Date: Sat, 27 Jul 2002 16:24:20 +0200
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Infamous Trade 13/17

----------------------------

INFAMOUS TRADE
by Andrej Koymasky
(C) 1998 - 2002
written the 20th of July, 1995
translated by the author
English text kindly revised by Jer

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"INFAMOUS TRADE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes
of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so
on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But
if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you
really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

-----------------------------

THIRTEENTH

New York

Dan, his cellular telephone at his ear, was sitting on the window sill of
Jacques' bedroom looking at one of the streets of Washington Square Park.
The light afternoon rain had reduced the number of tramps on the street to
a minimum.

On one of the park benches a homeless Hispanic was looking at a cock lying
dead and covered in blood -- the remains of one of the night fights that
were held in the park. At the center of an empty fountain a gaunt ashen
blonde in a quilted jacket, was practicing Tai Chi with solemn grace.

Turning back, Dan threw a smiling greeting to Jacques who was lying in his
bed, connected to the metal tube of his blood transfusion. The French man
weakly raised his hand to return the greeting and smiled at him, in his
turn.

A second later Dan, with a wolf's smile, talked on the telephone, "All
right. We will meet when you arrive."

Pushing back the antenna, he put down the telephone. He again looked
through the window and slowly swallowed. For a few seconds he watched the
tall transvestite wearing a white bride's dress, paratrooper's jacket and a
pink sunshade, who was rollerblading from Bleaker Street. Then he looked
again at the telephone.

"Gosh, what a mad world!" he sighed in a low voice, leaving the window.

He sat on the edge of Jacque's bed, took a hand of the dying man and told
him about the telephone call from Rowland and about his request.

Jacques drew a weak smile. "As my grandmother said, trust everybody, but
mark the cards. You did right.!

"I simply did as you advised me -- you foresaw even this."

"At times the success of an operation demands you even end a friendship.
This is why you have to always remain detached from any battle. Otherwise
you cannot correctly evaluate the situation. You cannot recognize the
stronger and the weaker for each position, yours included. Keep yourself
cool, and you can force people to act exactly as you want."

Dan nodded in assent and tenderly caressed his pale and skinny hand, "I
took care of Black's friends, instead of him, as you told me. Shooting his
colleague was a very good idea that put him out of action. In these last
hours we got rid of him. I'd say that we can carry out the auction and do
with Terry what we like, without interference. Yung Chem and Rowland think
they are two shrewd people, but they cannot compete with you. They go
around the world presuming they can move seas and mountains, and instead
you are here, nailed to this bed and direct all the action. I like this."

"Always think in long terms, boy. And once you decided what your goal is,
act fast. Who hesitates is doomed to lose. Where is Yung Chem, now?"

Dan pointed with his thumb at the cellular phone, "He told me he is about
seventy miles from Albany. He will arrive in town at mid afternoon. It's
raining, but if the roads are not too bad, he could be here before Rowland
lands at Kennedy."

"The dear Rowland! The man who thinks he can solve all his problems with a
murder. Death is his way to put an end to a contract. It seems that there
will be some confusion tonight in the Big Apple. We have an international
auction, young meat on the fire, but we will not be honored by the presence
of Yung Chem and Rowland, the aces of human depravation. What's that story
about the problems that Chem met in London?"

"Besides having lost his eight million dollars in the deposit robbery, it
seems that three fake English cops tried to rob him in the hotel. Chem
fucked them and made them spill the beans, then he eliminated all three and
devoted himself to the instigator. The brain of the attempt was that
Nigerian who manages brothels in Africa, that Jonathan Katsina. I checked
him and he seemed clean."

"Jonathan Katsina... a nice name. Isn't he the one who every year bought
from us a slave, if he was a white boy over twenty?"

"That's the one. But probably he was a little less nice when Chem and his
men found him out. Chem told me that first they cut out his tongue, then
they gelded him and when he lost consciousness, they set fire to his travel
agency. Of course with him inside. Our good African for sure felt got more
than a ram with two cocks!"

"A ram with two cocks! You are becoming worst with age. I imagine that Chem
was mad at you. He doesn't pay you to get headaches, does he? You said he
didn't hear from Rowland until afterwards -- how did he come to know about
the robbery?"

