The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [424]
“Me too, kiddo.”
Dr. Loo spoke alone to Emma for a while and then they drank champagne, Emma drank her Dr. Pepper, and they all accepted congratulations from the staff there and two waiting patients.
One of the patients, an old man with a severe eye twitch, said, “I saw a blurred photo of you, Judge, in one of the rags. You were hugging a little girl.”
“No,” Emma said loudly, holding her piano really hard to her chest, “he was hugging me. He was upset.”
“NO, I didn’t see anyone,” Mason Lord said to Detective O’Connor. He paused, sucking in his breath with a sudden twinge of pain. He shot a hit of morphine into his vein by pressing the medication button.
Detective O’Connor waited until he saw the pain clear from Lord’s eyes. “No shadows, no warning, nothing?”
“No. Gunther and I were just coming from a friend’s office. We’d had a little chat with him. A good fellow, a politician.”
“His name, sir?”
“State Senator Quentin Kordie. Don’t worry about him, Detective, he wouldn’t try to shoot me. We’re simply friends, that’s all.”
“Very well. Now, sir, who knew where you would be?”
It was obvious to Molly that her father had thought about that. She hated the calculation in his eyes, the drawing of pain as he sorted again through the few people he believed had known where he would be at that particular time.
Finally, Mason said, “A number of people knew, but, of course, only people in my organization.” He paused, pumped another hit of morphine into his vein, and said, “If I’ve got a traitor in my midst, I’ll deal with it, Detective.”
“No, Mr. Lord, this is a police matter. It’s called attempted murder.”
“Then you know who’s behind it, Detective. Rule Shaker.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “He’s never been frankly stupid before. The moron.”
Detective O’Connor rose from his chair. “It seems to me, Mr. Lord, that if indeed Mr. Shaker was a moron and did try to kill you, then you’ve got a big problem. You seem to be well protected for the moment. Naturally, I assume that Rule Shaker has heard that you’re still alive. If you’re right, I can imagine what he’s saying right now.”
RULE Shaker wasn’t saying anything. He was standing close to the huge glass window in his office that looked out over an endless stretch of desert. He hadn’t ever wanted a view of Las Vegas. He lived in a city of kitsch. He wasn’t about to look at it unless he had to.
The desert was clean, the air pure, so hot that all life sheltered during the hottest part of the day. Including people. He couldn’t see a single soul in that vast expanse. He turned slowly as Murdock said, “Rudy’s still hanging out at that motel in Oak Park, waiting for orders.”
“Let him continue to wait. I hear that Lord is getting stronger every day in that hospital. He’s going to live.”
“That’s the word,” Murdock said, uncrossing his legs. He’d gained weight since he’d gotten back from Germany. He hadn’t liked following Louey Santera around, but that’s what Mr. Shaker had ordered him to do and that’s what he’d done. Now he was home and could eat all the KFC he’d missed in Germany. He’d put on six pounds since he’d returned.
“Is there anything you’d like me to do, sir?”
“I’m thinking about it, Murdock. For the moment, we’ll just let him lie in his bed, feel lots of pain, and think about his transgressions.”
“Mason Lord doesn’t believe in transgressions,” Murdock said. He studied his boss, the man who’d taken him out of the street six years before and trained him to be one of his forward men. Yes, he was one of the FM now, a group everyone important had heard of. He was respected and admired. He should get the six pounds off.
Mr. Shaker wasn’t tall and aristocratic-looking like Mason Lord. Nature had shortchanged him, topping him off at a mere five foot seven inches. But he was a fit little man, hard and lean. He dressed beautifully, mostly