Tai Anne Roper 2
by Nicole Sutter
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Chapter 4 - "The City So Nice, They Named It Twice"
Manuel Jorge Santiago was your garden variety, New York City punk. He was a painfully skinny, 23 year old who had a hundred dollar a day crack habit that he fed by stealing whatever he could find that wasn't nailed down, usually through strong arm robberies.
His one sliver of fortiude was that he never stole anything from the shitty Bronx neighborhood he lived in, always taking the subway into Manhattan, where he could scout out a better class of victim.
Right now, he stood in the night shadows of Central Park, looking at a Checker cab parked across from West 64th Street with the engine running. It had to be after 2 in the morning, and he knew some cabbies were paid to simply wait there for hours at time, until some big party full of rich cabrones broke up in one of the condos across the street.
What attracted him to this cab was the cabbie. A woman. A pretty woman with a tight, ripe body and long red hair. He had seen her when she gotten out of her cab to chase off some homeless pendejo who wanted to clean her windshield.
Santiago pulled the boxcutter out of his jacket pocket and flicked the razor blade out. His plans were more grandiose than usual tonight. He would jump her and put the razor to her throat, get her to drive him into the park, where he would tie her up, rape the bitch and then take all her money.
He was getting a stiffie just thinking about it.
He waited for some traffic to go by, then skulked out of the woods and across the sidewalk, moving around the trunk of the battered, yellow Chevy Caprice and along the left side. The estupido puta had her sidewindow rolled down and was reading the goddamn paper.
"Don' moooove, beech!" Santiago reached into the cab, left hand jamming the razor to her throat.
She had been waiting for him. The cabbie twisted his wrist and slammed it against the steering wheel, causing him to lose his blade. She yanked him further into the cab til his shoulders and head where inside, and then activated the electric sidewindow with her elbow. As it hummed upward, it trapped his arm and neck in a viselike grip.
"Hey whadda-fuck!!!" He pulled and yanked and pounded at the window that now trapped him, but he couldn't escape.
The cabbie kicked the door open, causing him to yelp. She got out of the cab. He tried to kick at her but she dodged his sneakered feet and proceeded to give him a kick in the balls. He screamed.
"Awww... shudda-fuck up!" The cabbie snorted. She was indeed a slender and quite pretty woman in her late twenties. Her long, straight red hair framed a slightly freckled face. She wore a leather bomber jacket over an old NYU sweatshirt and a pair of comfortably tight blue jeans and boots.
"Lemme go, puta! You no can do thees..."
"Watch me." She turned as she heard the short woop of a siren. A NYPD radio motor patrol car pulled up behind her cab.
"Well as I live and breath, if it isn't Redheaded Sue!" The cop driving was Aaron Shavitz, a sergeant out of the 21st Precinct that she had worked with before. She didn't recognize his young, Hispanic partner. Shavitz walked up to the perp. "Why'd you call us? Looks like you got the situation well in hand."
"Yeah, caught this mook tryin' to take me for a ride," she replied. "Book'm for attempted felony kidnap at the two-one and I'll stop by before end-of-watch with a DD13."
"You go it." Shavitz let Santiago out of his confinement while his partner cuffed him. "Com'n, Pancho."
"Dat crazy beech hit me!" he shouted. "I din dooo nuthin'!"
Sue handed Shavitz the perp's boxcutter and pulled her own badge out from under her sweatshirt, where it hung around her neck on a thin chain.
"Detective 2nd Grade Sue Kaminsky... you asshole!" she growled at the perp. They led him to the back seat of their cruiser.
"Hey, Red, you still working the Anti-Crime Detail?" Shavitz asked as he stuffed the perp in.
"Naw, I got kicked to the Major Case Squad, working outta The Plaza."
"Well, congrats!" Shavitz grinned. Working downtown at One Police Plaza for a high-level detail like the MCS was a step up to be sure. "Won't be long before you get your gold shield, huh?"
She shrugged. "I s'pose."
