Chapter 006
Frankie Denaro
The pneumatic wheeze of the boarding ramp folding itself back under the Tiburcio seemed deafening against the stillness of the late night. Early morning. Whichever. Anyone still out and about in this part of town had plenty of reason to keep quiet, one way or the other.
Marco took point while Matteo and Luca fell into a loose wedge formation behind him. I quickened my pace so I could show them where the building was before remembering they’d been there already. So I trailed back, keeping CAT company while we both enjoyed the rare luxury of an armed escort.
The sounds of frantic rummaging from a nearby alleyway drew Marco’s attention. He held up a fist, halting the other brothers in their tracks. They rotated around Marco and fanned out, each approaching the alley from an angle that would make them invisible to anyone inside. Marco brought one hand to his ocular overlay and tapped a small button where the top of his sideburn would have been. The device chirruped. The hazy light that leaked from around its lens condensed into a broad beam that bathed the alley in a crimson hue. Matteo and Luca, hands resting on their weapons, awaited his cue.
Marco pressed the button again. The red beam dissolved.
“We’re clear.”
I released a lungful of breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. CAT pawed curiously at something brown and mushy in the street and I nudged him off of it with my shoe. I noticed it was scuffed. I didn’t know whether it had been like that all day or I’d picked it up during the scuffle at the cabin. It was on my kicking foot, after all. Then again, the simple act of throwing a tie around the collar of an unwrinkled shirt had been almost too much for me, and certainly would not have happened were it only my reputation at stake in the courtroom. I was respectful enough of the NYPD to make sure that as their star witness I was at least somewhat presentable, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to polish my shoes for them.
“What’d you see?” Matteo asked, returning to Marco’s flank.
“Nothing.” He glanced back at me. “You got a rodent problem down here, Miller?”
My mind went straight to the carrot cake I’d picked up from the bakery last Tuesday. I had originally scheduled it for a bachelor’s dinner, with anything left over set aside for breakfast. When I sat up on my cot the next morning I was dismayed to find a gaping hole had been nibbled through the corner of its cardboard box. Flipping the lid open revealed that half of the remaining cake had been eaten. Any hopes of salvaging the rest were dashed by the trails of spiteful footprints in the frosting.
“Yeah.” I didn’t offer further explanation.
I was relieved when Marco stepped aside and afforded me the small dignity of using my key to enter the building. Clearly the lackluster security of Greyson Tower hadn’t stopped them before. The antiquated locking mechanisms, devoid of any electrical components, were rumored to be more of a deterrent for their inability to be hacked digitally. Very few these days bothered to cultivate the skills necessary to manually crack a standard pin tumbler setup. Modern lockpicking boiled down to a battle of machine versus machine, a contest of wits between twice-removed programmers without any skin in the game. Ignoring the results, there was a certain undeniable romance to the old methods of lock-breaking: the pocket-sized sheath of picks and tension wrenches, the stethoscope pressed to the wall of the combination safe. Now it was all a matter of pointing computers at other computers. Where was the technique? The finesse?
Mismatched lighting fixtures buzzed overhead, bathing the lobby in a sickly jaundice. A mug and a crossword puzzle half-finished in ink sat atop the deserted security desk. They hadn’t moved since I dropped my weapon off before court that morning, and who knew how before that. We filed past and headed for the elevator bank, with Matteo lingering long enough to keep an eye on our six.
With shocking quickness, Luca lashed out and pressed the call button before Marco got the chance. In response to Marco narrowing his eyes, Luca broke out in a beaming smile.
“Who’s too big now, eh?” Luca’s accompanying chortle was heavy and deep, two boulders grinding against one another.
The cheerful ding of the elevator preempted Marco’s rejoinder. The doors slid open and we piled in, with Luca taking up a full third of the car. When his arm snaked out again, this time from the back corner, Marco batted it away effortlessly and punched the button for the fourth floor.
We rode up in silence, or at least I did. I’d long ago blocked out the unnerving clanging that emanated from the machine room at the top of the shaft. Mr. Spano blamed it on a frayed drive belt, which came as little comfort, but assured me that the stairs worked just fine if I was ‘gonna keep bitching about it.’ To their credit, Marco and Matteo stared straight ahead impassively throughout the entirety of the ride. If the elevator were to suddenly plummet, they were confident they’d figure something out before we hit the ground. Only Luca appeared affected. When I snuck a peek at him, with his bulbous head squashed up against the roof of the car, he was nodding along with each change of the floor indicator.
