Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [132]
NYPD Sergeant Macchio stooped down and handed Mickey Kevin his hat. Then he walked in the direction of the disturbance that had closed down 72nd Street, not to mention the downtown lanes of Central Park West, and the park transverse.
‘Tell you what we’re gonna do, eh!” Sergeant Macchio clapped his hands for a little old-fashioned order and attention. “We’re gonna sort this all out down at the station house!”
At that news, the entire Carroll family started to do a very odd thing, at least Sergeant Macchio and the rest of the New York cops thought it was peculiar. The kids started to balls-out cheer and clap for the NYPD.
The New York cops weren’t used to that. A couple of the older patrolmen started to blush. They’d almost never been treated like the arriving cavalry before, like the good guys in the white hats.
“All right, all right now! Everybody pile into the wagons. Let’s get this show on the road. See who’s been naughty and nice, eh?”
Photographs of the scene were snapped by somebody from The New York Times, also by a free-lance photo-journalist who lived across 72nd Street in the Dakota. A shot of Mickey Kevin wearing Sergeant Macchio’s hat was featured in Newsweek magazine.
Eventually, the Newsweek shot of Mickey Kevin appeared framed on the Carroll’s Riverdale house mantel…. Lizzie, Mary IE, and Clancy all loudly complained about favoritism. Arch told them to shut their yaps. So much had happened to them in a relatively short time. Not the least of it was that Arch had fallen in love with Caitlin, and slowly, but surely, so had the kids. They were all family now, weren’t they?
They truly were family.
EPILOGUE
Hudson
Chapter 104
A LINE TO the President of the United States signaled through at 6:00 on the morning of March 7.
Clustered inside the Oval Office were most of the members of the National Security Council. Not one of the officials could believe what was happening.
A prerecorded message came over the telephone.
“The White House is scheduled to be firebombed this morning. In a matter of a few minutes….
“This decision is irrevocable.
“This decision is nonnegotiable.
“You are to evacuate the White House immediately.”
Inside a telephone booth less than a mile from the White House, David Hudson pushed down the recording machine’s stop button. He stuffed the compact recorder into the pocket of his fatigue jacket.
Hudson was actually smiling. For the briefest moment, Hudson laughed out loud.
All of Washington waited, but the White House was never struck that morning.
Instead, the home of General Lucas Thompson was fire-bombed. So was the home of Vice-president Elliot. The homes of Admiral Thomas Penny, of Philip Berger, of Lawrence Guthrie … twelve homes in all.
David Hudson finally climbed into a light green touring van. He drove west out of the strikingly lovely capital city. For a moment, at least, no nightmare voices screeched inside his head. His arm had stopped aching—the arm that was no longer there.
He had done the right thing, he believed, especially for his men, the other Vets. They had scattered like leaves after a fierce storm; he hoped they would prosper, or at least be at peace. Finally, they had justice.
Finally, there was an end to deception.
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Chapter 3
GIVEN EVERYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED, it isn’t too much of a stretch to say that this is one of the most incredible stories ever, and the strangest I’ve ever encountered. The weirdest thing of all is that I am part of it. A big part.
I remember how my involvement began, remember every detail as if it happened just moments ago.
I was in my small, hopelessly cluttered, but comfortable office in the Back Bay section of Boston. I was staring off in the general direction of the Hancock and Prudential towers: