Silent Cymbals

by Lakes, Lynde

  That was the understatement of the year, Rusti thought, dabbing at the trickle of blood running off her chin. Razor was clearly protecting her, but she wished she understood exactly what he wanted her to do next. Should she just keep her mouth shut, let things play out, and hope she lived through it?

  “Isn’t my girl something?” Razor asked Terrilla. “How many women could handle Zena’s attack without crying out?”

  Rusti dabbed at the bleeding cut with Terrilla’s handkerchief. Razor took the handkerchief from her and pressed it against the wound until the bleeding stopped. She couldn’t stop trembling. She felt Terrilla’s gaze on them. Razor was so brave and seemed to know exactly how to handle Terrilla. Did he have to keep reminding himself what the old man stood for? It had to be difficult to hate a man who had treated you like a son. Don’t blow it, Razor. You’re on shaky ground. Is Baxter on the way…the Feds?

  Terrilla puffed his cigar, then sent a puff of smoke circling into the air as though waiting for Razor to give himself away. Razor handed the old Capo’s handkerchief back to him.

  Terrilla captured Rusti’s gaze. “We haven’t heard a word from you. Cat got your tongue, young lady?”

  Razor put a supportive arm around Rusti. She glanced up at him, then back at Terrilla. “No,” she said steadily. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say when I’m kidnapped, tied up, cut with a knife. That sort of thing. All this is new to me. We don’t have parties like this in Pasadena.” She lifted her chin, and her dark coppery hair brushed her shoulders.

  “She’s spunky, Razor, like you said. But she needs to remember her place.” Terrilla shook a warning finger at her, his eyes cold as steel. “Don’t get too cocky with me, Ms. Collins. Capice?”

  Razor shot her a look that said to cool it.

  Terrilla smoothed his silver hair and grinned evilly. He had even, broad teeth. Teeth that could chew up Rusti and spit her out before she felt the bite. Suddenly, Terrilla resumed his former benign attitude toward her. “Don’t forget, young lady, I was the one who came in here and saved your life a little while ago. Don’t they say thank you in Pasadena?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Terrilla,” she said trying to drag out the drama.

  “That’s a good girl. We’ll have to get along if you’re going to be part of the family.”

  No way would she ever be a part of his so-called family. She forced a smile. Better to back off today and live to testify against him.

  Razor sighed as though relieved that she’d sensed the danger and backed down. The earlier twinkle in his eyes when she sassed Terrilla showed that he liked the way she stood up to him, and Terrilla’s response showed that he liked it, too, but even a novice like Rusti knew it wasn’t wise to push the old kingpin too far.

  Razor drew Rusti closer. “As I was saying before all this started, I’m sure the truth behind Antonio’s death will interest your father more than the next to nothing Rusti knows.”

  “Next to nothing? You tricked me.” She turned to her father. “You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you?”

  “Calm down, Zena,” Terrilla said. “You’ve got your own bag of tricks.” He settled himself heavily on the bench press. “Try to be rational for once. If Rusti doesn’t know anything, she can’t tell us anything. Even if you cut her heart out. Now, what’s the deal behind Antonio’s early demise?”

  “Razor has you wrapped around his little finger,” Zena said, pacing the room like a caged tiger.

  Terrilla’s eyes narrowed. “Sit down and start explaining.”

  Instead, Zena grabbed Bob Cane’s arm and started for the door. “I can’t stand by and watch you make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have.”

  “Wait, Zena,” Razor said. “Your father is still waiting to hear who killed Antonio. Will you tell him, or shall I?”

  Terrilla nodded in the direction of the door and two of his armed guards moved into position. “Stay put, Zena. You’ll leave when I say you can leave.”

  Zena tried to push through the armed men, but an Uzi pressed against her chest effectively stopped her. Bob Cane put his arm around Zena and whispered something into her ear. She wrenched herself away.

  Terrilla locked his gaze on Razor; his lips curled cynically. “Are you saying you know who the drive-by shooter was? If this is on the level, why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Just found out. But Zena has known from the start. And she knows who shot me.”

  Terrilla paled, then a flush began to creep up his neck. “Is that true, Stretch?”

