Hard To Handle

by Kylie Brant

  “Where’d he usually sit?” asked Cal. “At the bar here, or at one of the tables?”

  “Depends on if the shows were on,” Jack said. “When they were he was always at a table right up front.”

  “What about your wait staff?” If Lenny had been a regular, Gabe figured, the waitresses might be more familiar with him. “When do they come in?”

  “Most of them won’t be here for another forty-five minutes.”

  Resigning himself to the tedium ahead, Gabe said, “We’ll wait.”

  Yvonne exchanged a look with Jack. “Things start to get busy in here about that time. It’d probably be better if you came back near closing time.”

  “We hate to put you out, ma’am,” Gabe said sardonically. “But I know you’ll want to help us get this job done as soon as possible. What with you being so obliging and all.”

  It was close to an hour before they were able to interview the first of the wait staff. And from the looks of most of the women, they pulled double duty, both on the runway and in the bar. After another hour of questioning, Gabe was ready to call the lead a dead end. Most of the women admitted knowing Lenny, at least by sight. None recognized the picture of Sandra.

  While they waited to question the last waitress, Gabe made a sound of disgust. “Well, this was a dead end. All we’ve found out so far is that D’Brusco was a major lech.”

  “Like we didn’t already know that after tossing his bedroom.” Cal glanced at his watch. “If we’re going to be much later, I need to give Becky a call.”

  “Got another special occasion planned?” Gabe ribbed his partner, enjoying the immediate flush that crawled to the man’s cheeks.

  Cal moved uncomfortably on his chair, directing his gaze past Gabe. “Every night’s a special occasion when you have someone to go home to, you know?”

  “Sure,” Gabe agreed, turning his head to watch the next waitress approach them. But in truth he didn’t have a clue. And he doubted he ever would.

  Tracie, with an ie, she informed them breathlessly, looked all of about nineteen. Without the heavy makeup, she’d look even younger, Gabe figured. He waited silently as Cal explained their purpose and showed her the photos they’d brought.

  “That’s Lenny D’Brusco,” she said, tapping one long bloodred nail against the photo. “He was in here all the time. Kind of a sweet guy, you know? Always kidding around with the girls.”

  “How well did you know him?” Cal asked.

  She lifted one bared shoulder above the skimpy waitressing costume she wore. “Like I say, I talked to him when he came in sometimes.”

  Pushing the other photo forward, Cal asked, “What about this woman? Have you ever seen her before?”

  Tracie glanced at Gabe, and then over her shoulder to the bartender who watched them. She shook her head. “Nope, I just know Lenny. Everyone knew him. I never noticed anyone with him.”

  “Got any ID, Tracie with an ie?” Gabe asked in a deceptively soft voice.

  The woman darted another glance at him. “Not on me. Why?”

  “’Cuz maybe we’d like to look at it. Maybe we’d like to check your birth date.”

  Her face stilled, and she shot another look toward the bar. “I’m plenty old enough for whatever you guys have in mind.”

  “I’m betting not,” Gabe disagreed mildly. “What do you bet, Al? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

  “I’d bet ten she’s sixteen.” Cal followed his partner’s lead with smooth precision. “If that.”

  Wetting her lips, Tracie lowered her voice. “C’mon, guys, whaddya want to hassle me for?”

  “I can’t speak for my partner here, but I’m willing to hassle you because I have the feeling we’ve been getting jerked around for the last couple of hours.”

  “And I’m getting hungry,” Cal continued. “I always get ornery when I’m hungry.”

  “So how about it, Tracie?” Gabe turned his attention back on the young woman who looked ready to flee. “Want to be the first one in this joint to stop yanking us around, or should we call the juvies?”

  The threat of the juvenile authorities was the first crumble in Tracie’s wall. “Hey, I’m six weeks away from my eighteenth birthday, okay?”

  “And the way you spend those six weeks is up to you.”

