Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(40)

There were no vacant units. There were also no full-time residents. These places were not homes; they were safe-deposit boxes, a way to move money out of a country where the government sometimes took things from the rich without paying for them. Or, they were a perfect way to launder money that had been made in illegal ways overseas.

The uniformed doorman, who, to Pine’s discerning eye, carried more muscled bulk and keener observation skills than most doormen in the Big Apple, led them into a small but palatial lobby and over to the concierge desk. There they were met by a broad-shouldered young man with thick, wavy hair, an expensive blue suit complete with white pocket square, and a helpful, inquisitive look.

Pine figured he had a tricky balance here. He couldn’t afford not to be suspicious, but he also couldn’t afford to piss off a VIP, either. She assumed he had been rigidly trained to perform that duty as well as it could be.

“Yes?” he said, looking between Axilrod and Pine.

“I’m Lindsey Axilrod, remember me? I’m usually here with Tony Vincenzo.”

“Oh, yes, of course, hello, Ms. Axilrod, good to see you again. I’m afraid Mr. Vincenzo is not here.”

“I know, but he told me to meet him here. I, um, I think he’s coming later. I’m assuming there’s stuff going on up there, like usual.”

He said diplomatically, “There are others in the unit tonight, yes.” He turned to Pine. “And your friend?”

Pine put out her hand. “I’m Angela. Lindsey said it would be okay to come with her.”

“Tony thought so, too,” added Axilrod quickly. “He wanted Angela to come tonight.”

“Come on and I’ll get you on the elevator, then.”

He pressed his thumbprint to the scan pad next to the elevator and then punched in the floor number. The doors slid open, and Pine and Axilrod stepped on. The doors closed and the car lifted off, swiftly traveling ninety floors up, where it opened into what could only be described as a raucous scene unfolding over some of the most expensive real estate on earth.

Pine could see about forty people, most of them under thirty, many of them drunk and getting drunker. They were standing in small pockets of conversation, or draped over the massive furniture, or leaning against a wall, or sitting on tables, or heading off, hands on firm asses, to more private spaces.

The next thing she noticed were the two burly men dressed in dark clothes with bumps near the chest for their weapons.

One of them put out a large hand. “Purses.”

It wasn’t a question.

They handed the men their purses and they were thoroughly searched and then handed back. Next, they were efficiently patted down by the men.

“Names?” one asked.

They gave them.

“I’m usually here with Tony Vincenzo,” said Axilrod. “I’ve seen you before.”

The burly man swept out a hand and said, “Right. Enjoy.”

They walked over to a bar that was set up along one wall. Beyond that were sweeping views of the city. On the streets far below were the winks of thousands of vehicles. A slim jet cruised past their line of sight to its final descent into LaGuardia. Next to them was another splinter building where the überrich lived far above the rabble, at least in their own minds.

Pine and Axilrod ordered drinks, a rum and Coke and a champagne cocktail, respectively.

Pine’s gaze kept sweeping the room like radar sucking up as much information as possible. She checked out Burly One and Burly Two at the door. They were not paying her any more attention than they were anyone else.

“Recognize anybody?” asked Pine. “Specifically someone who knows Tony?”

“The two guys over there,” said Axilrod. “I’ve been here with Tony and talked to them. They seemed to know him, but just to say hello and talk sports.”

“Okay, anyone else here from Fort Dix you recognize?”

Axilrod slowly surveyed the room. “That woman over there, in the corner doing a lip-lock with that guy.”

Pine looked to where she was indicating. The woman was petite and in her twenties with stringy ash-blond hair. She was too thin, and her skin was pale and unhealthy looking. Her legs, encased in black jeans, looked like pencils flowing down into red high heels that raised her height to about five four.

“Her name?”

“Sheila Weathers.”

“What does she do at Fort Dix?”

“She works at the commissary.”

“She looks like a drug user. The eyes, twitchy limbs. You know anything about that?”

“No.”

“How does she know Tony?”

“He eats in the commissary. I’ve seen them talking. A lot.”

Pine put her drink down. “Let’s go then. She looks like she wants to be rescued from that guy.”





CHAPTER





27





HEY, SHEILA,” said Pine as she strode over to the couple and inserted herself firmly between them. “I’m Angela.”

Weathers looked up blankly at Pine but then saw Axilrod and said, “You’re at Fort Dix. I’ve seen you there.”

“Yep. I’m Lindsey. I’m in IT. I think we both know Tony Vincenzo.”

“Hey,” barked the man. He was around five eight with broad shoulders, a loose gut, slicked-back dark hair, and a pissed-off expression. “Do you mind?”