Judgment in Death (In Death #11)(108)

It was better, Ricker calculated. Even better than he'd expected. He'd have Roarke's money, his humiliation, and his obligation. And he could hold all of them until he killed him. "I can arrange it for you."

"Arrange what?"

"Her resignation. I'll have her out in a month's time."

"In return for?"

"This place. I want it back. And there's a little matter of a shipment I'm expecting. The client I anticipated for it hasn't proved financially solvent. Take it off my hands for, we'll say, another ten million, turn the deed to this club over to one of my subsidiaries, and we'll have a deal."

"What's the merchandise?"

"Pharmaceuticals."

"You know I don't have the contacts to deal in illegals."

"Don't tell me what you do or don't have." Ricker's voice spiked, all but cracked. "Who do you think you are to turn your nose up at me." He lunged over the table, grabbed Roarke by the collar. "I want what I want!"

"He's unstable. We need to move in." She was already striding out of the room when Feeney called out.

"Hold on! Let it play out."

"I can't stay up here."

"I'm not turning up my nose," Roarke said quickly, nervously. "I haven't developed the sources for illegals distribution."

"That's your problem. Your problem. You'll do what I say, all that I say, or get nothing. Take the deal or the consequences."

"Let me think, for God's sake. Pull your men back. Let's not have any trouble in here."

"Fine, that's fine. No trouble."

Well, he's mad, Roarke thought. Stark and raving. The rumors of Ricker's instability hadn't touched on the reality.

"Twenty million's a lot of money. But I'm willing to risk it to get what I want. And to... pay the debt I owe you. But I need to know how you'd work her out of the department without it coming back on me."

It was Ricker's breathing that was audible now, but he didn't hear it. He picked up his whiskey, and his hand trembled, but he didn't see it. All he saw was the fulfillment of a long-cherished wish.

"I can ruin her career inside of a week. Yes, in no time at all. Strings to be pulled. The case she's working on now... she annoys me. She insulted me. Laughed at me."

"She'll apologize." Roarke all but crooned it. "I'll see to it."

"Yes, she'll have to do that. Have to apologize. I won't tolerate anyone laughing at me. Especially a woman."

He had to be pushed, Roarke thought. Gently and quickly. "She will. You have the controls. You have the power."

"That's right. Of course. I do. If I let her live, as a favor to you, I'll take a fee for moving her off the case and out of the department. Misinformation, skewed data in the right computer. It works."

Roarke rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "The cops who've been killed. For Christ's sake, Ricker, you're behind that?"

"And there'll be more before it's done. It amuses me."

"I don't want any part in cop killing. They'll bury you."

"Don't be ridiculous. They'll never touch me. I didn't kill anyone. I simply put the idea in the right head, the weapon in the most vulnerable hand. Just a game. You remember how fond I am of games? And how I enjoy winning them."

"Yes, I remember. No one did it better. How did you pull this off?"

"Arrangements, Roarke. I enjoy arrangements and watching how the pieces fall into place."

"I sleep with a woman in the department, and I can't get that close." Roarke's voice filled with admiration. "I underestimated you. It must have taken years to set up."

"Months. Only a few months. It's simply a matter of selecting the right target. A young cop, too stiff-necked to play the game. Eliminating him is simple enough, but the beauty is how it can be connected, how it can be expanded upon by planting the seeds in the heart of the grieving father. Then I simply sit back and watch a once-dedicated cop kill. Again and again. And it costs me nothing."

"Brilliant," Roarke murmured.

"Yes, and satisfying. Best, I can do it again, any time I like. Murder by proxy. No one's safe, certainly not you. Transfer the money, and until the wind changes, I'll protect you. And your wife."

"That was twenty million?"

"For the moment."

"A bargain," Roarke said quietly, brought the hand he'd slipped under the table, under his jacket back into view. And the gun with it. "But I find the idea of doing business with you turns my stomach. Oh, tell your man to hold, or it'll give me great pleasure to use this. Recognize it, Ricker? It's one of the banned weapons you trafficked in, years back. I have quite a collection of twentieth-century handguns -- and a collector's license. They leave a horrible nasty hole in a man. This one's a nine-millimeter Glock and will blow your face right off the skull."

The shock of having a weapon aimed at him robbed Ricker of speech. It had been years, a lifetime, since anyone had dared. "You've lost your mind."

"No, indeed. Mine's sound enough." He slapped a hand on Ricker's wrist, twisted viciously until the laser scalpel fit into his own palm. "You always had a weakness for sharp things."