She took the time to maintain her ordinance, specifically the suppressor. She’d cleaned the 9mm Glock the night before while watching bullshit television. The suppressor wouldn’t totally silence the gun; no suppressor does that. It was a joke that people called them silencers. However, the suppressor would knock off about thirty-five decibels of sound. And although the killing floor would be in a glass house, which would amplify sound, the neighboring houses were far enough apart that the shots would be quieter than party balloons popping.
As Illiana worked the gun oil in and around the suppressor with a rag she envisioned how she’d kill the con artists. Initially it was going to be two quick taps followed by a hasty exit assassination style. But the more she shadowed the pair her hatred for them grew to the point she wanted to add an element of torture. Maybe torture one while the other one watched. She checked in daily with her cousin. The mob boys were still looking the other way. Illiana knew that once the killing was done and the cops were left with no traces or witnesses the boys out in Philly would not only pay the bounty, they’d respect her play. Vengeance done right always has been a real point getter with the mob especially the older made guys.
Illiana toyed with the idea of working for the Philly guys once this was done. Freelance, of course. No way did she want to sit around, take orders and fight punk-ass wannabe-wiseguys for scraps dropped from the boys up top. No, she’d give them a way to contact her when they needed hits done when they needed great distance from the murder—when it was imperative that everybody’s alibi was coffin tight. She’d pull those hits clean and the fuckers upstairs will pay her amply for it.
When the suppressor was clean, she fitted it to the Glock’s barrel and looked down the site.
It won’t be long now…
Sam pulled into the garage of his new home and carried the groceries he bought from the garage into the large kitchen. He loaded the food into the fridge and pantry then poured himself a decent sized glass of wine. He opened up his laptop and double-checked the rules of earnest money in California. According to his research he and Rachel could demand at least one percent down from Cisco. According to online property calculators the house he sat in would be worth one point three five million. But developers never pay full price so at one point one mill, for example, with one percent down the grifters were looking at an earnest check for eleven thousand dollars. With Rachel’s phony company and phony escrow company, the cashier’s check would clear in a day maybe two, all thanks to Gerald, Porter’s former protégé. After that with an auction style fast escrow, closing the deal would be wrapped up in three to four days at the outside. This was huge. He and Rachel stole plenty in their time but never a house!
Sam savored the wine moving down the throat to his belly. He thought about Rachel and appreciated everything about her. He was truly lucky to have her. This would be their biggest score in a long time. Maybe this was the start of something new, no more small-time cons and they could find a place to lay low for a long while. He knew Philadelphia wasn’t finished looking for them. If anything, he figured Rocco Tolenti’s failure only magnified Little Vincent’s rage.
One point two equaled a long, safe layoff, he thought.
Rachel sat in the same seat as the day before at Mother’s Favorite Vase. It turned out the counter girl’s name was Sheena and she was the manager. Rachel found her quite pleasant. She could see Sam and her settling in a place like this. Obviously not Bullion specifically but there were plenty of other gems out there, some established and some on the come-up. Her smile turned from one of fantasy to the business of Julia Sawkins as she spotted Cisco walking in.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he said, plopping down in the chair opposite Rachel. He got Sheena’s attention and asked for a better wine than the day before, one that wouldn’t give him a headache.
“Okay, let’s go, gimme the good news and no theatrics.” He leaned in with forearms on his thighs. Rachel figured he got a deal on his suits. Today’s was the same as the others only periwinkle blue with a dark blue dress shirt.
“We’re on,” she said. “But you need to understand and respect that you’re not my only client.”
Cisco nodded.
“And this is a trial basis, seeing as I’ve just begun to vet you. As far as a partnership in the future that’s highly unlikely. I make too much money and I savor my freedom. That,” she said, “I’m sure you can relate to.”
