Before anyone asks, not this is not the sequel to Wolves Mate for Life. That will be posted after this story is done. This story is in the same world with Get Carter Again.
Shout out to my beta, ReeseisLAVAhot. You rule! Thanks to SassyJ for helping me make Wesley British enough to be believable!
Chapter 1 - Looking for Information
The door to the Visitor's Center opened with a clang and Carl Elias entered. He had been quite surprised to find he had a visitor. It was not Harold's day to visit and he was not expecting any of his men.
Elias did not recognize his visitor and he was instantly wary. This man was British, according to the guard, and Elias had no British contacts, so there was no telling what this well-dressed stranger wanted. The stranger's suit was designer, perfectly tailored and expensive. His cuff links and watch looked just as expensive. But despite his high end packaging, Elias sensed this was a deadly man. Oddly, he reminded Elias a lot of John Reese. Perhaps it was the military bearing, perhaps it was the expensive suit wrapped around a vague sense of menace.
The man stood up and offered Elias his hand, "Good afternoon Mr. Elias. My name is Alistair Wesley."
Elias raised an eyebrow and shook the offered hand, "I'm afraid your name doesn't ring a bell with me, Mr. Wesley. What can I do for you?"
Wesley sat down at the table, followed by Elias. "We have never crossed paths, Mr. Elias, but we do have a mutual…acquaintance."
"Oh?" Elias said. He was quite curious now, but still wary.
Wesley opened the folder sitting on the table and handled Elias a picture. Elias looked at the piece of paper in his hand. The photo was taken from a security camera, that much was obvious, and the photo was of very poor quality, but he recognized John immediately.
Wesley was speaking, "I see you recognize The Man in a Suit."
Elias nodded and handed the picture back to Wesley, still wary of this well-dressed but dangerous man. "Yes, I know him."
"Delightful!" Wesley smiled a predatory smile. "This man ruined my plans last time I was in New York and cost me a lot of money."
Elias chuckled in amusement at his visitor, "He's good at that."
"So I have heard. I have a new project in the works and I am looking for information on this man, information I can use to neutralize him. I am willing to do you a favor in return; all you have to do is name it."
Elias shook his head, still smiling in amusement, "I'm afraid I cannot help you, my friend."
Wesley seemed caught off guard, "I'm afraid I don't understand Mr. Elias; I assure you I will make a very good ally."
Elias nodded, "I don't doubt that Mr. Wesley and I do hope we can do business in the future. But in this matter I must refuse. You see, I owe this man my life." Elias noted the stranger's surprised expression and his smile got just a bit bigger. He was enjoying this. "Oh, he didn't know who I really was at the time he saved my life. He honestly thought I was history teacher who wandered into some unfortunate circumstances. Regardless, I do owe him a blood debt. Besides, I find him rather refreshing in his Boy-Scout type view of the world."
Wesley studied Elias intently for a moment and then nodded, "I understand. Mr. Elias and I must say I am quite impressed with your sense of honor."
Both men stood up and they shook hands affably. "I do hope we can do business in the future. Cheerio." And Wesley took his leave.
Once outside the prison, Wesley folded his tall frame into the car waiting for him. "That was fast," his associate commented.
"Honor among thieves, Ian," Wesley sighed. "Seems John Reese once saved Carl Elias's life and so Elias won't help us."
"Well, I'll be damned," Ian laughed, "A crime lord just restored my battered faith in humanity."
The last surviving Mafia Don looked up as the door to his office opened and his 3 o'clock appointment was escorted into his office. Luciano Grifoni leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs as he looked over the extremely well-dressed stranger. The stranger barely even glanced at Grifoni's bodyguards; he was obviously used to being around well-armed and dangerous men; probably because he was quite dangerous himself, if his reputation was accurate. Despite the fact the stranger had come unarmed and alone, Grifoni suspected that this guy was fully capable of taking down several of his men before they killed him if this meeting went south.
The stranger stood on the other side of the desk and smiled at Grifoni. Grifoni allowed himself to give the man a small smile back as he rose from his chair, "Alistair Wesley, I assume?" he growled in his low, gravelly voice.
Wesley reached his hand across the desk and gave the Don's hand a firm shake, "Yes, and you must be Don Grifoni, delighted to meet you at last. I take it Mr. Barrington vouched for me?" Wesley's accent was a standard middle class accent, the same one used by the BBC announcers, probably pounded into him at school. It wasn't quite refined to be upper class, but then men in Wesley's profession were rarely born in to the higher classes.
Grifoni nodded. "Yeah, he says you're legit. I won't ask how you know him."
Wesley nodded cheerfully as he took a seat in the armchair across the desk, "It's better that way, for both of us."
"With Barrington, it usually is. Would you like a drink?"
"Water, please."
