“Maybe his squeeze,” Mario said. “I’m thinkin’ we should pay her a visit.”
Clarissa’s insides twisted in fear. She prayed she hadn’t put some innocent girl in danger.
“Yeah,” Chirelli said. “We’ll do that. Later.” He looked back at Clarissa. “Now tell me about these other guys who grabbed you. You say they had no balls?”
“I don’t think one of them did. He got kicked in the crotch. Hard. He seemed to hardly feel it.”
Chirelli turned to Mario. “I’ll check with our local contacts. See if they know anything about any stickup artists who’ve, I don’t know, been in some sort of accident.” He stood up. “I’ll make the calls myself. Meanwhile, I’ll give you two that alone time you wanted. But then we gotta get to work. Don’t take too long.”
It was the first time Clarissa had ever seen anyone tell Mario Allegretti what to do, and she noted that he didn’t even try to protest. He just nodded. As Chirelli left, taking Moose with him, he sat down in the chair opposite Clarissa.
“So,” he began, but Clarissa interrupted him. “Looks like you’re the one taking orders now, huh? Thought you were the big shot.”
He got himself under control with a visible effort. “You don’t know shit about what’s going on, babe. And if you’re smart, you’ll keep it that way.”
“I can figure it out,” she said. “You’re going to try and take the bra away from whoever stole it. And don’t call me ‘babe.’ We’re over. I told you that.”
“If we’re over, babe”—he leaned heavily on the word—“then Paul’s got no use for you once he’s gotten all the information he needs from you, now, has he? Is there anything else you need to tell the only friend you’ve got here?”
She glared at him, but nodded. He looked satisfied, for the moment. He gestured toward the overnight bag he’d brought in earlier. “There’s clothes for you in there. Put ’em on.”
She hesitated, then bent down and picked up the bag. When she looked inside, she couldn’t believe what she saw. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Put it on,” Mario said. “Unless you want to run around in a tablecloth.”
“I might actually prefer it.” She pulled the little black dress out of the bag. “We going to a cocktail party after this?”
“Put it on,” Mario said again. She turned toward the bathroom. “No,” he said. “Right here.”
At that moment, she hated Mario Allegretti more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life. She hoped that revulsion showed in her eyes as she stripped off the tablecloth and slid into the tight dress as fast as she could. She remembered the way he’d once looked at her body when they were together. He’d been enamored, almost worshipful; now his eyes were flat and dead. When she was done, she stood before him. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Mario broke the gaze first. “Tell me what you know.”
“I told you, I don’t know…” She paused, thinking of something Chirelli had said. “That guy said there was an ‘Uncle Rafe’ in the contacts on the phone. One of the guys we met, at the warehouse…Branson started to call him ‘uncle’ something. Maybe you should look there first. Instead of at that girl, I mean.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But there’s one other thing I wanted to know.” He leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowed. “Did they touch you?”
She sighed. This obsession had become tiresome. “No. Not in the way you’re talking about.”
“But they put their hands on you.”
“There was nothing sexual about it, Mario. For God’s sake, will you stop obsessing over…”
The door opened and Chirelli came back in, followed by Moose. “We got something. A couple of local hijackers. Twin brothers. They got their nuts cut off by some religious whackos, years ago. Named Lowman. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Great.” Mario stood up. “We’re in business. And Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“This Branson? When we find him, I want him alive. I want to have a talk with him about putting his hands on another man’s woman.”
Chirelli gave him a tight grin. “We’ll do what we can, kid,” he said. “But business comes first.”
Moose spoke up. “We going to find these Lowmans?”
Chirelli shook his head. “The local yokels are trying to run their location down for us. Meanwhile, we go with the address we have. Let’s see what this ‘Stephanie’ knows.” He gave Clarissa an appraising look. “So, sweetheart, what do we do about you?”
“You let me go,” Clarissa said. “I tell the cops the Allegretti family didn’t have anything to do with the robbery, and neither did I.” She looked at Mario. “And I never have to see your face again.”
“See, Clarissa,” Mario said. “That’s the part I don’t like.”
“And I care about that why?” she shot back.
Chirelli cut her off. “Shut up.”
She hadn’t been spoken to like that since she’d left home at seventeen. She never thought she’d ever put up with it again. But she shut up. Chirelli regarded her for a minute that seemed to stretch for an hour. Clarissa was used to being stared at. Judged. Weighed in the balance, and hardly ever found wanting. But she’d never had the sense that someone was literally trying to decide if she lived or died. Finally, he sighed and turned to Mario. “Okay,” he said. “We keep her out of sight. But not here. This rat hole ain’t exactly what anyone would call secure.” As if to emphasize the point, they heard shouting from outside, followed by a short, sharp bang that could have been a door slamming or a gunshot.
Mario nodded. “We can’t take her with us.”
Chirelli shook his head and sighed. “I can make some more calls.” He looked at Clarissa with a sour expression on his face. “I’m burning through a lot of favors down here, sweet cheeks. I hope you appreciate it.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”
Go where, Clarissa wanted to say. She felt like a twig caught in a rushing torrent. But she got up and followed Chirelli and Mario out the door. Moose brought up the rear.
