by L. J. Martin
"Unless they stole my credit cards, I can handle it. Any idea where they might have impounded my wheels?"
"It's in your release docs, I'll bet. Odds are it's back in Malibu. How about that shower...I'll even climb in with you and scrub your back. Then we go to the Grill; then we worry about your precious Vette."
"What do I owe you for bail?"
"Ten grand."
"What?"
"Ten grand. I paid all cash. No bondsman."
"Good, then you'll get it all back, and I'll pay a handsome rate of interest in the meantime."
"You bet you will, starting right after that shower."
I give her a closer look. "Is that makeup over a black eye?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me. That fucking Coogan?"
"It was an accident. He was a little pissed when he called my sister's and found out I hadn't been there and was just swinging his arms. He's clumsy as hell."
"Yeah, so clumsy he's going to fall down and bust all his front teeth out."
"Let's go shower up."
"Swing into the Thousand Oaks Mall and Macy's. I need some clean clothes."
"How about Nordstrom's?"
"You hit Nordstrom’s while I hit Macy's."
"No, you need an overseer. Besides, my closet is full of Nordstrom’s."
"Nothing new about Tammy?" I ask as I settle into the passenger side of her ride.
"No, but I think Emory got a phone call from her."
"Christ, that's something new. When?"
"This morning. He took the phone into the other room. The FBI picked it all up."
"Where is he now?"
"He's gone. He packed a bag and drove off. Said he was going to the airport. All I could get was the caller was asking for her to pay lots of money. More than ten million."
I have no idea what to make of that—the old boy may be heading for the South of France or Brazil—so I call Pax and fill him in. He can electronically track a snowflake through a snowstorm and I put him on it. He adds, "Mort said someone else had already bailed you when he called?"
"A beautiful brunette. And I know you're not surprised."
"Shocked, actually. I'll call when I have something on the Castiano properties and Coogan."
We find the Hampton Inn. I’m carrying a new pair of black Dockers that would pass for three-hundred-buck slacks, a pair of black Wranglers, two new pullovers that are dark enough to disappear if I have to do the creep, a three pack of black boxers, a six pack of socks, and a pair of black Reeboks with thick soles—shoes will nicely bury in the crotch of one of Castiano's boys but will move quiet.
The Hampton Inn has a shower over tub with room enough for both of us and a king size bed that turns out not to be quite big enough as we end up on the carpet. However, with this lady, a basketball court might not be big enough. She’s a new woman and I’m glad I had a rematch or I would have misjudged her. I think my comment about removing Coogan's overbite has stimulated her desire which in turn tuned up her performance.
I wish I'd gotten a better night's sleep in the hoosegow.
I'm happy to say my phone doesn't echo Ring of Fire across the room until I'm lying in a heap trying to catch my breath.
"Yeah," I answer, knowing it's Pax.
"We've emailed you a list of every Castiano related business and property we can find, and it's extensive. Your boy Coogan will be landing in Nashville in a couple of hours. He's booked on a return flight day after tomorrow."
"Have I told you lately that I love you," I say with a coo that gets a sour look from Tyler.
"Have I told you lately to go fuck yourself, and that has nothing to do with love," Pax replies.
"How about the van?"
"When do you want it there?"
"Tomorrow, noon. And bring me fifteen large in cash. I need some walking around dough and need to pay my brunette buddy back for bailing me."
"I'll have Sol drive it over. He's got family in Vacaville and wants to show off the Vette to his cousin." That makes Pax laugh.
"Tell the little chicken shit I'll make a capon out of him if he puts a scratch on it."
"You want to tell him?"
"No, he gets it. It's rumored the boys in Vegas have their claws deep in Coogan. Can you find out who and how much?"
"Will do. Is that why he borrowed from this Castiano?"
"Makes sense. It seems Tammy was smart enough not to loan it to him."
"I'll get back to you. You're having all the fun on this one."
"I'll yell if I need help."
He rings off.