Rachel wore a crisp blue and white pin stripped blouse by Donna Karen. The top three buttons were left undone for the mark’s pleasure. Her thick hair was back-combed a touch more than usual. Her dark blue pencil skirt fit snug and the dark tights weren’t quite exotic dancer fishnets but the pattern certainly said up for fun. For footwear a simple black Santa Fe pump from Banana Republic did the trick. Cisco’s gaze drank it in and smiled approval. Sheena poured a sample of their best merlot and waited for Cisco’s response. Rachel clocked her ridged posture and lips in a tight line of dislike.
I can’t stand him either, sister…
Cisco nodded affirmative then shooed Sheena away as if she was a housefly.
“Julia, I’m pleased, really pleased. Thank you.” He gulped half the glass and sat back, resting his right foot on his left knee. “Yesterday you mentioned you might have something for me. Ya gotta a place for me?”
“It just so happens I do.”
This time Rachel leaned into the conversation. “In my business I have the privilege of dealing with a lot of inventory. Sometimes I hear of deals before the seller knows they even want to sell.” She allowed a hint of a brag to creep into her tone.
Cisco seemed to approve. He beamed like a kid on a game show. “Let me guess, sometimes you make your own purchases.”
Rachel nodded. “That being said, I have a real peach right here in Bullion.”
Cisco dropped his foot to the floor, leaned forward and rubbed his hands together.
Rachel continued. “Now initially I snatched the place for a different client I had in mind. He knows I’m out here on business but he doesn’t know that I’ve bought this particular place.”
“I wanna see it. Right now. Let’s go. He’s not here, I am.”
“Steady, Cisco. You’re looking desperate.”
“Cisco’s never desperate.”
Julia ignored the statement. “I’ve got a few fires to put out today but—”
“Nope, I’m not gonna sit here and watch that nice ass get up and drift away again. I’m over that. We do this now. What do you need from me?”
Julia over dramatized her angst until she finally said, “The house is worth one point four million. I’d need an earnest check, cashier’s of course, for one percent, which is—”
“I ain’t payin’ full price, never do. I’ll pay one point one.”
Rachel gave him a smirk. “Cisco, please. We both know that’s low.”
“Fine. I’ll go one point two and that’s final. And you’ll have the check today—twelve grand.” He paused. “’Cause I trust ya,” he added.
“I—I wasn’t expecting this,” she lied. “And you’ll do that sight unseen? Because I can’t show it until tomorrow and that is if I get my ducks in a—”
“How do you think an auction works? Sight unseen.”
Rachel realized she played that one badly. It was time to use the wares. She leaned forward and finished Cisco’s wine. He stared at her mouth as she drank. She considered an exaggerated lip lick but that might be too much, even for Cisco. She pulled a business card from her purse that Sam made up and slid it across the table. On it was the fake LLC she and Sam had created.
“Please make the check out to my business.”
Cisco rubbed the card between his fingers and frowned at the card.
“Why Honeybee LLC?”
“I love honey, it’s sweet and sticky,” she said, rising. “Besides, who doesn’t love honeybees, Cisco? They’re endangered you know.”
Once again
Cisco stood and kissed her hand and again she felt him watch her ass sashay out the door.
Sam got a call from Rachel saying that things were moving fast and it was time for the next phase. He powered up the Porsche and headed to a side street three blocks east of the main downtown drag. Rachel hopped in before the car came to a full stop. Sam took back streets where he could push the accelerator to the Airbnb home. They needed to pack their gear and stage the home in the style a realtor would. They’d hole up in the Bullion Biltmore Hotel until the next day when Rachel would show the place to Cisco. By then Rachel would already have the earnest money. With the help of Gerald, the money would bounce and ping through the electronic wire system and land in their private account. Sam and Rachel barely spoke during the pack up, which was done in under twenty minutes. The need for staging was minimal seeing as the real homeowners kept the Airbnb in a move-in-ready state. The odd repositioning of a few end tables and knickknacks was all that was needed.
Thirty-two minutes later Sam and Rachel checked into the Biltmore. Sam emptied his pockets and put the contents on the bedside table as was custom. His keys, phone, money clip were all there…except his lucky zippo lighter.