"The news is already on the front page on the Herald Tribune. After he read
the story and he shit in his trousers, Chem called the Korean Embassy in
London. He learned that Rowland had his safety box completely emptied. And
that he told the police that there were eight million dollars in cash, gold
and other items of purely sentimental value..."

"Did Rowland know about the Nigerian and the attempted robbery of Chem?"

"He didn't say a single word about it when he called me from Heathrow.  The
deposit robbery was enough to fill all his thoughts, for the moment, mainly
with the thought that Chem will ask for his head. Losing those eight
million dollars at this point puts his life seriously in danger. This
doesn't mean that Chem forgot about Terry -- he is more crazier at the
thought about us about having the kid rather than him!"

"So he'll personally come here to take the boy..."

"That's for sure. And we will make Rowland happy. It will be enough if you
advise him not to go downstairs with his two gorillas, not to scare the kid
too much. It will be a child's game."

At the beginning of the morning Dan had been to see Terry in his cell, and
found him more depressed but still determined to resist him.

Wanting to fool the boy, Dan told him, "I just made a call to your mother,
to send me some clothes for you. It's time you changed. She said she'll
send them soon."

"I don't want to talk to you. You are only tell lies." Terry answered,
remaining seated on the edge of his camp bed, with his school books at his
feet.

"Your mother said she'll send you your favorite clothes..."

"Oh, really? And which one?"

Caught in surprise, Dan said the first think that came to his mind, "The
one that your school mates always envied you..."

Terry nodded in assent with a light smile, "Oh, you mean my clothes of all
colors, that of Benetton?"

"Yes, right that one."

The trap had triggered, but it was not Terry who fell in it.

The boy looked at him with a pitying air before lying on the bed turning
towards the wall, "I hate Benetton, his clothes make me vomit. I don't have
even one of his hideous all colors clothes."

Dan raised an eyebrow and left the room. Defeated.

Later Jacques told him that. If he was looking for the spring sustaining
Terry, it simply was the hate towards him. Chem had to be informed that the
boy would bring him only "problems and worries", like the Arabs used to
say.

"Does Chem charge Rowland with the robbery at the deposit?"

"Both for the robbery then for the problem with the Nigerian. Considering
the actual state of Chem, I would say that Rowland took the right decision
-- in his place I would have done the same thing."

"This is the end of an epoch, Dan. The bounds that united us are about
ending. On the other side, we don't really need them, even if they were
useful. What time are you leaving?"

Dan looked at his watch, "Still a few minutes, then I will be back before
going to the auction. I have to be here when Chem will come to take Terry."

"Did you remember about Russell Fort?"

"You know, it's amusing that you recall that right now -- today is his last
day here on earth, sincerely. I told Sammy to kill him."

"Wouldn't it be better if you took care of that personally?"

"No, I now have to go to do a favor to Lo Casio -- I have to do so that a
nice couple remains united forever."

"Do you have to absolutely carry out that contract with Lo Casio?"

"Joe asked me as a personal favor. He wants everything be done well, that's
why he called me. It is a problem that concerns the family's honor, and
there should not be any mistakes. And later I will be in such a position
that I can ask them a favor, in return. Think in long term, isn't it? One
of his men now manages Chem's island, therefore, afterwards..."

They held each other hands, in silence, then Jacques said in a whisper,
"Try not to be killed. If something should happen to you, it would be the
end for me. You are all I have in this world. If you will go, in one way or
another I too will go. And anyway it would not be fun, without you. Who
else could make such beautiful rose displays? Who else?"

"Stop behaving like an old auntie." Dan told him, moved, trying to put it
on the joking side.

"But I am an old auntie!"

Dan kissed him on his forehead, "I'll be back, promise."

"There are three possibilities that things can go wrong. The Chem-Rowland
problem, the auction without them, and now this contract with Lo Casio.
Each of these things can become a problem, Love, don't forget it." Jacques
said in a low voice and closed his eyes.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

While Dan Firestone was leaving his lover's house to commit a double
murder, Black stood up from his chair beside the hospital bed of Ellen
Dekker. who was deeply asleep, and inspected the thermostat. Sixty six
degrees. Too cold. He adjusted the temperature to seventy-two.

The afternoon rain lowered the outside temperature and in the room he was
trembling with cold. Black preferred the warmer climates because they eased
the rheumatic pains in his bones and joints.   The result of twenty years
of karate and abuse to his body. Warmth was a condition favoring the speed
and power of his strokes.

