There were five guys and three ladies working out on weights. Tip raised his voice. “Listen up. I’m Detective Tip Denton and this is my partner, Detective Gianelli. We’re here to investigate a homicide and we need everyone’s attention for a few minutes.”
The mention of homicide always got people’s attention. Soon the weights were set on the floor or back in the racks. “Patti Green, a member here, was killed a short while ago.” Tip showed a picture of her. “Any of you know her? Take your time. Get a good look.”
I watched closely, mostly the men, but all of them nodded their heads, almost an instant reaction.
“She was here all the time,” one of them said, “but she didn’t talk much. I said hi a few times, that’s it.”
“Same here,” a second guy said.
“I talked to her a few times,” one of the women said, “but I didn’t know her name.”
I focused on her as Tip turned to ask more questions. “What did you talk about?”
“A few conversations about form.”
As Tip wrote in his notepad, the woman eyed him. “What’s going on, Tip? You don’t say hi to old friends?”
He stopped writing and looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. It took him a few seconds but he must have finally placed her. “Good God, Elena, you look great.”
Elena smiled and lowered her head.
“Don’t blame me for not recognizing you,” Tip said. “You look ten years younger.”
“Thanks, Tip, and don’t apologize; it’s been years, and I think about thirty pounds since you last saw me.”
Tip’s gaze dropped from her face to her legs and back. “It looks like you’ve been living at the gym.”
“Thanks.”
I waited for a break in the conversation, then, “Elena, did Patti ever tell you anything about herself outside of the gym?”
Elena shook her head. “We never talked about anything other than workouts.”
“Anybody else here know her?” I asked.
“I never saw her with anyone. She came in, worked out, and left,” Elena said.
Tip handed her a card and winked at her when she took it. “Call me.”
Elena smiled. “You mean if I think of anything else.”
“I guess so,” Tip said.
I rolled my eyes. Didn’t take much to figure out where this was heading.
After talking to a couple of people on cardio machines, we found out Patti jogged at the park on Cypresswood Drive. I made a note to check that out. Before leaving, Tip stopped at the key rack, lingered for a minute, then we left.
“You see how easy that was,” Tip said. “I could have grabbed anybody’s keys.”
I looked back at all the keys hanging on the board, then at the guy manning the desk. “So our guy could grab her keys and make a copy in the parking lot, then put them back.”
“Not saying it happened like that, but it might explain how he got in.”
I conceded the possibility, but hadn’t bought into it completely. “So, you and Elena…”
“I knew her a while back.”
“I could tell. And if I’m any judge of character, she’ll be calling you with something she remembered about Patti.” I opened the car door, and got in. “And if that judgment holds true, she’ll be wanting to discuss it with you at night.”
“I hate to stay up late,” Tip said, “but I’ll do anything to crack this case.”
I laughed. “Anything? Even sleep with a beautiful woman? You’d go that far?”
“Not a chance,” he said, and started the car.
“I’m glad you take the high ground, Tip.”
We ruled out all the male suspects on the way back to my place, and as Tip pulled up to my building, he said, “Guess we wasted a bunch of time there.”
“Not all a waste. You got to see Elena.” I laughed as I got out of the car. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you, Gianelli. You did good today.”
***
On the way home, all Tip could think about was Elena, and how good she looked. He stopped at the grocery store, picked up a couple of beef tenderloins, some shitake mushrooms, and ingredients for a salad, then made his way to the wine section and grabbed two bottles of Pinot Noir. At the checkout lane he looked at his cell phone, making sure he hadn’t missed a call.
The phone rang twenty minutes later as Tip drove into his driveway. “Baby, what took you so long?” he said.
A little bit of laughter greeted him, then, “This is Connie, not Elena.”
“I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“What time are we getting started tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, how about nine?”
“Tell you what, I’ll meet you at the station. I need to go somewhere first.”
“Okay, see you there.”
“By the way, Tip. Elena won’t call for at least an hour. Maybe a few hours. She’ll want you to think about her first, and then she’ll use the case as the reason to call. And don’t say, ‘baby, what took you so long?’ That’s a shitty line. Act surprised to hear from her.”
There was a long pause, then, “Gianelli, you’re all right. I might even decide to like you.”
“Yeah, me too. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 29
El Paradiso
Tico sat in a chair at El Paradiso, across the room from Carlos, who was busy meeting with a realtor about some property. He waited until they had concluded their business, then approached.
“We have news from downtown.”
“So soon? I’m pleased.”
Tico handed him a file, which Carlos opened and studied. “And do we know this man? This…Tony?”
“I’ve asked around. None of the men knew he was undercover, but this report shows he is the one who has been causing us so much trouble on the street.”
“We will have to keep our eyes open for him.”
“Si, señor.”
“Where are you going dressed like that?” Belinda asked.
“Picking up some girls then going to a club.”
“No, really, Tony. Where are you going?”
