Chapter 42 - Percy’s Wife

Chapter 42: Chapter 42 - Percy’s Wife

Jesse heard the jingle of keys on the other side of Carrie’s door. Then a muffled voice from inside the apartment.

"Car? Is that you? Oh my God, I have been waiting to hear from you? I’ve been texting you for two hours! Are you okay?"

Aileen.

Jesse took a step back from the door.

He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Carrie’s sister was part of this whole mess, and he didn’t know what she knew, what she’d say or how she’d look at him. Meeting her now, with no plan and nothing to say, wasn’t how he wanted it to go.

"I should go," he said quietly.

Carrie turned to him, surprised, her key halfway to the lock. "You don’t want to come in? Aileen would—"

"Another time." He held up the takeaway bag. "Thank you for this."

"Jesse—"

"I’ll call you." He was already backing toward the stairs. "Soon."

Carrie stood in the dim hallway, surrounded by shopping bags, watching him go.

"Goodnight," she said softly.

He gave her one last look, a small smile, and disappeared down the stairwell just as the apartment door swung open behind her.

Jesse set the takeaway bag on the passenger seat and started the engine.

He sat there for a moment with his hands on the wheel, listening to the low purr of the Porsche, letting the silence of the car wrap around him.

God, what a day.

He tried to piece it together in his head. Waking up in a hospital bed this morning. The police. The car. Percy Bonham on the sidewalk. Kicking Tatiana out. Andrew’s office. Rudy and the nameplate. Marlowe’s. The window shopper getting the VIP lounge. Dean Monroe in his perfectly symmetrical basement. A boutique on Madison Avenue. Seventy-eight million dollars. Dinner in a painted room with Carrie Morton in gold silk.

All of that in one day.

It felt like two months had happened since sunrise.

And tomorrow wasn’t going to be any easier. Ben Pruitt at nine. Then McQuise Hospital by noon, and two surgeries back-to-back.

He needed to go home, take a shower and sleep like the dead.

He pulled away from the curb and headed home.

But his mind wouldn’t slow down.

At every red light, every turn, every quiet stretch of road, it kept drifting back to the same place.

Angus Dent.

Jesse could still feel it if he let himself. The fist slamming into his stomach. The brick wall against his cheek. The hand crushing his groin until he screamed. The boots coming down again and again while he curled up on the wet pavement, tasting blood.

How many other people had Angus done this to? How many other Carries? How many other Jesses?

Prison, Jesse thought. That would be the easy answer. Call Officer Kowalski. Tell him everything. Give him Angus’s name and Carrie’s statement and let the system handle it.

But would that be enough?

Angus would get a lawyer. A plea deal, maybe. A few years in a cell, out in half the time for good behavior. And then he’d walk out the gates with the same fists, the same boots and the same contacts. And the first people he’d go looking for would be Carrie and Aileen.

No. Prison alone wasn’t enough.

Jesse wanted Angus to lose everything. Whatever money he had. His product. His reputation. Whatever little empire he’d built for himself in the back alleys of Queens. Jesse wanted him on his knees with nothing left but regret.

But to do that, Jesse needed to know him.

Everything about him. Where he lived. Where he slept. Who he worked for, and who worked for him. Where he got his product and where he sold it. What time he woke up. What he ate for breakfast. Who he was afraid of.

Every crack in his armor.

Nolan could start on that tomorrow or find someone who would. Nolan was a tech guy there’s no way he could really help him with this.

Jesse’s fingers tightened on the wheel. A slow smile crept across his face in the dark.

’I’m coming for you, Angus.’

******

The light ahead turned red.

Jesse eased the Porsche to a stop at the intersection. He was only ten minutes away from home now. The streets were quiet. A bodega glowed on the corner, its awning flapping in the breeze. A guy in a hoodie walked his pit bull past the crosswalk.

Jesse glanced out the passenger window.

And did a double take.

A woman was standing alone under the streetlight at the corner, beside the bus shelter, holding her phone in one hand and a small beaded clutch in the other.

Angela Bonham.

He almost didn’t recognize her at first. He’d only ever seen her in casual clothes. Sweaters, sneakers and Lulu Lemons, her hair pulled up in a messy bun while she chased Percy out the door to drive Annabelle to school.

Tonight, she was dressed to the nines.

She wore a fitted black dress that skimmed her knees and hugged every one of her generous curves, her hips and her waist and the full swell of her chest. Strappy black heels. Small diamond studs glittering in her ears. Her long black curls had been styled into soft, glossy waves that tumbled down her back. Her lips were painted a deep, dark red, and even from across the street, Jesse could see the smoky shadow lining her striking grey eyes.

She looked like a woman who’d spent two hours getting ready for something special.

But her face didn’t match her dress.

She was staring down at her phone screen with her mouth pressed into a tight line. Her shoulders were hunched against the chilly night air, and she had no coat. Every few seconds she looked up and down the scanty street, then back at her phone. Her eyes looked glassy, like she was trying very hard not to cry.

She looked like she was waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

The light turned green.

Jesse eased off the brake. He rolled through the intersection, then pulled over to the curb right in front of the bus shelter.

He lowered the passenger window.

Angela took a startled step back, her grip tightening on her clutch. She stared at the sleek black Porsche, then leaned down cautiously to peer inside.

Her eyes widened.

"Jesse?"

"Mrs. Bonham." He leaned across the passenger seat. "Are you okay? Are you waiting for someone?"

Angela blinked at him. Then she let out a short, embarrassed laugh and held up her phone.

"My Uber cancelled," she said. "Again. That’s the third one tonight." She shook her head and pushed a curl out of her face. "I’ve been standing here for twenty minutes. Nobody’s accepting the ride."

Jesse glanced at the empty street. Then back at her.

"I’m heading home now," he said. "We’re only a couple of blocks from each other. Let me give you a ride."

Angela hesitated.

She looked at the car. At him. Down the empty street again.

Then her shoulders relaxed, and a grateful smile spread across her painted lips.

"Oh, Jesse. That’s so kind of you." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He reached over and moved the takeaway bag from the passenger seat to the floor of the back.

Angela opened the door and slid inside. The car filled with the scent of her perfume, something warm and rich, amber and vanilla. She settled into the leather seat, crossing one leg over the other. The hem of her dress rode an inch up her thigh. She tugged it back down.

"Thank you," she said again, softer this time. "Really. You’re a lifesaver."

"Don’t mention it. I’m just helping out a neighbour."

Jesse put the car into drive.

As he pulled away from the curb, he let himself glance over at her once.

Percy Bonham’s wife. In his passenger seat. Dressed like that.

Jesse grinned and drove off into the dark.