Mena turned and pointed to a handsome man mingling with a group of ladies. “I came with Señor Cortes.”
Tip handled the situation well, lowering his drink as he reached for me. He must have figured I wouldn’t handle it well. “We’ll have to get introduced later,” Tip said. “Right now, Connie and I need to see someone.” He bowed. “If you’ll excuse us, Mena.”
“Of course. We’ll speak again, I’m sure.”
Tip had to almost drag me across the floor, and the whole time my head was turned to Carlos, flashing glares. “Don’t get worked up, Gianelli. Control yourself.”
“Do you see that bastard?”
“Of course I see him, but you knew he’d be here. That’s why we came.”
“I know but I didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?”
“Didn’t expect him to be so smug. Acting as if he belongs with decent people.” A waiter walked by, and I grabbed two drinks. “Look at him.”
Tip looked around. “Do you know where the rest rooms are?”
I pointed with my chin. “That sign says they’re down the hall.”
He started to leave, then turned back. “Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“You sound like you’re talking to Flash.”
“If that’s the case then don’t shit on the floor either.”
That made me laugh, and for a moment I lost thought of Carlos. Tip hadn’t gotten halfway there when Jeff Maxwell came up to me.
“Hello again, Ms. Gianelli.”
I put on my best smile, but all I could think about was Carlos. “Hello yourself.”
“Are you having fun yet?”
“This is wonderful.”
His raised eyebrows said he didn’t believe me. “Really?”
“No, not really. I’m so out of place that I can’t stand it.”
His reaction was exactly what I figured—that warm, friendly laugh where his chin lifted and his head rolled back. “I couldn’t agree more. If only we could whisk out of here and find something exciting to do.”
“Like what? Tell me what excites Jeff Maxwell.”
“Ah, let’s see…” he pondered, then pointed a finger at me as if he had a revelation. “A walk on the beach,” he said. “At midnight.”
He had somehow moved closer to me during this brief exchange. This guy was so full of shit, and, even though I knew that, I was still attracted to him. “With a full moon,” I added. “And sweaters wrapped around us.”
A woman’s laughter came from behind me. Before I could turn, Virginia Maxwell appeared. “‘Around us?’ Oh dear, Connie, I hope Geoffrey hasn’t been using his ‘walk on the beach’ line with you.”
I laughed with her, but only to hide my humiliation. “It is a good line.”
“Indeed it is. He managed to hook me with it.” She placed her hand on Maxwell’s arm and smiled. “The George’s just arrived. Come and say hello.”
As they were leaving, Tip grabbed me from behind. “And just when you were getting cozy.”
I elbowed him. “Cut the shit. Let’s go see the reason we came here.”
“I’m right behind you.”
“Damn chivalrous of you, but let me go alone.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Signal if you get in trouble.”
I meandered to where Carlos was, stopping to chat with a few people along the way, and grabbing another glass of wine before reaching him. I waited in the wings while he chatted with some older ladies, but the whole time his eyes kept darting to me with a hungry look. Before long he made his excuses to the others and turned to me.
His smile and charm were undeniable, and his English had just the right amount of accent. “Good evening,” he said, with a slight bow and an extended hand. “Carlos Cortes.”
“So nice to meet you,” I said, trying hard to keep my smile. “Connie Gianelli.”
I was positive he knew who I was, and I thought he might stumble when he heard the name. But he handled it as if I were anyone else.
“A pleasure, señorita. You look magnificent.” His eyes glittered when he said it, almost as if he meant it. Almost.
“Thank you. I met Mena. What a gorgeous woman.”
Carlos turned to look at Mena, and he let his gaze linger. “Mena is so beautiful…she must get tired of people telling her.”
“Mr. Cortes, I don’t know that any woman would get tired of hearing that.”
“I detect an accent, señorita. You are not from here. New York, perhaps?”
“Very good,” I said. “Brooklyn.”
“And what brings you to the great state of Texas?”
“The same thing that brings everyone else—weather, friendly people.”
“The people are friendly here,” Carlos said. “Did you know Texas meant “friends” in the language of the Texas Indian tribes?”
I caught a glimpse of Mena heading in our direction. That ticked me off. I was hoping to get inside Carlos’ head. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“There you are,” Mena said, and she gave Carlos a peck on the cheek as she took his arm. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Carlos nodded to me. “Duty calls, señorita. Perhaps we shall meet again.”
“I’m sure we will.”
As he turned to go, he said, “Have a safe trip home to the Bronx.”
“It’s Brooklyn.”
Carlos stopped, and smiled. It was the kind of smile that held a thousand words. “My mistake, señorita. Of course it’s Brooklyn. I remember you telling me.”
Tip had come up behind me as Carlos was leaving.
“Hope I didn’t miss all the fireworks.”
“No fireworks. Just two old friends talking.”
“What was all that about the Bronx?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
We mingled for another hour or so, then said goodnight to Virginia and congratulated her for organizing such a wonderful event. On the way out the door, Tip said, “Did we get anything accomplished?”
