Margot Harris Mystery Series : Box Set 2 (Margot Harris Mystery Series Two - Twisted)

by Nora Kane

  Twisted Redemption

  Margot Harris Book 10

  Nora Kane

  Prologue

  “Why here?”

  “I thought you liked the place? You used to hang out here all the time.”

  “Yeah, which makes it exactly the kind of place I want to avoid right now.”

  Tommy smiled. “Is that so?”

  Mal could tell he was messing with him. He knew when Tommy suggested they have their meeting at Layla’s West, a bar where he used to hang out with Margot, it was with intent. They wanted him to back out, feeling it would give Harry Lee some leverage. Even though it was a risk, Mal was there, he didn’t have much of a choice.

  Mal took a sip of his drink—whiskey on ice because being in here made him think of Margot and that was her favorite—and waited for Tommy to start.

  “We know you’ve been a go-between for the cartel and whoever had been moving in on Harry’s import-export business. The question is why and who?”

  “Why is none of your fucking business and neither is who.”

  “I disagree. How are we going to negotiate if we don’t know who’s setting up shop?”

  “Negotiate?”

  “There’s plenty to go around. Everybody around the world loves guns and girls, and we already have systems and infrastructure in place.”

  “Some of that infrastructure isn’t really yours anymore.”

  “You mean Masterson?”

  Mal didn’t answer.

  “Is that how you're moving guns? Using Masterson’s old set up?”

  Again, Mal didn’t answer.

  “You know the funny thing about that? The people on the other end were some paranoid motherfuckers. They wouldn’t talk to anybody they didn’t know. How is it they started trusting you?”

  “That’s not really important. What is important is that they do.”

  “Okay, then I guess there’s not really a problem then, is there? Masterson worked for us and did pretty damn well. I figure you’re a bit more ambitious than he was, but we can work with that.”

  “I’m just the go-between. My boss, on the other hand, is very ambitious.”

  “So, give us a percentage, and we all work together just like before.”

  “One hundred.”

  “One hundred what?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Tommy laughed.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Look, Masterson had the set-up to get things in, but Harry still has the distribution.”

  “Let us worry about that.”

  “So, your mystery boss just sent you to tell us to go get fucked?”

  “I was going to say it in a nicer way, but yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “You know that’s going to go bad for everyone involved.”

  Mal drank some and shrugged. “Some worse than others. Me? I’m just a go-between.”

  “You think that means you’re not involved?”

  Mal ignored the question and said, “Tell your boss to look for opportunities that don’t get in our way. Like you said earlier, there’s plenty to go around.”

  “Seeing how this is something he sees as already his, I don’t picture that going over well.”

  “Not really my problem.”

  “You sure?”

  “Is that a threat, Tommy?”

  Tommy smiled and sipped his rum and coke.

  “You got any more to say?” Mal asked him.

  “Why’d you save Margot?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m guessing whoever is running you wasn’t happy with that decision.”

  “No one is ‘running’ me.”

  “I’d bet the mystery man giving you orders would disagree,” Tommy drawled as he finished his drink and stood up.

  Mal didn’t answer.

  “You know I never liked you,” Tommy told him. “I mean, I get how dirty cops are useful, but I have more respect for people who pick a side and stick with it.”

  “Do you think I care what you think?”

  “No, I just thought I’d tell you while I had the chance. I don’t think you’re going to last much longer,” Tommy replied as he turned and headed for the door.

  Mal sent a text as Tommy walked out. He was instructed to text ‘yes’ if for some bizarre reason Tommy said Harry would be fine getting cut out of a significant chunk of his own business and ‘no’ if he had a problem with it.

  Mal typed in ‘no’ and hit send as he headed for the back door.