"So what're you slummin' out here for?" Shavitz's partner asked. "Moonlightin' to pick up a little more dinero?"
"Excuse my idiot partner," Shavitz said. "Officer De LaCruz here is six weeks outta the academy and still doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground."
"Aw, com'n..."
"He doesn't even know that the best way for a cop on the job to tail someone is to borrow a taxi offa friendly hack company," Shavitz said. "That way you can tail 'em all day and all night without them catchin' on."
"Exactly," Sue replied. "Which is why I need you two to blow before you get spotted."
"Okay, fair enough," De LaCruz replied. "But answer me this, I heard about you when you worked Anti-Crime... why does everybody call you Redheaded Sue? I mean, besides the obvious?"
She laughed. "You wanna do the honors, A-ron?"
"Sure," Shavitz said as he and his partner got into their cruiser. "In Sue's class at the Academy there were three Sues. Each got a nick to tell'em apart. There was... Too-Tall Sue, Sweet Sue..."
"...And Redheaded Sue." De LaCruz nodded. "Nice to meecha!"
The RMP cruiser took off. Sue Kaminsky got back into her borrowed cab and went back to reading the New York Post.
***
Across the street from the cab, stood The Colonnade. A 42 story skyscraper of luxury condos that stood out like a modern shard of shiny black glass against the older, more dignified apartments and condos that lined Central Park West.
Valerie Corder stood on her balcony and looked down 33 stories with a pair of expensive opera glasses she had last used to watch La Bohme at Lincoln Center. She was watching the taxicab parked below.
"Damn that bitch," she stated simply. "Nothing good ever comes easy."
Valerie Corder was a beautiful woman of 38. Tall and glamourous, she was CEO of the worldwide Corder Corporation, and she was quite well known among the rich and famous of the noveau classe that summered on the Rivera, wintered in Gestagg, and spent that odd, off day out on the Hamptons playing polo.
She wore her dark --almost black-- hair in a short bob cut, that framed piercing gray eyes, high cheekbones and generous lips. Yet there was something about Val Corder that caused almost anyone who had ever met her to almost automatically put their guard up.
Something in her eyes, or perhaps it was the curve of her smile, that betrayed a calculating coldness. An innate cruelty.
She walked across the long expanse of open, white oak floor in her condo. It was very late, but she was still dressed for a business meeting in a chic but sensible Vera Wang skirt and jacket combo with a Donna Karan white silk blouse, Pollini heels and hose.
There was were only three pieces of furniture in the room, and all were made of living, bound women.
The coffee table was a long, wrought iron frame that held a suffering and naked woman named Giselle Andour in a tight spread eagle, face up across the top. Leather straps held her at wrists and ankles, while other straps supported her at elbows, knees and tummy.
She was silent --the black rubber ball strapped into her mouth saw to that-- yet tears still rolled down her face to puddle on the floor beneath her.
Val Corder would see that she was punished for that later.
Despite being a new acquistion --just two short days ago she had been a model from France enjoying her first trip to the United States-- she had undergone all the requirements that Valerie Corder demanded of her unwilling slaves. Her head had been shaved smooth, as had her cunt, and the numbers 36C-24-32 were now stenciled across her chest in black.
Balanced on her taut belly was the hot cup of coffee that Corder had been enjoying earlier. Corder took a sip and placed the fine china cup and saucer back on Giselle's tummy, hoping she would let it tumble and break.
There were also two chairs in the room, both were made of tubular steel and held a naked woman in position with leather straps so that her body became the cushion for whoever wanted to take a seat.
Linda Hansen, Val Corder's beefy, yet zoftig security chief was casually sitting in one of the chairs, enjoying the warmth and discomfort of the helpless woman underneath her, while she read the specs on the latest Walther concealed carry semi-autos in the new issue of Tactical Smallarms.
Linda wore black leather pants, a matching black turtleneck sweater and a double shoulder rig that held an Hk-23 SOCOM pistol under each arm.