“That depends on how you look at it. Carlos mentioned me going home to the Bronx. I grew up in the Bronx and he would have no way of knowing that unless he was digging into my background, which means he knows who I am. And I’m pretty sure he was surprised to see me in Texas, though he covered it well.”
“So the bottom line is, we let him know you’re in Texas and we didn’t get shit on him.”
I thought about it. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Damn, we did good.”
“Shut up and drive, Denton.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter 44
A Long Ride Home
Carlos stayed the appropriate amount of time, every minute seeming like an eternity. After almost an hour of idle chatting, he set out to find Mena. She was talking to Jeff Maxwell. Carlos joined the conversation, but after a few minutes he looked at his watch and whispered to Mena. “As much as I regret it, my dear, we must be going.”
She stayed alongside him while he made his rounds. When he got to Virginia, he kissed her hand, apologizing profusely for his early departure. “We will see you again.”
Carlos called on his phone for the driver to pick them up, and Carlos and Mena got in the back seat. “Take us to Mena’s house. And call Tico or Roberto and tell them to pick you up. I will drive home myself.”
Mena shot a questioning glance at him. “You will be staying?”
“I was hoping we could…talk some,” Carlos said. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Her eyes showed panic, perhaps fear. “No…it’s just…never mind.”
Throughout the drive to her house, Carlos remained silent. The driver pulled to the curb in front of her home, a nice ranch house set in a lovely subdivision, and quickly opened the back door for them. He handed the keys to Carlos as he exited.
“Anything else before I go, señor?”
“Tell Tico we’ll meet after breakfast.”
<
br /> “Si, señor.”
Carlos walked alongside of Mena, holding her wrap as she unlocked the door.
She stepped in, turned on the light in the entrance hall and took her wrap to hang in the closet. “Would you like something to drink?” her voice reflected nervousness.
“Do you live alone?” he asked, looking around the house as he followed her to the kitchen.
“Yes.”
She answered quickly, he thought. Perhaps a lie.
She put water in a tea kettle and turned it on. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
“Wine.”
Mena turned off the kettle, crossed the room, and pulled a bottle of Garnacha from a rack next to the refrigerator. “I like this one. I hope you do.” She got the corkscrew, but Carlos took it from her before she could use it.
“I’ll get this while you change.”
“Change?”
“I thought you would want to be more comfortable. You should shower, too.”
Mena glanced at him then left the room.
Carlos poured two glasses of wine, then found his way to the bedroom. Mena was still in the shower. He set the glasses on the counter and undressed, then opened the shower door.
“Oh!” She spun around, startled, her arms folded in front of her to cover herself. “You scared me.”
She reached for the towel, but Carlos took it from her and tossed it back on the shower door. He then took the soap and washcloth from her. “Let me help you.”
They made love for a long time, though he thought she seemed distracted, and that bothered him. He wondered if she was thinking of someone else. After they were done, and after resting for a while, he went to the bathroom to dress. It had a Jacuzzi, a shower, two double closets and a large dressing area flanked by a sink and vanity on each side. With Mena still in the bed, Carlos took the opportunity to open the closets. One was filled with women’s clothes, but the other had men’s clothes in it, too many men’s clothes. So someone is living here.
Carlos dressed, kissed Mena good night, then walked with her to the front door. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” he said. “I will see you again. Soon.”
Mr. Perfect watched the lights go on in the living room, then the bedroom. That’s when he decided to make his move. He walked briskly up the pavement, opened the door and listened before entering. He felt certain she had gone to take a shower but it paid to be cautious. He walked across the tile floor slowly, careful not to make a sound, then tread softly down the hall toward the bedroom. Halfway across the living room he heard the shower running, and her singing. A pretty voice, he thought, and moved to a dark spot beside the entrance to the bathroom.
He didn’t have long to wait, only a few minutes, but it was time well spent. She continued her singing, sometimes in Spanish, at other times in English, but all of it beautiful. He pictured her as she dried herself, rubbing the towel between her legs, across her ass. He closed his eyes and thought about it, but had to stop because he couldn’t control himself. The light went off in the bathroom and a few seconds later she stepped through the doorway. The singing had switched to humming, a nice catchy melody that he might find himself repeating tomorrow. Suddenly she stopped, senses alert.
He had not made a sound and he knew she couldn’t see him. She must have sensed him. Some people can do that, know when someone is in the room with them, or watching them. He couldn’t afford to have her sound an alarm of any kind so he acted swiftly, moving from behind the dresser and, just as she turned toward him, he hammered his fist into her face, dropping her to the floor with a short gasp. By the time her knees hit the carpet he wrapped a gag around her mouth, tying it tightly.
Her grunts and moans begged for an explanation, but she would have none tonight. Perhaps in the afterlife. She shouldn’t have embarrassed him. He grabbed her under the arms and lifted her to the bed, tossing her face down, then he shoved her into the headboard. When he had her all the way up, he grabbed hold of both feet and twisted his arms, flipping her onto her back.
She kicked, and tried using her hands to scrabble her way to a position of safety, but he held her ankles firmly and stared into her eyes, big, brown eyes, like a doe caught in the sights of a gun. “If you struggle, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
A kick toward his groin missed, but it infuriated him. He jerked her toward him, then slammed his fist, hammer like, into her stomach. She doubled over, almost threw up. “If you do anything else—anything—I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Wild eyes bugged out at him. She nodded.