  Mal was in the alley when the gunfire started. The way it echoed between the densely packed building on the street, it sounded like a battalion was opening fire. Mal knew it was just one man with two guns. A guy they called Sweeper. Mal didn’t know if that was a nickname or his actual name. He really didn’t care. He did know he’d fire until both extended magazines on the pair of Mac-10s he liked to carry were empty. Meaning he was pumping sixty-four rounds or so into Tommy for—as far as Mal could tell—no reason beyond his boss sending Harry a message he already knew. They’d killed two cops, so anybody with half a brain would know they wouldn’t hesitate to start killing people.

  He was almost at the end of the ally when a car pulled in front of him. When the window went down, he expected to take a face full of bullets like Tommy was out front. He knew he hadn’t been a good soldier.

  Instead, he was told, “You have one more job, and then I think your debt is paid.”

  “I don’t think that’s up to you,” he replied. His debt was to the cartel and setting this deal—cutting them in on an illegal revenue stream they weren’t in on before—was supposed to cancel that debt.

  “Lucky for you, it is. They wanted to kill you after what you did at the beach.”

  “There’s no reason to kill Margot.”

  “They disagree and so do I. She needs to go.”

  “Did they say that? Or was it you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Mal stared inside and thought about the Colt python hanging under his arm. His jacket was open, and it was well within reach. Sweeper was too busy leaving the scene to stop him.

  The boss smiled, “Don’t get upset. I know you can’t do it. Sweeper will take care of her after she tells us where Cassie is. All you have to do is stay out of the way.”

  “Then I guess this is goodbye.”

  “No, you still owe me Cassie. Even if Sweeper finds her, instead you’re staying on until it’s done.”

  “Why do you care about her? You just started a war with Harry Lee. All she does is make noise.”

  “She made noise about me. I don’t like it.”

  Mal wanted to argue but even if he could make a case for disobeying, the sirens were getting louder, and he couldn’t afford to be seen by the cops.

  “Okay, but I do it my way.”

  “As long as you make it hurt.”

  The window went up and the car sped off. Mal walked at a brisk pace to his car and drove out of there. He wondered if he could just keep driving and somehow forget this mess he’d gotten himself into.

  The answer, sadly, was no.

  Chapter 1

  “Do you know who I am?” asked the man waiting in Margot’s office as she sat across from him. Another guy in a suit and tie—this one a much younger version of the guy sitting on the opposite side of her desk—stood in the corner with his arms folded, trying to look tough.

  Margot studied the man in front of her for a long second before the reason he was familiar came to her. She’d seen him at Detective Ames’ funeral.

  “You’re Detective Myers. You were partnered up with Burke on the Organized Crime Taskforce.”

  Myers nodded. “I should have been there.”

  Margot shrugged. He didn’t have to go into detail about where ‘there’ was. He was referring to the Sandpiper Motel where his partner Burke along with Ames lost their lives to a drive-by shooter. Ames’ partner and Margot’s boyfriend, Rick Radcliff, survi
ved but had hardly come out unscathed. All three were veteran detectives, and Ames might have been the department's best. Margot thought Myer’s assertion that his presence would have made some difference was highly unlikely. The most likely result would have been another dead detective. She kept that thought to herself.

  “The quiet guy in the corner is Special Agent Stafford. He’s with the F.B.I.”

  “Nice to meet you, Agent Stafford.”

  He replied with a barely perceptible nod.

  “I bet you’re wondering why a guy from organized crime and an F.B.I. agent would be here?”

  “I figured you’d get around to it.”

  “Have you heard about Harry Lee?”

  “No, what about him?”

  The F.B.I. man raised an eyebrow. “I figured given how close the two of you are, you would have known before us.”

  “I’d hardly call us close.”

  “There’s a stack of surveillance photos that says differently.”

  “We’ve crossed paths. My work sometimes requires I deal with the likes of Harry. What happened?”

  “You knew his bodyguard, Tommy Huang, as well,” Stafford said.

  “You said ‘knew.’ Something happen to him?”

  “Somebody sprayed him with a machine gun coming out of a bar last night.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yeah. They hit him enough times to kill him five times easy.”

