Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  “Exactly. Now tell me, what’s up with you?”

  “Oh, Ed, I’m up to my ears in a huge mess.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ed said, concerned.

  “Well, for a start, we found the guy who took a shot at you.”

  “Hooray for that!” Ed said. “Who is he?”

  “Was. His name was Carlos Alvarez, and we found him floating in the Indian River with a bullet in his head.”

  “I never heard of him.”

  “He was a hired hit man, the same one who killed the two Miami developers. He was quite a shot, too; you were very lucky.”

  Ed gave a low whistle. “I guess I was. Who hired him?”

  “I don’t know,” Holly admitted. “We’ve traced Alvarez back to some people named Pellegrino, in Miami.”

  “There’s a restaurant by that name,” Ed said. “I’ve had dinner there; very good.”

  “Pio Pellegrino and his father, Ignacio. Turns out the old man is a former mafioso from New York named Falcone. He disappeared a few years ago and turned up in Miami with his son and a new name.”

  “So I had dinner in a Mafia restaurant?” Ed said, sounding delighted. “That’s a new experience. Are they the people who wanted me dead?”

  “Yes, and whoever they work with or for. We haven’t gotten past them yet, although the FBI is working on it.”

  “I guess they really wanted this property bad, then.”

  “Yes, but you’re safe now, since you own it. There’s nothing in it for them to try to kill you again.”

  “Who killed . . . what’s his name? The hit man?”

  “Another hit man named Trini Rodriguez.”

  “He doesn’t sound like Mafia,” Ed said.

  “There’s all kinds of Mafia, Ed. We’ve even got a Russian involved in all this.”

  “This is the craziest business I ever heard of,” Ed said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I’m out of it.”

  “I wish I were out of it; these people have already tried to kill me.”

  Ed’s eyebrows went up. “My God! Are you safe?”

  “I work on it every day.”

  “Listen, I’ve got a couple of guest cottages here; why don’t you move into one of them? They’re very comfortable, and this has to be the most secure place in Orchid Beach.”

  “Thank you, Ed, that’s very sweet of you. I’m staying with a friend at the moment, but if that doesn’t work out, I might take you up on your invitation.”

  “Is your friend anybody I know?”

  “Maybe; his name is Grant Early. He looked at some property out here.”

  “Oh, yes, I met him in our office; nice fellow. Some sort of dot.com millionaire, I believe.”

  “Yes, he apparently got out just in time, before the crash in those stocks.”

  “Some people are just lucky, I guess,” Ed said.

  “Yes, and you’re one of them.”

  “Keep me posted on your case, will you? It’s fascinating. I lead such a dull life compared to you.”

  “Believe me, Ed, you’re better off with a dull life.”

  48

  Holly felt better after lunch, the wine having helped her hangover, but when she got back to Grant’s house after work, she was tired.

  Marina was sitting in the living room alone, a drink in her hand.

  “Hi,” Holly said.

  “Hello,” Marina said disconsolately.

  “Where’s Grant?”

  “He went to the grocery store,” she replied. “I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  “It’s best you stay in the house, until we know you’re safe,” Holly said.

  Marina nodded listlessly. “I spoke to the undertaker this morning, and he called back this afternoon. They’re releasing my mother’s and my aunt’s bodies tomorrow, and the undertaker is taking them back to Fort Lauderdale. I want to go back tomorrow to make the funeral arrangements, but my car is still at the airport in Sarasota.”

  Holly sat down next to her. “Marina, you can’t go back to Lauderdale while Trini is still on the loose. He’s looking for you.”

  “I don’t care,” Marina said. “I have to bury my mother and my aunt; there’s nobody else to do it.”

  “I understand, but you’re going to have to postpone the funeral until it’s safe.”

  “While their bodies rot in a funeral home?”

  “The undertaker will take care of them; they’ll be embalmed and kept in cold storage.”

  “Yes, at a hundred and fifty dollars a day,” Marina said. “I’ve already missed a lot of work because of Carlos’s funeral, and now this. They’re not paying me for the time off, either, and I only have a little in savings. I’ll have to put all this on a credit card, and I just got them paid off.”

  “Marina, I know it’s expensive, but isn’t protecting your life worth a few hundred dollars?”

  “Oh, I suppose so, but I feel so helpless.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll send someone over to Sarasota to bring back your car. Do you have the keys?”

  Marina opened her purse and handed them to Holly.

  “I’ll send two officers over there tomorrow, and one can drive your car back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you can’t leave here, Marina. I hope you understand that.”

  Marina nodded. “I understand.”

  Grant came in from the garage, his arms filled with groceries. “There’s more in the car,” he said. “Give me a hand?”

  Holly went out to the garage and got the remaining bags from Grant’s trunk. The top was down on the Mercedes convertible, and as she walked back into the house, something in the car caught her attention. It was a matchbook, lying on the console between the front seats, but she could read the name on it. TRICKY’S, it said. BAR AND GRILL.

  They finished dinner and watched TV for a while, then Marina excused herself and went to bed.

  “She’s getting pretty antsy,” Grant said.

  “I know. She wants to go back to Lauderdale to bury her mother and aunt.”