Tyler is dressed, has touched up her makeup, and is doing the hair pat in front of the bathroom mirror, so I wander over and lean on the doorjamb. "You can pat for an hour and you can't get better than perfect."
"Well, well, aren't you the suave one."
"You look great, the only thing that looks better on you is nothing."
She leans over and gives me a smack on the lips, and goes back to patting.
"Why would Coogan go to Nashville?" I ask.
She shrugs. "We do lots of biz in Nashville. Tammy's bank and her accountant are in Nashville."
"Would Coogan forge a check on Tammy's account?"
She's silent for a moment, then turns to me. "I guess it depends upon how desperate he is. Nothing would surprise me. And if he's trying to get the money for Tammy's release, she'd want him to."
My phone goes off with Ring of Fire. "That didn't take long," I answer.
"Rocco's out in Henderson."
"What?"
"That's who had the markers from Coogan...and he couldn't pick worse guys to stiff. They're old school and have rumored to put a few in the sand. Emails on the server at Rocco's confirm Coogan paid up, after borrowing the dough from Castiano, who in turn borrowed from the Albanians, who are rumored to control Rocco's. Coogan probably jumped from the frying pan into the fire. It's a weird circle, but it's also well known the Albanians are trying to get a foothold into some Indian gaming in California and will do anything to influence the politicians there. They bought a road building company in Arizona and Castiano is huge in road building in California. Who knows what they're thinking."
"Interesting. A true cluster fuck. All I got to worry about is getting Tammy back. But, thanks."
Tyler is out of the bathroom. "I've got to go back to the house. I'm supposed to stay close to the phone in case the guys who've got Tammy call again. Did you see the L.A. Times?"
"Nope."
"Front page on Tammy's abduction. Below the fold, but front page."
"So, no one's on the phone at the house?"
"The FBI has some stuff set up. When I told them I had to go they got call referral to me and said they'd be monitoring. But I got to get back."
"No Grill on the Alley supper?"
"Nope, I'm usually a dinner and drinks kind of girl, but you already came through with the goodies, so if you don't mind...."
"Hell, saves me a couple of hun. I'll owe you dinner, drinks, and a rematch."
"You're on, big boy. Let's go."
"And I was hoping you'd ride over to beautiful downtown Barstow with me."
"I can get you as far as the car impound in Malibu."
"I'll have your dough for you when I get back. Speaking of the FBI, I've got to give them a call."
She drives so I'm able to call Agent Quintana. She answers so it must be a cell.
"Quintana."
I'm surprised it's a female voice. I guess I should have known as it would have been Robert otherwise.
"Agent, Mike Reardon, you asked me to call."
"I'd like to chat a while, Reardon. Where are you?"
"Heading into the Santa Monica Mountains, on my way to Malibu."
"How about dropping by the Houston house?"
"I can be there in an hour or so. I've got to spring my wheels from the impound."
"How about coming here first. Is Tyler Thompson with you?"
"She's
giving me a ride."
"Come here first, got it."
"Is there a please in there somewhere?"
"Yeah, please. But there won't be the next time I ask. There's also an APB out there for you if you don't show. Does that please you?"
"Yeah, I got it. It'll be my pleasure."
"Time marches on with this abduction. I'd like to find her alive."
Chapter Twelve
Agent Quintana is a big lady who looks as if she can take care of herself. In fact she could play a pulling guard on the Chargers or Rams. I'd be surprised if she doesn't bench press more than I do. And she's no nonsense.
"You want coffee?" she asks when we pass the muster of an agent at the door.
"Sure," I say, as I'm hungry and the coffee will quell the appetite.
"Tea for me," Tyler says, then offers, "I'll make it. I know my way around."
We sit at a kitchen table made of the same granite as the countertops.
"So, Reardon, fill me in on how you fit into this scenario."
"No big mystery, agent. Tammy hired me over the phone…I used to work for her—"
"And she canned you, as I understand."
"Yes, but apparently she wised up and wanted my help when someone took a pot shot at her."
"We think the shot…both shots…were a scam to get her here to her beach house so they could snatch her."
