Cut and Run

by Jeff Abbott

  ‘But the police are looking for me. I don’t know if I can hunt him around Houston. We don’t even know if he’s in town.’ Frustration in his voice.

  ‘You want him as bait to get her to deliver what we need,’ Tasha said. God, men could be dense at times. She already had a plan. ‘It works both ways. Use her as bait to get him.’

  ‘Only works if we can find him to have a conversation,’ José said. ‘Eve won’t want to get him anywhere close to us. She won’t talk.’

  Tasha frowned at this hard, unappealing truth. ‘Try Frank Polo,’ she said. ‘He’s dumb as a stump but maybe he knows how to find Eve’s son. His number’s on my cell phone.’

  ‘Just call him up and ask him where Whit is?’

  ‘Make it worth his while. He’s gonna be signing autographs on the unemployment line with Paul dead. Or maybe tell him he gets Eve back if he helps us.’ Tasha went back in to feed Eve, make sure she ate. When she came out of the office, José was clicking off her cell phone and smiling as though he’d won the lottery.

  ‘I just had me,’ José said, ‘one brilliant idea to kill two birds with one stone.’

  Monday afternoon thin rain fell from the sky, clouds wandering in from the Gulf, and the wet lot of Club Topaz, closed, was empty. But it was where Robin agreed to meet Claudia. Robin sat in Claudia’s passenger seat. Claudia handed her a coffee, one of those cinnamontoffee-mocha latte creations that was sweeter than a box of candy.

  ‘Her name is Tasha Strong,’ Robin Melvin said. ‘Tasha dances here. Nice girl but a little uppity. Paul was all crazy about her.’

  ‘Have you seen her since Paul died?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘No. She’s probably scared to death. I sure am,’ Robin said.

  ‘These aren’t good people, Robin. I know you have feelings for Greg Buckman—’

  ‘No. I had hopes.’ She said the word like it left a bitter taste in her mouth. ‘I knew he wasn’t the nicest guy on the planet but I thought, if he and I could get away from these people, he would be better. All that goal stuff he says. He wants to be better. But I’m not sticking around for the home improvement anymore.’

  ‘Can’t change ’em, Robin,’ Claudia said. Tried not to think of Whit.

  ‘Clearly not.’ Robin poked at her puffy lip. ‘I never, ever, had a guy hit me. Not once. I swore I would never put up with that Lifetime-movie shit. And he did it, and I was so surprised I acted a fool. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, don’t apologize.’

  ‘But I want to help. I don’t know anything about any illegal stuff, okay? I told the police that about a dozen times. They don’t believe me, they think Bucks must have talked plenty on the pillow.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He never did. But Bucks wanted me to watch Tasha. So I’m guessing she knew bad shit about him and Paul. I searched her changing room, where she keeps her stuff. Nothing odd. A few pictures.’

  ‘Pictures.’

  ‘In a drawer. Of a boy. From being a baby to teenage years. Kind of looked like her, maybe was a brother. But the pictures were old, creased with handling. Not new.’ Robin cleared her throat. ‘Funny thing for a girl to keep, family pictures, in the place where she takes her clothes off. Most girls don’t.’ She sipped at the hypersweetened coffee. ‘I love my mom, we’re close, but she thinks I’m a cocktail waitress. I wouldn’t have her picture around in the changing room. Like she was looking at me in my getups.’

  ‘Was there a name or date on the back of any of the photos?’

  Robin closed her eyes. ‘Yeah. Darius. On one of the baby pictures.’ She opened her eyes, looked at Claudia. ‘If Tasha doesn’t know anything I don’t want the cops crowding her. Cops keep wanting me to make a deal, like I’m holding back info to annoy them. Bucks wanted me to watch her because she was close to Paul, and he didn’t like that. But since she was closer to Paul, she might be able to help the cops. And then they’d leave me alone.’

  ‘Describe her to me, tell me where she lives,’ Claudia said, ‘and I’ll have a talk with her.’

  ‘Would you?’ Robin said. ‘We weren’t real close, so I don’t have her contact info, but Frank would.’

  ‘Frank Polo, right?’ His name had cropped up before, the singer turned nightclub manager. Eve Michaels’ boyfriend.

