Lethal Trust

by Lala Corriere

  Barclay gathered his Italian scarf, his stun gun now at Breecie’s forehead to make a point. He put on gloves and extracted the cut piece of duct tape from his wallet that would seal her mouth.

  “Forgive me,” he said as he left for the door. “I like this scarf. It brings me luck.”

  “SUNOVABITCH,” Hunter Childs screamed at his brother, Manny, now only going by the single name of Hitch.

  “Calm down, my master. It can’t be. It just can’t be.”

  “It’s my job to interpret the numbers, my man, and you hold the friggin’ Vandy MBA. Look at the spreadsheets.”

  “You’ve been manipulating those spreadsheets for months. They mean nothing.”

  “I’ve been hiding assets, asshole. This last two weeks there’s not much to hide. And, don’t fucking forget. You’re the guy feeding me the numbers. You’re supposed to be making me look brilliant.”

  “Does Isidora know?”

  “Hell no! But, she will. The woman barely finished high school but she’ll read this like a bad greeting card.”

  The two men huddled in a corner of a failing family restaurant on the east side. The bright lighting didn’t deter them, although Hitch wore a blond wig and extra padding around his waist.

  “Now, what?” Hitch said.

  “Don’t ask me. You’ve been spearheading this mess.”

  Hitch stirred the remains of stale coffee and the grounds on the bottom of the cup surfaced. He took out glasses and brought his copy of the numbers closer to him. He thought about complaining about his cup of Joe but remembered that’s why the only customers in the place were three seniors arguing about the rules of mahjong.

  The two sat in silence. Hunter, drinking tap water, broke out into a sweat and it pissed him off.

  “Come on! How long are you going to stare at that crap?” Hunter barked.

  “The drug trade with the Scorpions is gone. That’s a fact. They’re into the season and not one of them wants to fuck up. Using or buying for their people is off the table. It’s gone.

  “Two ways out. We either face the wrath of Isidora or we bank on the fact that the uppers at the Scorpions aren’t watching their books as much as they’re watching every play, foul, and interception. We rob from the rich, and give to the rich that are suffering a temporary setback. Meanwhile, we expand our reach into Yuma, Flagstaff, and across into New Mexico. We score and we return our loans,” Manny said.

  Composure returned to Hunter as he gulped the remains of his water.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “A new supplier receiving funds from the team. We’ll make the expenses big on the front end, and slowly bring the amounts down. If anyone raises an eyebrow to the first few big hits, they’ll see the expenditures going down and with luck, brush it off. You know the game. You figure out what the expenses are for and how to let them ride.”

  FINALLY CARVING OUT TIME to meet with Taylor, it was she that struggled to squeeze me in between appointments. I later found out that the appointments were with her manicurist, her massage therapist, and her color healer, whatever the hell that is.

  She agreed to meet me at the coffee house on the corner from my office. I waited thirty minutes and had reached for my purse when she waltzed in with a man I recognized as a player with the Scorpions.

  He turned the nearby chair around and sat with the back in front of him, motioning for the waitress and asking for two black coffees with whiskey backs. Informed that they didn’t serve alcohol, he demanded the coffees as he reached into his cargo pants and pulled out a water bottle and placed it on the table in front of him.

  Odds were it wasn’t water.

  “Why you call for my gal?” he demanded.

  “I’m here to help the family as best I can. An advocate, if you will.”

  Taylor cocked her head and giggled. “A paid advocate.”

  “As you wish to see it. Taylor, do you think you’re in any danger?”

  The football player pushed away from the table, “What the fuck? Not with me.”

  Taylor said, “I lost some siblings. Shit happens. I get that Stacie is all crazy. But, it’s silly. All of this is a game. Surely, you see this. Stacie scores some points with the board of trustees by simply hiring you to protect the family interests. It’s so pathetic and transparent.”

  “And, do you think you might be named as the future owner of the Scorpions’ franchise?”

