“And what is that?” La Grande said.
“My release papers from Klong Prem Central Prison,” Segura said. “It’s proof that you’re lying to me.”
La Grande tucked the gun back into his waistband and beckoned Emmanuel to bring him the papers. He read them carefully. Then he read them a second time, balled them up, hurled the papers to the floor, and erupted in a barrage of Haitian Creole.
Those who understood him looked shocked, angered.
Segura stood his ground. “English,” he said calmly.
“Your papers say you were arrested for trying to smuggle a kilo of heroin out of Thailand,” La Grande said. “What about the other three kilos?”
“What other three kilos? Your rich white mules planted the drugs in my bag. One kilo is all it took to put me in that hellhole for fifty years. I got out in twenty, no thanks to them. That’s why I’m back. I killed two, ruined one for life, and by tomorrow morning, Princeton Wells’s body will be in bits and pieces all over his bedroom. My grudge isn’t against Zoe Pound, but the least you can do is pay me—”
“Where are the other three kilos?” La Grande said in a whisper that was far more menacing than a shout. “Where…are…the other…three kilos?”
“I don’t know,” Segura said. “Why don’t you ask your partner, Mr. Wells?”
“Dingo asked him twenty years ago. Wells swore up and down that you were arrested with all four kilos.”
“The paperwork states that the Thai government confiscated one kilo. Wells flies back home on his private jet and says, ‘Sorry, Dingo. They took it all.’ Who do you believe, Mr. La Grande?”
“I knew Wells was lying,” La Grande said. “I wanted them all dead, but I was only a lieutenant. Dingo didn’t have the balls to kill them. They bought us off with a quarter of a million dollars.”
“Three kilos for a quarter million?” Segura said. “They cut it, sold it, and made a million dollars at your expense…and mine.”
“Zoe Pound owes you nothing,” La Grande said. “But I will give you a hundred large to walk away from all this.”
“Why would you give me a nickel if you think you owe me nothing?”
“Because you’re going to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t kill Wells,” La Grande said.
“I have to,” Segura said. “I’ve waited too long.”
“You’ve got your revenge. Save a little for me, and I’ll sweeten the deal by another fifty thousand.”
Segura pondered the offer, then nodded slowly. “I accept,” he said. “I can leave the country tonight. Don’t do anything till I’m gone.”
“Agreed,” La Grande said.
“Once I leave I can never come back,” Segura said. “So promise me you won’t change your mind.”
“Have no fear, Rom Ran Sura,” La Grande said. “I am not my predecessor.”
Segura left the market at five in the morning, his backpack stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. Then he went back to the hotel on Sumner Place, slept until noon, checked out, and made a surprise visit to his grandmother and his aunts to deliver the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The next three hours were a chaotic hodgepodge of joy, tears, hallelujahs, and Guatemalan food. Before he left, he told his abuela and his tias that there would be no more money coming from his former school friends. From now on, he would send whatever they needed, including tickets to visit him and his family once they’d settled in.
By four thirty, he was on Central Park West, watching Carlotta lock the front door to the Wells mansion. And now he was flying across the Atlantic to his new life with Jam and the kids. First stop: Dubai, and then another twelve-hour flight, to Adelaide. He’d never been there, but after years of hearing Flynn Samuels talk about his hometown, Segura decided it was the best place in the world for a fresh start.
He closed his eyes, and just as he had done every night on a cold prison floor, he said a silent prayer asking God to help him forget the past and dream about the future.
And for the first time in twenty years, he fell asleep knowing his prayers would be answered.
CHAPTER 74
It was Friday night.
Morris Langford was in a jail cell on a suicide watch. Janek Hoffmann was out of jail, and no doubt pumping his body full of steroids and crack. Aubrey Davenport was finally reposing at the Frank E. Campbell funeral chapel on Madison Avenue, her internment scheduled for Sunday. Nathan Hirsch was charged with three counts of bribery and two counts of stock fraud, and was released on two million dollars’ bail. Instead of a bomb handcuffed to his wrist, he was now under house arrest, a court-ordered electronic bracelet shackled to his ankle. I had no idea where Troy Marschand and Dylan Freemont were, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass. Princeton Wells had not called Mayor Sykes on Thursday morning as promised, and Captain Cates informed me that if Her Honor had not heard from Mr. Wells by Monday morning, Kylie and I were to pay him another visit. Hopefully by then he and Kenda would be out of the hot tub.
Most important, ten days after Del Fairfax’s podium exploded at the Silver Bullet Foundation fund-raiser, Geraldo Segura was still at large, and the citywide manhunt for the bomber had been escalated to nationwide.
With that much law enforcement on the case, I was resigned to the unhappy fact that Kylie and I would not be the ones to collar him. But at least I could look on the bright side. It was Friday night.
A week ago, I’d had to cancel my Friday reservation with Cheryl at Paola’s and fly to Bangkok. Tonight we were finally going to have the dinner date we had been looking forward to. With one difference. The reservation now said “Table for four.”
“How the hell did this happen, anyway?” I asked Cheryl. We were in a cab on Madison Avenue heading uptown to Paola’s.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s the tone of voice I’d expect if I ran your new car into a ditch. All I did was agree to have dinner with your partner and her significant other.”
“Sorry about the tone of voice. It’s just that I thought it was only going to be the two of us, and now it isn’t.”
“That’s what happens when you stick your cop nose into other people’s business. Apparently Shelley got his poker buddies together last night and told them how you and Bob Reitzfeld nailed Rick Button. There’s about three hundred thousand still left from the money he stole, so everyone is getting about forty-three thousand back. C.J. is so grateful he wants to take us to dinner.”
“We were already booked for tonight, and we’re driving up to Woodstock tomorrow morning for the weekend,” I said. “We had an ironclad excuse. You could have gotten out of it.”
“Why would I want to get out of it?” Cheryl said. “I’ve heard so much about Kylie’s new boyfriend. I’m finally getting the chance to meet him.”
Paola’s son, Stefano, greeted us at the door and escorted us to our table, where Kylie and C.J. were waiting with a bottle of champagne and four glasses.
Kylie introduced him to Cheryl, Stefano poured the wine, and C.J. made the toast. “To Zach,” he said. “You, sir, are an outstanding detective.”
“And he’s mighty good at keeping a secret, too,” Kylie said. “Zach, I didn’t know you were working the case.”
“Reitzfeld asked me to help and to keep it under wraps,” I said. “I couldn’t say no.”
Kylie grinned, and I could see she had me cold. Of the 275 recruits in our academy class, Kylie graduated number one. She was more than smart enough to figure out why I never told her I was helping Reitzfeld. And since I graduated number six, I was at least smart enough to know that she knew, and she was now going to bust my balls about it.