  ‘I’m not ashamed to say I love disco,’ Robin said. ‘Bucks hated it. But it’s happy music. And Frank’s really a good singer.’

  ‘Tell me about Eve Michaels.’

  Robin shrugged. ‘Eve? She’s a bookkeeper for Paul, I think. Nice but distant. Tasha liked her, seemed interested in Eve’s work. Tasha wanted to get off stage, move into the business side of the club. But Paul never would have let her, you have to see her. She’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Did you like Eve? Is she nice?’ It suddenly and oddly mattered to her, if this was Whit’s mother, that she have at least one redeeming feature.

  ‘Nice as long as you didn’t get in her way. Cross her, you’d be missing a liver and she’d be licking her lips. I was a little afraid of her.’

  ‘You have her and Frank’s address? My sister was always a big fan of Frank Polo’s,’ Claudia said. ‘I’d like to get an autograph before I leave town.’

  42

  Whit said, ‘It’s time we reported Eve as officially missing.’ He hadn’t slept much in the past two nights and he rubbed at his unshaven face.

  He and Frank Polo sat in a little diner off Shepherd, not far from Rice University, themed for fifties nostalgia. The jukebox played a mournful tune, appropriate for a nearly empty restaurant after the lunch rush. Frank didn’t respond to his suggestion as the waitress approached them. They both ordered omelettes.

  ‘When I was famous, we lived on breakfast food. You’re tired, you want comfort, but you can’t get full up. You never want to be stuffed when you’re onstage for a living. Did you know I was famous once?’ Frank said to the waitress, who was a cute college girl with a little silver ring piercing her pert nose.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘I used to be a singer,’ Frank said. The waitress gave an indulgent, polite-but-I-don’t-care smile and took their menus.

  Frank waited till she was out of earshot. ‘And tell the police what, Whit? That José has her? We don’t know he does, we don’t know where he is. Some cop named Gomez already stopped by to see me about her. I told them she took off, I don’t know where, gave him her cell phone number. The cops are going to think she’s running.’

  ‘But the police could look for her and José.’

  ‘And when they find her, they’ll stick her in prison and you’ll never see her again.’

  ‘I don’t believe—’ and Whit’s cell phone rang. He clicked it on.

  ‘Whitman Mosley.’ It wasn’t a voice he knew, a baritone, strong and steady. ‘Your mother’s alive. Thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Who is this? José Peron?’

  ‘We’re going to keep her for a little while, then we’ll give her back to you. Alive and well. Unless you call the cops. Then we have to be mean, and we don’t want to be. Mean is not what we’re about.’

  We. José was not acting alone. ‘I want her back, right now.’

  ‘Sit tight. Be patient. We’ll take good care of her, then we’ll give her back. We’ll arrange a meeting between us.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe or not,’ the voice said. ‘We could have killed her with Kiko. We didn’t. Take that as serious reassurance.’

  ‘Let me talk to her.’

  ‘What will you discuss? Her money-laundering skills? Her killing the guy in Montana all those years ago?’

  Whit’s mouth went dry. ‘How did …’

  ‘Behave, she lives. Don’t, she dies. We’ll be in touch very soon.’ And the caller hung up.

  Whit told Frank the gist of the conversation.

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Frank said. He wiped at his puffy eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Why would they want to keep her?’

  ‘Jos
é … if it’s him, he must want info on the Bellini operations. But he won’t let her go. He’ll kill her.’ Montana. José knows about Mom shooting James Powell in Montana. And that I’m her son. Because he took Harry’s notes off Harry’s body. He killed Harry.

  The weight of the knowledge made him very still. He didn’t look at Frank, didn’t look at his plate.

  ‘So you’re going to the cops?’ Frank asked.

  ‘He says he’ll kill her if I do that.’

  ‘Then we have to listen to him. Not endanger her.’

  ‘Frank. I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can and you will,’ Frank said. ‘We play by their rules, we get her back.’

  ‘I need to know where José is, Frank. Where he has her.’

  ‘I can’t work wonders. Finding the condo they hid out in was tough enough. But I’ll put out word again. Money for information.’

