by Jeff Abbott
‘Tell me where to meet you in Houston.’
‘I’ll call you back, Judge. When I know. Speak with you soon.’ Harry clicked off.
‘Harry, please—’ Whit was talking to air. Fine. Finish court business, then head to Houston. Take his friend Gooch if he could go, Claudia if she was available and interested.
He picked up the phone, was three punches into her number when he slowly put the receiver down. Not Claudia. A police investigator might not be the first friend to introduce to dear old mom. And Claudia was opposed to this whole enterprise. But Gooch, he was fearless and nuts and inventive in tight situations. Harry might call Claudia, to check up on him, ensure he hadn’t come to Houston. So leave sooner rather than later, if Gooch didn’t have fishing clients today and could go. Do it before Claudia could stick her well-intentioned nose in and talk him out of going.
Houston. So close. He felt sick and dizzy and happy and afraid, all at once.
‘Edith?’ He called to his clerk. ‘Cancel my appointments for today and tomorrow. I’ve got a family emergency up in Houston.’
‘Military operation,’ Gooch said as he finished hosing down his boat. ‘That’s the way to look at your trip.’
‘I was thinking of taking flowers and seeing if she’d talk to me,’ Whit said.
‘Forget that, Whitman,’ Gooch said. He put up the hose, went belowdecks, pulled a duffel bag from a drawer and tossed clothes inside. Then three guns. Gooch was tall and massively muscled, ugly to the bone, the best fishing guide on the coast and the most intensely private man Whit had ever known.
‘Slow down, Dirty Harry,’ Whit said.
‘Families like the Bellinis, they understand a gun. Nothing else. The heartfelt emotion of a family reunion will be wasted on them. Especially if she wants nothing to do with you.’
‘She’ll want to see me,’ Whit said.
‘We’ll need a base of operations,’ Gooch said. ‘I got a client up in Houston. Charlie Fulgham. Rich defense lawyer. I’ll call and see if he’ll put us up.’
‘We can stay at a hotel.’
‘Naw, Charlie’s cool. He’s actually given up his law practice. He defended major scuzzballs. Wants to go into entertainment. Bet he knows about the Bellinis.’
‘Gooch, I want you to come with me because you’re my friend, not because I want to beat them senseless.’
‘Be honest with yourself,’ Gooch said. ‘You’re asking me because you know I can handle badasses like these. That’s the reason. Quit pretending this is gonna be a cakewalk.’
‘If they’re mob, yes, I’m scared.’
‘You should be,’ Gooch said.
‘But I think I’m more scared of her. Of what she might say to me. I shouldn’t care if she spits in my face and walks away. I shouldn’t care.’
‘But you do,’ Gooch said.
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ Whit said.
6
Thursday morning Eve woke with a start, gasping at the hard dig of Bucks’ fingers in her throat. A memory turned to dream. She got up from the bed early, around six. Frank Polo snored next to her. She examined her throat in the mirror. Bruised, but with sickening precision. Bucks had half strangled her, had been going for his gun when Frank and the Miami dealers walked in, and an unforgivable line had been crossed. She could not be treated this way. There was a hierarchy, an order of respect in the organization, and Bucks had ignored it. In Tommy’s day, it would not have been tolerated.
But Tommy’s day wasn’t ever going to dawn again.
One of the monolith-sized bouncers had told her that Paul Bellini had left the club with Tasha Strong. Walking funny and in a big hurry, the bouncer said with a knowing laugh. While she was nearly getting killed by his pet loon, Paul was screwing a stripper. She had half a mind to call Paul’s mother, tell her. Save for the last moment that Tasha was black, which would kill Mary Pat Bellini on the spot.
But she didn’t; tattling would piss off Paul worse. She washed her face, and when she looked up from the sink Frank was standing behind her. He kissed the top of her head.
‘What if Paul sides with Bucks? Did you sleep on that last night?’ he asked.
‘He’s not gonna side with Bucks after I talk to him. Anyway, he needs us now, he needs mentors.’
‘Mentors,’ he said in disbelief. ‘Paul’s not a summer intern. He’s killed people.’
‘Frank, hush, that is not so.’
Frank rolled his eyes.
