“I’m sorry miss, but your credit card has been declined,” the girl at the register said.
Layla was surprised. “There must be some sort of a mistake.”
The salesgirl shook her head sympathetically. “I’m afraid I can’t accept it…. Do you have another card … or cash?”
Layla casually handled her reservations with a dose of placid acceptance. “I’m sure you can make an exception for me. Just this once.”
“Of course,” the saleslady smiled, handing her over her bag.
Layla turned to Caledonia, noticing the stress and fatigue evident in her face. “Are you sure that you’re ready?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied.
~
It was around lunchtime when they pulled up in front of the seedy strip mall that housed the El Dorado nightclub. In the harsh light of day the place looked even shabbier than Caledonia remembered, and Layla looked to her with surprise. “Are you sure this is the place?
Cali nodded. “I’m sure,” she said, her stomach tightening with nerves.
“Don’t worry,” Layla said, reaching over to pat her arm. “We can do this.”
The two girls stepped out of the car and walked through the empty parking lot to the entrance. The door was locked, and Layla rapped on it, standing back. A man opened it, scowling as he sized them up, “We’re closed for business.”
“Is Don Miguel here?” Caledonia asked. “We need to speak with him.”
The man scrutinized the two well-dressed women with suspicion. “About what?”
“We know who killed Juan,” Caledonia said, getting straight to the point.
The man flushed fiery red with alarm, “Wait here.”
When he disappeared behind the door Layla reached over to squeeze Caledonia’s hand. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Less than a minute passed before the door flew open again. Two men appeared, grabbing the girls and pulling them inside. The door was closed and locked behind them, and before their eyes could adjust to the dim light they were slammed against the wall and frisked.
“Relax!” Layla protested. “We’re not armed.”
A third man approached, barking out something in Spanish, and they were each seized by their arms and led through the now deserted club. Instead of being taken to the office in the back, they were thrust across the dance floor to a velvet draped VIP lounge that was situated on a platform elevated to look out over the deserted nightclub.
Layla and Cali were hustled up the steps to find Don Miguel sitting across a table from an equally formidable looking man. They had a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses set up between them, with the same two intimidating pit bulls as before crouched at their feet. Caledonia looked to Layla with apprehension. This was not going to be the two-on-one she had anticipated, and she remembered how difficult Don Miguel had been to manipulate.
Both girls could sense the crushing emotions floating all around the two men. There was vicious green anger in the air, along with a bloody red thirst for revenge. The whole potent mix was overshadowed by dark blue sorrow and bitter green regret. Caledonia could immediately see how deeply Don Miguel was suffering, and she realized that they had stepped directly into a potent mix of pure danger.
Don Miguel looked over Layla first, scanning her face with no recognition in his eagle eye. “What do you know about Juan? Who sent you?” he asked.
Layla eyed the dogs warily, and both of the creatures sat up, sensing her nerves. Caledonia was the animal expert, so she made quick work of casting a net of pacifying pale blue over the beasts while Layla reached out her hand towards Don Miguel. “My cousin and I have some important information for you.” Caledonia saw her score a direct hit with some soothing lavender acquiescence that reminded her of her own first encounter with Layla.
Layla was taken aback to see Don Miguel’s face harden, and surprised when did not take her outstretched hand. He turned his attention to Caledonia, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. She looked familiar yet different, and he glared at her for a long minute. His eyes flickered when it finally occurred to him.
“You’re Frankie’s girl.”
Caledonia nodded, “He sent me here, but I’m not his girl.”
Don Miguel explained how he knew her to his companion, his rapid-fire Spanish much too fast for either girl to follow. The other man looked shrewdly at the pretty pair, gesturing for them to sit down. He barked a command to the two men that had brought them, watching as they retreated to take a position standing guard at the foot of the stairs, arms folded across their chests.
Layla and Cali each took a seat, carefully observing the men as well, trying to figure out the best way to get what they were after. Caledonia was surprised to see Layla glowing gold and pink with fascination, and she realized that this was a game that her cousin actually enjoyed playing. Layla saw Don Miguel as a challenging riddle to solve, and she was absorbed in her quest to find just the right emotional key to open him up.
“What do you know about my nephew?” Don Miguel demanded.
Caledonia took her turn, laying her cards on the table and testing his desire for revenge with a brief blast of outrage. “It was Frankie. He’s the one who robbed you and killed your nephew.”
Don Miguel’s colors flared bright, but he kept his facial expression perfectly neutral. “Do you have proof of this?”
Caledonia explained that Frankie knew the money was to be moved in a laundry truck, and that she’d overheard him plotting the robbery. While she spoke one of the dogs came to her, resting his head on her lap as his tail thumped out a rhythm on the floor. Don Miguel translated her words for his companion, who nodded, looking at her appraisingly.
“Why should I believe you?” Don Miguel asked. “We have reason to think another gang was involved.”
“The body at the scene was planted to throw you off his trail. They killed everyone inside the truck to leave no witnesses, and now he wants to kill me because I know.”
