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He’s asking if I want the Herzogs alive or dead. And for the first time, I realize the answer isdead.Forget about blocking their transmission of the video. Screw negotiating a more fair payment. Jonas and Ansel will be loose ends—dangerous threats—until the day they die. It’s my job to make certain that day happens as soon as possible.
“No need for them to pass on the message,” I say. “Making them an example is good enough.”
He nods. It’s time for both of us to drink more of our Guinness. To pretend we aren’t talking about killing anyone.
After he swallows, he asks, “What information do you have on these…acquaintances? Name? Location? Anything about their general availability for…meetings?”
I take a sheaf of papers out of my jacket pocket. They’re the highlights of Asher’s report—name, rank, and serial number, plus the drone photos of the Long Island compound. It suddenly occurs to me that men with homes like the Herzogs have greased a lot of palms. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kelly hands back the file, if Jonas and Ansel are already paying protection to him or to the New York captain.
But Kelly pauses for less than a second as the names register. He knows what happened at that Diamond Ring meeting as well as I do. He glances through the rest of the stack without giving away a single thought.
When he reaches the last page, the overhead view of the mansion grounds, he stares at it for longer than it took him to go over everything else. He purses his lips. Starts to speak. Opts to finish his Guinness instead.
He sets the glass down on the desk with a note of finality.
I already know his answer, but I listen to him anyway. “I’m not the man for the job.”
“If it’s a matter of money—”
“Of course not,” he snaps.
Of course it’s not money. He knows I’m good for whatever he’d ask. “What, then?”
His long index finger lands on the drone photo, like he’s covering a hole on a wooden flute. “Manpower,” he says. He taps again. “There.” Another imaginary note. “And there.” An entire symphony. “All of it.”
I know exactly what he’s pointing at. I’ve studied the guards in their towers for more hours than I care to admit.
“My messengers,” he says. “They’re good at short, direct communication. They’ll talk to you in a restaurant. When their car pulls up next to yours at a light. Maybe find you in the jacks, if you’re out at the symphony or the orchestra, something like that.”
I nod. Asher couldn’t get me any information on how the Herzogs spend their time when they aren’t busy raping women. Nothing about their favorite speakeasies, favorite golf courses, favorite anything, other than drugging the children of America with their specially formulated poison.
Kelly says, “Something like this, delivering a message at a man’s home when the home’s a fucking fortress…” He shakes his head. “Too easy for it all to go arsewise.”
I try to bottle my frustration. “It’s important,” I say. “Not just for me.”
His face stays flat. Unreadable. “You need more manpower, boyo.”
“Like your counterpart in New York? Boston?”
For some reason, that makes him laugh. “A whole other type of messenger,” he says. “We deliver letters. You want to ship a crate. You need to talk to your man Best.”
Sawyer Best. With the paramilitary troops of the private military contractor he owns and operates.
Kelly’s telling me I’m not staging a battle. I’m planning a war. And for the first time since I set foot in the bar, I can actually read his face. I know exactly what he’s thinking.
He doesn’t believe I can win.
13
ALIX
* * *
I’m sitting on a rattan chaise in the back yard, adding extra-sharp cheddar to a slice of tart apple when Trap comes through the sliding glass door. He looks exhausted as he sinks into a woven chair.
“Tough day?” I ask.
He makes the effort to put on a smile. “Better, now that I’m home.”