  “I have as good a chance as any. I’m no bimbo. I play my cards a little differently.”

  “And do you—”

  “ I think it’s a shame. I think it’s a sham. You’ve interviewed me. Our game is over here, but the real game is coming to a head soon enough.

  “Now, I have advice for you. Look in your own backyard, you wise medium guru.”

  Taylor was right about one thing, I thought as they left their coffees behind but not their special water. I had wasted my time with her. She couldn’t finesse an early chess move, let alone a murder.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  THE COFFEE APPOINTMENT LEFT me feeling ridiculous. Stupid. God, Taylor had nothing to do with these murders. I should have known better. It didn’t matter her lifestyle. IT didn’t matter that the three of us sat at a table with four chairs and only two and a half were largely occupied as she seemed to prefer to ride the pony, her man dujour, directly in front of me. It reminded me of the famous diner scene in the movie, When Harry Met Sally. Only, I didn’t want what she was having.

  Every private investigator or detective has some degree of instinct for seeing beyond the crime scene, and yet I was feeling more alone and confused in my beliefs as if crimes had been committed.

  My state of knowings that had been with me since I was a kid wasn’t working for me. I had no sixth sense about anything.

  I fumbled for the cell ringing deep in the bowels of my obscenely large purse.

  The call number was blocked. “Cassidy Clark here.”

  “My name is Candace. I’m sister to Marcos.”

  I took in a deep breath. As close as we were, Marcos and I had scant conversations about family.

  “What’s going on?” An anal reply, but all I had.

  “Marcos is missing.”

  Such a fucking flat voice that my emotions puked.

  Okay. I can handle this. “I spoke with him a week ago, He was headed to Spain. Tell me what you know.”

  “He spent the weekend in Ibiza. I guess maybe you weren’t that close. Maybe this was a mistake in calling you.”

  Just maybe, I felt something on the knowing side of things. It didn’t feel good, but I was mad at the bitch’s attitude.

  “And you know this, how?”

  “Nothing like being jarred awake by a phone call in the middle of the night as next of kin, which is a long shot. The call came from the American embassy in Spain. I guess Marcos had me written down as a contact. Don’t know why.”

  “Your brother and I are very close. We endure physical distance as part of our relationship. What was he doing in Ibiza?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, I suppose. The only thing I know is that he was last seen at a bar, partying it up with some big players, and in Ibiza that means celebrities and no press. Every drug on the color wheel.”

  “So, he’s not your brother?”

  “Technically, no, he’s not my brother but from random ill-fated marriages. No blood shared. I’m going out of my way to let you know. Maybe you can help. Maybe you can’t. It’s up to you. I’m out of it.”

  Memories of Seth Childs pulsed through my veins and my brain. Blood? No blood? What the hell was the difference but love?

  “Maybe I can help. You know I’ll try. Your number is blocked. How can I reach you?”

  “All I got. As I said, I have no blood in this game.”

  “But your last name?”

  CLICK. The call ended.

  Blood or no blood? What the hell? I wouldn’t be concerned with finding Candace, the so-called sister. After all, she
only contacted me out of the great goodness of her heart for concern over her no-blood brother. She called me to find out what was going on with my Marcos or get dirt on him and maybe find herself in a will.

  I ordered a double latte. Maybe not the best thing for my churning stomach. The waitress noticed my flushed face and asked if I was okay,

  Uncharacteristically of me I tapped my fingers on the table for the next cuppa.

  Uncharacteristically of me I wished the dumb-ass football player had left a bit of his special juice. The funk consumed me.

  I paid the bill for the three of us. Walking outside, with my office just a couple of buildings away, the small park across the street appealed to me. While I loved the privacy of our office courtyard, the park offered five benches, somewhat separated by three-foot curved stone walls, and all surrounded by a cathedral of white Arizona Sycamores.

  Legends had it that the white trunks represented bones and death. I chose to think of them only for their sheer mammoth size and gracious beauty.