But professionally, Black saw the advantages coming from the cold season.
Ice kept people at home and this decreased the number of crimes committed
on the streets. Temperature below zero, snow storms and strong blizzards,
at times, contributed to a policeman's tranquillity as much as would a
bullet proof vest.

When they shot her, the previous morning, Ellen wasn't wearing her bullet
proof vest. There wasn't really a reason to wear it, certainly not when she
was scheduled to spend eight hours behind a desk at District. As she told
Kevin after the operation, she left home and was shutting her door, when
somebody shot her three times in her back with a .22 caliber.

One bullet brushed her shoulder making a superficial wound, but the other
two caused larger damage -- they broke one of her ribs and pierced one of
her lungs, and forced the doctors to cut away her spleen. With time, she
could recover and resume her work, if she wanted to. Black knew policemen
who had recovered from gun shot wounds, but who were so badly traumatized
that they couldn't even approach the District without trembling.

Ellen didn't see the face of the man who shot her. Anyway, lying on the
pavement in front of the entrance after she was hit, she saw he was running
to the upper stairs, towards the roof. From what Ellen could see, he was
wearing wide gray trousers and brown shoes. Her husband, who ran out at her
screams for help, said that he heard somebody running upstairs. Once on the
roof, the killer apparently passed on to another building from which he
went downstairs into the street and vanished. Whoever the bastard was, he
knew the area very well.

A dozen agents, on their free time, from Ellen's district aided the local
police to question the neighbors looking for clues. They talked with
everybody.  They rummaged in the trash bins, in the dumping, in the
abandoned buildings, hoping to find the pistol. No trace, no witness, no
motive. From everything, it just emerged that Ellen was really popular in
her area, so much as to gain the respect even of the smugglers operating in
the area.

In the hospital room, Kevin looked at the flowers and fruit baskets that
her friends had sent her.  Many calls came, and telegrams from friends,
relatives and policemen who didn't even know her.  They were moved by the
fate of a colleague, whose wounds were the big news event of the day for
the New York press. The mayor, the commander and the TV cameras were coming
and going. Now the switchboard received all calls, until a new order came,
and a policeman was on watch outside the room, twenty-four hours a day.

Meanwhile Kevin was losing sleep trying to discover who had tried to kill
his colleague and why. Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or a criminal
arrested in an old case trying to square accounts? In some ways, Kevin was
sure it was not so, or else the murderer would have shot both of them, not
just Ellen. Unless he was the next on the list. If somebody planned a
diversion to divert him from his actual enquiry, he couldn't have done a
better job.

He went to the closet, found his raincoat and retrieved the cards he took
from Alberto Sacchi diary. He went back to his chair, and before reading
the last of them, he finished what remained of a tuna sandwich. Charlie
Yearley came to the hospital to bring him sandwiches and coffee. On his
invitation, Kevin spent the previous night at his apartment, which was just
a stone's throw from the hospital. He slept on the couch, exchanging only a
few words with the young man. He was too upset by the shooting to give him
more than a greeting when Charlie bid him the good night, going to his
bedroom. Even if he had to spend his entire life, he would discover who
shot Ellen and why! That morning he woke up early, took a shower, made some
telephone calls.  Leaving a note to Charlie to let him know what his phone
bill was,. he left before the young man woke up.

While the rain hammered on the hospital window, he drank a sip of coffee
and started to read the cards that he had sorted in his own way. There was
the card on Firestone with the addresses and telephone numbers of his
house, his lover, office and his disco. Then a card for Fort. Then he put
together a list of lawyers, clients, the address of his city apartment, his
sea side house, and the premises belonging to Alberto. Then there was a
card devoted to Kim Shin and the other Koreans, most of them working at New
York Consulate. Kevin suspected that some of those numbers could correspond
to fake identities of Yung Chem.

There was also a card dedicated to a certain Mister Fox, containing several
telephone numbers in London. Kevin had already heard that name somewhere...
oh, yes, in Silvan's office. The problem was that he couldn't remember when
and about what the Treasure Agent called him. As he didn't know how Mister
Fox entered into the picture, he put his card under the others. That
morning he called Mister Fox's numbers from Charlie apartment.  He
discovered that one belonged to a fashion shop called Blackberry, one to a
house in Chelsea, and one to a charity institution. All those numbers had a
common link, a man named Rowland Preston. To tell the truth there were two
things in common -- in all three places the person who answered his call
had never heard about a Mister Fox...