Outside in the parking lot, a pair of black stretch limos waited, the big motors rumbling softly. Outside of each one, hands crossed across his chest, loomed a member of the Allegretti crew. If they felt like strangers in a strange land, they didn’t show it. The assorted lowlifes hanging around the motel had retreated to the shadows, watching these apparitions with a strange fascination, as if they were UFOs.
Chirelli turned to Clarissa and gave an ironic half bow. “Your chariot awaits, lady.”
THEY WERE back at the hotel, in Hermione’s suite. Zoe had her laptop set up on the desk in the corner of the bedroom area and was tapping away, pausing every few moments to check her results. She chewed her lower lip as she worked. Chunk was laid out on the bed, fully clothed, snoring with a sound like a badly maintained sawmill. He’d said he was only going to rest his eyes. Within a minute of lying down, he was out.
Hermione came out of the bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam. She was dressed in a thick hotel bathrobe and her hair was bound up in a towel. She stopped when she noticed Chunk, then smiled. Padding over to where he lay on the bed, she bent down and gently slid off one shoe. Chunk stirred slightly and there was a hitch in his indrawn breath. Hermione waited until he subsided back down into slumber, then took off his other shoe. She set the shoes neatly by the bed, then walked over to where Zoe was working.
“Shower’s free, when you’re done,” she whispered. “If you can’t get any sleep in, it’s the next best thing.”
“Thanks,” Zoe said, never taking her eyes off the screen. She tapped a few more keys. Hermione went back to the bathroom. She came out in a pair of black jeans and a black sleeveless top. As Zoe worked on, oblivious, Hermione went over to the suitcase that sat on the stand provided by the hotel and pulled out a black and silver handgun. A little more rummaging and she came up with a pair of magazines. She slid one home with an audible click and stuck the other in a front pocket. . When she was done, she went bac
k to Zoe. By then, the younger woman was leaning back in the chair, still staring at the screen, arms folded.
Hermione leaned over and watched numbers scrolling across the screen. “What am I looking at?”
Zoe popped her gum. “Some software that could get you locked up as an accessory to a federal crime if you knew that I had it.”
“Goodness,” Hermione said wryly, “how very cloak and dagger.” She straightened up.
“That number was unlisted,” Zoe said. “As expected. So I had to do a little voodoo to get to who owned it, how it got paid for, stuff like that.”
“And?”
“And now I’m waiting for…there we go.” Zoe sat forward in the chair. “Yep, it’s a burner, all right. But paid for with a credit card.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning this Uncle Rafe’s not as bright as he thinks he is.” She popped her gum again. “It’s always the half-bright ones who are easier to catch. They don’t know what they don’t know.” She began tapping on the keyboard. Chunk let out a great wet snort, mumbled something, then fell back into his previous rhythm.
“So,” Zoe said as she worked, “you and my boss.”
“What about me and your ex-boss?”
She stopped typing and looked up. “He’s not exactly a one-night stand kind of guy.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “And you think I am?”
Zoe shook her head and turned back to the keyboard. “I don’t know you. But I know Chunk McNeill. He’s a good guy. He looks after his people. And he’s my friend.” She stopped typing and locked eyes with Hermione. “So I look after him, too. Which means if you’re just fucking around and he gets hurt, you and I are going to have a problem.”
She turned back to the keyboard. There was a long silence before Hermione answered. “Miss Piper,” she said softly, “I would like very much to avoid having a problem with you.” She sighed. “And to set your mind at ease, I don’t ‘just fuck around.’ I never did, actually, despite some tabloids that might have told you differently.”
“Sorry,” Zoe muttered. “I’m just…” She took a deep breath. “Look, I know he’s not that great-looking a guy…”
“Miss Piper, it may surprise you to know that one thing I’ve learned in all the years I’ve been in this business is that looks are an illusion. They don’t tell you anything about what a person’s really like.” She smiled. “For instance. I get the feeling you judged me on my looks, didn’t you? Figured me for a cold, shallow, selfish bitch?”
“I…” Zoe began, then shut her mouth. She looked at the floor. “Sorry.”
“No apologies necessary. Oh, I probably should be mad. But I’m too busy being impressed.” She looked over at Chunk, still snoring on the bed. “He’s an extraordinary man, to have a friend like you.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have many. And neither do I, really.”
“Extraordinary people rarely do.” She leaned forward, once again all business. “So, what have you found, Miss Piper?”
“Zoe.”
“Okay, Zoe.”
“The burner phone with that number was bought by a credit card in the name of Heart of Dixie Auto Salvage Company, out of Macon, Georgia.”
“Auto salvage,” Hermione said. “Good cover for stolen items.”
Zoe nodded, then grinned. “You’re naturally suspicious. You’d have made a good cop.”
Hermione smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. So, when we go to the website of the Georgia Secretary of State, we find that the registered agent for Heart of Dixie Auto Salvage is…” She paused for dramatic effect.
“Uncle Rafe?” Hermione said.
“No. The registered agent is one William Robert Hart.”
