Finders Keepers

by Shirl Henke

  Alexi had always been too much the playboy and his wife objected. He’d told his son to be more discreet. The last thing they needed was an ugly divorce scandal in the papers. Obviously, that hadn’t worked. The bitch had filed for divorce—after taking out a huge life insurance policy on her husband. Then she’d killed him. Teresa Albertson would pay dearly for that, but first he would have his grandson back.

  He smiled, thinking of the boy. Stefan was on a private jet which would land shortly. Tess’s fly-brained sister and her daughters were an added bonus. They would provide additional leverage to bring Tess back to Miami.

  Then he’d have her. To save her family, she’d tell him everything about her contacts with Pribluda. Then he would personally kill her. At length he looked out over the bay and allowed a rare smile to curve his wide mouth.

  Stefan would grow up to take Alexi’s place at his side.

  As soon as they arrived in Miami, Sam hailed a cab outside the airport and gave directions to an address on NE 110th just off Highway 1.

  “Are you nuts? Why take a chance on going to your place? Let’s head for my condo. I have a car there,” he said.

  Sam shook her head patiently. “Matthew, Matthew,” she scolded, climbing into the back of a battered Crown Vic whose driver slouched indolently to one side of the wheel, waiting for the big fellow to get inside.

  “I’m not going home. I’m going shopping. I can get a car—one that our pal can’t trace. Neither can the cops,” she added in a whisper, although she felt certain as long as they paid the fare and tipped decently, the cabbie wouldn’t care if they were escapees from Raiford State Pen.

  The driver cut across town and headed north, leaving I-95 to angle east until he hit Biscayne Boulevard, Route 1. In a few more minutes he turned into a run-down neighborhood where rusted washers and automobile engines were considered yard decor. From what Matt could see in the twilight, the houses were mostly cinder block with shingle roofs, single story, once painted in Miami’s ubiquitous pastel colors, now faded by sun and mildewed by rain into dingy shades of gray-yellow and tan-green.

  “Charming ambience. The machine gun turrets on the roofs are a nice touch,” he commented as the cab slowed.

  Sam didn’t spare him a glance as she said, “I figure a Yalie type like you for Bal Harbor, maybe the Grove.”

  “Happens I live in South Beach, close to the Art Deco district.”

  “Hmm, artsy. That figures, too.” She leaned forward and told the driver, “Pull up at the rose-colored house there.”

  Calling the bilious hot-pink rose-colored was beyond charitable to Matt’s way of thinking, but at least the house sported a fresh coat of paint. The rest of the place was pretty much in the mode of the neighborhood. Except the occupant appeared to be in the used car business. He doubted whoever it was had a dealer’s license.

  As they climbed out of the cab, Matt paid the driver and watched as Sam picked her way through weeds that hadn’t felt the cruel cut of a lawn mower in at least a tropical month. She paused at a ratty dark green Dodge Charger that was old enough to qualify as vintage—except that the body contained more bondo than metal and the driver’s door had survived a collision with a truck or an artillery round.

  “Ah, Senorita Sam, welcome back. I can make you a deal on the Charger. Or that fine Oldsmobile,” a wizened little man with a gray crew cut said. A genial smile revealed a full set of white teeth as he bowed before Sam. He gestured to a ’74 Olds that gave new meaning to the first three letters of its name. If the odometer hadn’t been rolled back, it had to have a quarter of a trillion miles on it.

  “That bucket of bolts would fall apart in a dozen blocks—if the engine even turned over,” Matt muttered to her.

  “Senor Obregon, please meet Matt Granger. He’s not from around here,” she said dryly.

  “Mucho gusto,” the little man said, pumping Matt’s hand as he craned his neck up to look him in the eye. “You, too, Senor Granger, would like a car?”

  Matt shook his head. “Nope, thanks just the same. This is Sam’s show.”

  He stood back and watched them haggle in a mix of Spanish and English over the price for the Dodge. Rental only. She explained about leaving her van in Phoenix and needing a car immediately but for only a few days. First she examined the engine and kicked the tires. They reached terms after Sam got Obregon down to half his original price. Sam, you could squeeze a penny into a copper bracelet.