The car shuddered to a halt and the doors jittered apart. We disembarked. A long stretch of tattered puce carpeting was all that stood between me and my meeting with the man whose wife I helped to track down her boyfriend. Only now did I fully appreciate the gravity of the situation I was in. The Russos’ hospitality had been a pair of velveteen blinders to the situation. I couldn’t tell whether it had worked because I was tired or because I had given up.
The elevator doors wooshed shut behind me. Escape was no longer an option. The stairs might have worked just fine, but nowhere near as well as the Russos’ EDGs, and those were much closer at hand.
The brothers moved forward all at once. I went with the flow, hoping to avoid giving off the impression that I was being frog-marched to my own office. That was too grim of a fate to consider. CAT rushed ahead, twirling silent circles at the door to his home away from home. Yards between us gave way to feet, then to inches. Any last questions I had, now was the time to ask them or to forever hold my peace.
“Does Mr. Denaro like dogs?”
Matteo grinned, his hand on my doorknob. “Why dontcha ask him yourself?” He twisted his wrist and the door swung in. Before I could stop him, CAT squeezed through the gap the second it was big enough.
Shit.
I could hear his toenails skittering across the polished concrete as he scrabbled for purchase, his body once again lurching toward a new potential friend faster than his brain could handle. If being too trustworthy had a face, it was brown and felt entitled to half my food.
“CAT!” I pushed past Matteo and into my office.
“Friend? Friend?”
One of these days he was going to get himself killed, that stupid, loveable oaf.
The man seated at my desk gave no indication of moving, undeterred by the hundred pounds of lean muscle scurrying in his direction. Franklin P. Denaro was about a decade older than me and appeared smaller than he did in his press photos, maybe five-nine, though I supposed being seated did him no favors. His jet-black hair was less thinning than thinned. A generous paunch kept him from resting his elbows on the desk without leaning forward. Still, there was an understated grace about him. His suit was simple, light grey wool, three pieces without looking ridiculous or dated. His expression at our sudden arrival was neither of surprise nor alarm, but of deliberate calculation, like he was processing each new element as it presented itself. If anything, he looked mildly amused. Like he belonged in that chair more than I did.
CAT skidded to a stop, but not in time to keep him from crashing into Denaro’s shins. Overcome with excitement, CAT tap-danced in place, waiting for Denaro’s recognition.
“His name’s CAT, you say?” the businessman asked. It was impossible to get a read on his tone.
“Yes, sir.” I had no idea why my voice had taken on the tenor of a Dickensian orphan looking to avoid a beating.
“CAT, sit.” He pointed a finger at the ground. Despite not raising his volume, he was commanding enough that I caught myself looking around for my client chair. It was shoved against the wall, playing host to a heavy coat and a pile of laundry best classified as ‘Maybe?’.
“Lay down.” Denaro’s extended finger was joined by the others as he motioned to the ground with an open palm. Without breaking eye contact, CAT scooched his back legs out until he wound up flat on the bare floor. It had taken me months of practice to nail sit and stay. I’d given up long before lay down.
“Good boy. Now speak?”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Hello.”
“And hello to you too, CAT.” Denaro leaned forward and lavished affection on him with both hands. In no time he found the trick spot behind CAT’s ears. No matter how spastically his leg kicked, CAT remained steadfast in his position. “That’s a good boy,” the businessman cooed. It was then I realized it wasn’t that Denaro didn’t notice there were other people in the room, it was that he simply didn’t give a fuck. He had nothing to prove to anyone, especially not us.
He ruffled CAT’s fur one last time and straightened up, smoothing the lapels of his jacket over his generous frame. “Hell of a dog you got there, Miller. I had a shep myself when I was growing up. Buttons. Smart as a whip, loyal, obedient. Make for the perfect attack dog if you’re so inclined. Only thing is you’ve gotta keep ’em occupied. On task. Otherwise they get nervous, destructive. They’ll chew a hole through a door just to figure out what’s on the other side. That and they’re stubborn little shits. Purebred?”
“I’m not sure,” I offered vaguely, going over his words to make sure I’d kept up with the entirety of his rapid-fire monologue. “He’s a stray.” Buttons?
“Probably for the best. Mutts have got more character anyway. Speaking of which, gentlemen…” His attention turned to the Russos. I hadn’t heard them come in behind me. “Could we have the room, please?”
They did not seem put off by his request. Luca ducked back under the doorframe, followed by Matteo. Marco stepped out and closed the door behind them.
“Good kids, but they’ll crowd a room up in a hurry. They treat you all right?”