Corder sat down in the other chair, which felt comfy and familiar to her, as well it should. The chair was also Carmen Espinoza, a nosy reporter from some left-wing environmental rag who had come gunning for her over a year ago.
Corder leaned back and gently tickled a strapped forearm with her fingernails, watching the goosebumps appear and even feeling Carmen's nipples pebble up beneath her. Later, Carmen would be ring-gagged and forced to serve Valerie Corder with her tongue.
Her personal assistant, Debbie Watson, suddenly appeared from the other room with a small leather briefcase in hand.
"Excuse me, Val," she said. "But I have La Donia Scagnetti on the secure line. She says it's very important that she talks to you."
"News from Montreal, no doubt," Corder replied with a smile. She nodded at the 'table' and watched as dear Debbie set up the briefcase across Giselles taut, pale legs.
The briefcase held a cordless phone and black box setup that was cutting edge in the field of secure, wireless transmission. Simply put, God himself couldn't listen in on this call.
Corder picked up the phone. "Yes, Lucrezia?"
From her husband's den in a palatial mansion somewhere in north Jersey, Lucrezia Scagnetti sniffed into a kleenex. "Hello, Valerie. It's good to hear your voice."
"Luci, what's wrong?"
"First things first. We had a major fuck up in Montreal. I don't know what happened yet, only that there was no explosion, my two delivery boys are dead on the scene and this Qwan woman is still alive."
Corder closed her eyes. Damn. There would be some serious hell to pay now.
"Good news is that there's no connection to either you or me. My contacts in the Montreal PD are working to smooth things over."
"Good. That's something." Corder thought of the meeting she would be attending in a little over an hour. Maybe she could tough it out. Bomb? What bomb? Moi? "Is there anything else?"
"Only that I am sorry..."
"Nonsense, Luci," Corder said. "Our arraignment has worked quite well for some some time, sooner or later there were bound to... difficulties."
"Dammit, I had my best people on it!"
"I did warn you she was a tough little bitch," Corder said. "Perhaps next time. Now, is there anything else bothering you?"
Silence on the line.
"Luci... beyond our business dealings, we are friends. Tell me."
"Val... I just got word an hour ago that my only son Anthony was killed in Los Angeles."
"My God! Oh, Luci, that's horrible!" Corder said. "What happened?"
"I don't have all the details," Luci growled. "Some... traffic stop that went wrong. A trigger happy LA cop. I did get the name of the cop. A woman... a bitch named Iwana Binder. She's the one who killed my little Tony."
"You have my deepest sympathies, Luci," Corder replied. "If there is anything I can ever do..."
"Val, listen... I don't know a thing about this pig bitch. But, I was hoping you could... work you magic for me?"
Corder looked down at the stretched nudity of the table before her. "Possibly. I'll do what I can."
"I don't want her dead. I want her to suffer."
"I know," Corder replied. "If something ever happened to my daughter Abigail..."
"Val, there is no other hell more burning, than the special hell of a mother who outlives their only offspring."
"Then I will see what I can do."
"I know you will." Luci sighed. "On a related note, I need to ask you about your own cop problems. Is that red headed cunt still following you around?"
"On and off." Corder leaned back into her chair. "Your juice got her taken off my case officially, but I think she's still following me on her own time. Right now she's parked outside my front door."
"Well, what if I could arraign it where she's on the scene when Cundalini has his little party tonight?"
"That would be just fine," Corder's cold gray eyes shined a little brighter. "Kill two birds with one stone."
"Exactly."
"I'll start working on the Binder bitch," Corder said. "Til then, take no interest in her."
"I can play the game," Lucrezia Scagnetti replied. "Thank you, Val."
"Hey, us working women have to stick together." Corder paused. "Again, my deepest condolences regarding your loss. Good night, Luci."
Corder clicked off anbd put the phone away, leaning back into her chair.
"I hate to say I told you so..." Linda said, not even looking up from her magazine.
"Then don't," Corder growled. "Why can't that Qwan bitch be a good girl and just die?"
"Because she's good," Linda answered. "And lucky."
