“You’re making some pretty broad statements. You don’t know me.”
Jesse shrugged and stared out the window. “A hundred bucks says you’re the first one to make a blunder at the apartment.” He looked at Mack to see if she was in.
“I don’t gamble,” Mack said.
“You’re in the right city for that conviction.” Jesse shook his head. “Let me guess … You don’t drink, either. Let’s hope that holds up at the billions of bars we’ll be hanging out at.” Jesse gripped the steering wheel with two hands. Agitation fired in him, and the only way he could release it was to do something constructive. “Mack, you and I will pose as boyfriend, girlfriend. I’m going to play the quiet guy who lets his girlfriend do all the yakking. Kyle, just hang back and observe, okay? Pose as Mack’s brother. Ask questions a brother might ask. But not very many questions, okay?”
“I’m still not sure who I am. I mean, I’ve got a name and a driver’s license and all that, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to act like,” Kyle said.
“That’s the whole idea. You’ve got to adapt. You become the person you need to be in the situation where you find yourself. You’ve got to think like bottom-feeders. You’ve got to try to understand their mentality, or at the very least, imitate it. You’re in survival mode. You live for a fix day to day, or for the money that comes from selling what you steal. At the end of the day, you care about you and only you.”
Kyle said, “Maybe they’re not all so bad. Surely some of these people just made a lot of mistakes and find themselves with no hope.”
Jesse could barely keep his eyes on the road. “Dude, you’re making me nervous. I don’t know where you came from and what you’ve done, but I’m willing to bet you’ve been behind a desk for a long time. If you want to help these people, go into social work. Otherwise, I want to know that you can shoot someone dead without running through a checklist first.”
“So you’re going by Tony,” Mack said. “We call you Tony no matter what.”
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “Just keep your cool. You have to completely buy into the idea of who you are, or people will see right through you.” Jesse turned onto Beckland Street. “Let me see that address again.” Mack handed it to him. Jesse pulled his truck to the curb and looked out the window. The towering building across the street had four shiny gold letters above the grand archway that led inside: 7590.
“That’s it?” Mack asked.
Jesse checked the address again. “This can’t be it.”
“What?” Kyle and Mack both asked at the same time.
“Clever. I’ll give him that.”
“Who?” Kyle was staring at the doorman dressed like he was part of a marching band.
“What’s the contact name?” Jesse asked.
“Misty Delack.”
Jesse laughed. Sergeant Yeager was definitely not going to make this easy. “Okay, look. Sergeant Yeager is trying to throw us … me, for a loop. He knew I’d expect we’d be going to a place where the scum I normally deal with might live. But here we are, at an apartment complex for rich people.” He watched Mack’s eyes look from the tattoo on his forearm to her own jean skirt. They both looked at Kyle.
“What?” Kyle asked.
“We need a new game plan. Mack and I don’t fit the profile of the people inside that building.” He looked at Kyle’s khakis. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“But … but … I’m the brother. I don’t ask a lot of questions, I just stand there.” He looked at Mack. “Right? I just stand there?”
Mack said, “I think this is a good chance for you to show us what you’re made of, Kyle.”
Kyle was shaking his head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You’re the only one of us who will be taken seriously. I can still be your sister, and Jesse can still be my boyfriend, but you’ll have to take the lead because you’re the one who looks most likely to blend in.”
Kyle nodded. “Okay.”
Somehow Jesse didn’t feel relieved, but he wasn’t about to go back to Sergeant Yeager with a failure report. “Kyle, the trick is to act like you belong there. Mack and I have to do the same thing. We have to carry ourselves with confidence. You’re dressed fine, so the only thing you’ll have to carry off is the fact that you’re not lying through your teeth.”
Kyle swallowed hard, then cried out, “I can’t … I just can’t do it!”
“I can’t believe this!” Jesse shouted.
Kyle cracked a smile. “Like that? Was that a good lie?”
