Hold Me in Contempt (32 page)

“
Quinn, why aren't you answering my calls? Come on, man. Things can't be that sweet in Belize. Look, I need to make sure you transfer that stash. Closing up here and it's about to go down. Do me that solid.”

There was another break and then a beep.

“
Got your message. Put the stash in RC's name. There's no nine-digit that will connect it here. We'll do the rest on our side.”

The messages continued, and on each one King was moving money around between offshore accounts. He kept speaking in pounds and sometimes used lingo detectives associated with the Russian mafia, money laundering, and transfers between Britain and HSBC. He never used numbers, but he couldn't be talking about less than a million each time.

When the last recording played, I looked down at the memory stick. In pillow talk after King and I made love the night before he promised he was going to leave everything. He just had to find a way to separate his money from the business and leave a little behind to satisfy the brotherhood, so when he disappeared no one came looking for him. He'd asked me to come with him.

I snatched the memory stick out of the computer and dropped it into my purse. My heart drumming, I moved the pointer on the mouse to hover over the audio file. I right clicked and scrolled up to delete. I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

I right clicked and scrolled up to delete.

“We got him!” I heard, and immediately dropped my hand from the mouse. I looked up. Paul's head was in my doorway.

“What?” I snapped.

“You listen to the tapes?” He laughed like he'd just eaten a full fish dinner. “Classic. Somehow these guys are so good at hiding their drug activities but always go down for something else. What's on there will get him at least twenty-five years RICO. Can't outfox the law. Right? You listen?”

I could feel my hands shaking under the desk. RICO was the racketeering act we used to put away mob bosses operating in New York County. It was simple but efficient. All we needed was for two major state charges to stick to someone to show a pattern—money laundering or transporting—and then all of the charges based on suspicion of the drug enterprise, charges we couldn't previously pin on the boss because he'd been giving the orders and not participating—​murder, street sales, whatever—could legally be pinned to him as the head. We called it “pin the tail on the donkey” because once the DA posted the indictment with the list of charges, even before the trial, he could seize the boss's belongings and completely stop the enterprise. This usually led to them pleading guilty, getting locked up quickly, and serving a minimum of twenty years. It was how the Gambinos, the Luccheses, even the Latin Kings went down. Simple. Efficient. They seldom saw it coming.

“You sure it's him?” I asked.

“Yes. The guy on the tape—Quinn—feds have been taping his phones for years. He was connected to that HSBC scandal in 2011. Got off and, just like they always do, went right back in. Feds are closing in on him. That leaves McDonnell to us,” Paul said confidently. “You know, at first I thought this was just about the mayor thing, but now it's so sweet. Brooklyn couldn't stop him, but all those calls were about his start-up in my borough. My city! I've got him, Kiki. He's mine—well, ours.” He grinned. “So, what's for lunch? I was thinking Siggy's. Been craving that wild salmon burger for some reason.”

“I can't do lunch. I need to catch up on the case,” I said.

“Thought you were doing that last night. You were home, right? Working on the case in your apartment?” Paul sounded like one of the detectives grilling a criminal. Like he knew something. I imagined him sitting outside my place in the police wagon watching shadows of King and me from the street.

“Well, you can never know too much,” I said. “I'm caught up, but with this new information, I need to add—”

Paul cut me off. “No, you
need
to decide what you're going to do, Kim.”

“What does that mean?”

Paul had stepped into my office, and now he walked closer to the desk and said with a smile, “I called you back to work. I didn't mention anything that happened before you left. I just let that shit go. Right? Took the heat. Figured out how to keep all the details out of the media.” He smiled wider. “Now I need you to play with me. Either you're here or you're not here.” He sucked his teeth dubiously. “I, for one, want you here. But the final decision is yours. I'll see you at Siggy's at two,” he said with a smile.

He left me in my office with the flash drive in my purse. He didn't mention that it was our only copy.

Carol came in to apologize for missing Paul heading into my office. I told her it was okay and that I'd actually meet him for lunch. She slid a macchiato onto my desk and said she'd figured I'd need it and that she'd be at her desk if I needed anything.

I sat back in my seat and stared at the coffee cup with steam hovering over it for a few seconds or minutes, every one of which felt impossible. I wanted to knock the cup to the floor, lie down on the desk, cry and rock myself to sleep. I felt like I'd climbed to the top of a hill with a weight strapped to my back and lost my step, and the weight took over, and now I was free-falling to the ground. I hadn't even gotten over the reality of the car crash—had time to think about it, or King and what we'd whispered entangled the night before, or anything. There was no time for me to try to catch hold. I was just falling. Any clarity or energy I thought I'd found when I rolled out of bed that morning was exhausted. I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to quit everything.

I turned to the computer and it looked so strange. Anything I ever did on it felt forgotten and foreign. What were my cases? What work had I done? I looked around my office—the room I'd danced in on my first day. Whose name was that on the door outside? Who was she? Really? At one time this job and this place had meant everything to me. Now it felt like a hard-to-remember dream.

Kim 2 had said I was strong. She didn't blink one time. Didn't look to the right. Said she knew I was strong. But if that was true, then how could I have needed her to save me?

I looked up at the calendar and counted off the days since I'd told Kent I wouldn't drink again—just for him—to please him. And I realized it wasn't the first time I'd looked at the date. The whole time I'd been counting the hours. Every little circumstance left a lingering thirst on my tongue. I could taste Jameson at the back of my throat. I'd ignored it. Left it without acknowledgment. Replaced it with . . . 

I picked up my purse and searched through everything to find the Baggie of pills King had given me. I fished it out and looked at it. “Overuse,” I heard Dr. Davis saying.

