Page 33 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“Theo,” Shelley said. “Sweet boy. Even when he was ten years old, he was fascinated with making movies. He’s eighteen now, and he’s starting at NYU Film School in September. You need more coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Kylie said. “Go on with your story about Travis’s pitch.”

“I’m getting there,” he said. “So you know how my wife laid down the law a few years ago—no more smoking cigars in the apartment.”

“Yes, I knew that,” Kylie said, waiting for Shelley to land the plane.

“Well, one evening after dinner, I was sitting in the park enjoying a cigar, when I spot Travis Wilkins. Just like that, he walks by, and we get to talking and I ask him what he’s working on, and he says he and his son are developing an idea for a TV series. Naturally, I’m curious, so I ask him to tell me about it. He says it’s still in the early stages, but here’s the gist of it.

“The backstory starts a few days afterNine-Eleven. Our government is paranoid. They don’t know where the next attack is coming from, so the president authorizes aspecial-opsteam to infiltrate domestic terrorist cells and eliminate the leaders. You know, cut off the head, you kill the snake.

“A few years pass, the group is dissolved, its history is expunged, and the five assassins are put out to pasture. They have all these skills but no place to market them. So they go off on their own. In the pilot episode, it’s twenty years later. They’re in their sixties, making a shitload of money, and they’re still at it.”

“What can you tell us about the hit men?” Kylie asked.

“Travis is smart. He knows that people love characters that are bigger than life. Superman can fly. Spiderman can climb up a building. But of course, these old guys aren’t superheroes, so they can’t have superpowers, but he gave each of them a trademark that lets you know they’re the best in the world.”

“Like what?”

“Like the sniper. He was a master of the neck shot. He could hit his victim in the Adam’s apple from half a mile away.”

Kylie and I are trained to keep our reactions to ourselves, but this was a gut punch, and we both locked eyes. Shelley caught it. “Oh, shit. Don’t tell me Warren Hellman was shot in the neck,” he said.

“Were any of these hit men handy with a knife?” I asked.

“What do you think? One is good with a rifle, one with a knife, one with poison—”

“Stay with the knife expert,” Kylie said. “What’s his signature?”

Shelley picked up a teaspoon from the coffee station. “Most people stab like this,” he said, raising his arm over his head and plunging the spoon downward. He did it again and again and again, accompanied by musical screeches, until he was sure his invisible victim was properly dispatched. “Hitchcock turned it into an art form inPsycho.”

“And Travis’s character?” Kylie said.

“Like a surgeon.” Shelley jerked his head back and drew the deadly utensil across his neck from the ear to the jugular. “Pffft.One slice and the victim bleeds out.”

One slice.The same wordsDorsey-Joneshad said when she examined Curtis Hellman’s lifeless body on the running track.

Kylie and I didn’t speak, but Shelley could read our faces. “You guys are starting to freak me out,” he said. “There was nothing in the paper about how Curtis died. It just said ‘stabbed.’ But was it this?”

He reenacted the stabbing, capping it off with another decisivepffft.

In every investigation, you wait for that one instant when a door opens up and suddenly you can see a path that could lead you to an arrest. Kylie and I call it theholy shitmoment. I looked at her.Older hit men. Neck shot. One slice. She looked at me, and aholy shitgrin spread across her face.

“Shelley, we’re going to need a copy of the pitch,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Shelley said. “I just told you. I was in the park having a cigar when I bumped into Travis. It wasn’t a real meeting. He didn’t have a hard copy of the pitch in his pocket. It was just two guys sitting on a bench talking about the business.”

“What else do you remember?” I asked.

“Nothing. He was going to give me some more details, but I cut him off. I told him it wasn’t my kind of show. Now I’m starting to regret it.”

“And that was the last time you talked to him about it?” Kylie said.

“Yeah, that was it. Short and sweet. Over and done.” He hesitated. “Except...”

“Except what?”

“You know me,” Shelley said. “If I like someone, I try to help them out. And I like Travis, so I said, ‘Look, it’s not my cup of tea, but it’s a good idea. It’s a nice twist on the oldmurder-for-hiretheme. You develop the show, knock on some doors, and I’ll bet you find a buyer.’”

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