The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [159]
Ben’s heart sank. “How long ago did he call?”
“About a half hour ago. Do you need any—”
Ben hung up the phone, reentered his calling card, and dialed Lisa’s number. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said as the phone rang five times without an answer.
Finally, Lisa picked up. “Hello.”
“Get out of your apartment,” Ben said. “Rick’s on his way over.”
“Or maybe I’m already here,” Rick said. “How are you doing, Ben? Long time, no see.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Why so sad?” Rick asked. “It’s just me.”
“If you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”
“Spare me the threats,” Rick demanded, his voice growing suddenly serious. “I now have both Lisa and Nathan—”
“Nathan?”
“Shut up and listen for once,” Rick said. “I have both of them, and I’m sick and tired of playing games. Now tell me where you are.”
Ben was silent.
“This is no time to be stupid,” Rick said. “You already lost one friend this weekend. Do you want to go for two?” Getting no response, he added, “How about three?”
“I’m at Boosin’s Bar,” Ben finally said. “It’s on New Hampshire.”
“I know where it is,” Rick said. “I expect you to be standing outside in ten minutes. And if you happen to feel the urge to call the authorities, your parents, Eric, or anyone else, I will be extremely upset with you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Ben said, fighting his rage.
“Good. Now, one last question,” Rick said. “What’s the outcome of American Steel?”
Again, Ben was silent.
“I asked a question,” Rick said.
Still, silence.
“This is just about money,” Rick warned. “Don’t turn it into anything that requires violence.”
“American Steel wins,” Ben snapped. “Are you happy? Now you can go make your millions.”
“I’m extremely happy—that’s exactly the same answer Lisa gave us,” Rick said. “We’ll see you outside in ten minutes.”
Hearing Rick hang up, Ben exploded. He grabbed the receiver and slammed it against the pay phone. The few patrons who were in the bar looked up when they heard the crashing noise. Again, Ben banged the receiver against the metal base of the phone. And again. And again.
Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” the bartender asked, pulling the receiver from Ben’s hand.
“Get off me!” Ben screamed, struggling against the bartender.
The bartender dragged him to the front door and pushed him outside. “If you’re going to be a psycho, go someplace else.”
Waiting outside of Boosin’s, Ben teemed with anger. With his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, he despondently kicked at a small pile of snow next to the building. Within ten minutes, a red Jeep pulled up to the curb. The only person in it was Claremont. “Wait right there,” Claremont said as he got out of the Jeep and approached Ben. Now that Claremont was no longer wearing his brown fedora, Ben studied his attacker’s features. With a round face that was highlighted by a worn, floury complexion, Claremont looked much older than Ben had expected.
“Take off your jacket,” Claremont said, pointing with thick, stubby fingers.
When Ben obliged, Claremont patted him down. “Still worried about microphones?” Ben asked.
“I’m told you have a habit of wearing them.” After establishing that Ben was clean, Claremont opened the door for Ben. “All aboard,” he said.
Thirty-five minutes later, the Jeep pulled into the back parking lot of the Palm Hotel, in Bethesda. “Follow me,” Claremont said as he walked toward the back entrance of the building. “And if you say one word to anyone…”
“I get the picture,” Ben said.
They took the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor and walked down the hallway to room 2427. Claremont slid his coded card into the electronic lock, pushed open the door, and entered the lavishly decorated suite. The main room was empty.
“Where is everyone?” Ben asked.
“Shut up and follow,” Claremont said. He led the way through the bedroom and opened the door that connected the suite to the one next door. They walked through the second suite and reached a door that connected that suite to a third.