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30
A GOOD OL’ SWITCHAROO
The FBI didn’t presscharges.
I employed the services of Louise Cognomi, a shark bite of an attorney that demanded I call her “Lou” whom I retained about a year ago, when my poker rooms were getting sketchy and Chenko was demanding more and more money.
She was half the height of Sawyer and argued on my behalf, stating in detail the amount of assistance I’d given the FBI (ever since signing her retainer, she’d kept thorough logs of my activities I provided her), and given the amount of danger I’d put myself in to get to the FBI’s main goal—capturing the Saxons—which was completed, therefore there was no point to charging me as a fugitive, considering I’d done their bidding, kept none of the cash I won in boatloads for them (that they knew of), and wasn’t paid anything for my services. Besides that, there were bigger fish to focus on, primarily, Gordon Saxon, and what charges could stick.
When it was clear he was going to get no further information out of me, Sawyer cut me loose, a steaming Chenko beside him.
I’d pay for this, I knew, as my cuffs were unlocked and I stepped out of the Federal Plaza building and into a small, stone courtyard until I reached Broadway to hail a cab. Worse, Verily might. Theo would.
Lou used her services and also argued Verily out of the interrogation room, who wasn’t a suspect, wasn’t under arrest, and was free to leave despite the cops’ intimation otherwise. Verily was home safe, protected from the reach of the law, but not from the arms of Chenko.
I had to figure out some sort of protection for her. Needed to find out what was happening with Theo. I’d asked Lou to represent Theo, since she had famously represented Charlotte Miller a few years ago, and many others since. Surely, she could do something for Theo who was in just as dire straits.
But he had his own representation, she said with a cool, classic, eyes-to-the-ceiling approach. “These mafia types, they have honchos on retainers. This isn’t Sax’s first rodeo and it won’t be his last. Better to leave it to the stiffs who know him best.”
Still, I chewed on the inside of my cheek all the way to Kai’s apartment. Picked my cuticles until they were bloody. I may be out of the woods—for now—but Theo wasn’t. And in the end, he had nothing to do with the drug bust years ago, the exact reason the police pursued Trace. Yes, he conducted underground game rooms, took illegal cuts from gambling, was associated with the Saxon name, but his takes under the table couldn’t be proven, his game rooms clean to any cop who searched it.
Too much. You’ve taken on too much, Letty.
I shook my head at the voice. If anything, this was the time to take on everything, because too many lives were on the line.
It’s all because of you.
No. “No,” I said again, aloud, drawing the attention of the driver.
I clamped my mouth shut, thinking maybe the cab I’d hailed was employed by the Saxons, too, and was in the middle of taking me to my final, bloody destination.
But, if the cabbie were doing as I asked, first thing to do was get Kai. Safety in numbers. Smartness in more than one head. Then, I wanted to see Verily, but knew that carried too much risk. She was better served without my presence anywhere near her, but perhaps Kai could help figure out a way to keep her safe.
At any moment, I expected sirens behind me, to be swarmed by multiple cop cars as Chenko blasted over the speakers that I was a killer.
Better sense took over and reminded me as to why I was so bull-headed in the interrogation room. Bo died on English soil. If Chenko were to admit what he knew, I’d be flown out of his jurisdiction and given over to the Scotland Yard. Completely out of reach. I’d gambled that he still needed me for something, or at the very least, didn’t want me mouthing off that he was dirty to his superiors, whether or not they believed me.
And so, my mind clicked over to the idea that I was being tailed.
Paranoia isn’t going to help you right now.
“Neither is your fucking lecture.”
The cabbie glanced at me in the rearview again, and I snapped, “As if I’m the only crazy you’ve chauffered around in New York City today.”
He kept his mouth shut.
When he turned onto Kai’s street, I sifted through the clear ziplock bag the Bureau had given back to me, containing what they’d collected off my body, and I was pleased to note my cash was still there.
I was focused on counting the bills to ensure Chenko hadn’t skimmed a few hundreds for himself when a suddenCRACKfissured across the side of my skull, black spiderwebs coating the backs of my eyes.
“What—”
The rest of my sentence was cut off by squealing breaks, a screaming driver, and a high-pitched ringing in my ears with a sudden, immense spike of pain on the side of my head.
Seatbelt. I hadn’t been wearing it.
And we’d crashed.
