I found a prepaid unit taped under the driver’s seat. It lit up red and blue in my hand every time it buzzed, almost like the thing was laughing at me, which it probably was.
“Yeah.”
“Funny how things work, isn’t it?”
I felt a bal of ice form in my stomach and a flicker somewhere deep inside my brain. “What do you want?”
“Look at the cardinal. Bloody great fucking hypocrite.”
My eyes slid over to the mansion. Gianni was stil on the front stoop, trying to hold the media hounds at bay. I thought the cardinal looked a bit chagrined. I wondered if he had any divine inkling as to just how bad his day might become.
“Want to see him executed, Kel y?” The electronic voice purred over the line. “Just say the word.”
I searched one more time. Lawns, tree line, cars. Then I opened the car door.
“No,” the voice said.
I froze, eased the door shut, and leaned back against the seat.
“Cardinal doesn’t die today, Kel y. So let’s drive. West toward the Kennedy. And no fucking around. That is, unless you do want to see a bul et in him.”
I turned the engine over, gripped the wheel, and headed toward the highway.
“I was worried you might not find the phone.”
“My lucky day,” I said.
“The camera is taped to your door seam, by the floor on the passenger’s side.”
I glanced over and saw the thin run of wire and a pinhole lens staring at me. I pul ed the camera free and threw it into the backseat.
“Know what life’s about, Kel y?”
“Why don’t we cut the bul shit and boil this thing down.”
“Is that the way you want it?”
“That’s exactly how I want it. Leave everyone else out. City, church, feds, everyone.”
“Underneath the other seat you’l find a flash drive. Play it and then see how you feel.”
The line disconnected. I pul ed down a dead-end street, popped my flashers, and reached under the passenger’s seat. The flash drive was black with a piece of masking tape on it. A single word was written on the tape: RACHEL.