Silvia Keenan was normally a woman who exuded confidence, but in her fifty-seven years, she had never come close to committing a crime before. As she walked through the doors of the Commerce Bank and Trust, she was sure that everyone would see how nervous she was, and certainly she would be stopped and arrested. The safety deposit boxes were across the large lobby next to an immense vault and secured behind a set of great steel barred doors. In front was a young bank clerk at a desk with a sign that read "You must sign in." He barely looked at her when she showed the key to box E102.
"Please sign here, and I need two forms of identification."
Silvia signed Maryann McManus' name and produced the social security card and driver's license that Steven had taken from the McManus home. The bank clerk never even bothered to look at the picture on the license. He wrote down the license number and handed it back with the social security card. Silva had been prepared to say how it was a bad photo, a not very good likeness, which anyone could see. Maryann's license bore the typical washed-out image created by the state's newest high-security process.
The desk clerk handed her off to the vault clerk who took her into the security box area. He stopped before a row of large boxes and asked for the key Silva had in her hand. Placing his key and her key in box E102, he pulled the door open and extracted the box. Then he led her to a booth.
"I'll be right outside if you need me," he said leaving the box and exiting the booth.
For the first time since entering the bank, Silva began to relax. She opened the large box and was surprised to see it was almost filled by a Redwell file folder. She sat down in one of the two small chairs and took a deep breath. When the folder was extracted, the box was empty. All it contained was the folder.
Silva suppressed the urge to grab the file and run. When Steven Fitzgerald had explained the situation, she was more than happy to help, but she hadn't fully thought through the consequences. Now both curious and afraid, she inspected the Redwell. It contained five bundles of documents. Each bundle was carefully clipped together by a two-hole binder clamp. Each had a list of the documents in reverse chronological order. It was all very neat and precise. A master index of three pages was at the front of the file.
She was in no doubt that she had the object she was sent to get. She took a deep breath and placed the file into her carry all bag. To fit it in, she had to remove the book she had brought to read in her jail cell if she was arrested. She had selected the hardcover copy of Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow. She picked up the Hamilton biography for five dollars at a charity book sale. It was a ponderous and rather dull book, and now it occurred to her, she would need to replace the missing weight of the file she had removed to avoid any suspicion from the bank employee.
She put the book in the box, closed the lit, zipped the file up in her carryall, and called the attendant to help her return the box. Then she exited the bank with a cheery goodbye to the desk clerk feeling the exhilaration of having got away with it. Steven who had been waiting in the bank's lobby followed her out to her car.
"I got it," she said opening the car door, "I was so nervous, but they barely checked."
"I told you. It's just routine," he said.
In her car, Silva gave him the file, "Is it everything you need?" She asked.
He was scanning the index, and the records looked complete, but there was no way actually to know. It appeared that the Index had been updated recently, but you couldn't tell. This was somewhat troubling, but he said, "It looks complete. Thank you. It's a good and brave thing you have done," and gave her hand a firm squeeze. She leaned over and planted a kiss upon his cheek.
"Please just make it count for something," she said.
Steven could see how much she needed to be part of this, to get some redemption for what happened to her son. She needed to purge the guilt that haunted her. It had driven her to walk into that bank in spite of her natural fear and her own morality that told her it was wrong. All he could do was nod and say, "I will make it count."
He realized how shallow his life had been to that point. How much he let an event in his childhood influence him down the wrong path. He used his God-given talent for the wrong purposes. Now he had a chance at redemption; he was determined not to miss it.
****
Lieutenant Ed Brandt of the Van Patten County Sherriff's was seated in Brown's Pub watching the newest waitress Pollyanna Randall playing her part. The woman was, he decided, a definite phenomenon. Had he not known her criminal history as related by Jimmy O'Reilly, he would have thought her an innocent school girl.
Polly looked barely legal, although she was twenty-four. She was flirting with every male in the place, and the way she looked and moved was an invitation to a hard-on. She was giving special attention to a table of black professional men, and one, in particular, Frank Patterson.
Ed was brought into this game by Steven Fitzgerald to provide Polly backup and keep his eyes on her as far as possible while she went about seducing Mr. Patterson. It was not without risk. Ed had arrested Patterson, so the son of a bitch should remember him, but like most people, Patterson didn't remember Brandt out of his uniform. Besides, Frank was too busy watching Polly's hips move, and her nipples poke through her blouse.
Fitzgerald wanted Patterson watched, and figured the best way was to give him a hot new girlfriend. There was no doubt that Polly was hot, or that Frank was interested. Nevertheless, the woman played a great game. It took her mark all night, and a round of drinks after his friends left to get her to give him her phone number. Thanks to Steven, she had a burner cell phone and a new apartment in Guilderland. It all went with her new name, Ann Smart.
The plan was simple, get Polly/Ann close enough to Patterson to watch what he was about. For her part, Polly was glad to give up stripping and whoring for the money Fitzgerald was paying her. O'Reilly did the negotiating. Apparently, Jimmy had some disreputable history with this woman. Not surprising considering O'Reilly's reputation, but the only reason Brandt agreed to help was the tape; they played him. He would gladly see Fitzgerald and O'Reilly pay up for their actions, but Sullivan was a different matter.
Brandt believed that Sullivan was a decent man but in the wrong profession with the wrong wife. A man too honorable to expose the bitch for the slut she was. A man too honest to accept without guilt the dirty compromises that were required by his profession. Right now, he was in a hospital bed the victim of an attempted homicide on election day. Sullivan lost the DA race to his opponent, an incompetent ass hole who happened to be in the right party. It didn't surprise Brandt that someone wanted Sullivan dead, or that a worthless piece of shit like Frank Patterson would be in on the plot.
Polly clearly had Patterson interested and completely fooled. She turned on those big innocent eyes and wiggled that perfect ass of hers, and a certain type of man went brain dead. Patterson had her cell number, and he was getting ready to leave. The big Sherriff's deputy turned away as Patterson passed him. When he turned back, Polly was standing at his table.
"Anything I can get you? Another diet coke or maybe something else?" she said leaning in suggestively. Brandt only rose from the table, "When he calls, let me know," Brandt said.
"Maybe he won't."
"Yeah, no chance of that. Just give me a call right away."
"Will do sir," she said with a little salute and a giggle.
She was one damn attractive honey trap; Brandt thought, and he needed not to get caught in it.
****
Jimmy O'Reilly was trying to work on a divorce case where the plaintiff wife was actually paying him for his services, but he was distracted by thoughts of the governor's business. According to his deal with Fitzgerald, he was responsible for keeping an eye on Patterson and Greco. He had Brandt and Polly watching Patterson, but that left Greco. Tara O'Reilly and her staff of private investigators were doing a good job of following Tony, but it was getting them nowhere. He needed to find out who in the state police Greco was working with before another hit was tried. Sullivan was the easiest target, but Jimmy was betting that the prime target was Fitzgerald. Get him, and maybe some people sleep a whole lot better.
The problem was Fitzgerald didn't seem overly concerned. He refused to carry a gun or take any precautions. He seemed to be going about his ordinary business, but Jimmy was betting the man already had the file and was in the process of flushing out whoever was behind the Patterson/Greco murder plot. It was only a question of whether Jimmy could get Greco before Greco got Fitzgerald.
Jimmy's phone rang, "Hey big brother you will never guess who Tony Greco just met at 677 Prime," Tara O'Reilly said.
