Cash Plays

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  He remembered that Jessica was wearing a cross just like her mother’s in her graduation photograph. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you a religious family?”

  Mrs. Miller gave him a watery smile. “Yes, we’re Methodist. Our faith has been our refuge these past few months.”

  “Did Jessica share that faith?”

  “Of course. She was always a very spiritual girl. She used to sing in our church’s youth choir—oh, she had a voice like an angel—”

  “Has,” Mr. Miller said, more wearily this time.

  Tapping his pen against his notepad, Dominic said, “Did she stop going to church when she was dating John Williams?”

  The Millers looked at each other again, both frowning. “Well, now that you mention it, I don’t think so,” said Mr. Miller. “We know she stopped singing, but as far as I’m aware she still went to services every Sunday.”

  Dominic nodded. “Do you think you could send me some more pictures of Jessica? Candid photographs, not posed.”

  He spoke with the Millers a few minutes longer, gave them his email address for the photos, and disconnected the call. Then he sat quietly in his office, rolling his pen between his hands while he contemplated his strategy.

  Whenever he’d hunted missing people in the past, it had been with the intention of arresting them for jumping bail and dragging them back to the county’s detention center. But Jessica wasn’t a criminal, and he couldn’t approach this case like she was. She might be in danger, or she might be perfectly happy—either way, he couldn’t do anything that would negatively affect her.

  An hour of brainstorming, a short walk, and a doughnut break later, he settled on an acceptable tactic. He began compiling a thorough list of the contact information for every Methodist church in the Las Vegas Valley. When that was done, he did the same for Presbyterian, Baptist, and Lutheran churches as well. He’d branch out into other Christian denominations if this first round came up empty.

  With his list in place, he set up a dummy email account and opened a new message. In the subject line, he typed TRYING TO RETURN A LOST PHONE.

  Sorry to bother you, but I met a young woman in a coffee shop the other day who had to leave in a hurry and forgot her phone. I didn’t have the chance to catch her name, but she mentioned attending your church.

  The phone is locked, so I don’t have any personal details. I’ve included a screenshot of her background in case you recognize her from the photo.

  If you do know her, would you please email me or give me a call? I’d like to make sure the phone gets back into the right hands.

  Thank you and God bless, Michael Greene

  He sorted through the pictures the Millers had sent him until he found one that worked well for his purposes and attached it to the message. Then, rather than send out a mass email, he painstakingly sent it to each individual church in turn, altering the details slightly to personalize the message.

  Some people would flat-out ignore the email, of course, and there was always the chance that whoever read it wouldn’t recognize Jessica even if she’d been to their church. But he was counting on the power of community and goodwill to push the message along. If he didn’t receive any positive responses within forty-eight hours, he’d start calling the churches directly or maybe stop by in person.

  As it happened, he didn’t have to wait anywhere near that long. The call came in as he was packing up to leave for the day.

  The phone number he’d included in the email was for one of multiple burners he kept on hand. He let it ring three times before he answered.

  “Hello, may I please speak to Mr. Greene?” said a woman’s voice.

  “This is he.” Michael Greene was one of Dominic’s long-standing, painstakingly crafted aliases, an identity even more airtight now with McBride’s resources behind it.

  “Hi, this is Becky Wilmer; I’m the Outreach Director at Desert Spring United Methodist. I received your email about the lost phone, and I’m happy to say that I know exactly the girl you’re looking for.”

  Dominic breathed out slowly in relief. “Really?”

  “It’s the funniest thing,” she said. “Jennifer only started coming here a couple of weeks ago, but I just spoke with her last Sunday. I heard her singing during the service and approached her about maybe joining our choir. She got so flustered, the poor thing. Stage fright, I guess.”

  “Jennifer,” Dominic said slowly. “I see. Do you have any contact information for her? A phone number, an address?”

  “I’m afraid not. Would you like to just drop her phone off at the office here? I can make sure she gets it.”