  ‘Let’s say José’s the power behind all this. He kills Kiko. He kills or has Paul killed. He tries to kill Bucks. Why? So no one else is chasing after the money? That only works if he has the money, Frank, if he doesn’t want to be chased himself. I’m thinking he killed Harry and Doyle and stole the money.’

  Frank shook his head. ‘How would José know where the exchange was?’

  ‘He followed Eve. Or, worse, Bucks told him. The police should compare the bullets in Kiko to the bullets in Harry Chyme and Richard Doyle.’ Whit finished his coffee. ‘José stuck that money into Kiko’s mouth. If he was stealing the money, why bother with gestures and symbols? He’s got his own agenda.’ The waitress brought their omelettes, hash browns, grits with a warm little puddle of garlic and cheese on top. They began to eat. Suddenly Whit laughed.

  ‘What?’ Frank asked, buttering a biscuit.

  ‘This is so freaking normal and domestic,’ Whit said. ‘Like if Eve had taken me with her when she took off, I probably would have had a lot of breakfasts with you by now.’

  ‘I would have been a crappy stepdad,’ Frank said. ‘Be glad she left you behind.’

  ‘Because abandonment is so awesome.’

  ‘Get over it,’ Frank said. ‘Actually, you seem pretty well-adjusted. Except for hunting down your mom. You got a problem letting go?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You need your mom for what? To complete you as a person?’ Frank said. ‘You and Bucks are more alike than you know.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Him and his self-help tapes. It’s all to reassure himself that if he screws up it’s not entirely his fault, he can make it better with a quick fix. You finding Eve, it’s all about fixing you, Whit, not her.’

  ‘At the beginning. But not now.’

  ‘I know she wasn’t around,’ Frank said. ‘But I’m sure she loves you.’

  ‘She’s a thief and a crook.’

  ‘So? She’s not a nutcase like Bucks or José. Put a premium on sanity.’

  Whit thought of Eve tending his wounds, of remembering he liked pepperoni pizza, of warning him to save himself.

  ‘Do you love her?’ Frank asked. ‘I’d like to know.’

  Whit put his fork down. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. But I want you to get Bucks where I can talk to him alone.’

  ‘Bucks?’

  ‘Bucks is the key.’

  ‘He won’t meet with you,’ Frank said. ‘Plus, the cops have got to be watching him. You want the cops knowing you’re in deeper than you are, seeing you with him? Whit, they’ll haul you in as a material witness. Offer a deal with you to testify against me, your mother, Bucks, whoever.’

  ‘I’m going to give the police the movie of Bucks carrying those bodies, anonymously, but as soon as I do, Bucks is behind bars and I can’t ever get to him.’

  ‘Arresting him, you could have more pressure put on him.’

  Whit leaned forward. ‘Call him. Tell him I have the movie.’

  Frank’s eyes went wide. ‘You crazy?’

  ‘I’m dead serious. Tell him. Bucks knows where José would hide. Maybe that’s why José tried to kill him.’

  ‘Your mother wouldn’t want this,’ Frank said. ‘She’d be wanting you to head your ass back home.’

  ‘Bucks and I have a common enemy now in José,’ Whit said.

  ‘It’s a deal with the devil. I won’t do it.’ Frank pulled a twenty out of his wallet, tossed it on the table. ‘My treat. Think about my suggestion about getting Bucks arrested. There’s your game plan, son.’

  ‘Think about what I said, Frank. We need Bucks.’

  ‘Jesus and Mary,’ Frank said. ‘You didn’t answer me. You love her?’

  ‘I don’t know her in the conventional sense you know your family. But still, I do know her. Or I want to believe I know her. Maybe I’m fooling myself.’ Whit shook his head. ‘Love her? I must.’

  43

  Frank Polo left the diner, watching Whit drive off in Charlie Fulgham’s borrowed Lexus. Whit was so like Eve in certain ways. Resolve. Smarts. Single-mindedness. Frank drove around an extra twenty minutes before heading home, stopping at lights, watching his back. He wasn’t quite sure who he was looking for in his rearview mirror. He imagined cops, lantern-jawed guys who’d give him the tough eye or a woman cop with a lesbian-short haircut who’d take him downtown, call him Mr Polo, be excruciatingly polite while panic tore his guts and ribs in half. See what he was made of, sitting there in their interrogation room, the cops lobbing a suggestion or two about his involvement with Paul Bellini beyond being the Topaz’s manager, about his knowledge of any criminal activities about the family. Asking where Eve Michaels was. Probably good he’d had to move the money he’d taken from the club back into the club’s accounts. It made him clean. Christ, Paul had done him a favor.

