Chapter 3 - Two Hundred Men
At 6:42 that evening, every car alarm on Clara’s street began screaming.
She looked through the blinds.
Then froze.
Black vehicles filled the street.
SUVs.
Sedans.
More arriving behind them.
Men in dark suits stepped onto the sidewalks in organized silence.
Neighbors disappeared behind curtains.
S’s bodega lights went off.
Clara counted thirty men before giving up.
Then came the knock.
She opened the door.
Victor Kaine stood on her porch.
Clean black shirt.
Long black coat.
Pale, but upright.
Behind him stretched an impossible line of men.
Clara stared.
“You brought everyone?”
Victor glanced over his shoulder.
“Not everyone.”
“This is the Narrows, not an invasion.”
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“You need two hundred people for that?”
“Apparently my staff is nervous after last night.”
Daniel stood several steps behind him.
Clara pointed at Victor’s side.
“You’re walking too much.”
Several men exchanged bewildered looks.
Victor’s eyebrow lifted.
“That’s your reaction?”
“You tore muscle.”
“There are two hundred armed men outside.”
“And none of them can stitch you.”
Silence.
Then Victor laughed.
It was brief and unexpected.
“May I come in?”
“Alone.”
Immediately, one of the men objected.
“Boss—”
Victor raised one hand.
The street became silent.
“Alone.”
He entered.
Clara shut the door.
“What do you want?”
Victor removed the watch from his wrist and placed it on her table.
“You returned this.”
“It belongs to you.”
“You returned the money.”
“I charged you.”
“You could have taken everything.”
“I could also rob S’s register. Doesn’t mean I should.”
Victor looked around.
“Your rent is overdue.”
Clara’s expression hardened.
“You investigated me.”
“I investigate everyone who gets close enough to cut open my shirt.”
“That was medically necessary.”
“Still.”
He placed a folder on the table.
Clara didn’t touch it.
“What is that?”
“Your life.”
“Then it’s probably depressing.”
Victor opened it.
“Clara Hayes. Trauma surgeon. Excellent record until twenty-six months ago.”
“Stop.”
“A patient died.”
“I said stop.”
“The hospital had you covering two surgical teams after fourteen hours on duty.”
Clara’s jaw tightened.
“I made the mistake.”
“The hospital settled quietly and blamed you publicly.”
“I signed the report.”
“Because your department chief told you that accepting responsibility would protect the residents.”
Clara stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
Victor closed the folder.
“I ask better questions than hospital lawyers.”
She stepped closer.
“Stay out of it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
Victor watched her.
“You saved me when you had no reason to.”
“That does not buy you my life.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“It doesn’t.”
He picked up the folder.
At the door, Clara said, “Why are all those men really here?”
Victor stopped.
“Because someone inside my organization arranged what happened at the docks.”
“And?”
“And until I know who, everyone needs to believe Victor Kaine is alive, standing, and protected.”
Clara understood.
The display outside wasn’t for her.
It was a message to the city.
Victor opened the door.
Clara called after him.
“Tomorrow.”
He looked back.
“Excuse me?”
“Dressing change.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Three o’clock?”
“Two.”
“I have a meeting.”
“Then bleed at your meeting.”
Victor stared at her for a moment.
“Two.”
He stepped outside.
Two hundred men moved with him.
Clara shut the door.
Five seconds later, someone pounded on it.
She opened it.
Henderson stood there.
Her landlord looked at the departing convoy.
Then at Clara.
Then back at the convoy.
“You know Victor Kaine?”
“No.”
“Clara, there were two hundred men—”
“He’s a patient.”
Henderson went pale.
“A patient?”
“Yes.”
Henderson swallowed.
“About the rent—”
“Friday, right?”
“No rush.”
May you like
Clara slowly smiled.
“That’s what I thought.”
