“But you wouldn’t want to live there?”
“Not particularly.”
“Something wrong with the house?”
“The house is fine. It’s the garage. It’s not tall enough for my vehicle lift, it’s too small for me to set up the garage the way I want, and I wouldn’t have the luxury of adding a three-car garage like dad did here. Plus, I don’t think the neighbors would appreciate the noise. I can get pretty loud when I’m working on cars.”
“That’s good to know because you won’t be living there.”
“Jessica already told me we were selling it as soon as it’s done.”
“I know. I’m the one buying it.”
My mouth opened in surprise. “You’re buying it?”
“Yes. It’s time to move on. Jessica and I already decided on a price. I’ll close on it as soon as it’s finished. Springfield’s not home anymore. You guys are my home, and you live in Memphis, which means I’m moving to Memphis.”
“Well, I’ll be. Conspiring behind my back without me suspecting a thing. Well played, ladies.”
Jessica said, “And before you ask me to lower the price, let me tell you I already lowered it from the intended asking price. If I lowered it any further, she planned on buying a different house.”
I couldn’t believe it. My wife’s first major real estate transaction was selling a house to my mother so she could move closer to us in Memphis. Standing in my childhood home, I expected to feel a sense of loss, of overwhelming nostalgia. I felt nothing but pure happiness.
“Let me get the breakfast pizza out of the oven, then I’ll tell you what I know about Nick Marino.”
The mention of Nick Marino reminded me why I was standing in Mom’s kitchen in the first place, snapping me out of my reverie.
Mom placed two servings of breakfast pizza on my plate before reaching into her pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. She sat across from me and slid the paper across the table. Nick Marino was written across the top, along with two addresses and two phone numbers.
“That’s his home information on the left and his business info on the right.”
“Thanks, Mom. Did Rutherford give you any trouble?”
“None at all. I found him to be quite polite. Charming even.”
“Geez, Mom. You two set up a dinner date?”
“No, but I do find myself wondering what he looks like.”
“He’s half the man dad was and twice the man Beyers is.”
“Legend,” she chided.
“Sorry, Mom. He looks like a Texas oilman, all the way down to the cowboy hat and boots. He’s even got the belt buckle. Otherwise, I guess he looks alright for an old guy.”
“He’s my age.”
“Yeah, Mom, like I said, for an old guy.”
Mom threw a napkin at me jokingly. “With the way you seem to find trouble, you’ll be lucky to make it to my age. Before you get started going after this Marino fellow, what do you know about St. Louis?”
“It’s in Missouri. I was born there. It has the Gateway Arch. They’ve got a good baseball team. You know, the basics. Why?”
“I only bring it up because the neighborhood Marino lives in is a very nice neighborhood. Perhaps the nicest in St. Louis. It’s where your father wanted to live but we couldn’t afford it. Football players in the sixties didn’t make enough.”
“What are you hinting at, Mom?”
“I’m wondering if you are sure you’re going after the right guy? This is not the type of neighborhood I would expect a gangster to live in. If he is in the mob, then he’s good at it.”
“Which is it? Either it’s not the type of neighborhood you’d find gangsters living in, or he’s good at it.”
“I don’t know, son. According to what I got from Kent, I mean Mr. Rutherford, Marino’s money is from selling furniture. Finding out information at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night does not give one much time. Fortunately, I come from the early to bed, early to rise generation. I called some friends in St. Louis. They looked him up in the yellow pages. It appears Marino owns one store. Not a string of stores. Just one. A discount store at that, located in the part of town you’d expect a discount store to be located. Small enough that they’d never heard of him.”
I thought hard about the information Mom was giving me about Marino. On the one hand, he looked like a legitimate businessman, the owner of a furniture store and resident of a wealthy neighborhood. On the other hand, he could call guys, and his wealth did not seem to match what one might expect from a single discount furniture store.
Jessica said, “If no one else is gonna say it, my guess is he’s a money launderer for the mob.”
Jessica said exactly what I was thinking. And from my mother’s expression, she also agreed.
***
Marino’s false bravado. It all made sense. He wasn’t tough, but the guys he laundered money for were. They would have his back, especially if their money were on the line. The question now was whether any of the 200,000 dollars in lost horses belonged to them. And if so, how far were they willing to go to get it back. Although going after the guy hired to collect the horses didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like Boyd could give the horses back.
I pushed my empty plate away and stood up suddenly without saying a word. Mom looked at me, confused. “What’s going on?”
Jessica said, “He’s leaving.”
She really does know me.
“Now? Before eight on a Sunday?”
“Look,” I said, “I have no idea what a money launderer does on a Sunday morning. Maybe he does his gardening. Maybe he goes to church to keep up appearances. Maybe he checks in on his other cash businesses. He probably owns laundromats or car washes. Maybe he has a few ATMs to supply. Either way, the sooner I get there, the less likely I will miss him. Since it’s an hour and a half to St. Louis, I should have gotten up when you did, Mom.”
Jessica said, “When should we expect you back?”
“Same time as you, I guess.”
“What?”
“You aren’t coming?”