Tony finished tucking in his shirt, leaving the top few buttons undone. He had a regular wardrobe—the one he was allowed to wear as Tony Ramirez—and he had this wardrobe, the one he wore as “Tony,” just Tony, no last name. Ferragamo shoes and shirts, silk socks, and all the bling to go with it. He leaned over and kissed Belinda. “Sorry I have to go, baby, but this is an undercover thing, and it’s not the kind of club for you. Besides, I might have to bust a guy tonight.”
“Who is it?”
“Remember that cop from New York I told you about, the one whose partners got shot? We got a tip I gotta check out.”
She kissed him. “Be careful. And don’t let those girls touch you.”
He smiled and kissed her back. “You know I won’t.” As he grabbed a thin leather coat he headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.”
“Don’t worry about that; I’m ready for bed now.” Belinda smacked him on the butt as he left.
Tony got to Carla’s place a few minutes before nine and parked down the block. A couple of minutes later she came out, walking toward his car with an exaggerated sway. Carla had a powerful, compact body tucked into a short muscular frame, and she had an air of confidence that made her very appealing. He rolled the window down as she drew near. “Sugar, you looking for me?”
Carla opened the door and got in, straightening her short skirt. She patted the seat next to her, looked around the inside of the car. “Nice ride.”
“Only the best for you. And listen, I know it will be difficult, chiquita, but try to keep your hands off me. My wife doesn’t want you wild girls losing control.”
“Not to bust your balls, but if I want a guy I’ll have my pick at Paradise.”
“How many times you been there?”
“Four or five. Mostly chasing down damn fool girls who lost control.”
“They went for the drugs?
”
“Drugs? Come on, Tony. They can get drugs anywhere; they came here after they got the drugs. Don’t you cops know anything?”
“We made some busts there, and I’m sure we got people working it, but they’re probably waiting until they get something big.” He glanced at Carla as he pulled from the curb. “Buckle up. I’m a bad driver.”
“I don’t think the kind of people we’re supposed to be worry about buckling up.”
Tony hit the gas as they turned onto a main drag. “Just do it and shut up.”
“Now you’re getting into it. Just don’t go calling me bitch or I’ll kick your ass.”
El Paradiso occupied a large portion of a block on one of Houston’s busiest streets. This was the cruising street, the hang-out street, the street where things went down. Tony pulled into the valet parking, got out and peeled a ten from a wad of bills. “Take care of it,” he said and affected a strut as he walked around to get Carla.
She wrapped her arm around his and wiggled her clothes into place. “My man is looking fine tonight,” she whispered. “You dress up nice for a cop.”
“Remember, Carla, nothing risky. We’re just here to check the place out.”
A line had formed at the entrance as people waited to get in. Two large men guarded the front door, arms folded across their chests. “They let everybody in?” Tony asked.
“First floor is twenty bucks, but the second floor costs a hundred.”
“A hundred dollars?” Tony looked around at the crowd waiting to get in. “And they get this kind of business?”
Carla laughed. “You’ll see when we get inside.”
“You didn’t mention the third floor. What does it cost?”
“It’s free, but you have to be with a girl and she has to be wearing a dress or skirt.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.”
“I can’t believe this,” Tony said. Nervous energy raced through him as they prepared to enter the club. No matter how tired he got, undercover work always spiked the energy level, kept him walking on a wire.
The beat of the music captured him every time the door opened to let people in, and as he and Carla stepped through to the tune of Beyonce’s “Check On It” he could almost feel his body move in rhythm to the beat. The club was dark, with pulsing lights, and the bars—three of them—were set up as islands spread around the room. They were elevated, making it seem as if the people were in a basement.
Carla nudged Tony. “Look above you.”
The center of the club was an atrium extending up the entire three floors of the club. The second floor had a walkway that surrounded the atrium, with its own bars on each side of the room, but the third floor was what it was all about. It had four circular dance floors that overhung the atrium. The floors were glass, which in itself was impressive, but the fuss was the women dancing on them wearing dresses. “What the hell?”
“That’s what the peasants come for,” Carla said. “People swear they can see muff, but far as I can tell you can’t see shit from here.”
“But from that second floor…”
“Exactly,” Carla said. “A hundred bucks buys you a peek at all that snatch. Damn good marketing.”
Tony shook his head, as if disgusted, but he found himself staring up more than he wanted to on his way to get a couple of drinks. As he made his way back, Carla called him from a small table wrapped around a support column covered in mirrored glass and surrounded by four chairs. He whispered to Carla, “Drinks were fifteen bucks apiece.”
“I’m not a cheap date.”
“Last time I spent this much money on a date I got something out of it.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Guess I’ll have to wake up Belinda.”
“Good luck with that.”
Carlos nursed a drink as he strolled the promenade of the second floor. Tico and Paco walked on each side of him, keeping their eyes open for anything that looked out of place. As they continued, Carlos kept looking up.
“You know, Tico, you must get me a few of those girls.” He stopped and pointed almost straight above him. “The one with the short green skirt. I want her.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Carlos glared.
“Si, señor. I will get her.”