  “Actually . . . do you think she’d be at church again this Sunday?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Maybe it would be best if I came to the service myself and gave it to her in person.”

  “Well, I think that would be very sweet of you,” Becky said, her voice warm. “Jennifer is certainly blessed that God sent you her way.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Dominic.

  After he hung up, he stared at the phone for a minute before deciding against calling the Millers. He didn’t want to raise their hopes until he had more concrete information, especially not now.

  The fact that Jessica was using a fake name was not a good sign at all.

  Levi felt a bitch of a headache coming on. Kasper Dubicki seemed to have accepted that the wealth of evidence against him meant it was useless to deny that he’d shot Paul Yu, but his new ploy was arguing that it had been in self-defense. He’d been trying to convince Levi of that for the past half hour.

  “I only went to Paul’s place to talk,” he said. “I don’t know where that rumor about him and Maria got started, but I know there was some truth to it no matter what she says. I thought he and I could have a conversation, work things out man-to-man.”

  God, Levi despised that phrase. “Uh-huh.”

  “He threw the first punch, I swear. I tried to fight back, but he was stronger and faster. There was no way I could hold my own against him.” Dubicki leaned over the table, his gaze intent on Levi’s face. “He was gonna kill me, Detective. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “So you pulled out your gun and shot him twice in the gut?”

  “I had to! What was I supposed to do, let him beat me to death?”

  “Why did you even have a gun in the first place?”

  Dubicki shrugged. “I always have a gun on me. For personal protection, you know. The world is a scary place.”

  “You are a convicted felon,” Levi said impatiently. “It’s illegal for you to possess a firearm at all, much less carry concealed.”

  “Oh, well, I . . . uh . . .” Dubicki floundered for a bit before he recovered and said, “Sometimes rules have to be bent. I should have a right to defend myself. There are dangerous people out there.”

  “On that, we can agree,” said Levi. “And I’d imagine being a lackey for organized crime comes with a hell of an expiration date.”

  His job here was pretty much done. The evidence was well-documented, and Dubicki had confessed to pulling the trigger; whether it had been self-defense or not was a matter for the court.

  Levi stood and said, “I think I’ve heard everything I need to know.”

  “Wait!” Dubicki tried to stand as well and was brought to a jarring halt by the handcuffs chained to the table. He fell back into his seat with a low, agonized sound. “Please, I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t want to. You have to make sure everyone knows that. Please.”

  “How would you suggest I do that?”

  “I don’t know! Release a statement or something. Anything. Or—or at least move me out of Vegas. Put me in protective custody.”

  “The Park family is way too careful to come after you while you’re in the CCDC. I’m sure the Collective wouldn’t risk it either. You’ll be fine.” Levi turned to leave.

  “I know things!” Dubicki called out, his tone increasingly frantic. “Things
that would be of serious interest to the police.”

  “I’m sure you do, but it’ll be up to the deputy district attorney prosecuting your case to decide if your information has any value.” Levi smiled. “Her name is Leila Rashid. I think you’ll find she has even less tolerance for bullshit than I do.”

  “I know things that would be of interest to you in particular, Detective Abrams,” Dubicki said.

  Levi rolled his eyes and reached for the doorknob, but what Dubicki said next stopped him cold.

  “I know who killed Drew Barton.”

  Levi schooled his face into a neutral expression as he let himself into his apartment. He was immediately greeted by the delicious aroma of his mother’s cooking—as well as Rebel, who trotted over with a wagging tail. She was the only one who noticed his entrance, though, because the alarm system was disarmed and the classic rock playing on the sound system drowned out the sound of the door.

  From the threshold, he could see his father setting the table in the dining area, as well as Dominic and his mother in the kitchen. Levi’s eyebrows lifted as he realized they were cooking together.

  “How’s that broccoli rabe coming along?” Nancy said.

