NYPD Red(7)

“He wants me to get pregnant,” she said. “I was just about ready, but when Red came along I told him it was my dream job, and if I got it full-time, we’d have to put the baby on hold for a few years.”

The committee regrouped. Spence isn’t in competition with you. He’s in competition with the job. If she stays on as your partner, she doesn’t get pregnant. Now what are we going to tell Cates?

There was a line of limos parked in the No Parking zone in front of the hotel. I had to hit the siren three times before the driver at the front of the line even looked at me, and twice more before he reluctantly gave up his spot.

We got out of the car.

“What’s the drill?” Kylie said. “You’re the senior. You want me to stay in the background, or jump in with both feet?”

“There are no senior partners or junior partners,” I said. “You’re here because you’re a good cop. Besides, Cates said the vic was a Hollywood producer, and you have the extra bonus of being married to a guy in the biz, so you understand what makes these people tick.”

Kylie shook her head. “I’ve got news for you, Six. Nobody knows what in the hell makes these people tick.”





Chapter 8



“SETTLE DOWN, PEOPLE,” the assistant director bellowed. “Picture is up. Roll sound.”

Henry Muhlenberg took a deep breath. He was finally back in control. Thirty feet away, looking elegant in a vintage Casablanca black shawl-collar tuxedo, The Chameleon had the same thought.

“Speed.”

The clapboard snapped shut, and the assistant director called out, “Background action.”

The Chameleon and ninety-nine other wedding guests slid into character, chatting, laughing, drinking, all without making a sound.

“And action,” Muhlenberg called.

The bride and groom, Devon Whitaker and Ian Stewart, stepped onto the dance floor, and the assembled guests stopped pretending to talk and pretended to be enthralled as the happy couple began to dance.

The band pretended to play. The music would be added to the sound track in postproduction. Ian and Devon twirled around the room.

“Dancing, dancing, dancing,” Muhlenberg called out, waiting for the couple to hit their marks. “And now!”

Edie Coburn stepped into the scene wearing a pair of wide-legged, high-waisted Katharine Hepburn trousers and a loose-fitting chocolate brown silk blouse.

“Well, well, well!” she screamed, pointing a nine-millimeter SIG Pro at the couple. “The former Mrs. Minetti finally gets to meet the current Mrs. Minetti.”

The crowd reacted with appropriate horror. Muhlenberg looked at the video monitor on the close-up camera. Edie Coburn was calm and cold on the outside, but seething with rage on the inside. Hardly a stretch for her to play the jealous ex-wife, Muhlenberg thought, but still, she was brilliant.

Ian turned to her, his eyes filled more with anger than fear. “Put the gun down, Carla. If this is another one of your stupid melodramatic—”

Edie fired at the bride. Once. Twice. Blood stained the lace front of the wedding gown, and Devon collapsed to the floor. Ian let out a wail and charged toward Edie. She fired again. Blood spread across his white shirt. He staggered, and she fired again. Arterial spray spurted across the dance floor, and Ian fell down hard.

It was a spectacular film death, and Henry had it covered with four cameras. “And cut!” he yelled. “Brilliant.”

The assistant director helped the bloodied bride to her feet. “Ian, you need help?” he asked.

Ian Stewart didn’t answer. He gasped for air and let out a groan that turned into a full-throated wet gurgle as blood gushed from his windpipe and onto the parquet floor.

The special effects guy was the first to figure it out. The blood squibs on the wedding gown had exploded right on cue, but the blood pouring out of Ian Stewart was very real.

“Live fire!” he shouted as he barreled his way onto the set, grabbed Edie Coburn’s arm, and wrestled the gun from her hand.

Henry Muhlenberg was right behind him. He dropped to the floor and lifted the actor’s head. The blood had slowed to a trickle. Ian’s face was contorted, mouth agape, eyes wide open, seeing nothing.

“Get a doctor!” Muhlenberg screamed, knowing it was futile.

The extras were on their feet, some stunned, some crying, some shoving their way to the front to get a better look.

The Chameleon stood in their midst, motionless, just another horrified face blending in with the crowd.





Chapter 9



KYLIE AND I entered the lobby of the Regency Hotel, and three men pounced on us. The general manager, the executive chef, and some guy from corporate. The manager informed us that one of their guests had suffered a heart attack, and Mr. Corporate said they were there to help in any way they possibly could.