“Well, I...I mean I...oh, hell, let me get packed.”
I laughed and turned to Mom. “I guess she doesn’t know all my looks yet.”
Ten minutes later, we were on our way to St. Louis developing a plan to confront Marino. Going on the assertion he was not a mobster, we decided he would not have direct protection because he needed to look as legitimate as possible, which is why he had to call people when he needed something. It also meant we shouldn’t run into anything or anyone we couldn’t handle.
“Legend?” Jessica said my name quietly, but definitely as a question.
“Yes.”
“Say it is Marino or the guys he can call. Why hasn’t Boyd called?”
“I have no earthly idea, Jessica. That’s the only part that doesn’t make sense in this whole thing.”
“Unless he’s...you know.”
“Doubtful.”
“Why so sure?”
“There would be too many other dead bodies lying around if that were the situation.”
Jessica shook her head in agreement. “He’s that good of a shot, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. Gangsters like to think they are tough because, well, basically, they are criminals and willing to engage in criminal activity when most people play by the rules. Going up against normal people, they are tough. Going up against Boyd; that’s a different story. They would have walked into a hornet’s nest. Like an amateur boxer finding out he picked a fight with Mike Tyson by mistake. Shooting is like breathing for him.”
She looked a little less nervous as she thought about my words. “Kind of like those two guys you put in the hospital last year.”
“Sort of, but not exactly.” She shook her head in confusion. “The big difference between Boyd and me is that he enjoys all this. It’s not just business for him. I think it makes him more dangerous than me.”
“I see what you mean. Although I think
you are fooling yourself if you think you don’t enjoy this.”
Jessica was wrong about me enjoying the challenge, the danger. That was Boyd’s thing. He was the kind of guy who could go up in an airplane on the way to trouble and hope there was something on the ground that would warrant jumping out of the airplane because the idea of parachuting in and saving the day sounded even more exciting. I might jump, too, if the situation warranted it, but enjoyment seemed an overstatement. The same could be said about my time in the Navy working undercover. Or when I took on the Dixie Mafia a couple of years ago. I was looking for justice, and when justice was served, I felt great satisfaction. The same kind of satisfaction I felt in the emergency room when I helped save someone’s life. But I was no adrenaline junkie. Not like Boyd.
“I can hear you thinking, Legend. I’m not saying you are like Boyd. But you still love it when all the pieces come together, and the good guys win. It gives you pleasure, or at the very least, great satisfaction.”
How in the hell does she keeping doing that?
***
It was Sunday morning, meaning traffic was light between Springfield and St. Louis. We were in the Gateway City by 9:30, willing and able, if not entirely ready, to find Marino and question him. What happened to Marino after the questions depended on his answers.
I dropped Jessica off at a car rental agency with instructions and a list of equipment to obtain while I drove on to Marino’s. Twenty-five minutes later, I was in front of his house. Mom was right. It was a nice neighborhood. Nicer than where Jessica and I currently lived.
Marino’s house looked like it might have been the smallest on the block. Maybe 6,000 square feet instead of 10,000. The brickwork was more traditional than most of the other homes. The landscaping less extravagant but still tasteful. All in all, it meant he was sitting on more than a million dollars of real estate, but less than several million.
If he can afford a house like this, then why didn’t he make things easy for himself and pay for the horses. Maybe I’ll ask him that after he tells me about Boyd.
I drove on past the house, performed a U-turn, and settled in with a great view of the property. If Marino left the house before Jessica arrived, the plan was for me to page her whenever possible to let her know how to find me.
It didn’t take long for me to remember I was no good at stakeouts. Simply sitting and waiting didn’t play into my strengths and only reminded me I didn’t have the temperament or patience for these kinds of tasks. Give me a good car chase any day. Maybe I’m more like Boyd than I think. On the flip-side, my adrenaline-loving friend could sit and wait for hours.
Fifteen minutes later, distracted by my internal complaining, I never noticed the arrival of the plain late-model Ford sedan parked facing me 70 yards away on the other side of the street. The Ford was not as plain as the Buick that Barker and Conley drove, but it wasn’t much better. There was no mistaking it as a law enforcement vehicle. This time I knew they weren’t there to watch me. There was no way the feds had followed us from Memphis to Wisconsin to St. Louis without us noticing. It wasn’t possible.
I was still contemplating the arrival of the feds when Jessica pulled up to the four-way stop directly behind them. She was driving a full-sized vehicle as I had asked. She turned left, which brought her in behind the feds. If she noticed the car, I couldn’t tell. Jessica passed by the car and started to slow down as she approached my vehicle, but I waved her off with a subtle shake of my head. She took the hint and continued past me. A minute later, I pulled away from the curb, did a U-turn, and followed in Jessica’s direction.
Jessica was waiting for me standing outside her rental car as I caught up to her two blocks away. I parked behind her and exited the Supra.
“The feds? How long have they been there?” she asked immediately.
“They arrived maybe five minutes before you pulled up.”
“They can’t be there because of us. It’s not possible.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re here to watch Marino.”