Jesse sighed. He opened his console, rubbed the bullet, knocked knuckles with the picture of Elvis he kept in his truck, then pushed open the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
Rhyne was an expert at reading people, but Vincent Ayala was a real challenge. Maybe Rhyne was distracted by the enormous amount of wealth that was just inches from his fingertips. He’d never been to the penthouse suite of a casino before. The view from the patio window gave him the impression that everything below was ripe for conquering and pillaging. Maybe he was worried he and Mason were playing the scene wrong.
More likely, Rhyne’s confusion came from Vincent Ayala himself, who looked liked he’d just stepped out of a trailer in a remote Nevada town full of misplaced rednecks. Rhyne had a hard time taking the man seriously. Bright orange hair, frizzy by way of the gene pool, was pulled back into a ponytail. Large brown freckles dotted every inch of his skin. His outdated mustache sat crookedly across his top lip as he guffawed his way through some completely irrelevant and stupid story.
Rhyne stood silently, his hands clasped in front of him. Two men in suits flanked Ayala, their hands also clasped in front of them. Mason dug a finger into his ear while Vincent Ayala dug a finger into a can of Copenhagen. He pinched some between his fingers and stuck it inside his lip.
“Rhyne, you wanna drink? Something cold?”
“Sure. Thank you, sir.”
“Whatcha want? Lone Star? I got Milwaukee’s Best too.”
Rhyne tried not to look as disturbed as he felt. Milwaukee’s Best? Where was the caviar? The expensive scotch? The cigars?
“I guess I’m not so thirsty after all, sir. But I did want to talk about—”
Vincent waved his hand. “Business, business. Heck and high water, Rhyne, it’ll be around whenever we get to it. Let’s go sit on the patio, have ourselves a nice chat.”
Rhyne glanced at Mason, who, by Vincent’s standards, actually looked classy. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”
The size of the patio was impressive, but the furniture might as well have been stolen from Rhyne’s brother-in-law’s backyard. A patio set with an umbrella, a large ice cooler, and a grill that looked big enough to cook a whole cow rested on ornate Italian tiles. Vincent’s hand plunged into the ice and emerged with a beer. He threw it across the patio to Rhyne, who barely caught it but not before it hit his chest with a thud.
Now he had a new problem: should he open the beer or wait for the fizz to settle? Mason had already made himself at home, his feet kicked up on the patio furniture and a Lone Star in his right hand. Rhyne joined them at the table.
“So,” Vincent said, spitting into an empty can, “my men say you think you can get the job done for me.”
“Yes sir.”
“You know about big business, Rhyne?”
“My father worked the blackjack table all his life. He told me stories about the wealth to be had in this city.” He had also told him there was no hope of elbowing his way in. The wealth was controlled by too many powerful people. But if Freckles had a chance, so did he. How could a guy who wears a tank top to a business meeting end up in a penthouse? “He died on the casino floor with only seventy-two dollars in the bank.”
Vincent raised his beer to him. “So you swore you’d do better. And here you are, right, Ol’ boy?”
“I can do this for you. I’ve already done several runs.”
“Small runs.”
Vincent picked his teeth with a thumbnail as he stared at Mason, who only seemed interested in the chips and salsa. “Let’s do some more talkin’ about this, Rhyne.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Alone.” Vincent looked at Mason.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Rhyne said to Mason, raising his brows to motion him along.
After grabbing a handful of chips, Mason was escorted away. Vincent picked up a chip, scooped a huge dollop of salsa onto it, and stuffed it into his mouth. “Lets get this thing rollin’,” he said as chip shrapnel and a spray of salsa flew out of his mouth. “I don’t want to be late for the buffet.”
Misty’s desk was adorned with red roses, plump and potent enough to make Jesse’s nose itch. He stood a few feet behind Kyle, who clasped his hands behind his back. Jesse could see his fingers fiddling with his belt loop.
Misty’s discernable and curious expression held a gaze that went all the way down to Kyle’s shoes, then stopped at Mack and her miniskirt. As Kyle introduced himself, Misty’s eyebrow lifted.