"Well being good, only gets you so far, and luck always runs out," Corder answered. She got up from the chair and stalked out of the room, her heels clicking on the floor, she was followed by Debbie Watson.
***
Dozing in her borrowed taxicab, Sue Kaminsky woke up as a long, black Lincoln Navigator stretch limo/SUV pulled out of the underground carpark beneath the Colonnade and headed south on CPW.
Sue gave them some space and then hung a U-turn. She looked at her her cheap watch. 2:32 am. She doubted that Val Corder was out making a snackrun to the nearest Quickie-Mart.
At Columbus Circle, the limo made the turn onto Broadway, still heading downtown. Traffic was light, but there were enough cabs about to make tailing them easy.
That's when Sue noticed the flashing blue lights in her rearview mirror.
Cursing under her breath, she slowed down and let the RMP cruiser pull up next to her. She flashed her tin at the cops driving. "I'm on the job!"
"We know!" the cop riding shotgun shouted back. "Pull it over!"
Sue sighed and pulled her cab over next to the Disney Store in Times Square. She watched Val Corder and the stretch SUV continue on.
"This better be fuckin' good," Sue shouted as the cops approached her car.
"Can the attitude, Detective," A cop growled. "We got a BOLO out on you and your cab. You're supposed to call your louie, ASAP."
Sue sighed and pulled out her cellphone. She quickcalled her boss at the Major Case Squad, Lieutenant Duncan 'Do-nutz' Hodges.
"Yeah?"
"This is Kaminsky."
"Kaminsky! Where the fuck you be, girl? I been trying to reach you all fuckin' night long!"
"I was off duty."
"Fuck that shit! You a cop. You a Major Case Squad cop! You don't gots no off time! 'Sides you were prolly out stickin' yore nose up Val Corder's skirt iff'n I know you!"
"What if I was?"
"Look, girl, just get yore redheaded self over to the Plaza Hotel. 12th floor, ASAFP. Got it?"
"Roger that. Wanna cancel the BOLO you have on me so I can get there?"
"I'll do dat, you just haul ass over dere."
Her boss clicked off. She nodded at the two RMP cops who took off, while she hung a left in front of the Virgin Megastore to start her trip back uptown.
***
"We seem to have lost our redheaded shadow," Linda said.
Corder nodded. Here in the cushy, black leathered and black glassed confines of her Navigator limo she felt as safe and as impenatrable as she did in her condo.
"That's what I call service," Corder said, stretching out. Debbie Watson was right beside her, Linda was sitting across from her, while Monkey was driving with Mo riding shotgun. "Linda, contact the Puma sisters and and tell them that when they hit Cundalini tonight, they need to keep a lookout for our Redheaded Sue."
"And?"
"Make sure she's the patsy. Take her alive if possible. If not, just make damned sure she's dead."
"Right-o"
Corder leaned back and closed her eyes. "Debbie?"
"Yes, Val?"
"Tell me the present whereabouts of Melissa Martin."
Debbie shifted in her seat. "Ummmm... you mean the..."
"I mean, Melissa Martin. I don't think we ever had two of them."
Debbie looked nervously to Linda and then back to Corder. "She's still at The Farm, in final prep for delivery."
"Who finally bought her?"
"Shakaro Mandali. A Malay drug lord out of Kuala Lampur. We ship her out in two days."
"Cancel the order. Find Mr. Mandali something... appropriate, as a subsitute."
"That might be unwise," Linda said.
"You think this Mandali has his heart set on a girl he's never met?"
"Mandali will be happy with anything possessing two tits and a cunt," Linda replied. "I was thinking of you."
Corder opened her eyes and looked at Linda. "Really?"
"Really." Linda stared back at her boss.
"May I speak bluntly?"
"Go on."
"You're strength as both a businesswoman and a slaver is that your slaves are nothing more to you than the numbers you have stenciled on their chests. You allowed Martin to get beyond that."
Corder laughed. "Are you implying I have fallen in love with her?"
