Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [104]
“So you escaped? London? Paris?”
“I went to London when I turned eighteen. I was crude, unpolished, in the way that I looked, the way I thought about the world. I wanted to be an actress, a fashion model, anything that would keep me from ever going back to Birmingham. Ever.”
Billie smiled, and she was so charmingly self-effacing. “I made a few minor misjudgments in London,” she said with a mocking laugh.
“And then?”
“After, I guess it was five years there, I decided to either come to New York, or Paris. That’s me up to the present. I’m hopeful I can do well as a model. I’m putting together a book for press advertising—that’s magazines and newspapers. I know that I’m attractive—physically attractive, at least.”
She had delivered most of the autobiographical speech very shyly, with her eyes downcast, glancing anywhere but into David Hudson’s eyes. Color had crept up from her neck, finally covering her entire face.
“I’ve made a few tiny misjudgments myself. Just a few.” Hudson laughed then. So many stored-up emotions were being released inside him now. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself this.
Billie began to laugh again. “Oh, to hell with the past,” she said, her eyes a little sad however, ironic, slightly pinched at the corners. They both ran out of words at exactly the same time. The moment seemed especially poignant for some reason, confused, with far too many emotional crosscurrents.
Billie finally turned to face Hudson again. She spoke very softly, feathers of her warm breath lightly touching his ear.
“Please kiss me, David. That might not sound like anything so very dramatic.… Except that I don’t think I’ve said it to anyone, and meant it, since I was about sixteen or seventeen years old.”
Hudson and Billie Bogan, her slender body loose and pliant, his strong, almost at military attention, kissed in the shadows of the grand Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.
Holiday music sweetly played around them: “Adeste Fidelis,” “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World.”
For that moment, at least, Hudson conveniently forgot his other plans for the world.
Not joy, exactly. No, something else that was badly needed, though.
Justice for mankind.
Revenge for a special few.
Chapter 76
CAITLIN DILLON HURRIEDLY entered the crowded conference room inside No. 13 Wall.
She passed repairmen plastering over cracks in cement. Three cleaning women hauled buckets at the end of the hallway, clanking as they moved. Caitlin paused at the buzzing entrance to the conference room and raised one hand to her hair.
She was thinking how much she missed Carroll, who was expected back from Washington at any moment. He’d called, but his voice had been strained, almost as if he’d been afraid to tell her anything.
She stepped into the meeting room, passing through a phalanx of policemen and Army personnel.
The word had already spread up and down the hallway s—there had been some sort of break in the Green Band investigation. Finally, a break.
Walter Trentkamp of the FBI stood in silence before the restless audience. He was obviously tense. Streaks-of light sweat highlighted his face and the collar of his shirt was damp.
Trentkamp cleared his throat. The scene reminded. Caitlin of high-level press conferences held in Washington, emergency meetings called on short notice.
“You have no doubt heard the rumor that a significant development has occurred in the Green Band case.… It was uncovered through the tireless effort of Captain Francis Nicolo and Sergeant Rizzo in NYPD Ballistics.”
Nicolo, Waxy Frank, appeared in the crowd alongside Joe Rizzo. Both men were beaming, taking an imperceptible bow.
“These men have been working tirelessly since the bombings on December fourth. Their labors have paid a big dividend.”
There were a couple of appreciative mumbles in the room and a half-hearted attempt at applause. Nicolo and