‘Anyway, killing a guy is a lot easier than running a business,’ she said. ‘Paul’ll listen to us when he’s not drunk and horny. I’ve got to talk to him before Bucks does. I’m heading down to the club.’
‘Leave it alone.’
‘What a classy boyfriend you are, really coming to my rescue here, Frank.’
‘Because I love you, that’s why you need to forget it happened. You’re not going to drive a wedge between Paul and Bucks.’
‘Hide and watch,’ she said. ‘Hide and watch.’
‘This ain’t never been a bad gig, sweetheart. Follow orders and keep your mouth shut.’ Frank staggered off to drink coffee.
She showered fast, grabbed toast, and eased her Mercedes down the driveway onto Timber. The house wasn’t technically theirs; rather, it belonged in name to Tommy’s sister. Eve liked living in River Oaks, perhaps the most exclusive neighborhood in Houston, even though they lived right along its edge. She took an immediate left onto Locke; stately homes lay on her left and the thin ribbon of River Oaks Park on her right. She turned onto Claremont, then onto the major thoroughfare of Westheimer. It was always busy but it was her favorite street in the city, snaking from near downtown out to western Houston. She drove past palm-lined Highland Village with its high-end shops and restaurants, catering to the old oil money and the new tech money, past the sprawling shopping utopia of the Galleria, then onto a longer, slightly less tidy stretch of road that included nightclubs, strip shopping centers, and Club Topaz.
Leave it alone, Frank had said. In other words, go ahead and paint a bull’s-eye on her back and hand Bucks the gun. Frank grabbed too hard onto the present rather than the long term. Save Paul from a mistake now, earn his undying gratitude. That was the way to solve this problem. Frank couldn’t see that. That same stifled vision was why Frank’s music career died when disco did. He had a voice suitable for the classiest pop ballads, for music with muscle. Instead, he jumped on a ship doomed to sink and complained no boat ever came to save his ass from the ocean of obscurity.
But Frank had a point. She took a deep breath.
Today, if Paul didn’t take her side, she’d act like she’d let it go. Pretend the encounter with Bucks didn’t happen. Get the cash for the deal with Kiko, show she could follow orders, show her unquestioned loyalty. And then quietly get ready to disappear again.
Eve waited around the club Thursday morning and into the early afternoon for Paul, wondering why the lunch-time crowd wanted to ogle strippers while chewing on overpriced sandwiches and then head back to work with an unrelieved erection. She went back up to Frank’s office shortly after one and Paul was sitting behind Frank’s desk, feet propped up on Frank’s papers.
‘Well, hi,’ she said. ‘Been looking for you, honey.’
‘Where’s Frank?’
‘At lunch. With a liquor rep. I’ve been trying to reach you.’
‘So you and Bucks,’ Paul said, ‘had a little spat.’
‘You got my messages.’
‘Yes. I talked with him this morning.’
‘And?’
‘He says you misinterpreted his actions.’
‘I misinterpreted him going for his gun,’ Eve said. ‘What, he wanted to show me a monogrammed clip?’ She pulled the scarf from her throat. ‘You see the bruise. He tried to cut off the blood to my brain. He’s nuts.’
‘You know, I’m under a lot of pressure,’ Paul said, although he looked as relaxed as a cat fresh from a dinner bowl. ‘You and Bucks, being the people in the world I trust the most, don’t n
eed to be snarling at each other.’
She didn’t like the smile on his face, not at all. Too calm. Too sure of himself. And this trust the most crap, she didn’t believe it. ‘If I misinterpreted him, then I’m sorry, but do you think what he did was right?’
He ignored her question. ‘Have you got the cash ready for the transfer to Kiko?’
‘Yes. Richard Doyle from Coastal United Bank is meeting us at the Alvarez office, over by the port this afternoon.’
‘Fine. You can go with Bucks.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘It’s amazing how much disapproval you can pack into one word, Eve.’
‘Kiko Grace will gut you from stem to stern if he gets a chance and you’re dead if you forget it.’
‘He’s afraid of me.’
‘You got the transfer set up with Kiko, or is he too scared of you to meet?’ she asked.
