Scarlet Fever

by David Stever

  Chapter

  42

  At nine o’clock, I walked the alley behind Club Cuba to do quick reconnaissance. I did not want to leave anything to chance. Rosso and his boys got the jump on me at Pier 21, and I would not allow that again.

  Feeling comfortable on how I wanted to position myself and my surprise guest, I walked around the block and went into the front entrance of Club Cuba. It was crowded as usual, with Leah greeting patrons as if they were the only customers that night. She greeted each one personally—she called them clients, not able to shake the individual attention of her old profession—and led them to a table and took their drink orders.

  She spotted me as I entered, and I pointed to the bar. I sat near the end, ordered a ginger ale. A few minutes later, Leah came over and I followed her to the office. She closed the door and we embraced.

  “Twice in a week,” she said. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  “You’ve been your gorgeous self.”

  “I don’t believe that.” She pushed me down into an office chair, hiked up her royal-blue dress and straddled me. She put her arms around my neck and her face next to mine. “I loved seeing you the other night. Please tell me you’re here because you missed me,” she whispered as she kissed my neck.

  “What if someone comes in?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  She kept up the kissing and my hands traveled up and down her back. “Of course I miss you. And I loved seeing you. But I have business here tonight.” I pushed her up and off me. “As much as I would like to continue, I need to fill you in on tonight’s business.”

  Club Cuba had an upscale clientele so there was never much rough stuff. An occasional drunk to toss out was the most trouble they had, but Leah kept her “strong arms”—that’s what she called them—around to keep the peace. The strong arms, all former military guys, had a ninja-like knack for staying invisible. If some idiot got out of line or got loud, these guys magically appeared and quelled the situation. She paid them well and they stayed loyal. Tonight, I needed the strong arms ready, and invisible, in case my plan went the wrong way. I gave her the run-down and she was happy to supply some back-up. Just keep it out of the club.

  She stepped up to me and planted a long, passionate kiss full on my mouth. “Come back when you can stay awhile.”

  “I’m thinking you and I go away on a long vacation as soon as this job is over.”

  “You know where to find me.” She left me alone in the office.

  I made another call and then went to the alley to wait.

  I had a position next to a trash bin at the mid-point of the alley. Both entrances to the alley were covered by Leah’s “strong-arms.” We would have eyes on Brindisi no matter which way he came in. At 10:50, we coordinated our watches. We agreed to abort if he did not show by 11:30. The throbbing pulse from the band in the club vibrated into the alley. Voices from couples or groups of folks leaving the restaurants would echo off the buildings, and at two minutes before eleven, a teenage couple walked into the alley, only to be intercepted by one of the strong arms. I could not hear what he told them, but they scurried out like scared cats.

  At 11:05, Brindisi’s slight silhouette appeared at the end of the alley. He shuffled a few steps—was he drunk or high?—and then stopped and leaned against a building. Damn, I wanted him sober for this party. I stepped out from my spot to let him see me. After a minute, he regained his shuffle and headed my way. A worker from a restaurant at the opposite end of the alley came out with two bags of trash and startled Brindisi. The worker sized him up for a second, then threw away the trash and went back inside.

  Brindisi straightened himself. I waved him on. He stopped ten feet from me and I took a few steps toward him.

  “No. Stay right there,” he slurred. He was half-juiced, and that worried me.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Glad you came.”

  “They’ll kill me if they know I’m here.”

  “Where are they? Where is Claire?”

  “I told you. He calls me when he needs something.”

  “You’re being played. He used you.”

  “He’ll pay me.”

  “You better think long and hard. If he’s holding Claire against her will, you’re an accomplice to kidnapping. Those boys in federal prison will love you. They’ll pass you around like dessert.”

  “What he has going with the girl is his business. As soon as he pays me, I’m outta here.”

  “Is that what you think?” I sent a quick text on my phone. “Pay attention, friend.” Fifteen seconds later, a car pulled into the south end of the alley and stopped. The driver’s door opened and Mike got out. Brindisi shielded his eyes from the bright headlights. “See that guy?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “He’s my partner. He picked up Claire an hour ago. But no Rosso. Game’s over, Brindisi.”

  “Bluffing.”

  “You sure? Where’s Rosso?”

  “Already told you. I would meet him at the motel when he calls me.” He couldn’t stand still. He shuffled around, would stuff his hands in his pockets, pull them out, stick them in again. “I came here like you asked. Are we done?”

  “Not quite.” I waved to Mike. He reached into the car and cut the lights. The passenger side door opened and she stepped out. The light in the alley picked up the long auburn hair. She stood beside the car for a minute and then got back in.

  “Are you shittin’ me?”

  “We have Claire. Now, where’s Rosso?”

  “Fuck, man. He told me this would be a score. He said she had big money coming.” He was going in circles. “I need that money. Oh, man…” He fell to his knees.

  “Where do I find him?”

  “I—I think I may…wait…”

  I pulled him back up to his feet and propped him against a trash bin.

  “C’mon, Brindisi.”

  “Wait—if you have the girl, why do you want him? This is over.”