  Faced with Gabe’s implacable mask, Tracie shot a beseeching look at Cal, who regarded her steadily. Shaking her head for the benefit of her audience at the bar, she murmured, “Okay, I saw her a couple times, all right? She was in here for a while one night, and Lenny invited her to his table.”

  “They didn’t come in together?”

  “No. But the next time I saw her she went to where he was sitting and joined him right away.” Her gaze flickered to the bar, where Yvonne had joined Jack. “And I don’t know nothing else.”

  “How long ago was this?” Gabe asked.

  Tracie screwed up her brow. “A long time ago. I don’t remember exactly. At least three months ago.”

  Gabe watched the woman get up from their table with barely disguised eagerness and walk rapidly away. Then his gaze met Cal’s. “I pulled up the file on Barton the day we interviewed Meghan Patterson. She died a little over three months ago.”

  Cal rubbed his jaw as he considered this information. “So Barton meets D’Brusco a couple of times in this place, and a few days later she winds up dead. Coincidence?”

  “Yeah.” Gabe rose and waited for his partner to do the same. “I’d say that’s one helluva coincidence.”

  Chapter 6

  “Meghan.”

  “Hm-m?” Still half-asleep, Meghan sat up in bed, clutched the telephone receiver to her ear.

  “Are you still in bed?”

  For some reason the question seemed imbued with a hint of intimacy and chased away any lingering sleepiness. She grabbed the bedcovers and pulled them up to her chest, as if to protect herself from the vision of the man on the phone.

  “I’m awake. What do you want?”

  He was silent for an instant, long enough for her to regret the phrasing of her statement. “What did you do with your sister’s effects? The things you cleaned out of her place after her death?”

  The low tones were like sandpaper dragged over velvet, and the effect elicited an unexpected, unwanted response. She shook her head to dislodge the fog that was suddenly hazing her mind. “Why?”

  She expected the impatience in his response but not the hint of amusement beneath it. “Can’t you ever just answer a question? I’d like to go through them. See if I can find a clue that will give me an idea of your sister’s last days.”

  It took concentrated effort to ignore the insidious heat that was drifting through her limbs. There was something curiously intimate in talking to him like this while she still lay in bed, half-dressed. His raspy tones could have been coming from beside her, a drowsy male just rousing from sleep. The mental image flushed her cheeks and made her voice sharper than she intended.

  “Don’t you think I’ve already thought of that, Detective? I’ve been through her things over and over again. There’s nothing there to give the slightest hint of what she was involved in. All I know about her activities I read in the paper.”

  “You’ve been through her stuff—a cop hasn’t. I might see something you overlooked. Might find something you didn’t think was important.”

  “I don’t see the point.” More than stubbornness drove her. It had been hard enough to go through her sister’s things the first time; to sort through the curiously scant belongings and imagine what importance they might have had in Sandra’s life. Like Meghan she’d had a generous trust fund, one that would have enabled her to live comfortably. But Sandra hadn’t wasted much money on furnishings and the kind of momentos that made a house a home. Meghan suspected that she’d moved too often for that. Each succeeding time she’d searched through them had gotten increasingly painful. How strange that she would have to peruse inanimate objects for some hints into her sister’s life. And how unbearably sa
d.

  “I heard from the guy I had look at your sister’s car. He couldn’t find anything to suggest it had been tampered with. But…yesterday Cal and I did find out that Sandra and D’Brusco knew each other. They’d met, at least twice.”

  His words had the effect of a one-two punch. Dread circled in her stomach. She’d gotten her second look into the accident, but closure was elusive. Finding a link between Sandra and the detective’s current case meant that it would be harder to shake Connally; harder to dodge his insistence to draw Danny, and perhaps her, into the investigation.

  Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. “I don’t see what that…”

  “It means D’Brusco was one of the last people to see your sister alive.” His blunt pronouncement hung between them, thrumming with tension. “You want answers about your sister’s death, Meghan. The second look into the accident didn’t bring any. Maybe this will.”

  Her fingers clutched tightly at the comforter around her waist. “I stored most of her things away. I didn’t know what Danny might want. I mean, when he gets older.”