Grifoni waved his hand at his bodyguard who poured Grifoni a whiskey and gave Wesley a bottle of water from the bar fridge.
Grifoni waited while Wesley took a sip and then asked, "So Mr. Wesley, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Wesley reached into his briefcase and Grifoni's bodyguard stepped forward and reached for his gun, his eyes intent on the stranger. Wesley paused and raised an eyebrow at the Don.
Grifoni growled at his man, "Didn't you search his briefcase when he got here?"
"Yes sir."
"Then let the man get his stuff out, will ya?"
"Yes, sir." The bodyguard dropped his arm and stepped back, but continued to stare hard at Wesley.
Grifoni nodded to Wesley and Wesley withdrew a folder from the case. He opened the folder, withdrew a picture and pushed it across the desk to the Don. Grifoni looked down at the picture and his lip curled into a snarl. The picture was obviously taken from a security camera, it was grainy and blurry, but he still recognized the person in the picture.
It was the goddamn Man in a Suit.
Wesley was watching the Don's face and saw the grimace of recognition. "I take it you are familiar with this individual?"
"Yeah, he's fucked up a lot of my operations. They call him the Man in a Suit. No one knows his name except that his first name might be John and that only narrows it down to half of New York."
Wesley nodded, "That means we have something in common. Last time I was in New York he interfered in what would have been a very lucrative project for me. His interference was very costly, to the tune of millions of dollars. I have another project in the works and I would like to learn what I can about him so I can neutralize him."
Grifoni snorted, "Good luck with that. This guy is good. No one knows his real name or where he lives or who his boss is."
"Oh come now, surely there is something you can tell me about him? He's been operating in New York for a couple of years now," Wesley prodded.
Grifoni really did not like having to admit to this Brit that The Man in a Suit had remained so mysterious and elusive, it stung his pride.
"This guy is some do-gooder who has taken down God only knows how many operations. He's got some serious money and brains behind him. He's the muscle, word is he's former Special Ops. I don't doubt it, he's got the skills. There's a list of about seventy-five cops in the NYPD that used to work with us who are now in jail because of this guy. Half of Riker's would like to get their hands on him right now."
"Yes, yes, I know the stories. I've heard them all. I need a weakness, something I can exploit. Does he have any friends? Does he drink? Do drugs?"
"No drink, no drugs, that we know about, anyways. But he's got a couple buddies. Some little dweeby guy with glasses and a limp. Calls hisself Crane when he surfaces, but he doesn't surface often. But that guy's even more elusive than The Man in a Suit. He's only been seen a few times, and only when he wanted to be seen. Like the Suit, no one knows who he really is or where he lives.
"The only other person he is known to associate with is a detective working out of the 8th precinct, nosy bitch by the name of Carter. Those crooked cops I told you about? When they went after her, the Suit dangled their captain off a ten story building until he agreed to call the dogs off. That captain still wound up with a bullet in his back a few weeks later. I don't think it was coincidence."
Wesley looked thoughtful, "So he cares for this Detective Carter?"
Grifoni took a sip of his drink. "Yeah, word on the street is that she's untouchable. Everyone who has a beef with her has wound up dead or in jail since he came to town."
Wesley raised an eyebrow, "As I recall, didn't Detective Carter save your life when Carl Elias was killing off the Dons of New York?"
Grifoni made a rude noise deep in his throat, "You've done your research, congratulations," he said sarcastically. "She's still a cop and an annoying, righteous bitch. I don't owe her squat."
Wesley gave the Don a calculating look, "I see. Well you have upheld your end of the bargain, I shall uphold mine." Once again Wesley reached in his attaché case, pulled out an envelope and tossed it on the desk. "That is the address and current alias of the snitch for whom you have been hunting. He's living in a quaint little village in the southern portion of Ireland. I would suggest hiring some Irish professionals to take him out; an American would be spotted a kilometer away in that out of the way hamlet."
Grifoni reached for the envelope, "Thanks, Wesley. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
Wesley stood up and shook hands with the Don, "Likewise, Mr. Grifoni." Grifoni's bodyguard showed him out.
Outside, Wesley climbed back into the car that been patiently waiting for him at the curb. Ian pulled out into traffic smoothly and headed uptown. He glanced over at Wesley, "How did it go this time?"
Wesley sniffed, "Loathsome individual. I hope next time our paths cross I have the pleasure of killing him. The man has no gratitude or appreciation for the woman who saved his miserable hide. At least Elias refused to work with us because John Reese saved his life. But I did receive some interesting information. I know how to keep Reese out of our affairs now."
Wesley activated his phone, "Philip, I need you to hack the NYPD personnel files and get me all the information you can on a Detective Carter, female, currently assigned to Eighth precinct. It appears that she is the Achilles heel of John Reese."