"Makes sense. Particularly after they missed the second shot as well. Any decent rifleman could have taken her out if the shot came from where I think it did."
"Except for shooting through the glass."
"That's a factor. But I'll bet it was a fifty cal, and the glass wouldn't have been much, if anything, in the way of deflection."
"I see you had some sniper training in the Corps?"
"I did." Then I'm wondering, so I ask, "You wear the green?"
"I did, a dozen years. I served some of the same time you did."
"So you know I wouldn't have missed."
"You're not a suspect. You’re also not part of this investigation. So stay away. Leave the Castianos alone, and take a ride back to Vegas. I'll call you if you're needed…not that I can imagine why. That's it. And don't distract Ms. Thompson anymore. She's needed here."
I rise. "Nice meeting you, agent."
"So, back to Vegas?"
"I've got business in California."
"Nowhere near my business if you're smart. I'd hate to bust a fellow Marine for obstructing justice."
I salute her but don't get one in return. I round the table and give Tyler a peck on the cheek.
"You'll call?" she asks.
I wave over my shoulder as I head for the door. "I'll call."
"After this is over," Quintana snaps.
"Semper fi," I say, and give her a wave over my shoulder. Elbow past the fibbie at the door, and I’m gone.
I no more than fire the Vette up when my phone rattles with an unknown caller ring.
"Reardon," I answer.
"Castiano here," the gruff voice replies.
"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"
"I understand you get things done?" he asks.
"Legal things…" then I qualify, "Or at least things I consider right."
"The assholes snatched my old lady."
"Margo?"
"Yes, Margo. I ain't no raghead. I only got one."
"And?"
"And I need your help. Are you still in California?"
"I'm a half mile from your place."
"Come on over. As they say on TV, let's make a deal."
"On my way. I gotta drive into Malibu first, so I’ll be a while."
Tyler takes me to get my Vette and gives me a wet kiss when she drops me off.
The pencil-neck gateman waves me right on through. Tony eyes me dubiously as I park the Vette. Without so much as a good afternoon he shows me inside, this time to a library with ten-foot shelving and one of those rolling ladders, all surrounding a full-size snooker table with red felt to match red carpet but the carpet is patterned with fleur de lis in gold.
Tony shows me into the room, then leaves. Sammy has a tumbler of something in hand, and is leaning on the table. My new buddy Sergio is at the far end of the table, a pool cue in hand, looking like he'd like to use it on my noggin.
In a leather chair, with his knee in a cast, propped up on a bolster, is the guy whose knee I stomped, and he's not exactly giving me a welcome look.
"You met Sergio and Franco," Sammy says, and gives me a wink.
"Not officially," I say, and give both the boys a nod.
"Give us the room," Sammy says to his boys, and it's not a request. The one he called Franco stands with the help of Sergio and a crutch, and gimps out of the room with Sergio close behind.
"What can I do for you, Sammy?" I ask.
"You can do something for both of us."
"How's that?"
"The same guys who snatched your client snatched my old lady, so you can help us get them both back."
"You want me to work with frick and frack, and frack on crutches. No thanks."
"A quarter mil, you bring my old lady back. There's five of them. Fifty grand apiece for each one of them you put toes up. And there's a half dozen more over in Vegas, same price on their heads."
"These are the Albanian boys?"
"How'd you know that?"
"I've got my sources. How much do you owe them?"
He stares at me a moment, then mumbles. "Ten mil, plus the vig. They make it almost fifteen."
"And you loaned Coogan a mil when you owed the Albanian boys ten plus and you want me to believe you'll pay me a half mil, up to eight hundred or more, if I do your dirty work for you."
"It ain't just my dirty work. It's yours too."
"Why's Coogan in Nashville?"
"He's trying to cash a check drawn on Tammy's account. But it ain't gonna happen."
"Why not?"
"She's got plenty in the account, but he forged her sig and they ain't gonna cash no check without direct verbal authorization, probably at least a Skype face to face thing, from her. Coogan has a rep back there, and it ain't a lily white one."
