Part Three
Sometimes the easiest way to hide something was to keep it right out in the open. In a magnificently appointed office that covered half the penthouse of a well-known skyscraper, the head of a crime syndicate was meeting with his chief lieutenants. Every man at this meeting was known by an alias. Only the leader knew their real names. The kingpin went by the assumed name, Lucifer--an apt title as he was the guiding dark light of the syndicate--and he liked to style himself as the CEO of The Business as he called it. The Business dealt in any illegal or immoral activities that produced money and lots of it: racketeering, gambling, drugs, white slavery, pornography, smuggling, weapons, you name it. As long as it made money, The Business was involved. There were even some legal businesses that were used for money laundering, and there were ties to every level of government, society, or economy.
His associates he titled as Chief Administrative Officers.
They were Michael, Gabriel, Ramiel,
Uriel, Sariel, Anael, and Raziel; the names of the seven
archangels who surrounded the throne of
God. This was Lucifer’s personal practical joke
on the god he defied. Each man was responsible
for an assigned territory. Michael, a bear of a
man with the florid features of the Irish, was assigned the southwest quadrant of the United States;
Gabriel with dark hair and even darker eyes, known for his single-minded devotion to The Business,
was managing the northeast quadrant; Ramiel, tiny and ferret-like was in charge
of the southeast; and Uriel, he of the shiny bald pate and rotund figure, was in charge of the northwest.
Alaska and Hawaii were assigned to Sariel, Mexico and Central America to Anael, and South
America to Raziel. Lucifer’s Angel of Death was Raphael; his exterminator, a man as cold as
the snow white color of his hair. Lucifer delegated the operation of the Business but not the power,
never the power. He held the lives of every person in The Business in his hands and heaven
help the man who crossed him. There were other associates scattered over the world, and as long
as his subordinates worked together smoothly, he never interfered. But if he was forced
to intervene, heads would roll.
It was seldom that all seven were in New York at one time, but today they were and their bull session had been both lively and vitriolic. Lucifer had picked each man, not only because they were capable but also because they hated each other. He could count on them to keep tabs on each other. Now the discussion concerned a certain attorney who was becoming suspicious of one of the syndicate’s money laundering businesses. Since the man lived in his territory, Gabriel proposed that they watch to see what he would do. After all, the man was wealthy and very prominent. They would have to be extremely cautious with him. Maybe he could be bribed. At the least, he had a daughter and they could threaten her to buy his silence. Uriel, Ramiel, and Michael were against the plan. They thought the man should be taken care of ASAP. The others were undecided and left it up to Lucifer to decide. Gabriel sat back in his chair with a self- satisfied grin when Lucifer agreed with him and assigned him to take care of the problem.
****************
In eight months the doctor’s prediction had come true. The scars left from the attack were barely visible to the naked eye and with makeup was not noticeable at all. She was to all appearances the same as she was before the attack, but she knew she was changed. With the restoration of her beauty, the suitors returned in droves, Tom Gunther among them. But she wasn’t interested in him or the shallow flirtations and even more shallow feelings of her former close friends. The only friend that seemed to understand was Jenny Aronson. Jenny had been raised without the amenities that Cathy and her other friends took for granted, and she sensed the restlessness that Cathy felt, offering her help in any way. “I don’t know what I want to do,” Cathy said one day as they sat together in Central Park, eating a hot dog. “I don’t think I can go back to my Dad’s law firm but I haven’t had to courage to tell him yet.”
“I think he realizes that something is up with you, but he doesn’t know what. You’ll have to tell him how you feel sometime soon. He’s worried about you.” Jenny absent-mindedly wiped a spot of mustard off her chin. “You’re going to have to decide what you want to do and do it regardless of the consequences.”
With a deep sigh Cathy agreed, “I know, but it’s going to hurt him and I don’t want to do that.”
“Maybe you misjudge your father, Cathy. He seems
pretty understanding to me. I wish my father
was as understanding.”