  “You’re not going to let her, are you?”

  “Of course not.” They were both quiet for a moment. “Grant, what else do you know about the Pellegrinos?”

  “Nothing I can tell you,” he replied.

  “Oh, come on, there must be something else that you can tell me without compromising your investigation.”

  “They’re very well connected,” Grant said.

  “With whom?”

  “You name it—if it’s a criminal organization, they’re plugged into it.”

  “What sort of activities?”

  “Whatever turns a million bucks—prostitution, gambling.”

  “Prostitution? I thought that was a freelancer’s market these days.”

  “There are some very fancy whorehouses in Miami,” Grant said. “You wouldn’t believe how fancy, and how beautiful the girls are. Or boys.”

  “And the Pellegrinos are into that?”

  “The Pellegrinos own that.”

  “Jesus. And what sort of gambling? Bookie operations?”

  “They’ve gone way beyond a bookie operation,” Grant said. “They’re on the Internet.”

  “The Internet?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” He led the way into the study and switched on his computer. He hit the Internet connection, then typed in an address. A title page came up, and there were buttons for football, baseball, golf, basketball, soccer, European soccer, South American soccer, dog racing, and horse racing. Grant clicked on one and got a display of odds on various games.

  “Wow,” Holly said. “But that’s got to be illegal.”

  “It is, in this country, but Pio and his pop are too sophisticated to get caught at it. The operation is based on an island in the Caribbean called Saint Marks. It’s a former British colony with very loose rules about gambling and banking.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Well, let’s say you want to place a fifty-
dollar bet on a Yankees game. You hit the appropriate button, place a bet, give them a credit card number, and you get an on-screen receipt, which you can print out. If you win, the amount is credited to your card, and you can use it to pay down your bill, or you can take a credit refund.”

  “Even if you’re in the United States?”

  “Yep. You’d never be caught because there are too many people playing it, and the government doesn’t know who.”

  “Can’t the Feds hack into their computer and find out who their customers are?”

  “They’ve got their own computer experts working to prevent just that, but suppose we could? We couldn’t arrest everybody. What if we picked a hundred players and arrested and tried them to make an example of them? They’ve still got hundreds of thousands more playing. We couldn’t make a dent. We’ve made overtures to the government of Saint Marks, but the politicians there are well paid by the Pellegrinos, and they’re not going to cooperate.”

  “What happens to the money they make? They can’t get it back into this country, can they?”

  “That would be tough to do in any volume, but they own their own bank in Saint Marks, and they can wire money to any bank in the world, including ones in places with banking secrecy laws, like the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. They can launder it through dozens or hundreds of legitimate businesses. They own a resort in Saint Marks, for instance. But one of the puzzles is, exactly where is the money going? We’re working on that, but it’s a hard puzzle to break.”

  “I don’t get it,” Holly said. “These guys are making all this money . . .”

  “Hundreds of millions a year.”

  “. . . and they’re sitting in Miami, running a restaurant?”

  “That’s just cover; somebody else runs the restaurant. They live well, but not like the very rich people they are. I’d love to know where the money is going and who’s getting it.”

  “And this is connected with your work in Orchid Beach?”

  “No comment,” Grant said.

  After they had gone to bed, Holly thought about the Pellegrinos. And she thought about Tricky’s, too, and what Grant might have been doing there. He wasn’t going to tell her, she knew, and she wasn’t going to ask. Not yet, anyway.

  49

  The following morning, Holly sent two officers to Sarasota in an unmarked car to bring back Marina’s car. “Just put it in the garage,” she said, giving them the address of Grant’s house, “but bring the keys back to me.”

  Harry Crisp called just before lunch. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Harry,” Holly said warily.

  “I’ve got some more stuff on your Russian, Bronsky, from the organized crime division of the Justice Department.”

  “Oh?” Harry was going to supply information?

  “He was part of the New York Russian mob, centered in Brighton Beach, in Brooklyn; nothing big, just an enforcer, and our information is, a particularly cold and cruel one, in an organization noted for its cruelty.”

  Holly was immediately suspicious. “Wait a minute, Harry: He was ex-KGB, and he’s just an enforcer? That doesn’t sound right to me.”

  “It’s what my people found out, Holly. I’m sorry if it doesn’t mesh with your preconceived notions about the guy.”

  “Does he have any connection to the Pellegrinos, apart from his association with Trini Rodriguez?”

  “Nothing we can nail down.”

  “Then he’s a dead end.”

  “A nice turn of phrase, in his present circumstances, but yes, his identity leads us nowhere.”

  “How about some information that leads us somewhere, Harry?”

  “That’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid. I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Forgive me if I seem ungrateful, Harry, but it seems like a bone for the dog. What have you found out on the Pellegrinos?”

  “We’re still working on that, Holly, don’t worry.”

  Yeah, sure, Holly thought. “Any news on the search for Trini?”

  “He’s gone to ground, not visiting any of his usual hangouts.”

  “Including the bar Tricky’s?”

  “We’re looking everywhere, Holly, don’t worry.”

  “Somehow, I have the idea that if Trini wanted to kill you, instead of me, you’d be looking a lot harder.”