  Zena stood tall, unyielding. “Don’t be taken in by him. Can’t you see he’s trying to make you think I did it? What a liar he is. And I’m not Stretch. I’m Zena, Zena, Zena.”

  “We all know you’re not a shooter, Zena,” Razor said. “You like to do your killing up close and personal. What we want to know is who you hired to kill Antonio for you. And who shot me. Baxter says we were shot with the same gun.”

  Zena’s tawny eyes glazed with fear. Bob Cane took several backward steps toward the door. One of the guards motioned for him to stop, and he froze in his tracks. A strand of Zena’s midnight-black hair fell across her face. “I didn’t kill Antonio, but I’m glad he’s dead,” she said, her voice bold and uncompromising.

  Terrilla looked as if he had been stabbed through the heart. His eyes filled with anguish, and he sat silently, staring at Zena as if he were seeing her for the first time. Slowly he rose and walked toward her. Although her mask of defiance stayed in place, she backed away, into a rack of weights. They thundered to the floor, and she tripped and fell, as they rolled about. Terrilla, flush-faced, hovered over her like an enraged bull. “Who did your dirty work?”

  “Him,” she said, indicating one of the guards. The others moved in and relieved him of his weapons. Bob Cane’s look of relief told Rusti that he might be the real culprit.

  Terrilla yanked Zena to her feet and whacked her across the face. The blow left a red, hand-shaped welt. She didn’t yell or cry out. Hate filled her eyes.

  The accused guard had become the focus of attention; he was convincingly protesting his innocence to Terrilla, to his cohorts. Rusti edged toward the door and motioned for Razor to follow. A reflection glinted on the wall. Zena had drawn another knife. She moved stealthily toward her father.

  Razor leaped at Zena. The knife was only inches from Terrilla’s chest when Razor knocked it out of her hand. Razor and Zena scrambled for the knife, but he got to it first and kicked it toward Rusti. Rusti grabbed it, still edging toward the door.

  Terrilla stared at Zena a moment. Then he pulled the gun from his shoulder holster, and turning to Rusti, he gestured with the gun. “Get back here, young lady,” he said. “We have unfinished business. And drop the knife.” Rusti opened her fingers and the knife fell with a thud to the floor. Zena started to go for it. “Stay where you are, Zena,” Terrilla said. “You and I aren’t finished either.”

  “I wouldn’t have killed you,” Zena said flatly. “I just wanted you to know that I could.” She rubbed her cheek. “But don’t ever hit me again.”

  “That’s where I went wrong,” Terrilla said, “I should have done it long ago.”

  “You don’t understand. I did it all for you. Antonio was a liability. He had no stomach for the business. Eventually, he would’ve brought you down.”

  Everyone watched Zena with horrified fascination. All six beautiful feet of her, striding up and down, wound up now, tallying up her brother’s weaknesses.

  “Your gutless son always had to get me or one of the guys to do his killing for him. It’s me you need. I can do your killing for you, too. And my instincts are first-rate. Everyone I killed,” she paused and leered at Rusti, “except that unfortunate Petra woman, were involved in the plot to capture you. Waste no tears on them, old man.”

  “I have no tears,” Terrilla growled. “They were shed long ago.”

  “Good. Then you won’t cry when I kill Razor and Rusti.” When Zena mov
ed toward Rusti, Razor stepped between them.

  Terrilla turned the gun toward Razor. “Stay where you are,” he warned. “And you, young lady, get away from Zena. If there’s any more killing needed around here, I’ll do it.” He sighed heavily. “After I get the facts.”

  Rusti stood trembling next to Razor; he put his arm around her waist.

  “Since this is truth-day, Razor,” Zena said. “Admit that you’re some sort of undercover cop and that you microfilmed our entire operation.” She came close to Rusti and lifted a strand of her copper hair. “Or would you rather I give Rusti a little haircut?”

  “Cool it, Stretch,” Terrilla said. “He hasn’t answered your question yet, and I’d very much like to hear what he has to say.”

  Razor’s answer was muffled by the roar and whir of helicopter propellers. Rusti could tell by the sound that the aircraft was setting down. She glanced at Razor. His pupils dilated briefly and he gave her waist a squeeze. She wanted to believe that meant things were going better than he’d hoped—that the police were just outside the door, ready to charge in and save them.