“Still trying to get you married off, huh?” Cathy grinned at her companion who shrugged one shoulder.
“You know how old county fathers can be, let alone mothers. I know they mean well, but I have a good life, and I am looking for Mr. Right.” A spark of mischief appeared in Jenny’s eyes and she sang, “Some day he’ll come along . . .”
“Oh Jen, you brighten my day.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Jenny answered as she punched Cathy lightly in the arm.
****************
Parting at Columbus Circle, Jenny took a cab to her office, and Cathy drifted aimlessly through various shops and boutiques. Where once this would have afforded her hours of pleasure she now discovered that it was downright boring, and soon, she was standing in front of her father’s office building. On a whim she decided to go up to his office and visit with him. She hadn’t seen him since she had moved back to her apartment two weeks ago and she missed him. Perhaps she could get him to go to the concert tonight in the Park. They were playing the entire symphonic poem ‘My Country’ by Smetana. It was one of her favorite symphonic pieces, especially ‘The River Moldau’ tone poem. It had been quite awhile since she had heard it played and she looked forward to it.
In a way she dreaded meeting him in his office. He would ask her when she was returning to work, and she had no clear answer for him.
Everyone in the law firm seemed genuinely glad to see her, but she was never sure whether it was because they really liked her or because she was the boss’ daughter. He was truly pleased that she had dropped by to ask him for a ‘date’ tonight. When he asked when she was coming back to work, she could not answer him. He sensed a restlessness in her that she hadn’t come to grips with yet. Her inability to answer him confused him, but she would tell him when and if she was ready. He promised to be at her apartment at six for a light summer dinner and then a stroll to the park for the concert. She buzzed him happily on the cheek and fled his confusion.
Looking forward to their evening together, he tackled
the files sitting on his desk. One case was
particularly disturbing. He was certain there was
dirty money involved, and he was turning it over
to the District Attorney’s office today. Putting
it aside, he flipped his intercom on and asked his secretary, Marilyn, to have the file sent to the D. A.’s
office, ASAP. Marilyn knocked and entered his office. Retrieving the file from his
desk, she asked if there was anything else she could do. “No,” he answered, “I’ll be leaving early today;
I have a ‘date’ with my daughter.”
“How wonderful. A movie, perhaps?” Marilyn questioned.
“No, dinner at her place and then a concert--in the Park.”
“I hear they’re playing Smetana tonight.”
“Yeah, one of Cathy’s favorite pieces.” Looking up at his longtime secretary and good friend, he commented, “She’s quite a girl.”
“Yes, she is,” Marilyn agreed. “She’s survived a terrible ordeal and I imagine you are very proud of her.” She moved to open the door. “I’ll send this to the District Attorney’s office right away by courier.”
“Good idea. I don’t like what’s in there, Marilyn. I don’t think our office should get involved with this client.” A troubled looked crossed over his face as he tapped his gold pen on his desk. Throwing the pen down, he said, “That’s enough for the day, I’m going home.”
****************
Deciding to stop by his club and freshen up, he hailed a cab as he left the air-conditioned comfort of his office building and stepped out into the hustle and bustle of a warm summer’s day. An inconspicuous car with two ominous looking men in it pulled out and fell in behind his cab, following him to his club.
Promptly at six, Charles rang his daughter’s doorbell. With a laugh she swung the door open, “You’re always on time.”
“Not like some people I know who are always fashionably late,” he countered.
“Yes, but you love me anyway,” she smirked as she hugged him and led him to the table. “Sit down, Dad. Everything is ready.” From the kitchen she brought two plates filled with a light crab salad, potato salad, and sliced tomatoes. She poured the wine then took her seat opposite him.
Charles picked up his glass and with tenderness toasted his daughter, “Here’s to you, honey. I’m proud of how you have bounced back from this terrible calamity that happened to you.”
