by Ali Vali
Her burner phone rang. “Hello?”
“When do you want to meet?” Sofia asked.
“I don’t, but you’ve got some stuff to do. Finish all your business and do your best not to call attention to yourself.”
“If you try to screw me, believe me, you’re dead.”
She laughed, especially when she saw how pissed Sofia was. “I know my job, Mrs. Madison, and my word is what’ll give me all the work I can handle once I’m done with you. Your money can wait, so stop worrying about me, and bury all your problems.”
“Did you even do anything? From what I know from the damned cops who called me, Victor was enough of a scumbag to have died all on his own. It doesn’t seem like you had shit to do with it.”
“The young lady was all his idea, but believe me, fucking her to death wasn’t his idea.” She hung up and turned the phone off since she wasn’t a fan of circular conversations. Trust Sofia to think Victor had died on his own after she’d hired someone to kill him off. The waitress dropped off their order and winked at her as she walked away.
“Why didn’t you just give her the codes? All you’re doing is poking the bear with a thousand sharp sticks. Sofia won’t kill you but her father will.”
“They have to find me first, but never mind about that. Last night made me think we need some leverage, and it won’t kill Sofia to wait a few days. The hit on Victor wasn’t sanctioned by Diego or anyone of importance, and that’s not going to go over well if Sofia cracks.” She put her fried eggs on her hash browns and broke the yolks to mix it all together. It was a habit both she and Oscar had developed early on. “Besides,” she said as she shoveled in a mouthful of sausage, “we have an in now.” She held up an Earwig and smiled as she handed it over.
“Wow, I’m impressed,” he said as he listened to the conversation going on in the funeral home.
“I learned from the best, and we need to monitor this and the house until we can put Sofia in a rearview mirror and be sure she stays there. If she’s got a nasty surprise in mind for us, she’s going to wish she’d done as she was told.” The other phone she carried rang, and she tried to think if she’d ever seen the number before, but it wasn’t familiar. The only clue was the Vegas area code. “Hello.”
“I’m looking for a fix for my problem,” a man said.
“I can take a message.” She wasn’t worried about a trace, but she didn’t like to linger on the line any more than she had to.
“This isn’t something for a flunky, so I want to talk to you.”
“That’s fine if you don’t want to leave a message, but I’m not the one who needs something fixed.” She hung up and showed Oscar the number. It probably wasn’t traceable, but they might get lucky. It didn’t take long for it to ring again.
“Are you trying to lose business?”
“You’re obviously new to our service, but you leave a message and we get back to you. That’s nonnegotiable, but it’s also voluntary on your part. If you pass on the rules, don’t call back.”
“I need to get rid of a problem, like, right now,” the man said and he sounded pissed. “And I mean permanently get rid of.”
“Send all the particulars to this address.” She gave him an email address and waited. These things sometimes took turns she never expected.
“Do you think I’m brain-dead? I send you that and you pick me up when you get a warrant.”
“You got this number from someone who’s already a client. That means they trusted us enough to hire us, and I’ll repeat that I did say voluntary. The next move is yours.” She hung up again and Oscar pointed to the funeral home.
“I’m beginning to see what you mean.” Oscar tapped on the window. Diego had a grip on the top of Sofia’s arm and he didn’t appear happy. “He’s suspicious about all this, and he’s worried about the Terzo family. He mentioned them more than once in the last fifteen minutes.”
“It’s well known Moretti doesn’t have business in Vegas, so why would he be worried about Francesco Terzo?” The video on her phone came to mind and she kept staring across the street. On the surface, an attorney fucking Terzo’s son’s wife didn’t have anything to do with Moretti, but life was strange at times.
“Do you think there was something more to Victor that Sofia didn’t know? Something that’s not jumping out at us?” Oscar asked.
“If she put us in the middle of a turf war, then all the precautions we put in place might not be enough.” She was finished eating, pushing her plate away before she was done, her appetite gone. “We need to dig and find out what Victor meant to people other than Sofia. I might’ve fucked up on this one because it was a challenge, and by rushing to finish I ignored everything else.”
“It’s not anything we can’t fix, and nothing we can’t beat if it gets hot.” Oscar placed his hand over hers. “Was there anything else you left behind in his office that we might need?”
“A pile of cash and some diamonds,” she said, distracted. “Maybe, though, the real answers aren’t in the office, but someplace he was free to be himself.”
“The house, you mean? That’s not going to be empty until well after the funeral.” Oscar motioned for the check.
“He wouldn’t have risked Sofia finding anything he was going to use to cut her out of his life.” She stared at the retreating cars and shook her head. “No, Victor died with his secrets.”
“If you say so, but we could always take a vacation and wait this out.”
That was probably the smart play. All the security measures they put in place would slow someone down, but if they had a real hard-on for you, nothing was totally safe. The problem with running was it was a weakness you couldn’t easily overcome.
“I’m not living with a target on my head, buddy. This is our home and none of these fuckers are going to take it away from us.”