‘Bucks and a couple of boys will take the money to wherever Kiko’s got the stash and we do the exchange. The dust is hidden in decorative pottery. They’ll truck it out to a safe place east of town. Have a little pot-smashing party later.’
At least Paul had the sense not to go to the exchange himself, he’d learned that much from his father. ‘When?’
‘Tonight. I want to get that coke on the street.’ He laughed. ‘Lots of depression in Houston these days, everybody needs a little pick-me-up. Even you and Frank. Hey, sit down for a minute,’ he said.
She sat.
‘Frank,’ Paul said. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘Fine.’
‘He spending a lot of money lately?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Because,’ Paul said, ‘we’re missing serious funds from Club Topaz.’
She let five seconds pass. ‘Frank’s not a skimmer.’ A little panicky thrum quickened between her ribs. Surely Frank wasn’t that stupid.
‘Because he doesn’t have the brains for it?’
‘Frank’s not dumb.’
‘Be honest with me, Eve.’
‘I don’t know anything about him skimming money,’ she said.
‘A little here and there’s okay. A perk of the job. At least my dad viewed it that way.’ Paul leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together on the flat of his silk shirt. ‘What I don’t like is the idea of Frank taking advantage of my dad being stuck at death’s door and helping himself because it’s easier.’
‘Frank’s not a thief.’
‘I spent the evening checking the books against the receipts, and Frank’s had his hand, no, Eve, his fucking arm, deep in the till.’ He’d gone from easygoing calm to screaming, his face red, spit flying from his lips.
This was why Paul didn’t give a crap what Bucks had done to her. Her heart filled her throat, her mouth.
‘You want me to talk to Frank for you?’ She prayed he’d say yes, let her handle it, get the money back, not send the muscle pounding down on Frank. ‘You know Frank, he doesn’t know numbers, he probably entered a few figures wrong in a spreadsheet. He’s not the brightest star in the sky.’
Paul dragged his sleeve across his lips. ‘Yeah. You talk to Frank. Because I don’t want to smash Frank’s face in. He brings in the celebs. Without Frank’s touch we’re just another high-end titty bar. The staying power of minor celebrity never fails to amaze.’ He smiled, a cold one like his father used. ‘If he’s having money problems, he should let me know; I’ll take care of him.’ Paul’s voice was now gentle, steady. It scared Eve.
‘Of course, Paul. There’s a reasonable explanation …’
‘I have to be able to trust him, Eve. If I can’t trust him … if I can’t trust you …’ He let the words fade into the quiet. ‘Then I have to take corrective measures, regardless of my affection for you or Frank.’
Corrective measures. Tommy’s old code words for a hit. Dizziness spun through her head at the idea of Paul ordering her and Frank killed. She thought of Ricky Marino, his body thrashed into shreds by a chain. She didn’t know for sure that Paul had done it. But people had whispered: Yeah he sure had, whooping and screaming and making a tantrum into a gut-wrenching kill that ended up discrediting his father and destroying their organization in Detroit.
‘I’ll make good on anything Frank’s done,’ she said in a rush. ‘And if I pay it back and you’re still mad at him, then let us go back to Detroit.’
‘Wow.’ Paul gave a soft laugh. ‘I haven’t even shown you proof of Frank’s skimming. You sure seem ready to believe he’d do it.’
After a moment she said, ‘Well, you wouldn’t accuse him without good reason.’
‘Finally you show faith in me,’ he said.
‘Of course I have faith in you, honey. Always.’
‘You want to see the proof?’
‘Yes.’
He handed her a CD. ‘Destroy it when you’re done,’ he said. ‘One file shows the charges actually made on client cards. The other shows the nightly revenues. There’s a big shortfall.’
‘I’ll check it carefully. If it’s him you’ll get your money back and an apology. And he’ll work for free, no salary, for six months. He’ll show you respect, Paul, I promise.’
‘Frank’s stealing from me, from my dying father, and you, you want to lecture me on how Bucks behaves and what deals I enter into.’