  Matt chuckled to himself. But after Obregon handed her the keys, Matt almost jumped out of his skin when she reared back and planted her foot square on the driver’s door handle with a hard kick. Obregon stood by calmly as the door popped open, nodding approval.

  Turning to Matt with a grin, she explained, “Only way it works. I drove it before on a couple of cases. Good engine and transmission—four on the floor that can move out, but it has a few quirks.”

  “A few quirks?” he echoed in amazement.

  “You have to keep one foot on the gas when you stop or else it’ll die,” she explained as she climbed inside. “Carb’s got a flat spot. Engineering flaw from ’72 to ’78. Oh, yeah, and third gear’s missing, so you kinda have to play it by feel when you shift. Get in. Your door works the usual way.”

  “After hearing all that, I’m not sure I want to ride in this bucket of bolts,” he muttered, doing as she said.

  Meanwhile, Sam walked over to Obregon and they started up again. She gestured as they conversed in Spanglish. Matt couldn’t catch all the words but he recognized her bargaining mode. What now? The guy disappeared into his “bunker” and returned in a moment, waving what looked to be a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber Chief’s Special. Matt squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

  When Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, he asked, “Buy or rent?”

  Sam looked surprised by the question. “Rent, of course. I’ve got a perfectly good piece in my van.”

  Granger nodded. “Of course. I forgot. Say, how does Obregon charge? Flat rate plus unlimited bullets? Or maybe so much an expended cartridge? Or—”

  “Stuff it, Granger,” she interrupted, turning over the ancient engine with expert skill and backing out of the yard.

  Before they turned the first corner, he could see what she meant about babying the carburetor. Matt couldn’t help but admire how she downshifted while keeping a steady feed of gas through the engine. Most men he knew couldn’t manage it and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to try. There was something about having a woman driver show you up that nudged ever so slightly at his male ego.

  “I hope we don’t have to get in any more high-speed chases driving this junker,” he said.

  “Once you let her rip on an open road, she’s a beaut. You can lay rubber on a U-turn with this baby and wave bye-bye to whoever’s after you.”

  “I fervently pray we don’t have to put it to the test,” he replied with a shudder at the vision of bondoed fenders flying every which way—and him with them. “You forgot to mention the seat belt on the passenger side jams when you try to open it.”

  “Hey, you got a door that opens. Want egg in your beer, too?”

  “I just don’t want to die trapped inside this coffin on wheels.”

  Her reply was a derisive snort. She jumped from second to fourth with only a slight lurch. His hips strained against the seat belt as she took off at warp speed, weaving in and out of heavy traffic on southbound I-95.

  Chapter 14

  The Ficus was large and crowded, an easy place to hide in plain sight. Matt often used it with sources who had to remain anonymous. Just off Ponce de Leon Boulevard, it catered to well-heeled businessmen who wanted to relax over drinks. The place was dark and semi-posh with marble floors and lots of big potted palms and ferns concealing the hidden alcoves where men and their mistresses held discreet liaisons. Out front at the big mahogany bar, a younger group was in full meat-market mode.

  Sam eyed a balding man guiding a blonde less than half his age towa
rd a side exit. “Wanna bet? Five gets you ten he’ll have a heart attack before he finishes the night with her,” she muttered. “You pick up women here, too?”

  “No, yes and no, to answer your remarks in order,” he replied, scanning the area for Tess. “We’re a little early, but I hoped she’d be here already.”

  “Don’t sweat it. She flew into that hicksville airport you recommended on the hop from Tampa. No way could Renkov’s goons have found her.” Was she trying to reassure him or herself?

  “If only she’d been willing to wait for a later flight, we could’ve met her in Tampa and driven back here together.”

  “Hey, her kid’s in trouble, and her sister and nieces. What can you expect? You keep an eye out. I have to use the ladies’ room.”

  Sam scooted away as he took a seat at a centrally located table. He’d stuck to her like Velcro ever since they landed, damn the man! Not a spare minute to call Pat. If she hadn’t been afraid of making their plane crash, she’d have tried using her cell from the restroom during their flight.