  “We have to leave that sort of pursuit to the locals and the state boys; we don’t have enough personnel to run dragnets. It’s always been that way; our people are investigators; they don’t set up roadblocks or search for hideouts.”

  “Yeah, and in the meantime, Trini’s going to keep trying to kill me and Marina because he thinks one of us has the notebook. Can you get something in the papers saying that you’ve got the notebook? Maybe that would take the heat off Marina and me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Well, thanks for the information on the Russian, Harry. Goodbye.” She hung up, pissed off.

  Her officers showed up around three with Marina’s car keys, and Holly worked until six, then went home. The guard outside the house showed himself when she arrived.

  “Hi,” she said. “Everything okay?”

  “Very quiet,” the young man replied. “Two of your officers showed up around mid-afternoon with a car; they put it in the garage.”

  “Right. I’ve got the keys in my pocket.” She went inside. “Hello?” she called. “Anybody home?” No answer. She checked the garage to see if Grant’s car was there, and it wasn’t. Neither was Marina’s.

  She ran upstairs to check the guest room, but it was empty; Marina’s things were gone. She ran back to the front of the house and grabbed her officer. “The car that was brought here this afternoon is gone. When did it leave?”

  “I didn’t know it had,” the officer said.

  “Did you leave the front of the house at any time?”

  “Sure, I check the perimeter every twenty minutes or so. It could have left when I was on the beach side of the house.”

  Holly looked up to see Grant turning into the driveway, and she ran over to his car.

  “Hi,” he said getting out and handing her a box of wine bottles. “I picked up a few things to drink.”

  “Marina’s gone,” she said.

  “How?”

  “I had her car brought back from Sarasota. I kept the keys, but she must have had another set.”

  “She’s obviously headed for home,” Grant said. “Call the state police and have them pick her up on the interstate. Tell them she’s a material witness.”

  Holly shook her head. “Problem is, she’s not a witness to anything; she didn’t see Trini shoot anybody.”

  “In that case you couldn’t have stopped her anyway.”

  Grant parked, and they went into the house. Holly picked up the phone and dialed Marina’s cellphone.

  “Hello?”

  “Marina, it’s Holly.”

  “I’m sorry, Holly; I know you’re angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry, I’m worried about you.”

  “I don’t feel in any danger,” Marina said. “They’re looking for Trini everywhere; he won’t come near me.”

  “That may not be true. Don’t go home, Marina. Can you stay with a friend?”

  “I’m going to my house,” Marina said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m going to cook myself some dinner and watch TV, and tomorrow I’m going to work.”

  “I’m going to call the Lauderdale police and ask them to put a guard on your house.”

  “I think it’s a waste of time,” Marina said, “but I can’t stop you. I have to hang up now, Holly; I’m at the grocery.”

  “Listen, Marina, the FBI is going to get something in the papers stating that they now have the notebook. Once Trini knows that, he won’t be interested in you anymore. Wait until that happens before going home.”

  “No, I’m going home. I’m tired of this.”

  Holly had a thought. “Marina, have you scheduled the fu
neral yet?”

  “The day after tomorrow at ten A.M., at Santa Maria.”

  “Be careful,” Holly said.

  “I will. I stopped and bought a gun.”

  “Marina, you’re more likely to get shot with your own gun than protect yourself.”

  “It makes me feel better. Goodbye, Holly.” She hung up.

  Holly called the Lauderdale police and got the duty captain on the line.

  “What can I do for you, Chief Barker?” the man asked.

  “I’ve been protecting a woman that Trini Rodriguez has been trying to kill; he shot her mother and aunt in Sarasota.”

  “I’m aware of that crime; every car we’ve got is looking for Rodriguez.”

  “The woman’s name is Marina Santos.” Holly gave him Marina’s address. “Do you think you could put a man on her for a few days, until Rodriguez is picked up?”

  “I think I can do that,” the captain said.

  “She’s burying her mother and aunt at Santa Maria, the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll put somebody on her at least until after the funeral.”

  “Thank you very much, Captain. If I can ever do anything for your department, please let me know.” She hung up.

  “Feel better?” Grant asked.

  “Not yet. Give me Harry’s home number again.” She dialed it.

  “Hello?”

  “Harry, I think I know how we might catch Trini Rodriguez.”

  “How.”

  She told him.

  50

  Holly sat on a folding chair in the steeple of the church of Santa Maria, next to an FBI marksman with a sniper’s rifle. It was a quarter to ten, and they had an excellent view of the churchyard and part of the square.

  “I hope to God they don’t ring the bells,” the marksman said.

  Holly handed him a pair of earplugs; she had already inserted hers.

  “How many more people have we got, besides you and me?” the agent asked.

  “Close to thirty,” she said. “Between the Bureau and the Lauderdale department, we’ve got a dozen guns in the square, and all the approach streets are being watched.”

  “Shit,” the man said, “I hope somebody else doesn’t get the shot.”

  Holly reflected on how she had felt when she had shot Trini Rodriguez’s brother, and compared it to this agent’s eagerness to get a kill. No comparison. This guy wanted another notch on his rifle stock. She looked at the weapon, but there were no notches.