Fatal Chances (The Red Lake Series Book 5)

by Rich Foster

  It was a poor night's sleep. The morning's dawn was as bleak as his spirits. Angry dark clouds crowded down on the mountains. The lake was an ugly, gun metal gray. Harry lay in bed and watched as the wind picked up, the tree branches began to dance against the foreboding sky and white caps formed on the endless waves that rolled across the lake like a sea of troubles.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paula lay in a borrowed bed in Seattle. Outside it was barely light. After tossing and turning she finally rose and went downstairs to the kitchen and started the coffee. The shrill chatter of the coffee grinder set her nerves on edge. Soon she would need to decide what to do. She couldn't impose on her friend forever. Though, Paula sensed Danica enjoyed having her around, her friend's declarations that a woman didn't need a man and that the single life was more rewarding than coupling, rang false in her ears. The words also rankled, as if her desire for marriage was an inferior choice.

  She was on her second cup of coffee when Danica shuffled in wearing a terry cloth robe and pink rabbit slippers that belonged on a eight year old. Neither spoke, not being a morning persons they were content to sip their coffee in silence.

  Outside the garden was bathed in sunlight. a welcome change from the past week of drizzle that had been relieved only by torrential rains.

  "It's got to be me!" Paula declared unexpectedly breaking their silence.

  "Not a chance, it's always the guys fault."

  "No seriously, first I marry Brad who needed me too much and then I choose Harry who doesn't need me enough!"

  "Who fucks better?"

  "What? Why do you ask?"

  "That's the guy that loves you better, he's the one that deep down wants to please you. Whether he is the one better for you or not is another question."

  Paula snorted in mild contempt. "And where do you get this knowledge from?"

  "Single bars, crumby dates, failed relationships and observing my betters."

  They both laughed.

  Danica ran her fingers through her mop of dark hair. "Maybe your right, Paula. You left the first one and now you've left this one. Maybe it is you!"

  Her friend's habit of using impersonal pronouns to identify men irritated Paula, another sign it was time for her to move on.

  "I want to get married."

  "It's just a piece of paper."

  Paula eyes began to tear up. Sub-consciously she rubbed her ring finger. "I still want the fairy tale."

  Danica snickered, "Face it Paula, nowadays the white horse is a dirty pickup, the castle has become a three bedroom ranch house in need of repair, and your knight in shining armor will be wearing levis and holding a beer can, not a sword."

  Paula decided it was time for her to pack.

  *

  Three days passed without incident, excepting an item Harry noticed in the Clarion under the Police Blotter column.

  Local Woman Assaulted

  Anna Petrovitch was admitted to St. Catherine's Hospital having suffered a severe beating in what, she claimed, was a mugging. Ms. Petrovitch was unable to provide the authorities with any details as to her attacker's identity.

  A spokesperson for the hospital, citing privacy issues, simply said the victim's condition was satisfactory and that she was expected to fully recover.

  When asked if this indicated an increase in violent crime within the county, Sheriff Gavin Gaines said, no. However, he did urge people to exercise caution when walking alone.

  Harry pulled out his cell phone and dialed Gaines. "Sheriff, Harry here."

  "What do you need now, Grim?"

  "Nothing, I am being a good citizen and providing possible information about a crime."

  "Don't you mean information about a possible crime?"

  "No, the crime happened. This is about the Petrovitch woman."

  "Oh, her." The sheriff's tone implied the name mildly annoyed him. "What do you have for me?"

  "Well, without violating client confidentiality, I think you should look at the husband."

  "From that I infer marital discord and possible infidelities."

  "You're very perceptive, Sheriff."

  "Ah that's why I get the big bucks." Unseen by Harry, Grim stroked his mustache, "that and the fact her husband's knuckles were chaffed and bruised, but the lady swears it wasn't him, so my hands are tied."

  "Well at least he didn't kill her."

  "Probably thought of it, he seems the type. But, hypothetically speaking, so as to avoid your confidentiality problem, should I be worried about this happening to anyone else in my county?"