“I’m not what you expected?” Suddenly Kyle’s hands popped into a questioning gesture. “And I suppose Bill Gates looks like a trillionaire?”
Jesse wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. This was painful.
“Right,” Misty said, this time with a more pleasant smile.
Jesse had to give Kyle credit for trying. Though posing as a geek didn’t seem like too much of a stretch for him, so far he was using it to the best of his ability.
“This is my wife,” Kyle said, pulling Mack next to him.
His wife? That wasn’t the plan. Mack and Kyle looked so mismatched they would surely raise suspicions.
“I see. Well, I’m sure you’re anxious to see what we have to offer.” She looked between Mack and Kyle, who were now holding hands like they were at a school dance. “And this is … ?” Misty asked, looking at Jesse.
“My brother,” Kyle and Mack announced in unison.
“Whose brother?” Misty asked.
Kyle and Mack turned to Jesse, both their faces red with embarrassment. Jesse looked at Misty and said, “The brother who couldn’t afford a place like this if I sold my soul. Can we get on with it?”
“Uh … his name is Tony,” Mack said.
Misty cleared her throat and tidied the papers in front of her. “Let’s go take a look, shall we?”
“That would be fine,” Kyle said, and turned, politely gesturing for Misty to go first. Jesse shot him a look as they followed her to the elevators. But Kyle was nervously stroking the front of his polo where a tie might be if he were wearing a suit.
Misty pushed a button for the twenty-fourth floor. Kyle cleared his throat and turned to Jesse. “When will you have my Ferrari fixed?”
Misty glanced sideways at them.
“Your Ferrari?” Jesse asked.
“It’s been in the shop for over a week,” Kyle said, his nose high in the air. He looked at Misty. “He’s great at what he does. He can fix any car.”
“I see.” Misty’s lips pursed with disapproval as she glanced at Jesse. “I drive a Ferrari.”
Jesse’s heart pounded. He knew nothing about Ferraris. Kyle’s eyes grew wide as they passed the fourteenth floor in silence.
“Good for you,” Jesse said in an unimpressed voice. He didn’t want to start a conversation with this woman about cars.
She looked at Kyle. “Which model do you drive?”
Jesse decided to let Kyle handle this. They were in an apartment building, not a crack house. This was practice, and Kyle was doing a great job of completely screwing it up.
“The 612 Scaglietti.”
She grinned. “Wonderful.”
Thankfully the elevator doors opened. Jesse watched as Kyle took on a new air of confidence, gesturing like everyone was headed for the ball.
“Here we are,” Misty said, and opened the door.
Jesse followed them in. Mack had hardly said a word. He was going to have to challenge her or she might just sit quietly and let Kyle do all the talking. They gathered at the large window.
“I could get used to this,” Jesse said, elbowing Mack with loser-brother obnoxiousness.
Misty cleared her throat. “We have strict rules for our tenants. Guests are welcome, but they must be checked in and cannot stay for more than a week without prior approval.”
Jesse was starting to enjoy himself. Three out of the four people in the room couldn’t stop squirming and clearing their throats. He leaned against the spotless glass and crossed his arms. “Is that so?” Jesse asked. “I guess I’ll just have to live in Kyle’s Ferrari.”
“Over here is the kitchen,” Misty said as they rounded the corner. The kitchen, with cabinets all the way up to the twelve-foot ceiling, was clearly a focal point of the deluxe accommodations. Jesse eyed a small sink at the edge of the circular island. He jumped up and sat on the shiny marble.
Misty gasped. “Down! Please!”
Jesse smiled and looked at Mack, whose hand was over her mouth. Then he looked back at Misty. “You’re not my mom.” This was fun.
Mack dropped her hand, realizing Jesse was intentionally stirring the waters. She said, “You’ll have to excuse him. He has the manners of a Pinto.”
“Pintos don’t have manners or etiquette,” Jesse said. “Unless of course you’re talking about pinto beans, and then you might be onto something, although it’s still a mixed metaphor because technically, the pinto bean isn’t going to be the one having to excuse itself.”
Mack looked annoyed but asked Misty if she could see the master bedroom.