Catherine bowed her head. “I couldn’t have done it without you and Jenny and Peter.” But how could she explain to him without sounding as if she was crazy that there was someone else that she didn’t even know that had given her all the strength she had needed. She wondered sometimes herself if it was all a dream.
****************
Cathy had warned her father before they left her apartment that they were going native tonight and would be sitting on a blanket instead of chairs. Charles had grumbled a bit but finally agreed to her plans. To mollify her slightly disgruntled father, she had brought along a small hamper filled with two wine glasses and a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. Sitting on a blanket in Central Park waiting for the concert to begin, Catherine had the strange feeling she was being watched. It was an unpleasant feeling, and she looked around to see if anyone was staring at her. No one seemed to be paying any attention to either her or father. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to hear what her father was saying.
“Oh, that was wonderful, I do love the ‘Moldau’,” Cathy said as the last note faded into the night. “When I close my eyes can see the river flowing thru the Bohemian countryside. I actually walked along the banks of the river when I was in Europe,” she babbled happily.
“It’s a wonderful piece of music. Here, let me help you up,” Charles took Cathy’s hands and pulled her to her feet. As she bent over to retrieve the blanket and the hamper, the muzzle of a gun was roughly shoved into her side and she almost fell. Her father grabbed her and held her upright. There was a gun jabbed into his back, also. “What? Who?” he sputtered. Two men stood close to them. Dressed in dark overcoats--one midnight blue, the other gunmetal gray-- they smiled nastily and pushed the guns harder into the two bodies.
“Never mind. Keep your mouth shut and no one will
get hurt. Someone wants to talk with you,”
the larger of the two men, wearing the blue overcoat,
hissed into his ear. “Get movin’.”
Looking around to see if there was any help available, Charles stomach dropped. No one was paying any attention to them. No one was even looking their way. All were busy with their own lives and families. He gulped nervously, and taking Cathy’s cold hand, walked in the direction that the man had indicated, leaving the blanket and hamper behind. “If someone wants to see me, why can’t they come to my office?” he asked, terrified for his daughter and himself. Must she go through another traumatic experience? In no time they were hustled into a car and driven away.
The one person that could help and would give his life for them was Below, listening attentively to the terrified emotions washing over him. She was in danger, and it was his charge to save her. Becoming absolutely still, he concentrated on her location. She was moving away from him. Yes! To the old warehouses by the docks. There were tunnel entrances in many of those warehouses. He took off running and was soon in a part of the tunnels not often frequented by anyone but Mouse and himself.
****************
The car pulled into a dark alley between two old moldering
warehouses that must have been there
from the founding of the city. Broken windows and
hanging doors greeted the captives and their captors. Charles and Cathy were shoved unceremoniously
into the nearest warehouse. Through
the small amount of light that filtered through the dirty
and broken windows, Charles could see that there was no one waiting for them. “What is
this?” he demanded. “There is no one here.” “So? I didn’t say he wanted to talk with you, just
to see you. To see you get yours. Maybe, this will keep your partners in line.”
Charles pulled Cathy behind him as the grey-coated man raised his gun prepared to fire at him. She was holding on to him, frightened more for her father than for herself. Then that strange feeling of warmth and safety was flowing through her again, and though frightened, she was not hysterical.
Past caring about his dignity or pride, Charles Chandler pleaded for his life and for the life of his daughter. “Please, don’t do this. I’ve never hurt you. Why should you hurt me?” This entire situation was beyond his comprehension. He had no enemies that he knew of. Maybe it was simply a robbery. “I’ll give you anything you want, only don’t hurt us.”
“Sorry, Pops, we got out orders. Mr. Aloisio wants you to be an example.”
“Aliosio? He’s doing this?” That was the name
on the file that he had turned over to the
authorities
“That’s him, all right,” graycoat answered. Stalking the man and woman, the hired gunmen backed them into a corner. With a maniacal laugh bluecoat fired, hitting Charles in the chest and killing him instantly. “Beat ya to it,” he giggled, capering around the other man. Catherine’s eyes followed her father’s slow fall to the warehouse floor. She raised them to the two men advancing toward her. They had other things in mind for her. Pressing back into the corner, Cathy prepared to fight or at least to make them so mad that they would kill her outright. “Big, brave men, aren’t you?” she taunted them, a black rage beginning to burn inside her.
