12
ILYA
Officer Michael Brown meets me in the parking garage, just as instructed at eleven PM, when the building is mostly empty. The security guard has been paid to ignore anything he sees or hears. Money, I discovered long ago, often opens more doors than even violence does. Information does, as well. I’ve never been averse to violence, but I am well versed in the ways it can be avoided when I want things to be clean, rather than messy.
Here, especially, I need things to remain as clean as possible. I’m not in my territory, and I’m well aware of the trouble this could stir up if Sergei Kima decides my presence is intrusive.
Officer Brown is already waiting when I arrive, leaning against his unmarked sedan. Like most cops, he has a price, and his was fairly high—enough money to pay off his daughter’s student loans from law school. I’m sure deep down, he thinks this was a noble reason to take filthy money, but I could care less about his motives. I care aboutresults.
And now, if he tries to back out of our deal, I can remind him that his daughter’s law school loans were paid by a crime boss. I’m sure that would go over excellently with the bar.
"Mr. Sorokov." He straightens when he sees me, and I note the deference in his posture.Good.He understands the hierarchy here.
"Officer." I don't offer my hand. This isn't a friendly meeting. "The Maxwell case."
“It’s closed. Detective Wilshire handled it personally. No suspects, no leads, case gone cold." He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. "The girl—Ms. Winslow—she's been calling. Asking questions."
I shrug. "And? What has she been told?”
"Wilshire told her to move on. Said she's not in danger, that the matter's been handled. She pushed back, but..." He swallows. "We stonewalled her. She'll give up eventually."
I pull an envelope from my jacket and hand it to him. He doesn't open it—he knows better than to count money in a parking garage—but I can see him estimating the weight. Thirty thousand in hundreds. More than enough to ensure his continued cooperation.
"Make sure it stays closed," I say flatly, holding his gaze. "If anyone else starts asking questions—federal agents, other departments, journalists—I want to know immediately."
"Understood." He pockets the envelope. "What about Maxwell himself? If he decides to talk?—"
"He won't."
Reeves looks at me, and I can see him deciding whether to ask for details. He chooses wisely and doesn't. "And if someone connects this to you? The initials on the card?—"
"There was no card." I let the words hang in the air between us. "Ms. Winslow was traumatized. She imagined details that weren't there. That's what your report says, isn't it?"
"Yes. That's what it says."
"Good." I turn to leave, then pause. "How is your daughter, by the way? Still enjoying her internship at that law firm?"
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. He pales slightly. "She's doing well. Thank you for asking."
"I'm glad to hear it. It would be unfortunate if anything disrupted her career. False accusations, evidence of a payoff her father took surfacing..." I let the sentence trail off. "You understand."
He swallows harder this time, his face taking on a waxy hue. "I understand."
I leave him there in the garage, knowing he'll do exactly what I've paid him to do. I’m used to paying off law enforcement by now, and I know he’ll toe the line like every other dirty cop I’ve paid for over the years.They all think they’re above it until they’re not.
Richard Maxwell was easier to handle than the police. One visit to his hospital room and a quiet conversation about what would happen to his wife and children if he identified anyone, and that problem has been solved. He'll tell the police he never saw his attacker, that it was dark, that he can't remember anything useful.
By the time I reach my car, I’m eager to go home and watch Mara, to soothe the restlessness in my soul with the only balm that works these days. A familiar tension is worming through my blood, and I find myself hoping that she’ll touch herself for me tonight, that we’ll come together as I watch her through glass and steel.
Soon, I’ll make this a reality. The circumstances are making it so that I can’t wait much longer.
The perfect moment will present itself soon, I’m sure of it.
I just need to be patient a little while more.
—
Hours later,I’m seeing red.