Jesse hopped down off the counter and trailed behind them. The master bedroom was furnished with a four-poster bed and included a bathtub that looked like a small pool. Kyle’s hands remained clasped behind his back as he strolled around the room, feigning interest in mundane details. Jesse wondered for a moment what it would be like to live in a place like this. Never on a cop’s pay, of course. Mack seemed taken by it all. Her wide-eyed wonder would’ve been enchanting, except that she was supposed to look like she was used to this sort of thing.
“Looks smaller than your last place,” Jesse said.
Misty turned to him. “I think you should let these two decide for themselves.”
Mack took a deep breath and regained her composure as a rich girl. She blinked slowly and fell back into the role.
They followed Misty to the dining room, where she pointed out the features of the wet bar.
“Do you have any questions?” Misty asked. She glanced at Jesse. “The two of you, I mean,” she said, redirecting her attention to Kyle and Mack.
“I love the carpet,” Kyle said, and suddenly he sounded more British. He pointed to a glass case on the wall. “Beautiful. Truly.”
Mack stared at the carpet. “Is it … stain resistant?”
“Um … I think … I can check on that. I suppose that would be important if you planned on keeping company that might cause stains.” Jesse smiled as her gaze moved to him. “Most of the flooring is wood, of course.”
“Of course. Wood.” Mack was starting to look uncomfortable again. Kyle, on the other hand, looked right at home. He studied everything from the light fixtures to the crown molding. “I like this,” he said, pointing vaguely to his left. “And this,” he said, pointing to the floor. Misty hovered next to him, pretending to understand what was so captivating. Mack tugged at her miniskirt and pushed the hair out of her eyes.
“Darling, what do you think?” Kyle asked Mack. Misty tried to remain expressionless, but Jesse could tell she’d had her fill of Mr. Money-Bags. Jesse just couldn’t help himself. He made his way next to Misty.
“I may not drive a Ferrari,” he said, “but I’ve got plenty of nice maneuvers.”
Mack rushed over. “Excuse him,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Mind your manners, will you?”
“Just being me,” Jesse said with a wink toward Misty that he was sure made her skin crawl.
“You’re not really made for off-roading,” Mack said, “and she’s too high up the mountain for you.” This brought a self-satisfied smile from Misty, though Mack was still the one coming up with all the zingers.
“Love the bookcases,” Kyle droned on. “And the walls. Exquisite. The paint. Divine.”
Jesse rolled his eyes, a familiar activity for the character of Tony Ramone. He considered Kyle’s performance thus far. So Kyle could pull off a guy infatuated with paint textures. That would in no way help their cause with auto thieves.
“Do we have any questions?” Misty asked.
“What’s your phone number?” Jesse winked.
Kyle whirled and snapped, “Jesse, would you leave the poor woman alone!”
The room grew still. Jesse’s heart rate rose as he looked at Misty’s perplexed expression. “I thought his name was Tony?”
Kyle swallowed, cleared his throat, itched his nose, scratched his hairline, and tugged at his left ear like a novice at a high buy-in poker table, but he couldn’t come up with anything clever to clear the sudden suspicion hanging in the air.
“That’s … uh, yes. Of course. That’s what I meant.”
Misty didn’t seem to be buying it.
“Jesse is his middle name. That’s what we call him when he’s misbehaving.” Mack slapped Jesse on the arm. “Behave, will you?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Jesse played along, but Kyle was squirming like a heat rash had overtaken his body.
“Yes, yes,” Kyle started mumbling. “Jesse is his middle name. He hates it. I call him that when I want to make him mad. Mom called him that, too, when he got in trouble. She passed in 1994. Or was it ’95? Anyway, as you can see, Tony is making nothing out of his life, and all he wants is a free ride. And you might think to yourself, who would name their child Tony Jesse? Obviously, those don’t really go together because of the e sounds at the end. His real name is Antonio Jesse, which was what my father called him. My father was Spanish.” Kyle paused. “I look more like my mother.”
Snitch Page 12
