Waiting for GRIT to come back from the copy editor. Until then, meet Kat Wells. She will be a big part of the third novel. Thinking of the title Blind Trust. 3:16 pm Kat was pacing in the lobby of Brogan’s magnificent townhouse. The cab ride over was one of the most perilous journeys of her life. The driver spent the entire trip talking into a head set in a foreign language. At one point, the cab was so close to the cab next to them, they dinged the door handle against the other cab. The other cabby cursed in a different language than her driver who gave the man the finger and sped off. Not a day away from home she missed Telluride dearly. She hoped she would get back in time for Willy’s party. At the Waldorf, which was marvelous, she had a few minutes to call the manager of the New Sheridan about some minor details for the party. Everything was set, only her arrival would be in question. Kat was thankful for the delay of the meeting. It gave her time to compose herself after the cab ride and to gather her thoughts. She knew that telling Mr. Brogan of Paul Pugliese’s death would be an important moment in her career. She was prepared to acquit herself well, with authority and professionalism. She wore her only tailored suit. It was blue and a few years out of date. She had bought it for a convention in California, and the light fabric didn’t pair with the New York autumn. She doubted that a man would notice, but it made her a bit uncomfortable all the same. Kat wondered what type of man this Brogan was. How could a federal agent afford such a place? Living in Telluride taught her that there was no way of telling how wealthy a person may be from their appearance or profession. Most of the wealthiest people in town dressed like bums. Still, she found the opulence of her current surroundings a little unsettling. She was circling around the center table and flower arrangement when the side door opened. The man who greeted her at the door when she arrived, some sort of Butler she assumed, came in. “Mr. Brogan will see you now. Please follow me.” She followed into an interior office. The room had TV screens on all four walls none of which were turned on. There were an elegant couch and coffee table to her left as she entered and a large desk at the far end of the room under a stained-glass window looking out to an interior garden. It was clear from the décor and general draftiness of the home that there wasn’t a woman around, and certainly not children. At the desk was who she assumed to be Mr. Brogan. He rose, and she walked briskly and a little stiffly in a direct line towards the desk. He was maybe six feet, wearing a blue blazer and slacks, a pressed pocket square. Her first take was that he looked like some of the successful ranchers whom she has met over the years; men of wealth and blisters. This being New York, she figured him for an ex-cop that moved up the ranks. Where the money came from she couldn’t imagine, but he wore it well. She extended a hand. “Mr. Brogan, thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Matty Walker.” He shook with a firm grip. Up close he seemed to be a rich sixty, which she took for sixty eight maybe seventy. “William Brogan. Ms. Walker, our mutual friend seems to think that it was necessary for me to clear my calendar to meet with you.” Kat smiled. “This better be good huh? Yes, I believe you will find it worth your time.” She extended her arm towards the couch. “May I?” Not waiting for him to respond she walked towards the furniture forcing him to follow. “Yes of course, please sit.” He came around the desk and waited for her to sit and stood over her for a moment to try to recapture the lead role in the room. “Would you like coffee, tea, anything.” “A little water would be nice.” Brogan turned back to the desk and pressed a button on his desk. “Brian, a little water please.” He took the high-backed chair, and they sat in silence as Brian entered with a silver tray holding two bottles, one Poland Spring, the other Pellegrino. He placed down the tray and asked Kat, “would you like sparkling or flat?” “Flat please.” He turned a crystal glass over and poured the water. All the while, Brogan sat silent, observing her body language, the way she held herself. She was tense he thought. Maybe came to ask a favor, maybe with bad news. It was clear from her bearing that she had something of substance to say. Brian glanced at Brogan to see if there was anything else he might need. Brogan shook his head and he discreetly left the room. As soon as Brian left, Brogan leaned forward in his chair placing his elbows on the arm rests and forming a steeple of his fingers. “What can I do for you?” Kat sipped her water to clear her dry throat. “Paul Pugliese is dead.” Brogan was surprised but not shocked. They all die. “When”? “Sunday evening. He didn’t show up for an appointment on Monday morning. They checked the tape and found that the assault took place in his back yard.” Brogan immediately knew the purpose for the