The lesson here was that Sofia killed Victor, the one man she was supposed to be loyal to—not because he was a lousy husband, but because he was the father of her children. Reed wasn’t fucked in the head enough to think Sofia would feel some deep-seated need to be loyal to her, a hired gun, which meant this whole job might have been a total screwup on her part. Panic wasn’t the smart play here either, though. No, what was called for now was standing her ground and killing anyone who tried to take what she’d built.
“Vacations are for celebrating a job that’s done, Oscar, not for hiding out.”
Nope, she was staying. She smiled, thinking of the coming days. What the hell was the purpose of playing this game if you didn’t play to win? The rush of living to play again was better than anything in her life. No amount of money or sex could touch the thrill.
“This job’s not done.”
* * *
Brinley kissed Finn good-bye as he went into her neighbor’s apartment. Her neighbor—a blackjack dealer at Wynn, who’d told Brinley about the job opening at the Moroccan—was also a single mom, and she dropped Finn off with her three-year-old son once day care was open. It was a godsend for Brinley since she couldn’t be late for work.
The job had quickly become all-consuming as she and Naomi worked through lunch every day and brought stuff home to try and have the bulk of the audit done in the two weeks Dean Jasper had given them. The numbers were still hard to grasp. The bulk of her mom’s clients had been small-business owners and oil field service companies, and while some of them made millions, they were dwarfed by the cash flow the Moroccan brought in.
So far the average take on a daily basis was forty-eight million, and the payout was close to the same, minus ten percent. What she’d been looking for in what Dean had provided, but hadn’t found, was the average number of gamblers. Considering the steadiness of the take, the Moroccan had to have the lousiest rich gamblers in Vegas. They lost, but only the ten percent, consistently.
The marquee outside advertised their around-the-world buffet and some comedian she’d never heard of, and she cursed her lack of expertise with the gaming industry as a w
hole. “I have to find a nonconfrontational way to ask Naomi about all this so I can get up to speed,” she said to herself as she sat in the ever present Strip traffic. The traffic light turned green and someone immediately blew their horn to get her to go, so she made the turn onto the street where the employee lot was.
She lucked out and found a spot close to the door, which was nice even though her walk now was shorter since Dean had moved them. For once she’d beaten Naomi to the office and juggled the box she was carrying to get the door unlocked. As she dropped the finished files on her desk, she noticed there were a few more boxes since last night and she wanted to groan. If they kept piling work on them, they’d never finish.
“Girl, nothing can be that bad,” Naomi said, dropping another box on the table and handing her a coffee cup. “I saw you turn in, but that light only lasts a nanosecond, which means you just got here. If you’re already looking pissed, it must be something you carried in with you.”
“Those ten weren’t here last night,” she pointed to the other end of the conference table.
“That fucker Dean is trying to bury us in paperwork,” Naomi whispered in her ear.
That was something else that was off. Naomi acted like the walls had a multitude of listening devices, and she’d get fired if she said anything about Dean or their other bosses. That day at lunch Naomi had pointed out that asking questions wasn’t a smart career choice, and her only advice was not to make waves. Vegas was now civilized according to all the cute commercials, but there were hints of that seedy underbelly in everything she was doing, and she was having a hard time coming up with excuses to ignore it.
The money was what had tempted her, but was it worth whatever this was? Things that were too good to be true had a way of blowing normalcy to shit, and if you tried to get back to where you were, your mistakes would lock you out of a better place forever. She could accept the consequences if it was just her, but Finn deserved better.
“I finished everything through March, so those have to be the summer files,” she said, taking the top off the closest box. It contained all the financial reports from May first through the twelfth. Strange way to break up the months, since there was more room in the box.
“I have about a quarter of the April files done,” Naomi said, “but Amelia got sick last night. So I spent the night cleaning vomit instead of doing more. My life is so damn glamorous.”
“That totally sucks,” she said knowing exactly what that was like.
“Do you mind helping me with the rest, and we’ll try the same cut of files for tonight if we’re not finished by this afternoon?”
“You brought coffee and scones,” she said, opening the bag, “which means I’ll do anything for you.”
“Maybe if we concentrate, we can actually get out for lunch. You can tell me all your secrets for making kids stop vomiting.”
She laughed and took what Naomi handed her. They sat side by side and were done with Naomi’s unfinished work by noon. Brinley made no comment as they walked across the street to Paris and Naomi got them a secluded table inside at Mon Ami Gabi. Naomi told her the French bistro was usually packed, and Brinley joked that her friend was sleeping with the hostess to score this table if that was true.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, girlfriend,” Naomi said as she arched an eyebrow at her. “I do the girl’s taxes for free in exchange for whatever table I want no matter how crazy busy they are. I love this place, but it’s always full, so I’m the winner in this deal.”
“You might want to introduce me to the other hostess after lunch then,” she said, laughing. “Do you want to check on Amelia?”
“She’s fine,” Naomi said, staring at her as if trying to decide something. “I wanted an excuse to get out of there and not make anyone suspicious.”
“Make anyone suspicious about what?” They stopped talking when the waiter took the order Naomi gave him. Since it was her first time, she didn’t mind Naomi picking for her.