Don Miguel colored a mix of sour green and black with outrage, and when he told the other man what she’d told him the ugly emotions spread across the table. The older man replied in Spanish, his voice rising as a murderous glint colored his eyes. He pounded his fist on the table, staring daggers at Caledonia.
“Why are you here?” Don Miguel asked her. “What do you want?”
“I want to be free of him.” She looked over at Layla. “We both do.”
“What is your business with him?” he asked Layla.
“He wants to force me to work for him–with Senator Blackwell,” she added without breaking eye contact. She sent him a shot of sweet lilac empathy, jutting her lip out just a tiny bit in a sorrowful pout.
Don Miguel’s eyebrows shot up knowingly and he nodded, leaning back in his chair. Caledonia could see that he believed her, surprised that the senator’s exploits seemed to be common knowledge among the criminal class.
Now that Layla had his attention she focused on him again with her singular expertise. This time she made some headway with a blast of shining white respect. “It’s the truth,” she said, driving it home. “We can tell you where to find him and your money, and all we want in return is for you to let us leave town in peace.”
Don Miguel was not a man to be trifled with. He had come up through the ranks the hard way, and he lived or died by his judgment. He trusted his instincts about people, and something told him that these girls were to be believed. He looked down at his tranquil dogs and back up at the anxious pair, making up his mind.
After consulting with the second man, he took out his phone and made a call. The second man called out to the guards, and one of them trotted off to return with two more shot glasses. The old man poured four shots of Tequila, sliding one to each of the girls with a nod. Caledonia looked to Layla who took her glass and raised it to him.
“Salud,” she said, drinking it along with the men. Caledonia followed suit, choking and coughing afterwards. Don Miguel laughed,
and they got down to business, giving him detailed directions to Frankie’s remote cabin. Once he was finished questioning them he was eager to get started.
He nodded to the men standing guard at the stairs. “Let them go.”
The men were surprised, but they obeyed without question. Don Miguel’s ruthlessness was unmatched, but he was known to be a man of honor. He would not bother with the two unusual girls any further. They were led to the front door, stepping out into the light of a bright sunny day.
Once they were safely back in Mina’s car, Caledonia turned to Layla.
“Now get me to the airport.”
~
Chapter Fourteen
REVENGE
~
Senator Charles Blackwell the third didn’t get as far as he was in politics without being keenly attuned to the slightest variation in the atmosphere. He hadn’t had a threatening visit from Frankie for nearly two weeks, and for whatever reason, he could sense that the winds of change were finally blowing in his favor.
The heat was off, and on this bright sunny morning Senator Blackwell was feeling his oats.
He picked up the phone, scrolling through some numbers and placing his call.
“Why, hello Charley,” A woman’s voice on the other line sounded pleased to hear from him. “We haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I’ve been tied up. I’m interested in having a companion meet me at my suite at the Ritz Carlton tonight,” he lifted his wrist to look at his diamond encrusted watch, “I need you to send a girl to Room 604. Make it about six o’clock.”
“That’s awfully short notice,” the woman purred. “And with your … reputation, I’m afraid it’s going to cost a bit more than usual.”
“Can you send one or not?” Senator Blackwell snapped.
“Six o’clock at the Ritz,” she replied. “Room 604.”
“I want a young one. … And make sure it’s a redhead.”
“Sure Charley. We can always take care of you.”
He set his phone down and relaxed, loosening his tie and leaning back into the smooth leather of his office chair. He reached across his desk for the bottle, pouring himself a finger of bourbon and knocking it back to take the edge off. He’d been so dreadfully bored lately that nothing seemed to bring him any pleasure at all.
He had a charity luncheon to attend, an award ceremony to honor another goddamned do-gooder and her latest crusade. His wife was insisting on making it a family event, going out of her way to bring their daughter home from college, and he was going to have to brace himself to endure their endless chatter about sorority events and fashionable clothes. There wouldn’t even be serving alcohol at the event, and to top it all off, he had to give a speech.
At least now he had something entertaining to anticipate.
~
Mina knocked softly, peeking in the door to see Michael sitting up in bed and reading a book. He looked up and smiled.
“Hey there … what are you reading?” she asked.
“Just some weird science fiction book I found on the shelf over there,” he gestured.
She laughed. “This is my brother’s room. He loves all that kind of stuff.”
Michael closed the book, suddenly serious. “Does he mind me staying here?”
“Not at all. He moved out a long time ago.”
“What happened? Why did he leave?” Michael asked, his face grave.
Mina stifled a smile. “I don’t think his wife would have approved of him staying.”
“Oh,” Michael felt foolish. Sometimes he forgot how strange his life had been. Normal, everyday explanations almost never occurred to him.
“You look better,” she observed.
He nodded. “I feel a lot better. It must be all the soup. Your grandma’s been bringing me soup all day. All different kinds.” He pointed to a tray with an empty bowl that sat on the dresser. “She can really cook!”
Layla laughed, “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.” She set her bag on the floor and sat on the side of the bed gingerly. “So … do you feel detoxified and rejuvenated?”
He smiled wryly. “Yes. As a matter of fact I do.”