  "No, I doubt it. Society tells us not to hit girls."

  "But his wife is a ...." Gaines paused. "Oh." Another pause followed. " Do you mean what I think you do?"

  "Probably."

  *

  Things remained quiet in Red Lake.

  With Donatello out of Red Lake it appeared the DEA had also quit the area. Harry hoped they all stayed in Las Vegas. He picked at small jobs and spent his spare trying to figure how to move forward on the Stockman case. More often than not, his 'new' ideas proved to be an excuse to drop in on Julia, professional visits that invariably resulted in strewn clothes, rumpled sheets and exhausted passions. Harry knew it wasn't love, not even affection, it was lust. And if sex and violence are closely tied it may have involved a bit of subliminal aggression about Paula leaving him. It was also sex without having to hear demands for tomorrow, or the next day, or the rest of his life.

  Harry stopped calling Paula due to frustration, anger, and no small bit of guilt.

  *

  Harry was driving back to Red Lake from a run north to the small town of Mason Forks, to his surprise Donatello's house on Gulls Bay was ablaze with light.

  That spells trouble.

  He idled back, doused his headlights, and drifted onto the shoulder. Standing in the bed of his truck he could see past the wall and to the house where occasionally shadows crossed the distant window. Harry pulled out his cell phone and realized he had missed the email alert that Barton's bugs sent.

  Guess it is time to check the recorder, Harry thought. He sat down in the truck bed and dialed the number.

  After several clips and a few muffled words on the digital recording he heard a door bang, followed by heavy footsteps and voices.

  "Why the fuck we gotta come back here?"

  "Enjoy it, we got a nice view."

  "Ain't the kinda view I get in Vegas. I like tits, legs, and snatch, you can't fuck mountains and lakes!"

  There was a loud thump of things being dropped.

  "Probably luggage."

  "Open the god damn window, will ya, it smells like shit in here."

  "Well, I'd say that scent is old Jimmy 'Brass Knuckles' cologne and probably his last crap after his ass let go when the Boss popped him between the eyes."

  "I tell you Tommy, I think the boss man is a little nuts! I mean who the fuck kills one of your own for a little screw up? Not to mention his obsession with that piece of ass in Beaumont."

  There was a significant silence.

  "You know Tony, you should learn to keep your trap shut. If Mr. Donatello hears you talk like that I'll be digging the hole alone next time."

  "Fuck you, as if you could take me."

  Harry heard the distinctive sound of a pistol being chambered. Then he heard Tommy LaGuardia threaten, "Don't press your luck, Tony, or I'll be digging tonight!"

  "I'd like to know where they dug that hole," Harry thought. "could be useful if I need to trade something to get Special Agent Lawrence off my back."

  Throughout. the digital recording the volume level was fairly consistent, Barton had place the mikes well. Harry listened but failed to hear Donatello's voice. After a bit the conversation died out to the drone of something on the television.

  Later on the tape Harry heard a door open and close followed by silence. The next sound the tape picked up was Donatello's voice who told his men to get to work. Evidently it was morning. Vito cheerfully hummed as he
banged around the kitchen. There was almost no talk, evidently, when the boss was around very little was said. The sounds of breakfast were followed by numerous false starts when a loud noise activated the recorder, but other than an instruction yelled out the door to his men Donatello lived in silence.

  The last conversation recorded on the tape was a call by Donatello to Julia. He asked to see her and suggested they have lunch. Much to Harry's displeasure she said yes with surprising alacrity. The recording ended with the drone of a television.

  He realized the night air was creeping in on him not having noticed while he listened to the wire. Standing up he saw the lights in Donatello's house were now off.

  Harry got in the cab and put the pickup in gear. As he drove past the Red Lake airstrip he thought he saw Dirk's plane on the tarmac. When he pulled into his driveway, light spilled from the front windows onto the deck. Though he was always glad to see his friend, he couldn't help but feel disappointment that it was Dirk, not Paula waiting for him.