  “You can take me there tonight after work.” His voice had gone low and persuasive. “Want me to bring dinner? We can eat first.”

  “No.” She was in a sudden hurry to end this conversation, as if by doing so she could sever her connection to Connally. Barring that, keeping him at a distance was the wisest course of action. He was offering to provide her with the answers she had regarding Sandra’s death, but he was only a means to an end. She’d be wise to remember that.

  “After I feed Danny I’ll meet you there.” She recited the address of the storage unit she utilized. “I probably won’t make it until seven o’clock.”

  “Seven o’clock is fine.” There was a long pause, and then he said, “You’re doing the right thing, Meghan.”

  The right thing. She regarded the receiver in her hand after the conversation had ended. Further involvement with the detective could prove to be the right thing for putting Sandra’s memory to rest. It may well be the right thing for Danny, if it answered the questions the boy was liable to have when he got older.

  But she was certain that it was the absolutely worst thing she could do for herself.

  “You’re a slippery guy to get hold of, Mr. Jamison.” Gabe ignored the plush, leather chair offered him by the CEO of Golden Enterprises and roamed the well-outfitted office.

  “I’m a busy man, if that’s what you mean.”

  Gabe lifted the blinds away from the window with one finger and peered out. The view offered a magnificent view of the lake. He let the blind drop and turned back to the man. “Yeah, that must be what I mean.”

  The immaculately clad blond man watched the detectives from behind an acre of polished cherry. “I hope you haven’t been too inconvenienced by my absence. When I heard there were detectives asking to speak with me, I wrapped up my business in Zurich as quickly as possible.”

  “What can you tell us about the operation of Ultimate Video?”

  “Well, it’s one of Golden Enterprises’s vast array of holdings. Exactly what is it that has you interested?” He countered Gabe’s question with one of his own.

  “We’re trying to locate one of your employees. He was the manager for Ultimate Video. Lenny D’Brusco.”

  Todd Jamison spread two well-manicured hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “Your interest mirrors my own. I’m told the man hasn’t shown up for work for the past few days. It seems we’ll be looking for a replacement.”

  “Another ex-con?” Gabe inquired.

  Jamison’s expression blanked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did you know Lenny D’Brusco is a convicted felon?” Cal asked. When the man didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll take your silence as a no. See, that was one of the questions we had. Seems unusual for an ex-con to be placed in a job that would enable him to handle sums of money like he did at the video outlets. Just how is it that D’Brusco came to be working for one of your companies?”

  The congeniality had vanished. Jamison’s face was hard. “Gentlemen, I hire people to take care of those sorts of chores for me. I agree with you, someone wasn’t doing his or her job when D’Brusco was hired. I intend to get to the bottom of that matter.”

  Gabe looked at the man consideringly. Jamison would look at home on the cover of one of those magazines, he thought, the kind that purported to be for men but that no man Gabe had ever known would be caught dead reading. Tan, polished and glib, maybe Jamison was CEO material. That didn’t mean he wasn’t up to his neck in something dirty.

  “How long have you been CEO of this outfit?”

  Jamison folded his hands before him like an altar boy about to recite a well-practiced prayer. “Just over a year. Why?”

  “Looks like it’d be a demanding job.”

  “Yes, it is.” He gave a thin smile. “Fortunately however, I’m up to it.”

  “Know who held this position before you?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Dropping into one of the chairs opposite the man, Gabe regarded him shrewdly. “How closely do you follow the daily operations of all the holdings of Golden Enterprises?”

  “I have managers for that sort of thing. I wouldn’t impugn their skills by attempting to micromanage, if that’s what you mean. It’d be counterproductive at any rate. My responsibility is to keep an eye on the performance of each of the businesses. Since Ultimate Video was performing well, it warranted no close attention from me. Are you saying it should have?”

  Gabe cocked a brow. “Not necessarily. Just trying to get a feel for the chain of command in this outfit. You answer to someone, too, don’t you? Or is CEO a fancy name for owner?”