  ‘What you gonna do to me?’ Frank practiced saying in his mind to his imaginary interrogators. ‘Make me give the Grammy back?’ That was always a hell of a line to keep in your pocket, it made people know that they weren’t nearly as cool as you were. The Grammy, he still had that, up on a mantel in his bedroom. Usually one of the last things he saw before he went to sleep.

  For a change, there were no police cars parked near the house. No lawyers waiting to talk to him, and no Bucks. He had gone to the hospital straight from Kiko’s with Whit and Gooch, but stayed in the background, not letting anyone know he was with the other two. Thank God he hadn’t come home that night to find a furious and panicked Bucks waiting for him, anxious for help.

  He got out of the car, headed up to the front door. The woman was waiting for him in the eaves of the porch, dark-haired, mildly pretty, with a serious and intelligent face. Frank froze, the keys in his hand.

  The man in front of her looked older than the pictures of Frank Polo Claudia remembered, vaguely, from her older sister’s record covers. He’d been short for a singing star, big black hair in a seventies flip, gaudy with chains and the requisite long-pointy-collared shirt slit open to the belly, big-heeled shoes, pants tighter than skin. This man was still short, but quietly dressed in comfortable gray slacks and a plain blue shirt, hair cropped short without a bit of gel. But there was the too-big diamond on the ring, the hint of gold chain under the modest collar.

  ‘Yes?’ he said. A little fear in his voice, the barest inflection. Because she was unexpected and he was tense, expecting attack or trouble from a new angle.

  Claudia had given long thought on how to work this. ‘Mr Polo? I’m looking for Tasha Strong. I understand you have her address or phone number. She’s unlisted.’

  ‘Who are you? A cop?’

  ‘No. A friend is worried about Tasha and asked me to find her.’

  ‘See me at the club, I don’t have the dancers’ contact info at home.’ He fumbled for his house key on a thick ring.

  ‘I’m also looking for Eve Michaels.’

  ‘She’s out of town.’ Not looking at her.

  ‘Where could I find her?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know what town she went to?’<
br />
  ‘You have ten seconds to get off my porch,’ he said. ‘Then I call the cops.’

  ‘Eve Michaels is missing, isn’t she? Won’t one more investigation fill up your date book, Mr Polo?’

  He crossed his arms. ‘Eve and I had our differences. She left town for a while. Satisfied?’

  ‘She got a cell phone?’

  ‘Not for strangers to call.’

  ‘I’m not exactly a stranger. I’m Claudia Salazar. I’m a friend of Whit’s and Gooch’s.’ She watched his face; he gave no reaction to their names. ‘Is Eve dead? Did the Bellinis kill her? Or José Peron?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Frank said. ‘Eve wanted time alone.’

  ‘Time away from her son? Whit’s her son, isn’t he?’

  Now he studied her and said, ‘I can give you her cell phone number if you want.’

  ‘That would be great, thanks.’

  ‘I don’t have it memorized,’ he said. ‘You know how it is, you press the speed dial code. My phone’s inside. You’re welcome to come in.’ Suddenly friendly, the frost gone. ‘Or wait out here.’ Like knowing he’d been too friendly.

  ‘I’ll come in. Thank you.’

  ‘I was about to make coffee,’ Frank Polo said. He stopped, tossed his suit coat onto the chair, closed the door behind her. ‘You want a cup? You could even try Eve’s cell phone from here.’

  She pasted on a warm smile. Get him talking; people nearly always told you more than they thought they would. ‘That’d be great. My sister’s a big fan of yours.’

  ‘Oh. Well. Thanks,’ he said. Thanking her for her sister’s devotion to disco seemed strange, but then what else was he going to say? She wondered, a moment too late, if saying her sister rather than she was a big fan was an insult. But Frank Polo didn’t seem to care. ‘Whit know you’re here?’