“Shit,” he said.
“What’s up? Rachel asked.
“It’s my lighter. I must have put it my other pants,” he said, only partially convinced.
They got in a quick romp, which was more frenzied than last session, almost certainly due to the thrill of the pending funds. Sam let Rachel shower first. When she got out, he watched her ease into form fitting faded jeans, a plain white T and a black suede jacket. She mentioned she could go casual seeing as she’d told Cisco she’d be a woman getting ducks in a row—Sam was cool with that. He also felt comfort that the black suede Justin boots she wore were perfect for stashing her Gerber Winchester hunting knife with the four-inch blade. Neither of them ever set out to use violence on their jobs but Cisco insisted the hand off of the check be done in his hotel suite. Sam’s face moved into a grin as he thought back to her words. “If the guy gets hands-y or worse, cold steel pressed to the throat outta put him in check.”
“That’s my girl,” he’d said to her.
Sam parked a block and a half from the boutique hotel. Rachel gave him a quick kiss then walked toward the entrance. As she disappeared down the street Sam drifted back to their love making session.
Sex and money—hell of a combination…
Illiana found a spot beneath an overgrown manzanita shrub that gave her a semi-hidden vantage point. Rachel walked to the hotel but Sam stayed in the vehicle. What were those two fucks up to? Her phone buzzed and she recognized the number.
“What’s up, cugino?”
“You sittin’ down?” Massimo said. “’Cause you ain’t gonna like it.”
Illiana sighed. “I’m in my ride with assholes in sight. Go ’head.”
“The boys figure if you’re getting close maybe you need some back-up. They’re gonna send a guy to assist.”
This was exactly what Illiana wanted to avoid. Things were shifting as she expected, only faster than she’d hoped.
“If that’s what they want,” she said, fighting to control her anger.
“I knew you’d get it. Like I said before, I’ll sleep better knowing you got help.”
Translation—the Philly guys wanted a man to do the hit. It would look better to the other families as well as the rivals. She needed to assure her cousin.
“Suits me. I just want the fuckers dead. I’ll be honest, the bounty woulda been nice but fuck it, I just want the assholes gone. I don’t care who does it.”
Her act was good. She almost believed the bullshit she was shoveling him.
“I feel good about this, Illy. I can rest easy now.”
“Me, too.” She wanted off the phone but had a thought. “Hey, text me a photo of the guy they’re sending. I don’t wanna cap one of our own on accident.” She forced a chuckle.
“Yeah right, good idea. Will do. You, ah, you be careful.”
“Last thing Massimo, when’s the hitter gettin’ here?”
“You got about three days. I’d rather you sit tight and let the guy do his job but I know you so…”
That part he had dead on.
“I’ll consider it. Just send me that text when you know.”
“You got it. Look, I gotta go. Luv ya.”
Illiana killed the call for fear she’d rip him a new one. She could hear the beginnings of Massimo’s voice breaking—the guilty fuck. This was goodbye and they both knew it. Illiana may not be a made guy but she wasn’t born yesterday. The Philly guys were sending a hitter to clip the cons and Illiana, as well. They don’t like loose ends. Her cousin sold her out and when he said she had three days that meant two. Which for Illiana meant a day, day and a half tops. She was no fool. This was a man’s mob and she was a woman on the fringes. She’d cap the cons and ghost. She cracked a tiny smile at a thought. Maybe lay low for year then double back and take out her back-stabbing cugino Massimo. She fucking hated being called Illy.
Leila, Cisco’s employee, was seated in a turquoise leather armchair in the lobby when Rachel walked in.
“Leila.”
“Julia,” Leila said checking out Rachel’s garb. “Casual Friday?”
Rachel let it hang and followed Leila to the wide staircase. Two floors up Leila knocked twice on the door to suit A and entered without waiting for a response. Cisco walked to the door wearing the same suit from the afternoon sans jacket. He didn’t kiss Rachel’s hand this time. Instead, he handed her a martini glass.