  One of the guards called, “Sir, we’d better hurry. Our shipment’s arrived.” Disappointment washed over Rusti. It wasn’t the police after all.

  Terrilla nodded, but kept his attention on Razor. “I’m waiting, Razor,” he shouted. “And make it fast.”

  “This is between you and me, Terrilla,” Razor said, his voice raised a decibel above the noise. “Rusti’s just an innocent bystander who got caught in the crossfire. Let her go.”

  “She stays,” Terrilla said, raising his voice as well. Suddenly the noise eased and Terrilla continued in a normal tone. “Now get on with it. And if I’m not satisfied with your answers, I’ll let Stretch rearrange the lady’s parts, although they’re quite lovely in their present arrangement.”

  Zena edged toward the knife. Her father put his foot on it. “Sit down, Stretch.”

  Zena remained standing. She and Terrilla stared at one another, hot angry sparks shooting between them. Finally she sauntered over and leaned against the wall. He stared at her a few seconds longer before turning back to Razor. “Is there any truth to what Zena says? Terrilla was looking directly at Razor. “Have you betrayed me?”

  Rusti’s breath caught, and she looked up at Razor. His cocky profile sent an uncertain shiver down her spine. Terrilla had charm, but he was as deadly as Zena. And although he professed to love Razor like a son, Rusti had no doubt that if Razor didn’t have the right answers, Terrilla would kill them on the spot. What could Razor possibly say that would convince Terrilla to let them live?

  “Me? Undercover? That’s a good one,” Razor said. “Like I’d walk into this mess without backup.” He laughed. “Do I look stupid or something? I just stopped Zena from stabbing you, saved your life. Doesn’t that count for anything?” He gestured toward Bob Cane. “Look at Cane, trembling over there; he’s scared witless. Ask him a few questions if you want to get to the bottom of this. Zena was so busy trying to frame me she didn’t do a thorough check on her own boyfriend.”

  Terrilla glared at Cane. “What about it?”

  Cane was shaking. “N…no,” he sputtered.

  Razor laughed. “Tell him, Cane. About the microfilm that’s already in police hands. And how you’re LAPD’s big hero of the day.” Razor turned back to Terrilla and tossed him a cell phone. “Call Baxter or your mole if you don’t believe me.”

  Zena shot to her feet. “Don’t you see what he’s doing, you senile old man?”

  “Senile? Oh, no, my dear daughter. I see it all clearly. You have gotten us into quite a jam, bringing that cop here. What can we do about all this, Razor?”

  “Get out of here before the raid. We can chopper out to the boat. Both are ready to go. We’ll motor outside territorial waters fast, then lay low in the Cayman Islands. Operate from there.”

  What was he doing? Was he helping this criminal escape? Was he going with him? Was he planning to take her along? Like Zena said, if Razor wanted her, she didn’t really have a say in the matter.

  “Good thinking, son.” He gestured with his thumb toward Rusti. “She knows too much to leave her behind.”

  “She’ll go willingly. I’ll see to that,” Razor stated flatly.

  Rusti shivered. It was clear if she protested Terrilla would kill her. Somehow, she’d find a way to leave them. She’d cling to Razor; she didn’t have to pretend to love him. Only act as if she’d be willing stay with him. It would be easier to escape if they didn’t think of her as their prisoner.

  Razor and Terrilla were whispering now. Then Razor turned and headed toward her. She watched his eyes. They pleaded with her, trust me, trust me.

  Her heart pounded. Her knees shook. She had trusted Razor with her life all during the past terrible days, but with all that had gone on here, could she still trust him?

  A few of the guards had disappeared. To ready things, no doubt. A second helicopter was arriving. She clamped her hands over her ears to shut out the deafening sound.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Terrilla said, gesturing with the gun in his hand.

  Razor grabbed Rusti’s arm and followed the old leader as he headed toward the door. It burst open and Baxter and his SWAT team charged into the room.

  Everyone scattered—when Terrilla started to run toward the opposite end of the gymnasium, one of the SWAT officers raised his gun and shouted, “Halt.”

  Terrilla kept going. As the SWAT cop fired, Razor leapt forward into the path of the bullet and took the shot in his chest. He staggered and fell to the floor.

