Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 13

I still had the business card Frankie Markopolos gave me the first night we met, but I could have just followed the smoke. The Nihilist was escalating things—each inferno was bigger and deadlier than the last. I was starting to see Corrigan's point, even if I didn't like to admit it—even if he was on "my side," the Nihilist didn't share my priorities. I may have taken a perverse pleasure in punishing the people who screwed over my city, but I least I knew the difference between destroying the Fen and saving it.

"So, like, how'd it go?" asked the voice in my ear.

"Terrible," I said, surveying the burning offices of Parthenon Construction from the roof of a building just across the street. "You mean Simon's trial, right?"

"Duh. I couldn't bear to, like, actually watch the footage, but it was all over social media. You're not allowed to check, by the way—speaking as your social media manager. They're, uh... not being very nice. To Simon or you."

"That figures," I said, creeping along the ledge to get a better look at the street below. "They didn't put him on the stand yet, but... Ellie, I'm worried about what's gonna happen when... you know. What if they ask about—?"

"We gotta trust him," said Ellie. "He'll make it."

"God, I hope so," I mumbled. I had noticed two men standing next to a black sedan with whitewall tires parked about thirty feet from the blazing ruins. One was well-dressed and handsome, with his curly, dirty-blonde hair slicked back to highlight his rugged features. His shoulders were tense, and he kept pacing up and down the sidewalk. The other was tall and balding, with round, mirrored sunglasses shielding his eyes from the flames. Unlike his companion, he seemed perfectly calm.

I laid down flat near the edge of the roof and turned on my eavesdropping app.

"Who'd they get?" asked Frankie Markopolos seriously.

Dalton Reaves checked over his shoulder before answering.

"LaRocca, Bellini, and Saccone are all missing. We won't know for sure until they recover the bodies."

Frankie cursed loudly in Italian. I had seen him pissed off before, but never like this. Dalton remained as callous as ever in the face of human misery. You'd never know the three mafiosi the Nihilist had burnt to a crisp were his friends.

"What about the others?"

"Phony Charlie and that new guy—Sabatini—were taking a smoke out back and just got singed. Nick was with you, Billy the Comb was out collecting. Most of the crumbs got it, though."

Frankie slammed his fist against the roof of the sedan.

"I'm going to Augusto," he said. "We need to go to the mattresses until we deal with this freak. Even if he won't give the order to the whole family, that's my order to you. Pass the word along to the others."

"You got it, Frankie," said Dalton.

"Call our guy at the post office and say nothing gets delivered to any of our properties in the Fen. I don't care if it's a 50-pound package or a get-well card—nothing. And Dalton..."

He reached into his pocket and held out a small black notebook.

"Tell our shylocks to call in all their loans and all our tenants the rent's going up. That'll teach this revolutionary nutcase to @$#% with us."

Dalton hesitated.

"It'll be bad for business, Frankie."

"I'd say that's pretty bad for business too!" said Frankie, jerking his finger angrily at the smoldering ruins of Parthenon Construction. "And if the tenants give us any crap..."

"I know," said Dalton, taking the black book from his boss. "I'll see to it."

Frankie climbed into the black sedan and drove off. Dalton stood alone for a while, apparently admiring the flickering of the dying flames. I waited until he finally strolled off in the direction of Joplin Heights before continuing my conversation with Ellie.

"Okay, we need to get this solved before the Nihilist makes things worse for everyone. What was the Nihilist's message this time, Ellie?"

"Lemme see..." said Ellie, pulling it up on whatever device she was using. "Here it is: 'No bankers, no landlords.' Not much there."

"Nothing we didn't already know. And it might be a smokescreen to throw us off. So, what do we have so far? An all-night pharmacy, a small-time loanshark, a corrupt bank, a crooked law office, a gentlemen's club, and now Frankie's construction company. Let's assume Augusto Vaccari is the connective tissue. What's the Nihilist trying to tell us?"

"Well, the Chambers is easy," said Ellie. "Ol' Augusto's a member. Same thing with the Cohen twins—they represent him whenever he goes to court."

"So whatever this is about, there might be a record of it. Ellie, try looking up anyone that's sued Parthenon Construction during the past two years."

"Got it. Lemme just see if... Hmm. Nope. Nothing of interest, Maggs."

I repeated the word Frankie had just used, only this time in English.

"What about court cases involving the bank? Or maybe someone else at the Chambers?"

I listened as Ellie's fingers danced over the keys.

"Still nothin.' Mafia guys like to settling things outside of court."

I stared into the smoking ruins of the building, still lit by the orange glow of hot embers. What were we missing? The Nihilist was trying to send a message. Why couldn't we...

"Ellie," I said abruptly. "Try fires."

"Hmm?"

"Find me... like, an apartment building that burned down in the past two years and was rebuilt by Frankie's company. Preferably one owned by Augusto or one of his lackeys."

I waited impatiently for the results of Ellie's search, but I wasn't disappointed.

"Heyo, here we go. Good call, Maggs."

"What'd you find?"

My phone buzzed, and I saw that Ellie had sent me an old article from the Evening Examiner.

"Just over a year ago, an apartment block on Penhook Street caught fire in the middle of the night and went up like a rag soaked in kerosene. 17 people died, including—yikes—including 3 kids."

"What started the fire?" I asked.

"Well, the forensic report said one of the tenants left their stove running."

"So, definitely arson."

"Oh, yeah. The tenants were organizing a rent strike. The survivors tried to sue the landlord, but they didn't have much luck in court. Ooh, and guess which late lamented Polish mobster owned the building?"

My heart was suddenly racing.

"Gerard Rosinski," I said breathlessly. "Ellie, can you get me a location on Albert?"

"I'm way ahead of ya, vigilante."