Silvan. What the hell had that fat Texan said? Kevin closed his eyes trying
to concentrate, breathing deeply and emptying his mind of all thoughts. He
relaxed and waited.

"About that kid you are looking for, Terry what's-his-name..." he said and
asked him, "What the hell has Terry to do with Kim Shin?" but as usual
Silvan confused his question.

Opening his eyes again, Kevin looked again at Mister Fox's card and studied
it. Why did Silvan say his name? What did the Englishman have to do with
Terry? And what business could he have with Alberto? Firestone and Chem...
problems of washing big amounts of money. Alberto and Kim Shin... Alberto
and Firestone... Kim Shin and Chem...  and Mister Fox? Was he in the money
laundering business? That fat Texan wanted him to go slowly with Koreans...
to avoid international accidents, of course, but what kind of accidents?

Firestone and Fort... Max and Grace disappeared... Fort and Firestone and
Alberto... Grace, Terry and Charlie went several times to eat at
Alberto's... Could there be some relation? But Charlie didn't disappear...

The ringing of the telephone woke him from his meditation. He ran to pick
up the phone before it would wake Ellen. He was ready to scold whoever
would be calling. There were to be no calls, unless it was an emergency.

"Detective Black. Who the fuck is calling this room?"

"I'm Jack Mullighan, I thought it was important, so I contacted your
District and they authorized me to call. I'm so sorry for Little Bag... for
Ellen. If I could help you with anything, just tell me..."

"Thank you Mullighan, what happened."

"I got a tip-off about a load of pistols stolen at Kennedy Airport by Lo
Casio's men. You said it was important..."

"Tell me everything you know..."

"Our informer only gave us a tip-off -- he said that it was a load of .22
caliber and that Lo Casio gave three of them to Dan Firestone. A gift, not
a sale, and this seemed weird to me. And I know you are asking about
Firestone..."

Black closed his eyes -- perhaps a little piece of the puzzle was going
into its place.

"I owe you a favor, Mullighan." Black said and cut him off without waiting
for an answer. When he turned back, Ellen was looking at him. He approached
her and told her the news he had just received. "What can we do now, Ellen?
I'm sure it's Firestone, keeping me away from something I got too close
to..."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Russell Fort was sitting on an uncomfortable chrome metal stool in the
small office of Alberto's restaurant. He was silently observing the Italian
man who was checking with meticulous attention the payment orders for the
stock of South American boys that Fort went to see in Mexico. Fort was
sitting with his back to the first floor window protected by thick metal
bars, and that was practically opaque with dust and smog. He had to put
some books under the stool's legs to keep it balanced on the irregular
floor. At that moment Russell was more interested in the money than in the
balance of the stool -- he had not yet been paid for his mission, and that
made him nervous.

He owned money to Lo Casio's people, a debt that Firestone promised to pay
for him. Fort would not earn a single cent from the mission, but if they
gave him the money to pay his gambling debt, he would consider himself
lucky. He lit a cigarette moving cautiously, still aching from the beating
he got two days before from Firestone. His arm was in a cast and he had two
broken ribs.  This made any movement very difficult .

The trip to Atlantic City, the cover for Fort's journey to Mexico, ended up
being a bust. Not only he lost the biggest part of the two thousand dollars
that Firestone gave him for his expenses at the blackjack tables, but Susan
in the end became a problem. He had to explain to that bitch everything --
how Firestone kidnapped Terry Dos Santos with his help, how he helped kill
the boy's parents, and how detective Black entered into the game.

Susan lost her head. Into what shit of a business did he and Firestone pull
her? Wasn't it enough to involve her in the death of the two undercover
agents? She started to abuse him for having dragged her into becoming
accomplice to such a filthy and disgusting work. She wanted to put an end
to that shame. If Fort didn't want to step back, she would have do it
alone, and if they tried to threatened her, she would spill the beans to
the DEA or Kevin Black!