  “If you’re wondering,” Myers said, “it was a drive-by: a white late-model sedan of some sort. The shooter, or shooters, were firing Mac-10s.”

  “I’m guessing that sounds familiar,” Stafford prompted when Margot didn’t reply right away.

  “You think it was the same shooter that killed your partner and Ames?”

  “Signs seem to point that way.”

  “Last I heard, you thought that man was dead.”

  “That may have been wishful thinking,” Myers replied.

  “It gets better as far as you're concerned,” Stafford told her.

  “Let me guess, you’re thinking Mal may have had something to do with it?”

  “It’s not an unreasonable assumption in general,” Myers said, “but in this case, we have a witness seeing someone who fits his description talking to Tommy right before he walked out of Layla’s West.”

  “Layla’s West?”

  “You familiar with it?”

  Margot looked over at Stafford; she guessed his stack of surveillance photos included more than a few from Layla’s West. She said to Myers, “Ask him” and jerked her head in Stafford’s direction.

  Stafford smiled.

  “You met Harry Lee there,” Myers told her.

  “I met a lot of people there. Before Shaw invited me to work for him, I saw clients there. Also, Stan pours a good drink.”

  “Any idea where we can find Mal?” Myers asked.

  “If I knew where he was, I’d have told you before now.”

  “Would you?” Stafford pressed. “I hear you could have brought him in but passed.”

  “I have trouble shooting a man who just saved me from being tortured and then murdered in the back. I guess it’s a character flaw.”

  “Tommy wishes you hadn’t bitched out,” Stafford replied. “Odds are, he set him up.”

  Margot gave him a hard stare.

  “Save the intimidation tactics for someone else,” Stafford told her. “I looked up your MMA career. I wasn’t impressed.”

  “How many pro fights do you have under your belt?”

  “Enough I’m not worried about you.”

  Margot looked him over. There was none of the excess scar tissue around the eyes fighters often get and both his ears were immaculate. His nose was straight as well. Margot supposed a fighter could end a career without ever breaking his nose or developing cauliflower ears, but it was unlikely. He had the physique of a fighter, but Margot doubted he ever was one. That didn’t mean he couldn’t kick her ass. He was bigger by about six inches and sixty pounds. His extra weight wasn’t fat either. There were good reasons fights were set up according to gender and weight class.

  “There’s no need to be hostile,” Myers said to both of them. “While a line on Mal would be great, that’s not the reason we’re here. We were hoping you’d talk to Harry for us. Maybe offer your services.”

  “Offer my services?”

  “You looked into that kid's death, the one who worked for him and ended up getting shanked in lock up.”

  “You mean Lucas.”

  “That’s the one. Given how you actually solved that one, I’d think he’d be open to hiring you again.”

  Margot looked over at Stafford. “Did he tell you who did that one?”

  “He didn’t have to,” Stafford said. “It seems sniffing out dirty cops is kind of your thing. I guess it takes one to know one.”

  Margot ignored that and looked at Myers. “You want me to investigate a homicide?”

  “No, not really. I want you to get close to Harry Lee.”

  “You want me to be your snitch?”

  “I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

  “How would you phrase it?”

  “I want you to help me out. Harry takes your calls. I think he trusts you as much as he trusts anybody. Especially now.”

  “So, you want me to destroy that trust?”

  “Is the trust of a gangster really worth saving?”

  Margot felt the answer should have been no, but in truth, she wasn’t sure.

  “She’s about to ask what’s in it for her,” Stafford said to Myers. “These private eyes types are always predictable.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what’s holding you back?”

  “I’m not on the O.C. task force, or even a cop at all. Organized crime isn’t my problem.”

  “Organized crime is everybody’s problem.”

  “Okay, even though that’s questionable, I’ll grant you that and rephrase my answer. Organized Crime isn’t my job, and I don’t want to die doing your job. I’ve got myself involved more than once, and I’m done with it.”