Strip Read Online Free PDF Page B

block away unseen, not to move in unless there was resistance.
    Slosser was surprised that that the Hummers belonged to Kapak. He had always assumed that Kapak was a crook, but not the ugly, violent kind. He had seemed to be the sort who skimmed cash and understated his income. He seemed like someone who would someday find himself owning a club that wasn’t profitable anymore and would set fire to it for the insurance. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would send people to a construction site after midnight. The only two reasons that seemed to make sense were large-scale theft and extortion, and both seemed to be somewhere outside Kapak’s universe—too gritty and risky for a strip club owner. Slosser had never seen evidence that there was any enmity between Kapak’s company and Veruda Construction. It didn’t seem likely. The Coventry Towers project was a billion-dollar development, and it was only one of about five projects that Veruda had going. They were a herd of elephants, and Kapak was a gnat.
    Slosser looked at his watch and felt frustration. It was 8:50, only five minutes since the last time he had looked. He had hoped Kapak would get here early so he could make him wait.
    Slosser kept himself from looking at his watch again, and in a few minutes he heard footsteps outside his office door. Owens, his assistant, slapped his palm against the doorjamb once in a military knock and then opened the door. “Lieutenant, Mr. Kapak is here.” He added, “He brought his attorney.”
    Slosser kept himself from swearing, but he was aware after a second that his jaw was working, and he was grinding his teeth again. He stood and watched the two men step into his office. The first, he knew, was Kapak. He was a big man in his sixties, with broad shoulders, the thick neck of a fighter, but a paunch that hung over his thin black belt. His hair was still a coal black that made Slosser suspect it was dyed. He had a sour, almost pained look on his face. The second was the attorney, a slight man in his forties with a sallow complexion, pale eyes, and thin, spidery hands that kept fiddling with his Blackberry as he stepped in with his briefcase on his wrist.
    “Gentlemen. Right on time.” Slosser turned to Owens. “We’ll use Room Six.” To the others he said, “Follow me.” He set off down the hall, threading his way past the people in the hallway. He got to Room Six and opened the door to let the others in. He was mildly surprised that Kapak had brought his lawyer. In one way it was a gift. It meant he was scared of Slosser, and that meant he was guilty of something.
    There was a quiet understanding in the world of police and criminals. When you first pulled them in, you would have a conversation. The suspect would use the time to rat out his enemies, try to strike a bargain, and listen for clues as to how much the police knew. The cop would use the time to try various stratagems—say somebody else had named them as the perpetrator already, or that cops had found the gun, or tested their DNA, or some other lie. Lying was a privilege that had been upheld a hundred times in a hundred court cases. When the suspect got tired of the discussion, he would ask for an attorney. That was the signal he was done talking, and it was time to end the interrogation. Cops seldom asked a question after the subject of attorneys came up, and the suspect tended not to answer any. Slosser looked at the attorney.
    “I’m Lieutenant Nicholas Slosser. And you are…?”
    “I’m Gerald Ospinsky, Mr. Kapak’s attorney.”
    “Oh, yes. I remember the name from Mr. Kapak’s files.”
    “Ahh. What files would those be?”
    “As you know, Mr. Kapak has a couple of business licenses and liquor licenses, and you filed the papers for him. He’s also been cited for several violations of zoning, parking, nuisance, and noise codes. You responded to several of the complaints. Any other questions before we begin?”
    “No”
    “Mr. Kapak, could you