“What do you think about our new assignment so far?” Naomi leaned in and spoke softly like they were in some kind of spy movie.
“I wish I knew how to answer that without sounding incredibly naive, but I have no experience to make a reasonable assessment.” Naomi tilted her head like she didn’t understand. “When I worked for my mom, her biggest client’s company cleared about one point eight million a year. If you combine him with all her other clients, you’re looking at roughly fifty million.”
“Sounds about right for a small firm,” Naomi said.
“It does, but in the first quarter of this year the Moroccan took in an average of forty-five million daily for the months I finished. If you got something different, then I performed the work wrong.” She said it all fast and in the same low voice Naomi was using. “Since I was convinced I was off, I did a little research and compared that to last year, and the year before that.”
“What’d you find?” Naomi asked.
“Two years ago, the average was twelve million with a payout ratio of between thirty-two and thirty-nine percent. That’s good since you’re still in the black, but it drastically jumped in this year, and it’s stayed consistent.”
“One of my months was fifty-two million with a ten percent payout ratio,” Naomi said, which made Brinley happy—she wasn’t crazy. “We’ve become the most successful casino in the history of casinos with an uncharacteristically steady level of return. For no apparent reason.”
“Or maybe their business really picked up and we just don’t see it,” she said, shrugging. She had a feeling there were things she didn’t want to know.
“Or maybe they’re doing something else—” Naomi straightened up and stared at the door.
“Ladies, does this mean you’re finished?” Dean asked as he entered with a woman Brinley recognized as a secretary.
“We’ve been locked in there for a week, including Saturday and Sunday, and I decided we needed air, Dean. Don’t worry, we’ll be back in our cage in less than an hour,” Naomi said.
“Just remember that Mr. Wallace and I are counting on you,” Dean said and left to join his date.
“Who’s Mr. Wallace?” she asked.
“Our CEO and fearless leader, but he’s more of a closet perv if you ask me,” Naomi said, keeping her eyes on Dean. “Shit, that’s Caterina Terzo,” she said when another woman came in and joined Dean at his table.
“Is she famous?”
“Eventually, when her picture goes up at the post office under a wanted sign, she will be,” Naomi said and smiled. “Sorry, you’re a newbie, and you don’t know all the players yet. Caterina is Francesco Terzo’s daughter, and Francesco is head of the Mob here. That’s not someone you expect to see your boss having lunch with.”
“Like in the movies?” The concept sounded ludicrous.
“What, there’s no bad guys in New Orleans?”
“More than our share, and from what I understand, they’re mostly bad girls, but I doubt I could point them out in restaurants.” She glanced at the woman Naomi had mentioned and was surprised to find her staring at them. She quickly looked away. “What’s your guess as to what Dean is doing with her?”
“I really don’t know, and I think it’s best if we forget this conversation. Let’s finish so we can go back to our box of an office with no window. Whatever you do, don’t access any other files from previous years. Neither of us wants to be someone Caterina Terzo gets to know well, and if they’re in business together, we want to stay far away from that stuff.”
“Okay, and thanks for the warning. My ex and his mother are bad enough. I don’t need any other problems.”
The waiter put her lunch down and it looked delicious, but her stomach was queasy. This was too much change too fast, and it had a way of clarifying there were certain things worse than her ex and his mother bothering her for money. She missed her mother, the green spaces of Louisiana, and her uncomplicated job and life.
The little voice in her head was suggest
ing she run before it was too late, but she’d made the decision to start over, and she owed it to herself to see it through. Besides, it wasn’t like they could kill her and get away with it. This wasn’t the movies, after all. Real life wasn’t that exciting.
* * *
“Anything?” Remi asked after getting all the niceties out of the way.
Mano was at home, the phone pressed to his ear, having left the office early to practice throwing the ball around with his son. Six-year-old Tres was pumped about playing baseball after finding Mano’s old yearbook and seeing him in his uniform. This was the first night he hadn’t worked late, and he’d spent the afternoon wearing Tres out. Watching his boy run around the backyard made him wish the rest of his family was closer, but Remi and his father had trusted him with Gemini, and he’d vowed to do the best job he could.
“We got some stuff from our police contacts, but according to them, Victor’s death will be ruled an accident. If someone did off him, they were good enough not to leave any traces of themselves behind.” He accepted a drink from Sylvia and squeezed his wife’s hand as he sat behind his desk. “That’s a dead end for now, so Steve and Dwayne are concentrating their efforts on the girl.”
“I’m giving you a raise if you find something interesting about a woman who wasn’t old enough to drink legally,” Remi said.
“Hey, Mano,” Dallas called out from somewhere behind Remi, followed by kissing noises.
“You heard that?” Remi asked and he could see her smile in his mind.
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“That won’t be a problem, but finish telling me about the woman Victor was with.”
“The most popular number in her phone, the number she sent the most texts to, belongs to someone we both know.” He flipped through the copies of the phone numbers and texts he’d paid for and was disgusted that this young woman had been used like this.
“As long as they’re not on our payroll, it won’t shock me.”