Denaro seemed to have made himself comfortable, so I wheeled the client chair back to the center of the room. I pulled the heap of clothing off of it and tossed it onto the former snack shelf, which was now empty except for a fine layer of dust and a couple of stray rat turds.
“There was a bit of a misunderstanding at first, but I think we managed to smooth it over.”
“Sorry again about the short notice. I tried to get in touch, which I told them to convey to you.”
“They did.”
“It’s just that I’m working with a limited window of opportunity. I’ve got a meeting in the city with investors this morning or else I wouldn’t be anywhere near this godforsaken planet. Not with the expo coming up.”
Was it already that time of year again? The Denaro Foundation Exposition was an annual celebration of the best and brightest innovators in technology. Denaro’s Stellar Engines figured heavily into the proceedings, but there was still room for their competitors as well as leaders in other industries to showcase their latest advancements.
Wilder’s mention of the Lunar Express’s departure date sprang to mind.
“Are you planning to take your space elevator back to Luna on Friday?” I asked.
“I wish.” He sounded sincere. “No, I’ll have the brothers fly me up after my meeting today. There’s too much left to do for me to stick around here.”
That struck me as odd. “And miss the relaunch? After all the time and effort you’ve put into it?” I worried I was tipping my hand, but Denaro’s work toward restoring the Express received plenty of media attention. Enough that my knowledge of it and its impending exodus weren’t entirely unreasonable.
“It wasn’t my first choice, trust me. But with everything going on in the biz, now our own warehouse getting hit, we’re revamping all the security for the convention.”
“I heard one of your employees was killed as well.”
“Former employee. Emilia Benoit. Hell of an engineer, a real company gal as well.” It was unusual for someone of Frankie Denaro’s status to be so in tune with his rank-and-file workers. As if sensing my suspicion, he continued. “A while back, she blew the whistle on some nutter from Madison Defense that sent an unsolicited prototype to our R&D department. A real big to-do. If she hadn’t caught it and any part of it made it into our designs, legal says there would have been hell to pay.”
Wilder had conveniently left out that part of the story. Would he stoop so low as to weaponize the patent court against a rival business? More importantly, would he go so far as to kill when his plan went awry?
“What kind of prototype, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“A nano- something or another. I think it worked with cyberware. From what my lawyers told me, the less I knew about it the better. Plausible deniability and all that. Anyway, like I said, that was all a while ago. She moved on, and whatever it was has been locked up in our warehouse ever since. I won’t even touch it to send it back until a judge gives me the go ahead.”
I made a note to look into Emilia Benoit when I got the chance.
“Like I was saying,” Denaro said, seamlessly picking up where he’d left off, “we cater to a high society crowd, the real cream of the crop. If they don’t feel safe, they don’t show. I need to be there to oversee things so when anyone asks, I can personally guarantee their safety. Part of that was offering the VIPs a trip up on the Lunar Express, free of charge.”
I regarded him with what he interpreted as skepticism.
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, so if I get a little media attention in exchange, I’m not gonna complain.”
“Does this VIP list include Vance Wilder?”
A wry smile crossed Denaro’s face. “Gabby told me you were a no bullshit kinda guy, and she ain’t lyin’. The missus sends her regards, in case they haven’t reached you.”
“Marco took care of it, but please send along my…well-wishes.” I wasn’t going to risk saying anything that could be misinterpreted. I still wasn’t sure how deep the hole I’d dug with Frankie Denaro was. The less we spotlighted my previous involvement with his family, the better.
“I will. So, down to business.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his fingers steepled. A pair of modestly expensive cufflinks glinted from his wrists. The corporate statesman’s gleam disappeared from his eye, replaced with something harder, more critical. “No, Vance Wilder was not on my guest list. And I have no idea where his tickets came from.”
“But you knew he had them.”
“We run in the same social circles, Mr. Miller. You have to assume that when he starts asking around, it’s going to get back to me. My question to you is why do you know he has them?”
Without hesitation, I laid out my entire conversation with Wilder, from the free drink up to the blank coaster. I held it out for effect, as if it would somehow explain anything.
Denaro’s stare lingered on me for a long moment after I finished speaking, as if weighing my credibility.
“Yeah, that’s about what I heard, too.”
I was too relieved that he believed me to wonder who his source was. Denaro had given me no reason to fear him so far, but from the stories I’d heard, it was clear he always had something dangerous simmering just below the surface.
“So what are you going to tell him?” he asked.
“Same thing I already told him. That I’m not interested.”
“Not even if you get to name the price?” He took a quick survey of my miserable office. “For someone in your situation, you sure got a pair of stones on ya. No offense.”