  Once safely inside the neat tile stall, she speed-dialed Patowski’s number. He picked up on the second ring. She knew he had caller ID and her cell number. “Pat, we’re in trouble, big-time.”

  “Where in hell have you been? You got Granger back to the land of beans yet?” he asked, ignoring her opening remarks.

  “Not gonna happen. Too complicated to explain right now. We’re back in Miami.”

  An inventive series of curses followed that announcement as she’d expected, but it was time to fess up and take her lumps. If only Tess and her family were safe, it would be worth it. “Look, Pat, Tess and her sister followed us and kidnapped Matt, but I got him back. That’s where I got the info I gave you earlier. Incidentally you didn’t warn me about how big this whole enchilada was when I agreed to snatch Granger—but I forgive you.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” Patowski said testily. “I hope you’re riding herd on that newsman. If he messes up this investigation I’ll—”

  “Taken care of,” she interrupted quickly. “I’ll keep him out of your way, promise. But considering what we’ve found out and the connections Tess has, we may be able to help you and the fibbies. You might want to check into Mikhail’s trophy wife. Seems she’s having a fling. Young Steve Renkov saw them.”

  Pat whistled. “That’d blow the old man’s mind.”

  “And cook her goose, pretty blond feathers and all. She’s a good candidate for whoever hired those Ruskie thugs to kill us. Matt and I’ve been ducking and dodging them since Vegas. The fibbies in Utah screwed up. They should’ve had Kuzan and Garzenko on ice.”

  “I’m three thousand miles away, Sam. No damn way I could help that, but I’ll check out Nancy Renkov,” Pat said.

  “We have one complication and it’s a beaut. Our Russian Godfather has his grandson, the boy’s aunt and two little girls—at least we hope he does. If not, they’re likely all dead. The widow is on her way here.”

  “I want her in protective custody right now,” he demanded.

  “Not until you’re up-front with me, Pat.”

  “You weren’t so interested in the details of this deal before—just wanted the money we arranged for you to receive.”

  “Things have changed. I met the people involved and now I can’t feed them to the wolves—your guys or the Russian mob. Either way, three kids and two innocent women could end up dead.”

  “Speaking of ‘involved,’ you haven’t fallen for Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, have you?” he asked suspiciously. He’d seen pictures of Granger. Even the SOB’s driver’s license photo looked good.

  Like he could read her mind! Sam fumed but replied calmly, “You know me better than that, Pat. I intend to collect my money when this is over. Period. I made a new deal with his aunt to act as his bodyguard, so don’t sweat his getting in your way.”

  “Why is it I’m not reassured?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Level with me. How close are you to closing the net?”

  “No details on the phone. We need a face-to-face.”

  “Any idea who snatched the woman and kids?” she persisted.

  “We didn’t know about the kidnapping, but we’ve staked out all the old man’s haunts. If they show, we’ll find them. I don’t want to talk anymore on an unsecured line.”

  “Okay. Once I decide on a plan, I’ll be in touch,” she reluctantly agreed.

  Sam didn’t feel reassured by her conversation with Pat, but felt some of the weight on her shoulders slip away when she saw Tess Renkov sitting beside Matt in a dark corner. She slid onto a chair beside Tess, who looked pale but remarkably composed considering how she must be feeling. The two of them were deep in conversation. Sam didn’t interrupt.

  “So I called Mikhail and asked him if he had Steve. I know he tried to trace the call but I was in Chicago, waiting for that hop to Tampa. That ought to throw him if he was able to make a trace.”

  “Does he have them?” Matt held his breath until she nodded.

  “Then I told him about Nancy and her lover. I’m not certain if he believed me. He pretended not to, but he’s too arrogant to admit it might be true. I didn’t say it was Steve who saw it. I don’t want that old bastard frightening my son any more than he already has by questioning him about it. I also told him I didn’t kill my husband and I knew nothing about the insurance policy. He said we could talk about it, that maybe he’d misjudged me. He knows that I know he’d never harm Steve, but Jenny and her girls don’t mean anything to him.”