"Quite the opposite," Linda said. "The need to impose cruel and impossible punishments on her is what you love. For almost a year she was your toy to do with as you pleased. After she broke, you sent her to The Farm, not to be prepped for sale, but to be put back together again. So you could eventally get your toy back."
"And why is this dangerous?"
"Because you're mixing emotion and work." Linda said. "When slaves become people instead of objects to a slaver, that is dangerous."
Corder sighed and poured herself a neat Scotch from a crystal decanter. "I think you're delusional. Just do as I say."
"As you wish, Val."
***
When push comes to shove, and all is said and done, there is no finer hotel in The Big Apple than the Plaza.
Located on Fifth Avenue, across from Grand Army Plaza and the southeast corner of Central Park, it was surrounded by a laundry list of the most expensive stores in the world... Saks, Bergdorf-Goodmans, Tiffany's...
The hotel itself was a glowing, 18 story icon of New York City, having been seen in dozen of movies from Plaza Suite to --ugh-- Home Alone 2.
Sue Kaminsky pulled her cab up to the hack stand just shy of the main entrance and made her way up the red carpeted stairs, past a yawning doorman and into the brightly lit --and deserted-- grand lobby. After all, it was almost three in the morning.
There was a notice by the elevators that the 12th floor was closed off for remodeling. She took the elevator up to 12 anyway and stepped out into a rich, carpeted corridor with a couple of plainclothes cops she knew standing guard.
"Yo, Petey! Sam the Man!"
Heya, Susie," Sam replied. "Jabba the cop is in 1208. Wants to seeya bad. Try to get soem coffee sent our way, willya?"
"Sure." Sue replied as she looked for the room number. Jabba the Cop was another nickname that Lt. Duncan Hodges suffered. She found 1208 and entered.
Duncan Hodges was in a living room suite, drinking coffee while chowing down on a platter of bacon, egg and cheese croissaints that room service had sent up.
He was a huge black man with a shaved head who weighed in at 350 plus pounds. Despite wearing expensive, tailored suits, they always looked wrinkled and sweaty, even if he just put them on.
"Kaminthy!" He looked at her. "Wherth th' hellth yuth bin?!"
"Eat or chew," Sue replied. "Not both."
He slugged down some coffee, swallowed and took a breath. Sometimes when she was around him, Sue could swear she could actually hear the arteries clogging up. The man was a heart atack waiting to happen.
"Kaminsky," he said. "Been tryin' to get youse all night long! You still fuckin' wit' dat Corder bitch?"
"What I do on my own time, is my own business," Sue replied. "Now didcha have a reason for inviting me to this little party, or didcha just want me to hold your place in the buffet line?"
"Very fuckin' funny." Hodges lumbered up and loosened his belt a couple of notches. Not a pretty sight. "I needs warm bodies I can trust to help watch this wiseguy for the next few days. Keep'em healthy for the goddamn Feds."
"This wiseguy have a name?"
"Vinnie Cundalini."
"Oy vey!" Sue muttered. "Old man Scagnetti's number two boy. I hear the old Don is not to tightly wired these days either."
"Yeah, and when Don Vincenzo heard this guy turned states evidence, he got worse. But the Feds are watching all of the Scagnetti family interests... even the estate over in Jersey." Hodges lit an unfiltered cigarette to make his assault on his pulminary system complete. "I think they be hopin' he be stupid enough to try to take down Cundalini with his own muscle."
"Is that why this asshole has a suite at the Plaza, instead of a room at Foley Square?" Sue asked. Both the Federal and NY state courthouses downtown had a floor of very secure, hotel type rooms for guarding witnesses and also for keeping juries sequestered.
"Maybe," Hodges shrugged, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "All of this is the doings of Walter Chalmers, he an Assistant US Attorney for the Southern District. One of his boys in the Organized Crime Strike Force turned Cundalini, so he be taking all the credit."
Sue nodded. Nailing Don Vincenzo Scagnetti's head to the wall would be at least as great a feat as when Guiliani convicted Gotti. And look where that got Guiliani.