They were halfway around the floor when one of the men who worked the club approached. “He’s here, Señor Carlos.”
“Who?”
“The man in the file Tico showed us.”
“Where is he?”
“First floor.” The man walked to the railing and pointed to a table near the center of the room. “By the column, the man in the black shirt with the woman.”
A smile lit Carlos’ face. “Tico, make sure our guest is introduced to us before he leaves.”
“Si, señor.”
“But wait until he is about to leave. I want him to think he has been successful.”
“Si, señor.”
As his men went downstairs, Carlos turned to Tico. “What do you think we should do?”
Tico shrugged. “If it were me, señor, I would let them go. They have nothing on us.”
“Perhaps we should kill them both.”
“You can’t kill cops.”
“This is America, Tico. You can do anything you want.”
Carlos had a habit of wagging his finger when he was educating his men, and the men knew that aside from the fact that his mind was now closed to suggestions, to disobey, or even interrupt him, was likely a cause for death. Tico nodded.
“Besides, he’s a dirty cop,” Carlos said. “With a dirty woman.”
Tony looked around as he nursed his drink. Sofas sat in odd places, turned in different directions, one facing a bar, two more back to back, and others tucked away behind sheer curtains resembling a large tent, some larger than others.
“What are the tents for?” He stared harder, straining to see. “I think there are people screwing behind there.”
“Don’t doubt it. It’s all about money. You gotta pay for them. And by the square foot. People go in there and do about anything. I mean anything. Trick to that one is that the top is open, so once again the second-floor people see the action by looking down.”
“I wonder what demented ass thought this up?”
“I don’t know, but he’s a rich ass now. Or she.”
Tony nodded and continued checking the place out. After two more drinks and a couple of dances, he was feeling pretty good, and, he had seen enough drugs passing hands to warrant coming back with a whole squad. “I’ve seen plenty, Carla. You about ready?”
“Guess so. I got work to do tomorrow. You get what you needed?”
“I’ll need to come back, but I got enough to know what to look for. And I guarantee you after we bust enough people we’ll get the owner of this place.”
Tony took Carla’s arm and headed for the front door. Four men approached, and they appeared to be men experienced at stopping others from leaving. The smallest of them spoke, his accent thin, but recognizable.
“Señor, a gentleman would like to see you.” He gestured to the stairs.
Tony’s heart beat a little faster, his muscles tightened, but he offered no resistance, not with Carla there. Besides, he wanted to meet this “gentleman.”
Despite being tense, a little scared, and plenty nervous, Tony couldn’t help looking up, and then down, when they reached the second floor.
Carla nudged him. “Pay attention.”
The men led them to a large corner area surrounded by a dark blue curtain. A rail-thin black guy held the flap open allowing them entry and, as they stepped through, a man with a Mediterranean look about him rose and extended his hand.
“Señor Tony, I believe. It is my pleasure to meet you. I am Carlos Cortes.” He grabbed Tony’s arm and led him toward a sofa in the corner. “Bring your friend, sit and relax.” He turned to one of his men. “See what our friends want to drink. We will be talking for a
while.”
Carlos Cortes. The name hit Tony like a bottle over the head. Oh, shit.
Chapter 30
Strange Partners
Dominic Mangini sipped his espresso and spooned cantaloupe from a bowl on the table. He tried to grab only the pieces not touched by the morning sun, a silly game he played with himself, usually when he was deep in thought.
It was imperative to have all of the information before making a decision, and he was still missing one piece, though he anticipated Fabrizio’s arrival with that piece at any moment. Of late he had learned to rely more and more on Fabrizio, the young, and very-ambitious Sicilian who had joined him a few years ago.
Another sip of the espresso brought a smile to Dominic’s face. The cups, white ceramic with black roses, were a gift from Maria many years ago, and that thought forced a memory of when Maria shared the mornings with him. What a shame he had not been strong enough to support her. Even Zeppe suggested he quit the mob and go away with Maria. If he had, perhaps he would have had a life. He picked up a fork, stabbed a piece of cantaloupe, and shoved it in his mouth, savoring the sweetness, so good with the bitter taste of the espresso. But then there would be no Concetta.
He pondered the irony. God had cursed Maria to fall in love with Dominic, who she wouldn’t marry because of what he did. But then He blessed her with a baby, the fruit of one of Dominic’s evil deeds. He would like to discuss that with a priest one night—under the aegis of the confessional protection of course.
Fabrizio interrupted Dominic’s philosophical moment with his arrival. “Buongiorno, Domenico.”
Dominic nodded. “Buongiorno, Fabrizio. Come va?”
“Va bene, Domenico. Che bella giornata.”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day. Or it will be depending on what news you bring.”
“I have found the drugs. As you suspected it is la polizia. They plan on selling to the Colombians.”
“I trust you know when and where,” Dominic said.
“A warehouse in Red Hook. I will find out when.”
Dominic jabbed another piece of cantaloupe. “Brooklyn…we should call our friend Manny out of courtesy.” He carried his plate and cup to the sink. “Do we know how much?”
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