  “You can’t walk in there. He’ll kill you,” Matt said. “Then where would your son or your sister and her kids be?”

  “I know,” she said wearily. “But he’ll do it. One of them…at a time.” Her voice broke.

  “Did you demand to talk to your son?” Sam interjected.

  “Yes, but he put Jenny on instead. He’s keeping them separated. Doesn’t want his grandson to know what a monster he is,” she said, shivering. Her hands clutched the cup, white as the heavy crockery she held in a death grip.

  “Where would he keep them—his place in Aventura?” Matt asked Tess.

  Sam’s mind raced. What if Pat could get a warrant? Before she could go any further with the idea, Tess said, “He has places all over south Florida where he could hide them. It took him a minute to patch me over to Jenny, so I’d bet she’s not with him.”

  Sam’s heart sunk.

  “Did he give you a time limit?” Matt asked.

  “I told him I couldn’t get a flight to Miami until tomorrow. I think he bought it.”

  “And that buys us a little time. Good thinking, Tess. We’ll get your family back.” Matt tried to sound positive, but things didn’t look good. They discussed the two Ruskie goons who had been chasing them. “Someone hired them to kill you and Steve. Obviously not Mikhail.”

  “It’s Nancy. Who else?” Tess replied. “I only pray Mikhail’s keeping him someplace where Nancy can’t get near him.”

  Sam interrupted then. “I made a quick phone call to a cop friend of mine.” She could see that piqued Matt’s interest sharply. Ignoring his narrowed gaze, she went on, “There’s another set of candidates for Alexi’s death. The Brighton Beach crowd is trying to muscle in on Renkov’s action in Miami.”

  “It fits with Kuzan’s story. I might buy that but why try for Tess and Steve?” Matt asked her.

  “Gotta be Nancy,” she replied.

  Matt nodded. “The big question right now is what do we do to find Tess’s family and get them away from Gramps?”

  “I think Kit Steele might help,” Tess interjected. “She’s always been decent to me. I don’t know for sure that she’s involved in Mikhail’s illegal stuff, but she’s his tax accountant and he treats her like a serf—oh, a well-paid one. He lets her live in a house down the road from the one Alexi and I have in Indian Creek Village.

  “Mikhail owns both places. I know she resents the way he reminds her that everything she has is
his and he can take it away any time he wants. He did that with everyone, even Alexi. He’d be sly about it with us, just hinting about all we owed to his successful business.

  “But once I overheard him tell Kit that she could either do as he told her or lose the good life on the island and all the great perks he gave her. They had an angry exchange and she stormed out. I think he was asking her to do something illegal. Maybe it was the first time and she was shocked. I’m not sure.”

  “Let me do some digging on her before you contact her.” Matt jotted down the spelling of her name. “She could be a weak link we can use. We need some way to trace that call to Alexi threatening him if he didn’t throw the tournament, too,” he added, explaining to Sam what she’d already overheard.

  “I have a friend who might be able to do it. Can you remember the exact date?” she asked Tess.

  “It was the day before Steve’s birthday and I’d just brought decorations for the party to his grandfather’s house. Mikhail always insisted on all celebrations being held at his place. May 11th.”

  Sam made some notes. “Good, that’ll help a lot.”

  “I know a guy with the state insurance board. Did a piece on them a couple of years ago. He might be able to help us with the origin of that mysterious three-mil life policy you supposedly killed Alexi for,” Matt said.

  “I don’t know how to thank you both,” Tess said, feeling a little better with Matt and Sam on her side. “Mikhail and Alexi used to talk about how they outsmarted ‘business competitors.’ They used scramblers on their digital phones, fitted with silicon chips that encrypted the transmissions. Expensive but I have a friend in Marin who works in the field. He had two of them delivered express-mail to me the day before Steve and…” She stopped and took a sip from the cup of coffee before she could go on. “Before they were taken.”

  She fished in her handbag and gave a small, ordinary-looking cell phone to Matt. “With these, we can talk and Mikhail can’t know what we’re doing.”

  “Next order of business is to put you under wraps while we work,” Sam said to Tess.