"So, where are Tammy and Margo?"
"I got a good idea where, but we gotta shake first."
"She's in the country?" I ask.
"They are in the country, in fact if I'm right, in the state and not all that far. You gotta get my old lady…I don't give a rat's ass if you get Houston or not. That's your gig."
"Easy to say, but remember she's probably the only source of the mil plus Coogan owes you and you owe the Albanians."
"True, so save her sweet ass too."
I don't have anything to lose, so I walk around the table and extend my hand.
"We got no time to lose," Sammy says.
"I've got to go to Barstow in the morning. I'll be back late afternoon, and ready to rock and roll."
"Bullshit," he snaps. "We got no time to lose."
"I'm picking up some gear I'll need. Better to go prepared. Speaking of prepared, where do you think they are so I can get some recon started?"
"You know Paso Robles?"
"Sure, cow town turned yuppie wine town."
"I deeded them over the equity in a winery I owned up there, worth at least five mil for a chunk of what I owed them before…it started out at fifteen mil, I paid it down but it’s back there again…and I have reason to believe that's where they got the ladies stashed. I still got some friends…old employees…up there. The scumbag Albanians gave me another seventy-two hours before they start sending Margo and Tammy back in chunks."
"Give me an address on the place and I'll get my people to work."
"I'll do better than that, I'll give you a set of plans. I built the place a dozen years ago."
"And the address, and the names and numbers of your 'friends' at the winery. When are you supposed to hear from Coogan to see if he's got some dough for you?"
"I'm surprised I haven't heard by now."
"I'm going to move up my meeting in Barstow." I glance at my watch and see it's almost five PM. "I'll be back here by two AM. Have the plans here and we'll go over them in the morning…early."
"Sergio and Franco will back you up."
"No deal, Sammy. My people will back me up."
"How many you got?"
"Two, besides myself, if I can get ahold of one of them. If not, then there'll only be two of us."
"These are bad motherfuckers," Sammy says, shaking his head.
"They may be bad, but my buddy's bad at a thousand yards. You gotta give me your word that Sergio and Franco will stay out of my play."
He looks dubious, but shrugs and nods his head. "I got seventy-two hours, I'll give you forty-eight."
"Get me the address."
"I got a plane at the Oxnard airport. Unless you gotta drive for some reason, how about my guy flies you to Barstow?"
"That'll work. You store my Vette and someone drives me to Oxnard. I'll drive myself back from Barstow in my rig."
"What's so important about this so-called rig?"
I laugh. "It's well rigged, that's what."
"Tony will drive you to the plane."
"Get me that address, and the names of anyone at the winery who might help."
Chapter Thirteen
I call Pax on the way to the Oxnard airport and get things started, making sure he loads my Harley Iron in the van. All those lanes and two tracks in the vineyards and orchards, the bike might just come in handy. I also call my buddy Skip, who I call the Viking. Skip was with us in Desert Storm and went through some very bad stuff. He stays a little close to the bottle and has been known to test the water of hard drugs, but he's one of us and if I ask him to stay straight he will. And hand to hand I'll put him up against any four normal guys, bad or not. He also knows every weapon in our arsenal.
Sammy, my new employer, travels in style.
A turbo King Air is about as nice as it gets and I feel a little guilty riding in the back, alone, like some potentate so I right-seat it beside the pilot. He's a stoic cat who pays little attention to his passenger but lots of attention to his job, so I don't bother him with small talk.
Besides, it gives me time to think.
I got Sol on the way with my van after Pax loaded it up with select items from my ministorage, and put Pax onto the Castiano winery which is out Highway 46 only a few miles east of Paso Robles. Sol will bring the van directly onto the tarmac of the fixed base operator at Barstow so the pilot will be able to taxi right up next to the van, and I've talked Sammy into giving my little buddy a ride back to Vegas in the King Air. Sol will be pissed not to get the Vette to drive, but stoked about getting a ride in a classy airplane. And I put Pax onto a couple of Abanian names Sammy's provided me with.