  Jamison adjusted the lapel of his Armani suit jacket. “Somehow I believe we’ve veered from your original concern. I’m afraid I can’t give you any information on D’Brusco, but I do wish you well in your endeavors.” He rose, and slowly Gabe and Cal did the same.

  “If you find him, Detectives, you can give him a message for me.” He waited for the two men to turn back to him.

  “You can tell him that he’s fired.”

  “So what was your take on this Jamison?” Lieutenant Burney faced the two detectives in his office an hour later.

  “Do we like him for being involved in the laundering scam?”

  “I wouldn’t cross him off our shortlist,” Gabe responded. He reached into his pocket and thumbed another mint from the package Cal had given him yesterday. Its taste didn’t improve his mood any. His mouth was as fresh as a damn wintergreen forest, whatever the hell that was, but it didn’t appreciably lessen his craving for a cigarette.

  “Hell, he’s the CEO, isn’t he? Could D’Brusco be running the money exchange without him knowing about it? How would he get it past accounting?” He threw the crumpled wrapper into the wastebasket beside the lieutenant’s desk.

  “He didn’t particularly want to answer any questions about Golden Enterprises itself,” Cal said.

  “Did you let him know what your interest was?” the lieutenant asked, his ebony eyes intent.

  Gabe shook his head. “Just that we wanted D’Brusco. He never asked why.”

  Lieutenant Burney nodded reflectively. “Put a time line together of D’Brusco’s activities while you were tailing him. Then concentrate on the pictures you took while you had the outlets under surveillance. Maybe we can work a clue that way.”

  The problem with the lieutenant’s advice, Gabe thought hours later, was they’d snapped hundreds of pictures while Lenny had been inside the stores. Trying to match customers that had been seen more than once at the same store was a tedious process. Identifying them once a match had been made was damn near impossible. And even if they were identified, chances were each would turn out to be a retired schoolteacher with a passion for old movies.

  His eyes were starting to cross, so Gabe decided it was time for a break. There had been something nagging at him since their visit with Jamison, and h
e wouldn’t rest until he’d checked it out. Going to the computer, he logged on to the Internet and started looking through the database of local property transactions. He found what he was looking for in about ten minutes, and his eyes widened. “Hey, c’mere a minute.”

  Cal looked up from the pictures he was poring over. “What are you doing, sluffing off? Get back to work.”

  “Come and look at this. Didn’t you wonder about the ownership of Ultimate Video?”

  With a long-suffering sigh, his partner got up and rounded the desk. “We already know it belongs to Golden Enterprises. What’s the surprise?”

  “Look who sold it to that corporation a few years ago.” Gabe tipped back in his chair so his partner could lean closer to the screen.

  “Victor Mannen used to own it?” Cal’s voice was filled with distaste. “Now there’s a scumbag of the highest order.”

  “Yeah, a powerful scumbag. Maybe beating that murder rap cost him big time and he had to sell the video place to raise the dough for those fancy lawyers of his.” Years ago the man had faced a federal trial for murder. Two weeks before the trial was to begin, all but one of the witnesses were massacred while in protective custody. The survivor, not surprisingly, hadn’t stuck around to testify. Finding Mannen’s name attached to this investigation, no matter how remotely, was jarring.

  Gabe checked his watch, relieved to see that it was close to five already. The events of the day should have kept thoughts of Meghan at bay, but mental pictures of her had insisted on lingering, dancing at the fringes of his consciousness. It had taken effort to ignore persistent images of her in bed when he’d called her, heavy-eyed and half-asleep. It had taken even greater effort not to picture what she’d been wearing, what she’d been thinking when he’d heard that slight catch in her voice.

  His imagination was working overtime today. He’d never seen her bedroom, but he thought it would be lacy and delicate, the kind of room that would make a man feel awkward and out of place. But it wouldn’t be his surroundings he’d be concentrating on if he were there. His attention would be focused on Meghan. Familiarizing himself with the softness of her skin, with every scented curve and hollow of her long, lithe body.