  I crossed the street to the park as I grabbed my phone to text Schlep.

  This is all I recalled.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  “DO YOU KNOW WHERE you are, Cassidy?” the ICU nurse said.

  “Some hospital, I guess,” I answered.

  “Good guess. The paramedics brought you in about four hours ago. You were in a bad car accident. You’ve suffered a traumatic brain injury. You took a big blow to the back of your head. We’ve done a CT scan. Your brain is swollen.”

  I blinked my eyes. Aware that the back of my head hurt like hell, I tried to reach up to touch it but the constraints of multiple IV’s preventing the movement.

  “I’m required to ask you questions and you’re going to hear me ask them several times. Do you know your address?”

  I passed the test.

  “Do you know who the president is?

  Passed again, and I answered four more stupid questions.

  “I’ll leave you for a bit. You have two gentlemen outside that are eager to see you. Are you up to it?”

  I shrugged as best as I could.

  The two men came in and the nurse instructed all of us that we had five minutes.

  “Do you know who we are?” one guy asked.

  I looked at the men that proudly wore their badges. “Of course, I do. You’re two of the shrinking circle of friends I have left on the force.”

  They both kneeled down after gently pecking me on my forehead.

  “Do you know what happened to you?” the other officer asked.

  I lifted up my wrists slightly and said, “Arrest me if you must, but I’m pretty sure a car pulled out right in front of me. That’s it. That’s all I remember. I can’t even remember any handsome paramedics leaning over me in the ambulance.”

  “We have two eye-witnesses. The other driver is sitting in jail as we speak, facing a DWI, possession of narcotics and possession of drug paraphernalia,” the officer closest to me said.

  “Wait. What kind of car was it? What drugs?”

  “Cassie, that all can wait.”

  Unhappy with the response, I tried to turn my body so that I could better see them. The room started spinning so violently I grabbed the bed handrails as best as I could.

  “You win. It can wait,” I said, forcing a small smile.

  “We’ll be back,” said my cop-friend that looked more like a geek than an officer of the law.

  “We really came by to give you some good news but you have to keep it a secret for now.”

  “All ears,” I said, realizing that I could hear but when I talked it sounded like I had on a pair of thick earphones, making it sound like I spoke in an enclosed chamber.

  “We have an inside tip that our illustrious Chief of Police is on her way out, and not by her choice.”

  Now, that did make me happy.

  “Just one thing. The vehicle that caused the accident. I think it was black. Was it an SUV?” I asked, remembering the one that seemed to have a preoccupation with parking outside of my home.

  As one cop shrugged the other replied, “Nope. Dark blue hybrid Acura. Doped up and dealing small time, Cassidy. There’s no reason to feel like you were targeted. Not this time.” He winked with a most assured message that he knew I could be anyone’s target at anytime.

  The nurse returned with a vampire ready to draw my blood to take to the lab. She tapped on the face of her watch and rattled off, “Your five minutes are up. Out. Now.”

  My friends turned to leave, but not before one of them adding that maybe the chief, in any future working capacity, might want to hire my mean nurse.

  BIBBIONE ARRANGED TO meet his enemy in a public place. A restaurant that had banned him from entering. He didn’t think it was so much him as it was the two thugs that were always behind him. Remembering Cassidy’s comment about his bodyguards, he had them dressed in Tucson Casual with khaki shorts, polo shirts, and deck shoes so that they wouldn’t stand out. Impossible he thought. It could have been that both men were of impressive size. It could be their stances. Maybe it was their inability to smile and that they followed Bibbione to the men’s room.

  Management looked up as the three men entered the dark pub. Bibbione knew that there would not be a scene so rather than be led by the reluctant hostess, he claimed a booth and sat down on the tufted leather. He liked it there. For one, it was genuine Italian leather seating and not that cheap crap, and they offered delicious escargot alongside decent wines. The two men found a place to stand against a wall behind them. Bibbione signaled them to sit down to be less obvious. The place began to fill up with both regulars and tourists.