Hermione looked puzzled. “But…”
“You didn’t hear this from me, since it’s kind of illegal for me to be able to access it, but NCIC-- that’s the National Crime Information Center-- says William Robert Hart of Macon, Georgia, is a known alias of a lowlife by the name of Raphael Valentine.”
“Ahhh.”
“Wait, it gets better. We do a simple public records search, and we find out that Raphael Valentine has a sister named Loretta, who, in nineteen ninety-one, married a Branson Suggs of Jessup, Georgia. Who is most likely…”
“Our Branson’s father.” Hermione sat back and applauded softly. “So. Our culprit is Raphael Valentine. Uncle Rafe.”
“I’m not done yet.”
Hermione smiled. “Of course not.”
“According to NCIC, Raphael Valentine has an interesting list of known associates. But one that keeps popping up is a fellow named Lord Byron Gordon, aka L.B. Gordon.”
“Lord Byron? Really?”
“I know, right? I can see how he’d want to go by L.B. But take a look.” Zoe brought up a picture on the screen, a scowling man with a long, craggy face bearing what looked like a permanent scowl. “Those stoners said Rafe’s partner gave them the creeps.”
“That face would certainly do that.”
Zoe nodded. “Let’s be fair, no one looks good in a mug shot. But this L.B. Gordon’s done a couple of sentences for…” She paused again, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.
“Jewel robberies?”
Zoe grinned. “Give the lady a great big hand.”
“And a big hand for you, as well,” Hermione said. “Now, do we know how to find these bad men?”
Zoe’s smile vanished. “Well, no. Not right this second.”
“Not to worry,” Hermione said. “We’ll find them. Now that we know who they are, we’ll track them down. What about this Stephanie?”
“We already had her information from the background checks.”
“Okay. So we check her out first?” Zoe nodded. Hermione got up and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was beginning to get light. “Sun’ll be up in a little bit,” she said. “You want to grab that shower?”
“No,” Zoe said. “I’m good.”
Hermione nodded. She walked over to the bed. With one long-nailed finger, she tickled the bottom of Chunk’s foot. He snorted in surprise, then sat up, blinking stupidly at them.
“Saddle up, cowboy,” Zoe said as she popped her gum. “We ride with the dawn.”
“What?” Chunk said.
“Zoe found a lead,” Hermione said. “And we’ve got work to do.”
He sat up, stretched, then realized what had happened. A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “How long was I out?”
“Hour and a half, maybe two,” Zoe said. “Don’t beat yourself up, partner. You needed the sleep, and there was nothing you could have done while I was working except hang over my shoulder and fret. And we all know how well I respond to that.”
Chunk nodded. “Okay.”
“You want a shower?” Hermione asked. “It does wonders to revive you.”
“No, I’m fine.” As he stood up, there was a dry rustling sound. They looked to see a sheet of paper appearing, slid beneath the door. Hermione walked over and bent to pick it up. She grimaced.
“I don’t suppose that’s some sort of secret clue,” Zoe said.
“No such luck. It’s our final bill. The show’s over, and so are our reservations here.” She crumpled the paper up and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket. “Glad to see Enigma still picked up my bill. How about you two?”
Zoe and Chunk looked at each other. “Shit,” Zoe said at last. “You think Paragon…”
“We’ll find out later,” Chunk said. “I don’t feel like standing in the lobby wrangling about minibar and pay-per-view charges.”
Zoe arched an eyebrow. “Why? You order porn or something?”
“Oh, I hope not,” Hermione said. “The offerings here were utterly dreary.”
Zoe and Chunk turned to look at her. She smiled. “Shall we get back to work?”
CLARISSA DIDN’T recognize the two thugs who accompanied her, and neither of them introduced themselves. They both looked tough and capable, not li
ke the junior guidos Mario usually surrounded himself with. They must be part of Chirelli’s crew, she thought, and the idea filled her with foreboding. One drove, one sat in the back with Clarissa. Neither spoke to her. She looked out the window. There was no way for her to tell where she was, but the neighborhood was definitely upscale. Finally, they turned down a cul-de-sac and stopped at a large wrought iron gate.
“Holy fuck,” the thug in the driver’s seat said.
The guy in the back leaned forward to look and whistled. “Nice.”
Clarissa looked as well. The house was enormous. It looked old, like something from Gone With the Wind. A long driveway led up to a white mansion with a wide pillared porch. “What is this place?” she asked.
“Belongs to a friend of ours,” the driver said. “A guy Paul’s talking about doin’ some business with down this way.”
“A gangster.” Clarissa said the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Nah,” the guy in the back seat said. “This guy’s totally legit. Right, Tommy?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said. “Totally. Owns a few strip clubs, but that’s legal, right, Carlo?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Carlo answered. “Looks like it’s a moneymaker, too. Nice of him to let us use the place.”
As he spoke, the large cast iron gate swung slowly open, as if propelled by an invisible hand. The big car proceeded up the driveway to the front door. As they arrived, Clarissa saw two iron statues flanking the broad front steps. Each one wore white pants and a red jacket, and their right arms were extended toward the driveway. Their black faces bore exaggerated red-painted lips and large white eyes.
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