Smith - Running of the Bulls

RUNNING OF THE BULLS

Copyright 2011 ChristopherSmith

Smashwords Edition

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For my great friend, MargaretNagle.

Thank you for everything.

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Smashwords Edition, LicenseNotes

This publication is protected under theUS Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international,federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved,including resale rights.

Any trademarks, service marks, productnames or named features are assumed to be the property of theirrespective owners, and are used only for reference. There is noimplied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of thisbook may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanicalmeans (including photocopying, recording, or information storageand retrieval) without permission in writing from theauthor.

First ebook edition 2011.

Cover design by TridentMedia.

For all permissions, please contact theauthor at ChristopherSmithBooks@gmail.com

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Anysimilarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) ismerely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 Christopher Smith. Allrights reserved worldwide.

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http://www.christophersmithbooks.com

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For their help with this book, theauthor is particularly grateful to Erich Kaiser, Ross Smith, AnnSmith, Margaret Nagle, Matt Bialer, Brandi Doane, Jon McCann, TedAdams, Antonio Gragera, Constance Hunting, Deborah Rogers, TimMoore, Caroline Moore, Suzie Irby, R.J. Keller, Laura Baumgardner,Martine Bound, Jamie Clark, David H. Burton, Sandy Phippen, KeriThe Book Heroine Rico and Mathy Matturro Terrill.

The author also would like to thank theamazing team at the Chief Medical Examiners Office in New YorkCity; the City of Pamplona, Spain (and the bulls the author ranwith which were kind enough not to trample him); Ivan Boesky forhis inspiration, however unintended it was on his part; forsupportive readers everywhere who send along the best, mostencouraging mail; to those men and women who introduced the authorto the real Wall Street while he researched this book; and tofriends, old and new, all of whom either helped to shape this bookor who offered support as it was written.

Thank you.

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Books by Christopher Smith

Fifth Avenue (Book One in the FifthAvenue Thriller series)

Running of the Bulls (Book Two in theFifth Avenue Thriller series)

Bullied (Book One in the BulliedSeries)

Revenge (Book Two in the BulliedSeries)

Witch (Book Three in the BulliedSeries)

War (The Fourth and Final Book in theBullied Series)

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BOOK ONE

PREFACE

New York City

Bebe Cole was an apparition that movedforward without sound, an enigma in the center of the dim foyer,where she turned on unsteady feet, unbuttoned her full-lengthcashmere coat, and let it fall to the gleaming marblefloor.

She was naked, bloody,bruised.

Theyve killed us, shesaid.

Still stunned from the beating, EdwardCole stared at his wife from the doorway of their Fifth Avenueapartment, unable to answer her, unable to speak.

The bandage theyd wrapped around hischest was too tight for him to breathe with any comfort; the drugstheyd pumped him full of were too much of a chemical blow for hisbody to handle. He brought a hand to his ruined face and felt itsaltered shapes and swollen cheeks. He smoothed his fingertips alongthe uneven curve of his broken nose and wondered how hed everexplain this to a public who would want to know.

You said theyd showrestraint.

Her voice sounded as though it camefrom the far end of a winding tunnel, and Cole had to concentrateto hear it. He tried to focus on the petite figure that was hiswife, but she was disappearing, vanishing, becoming one with thedarkness rapidly unraveling along the edges of hisvision.

You promised we would besafe.

He shook his head at her infrustration, took a step toward her and was not aware that hedfallen until he lifted his head from the cool marble floor andtasted the fresh surge of blood rushing into his mouth.

Again, he tried to speak, but wordswouldnt come. And so he lay there, listening to the shallowness ofhis own breath, watching with fading eyesight as Bebes shoesturned toward the dark library, stopped, and then backed up quicklyas shoes that werent hers raced forward. Too weak to comprehend orto even care, Cole slipped into unconsciousness.

When he woke, he saw his wifefirst.

Strapped to a Queen Anne chair in thecenter of the foyer, her carefully dyed blonde hair tousled andhanging in her face, Bebe was surrounded by four tripods, eachholding a digital video camera trained on her. She was naked,shivering, gagged. There was a scrape on her forehead, cuts andbruises on her breasts. She locked eyes with him andmoaned.

Cole forced himself to focus, pushedhimself into a sitting position.

Bebe shook her head at him, tried tospit out the gag, but couldnt. She struggled to release herselffrom the rope that bound her hands and legs to the antique chair,but it was impossible. She turned her head to the left.

Cole followed her look.

There, sitting in the shadows beneathvan Goghs White Roses was a man Cole had never seen before. He washandsome, athletic, wore black pants and a fitted black turtleneck.In his hand was a gun.

The man rose from his seat, nodded atEdward and stepped beside Bebe, who followed his every move withher terror-filled eyes. Its about time you woke up, he said toCole in a relaxed voice. Weve been waiting hours for you. Hekissed the top of Bebes head. Havent we, dear?

She jerked away from him and looked toCole for help.

But Cole couldnt move--fear had rootedhim to the floor. Powerless, he watched the man remove the gag fromBebes lipstick-smeared mouth, press the gun against her temple andcock the trigger.

Bebe started. Her shoulders drew in andshe looked imploringly at her husband, whose own lips had parted inshock. The gun, Edward saw, had a silencer. The four video camerassurrounding Bebe hummed.

Your wife needs you and yet you sitthere, the man said with disappointment. After everything shesdone for you, after the way youve used and humiliated her in thismarriage, couldnt you at the very least do something to helpher?

Edward rocked to his knees, pushedhimself to his feet. He stumbled and leaned against a wall. Hisentire body ached. He was aware of his coat falling open, exposinghis fat nakedness, the bandages at his chest, but he didnt care.The man was running the barrel of a gun along the bloated curves ofhis wifes bruised face.

I want you to think of all your sins,the man said evenly, turning one of the cameras on Cole. I wantyou to think about every one of them. Right now. Think.

Who are you? Cole asked.

I want you to think aboutbetraying your friends, the man said with anger. I want you tothink about selling out to the SEC, taking that witness stand andsending one of your best friends to prison when you yourself shouldhave been rotting there in his place. The man cocked an eyebrow athim. Mr. Cole, I want you to think about all of it.

Bebe moved her head slowly, carefullyaway from the gun. In a quiet, barely restrained voice, she said toher husband: Its Wolfhagen.

The man kissed her on the cheek. Thecanary sings.

Hes hired this man to killus.

So he has, the man said, and fired abullet into her brain.

Edwards whole body went tense withdisbelief. Bebes unseeing left eye was blinking, her upper lipquivering, mouth working, foot twitching, yet she was dead, had tobe dead. Part of her head was on the floor.

A hand gripped his arm.

Cole turned and saw the woman just asshe jammed the gun into the small of his back and urged himforward, toward his bleeding wife, the man in black, the hummingcameras. Fight me, she said, and I swear to God you wont die asquickly as your wife.