  “Not quite. If Tony gets to him first, it’s just more dead bodies. Including yours.”

  “You can’t let him know I told you.”

  “I won’t. I’ll help you get out of this.”

  His breathing was heavy and he was sweating through his clothes. He needed a drink—or a fix, or both. I stuck five twenties into his hand and I thought he was going to kiss me.

  “Supposed to meet at Eighth Street Café at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “Stay clear. Go hide somewhere and come around my place in a few days.” The hundred bucks in his pocket put some steam in his step and I watched as he got to the end of the alley and turned the corner.

  I waved to Mike and he pulled the car forward. I yelled “Thanks, guys” to Leah’s men and slid into the back seat of the car. “You look good as a redhead.”

  Katie turned to me from the front seat. “Damn right.”

  Chapter

  43

  The Eighth Street Café was in the lobby of an old five-story office building with a small parking lot to the left of the front entrance. I parked on the opposite side of the street a block from the café and gave myself a vantage point from where I could observe.

  Eight o’clock came and went. No sign of Rosso or Brindisi or the big Lincoln. It was approaching 8:20. Decision time. Giving Brindisi the money last night could have blown the entire plan. He might be on a bus to nowhere by now, but I didn’t think he’d be that cagey. Money in his pocket meant a drink or a fix, not a bus ticket. Or he realized what he did and had second thoughts and told Rosso to try to save himself. Or they were just late, which was the case.

  The Lincoln pulled into the lot. Rosso got out with another man, the goon who held Claire by her hair on the pier. No sign of Brindisi. I watched as they walked into the café. Brindisi not showing was a bad sign. Did he give up Rosso and split town, o
r was he curled up in a gutter or a downtown flop house? Or did Rosso get wise to Brindisi and decide to plug the leak by taking him on an early morning fishing trip in the harbor?

  I clicked the lens on my Nikon and focused on the café window. The glare from the early morning sun reflecting off office building windows made it difficult to see through the café glass, but I was positive it was them at a table. Rosso’s long gray ponytail was a dead giveaway.

  It was show time. Surprise was the credo to live by so I pulled on a ball cap and sunglasses and got out of the car. I stayed on the opposite side of the street and walked a block past the café, crossed, and then came back to the café, keeping an eye on the door. I went in and both men were at the table as I saw them, talking. The place was more of a deli combined with a gas station-convenience store. You could order a sandwich from a deli counter that was so dirty you could trace your finger through the grime, as well as play the lottery or buy a pack of smokes, a newspaper, or a six-pack. It was only open through lunch and was really a hangout for the old-timers to kill a morning because they had nothing else to do while waiting to die. The place had eight tables, all full. I wanted it crowded; less chance for them to make a scene.

  I stopped at the coffee counter, drew off a cup and had to wait for three ahead of me to pay the clerk. Which was fine; it gave me time to survey the interior and I noted a side door in case I needed to make a quick exit. If they spotted me, they didn’t show.

  I walked to their table, pulled out a chair and sat down, taking off my sunglasses and looking Rosso in the eye. “Surprise.” The goon to my left instinctively slid back; I slipped a hand inside my jacket. “Don’t.” Both guys were tall: Rosso skinny but fit; the goon had some beef on him. The last thing I wanted was to tangle.

  “Well, isn’t this interesting.” Rosso stayed calm but his eyes darted around the room. He must have wondered whether I was alone or whether Brindisi was with me.

  “Beautiful morning.”

  “What do you want?” Rosso lowered his hands to his lap.

  “Hands on the table, both of you. We don’t want to make a scene.” He brought his hands back up. So did the goon. “I thought I’d hear from you by now.”

  “Got the money?”

  “Maybe. Where’s Claire?”

  “Safe and sound. Waiting on you to deliver.”

  “You know that’s a tough order, right?”

  “You’ll come through. Or the pretty redhead gets dead. Very simple.”

  “Not easy finding a half-million dollars that went missing thirty years ago. That money is long gone.”

  The goon piped in. “Half-million—”

  “Shut up,” Rosso snapped. “Nice try. More like two million.”

  “That what she told you when she found you?”

  “She didn’t find me. I found her. And I was there when it happened.”

  “You know you have a Scarazzini problem.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell that to Tony the Scar. And this business with Claire, no matter who found who, just exposed you. Boyd.”

  “Don’t matter. With my share, I’ll be long gone.”

  An older couple sitting at the next table turned and looked at us and we both noticed. “Why don’t we continue this outside?” I threw a twenty on the table. “See that side door? Go out that way and to your car. Or should I say, Brindisi’s car?”

  Rosso nodded to the goon and they got up. I followed them out to the Lincoln.

  “Let’s wrap this up, Rosso.”

  “You have what I want?”

  “Need proof she’s okay.”

  “You got my word.”

  “I don’t think so. Prove Claire’s okay and we get on with things. No proof, I make a call and you go down for Sammy Scarazzini.” He scanned around the lot. Picked at something in his teeth, folded his arms across his chest. “Proof.”