  Barton lounged on the sofa while sipping Harry's scotch.

  Harry didn't ask where Dirk had been. One couldn't be prosecuted for what one didn't know.

  "Donatello's back."

  "Lucky you. How's he walking?"

  "I don't know, I only heard him on tape talking to Julia."

  "Uh oh, bad luck for him. You care enough about this girl to bust his ass over it?"

  Harry shrugged.

  "What about you and Paula?"

  Harry shrugged again.

  "You better figure out what you want, brother, before you burn your bridges."

  Harry put his hands up in silent surrender.

  "Is she that good or are you just itching for something different?"

  Harry smiled, "Oh she's good! The problem is she probably isn't good for me."

  They drank in silence for a while. Harry refilled their highball glasses and when they were empty he did it again.

  "So where are you with the Stockman thing?"

  "I'm not sure. Julia had means motive and opportunity. She wanted out and if he died there is a two million dollar policy waiting to comfort her."

  "That's a lot of motive but without a body there's no definite payoff. Who else do you have?"

  "Donatello is hot for Julia. Maybe after his wife died he did something about it. There was a guy on the boat with Las Vegas connections, name of Orusco, he was a mule for the Cuerpos Cartel which puts him right next to Donatello."

  "I'm not sure Vito would want to go outside his family for a hit."

  "He did on me. And I figure he was good for the hit on Montoya's wife," Harry said coolly.

  "True, but if he wanted Julia and he knew about the life insurance, wouldn't he make sure they found the body? He's not the type to walk from money."

  "Perhaps he didn't know about the policy or maybe he thought if Julia had plenty of money he couldn't win her over, but without a body, by the time she collected he might be able to plant his flag, so to speak."

  Harry rolled his eyes.

  Barton continued, "flagpole, staff, scepter, lance, brandish the sword, hoist the yardarm..." he chuckled as he ran through the options.

  "Enough!" Even Harry was laughing now.

  "Anyone else?"

  "A guy named Stewart Proust who ran with the Miami area motorcycle gang. If Stockman was Grayson Voight and I think he probably was, then Proust goes to the head of my list, mainly because there is no body and secondly he flew to the Cayman Islands to join the cruise."

  "Maybe you should call him up and ask? Barton facetiously suggested.

  They sipped some more. After a time Barton said, "Or how about a set-up between Stockman and his wife?"

  "Unlikely, with her talking about a divorce."

  "Relocated by Witness Protection?"

  Harry shook his head. They wouldn't have been all over me if they knew where he was. My call about a leak riled them up."

  Barton killed his drink, stood up, and stretched, the way his muscles rippled and flexed it was hard to believe he could ever grow tired.

  "Of course maybe your man Harvey simply cleared out."

  "Could be, but where's the fun in that?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day Harry took Barton's jest seriously. He ran Proust's name in the online white pages and found him listed in Miami. Two dollars later he had a phone number and address.

  The phone rang a half dozen times, the voice that finally picked up sounded as if a few teeth were missing or the owner was drunk.

  "Mr. Proust?"

  "Who the fuck wants to know?"

  "This is Harry Grim, I am a private investigator and I traced a past business associate of your brother. "

  "I don't know you and I don't know jack about my brother's business."

  Harry was afraid Proust was about to slam the phone down so he hurriedly said, "So you don't care who Grayson Voight is today?"

  There was a long silence on the end of the line. Then Proust said, "No, I don't."

  A hard rap in Harry's ear from the phone slamming down let him know that Proust really was not interested.

  He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. It would be odd for Proust to be uninterested in the identity of Voight unless he knew he was dead. On the other hand perhaps he was simply being cautious in case something had happened to Voight and he feared being implicated. Or maybe he's just a drunk who after fifteen years can't be bothered with revenge.

  Harry realized he was no closer to who took out Harvey Stockman then he was before.