"But nothing might happen," Hodges said. "We gots word a few hours ago dat Scagnetti's only kid got killed by a cop out in LA."
"Ouch. Guess the old man's having one of those days."
"So, float around and keep your eyes peeled." Hodges settled into a large sofa and farted. "I'll be... right here."
Sue Kaminsky watched her boss doze off.
"Hmmmm... fills me with confidence, you do not!" she said in her best Yoda voice as she left the room.
***
One suite over, at least seven bored plainclothes cops were lounging around the living room. Some were dozing, others were snacking off a buffet setup while watching a X-rated movie on a hotel pay channel. Almost all were smoking.
She recognized most of the faces. She smiled when she saw Jerry Lambert. A sergeant out of Manhattan South Detectives who was close to retirement.
"Redheaded Sue!" He grinned and gave her a hug. "Don't tell me they got you in on this sideshow too!"
"Fraid so." She looked at the closed doors leading to the bedroom. "Is that where the guest of honor is residing?"
"Yeah... His Assholiness has an audience right now with the Feds who got him to sing," Lambert replied.
"You senior officer here?"
"Yeah, grab some food or some shuteye if you want. Cundalini is 'sposed to be getting some 'female companionship' in a little while."
Damn," Sue said. "Free food, free whores and a suite at the Plaza! The Feds could turn every wiseguy in the five buroughs with a sweetheart deal like that!"
"And if I had the budget, I would," said a voice from behind her.
Sue turned to see a well-dressed man in his early forties with slicked back dark hair and a long nose. He reminded her of a young Robert Vaughn. He had just left the bedroom, and was closing the door behind him.
He extended a hand to her. "I'm Walter Chalmers, of the US Attorney's Office."
"Detective Sue Kaminsky, NYPD Major Case Squad." She shook his hand. "My apologies."
"Nonsense! I'm sure its a common misconception among the rank and file that government attorneys 'coddle' criminals to tell us what they know," Chalmers said. "But we do what we must to see that justice is done."
"And what about the justice for the 16 people that Cundalini is known to have ordered hits on?" Sue replied. "Where's their justice, Mr. Chalmers?"
Chalmers smiled tightly at her. "Excuse me, Detective. I have a phone call to make.
"Suits," Lambert said distainfully after Chalmers left.
Sue nodded and eased over to the closed doors of the bedroom and cracked one open. Vinnie Cundalini was a big, whale of a man, dressed casual and sitting at a table, talking to another Fed who had his back to her. A voice recorder was on the table.
"So like I been sayin', Don Vincenzo been a babblin' gork wit dat oldtimer's disease for like da last year!" Condalini was saying. "Just like Reagan in his second term!"
"So who's running things?" The Fed asked.
"The Missus!" Cundalini said. "Or, 'La Donia' Lucrezia as she likes ta be called dese days."
"Has 'La Donia' made any friends since she took over?"
Sue eased back to gently shut the door.
"Just one... some broad named Valerie Corder."
"What!?" Sue was through the door and into the room, suprising the hell out of both the Fed and Cundalini.
"And who the hell are you?" the Fed asked. Sue noticed he was about 35 or so, tall and handsome. Like Harrison Ford in the mid-1980's. Right when he made Witness
"Sue Kaminsky." She flashed her tin. "And you?"
"Joe Killian." he grinned at her. "Special Agent, FBI."
"Heya, dollface, I'm Vinnie Cundalini." He smirked at her. "Wanna sit on my face an' let me guess your weight?"
"Shaddup, Vinnie," Joe said, still looking at Sue. "Don't diss the lady."
"Thanks," Sue smiled, still looking at Joe.
"De nada."
"Oh bruddah!" Cundalini sat down in disgust. "Young cops in love. Spare me!"
Sue felt herself blush despite herself. Damn, he is cute, even if he is a Fed!. "Ummm... Like the reason I came in, was that I heard your stoolie here..."
"I prefer confidential informant," Cundalini said pensively.