  He took out his cell and dialed. He spoke into the phone. “Put her on.” A moment went by. “Tell Delarosa you’re okay.” He handed me the phone.

  “Claire?”

  “Johnny, oh my God.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay but you got to get—”

  Rosso grabbed the phone from me and ended the call. “Happy?”

  “No. I need to talk to her. In person. She hired me, not you,” I said.

  “We’re way past that. The money?”

  “Maybe. But I want Claire. How about the three of us meet? Sort this out before it all goes real bad. Don’t be stupid. Tony Scarazzini has all the motivation he needs to end this now. That includes me.”

  He pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one up. Threw the match on the ground and then opened the car door.

  “Tonight. Midnight. Back at Pier 21. Bring the money.”

  “You bring the girl.”

  They both got into the car and drove off. I walked across the street to my car and my mind flashed to Brindisi. Poor guy. I promised I would protect him if he connected me with Rosso, and he came through on his end of the deal. I called his phone but no answer. My sixth sense was tapping on my brain, like a Morse code operator sending an SOS. I hoped Brindisi was still human.

  Chapter

  44

  I called Marco to ask for a favor; he came through like a champ. He wanted to be part of tonight’s rendezvous, and I agreed on one condition: he had to put the badge away until I saw what we were facing with the Rosso and Claire show. Was it possible that Rosso flipped on Claire and was holding her? My instincts said no, but anything was possible now.

  I met Marco and Mike on Pier 3 at ten. Marco arranged through a friend to have a twelve-foot sailboat waiting to take me to Pier 21. I wanted to arrive by sea, avoid the access road, and secure a position before Rosso and his merry men showed. They got the drop on me two nights ago; I refused to let them do it again.

  An ex-cop named Tolliver owned the boat. Marco made quick introductions: I didn’t catch his first name and it didn’t matter. Tolliver had the sail down and had mounted an 8-horsepower electric trolling motor on the stern. A thick cloud cover hung low and obscured any moonlight. Lights from the piers reflected off the water and provided the only sight-navigation points other than yellow buoys, topped with a single flashing red light, anchored in the middle of the harbor. Tolliver and I cast off from the dock and into rough water, the result of the overcast sky and approaching weather. The chop in the water muffled the hum from the almost silent motor—which was the idea.

  Marco and Mike stayed back at Pier 3, ready to move in if and when I called. Once I had a visual on Claire, I signal Marco, and he closes in with some uniforms. Rosso collared on kidnapping and abduction, leaving me to figure with my red-headed client and what is left of the case.

  The trip to Pier 21 took fifteen minutes. We stayed three hundred yards out from the piers, and without a bigger engine to power through the choppy waves, it took everything Tolliver had to keep us on a steady course. He did not say a word. He understood his job, and it didn’t include talking. He was to take me out to the pier and get himself back as quickly as possible without being seen or heard. Pier 21 was the last pier on the north end of the Harbor and designed for use by the PCPD Harbor Division and the Coast Guard. It was the only pier with a dock customized for smaller water craft.

  Tolliver circled wide in the harbor before angling back to the pier. He guided the small boat to a dock, and when we nestled in, he pointed to a ladder. I grabbed the first rung I could reach, hoisted myself out of the boat and climbed up. I turned around and he was in reverse, clearing the dock. I gave him a wave, he nodded back and then disappeared into the black.

  The small dock led up to the larger pier deck but there was still a chain link fence between me and the harbor access road. A gate in the fence was marked for police and Coast Guard access only, but M
arco came through for me again with the security code. I punched the code into a key pad, and the gate clicked open.

  I came up on the access road thirty yards from the meeting location. The wind picked up and a light rain began to spit down. I checked my watch: 10:45. An hour and fifteen minutes early. I stopped and stood motionless for ten minutes, listening for anything that would alert me to someone else waiting in the dark. The crunch of a footstep on the roadside gravel, the beep of a cell phone, a muffled cough or sneeze, or the click of a lighter. The wind picked up, and the rain came down hard and steady. I found a small alcove near the door of a garage used for several forklifts and huddled there. I turned up the collar of my jacket and sent Mike and Marco a text telling them I was in place.

  At eleven-fifteen, Harbor security rolled by on their rounds, not bothering to slow or even glance at the pier. The wind and rain made this a night to go through the motions. At eleven-thirty, just as I drifted to thoughts of a smooth bourbon warming my stomach, headlights appeared on the access road. The headlights went from two to four as they drew closer. Two cars. I sent another text: company.

  Brindisi’s Lincoln came to a stop on the side of the access road across from the Pier 21 entrance. The second car, a dark-colored Mercedes, stopped beside the Lincoln. The driver of the Lincoln got out and hopped into the passenger side of the Mercedes. I thought it might be the goon from the café this morning but I could not be sure in the rain. The Mercedes hooked a U-turn and sped off down the access road. The Lincoln sat on the shoulder of the road, illuminated by a street arc-light, like an actor at center stage under the spotlight. Rain blew through the light like shiny crystals as I stared at the car. Should I approach or was the car a prop waiting for the show to begin? I sent a text to Marco and Mike explaining what happened.