Fort let her give vent to her emotions, giving her the impression she won
-- a little because he felt weak and so battered.  A little because he
promised himself to make her change her mind when they would stop and hit
the bed. While she drove the car, he pretended to fall asleep. Yes, in bed
he would work her until she screamed with pleasure, and then he would make
her do anything he wanted. Or rather, he would take her to Mexico to sell
the boys! He felt a sadistic pleasure at this prospective... He could even
ask Jacques to made of her his slave.  He was a magician, that man... or
did it work only with faggots?

In Alberto's office, Fort stood up from the stool with a couple of saddle
bags hanging from his hands. There would be no money to put in them, this
time. All he put in them was a ball pen filled with cocaine, a James
Baldwin novel, a cheap notepad and a 9 millimeters Browning. Usually he
would have put the sack on his shoulder, but not this time -- his ribs were
hurting too much.

Alberto smiled him, offering him his hand, "Forgive me for letting out some
steam with you, before, my friend. You have to understand that I am under
pressure, I should have everything ready before this evening."

"Well, we all have a lot of problems, just look around..."

"Are you sure that you and Susan don't want to stay for supper? You'll be
my guests, of course. This evening we have sea bass that melts in your
mouth. And as a dessert we have some lemon cake with home made ice cream,
real Italian ice cream..."

"Another time, we're tired. I only want to relax. We'll jump in the car and
go directly to Susan's house. Just be sure that Dan knows that the boys
were shipped and that the payments are okay, as you too could see."

"I'll take care of it. I'll call him at once, to let him know that you did
a wonderful job. See you, my friend. Forgive me if I don't see you to the
car to greet Susan, but I have to take care of supper. Say hello for me."

Disgusted by the role that Alberto had in Terry's kidnapping, Susan had
refused to put her foot in his restaurant. Russell solved the question with
a lie, saying that the girl was in her period and preferred to remain in
the car. It was a lie very close to the truth -- Susan felt ill. She felt
ill at the thought of seeing Alberto or any of the others involved in the
traffic of barely adolescent boy slaves.

The Italian showed Fort through the still empty restaurant to the entrance,
where they shook hands. He watched Fort cross the street, enter his
Oldsmobile and shortly discuss things with an agitated Susan. At that
period of the month all the women are agitated, don't they? When the car
started, he went back to his office and made a telephone call.

His conversation was short, "They left now. No, they go to return the car,
then they go to Susan's... Yes, I'm sure."

When Russell and Susan left the pizzeria between Broadway and the 79th,
they drove towards a sandstone building a block farther, where Susan owned
a studio above a Cuban restaurant managed by a family who fled from Cuba
when Fidel Castro took the power.

Susan was carrying a big pizza, Russell a plastic bag with a red wine
bottle and a box of candied fruits. At four thirty in the afternoon, it was
almost dark outside. The rain lightly coming down light forced cars to
proceed in a line and reduced the number of passers. Anyway it didn't chase
away the beggars from the street. In the span of a few yards, Russell and
Susan were approached by three beggars asking for change with their paper
cups. When they were near the building, Russell passed his arm around her
shoulders; recalling how much he liked her the first time she entered his
shop to buy some casual shoes, and started to flirt with him. The truth was
that in Susan he found a sweet woman, at times foul-mouthed, but always
very sweet.

In that moment she seemed like a little girl, with her green raincoat, her
soft hat and her sullen expression. A very sexy girl. Russell was already
anticipating an agreeable evening.  He would make her forgive him, as he
was able to do and as she liked. It was enough, he started to slowly
unbutton his swollen fly and she would at once slip to her knees in front
of him, hungry for his member to which Susan was more devoted and submitted
than a Hare Krishna to his guru. Russell was already aroused. Susan noticed
it and lowered her hand to daringly caress him between his legs, keeping
the pizza balanced with just one hand and giggling with a sensual gurgle.

At the corner between Broadway and 60th they crossed the street and turned
to the left, going fast, filled with desire, towards Susan's house, that
was now really close. A young couple of Latino lovers on the other side of
the street, moved towards them. The boy, shortish with a tough air, wore a
green wool hat that matched his jacket. He held a Christmas tree taller
than him. The girl wore a coat with a fake fur collar that she held closed
with her hand. Neither of them had an umbrella, Russell noticed with
sympathy.

