The Midnight Club_ A Novel - James Patterson [91]
The first man spoke to Alexandre St.-Germain in confident but also respectful tones. The man was Sicilian. He had a strong jutting jaw that seemed to restrict his ability to smile. His skin had a greenish brown hue. His name was Salvatore Crisci, but he was known throughout Europe as Cacciatore, the Hunter.
Cacciatore was a killer whom Alexandre St.-Germain had used several times in Europe. He had never been inside the United States before the affair in Atlantic City. Cacciatore had no use for Americans, though he had nothing against American money.
The second man who entered the limousine was a German; his name was Franz Engelhardt. He had planned and executed more than twenty assassination-bombings throughout Europe. Years before, his preferred killing tool had been a handmade stiletto, with a nine-inch blade. In Rome he had gotten the nickname Arrotino, the Knife Grinder. It was Engelhardt who had abducted Sam McGinniss on Park Avenue.
The third member of the group was Jimmy Burke, the New York police detective who had met St.-Germain in Vietnam.
The two Europeans and Burke were powerful-looking men. Although their faces were hardened, it was obvious that they feared Alexandre St.-Germain. They avoided unnecessary contact with the unforgiving eyes. They were here to report, but also to listen.
“We’ve followed Stefanovitch and Parker for the past few days,” Cacciatore said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. He appeared to be a homosexual, with a flair for the extravagant. His hair was orange-red, piled in a high pompadour. His pants were extremely tight, and he wore makeup. The conscious effort toward extremes helped to create this false impression. The impersonation served as a useful distraction in the underworld.
Cacciatore used both hands when he spoke. “I bought a pack of cigarettes. I was standing right next to Stefanovitch in a small store on Eighty-fourth Street. I could have taken him then. You told us to wait. Parker is staying with a girlfriend. A model on the East Side.”
Alexandre St.-Germain looked away, into the bustling, early morning marketplace. His anger was more in control. Actually, he felt comfortable in the workingman’s environment. The smell of fruits and cheeses reminded him of his youth, of early mornings on the streets of Marseilles.
He considered the fate of Stefanovitch. Others in the Club wanted him to ignore the policeman. To be patient… But he couldn’t wait and be patient any longer. Stefanovitch had to be dealt with. The policeman was determined, and he was resourceful. One day he might get lucky.
“Do it now. I don’t care what the rest of the Midnight Club says about this. I don’t care about their Harvard Club rules. Do it now!”
88
John Stefanovitch and Sarah McGinniss;
East Sixty-sixth Street
SARAH AND STEFANOVITCH had been awake during the longest and worst night of Sarah’s life. She had never been more aware of the sounds in her apartment. Sarah glanced at her wristwatch and saw it was twenty past four. She would have guessed five or five-thirty. The passage of time was leaden.
A detective from the local precinct was stationed in the apartment for the night. He waited by the upstairs telephone.
The last call had been before midnight. It had been Roger, finally reaching her from California. She’d tried a dozen times to get through to him. His call was highly emotional and concerned, but it was also filled with recriminations regarding Sarah’s move to New York, where “things like this happen.”
At seven-thirty in the morning, Annie Leigh, the housekeeper, arrived. Annie was a generally helpful and loving woman from St. Martin. She had been with Sarah and Sam since they’d moved to New York, almost two years ago. Annie Leigh loved Sam as if he were her own little boy. She needed to be comforted and consoled by Sarah, and Sarah almost broke down under the additional burden.
Later in the morning, Stefanovitch tried to eat something. He sat at the kitchen table, listlessly picking at bakery rolls and