keep our mouths shut.”

Simon’s eyes locked on Rocco’s. Neither man blinked. But Simon could see. Rocco meant it. Whatever Luther had to say would be huge.

“But first, let me answer your question. Buffalo. Your daughter—and this is confirmed by a reliable source—got on a bus for Buffalo.”

Simon scoured his brain for anyone he or his daughter knew in the Buffalo area. Nothing came to him. Of course, she could have gotten off earlier, really any place in upstate New York, but he still couldn’t come up with anybody.

“Luther?”

“Yeah, Rocco.”

“Come up, okay?”

Rocco disconnected the phone. Then he smiled at Cornelius. “It was you, wasn’t it, Cornelius?”

Cornelius said nothing.

“You the one who shot Luther.”

Cornelius just stared him down. Rocco laughed and held up his hands.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t worry, I ain’t going to tell him. But here’s the thing you’re about to find out. He had his reasons.”

“What reasons?” Simon asked.

Rocco moved toward the door. “Self-defense.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to—”

“Not you, man.”

Simon just looked at him.

“Think about it. Luther didn’t shoot you. He shot your wife.”

Rocco smiled and reached for the doorknob.

Several things happened at once.

From the corridor, Luther screamed, “Rocco, look out!”

Rocco, working on instinct, flung open the door.

And then the bullets started to fly.





Chapter

Thirty-Seven



Five minutes earlier, Ash pushed open the door loaded with graffiti.

He entered the poorly lit foyer first. Dee Dee followed. They didn’t have their weapons out. Not yet. But their hands were poised near them just in case.

“Why would Simon Greene be here?” Ash whispered.

“Visiting his daughter, I imagine.”

“So why not say that in his text to Elena Ramirez? Why talk about this Cornelius guy?”

Dee put her foot on the rickety step. “I don’t know.”

“We should step back,” Ash said. “Do more research.”

“You step back then.”

“Dee.”

“No, Ash, listen to me. Elena Ramirez and Simon Greene are cancers. We need to get them now or they’ll spread. You want to be more cautious? Fine. Go back to the car. I have enough firepower to handle this.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Ash said. “And you know that.”

A small smile toyed with her lips. “Are you being sexist again?”

“You wouldn’t leave me either.”

“That’s true.”

“This place,” he said. “You know what it reminds me of?”

Dee Dee nodded. “Mr. Marshall’s brewery. The smell of stale beer.”

He was amazed that she’d remember. JoJo Marshall had been one of Ash’s foster fathers, not hers. He made Ash work the fermenters. Dee Dee had visited him there a few times and clearly, like him, had never gotten over that stink.