I threw the Baggie of pills into the trash can.

“No more,” I said, pointing at it like it was a bad-ass kid. “No more!” If I could let the alcohol go, then I could stop taking the pills. I would be fine. Kim 2 and Ronald, Kent, they all thought I had a problem, but I'd be fine.

There was laughter out in the hallway. I looked up and saw Easter walking by with another ADA I hardly spoke to. They looked back at me and surrendered fake-ass waves. When they passed my threshold I heard Easter say, “Oh, she's back? Guess membership
really does
have privileges.” They laughed some more and trailed off.

I looked down at the Baggie in the trash and reminded myself that anyone would be able to find it there. I picked it up and placed it back into my purse.

Paul was sitting outside Siggy's in one of the wooden chairs beside the
aliens
eat
free
chalkboard sign where people commonly crossed out
aliens
and replaced it with
rappers
or
strippers
or
whores;
Paul and I once put in
attorneys
.

“There's my pretty girl,” Paul said, standing up and stepping forward to kiss me right in front of the packed late-lunch crowd of workers and tourists and I'm sure a few lawyers who knew him.

I moved back, stunned. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“It's okay, baby. It's fine.” He came at me for another kiss, and held my arm so I couldn't move. He kissed me on the lips and loosened his grip to rub my arm.

Months earlier, I might have died for that kind of public display, but now I only said, “Why are you sitting out here?” I usually found him down the long hallway at the last table in the back of the restaurant. He'd rush through lunch and promise to come to my place later for his kiss.

“Damn, girl! Come on! You're gonna have to stop this mean shit! A handsome man like myself kisses you, and all you can do is complain about the table?” He started laughing but stopped when he noticed my distance. “What? I was joking about the handsome part. God! Let's get you a seat and some food in your belly.”

He pulled me to the table and I sat down.

“I've taken the liberty of ordering the very tasty salmon burger for my sweetheart,” he said, fingering his phone on the table. “Don't have long. Supposed to meet Terrance and Brocket at the courthouse,” he added, referring to two other ADAs who also worked Special Prosecutions as he responded to text messages. “Getting ready to go before the grand jury on that Crips murder case from last summer.” He put the phone down and looked at me.

“That's fine,” I said.

“I remember the first time we came here. That was just a few weeks after you came into the department. I wanted to get to know you. I admit it, my mind was so fucking blown the first time I saw you. I was like, ‘This sister is bad!' ” He smirked at me seductively. “You are so beautiful. I knew we'd be together.”

“Really?”

Paul jerked backward like he was surprised. “There it is again,” he said.

“What?”

“You rolled your eyes again. Like you're still mad at me about something. What did I do? I mean, correct me if I'm wrong here, but I thought we were making progress.”

“Paul, I've been thinking about things, and I'm happy you're getting a divorce, but I hope you're not doing it for me, because—”

“I'm not
getting
a divorce, baby. I
am
divorced. See. You can stop being angry. Okay. I'm done. I'm ready.” He smiled and held out his arm. “I'm all yours.”

“You didn't let me finish—”

“I had important news. I wanted to get it out.”

“And you did it again,” I pointed out.

“Okay then. Go ahead, honey. I'll wait. You get it all out.” He rested his elbow on the table and held up his chin to show he was listening. His cell phone was clattering with incoming text messages.

“I don't even need to keep going, because you're doing exactly what I have a problem with. What I didn't have a problem with before because I was so fucking happy that you were just paying any attention to me. And who wouldn't be? Look at you! God!” I looked at the women sitting behind Paul who kept looking over at his back, his shoulders, seeing what all women saw in him. “And then I thought the sneaking around, the excitement of it, the good—​really great sex, that all went to my head and I was thinking I was feeling things I probably wouldn't have otherwise.”

“
Wouldn't have otherwise?”
Paul shook his head. “I don't get it. What are you saying?”

“I don't think this is going to work,” I said.

The waitress came out and put the sandwiches on the table. “Can I get you two anything else?” she asked.

“No!” we both said, still staring at each other.

When she left, Paul laughed uneasily. “You're making a mistake. This guy you're seeing got into your head and he's got you confused.”

“What guy? I keep telling you there's no guy.”

“Let him go. Just stop now. Before it gets out of hand.” He picked up the burger and started eating it like he was hardly attached to the conversation. He waved at people walking into Siggy's like he was already running for mayor.

I waited and waited. Watched him eat and smile at people until I couldn't stand his smirk anymore.

“Eat your food. It's Siggy's. You like it,” Paul said, pointing to my burger with his mouth filled with food. The phone on the table started clattering again, but he silenced the call.

“I'm not hungry.” I pushed the plate away.

“Why?”

“Because of the things you said. Where do you get off threatening me?”

“Threatening you? I didn't threaten you.”

“You said, ‘Just stop now. Before it gets out of hand.' I take that as a threat.”

Paul laughed. He looked down at his food and laughed like Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle were standing at the table telling jokes.

“I love you, Kim. That's it. And I'm not letting anything come between us. Not even you. Now, you may think you know what you want right now, but I know what's best.” He gazed at me. “I can't wait to see how this all works out for us.” He reached under the table with his left hand and patted my knee while continuing to eat until he'd stuffed the last bite into his mouth. I sat silently watching him. “Now, I certainly hate to eat and run, especially with such beautiful company, but I have to get to the courthouse,” he said, wiping rogue bread crumbs from his lips and chin. “You stay here. Eat your food and get some sunlight. Getting a little thin and pale. Turning into a white girl on me.” He laughed and stood up, straddling the chair and leaning over me, blocking the sunlight. “See you at the office, baby?”