  Dominic fished a spoonful of greens out of the skillet he was tending and held it to her mouth. She blew on it several times before taking a bite.

  “Mmm!” Eyes wide, she chewed, swallowed, and said, “You added a little something?”

  “Red chili flakes.”

  She gasped in delight and squeezed his arm. “Perfect! Someone taught you how to cook.”

  “My grandmother,” Dominic said. “I’ll make you her pasta alla Norma sometime.”

  “A man who cooks,” Nancy said with a happy sigh. Then she raised her voice and said, “You hear that, Saul? A man who cooks!”

  “I’d cook if you’d let me!” Saul shouted back.

  “I’d let him cook if I wanted us all to die of botulism,” she muttered to Dominic, who laughed and returned to stirring his skillet.

  Still standing by the doorway, Levi sucked in a breath as the sharpest, sweetest pain he’d ever known clutched at his chest and lanced through his core. The sudden swell of emotion was so overwhelming that he had to take a few seconds to catch his bearings before he cleared his throat and said, “I’m home.”

  His parents hustled over and welcomed him with their usual exuberance and exclamations of, “Gut Shabbos!” between hugs and kisses.

  “Gut Shabbos,” Levi said, and then lifted his face to kiss Dominic. “Hey.”

  “Hey, babe.” Dominic’s eyes swept over Levi’s body, and a slight frown creased his forehead.

  There really was no hiding from Dominic, but in this case, Levi had no intention of doing so. It was his parents he didn’t want to worry.

  He shook his head minutely at Dominic, then looked around the dining room and did a double take. The table had been cleared of all his work files and set with a snow-white tablecloth, sparkling glassware, and gleaming china, none of which were his. “Where did all this stuff come from?”

  “We bought it,” Nancy said, returning to the kitchen. “You didn’t own anything appropriate for a Shabbat dinner. It was all old and mismatched.”

  That was because almost everything in his kitchen had been donated by Martine and Natasha after he’d moved out of Stanton’s penthouse. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by his father.

  “I put all your work things in the corner over there.” Saul patted his arm and added, “You really shouldn’t bring so much work home with you, son. It’s not healthy.”

  Levi’s eyes flicked to the large armoire against the wall, the one that was hiding months of obsessive investigation into the Seven of Spades. He’d put a lock on it before his parents arrived, but both he and Dominic knew very well what lay inside.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he said to Dominic. When Dominic nodded, Levi took his hand and said, “We’ll be right back.”

  “Well, hurry up,” said Nancy. “It’s almost sundown, so no getting fresh with each other.”

  “Oh my God.” Levi dragged a chuckling Dominic into the bedroom and closed the door.

  He told Dominic about his conversation with Dubicki while he stripped off his jacket, tie, and shoes. Once he was finished, Dominic sat down on the foot of the bed and said, “Shit. Did he tell you who it was?”

  “Not yet.” Levi unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with short, jerky movements. “Leila thinks he’s lying, or at least exaggerating. She won’t cut him the plea deal he wants without more information, but of course he won’t tell her anything without the deal. So we’re at a stalemate that could take days to resolve.”

  “I’m sure Leila knows what she’s doing.”

  “She does. It’s just . . . we’ve always suspected that the Seven of Spades hired a contract killer to take that shot. This would confirm that; it’d be the first real lead we’ve had in months.”

  “Yeah. Months. In other words, you’re in the same position right now you’ve been in since August. A few more days isn’t going to make a difference.” Rising from the bed, Dominic took both of Levi’s hands in his. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. You can’t take responsibility for every aspect of this case, and there’s nothing more you can do right now. Trust Leila to do her job, and try to enjoy your weekend with your parents.”

  Though that kind of patient acceptance wasn’t in Levi’s nature, he knew Dominic was right. He sighed, nodded, and tipped forward to rest against the solid wall of Dominic’s chest. Dominic wrapped him up and kissed his temple.