  “No!” Rusti screamed.

  She rushed to Razor. Blood was everywhere. Rusti clung to him crying. “Why, Razor, why?” She had called him Razor, playing the hideous game to the end.

  She knelt beside him while chaos reigned around her—pounding boots, shouts, more gunshots. Terrilla kept running, two policemen hot on his heels. Within seconds, the police had rounded up everyone: Terrilla, his men, Zena and Bob Cane.

  Tears flowed down Rusti’s cheeks. She felt Baxter pulling her away from Razor’s body. Baxter checked for a pulse and shook his head. He drew a blanket over Razor’s face, while Rusti begged to stay with him.

  Two policemen hustled the handcuffed Terrilla along. He looked over at Razor with tears in his eyes. “Can I have a minute with him? He was like a son to me; he saved my life.”

  Baxter hesitated, then nodded. Terrilla bowed his head and said something softly in Italian. Then the policemen urged him along again. His shoulders slumped and he looked old and harmless. But there was nothing harmless about him.

  As the police hustled Zena by, she spat toward Razor’s body. Rusti had never wanted to smash anyone in the face until now. Instead, her tears flowed faster. This was her fault. If she hadn’t left the hotel to meet with Zena, none of this would have happened.

  Why had Razor purposely leapt in front of the bullet meant for Terrilla? Why had he given his life for garbage like that? And why had Razor died without disclosing his true identity?

  Shuddering, Rusti remembered the murderous look in Terrilla’s eyes. In Zena’s eyes. She would be dead now if Razor hadn’t stalled long enough to save her. Now he was dead and Terrilla had gone off to jail trusting Razor Jones to the end. How ironic that he should be mourning the loss of a loyal son instead of smarting from the sting of betrayal. Not that it mattered.

  Either way, Terrilla was alive because of a fallen hero.

  Her hero. It no longer mattered that he carried a gun, or that he chased around with criminals. If only she could take it all back, she would do anything, forgive anything, for just one chance to say “I love you.” I love you, Marc Devaux, I love you.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Enrico Terrilla’s rose garden was pregnant with life, mocking Rusti’s grief. A black and yellow butterfly wafted by and lit on a sprig of heather. The air was sweet with the scent of roses. But roses had thorns—and Razor was dead. She gulped back a sob.
Detective Baxter had brought her out here so she wouldn’t have to watch them put Razor in a body bag. Then he delivered her into the hands of two men in black suits—federal agents, he’d told her. The taller of the men, Agent Gallagher, had led her to a marble bench to give her time to compose herself.

  She had no idea how long she sat there drowning in sorrow, but she noted dully that the sun had all but disappeared. Before long it would be dark. And she would be alone. More alone than ever.

  Rusti felt Gallagher’s gaze on her. When she looked up to confirm it, she saw him glance at his watch and start toward her. “Time is running out, Ms. Collins. Are you ready to go?”

  “Ready to go?” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Her heart had died.

  With a firm grip Gallagher drew her to her feet. “We have a flight waiting for you.”

  Rusti shook herself loose. “Flight? No. I can’t go with you.”

  Gallagher took hold of her arm again. “It’s not safe for you here,” he said. “Chief Buck Williams fears repercussions against you. Our orders are to deliver you to him personally.”

  She widened her stance and planted her feet. “I have to see Razor one last time to say goodbye.” Thinking of Razor’s still body lying on that cold gymnasium floor brought new tears; she blinked them back.

  Gallagher’s partner took her other arm. “It’s too late,” he said. “They’ve taken him away.” Compassion rode his words and softened his gaze, but his grip was firm. “Please, Ms. Collins, Chief Williams is waiting.”

  She struggled to process his words while unanswered questions swirled in her mind. “Are you shipping Razor’s body back to Langley?”

  “Only the chief can tell you that.”

  Tension surged through Rusti’s body. “Why? Is it classified?”

  “We can talk in the car,” Gallagher said.

  Rusti allowed them to lead her to a black limousine. She wanted to hear what they had to say. Besides, the firm grip these Feds had on her arm told her that, one way or the other, they would do their job, whatever it took. Gallagher helped her into the limo, and when the Feds had her sandwiched between them, they gestured for the driver to go.