Proceeding towards their building, Susan and Russell looked at the only
light above the building entrance. The Latinos passed beyond them, then
suddenly stopped, pulling out a couple of guns from their pockets. Turning
back the two youths shot towards Russell and Susan. Reaching the first step
leading in the building, Russell stopped and pulled Susan to himself to
kiss her. He saw her eyes brighten. In that moment he saw the two killers
in the corner of his eye. "Save Susan!" he thought pushing her away with a
scream. Then dropping his plastic bag containing the bottle and sweets, he
searched inside his saddle bag. He heard a pop-pop-pop-pop, accompanied by
a piercing pain at his thigh and slipped on the stairs. A bullet detached a
heel of his leather boots. Two holes appeared on the first floor window on
his left. Adrenaline rushed into his veins, like that time when on 6th
Avenue when a tramp went insane and tried to steal his pistol and he shot
six bullets one after the other.

Russell slipped his hand inside his sack while his preceived different
sensations -- the smell of the red wine that spread on the pavement, the
sensation of the stairs wet with rain where he fell, the orange flames
thrown up by the two pistols. He couldn't control himself any more, crazy
with the thought he had to save Susan and himself.

A second bullet hit his shoulder, a third one brushed his ear chipping a
piece of stone away. Russell held his Browning, and flipped off the safety
catch. Through his leather sack he shot five times. He hit the boy in his
chest, throwing him against the hydrant. Another bullet, shot by the girl,
hit the step between Russell legs, missing his testicles by a hair . After
this last attempt, the girl turned back and ran away towards West End
Avenue, disappearing in the darkness.

With his hand still in the sack, Russell stood up on the stairs and went to
kneel near Susan who was lying on the pavement. The rain was washing away
her blood with the same speed with which it flew out from the center of her
forehead. She had her eyes wide open, glossy for the entrance light, and
lifeless.

Russell shook his head and whispered, "Damn... oh, damn!"

He made a last effort drawing away from the corpse of his woman.

"Black. Who's on the line?"

"Russell Fort. At the District they told me I could call at the hospital,
in case of an emergency. I didn't tell them who I am."

"I can bet you didn't."

"I told them it was about the story of the two undercover agents who were
killed. They told me you were there, with your colleague. Listen, two of
Firestone's men just tried to kill me, and instead they caught Susan. She's
dead."

Black closed his eyes, "I'm sorry. You said they were Firestone's men?"

"Before we talk about the subject, I want your word that I will be put into
the federal program for witness protection."

"We could have discussed that yesterday. I don't think you are now in
position to bargain. I know perfectly well that you used Susan to sell the
DEA reports and the infitrator's identities. Do you have more to tell me,
Russell?"

Fort was silent, then said, "I think you need me as a witness and I'm ready
to do it. And not only about the infiltrators' affair. But only after we
have an agreement. I'm a former cop, my friend.  I would not last a week in
prison. They would kill me before that. Look, I'm not doing this only for
me, I'm doing it also for Susan. Anyway it's over, for me. The only
possibility I have is to send Firestone to jail and to bury him there. I
took a document from the pocket of the one I succeeded to send to God. His
name was Espinosa, he worked for Firestone's detective agency. Listen, I
don't have time to waste. I have two bullets in my body, I need to see a
doctor. I need protection, Black."

"Give me a reason to help you."

"Firestone knew about the two infiltrators from me thanks to Susan. I'm
ready to be a witness to that."

"Where are you?"

"One more thing. The boy, Terry Dos Santos. The one you are searching
for... I can help you find him and tell you who killed his parents."

Kevin felt his mouth become very dry. He cleared his voice a couple of
times before being able to talk again. He asked, "How do you know?"

"I'm involved, that's how I know."

"Fort, listen, where are you?"

"O fucking shit, friend! I have to move, there are two guys on the other
side of the streets who seem to be watching me. If they are Firestone's
boys, I'm fucked."

Black was impatient, his heart was hammering in his chest. He had to tell
Fort to come to him or to wait for him. The information he had was worth
more than gold.

He would have promised him anything and everything. "Listen, I'm a Federal
Marshal, I can give you full protection, I swear. Tell me where you are,
come here..."

"In a phone booth on Broadway... Oh Christ, friend, those two are coming
right here, towards me."

Black violently squeezed the receiver between his fingers, "Tell me where
you are, fucking..."

The line had been cut.

-----------------------------

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read them,
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