‘I’m not lecturing you,’ she said. ‘God forbid. So who found out Frank was skimming?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
He got up from behind Frank’s desk and she stayed still as he walked behind her chair. After a moment he put his hands, thick-fingered, on her shoulders. ‘I know you returned money to my dad years ago A big load of cash he otherwise would have lost. So I’m giving you fair warning. You clean Frank’s nose. You get the money back he stole. And you and Frank keep breathing. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said. The pressure from his hands tightened on her shoulders, her collarbone. His thumbs rubbed the sides of her neck, tickled them slightly. Avoiding the bruise Bucks had left.
‘I forgive once, Eve. Not twice.’
‘Thank you, Paul,’ she said. ‘I’ll fix it. How much does he owe you?’
‘About ninety thousand,’ he said. The pressure on her throat increased.
She said nothing. It could be worse. She could call Detroit, talk to a couple of old friends, get a loan. Frank, the idiot, what had possessed him? ‘I’ll fix it,’ she said again. ‘Please, let me talk to him first? I’ll straighten this out.’
Paul Bellini eased the pressure of his hands, slowly turned the chair so she faced him. Leaned down close to her. ‘Frank steals from me or my father again, I’m gonna take him to a doctor I own in Arizona. I’ll have his tongue removed. No anesthetic. Then his mouth surgically sewn shut. I’ll let him starve like that for weeks and then I’ll take a chain to him and put him out of his misery.’
‘I understand,’ she said. She fought down a wave of nausea.
He leaned back. ‘Now. You and Bucks go get that money for me. I’ll see you when you get back, all right?’
Eve stood, fought to keep from trembling. ‘All right.’
‘Drive careful,’ Paul said. ‘That traffic’s a bitch.’
7
Eve sat at Frank’s desk, peering at the computer screen. Frank still hadn’t returned from lunch, which he considered a marathon event, and he’d forgotten his cell phone on his desk. She was reviewing the files on the CD Paul had given her and gritting her teeth. The discrepancies between large credit charges and the books had started small but widened in the past two weeks. In one case, a private party of ten in a suite had incurred charges of nearly ten thousand dollars. Only five appeared on the spreadsheet for the same charge, the other money diverted and never making it into the Bellini pockets. A little, yes. A perk. This much was unforgivable.
The slow crooked twist of a headache sprouted in her temples and she craved a hot bath, a cold glass of wine, and silence.
Her cell phone beeped and she clicked it on, hopi
ng it was Frank.
‘Eve? It’s Bucks. I’ll meet you at the exchange,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m running a little late on other business for Paul. Sorry.’ The barest hint of conciliation in his tone.
‘He wanted us to go there together,’ she said.
‘Sorry, can’t. I’ll meet you there.’ He took a breath. ‘Hey, Eve. About last night. I apologize. I was out of line. Too much wine. I was kidding around with you, okay?’
‘It’s forgotten, honey,’ she said, trying to sound relaxed.
‘Eve, I do respect you. The great work you’ve done for Tommy all these years.’
She didn’t believe him, not for a moment. But she needed him on her side now, with Paul furious, and said, ‘It’s okay. We need to work together well, for Paul’s sake. Let’s have a drink after the errand today.’
‘Drown the hatchet,’ he said with a little laugh. ‘But not at the club. I’ll take you to a classy place with a really stellar wine list. I’m sure you’re tired of looking at tits in strobe lights.’
‘That sounds good.’
‘I’ll see you shortly,’ Bucks said, and hung up.
Odd. She would have thought that Bucks would have ridden with her, been her shadow in getting the money. Especially if he knew about Paul’s accusation against Frank. But fine, whatever. She closed the accounting files and headed down into the nearly deserted club. A few men still sat at tables, watching a dancer. An air of failure hovered about them, guys alone in the afternoon who didn’t have desks to return to, and she wondered if most of them were salesmen having off days, blowing commissions they hadn’t earned.
She walked out into the bright, hard Houston winter light, headed for her Mercedes.
Frank. That idiot. She wondered why he’d skimmed. He didn’t do drugs beyond a rare and purely social toot of coke. He had no gambling problem. Their finances were fine, not grand, but then they didn’t need much. Tommy provided fairly. Paul seemed far less inclined to share the wealth. Ninety thousand. It was a long slow bleed that she couldn’t afford. She was in her late fifties now; she couldn’t launder and courier money forever.