“Good. Now relax and enjoy this,” he said, and began to undress.
After he entered her, the punishment began. He focused on her ribs, several broken with the first few blows, then her face, ears, tits—and all the while he assaulted her with brutal thrusts. She tried screaming, tried resisting, but nothing worked. Once he had finished, he lay on top of her and rested, listening to her faint breathing. Too faint. He couldn’t afford to have her die on him. “Don’t die yet, puta.” He jumped up, panicked, and grabbed the knife he brought.
Soon it was all over, lips removed, and her dead. He flipped her over, face down. All that remained was the clean-up, and sometimes that could be the most difficult. He went through the ritual, making sure everything was wiped down, then he vacuumed, twice. At the end, he took the sheets and wrapped miscellaneous items inside them. All of it went into an oversized garbage bag from the kitchen, which he placed next to the vacuum at the front door. When he finished, he went to the computer, checked the calendar—‘Charity ball with Carlos.’ He thought about erasing it, but opted not to. Then he went to the address book, found ‘Carlos Cortes,’ and once again opted to leave it. He did a search through the entire computer, found nothing he wanted to erase, so turned it off and wiped it down. He left the wine bottle in the trash. The glasses he left on the counter. Afterwards, he did a final check then exited, making sure that no one was outside. This scene will give them something to think about.
On the way home he had an idea, and stopped at a gas station that was closed but had a pay phone outside, one of the few that still existed. He put the money in, making sure to wipe it clean first, and dialed.
Chapter 45
Sex is Best at Night
Tip drove, I sulked.
“Get your head out of your ass, Gianelli. I think you did damn good. You didn’t shoot him, that was a good start.”
“You know, it’s almost scary, but I swear to God, Tip, when that son-of-a-bitch said that about the Bronx, with that smirk on his face, I could have put a few rounds in him and never thought twice about it.”
“Be careful who you tell that to.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” I rolled the window down. “Never mind. Not worth talking about.”
“On a brighter note, you looked beautiful tonight.”
“Bull.”
“No bull. You’re gorgeous.”
“No matter what you say, I’m not going to bed with you.”
“In that case, you look like shit.”
A moment of silence came and went, then I chuckled, then, “Thanks.”
“So what did you think of Maxwell?”
“Nah.”
“Sexy isn’t he?” Tip said.
“Damned sexy.”
“I thought you might take him home.”
“I wanted to, but he gave me the creeps.”
“Me too,” Tip said.
“You too, what? He gives you the creeps?”
“No, I’d like to take him home. He’s got a great ass.”
“Go to hell, Denton.” And as I got out of the car, I said, “Thanks for all the fun. See you tomorrow.”
I heard the phone ringing, looked at the clock, and couldn’t believe it—5:00 A.M. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the dresser. If this was Tip…
“Hello.”
“Gianelli, it’s Donovan.”
“You know what time it is?”
“Had a
nice talk last night with your two best friends—Randall and Green.”
I had to think before it hit me. Randall and Green? Internal Affairs! “What did they want?”
“They found money that Sean had hidden. Looks like IA was right all along; Sean was dirty, and there are discrepancies in Jerry’s finances that his wife can’t explain.” A long pause followed. “How about you, Gianelli? You clean?”
“Screw you. You know I am.”
Frankie’s voice was harsh. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
I wanted to lash out at him, but he was right. I’d think the same way if the situation were reversed. “If Sean was dirty…” my voice raised now, “and I’m not saying he was…but if he was, that would explain why Carlos is after me. He thinks we took his drugs.”
“Now you’re thinking like a cop.”
“Fuck me.”
“Now you’re thinking like a Brooklyn cop. Good girl.”
“Okay. Let me do some work down here. I’ll get back to you. Call me if you hear anything else.”
“Will do. And by the way, Lou Mazzetti went over those phone records. Somebody played with them. There are definitely calls missing. Four minutes of calls.”
“Son-of-a-bitch.”
“Yeah, you have any idea who could have doctored the records?”
“The only person I know who could do it, wouldn’t.”
“I already thought of that option.”
He had me curious now. “Who were the calls to?”
“I’m working on it.”
“All right, Frankie. Thanks. I mean it.”
I made coffee, drank it, and decided I needed a workout to get ready for the day. I dressed in a jogging suit and headed out. It was a nice enough morning, a little humid and hot already, but good enough to run. Nothing like working up a good sweat to start the day.
I jogged along the path of a golf course nearby. It was crowded regardless of the weather, which is why I chose it. Not much more dangerous than an isolated jogging path. With my iPod clipped onto my top, and earphones snug in place, I pounded the pavement to some early sixties tunes. I tended to alternate between eighties and sixties, with an occasional mix of modern stuff. Today it was the early sixties girl bands: the Ronettes, Chiffons, Orlons, and one of my favorites—Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, “Nowhere to Run” pulsed in my head. I increased the pace as the beat hammered out, infusing my body with energy.
A Bullet for Carlos Page 27