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Did my boyfriend downstairs make this lemon drop?”
“He did indeed.”
The clinked glasses and sipped. Rachel was surprised Leila wasn’t dismissed. She obviously had a bigger role than Rachel had originally thought. Without pretense, Cisco handed Rachel an envelope.
“Check it out. I wanna make sure the bank spelled Honeybee correctly.”
Rachel gave the check a quick glance. The spelling and amount was as agreed. She thanked Cisco then sat down on the edge of a plush beige ottoman. She wanted her seating choice to relay that she was out the door once the martini glass was dry. Cisco sat in the center of a large cream sofa. A high-top bar with two barstools was where Leila posted up with an expression that said something was funny and you’d never guess what it was.
“So what time tomorrow?” Cisco asked.
“Nine a.m. work for you?”
“Nine’s fine,” Cisco said.
Something got Rachel’s radar going. For the most part Cisco was his usual self but something about Leila wasn’t right. First, she was still in the room with them but there was something else. It was the smug look on her face. Like she knew an inside joke that clearly amused her but she would never share. Rachel shifted her boot to the side, feeling for the confidence her blade gave her. Rachel was fast and could skin the blade in a second if she needed to. But if they pulled a gun on her she was screwed.
Stop it, she told herself. Why would they? What could they have found out?
Still, something was wrong.
Small talk took up the remainder of the time it took for the lemon drop to be downed. That was odd as well. Small talk with no come-ons from Cisco? Not a single comment about her tight white T? And Leila barely contributed but wore various looks of someone downloading information…the way she and Sam usually do.
Rachel didn’t like it.
“You’ve been the quarterback on this one, the one spending time with the guy. What’s your gut say?” Sam asked as they drove back to the hotel.
“I wanna say we’re good.” Rachel tried to sound confident. “I always knew there was more to Leila and that Cisco probably has a habit of shoving her aside when he meets a new conquest. And maybe Cisco’s pulled back on the flirtation until the deal goes through. I mean the guy claims his ultimate goal is to partner up.”
“Okay,
” Sam said. “So is that really the gut or are you making the narrative fit because this could be the job that keeps our toes in the sand and cocktails in our hands for a good long while?”
“I don’t know. Shit, all of the above.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Look, let’s move ahead with hyper-vigilance and the minute the racecar heads for the wall we bail.”
Sam gave her a doubtful look. “That’s cutting it close. By the time the car is headed for the wall, all that’s left to do is crash.”
Rachel waved his criticism away. “So it’s a bad analogy. How about when the plane looks like it’s going to crash, we jump out and pop our parachutes?”
“Golden ones?” Sam asked, smiling.
She didn’t return the smile. “Hopefully.”
“Look,” Sam said, “this isn’t about being hyper-vigilant. When have we ever operated at less than one hundred percent on that count? We can’t be more aware of things, we can only be more careful in how we respond. And if we don’t like what we see, then being careful means cutting and running.” He gave her a pointed look. “Before the car is headed toward the wall.”
Rachel sighed. She knew he was right. There was only one question that they needed to answer. “Is it worth the stretch?” she asked.
Sam thought about it for a while. Then he nodded slowly. “It is.” He pointed to the vertical scar next to his left eye. “Between this and the limp, it’s not going to get any easier for us. This score gives us a cushion. It buys us time. So yeah, I believe it’s worth the stretch.”
Rachel leaned in and kissed the scar softly. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s do it.”
The next morning Rachel pulled out all of the stops. She wore a bright white vest with several white cloth buttons up the front. The push-up bra put her breasts where they needed to be. She’d always had nice, toned arms and today she showed them off, which is why there was no blouse under the vest. Because her waist was slim she could pull off the high-waisted cobalt blue flare bottom stretch trouser. The front section had four light brown buttons, two on one side, two on the other, sailor pant style, which gave the look of two buttons to open the flap and you’re in-it-to win-it.
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