They were nothing if not fucking polite.
“None taken.”
“I hope not. These days it’s a quality in short supply. Not everyone would be willing to take a sit-down with someone like me, considering our, let’s say, complicated history.”
He took a moment to let the words he didn’t say sink in.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Mr. Denaro. I’m not planning to take Mr. Wilder up on his offer. I won’t be anywhere near your Lunar Express.”
I hoped my word would be enough to convince him. I didn’t relish the thought of calling Vance Wilder at this hour to give him my answer in front of his former colleague.
“What would it take to get you to reconsider?”
At first I thought I didn’t hear him correctly. I asked him to repeat himself.
“Despite what Mr. Wilder may have told you, we are not at cross purposes in this particular instance. If there’s someone targeting the tech industries, I stand to gain just as much by stopping them as Wilder does, maybe more. I’ve got no clue how they managed to get him on my guest list or what they’ve got planned for him once he’s up there, but what I do know is that I’ve got a space elevator full of very important people heading to Luna under my protection.”
“And you want me to go with Wilder to keep an eye on things. Don’t you have a security team for that?”
Denaro shook his head. “Apart from Wilder, every passenger was hand-selected, each crew member vetted. I’m sending Matteo along to act as my ambassador on board, but that’s mostly as a favor to him. If I change things now it’ll just spook whoever’s behind this and they’ll be in the wind.”
Out of all the Russos, Matteo seemed like an odd choice for singlehandedly overseeing the safety and well-being of such an important flight. Another thread for me to tug on.
“And you don’t think they’ll be suspicious if Wilder shows up with a private detective for a guest?”
Denaro chuckled. “Are you kidding? A member of the aristocracy with a paranoid streak? That sort of shit’s a status symbol. A personal bodyguard is the new…” He gesticulated broadly, as if trying to conjure the perfect metaphor from thin air. “Ahh, something fancy rich people buy to show off.”
“Crystal punchbowl?” I had no idea.
Denaro’s bewildered expression confirmed as much. “Now clearly money isn’t your hangup. Not that I’d have any trouble with that. What can I do to get you to tell Wilder you’ll take the deal and ride the Express with him? I’ll need you to report back to me, naturally, but that shouldn’t stop you from working your gig for him at the same time. Hell, to keep things fair I’ll even match what you end up asking him for. Double your paycheck. Whaddya say?”
I wasn’t a mathematician, but I knew that doubling a blank check was worth a hell of a lot more than zero dollars. But still.
“You’re right. It’s not about the money. It’s about the travel.”
A creeping impatience flattened Denaro’s encouraging grin. “The travel? What, do you get motion sick? There’s patches and pills—”
“It’s not the trip itself. It’s…I don’t leave Earth anymore. Not since the accident.”
A switch flipped in Denaro’s head. “Your family. Of course. My condolences.” His voice was hushed, respectful. It would have been one thing for him to research this information ahead of our meeting, but for him to give even the appearance of an emotional response to it was totally unexpected.
“It was a long time ago.” Yet, not long enough for me to have learned how to properly respond to sympathy.
He proceeded thoughtfully, the cadence of a man tiptoeing through landmines. “If it’s of any interest to you—and I understand that it might not be, given the circumstances—but I heard through the grapevine that there was some new information about the bombing.” He chose that word carefully, knowing it would catch my attention. Officials maintained that the explosion had been caused by a mechanical failure. I suspected otherwise. “Nothing they’re ready to publicly release yet, but I have my inside sources. I’d be happy to get them to look into it, regardless of whether you decide to work with me or not. From one parent to another, it’s the least I can do.”
That ruthless fuck. Of course it mattered. He knew there was no way I’d turn down a chance at getting a step closer to figuring out what happened to my family.
He sensed my conviction waver. “You know, taking the Express isn’t really like leaving Earth. You don’t even need a passport as long as you don’t leave the station on Luna.”
His arguments made sense in a blunt, forceful sort of way. Like being beaten in the head with a really convincing rock.
“Can I sleep on it?”
“Absolutely.” Denaro was all business again. He checked his watch. “I’ll have the boys drop you off and will look forward to your call after my meeting. I’d prefer to have this straightened out before I head back to Luna this evening.”
Denaro stood. I did as well, not yet realizing I was being dismissed from my own office.
He extended his hand. “I look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Miller.”
“Mr. Denaro.”
We shook.
CAT belted out an impressive snore, loud enough to startle himself awake. Denaro looked down admiringly. “Again, hell of a dog you’ve got there, Miller. Makes me think I need one of my own.”