Chapter 5 - A House of CardsThe rain hammered against the glass dome of the Greyhaven municipal building, turning the night outside into a shifting blur of neon lights and dark shadows. Inside the Mayor’s private office on the top floor, the atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke and bourbon.
Mayor Richard Sterling stood by the window, watching the distant red tail-lights of traffic crawling across the river bridge. At fifty-six, his silver hair and tailored Italian suits gave him the appearance of a benevolent statesman, but the eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were cold, calculating, and predatory.
The heavy mahogany door swung open without a knock.
Commander Hayes walked in, his overcoat soaked with rain, his face pale and slick with sweat. He slammed his car keys down onto the marble side table.
“It’s done,” Hayes breathed heavily, pacing across the Persian rug. “Or at least, it should have been. The girl—Detective Quinn—we hit her behind the laundromat. Two shots to the torso. She went down hard.”
Sterling didn't turn around. He took a slow sip of his bourbon. “Should have been? What do you mean, should have been?”
“Her body’s gone,” Hayes snapped, panic leaking into his voice. “I went back twenty minutes later to retrieve her weapon and make sure she was finished. The blood was there, the shell casings were there, but the body vanished. Someone picked her up.”
Sterling finally turned around, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Who? Internal Affairs? The feds?”
“No,” Hayes said, his voice dropping to a frightened whisper. “One of my informants on the docks says Vincent Calder’s men were spotted in the area twenty minutes after the shooting. Richard... if Calder has her... if she told him anything about seventeen years ago...”
Before Sterling could answer, the floor-to-ceiling smart television mounted on the office wall flickered violently.
The screen flashed from a live news broadcast to a wall of security camera footage.
Sterling and Hayes froze.
The security feed showed the ground-floor lobby of City Hall. The night security guards were slumped over their desks, unconscious. Walking through the front revolving doors were three men in dark overcoats.
At the lead was Vincent Calder.
His face was illuminated by the blue glow of the lobby monitors. Beside him, Leo Bennett carried a heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. Behind them, two of Vincent's most ruthless enforcers locked the glass front doors from the inside, dropping a heavy steel security chain across the handles.
“My God,” Hayes choked out, scrambling for the service pistol at his hip. “He’s here. He’s inside the building.”
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Sterling didn't reach for a gun. Instead, a grim, humorless smile touched the corners of his mouth. He walked over to his desk, picked up the secure landline phone, and pressed a single pre-programmed speed-dial button.
“Bring the strike team up through the private elevator,” Sterling commanded into the receiver. “Vincent Calder just walked into a trap.”
