“The precinct is just a few blocks away so the cops will show up quickly. Figure around three, four minutes after you start shooting. That should give you enough time to make it back to the cars, or jump in a cab, or just walk out of here. I’ll leave the keys to this car under the floor mat.”

And then, Beck’s plan evaporated.

Up the block Alan Crane walked out of his building, heading their way. Gregor Stepanovich emerged from the SUV parked east of Crane’s building and intercepted him in the middle of the block.

30

Gregor asked him, “Where you going?”

“To eat. What am I now, your prisoner?”

“Mr. Markov thinks you might need someone to watch out for you. You should be grateful.”

Crane rolled his left shoulder and said, “Yeah, I’m real grateful. I can hardly use my fucking arm thanks to you. Exactly what do you mean by ‘watch out’ for me? If you want to watch out for me, you can come watch me eat.”

Crane stepped around Stepanovich and continued walking.

Gregor fell in next to Crane.

“I asked you once, now I ask again. Where you going?”

Crane stopped and pointed south. “Jeezus fucking Christ, Gregor, a couple of blocks. Over to Harrison. It’s a restaurant over there.”

“I walk with you. Make sure you get there safe.”

Crane shook his head. “Unbelievable.” They started walking together. After a few steps he said to Stepanovich, “You’re not really planning to sit with me while I eat are you?”

“Don’t worry.”

*   *   *

Beck watched them talk, and then continue walking together toward Greenwich Street. Crane didn’t look very happy about Markov’s man walking with him.

As they approached, Beck said, “Guys, hunker down. Better they don’t see us.”

Manny sauntered off away from the Porsche.

Demarco said, “How the hell is Joey going to get out of sight?”

Ciro started to laugh. Beck started to laugh. Joey B gamely tried to hunch down in the backseat, which made everyone laugh harder.

Luckily, Stepanovich and Crane walked past them on the other side of Greenwich and never bothered to look at the Porsche.

Still smiling, Beck said, “Okay, calm the fuck down. So much for that plan. Alex, take off now. Get into the building with your passkey. Get to work on that computer.”

“I should go into the basement. Check his alarm system first.”

“Okay, whatever. Just go now. Work as fast as you can. Demarco, go follow those two and call me when they end up wherever they’re headed.”

Alex and Demarco left. Beck slid over to the passenger seat. He looked out onto the street to find Manny, who was leaning back in the shadows on Hubert Street. He motioned for Manny to get in the Porsche.

As Manny slipped behind the wheel, Beck turned in the passenger seat so he could talk to everybody at once.

“Okay, you guys, hang in here. The goal is the same. Give Alex enough time to do what he has to. Position yourselves near those SUVs. If those guys make a move, stop them.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Go wherever that fucker ends up and keep him there until Alex is done. Maybe we can pull this off without shooting up the neighborhood.”

Manny asked, “You going to pick up Alex, or you want me to?”

“We’ll see. You guys might be busy keeping those assholes in the SUV out of play.”

Beck watched Alex slip into Crane’s lobby. With his long herringbone overcoat, Buddy Holly glasses, and backpack, he looked like he belonged in the trendy loft building.

Beck’s cell phone rang. Demarco told him, “The guy from the building just settled in at a table near the front of a restaurant called Harrison. Place is small, but a shitload of people in here. He ordered a drink. He’s checking out the menu. Looks like he’s going to take his time with his meal. Baldy walked him to the door and left.”

“Okay, good. See if you can get a seat at the bar where you can keep an eye on him. When it looks like Crane’s ready for dessert, call me. If Alex isn’t done, I’ll come to the restaurant and sit on him. I’ll tell Alex to call you when he’s finished. You stay at the bar and signal me when Alex calls you.”

“Got it.”

Beck scanned the street for Stepanovich. The tall man’s head appeared from the south bobbing above the few people on the street. Beck rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiffness and pain from the blows Stepanovich inflicted with his steel baton. He pictured walking up to Stepanovich in the middle of the block and shooting him in the face. It might save him a lot of trouble later, but murdering someone in the middle of Tribeca wasn’t part of the plan.

Stepanovich crossed Greenwich in the middle of the block, angling toward his SUV, talking on his cell.

31

Demarco Jones’s seat at the crowded bar gave him a sidelong view of Crane. Demarco was sure Crane had no idea he was watching him, mostly with his peripheral vision.

Jones sat quietly sipping Grand Marnier and coffee, attracting attention from a few of the restaurant patrons who decided he was probably some sort of pro athlete. Crane was too involved in his dinner and his own thoughts to notice anything around him.

*   *   *

At ten-twenty, Beck’s phone rang. It took two seconds for Demarco to give Beck the message. It took Beck about three minutes to arrive at the restaurant and slip into the empty chair opposite Crane.

Crane had just been served coffee and one of the house-made éclairs for dessert. He stopped the coffee cup midway between the saucer and his mouth.

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered.

“Nice to see you, too. How’re you doing, Mr. Crane? Last time I saw you, you were taped to a table. This looks a little more pleasant. Mind if I join you?”

“You just did.”

“Yes. I did.”

“What do you want?”

“Well,” said Beck, “I guess I want to help you. Or, you know, I want you to help me help you. Like the line from that Tom Cruise movie. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds stupid. What the hell are you talking about?”

Beck leaned across the table, ignoring Crane’s question. “What was the deal with that hammer? Were they going to use that on you?”

“What do you want?”

“Let me ask you something. Those guys with the hammer and tape, those were the same ones who tried to kill me. I got a goddamn knife wound in my leg and about a thousand welts on my back where that bald fucker hit me with a steel baton, not to mention that fat guy trying to shoot me.”

“I don’t hear a question.”

“Yeah, so I intend to do something about that. I would imagine you’d be in favor of that, wouldn’t you?”

Crane gave Beck an appraising look. He had to admit, the man had impressed him with how he’d handled Stepanovich and his men.

“I might be.”

“That being the case, how about giving me a little information where I might find your buddies. Let ’em know it’s not something they can get away with.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Crane sipped his coffee, took a bite from his éclair, and continued to study Beck.

“Let me get this straight. You’re the one who goes to Milstein about that fucking whore Olivia Sanchez, and threatens to kill him so he’ll pay her off. Then you come to my place, intending to do what? The same thing, right?”

“Not necessarily. Milstein just said I should get your reaction on the severance package he agreed to with me. And something about getting your side of the story.”

“Severance package?”

“That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? And, oh yes, he wanted me to convince you to lay off with the threats and the lawsuits and blackballing her.”

“What world are you living in?”

“Yours, my friend. That’s the way things are done in your world, aren’t they? Everybody gets a golden parachute, or whatever.”

“Uh-huh. Meanwhile, Milstein calls Markov and gets him all riled up, knowing Markov would probably show up with his Bosnian army to threaten me and do whatever they intended to do to you.”