  Bibbione ordered a bottle of the Leonetti Cellar Merlot along with the escargot and service for two.

  From his position in the booth he could see the entrance. Fashionably late, his archrival entered with a pooch in her arms. Bibbione knew that dogs weren’t allowed, either.

  He stood to greet her as he reached for Isidora Childs’ hand to kiss it.

  “Charming,” she said as she scooted her ample butt into the booth across from him.

  “I’m pleased that you would meet me,” Bibbione said, straightening his perfectly knotted tie.

  “I see you’ve brought your boys with you. Do you worry I might shoot you?”

  He laughed. “You, or a number of persons in this town.”

  “What is there that you wish to discuss with me?” she asked, tapping the table with long red painted fingernails.

  “Maybe an allegiance. Maybe a truce. Tucson is pretty small to support two kingpins in our business.”

  Isidora accepted the glass of Malbec wine poured for her. She lifted three escargot onto her plate and then dredged four pieces of bread into the garlicky butter from the dish. As the waiter walked by and her dog growled, she caught his attention.

  “This is nice but I’d like an order of your frog legs. Oh, and your mussels,” she said.

  “But of course. The Cuisses de Grenouilles and the Moules Provencales for the madame. Beau. And you, sir? Anything else?”

  Bibbione smirked and shook his head, declining any more food.

  “Now, where were we?” Isidora said. “Oh, yes. This idea of yours of a truce between the kingpins. For the record, I am no kingpin and I’m no drug lord. Maybe you might call me a baroness of enterprises. And this baroness isn’t sharing any terrain as I’m quite territorial.

  “Now, you seem to feel you are superior to me. Is it because you have the childish idea that you were here first and therefore, you’re the man. Or is it because I’m a woman?”

  She lifted up her ample but sagging boobs to prove the point.

  “It may sound trite but it’s not childish by any means,” Bibbione said. “In the real world I was here long before you and I know the market far beyond what you might imagine for yourself. We work together, maybe? I can help you.”

  She pulled out a cigarette. That did cause management to come to the table to snuff it out before there
was a plume of smoke.

  She grumbled, “And here I thought he arrived to light my cigarette for me.”

  Isidora grabbed a fourth snail of the six and mercilessly went on to discredit the bread.

  “This bread is far too dense and too highly seasoned to be an appropriate pairing,” she complained to Bibbione.

  Bibbione went back to the reason he had asked for the meeting. He said, “I know who your players are and we are watching all of them. A couple of cute women you have onboard.”

  “Your arrogance amuses me,” she said while dipping a piece of the unfavorable bread into the remains of the garlic butter. “You don’t think we have eyes on you?”

  “One question surely you can answer. Are you playing the Dark Web?”

  “Pffft. That’s for amateurs. And, even if I did I surely wouldn’t divulge that information to you. Have your little spies figure it out, then let me know how that goes.

  “Now, you answer me. Rumors have it that you lost your advantage when you tried to open up shop in the Heroin Triangle. True?”

  Bibbione leaned forward, put his elbows on the table with his hands clenched. “Ridiculous. Atlanta amuses me but anywhere north of there does not. The turf’s wide open for you, my little territorial bird.”

  Bibbione folded his napkin and returned it to the table. “This will conclude our meeting, Isidora. I guess perhaps we might agree to a détente?”

  “I will agree to nothing with you, Anthony Bibbione. I came here to meet with you as a source of pure entertainment. This isn’t a business summit. Tucson might be big enough for us to not have to cross paths anymore. The hunger for the drugs is making us both wealthy. We both have the supply and we both have the demand. We have the typical street kids and the atypical soccer moms. We have the weak and the mighty in our troves of avid buyers. I will tell you that I have an eighty-six year old regular. Our business is one that is truly one of equal opportunity.”