“Meaning, we won’t be able to get close to him because of a coincidence.” Jessica was visibly irritated. “We don’t have time for this, Legend. I’m not saying Marino had anything to do with Boyd’s disappearance, but Boyd saved my life. More than once. If we’re here, then ...”
She trailed off because she didn’t want to say out loud she thought my decision to go after Marino was a waste of time.
“I know, Jessica.”
Jessica paced back and forth, stomping at the ground with each step. “Wait, you had me get this big car so we could use it to stop him in traffic. What if we take a more direct approach?”
“Like what?”
“I’ll change into clothes that look like I’m out for some exercise — jogging maybe. Or at least a power walk. I’ll twist my ankle in front of Marino’s place. Go to his front door and get him to let me in. Then, I’ll ask him the questions myself.”
“Not just no, Jessica, but hell no.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself? You said yourself he’s not tough enough to be a gangster.”
“I know you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t know that. And he thinks he’s tough. What if a situation arises in which you have to handle yourself? Are you planning on shooting him with the FBI parked out on the street?” I was getting angry at Jessica for even suggesting such an idea.
“The plan won’t work anyway.” Her sudden change was a surprise; it wasn’t like Jessica to admit defeat so easily. “Don’t turn around now, but Marino is coming up the street in a red Jaguar right behind you.”
I bent over like I was inspecting something on the Supra to disguise myself from Marino. As soon as he had passed, Jessica ran to her car, grabbed something, ran back and tossed the object at me.
“The walkie talkies you asked me to get. They are ready to go.”
Without asking me what the next step was, she ran back to the Lincoln she’d rented and started after Marino. I jumped in the Supra and followed suit. Tailing Marino was pretty easy. All we had to do was tail the feds, who were tailing Marino and seemed oblivious to the fact anyone could be following them. After ten minutes, Marino pulled into a country club parking lot and parked near the front. The feds parked a few rows away. I parked down from them on their right. Jessica passed me in the Lincoln and headed straight for Marino’s vehicle.
“Testing, testing,” I heard her say over the walkie talkie she had handed me.
I grabbed it from the seat and hit the talk button. “I hear you fine, Jessica.”
“Good. They say it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, so I’ll say I’m sorry in advance.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watch and see.”
“Jessica!”
“Shh, trust me.”
I didn’t want to trust her. I wanted her sitting next to me where I knew she was safe.
Jessica pulled in behind Marino’s Jaguar and stopped as he exited his vehicle. I could hear her over the walkie talkie. “I love the car. Early seventies E-series, right?” Marino’s response was muffled. “Please tell me you’ve kept the V-12 and didn’t replace it with a Chevy 350 like so many people have. Oh, that’s awesome.”
Marino moved in closer. “You know a lot about cars.” That time I heard him perfectly.
“My father designs and builds boats for a living.” Jessica was telling the truth about her father designing boats. “I think he’s more than a little disappointed I like cars better.” I knew Jessica’s father well; he was disappointed neither of his daughters, especially Jessica, took over the family boat manufacturing business.
Marino was close enough to Jessica I could hear him over the radio. “You have any classic automobiles?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“I have a 1966 Shelby Cobra at home.”
“A replica?”
“No, the real thing. With the 427 FE V8.
Over 500 horsepower. It can accelerate from a dead stop to 100 mph and then brake to a dead stop in under 12 seconds.”
“No shit. The real thing. Damn.” I was surprised Marino didn’t ask her how a 26-year-old got her hands on such a rare and expensive automobile. “Are you a member here?” Marino asked.
“No, I’m here to check it out. How are the tennis courts?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“A golfer then.”
“I hit the ball around. I’m not sure you could call it golf.”
Jessica said, “I’m heading in anyway; you care to show me around?”
“I’d love to. Nice Lincoln.”
“Er, it’s a rental. Let me park it. I’ll be right back.”
Jessica pulled away from Marino, who was standing there looking like he had won the lottery. I couldn’t blame him. Jessica was a gorgeous woman. The epitome of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty men loved, and women envied.
“Jessica Ann, what the heck do you think you’re doing?” I yelled over the walkie talkie, not bothering to hide my ever-growing anger.
“I’m getting the information we came for.”
“Jessica, stop it!”
“Oh, you stop it. I’m perfectly safe inside a country club with a 50-year-old horn dog who’s practically salivating to show me around. You’ll be able to hear everything I say with the radio set on voice activation. And I can hear you through the earpiece.”
“Jessica, I’m te—.”
“Legend Thaddeus McCain. You knock it off right now before you say something I won’t like. Trust me, I got this. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you figure out where I hid the microphone later.”
There was no stopping her at that moment unless I got out and physically intervened. Meaning I needed to trust her or risk her wrath. Somehow, trusting her seemed the safer choice.
Jessica met Marino at his car and the two of them walked in together. He asked her more about my Cobra as he showed her around, and Jessica answered as the car nut she was. Much of Marino’s questions and answers were garbled, but I could hear everything Jessica said perfectly through the tiny Motorola walkie talkie. The sound quality was impressive and the small design was a far cry from the Motorola radio I had used when I served in the Navy years ago.
Deadly Promise Page 11