visit. “Carla Pugliese?” “Yes.” He rose and went back to his desk and picked up the phone. “No one will answer.” Kat almost shouted from the couch. He placed the phone gently in the cradle and stood with his back to her. He cupped his right elbow in his left hand and ran his fingers across his face stopping at his chin. Thinking, as he looked out the window. “Who sent you?” he asked his back still turned. “I can’t say.” He turned and slowly walked back to the chair and sat. The wheels were in motion, who to call, how to deal with Frank. “Thank you for delivering the message. Brian will see you out.” Kat was ready for this. She steeled her nerves. “I don’t think so sir.” “You don’t think so?” He was clearly angered and agitated. “Do you realize what we are dealing with here?” “Yes sir I do.” He shifted in his chair, leaned back and crossed his legs. Eying her, sizing her up. “Enlighten me.” Kat didn’t know what she was authorized to reveal, but she was on her own here. The success of the assignment was in the balance. “I don’t know what you know so I will give you what I have. Carla Pugliese has been carrying out hits on behalf of Paul Pugliese for about ten years. We have her for at least seven, probably more. She ambushed the two agents in the mountains outside Telluride, soon after she killed a local drug dealer outside of town; we believe to get her hands on some cash. She killed a lounge singer in Kansas and a local thug in St’ Louis for his car. It appears that she has been working her way to New York. The only survivor of one of her assaults is a man named Frank McGinley, who I assume you know, since I’m sitting here. I believe that she came to New York to kill her uncle, which she accomplished, then kill Mr. McGinley to wipe out any witnesses. The FBI is going through all of Paul Pugliese’s correspondence as part of his murder investigation, but I doubt they will find anything. The only thing to do, in my opinion, is to wait for her to attempt an assault on Mr. McGinley and engage her there. She has been gathering momentum; she won’t stop until she kills him. Her weapon of choice in these recent killings had been a hunting knife. She will have to get close to Mr. McGinley. If you provide me with Mr. McGinley’s address, I would appreciate it.” Brogan was impressed with her and also a little put out. Clearly, a lot of time and effort have gone into this, and he was kept out of the loop. There was a time when he was at the highest levels of power, now he has a woman in an outdated business suit getting him up to date. Once you’re out you’re out he thought. At least until they needed you. He felt old. There were at least a dozen questions that popped into his head. Where was the car? What were the names of the victims? He didn’t ask since he knew they wouldn’t be answered. Instead, he thought he would find out a little about this woman sitting in front of him. Test her. “Why you?” “Excuse me.” “Mob leader dead, assassin on the loose, why not a team of agents? Why you? Are you a local out there in Colorado? From your accent or lack of one, it’s clear that you are from the area. Let’s face it, if you had any talent as an agent, you would have been in New York by now. I would know you, and I don’t know who the hell you are.” Kat was getting pissed off. He may be some kind of big player, but she wasn’t about to be brow beaten by any man. “I’m a cop.” “A cop, Jesus, they send me a cop? Listen to me now.” He stood up. “I’ve been running this type of operation for more years than I care to admit. I don’t work with cops. Cops are for stakeouts, calling one of my men when it’s time to act. I’ll take it from here. I’ll have her in cuffs in a day or so.” Kat stood to meet his glare. “Mr. Brogan. I will not be spoken to this way. You want to know why me? I broke the case. I tracked her across the country. You didn’t know anything about the Kansas or St. Louis killings. I saw it in your face. I don’t care how tied in you are with the agency. They didn’t know either. I know her. I’ve known her for over ten years.” She put her hands on her hips and took a step forward, closing the gap between them. She tried to calm herself a bit. “Let me ask you a few things. You have been following her for how long? How many killings have happened since you started tracking her? What does she look like? Have you ever seen her face? Can anyone you ID her? What color is her hair now? Don’t question my abilities or dedication to this case. I know a hell of a lot more about Carla Pugliese than you will ever know.” She realized that she had her finger up, and it was shaking. She put her hand down and reached for her water. She looked at Brogan and he had a blank look on his face, a look she had many times when confronted with a ranting citizen. “What’s your role in this?” She sipped the water to moisten her throat. She placed the glass back gently on the tray. “I’m here to kill her.”
Posted on: Tue, 30 Jul 2013 18:42:02 +0000
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