"...just mention Valerie Corder," Sue finished. "And since I've been after this bitch for the last three months, I was hoping I could... listen in?"
"Sure," Joe said. "The more the merrier, Sue, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Call me Joe. Have a seat."
They sat down at the table next to each other.
"Now, Vinnie," Joe said. "Tell me about this Valerie Corder."
He shrugged. "Not much to tell. She started showing up right after Don Vincenzo got fitted for his drool cup. Got in real tight with Donia Lucrezia."
"Whats this Corder woman do?"
"I dunno. Runs her own company, The Corder Corporation. Has some juice on Wall Street. Into shipping and stuff."
"Any business deals between her and the Scagnetti Family? Any union or Teamsters action?"
"Nope. As far as I know, they're just good friends."
Joe nodded. "One last thing, Vinnie. We got word tonight that their son, Tony Scagnetti got killed by a cop out in LA. How do you think this will affect Lucrezia?"
"Oh, she'll go ballistic. But not so you'll notice it." Cundalini looked at his diamond encrusted gold Rolex. "Now, you wanna blow? I gots a coupla girls com'n." He grinned at Sue. "But you can stay, honeybunz!"
Cundalini gasped as Joe Killian got up and rammed the table into his sizable gut.
"I said, don't diss the lady," Joe said, keeping the pressure on him.
"Okay okay.... I sorry!" He groaned and belched as Joe let off the pressure. "Christ, my ulcer!"
"I only say something once, stoolie," Joe said. "Get used to that. We're gonna be working together for a long time."
***
Outside the bedroom, Joe stepped away from the other cops and poured some coffee for himself and Sue.
"So, what do you know about Valerie Corder?" He asked.
"New York businesswoman," Sue said. "Very wealthy. Husband died 15 years ago. One daughter, Abigail who's 19. She diversified her husband's holdings into trucking, shipping and rail interests. Also specializes in getting 'hard to acquire' items into the hands of very rich people."
"Like?"
"Like a new 747 built to the same specs as Air Force One to a Saudi prince... like twenty thousand new M-4 SOCOM carbines with ammo to an Indonesian dictator..."
"Nasty," Joe commented. "But not illegal."
"I also think she's a white slaver."
"A what?"
"You heard me." Sue looked at him. "She deals in human cargo, Joe. She kidnaps women in one part of the world, and ships them for sale to another part of the world."
Joe looked at her. "Christ, you're serious."
"Think about it," Sue said. "Here in the US alone, a couple hundred women a year just... walk off the face of the earth. No bodies or bones or even DNA traces. Now factor in the countries that just don't give a shit, or are paid to look the other way. Places like the Balkans, the Czech Republic, Rumania... or the far east; Singapore, Thailand, Mainland China..."
"I get the picture," Joe said gently.
"Sorry, I get wound up on this sometimes." She sipped her coffee. "Now I find out that this... Lucrezia Scagnetti knows Corder!"
"Agent Killian!" Both of them turned. Walter Chalmers was at the door to the suite. "We need to go! I have a conference call with Attorney General Ashcroft at 8 am sharp."
"On my way." Joe called, then looked back at Sue. "That's my boss. A real pain in the ass..."
"Join the club."
"So do you have any proof of any of what you've just told me?"
"'Fraid not," Sue replied. "I have had a couple of interesting phone calls from an RCMP inspector named Qwan. She thinks this arms dealer she's after in Montreal named Samarkand is connected to Corder. She's supposed to be making an arrest soon."
"Jesus, we gotta talk some more," Joe said. "How about lunch tomorrow?"
"I'd like that!" Sue giggled like a schoolgirl.
"Me too." Joe grinned. "Meet me in Foley Square 'round noontime. I know someplace... nice. If your boss gives you any grief, just say it's official US Government business."
"I am so there!"
Joe Killian grinned and headed for the door, taking his time and refusing to run after his boss.
Sue Kaminsky smiled. Well okay... it isn't time to pick out the wallpaper in the nursery yet... but the boy does have potential!
***