“Then I should challenge you to a game.” She smiled mischievously, reaching into her bag to produce her laptop.
He put his book down with a delighted smile. “You’re on.”
Soon Mina and Michael were playing their favorite game together, and it felt like the first time, as if none of the terrible things had ever happened. Michael felt happier than he had in ages, and the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders for a few brief moments.
After a couple of hours they stopped to take a break. Mina had worked her way up onto the bed so now they were sitting side by side with the computer balanced between their legs. He turned with a smile, looking down into her eyes. “You got me,” he said. “I give up.”
Nervous, she broke eye contact and looked down at his hand. “Does it hurt?”
He held it up, spreading his fingers and looking at the stump from both sides. “Not really.”
“Why did you stop gaming anyway?” she asked him. “What made you so depressed?”
He heaved a sigh, hanging his head in shame. “I screwed up.”
“Screwed what up?”
He pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold something in, and she could see him struggle with himself before he spoke. “I lost all of our money. Everything. I made a couple of stupid investments, and I knew I blew it but I just couldn’t stop. I kept taking more and more risks, hoping to make it all back before anyone noticed.”
“It can’t be that bad,” she said, patting his arm.
He shook his head no. “It’s bad. Layla spends money like crazy, and I don’t even know how I’m going to pay last month’s credit card bills.”
Mina cringed. “Uh oh. I loaned her my car to go shopping today.”
Michael groaned. “I still haven’t broken the news to her … Or Cali. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just tell them. Everyone makes mistakes.”
He turned to look at her with eyes so sad that it made her heart break. “What good am I to anyone now?”
She placed her hand on his, speaking softly, “Don’t be silly. It’s only money.”
“You don’t understand. It was everything we had. I have no idea what to do now.”
“You and Layla can get jobs. That’s what normal people do.”
“Normal, huh?” He smiled ruefully. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“I’m sure it’ll all work out,” she ran her hand up his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Now that we have you back.”
He smiled, feeling better. “Thank you.”
“Hey–Do you want to stay on a few days and drive home with me?”
There wasn’t anything he would rather do. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” she smiled. “Now, I know exactly what you need to feel better.”
He looked into her dark eyes, drawing closer. “What?” he asked, his voice husky.
She opened her laptop back up, suddenly flustered. “Let’s play another game.”
~
Layla stood at the window, watching Caledonia’s jet climb into the sky. She silently wished her cousin a safe journey, turning to leave when a display of papers alongside a coffee cart caught her eye and brought her to a screeching halt. She drew closer, her heart pounding. The smug face of Senator Blackwell smiled up at her from the front page and she reached down for it, her hands shaking.
“Miss? Are you alright?” the young man at the cart asked, “Can I get you anything?”
Layla looked up, her voice unsteady, “Um … sure … how about a latte? Small please.”
She paid for her coffee and the paper, taking it to a nearby table to sit and read. The article praised the efforts of a group of a woman that had founded a charity, a charity whose mission was to stop the scourge of sex trafficking and drug abuse. There was to be a fundraising
luncheon for their flagship shelter, “The Shepard’s House” at the Ritz Carlton hotel at one o’clock that very day.
Senator Blackwell was to be the featured speaker.
“Unbelievable,” Layla muttered under her breath.
She sipped her coffee, glancing down at the golden watch on her delicate wrist. The event was to take place in about an hour, giving her plenty of time to get back to Ramon before too much time passed. She bit her lip, wavering.
She rose from her seat and returned her cup to the cart with a nod.
The boy at the cart smiled in return. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No thank you,” she said, turning to leave but suddenly pausing in her tracks and spinning around to face him. “Can you give me directions to the Ritz Carlton Hotel?”
As Layla drove through the city she grew strangely calm, and by the time she pulled up to the hotel entrance her mind was as still as the surface of a deep pool. She looked into the rear view mirror, smoothing her hair and powdering her freckled nose. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused her energy.
When she opened them back up she was ready.
She handed Mina’s keys to the parking attendant, following the signs announcing the event and waltzing straight through security with no resistance. Once inside, she scanned the lavish ballroom until she spotted her quarry. He was seated at a round table in front of the stage, flanked by two women, one old and one young.
His face was outwardly pleasant, but he was irritated, and Layla could see in a glance that Senator Blackwell did not want to be there. She circled the room slowly, watching him like a hawk as he suffered through his lunch. He cocked his head and nodded, pretending to listen to the woman on his right with a false smile pasted on his face.
A woman took the stage that faced out over the diners, speaking passionately about the shelter that she’d founded to take runaways off the street. She detailed the plight of homeless and drug addicted youth while the wealthy of Los Angeles picked at their plates of grilled swordfish and couscous.
The audience clapped politely when she introduced the next speaker, a girl who told a poignant tale of running away from an abusive home, only to wind up in an even worse situation on the mean streets of Los Angeles. The girl’s words went in and out of most of the audience’s ears, but Layla listened closely, her eyes blazing with righteous anger as she lurked in the back of the room, plotting her ambush.
The Redcastle Redemption (The Athena Effect) Page 12