“Hey, lookit, Ernie, we got us a feisty one,” bluecoat chortled. “I like my women feisty.”
“I’m not your woman,” Cathy shouted. “No decent
woman would have anything to do with
you.”
“Got a big mouth, ain’t she, Tommy? Have to do something
about that,” Ernie declared, leering
at her.
“Yep, sure will,” the other man answered.
As Tommy reached for her, she struck out at the man in the bluecoat trying to kick him in the groin. Unfortunately, the kick was off target and the sharp point of her shoe only caught him in the right thigh. Tommy yelped from the pain, hopping around on one leg. Before she could recover her balance, Ernie grabbed her and twisted her arm behind her back, holding her immobile. Viciously, Tommy backhanded her and she slumped half-conscious in Ernie’s grasp. He dropped her unceremoniously, when a roaring and rampaging Vincent burst through the tunnel door. The sight of the enraged man/beast rooted the two men to the spot and with two sweeping blows he annihilated the gunmen before they had time to react. Flinging the bodies to the side, he spun around.
Catherine! Where was she? He found her lying in a heap on the broken cement floor. Stooping, he examined her. There was a small scrape on her forehead where she had hit the floor when the man dropped her and a livid bruise was forming on her right cheek from the backhanded slap. He stared in wonder at her face. It was as if she had never been brutalized. Her beauty stunned him. When she began to stir, he moved into the shadows. “Oh . . . where? . . . Daddy? Daddy!?” The rage had dropped away to be replaced by a stunned sense of loss. She saw him crumpled in a pool of blood. Falling to her knees, she gathered his inert body into her arms, heedless of the blood that stained her dress. “Daddy. Oh my god, Daddy.” She shook him as if that would bring him back to life. She buried her face in his neck, weeping heavily. “Oh Daddy, what do I do now? How do I go on? I have no one.” Gently, she caressed the already cooling cheek. With a gasp, she jerked her hand away. She had reached a turning point in her life that could be the making of a strong, independent woman or one that traveled through life afraid and insecure. With great care she spread her coat over her father’s body after tenderly closing his eyes. She froze when she heard the rustle of cloth. “Who’s there?” Her voice quavered, as her eyes searched the darkness. “I have a gun,” she lied with false bravado, rising to her feet.
Then the voice that had haunted her dreams whispered from
the shadows, “You are safe now. No
one will hurt you.”
The words, those words were ones she had heard as she
lay bleeding in Central Park. “You,” she
cried, turning to meet him.
“Don’t look at me,” he ordered, curtly.
She stopped. Could she be mistaken? “Ok, ok,” now she was scared; she retreated a step.
“Don’t be afraid; I won’t hurt you. It’s . . . ah . . . My appearance may frighten you.” The reassuring words drifted from the darkness to settle around her heart. All fear dropped away. “I’m sorry, I did not get here in time to save him,” the gentle voice continued.
“This shouldn’t have happened to us. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“No one is immune to the vagaries of violence. It can happen at any time to anyone.”
Disbelief sat in her eyes along with the dawning realization
that even someone in her privileged
position was subject to the destructive capriciousness
of fate. She nodded.
In his effort to comfort her, Vincent had moved out of
the shadows and stood behind her. Raising
her head, she turned quickly and looked directly at him.
She gasped, mouth open, staring at him.
With a ragged sigh he closed his eyes and his chin dropped
to his chest, waiting for her horror and
revulsion to bombard him. Suddenly, a butterfly
touch under his chin raised his head and compassionate but unhappy green eyes captured him.
He sensed only amazement and acceptance.
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said. She scanned his face, thoroughly. “Somehow, I knew you would be beautiful.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Beautiful?