  They stood like that for a minute, until Levi felt more centered. He pulled away and said, “We better get back out there before they think you’re taking advantage of me in here.”

  They returned to the dining room, where the table had been finished off with two white Shabbat candles in crystal holders—also new—the Kiddush cup full of wine, and two loaves of challah covered with cloth. Once all the food had been brought out, the four of them gathered around.

  “Shabbat starts with kind of a paradox,” Levi said to Dominic as Nancy struck a match. “You’re supposed to say a blessing before you do an action, but the blessing over the candles marks the official beginning of Shabbat—and once Shabbat starts, you’re not supposed to light a fire. So she lights the candles first, and then we close or cover our eyes during the blessing so that symbolically we don’t see that they’re already burning.”

  Dominic nodded, his face serious. Finished lighting the candles, Nancy blew out the match and placed her right hand over her eyes. Levi simply shut his.

  “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam,” Nancy chanted in the pleasant, singsong tone Levi associated with some of his happiest childhood memories. “Asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat.”

  They took their seats, and Levi quietly explained each element of the Shabbat home ritual as his father performed them: the recitation from Genesis, the blessing over the wine, the ritual hand-washing, and the blessing and salting of the challah. Dominic listened with clear interest, asking the occasional question but otherwise remaining silent.

  Levi hadn’t celebrated a Shabbat properly since the last time his parents had visited. He tended to forget the sensation of peace it brought, the feeling of connection not only to God and his family but to all those who had come before, those of the Jewish faith all over the world who had done this for thousands of years. The Seven of Spades was nothing compared to that.

  After the ritual, they dug into the lavish meal. They lingered at the dinner table for hours, eating and drinking and sharing stories, and Levi’s stress fell away layer by layer to be replaced by a warm inner glow.

  When the evening wound down, Nancy made as if to clear the table, but Levi shooed her away. “I’ll take care of that later,” he said. “Let me just grab my keys and I’ll drive you and Dad back to your hotel.”

  �
�Actually, we were planning to go out for a drink or two,” said Saul. “We’ll take an Uber.”

  Nancy made a face. “I still don’t like those things. They’re driving hard-working cabbies out of business.”

  “Because they’re nicer! That’s what happens.”

  They continued arguing about the intrinsic nature of capitalism while they said goodbye to Dominic and Levi escorted them down to the street to wait for the Uber. As it pulled up, Nancy turned to Levi and said, “Have a good night with your young man.” She winked slyly at Saul. “I know we’re planning to enjoy our evening.”

  “Gross,” Levi said. He yanked the back door open. “Get out of here.”

  He kissed them both, bundled them into the car, and watched it drive away before returning to his building. As he stepped into his apartment, he heard Dominic rinsing and stacking the plates while speaking to Rebel in the baby voice he used when he thought Levi wasn’t paying attention. Rebel listened to him with her head cocked and her tail happily thumping the floor.

  “I’ll finish all this tomorrow,” Levi said, joining him in the kitchen. The new plates were too nice to go in the dishwasher and would have to be washed by hand.

  Dominic ran another plate under the water. “I don’t mind.”

  “You really don’t, do you?” Levi said softly. He rubbed a hand over Dominic’s broad back. “Thank you for coming tonight and sharing this with us. It means a lot to me, and I know it meant a lot to my parents too.”

  “It was my pleasure. I never had any close Jewish friends growing up, so this is all new to me. I’ve never even been to a bar mitzvah.”

  Reaching around Dominic, Levi shut off the sink and took away the plate he was holding. “Stop,” Levi said, handing Dominic a dishtowel to dry his hands. “You cooked; you shouldn’t have to clean up.”

  “Okay.” Dominic waggled his eyebrows. “Is there something else you’d rather I take care of instead?”

  With a helpless smile, Levi spread his hands across Dominic’s chest, soaking up his warmth through his shirt. He felt the same sweetly aching emotion that had knocked the wind out of him earlier, more intense now that he and Dominic were alone.