  *

  Paula sensed Danica was relieved when she announced her departure. House guests should never stay too long, especially those who have relational issues with those who have none. Danica wanted a man, Paula was sure of that, but her friend would never admit it. Her strident declarations simply drove potential mates off before they ever pierced her defensive armor.

  "Where you going?" she asked as Paula pitched her bag into the taxi.

  Paula casually shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know. I think I'll catch the bus to Vancouver."

  Danica hugged her, gave a cursory wave as the cab pulled away from the curb and ran up the steps of her apartment house.

  "Where to ma'am?" the hack driver asked.

  "Take me to the airport."

  Two hours later she slipped into seat 28 F aboard a Boeing 757 heading for Maui.

  The Pacific ocean passed beneath her. Far offshore she saw a sailboat making its solitary way. It's smallness on the vast sea made her feel empty and lonely. Why she lied to her Danica about where she was going she wasn't sure. The same way she failed to understand why she was running from Harry, afraid he might follow and fearful he might not.

  Did she really want the sort of man who would slay dragons for her? Wasn't she a bit old for that? On the other hand could she accept a man who upon one look at the castle walls, the width of the moat and the smoke from the dragon's nostrils as it leered over the parapet would simply say, I think I'll go home?

  Answers eluded her. Instead she set her watch back three hours, to be on Hawaiian time, tilted her seat back and tried to sleep.

  *

  Drew Lawrence poured himself a cup of coffee. He put more sugar into the cup than any dietician would care to see. Caffeine and sugar were his drugs of choice. He settled in at his desk. Behind him a few blocks beyond his third floor office windows the skyline of New York rose. Of course that would disappear if they built at the corner of Tropicana Boulevard and Interstate 15, and the way Las Vegas was growing that might not take long. He seldom visited the strip but he did enjoy the mock buildings of the New York, New York Casino, someday he hoped to be based in the real city. Most of his current work took place behind a desk, in dark alleys, empty warehouses, or out in the desert where bodies with a bullet in the heart and one in the head were too common.

  The office he worked out of was in a nondescript building west of the strip. He and his men avoided the main Dr
ug Enforcement Regional office on South Las Vegas Boulevard. and the Diversion office on South Main. The men in Lawrence's office were not all undercover, but some were and it paid to keep one's distance.

  Drew ran through the hundred or more emails that awaited his attention. Some were related to the DEA, others were from other arms of the Justice Department. The one that he almost skimmed past was an inquiry from Witness Protection regarding his contacts with Harry Grim. Lawrence had run down Grim at the request of Witness Protection when call about a leak was traced to his phone. They had wired his office out of inter-agency accommodation and because Drew thought Harry was dirty. The tap they put on his hard lines at his home and office proved to be disappointing. Drew suspected Grim found the bugs and was being circumspect in his conversations.

  He typed out a reply and filled the interim by dealing with the rest of his mail. Twenty minutes later he had a summary.

  "Hurst! Drew called out. Get in here!"

  David Hurst entered, lean, tall, and crew cut, his looks were only marred by a shaved spot on the back of his head that still bore stitches.

  Lawrence gestured toward a chair. "Witness Protection had a tap on a line for Stewart Proust, he rode with the Trident Gang out of South Florida. "

  Hurst arched his eyebrows as if to say, Where is this was going?

  "They filed for and received a court order after Stockman disappeared. Several other members of the Trident Gang are also being monitored. Their computer system picks up all of their calls and runs them through a program to identify a constellation of selected words, Voight and Stockman were two of those key words. When a call is flagged the computer prints out a copy of the conversation and the number of the caller. If the voice recognition misses something, they review the actual digital recording."

  Lawrence paused to sip his coffee. "The phone was made from a throw away but the caller ID'd himself as Harry Grim."

  A snarl curled the corner of Hurst's mouth. "I'd like to bust that smart ass!"

  Lawrence held up his hands, "Patience David, patience." Drew sucked down more coffee. "Anyway, according to this report Grim offered to give Grayson Voight's identity to Proust."