How could she think him beautiful? He tucked
those thoughts away in his heart to take out and examine
at a later time. “I would have spared you this, Catherine, if I could but . . .”
“You know my name?” How could this man know her name?
“I read the newspapers,” he answered, as if reading her mind. The irony in his voice softened with a slight smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to imply . . .”
“I know you didn’t, Catherine,” he broke in quietly.
“You know my name. Will you tell me yours?” For some reason it was very important to her that she know his. It would make him real to her and at this moment she needed all the reality she could get.
“Vincent.”
Softly, she repeated his name. “Vincent. A
strong name for a strong man.” She shivered as the horror of all that had happened to her crashed through
the barriers she had built to protect herself.
“Oh god, tell me this is a nightmare. That I’ll
wake up and find my father alive and well. That I’m dreaming.”
“It is not a nightmare. You are not dreaming. Your father is gone but you survived. And you will survive,” he answered her with words she didn’t want to hear. Woefully, she shook her head. “You have the strength,” he assured her.
Again she shook her head. “I wish I had your strength.”
The conviction in his sapphire blue eyes captured her as he said, “You do. I know you.”
Suddenly, she threw her arms around him. “Hold me, please. I’m so cold; I’m so alone.”
Stunned by her ready acceptance of him he slowly and hesitantly
enclosed her in his heavy cloak,
gently cradling her against his heart as she silently
cried for her murdered father, her lost innocence, and her lost complacency. She had convinced
herself that the attack on her was a one time occurrence. Never again would she walk unseeing
through a day. “As long as I live, Catherine, you will never be alone.” The softly
spoken words were balm to her bruised spirit. He put her away from him. “You must call someone.”
“Yes, the police.”
Engulfing Catherine’s small hand in his, he led her from the warehouse. She took a long, despairing look at her father before she stepped through the door. After they found a phone booth, she alerted the police.
****************
With some hesitation she had reentered the warehouse and returned to be with her father’s body. Vincent felt the determination and resolve begin to form in her. She was finally beginning to discover for herself the strength that lived within her. “Vincent, I want to see the bodies of those men,” she stated.
“Do you think that wise?” he asked He wanted so desperately to keep her from seeing what he had done to the two hired killers. Surely she would turn from him then, and he would be left alone once again.
“Yes, I need to see them if I am to identify them.
Are they over here?” She moved in the
direction that he had tossed the lifeless bodies.
Filled with self-loathing and trepidation he led her to where they laid. “Turn them over, please?” she asked in a strangely detached voice. He did as she asked then stepped back, waiting for her condemnation.
For a long minute she stared, bent over, at the faces as if she was imprinting them in her memory. Then she drew back and looked up at him with compassion and understanding. “You did this?”
Mutely he nodded. Her compassion and understanding made him speechless. He could not believe what he was feeling from her; she did not fear or detest him.
“It must cost you a great deal of inner peace to do something like this,” she stated, going up to him and taking his hand into hers.
“Yes,” he whispered. She led him back to where he had spread his cloak out on the floor. He settled her on it and said, “I will wait until they come.”
Patting the space beside her, she said, “Sit beside me, please?”
Gracefully, he lowered his large body next to her, drawing his knees up under his chin, clasping his arms around his legs. Solemnly, he studied her. In the dim light he could see the angry bruise that had formed on her right cheek. Hesitantly, he reached to touch it then hastily pulled his hand back. It was a mystery to him how anyone could mar such beauty.
“What?” she asked, nonplussed.
“Your face.”
“They fixed it.” The silence stretched out as they tried to think of something to say. Finally, she asked, “Come to me tonight, please?”
He couldn’t resist the plea in her eyes. “I will come,” he agreed.
“I live at . . .”
“I know where you live.”
“You do?”
Shyly, he bowed his head only to have it snap up. “They are coming. I must leave. But I will be near.” He helped her to stand then grabbed his cloak and faded into the darkness. The warmth of his presence remained around her heart.