by B A Trimmer
Damn.
Four more times the alarm went off and four more times I shut it off. The fifth time it went off, I realized my heart was pounding and my crotch was throbbing. That woke me right up. I vaguely remembered dreaming about Reno doing a slow strip tease and then doing an amazing thing to me with his finger.
Damn.
I felt cheated. How unfair is it I can have another great dream about Reno and I didn’t get to enjoy it?
I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled to the shower. The hot water felt great. I washed my hair and loaded it up with conditioner. I then had a brief, but meaningful, affair with the shower massager.
One of the nice things about living in an apartment is the hot water never runs out. I stood there for almost half an hour feeling life come back into my body.
After the shower, I made a pot of coffee and fed Marlowe. From the closet, I picked out a short paisley print skirt and a sleeveless cotton top. I gave Marlowe a hug and scooted out the door.
~~~~
When I pulled into the entrance of Alex’s apartment complex it was 8:45. It was later than I had wanted to get there. I didn’t expect Alex to be up so soon, but I didn’t want to take the chance of losing him, especially now he had picked up some friends.
I drove around to the back of Alex’s building and spotted the Lincoln in a space across and down from Alex’s apartment. There were two men in the front seat. I wasn’t close enough to make out their faces, but they appeared to be the same two following Alex the day before. Alex’s car was under the car cover and parked in the same spot it was in the night before.
I parked on the street just outside the entrance to the apartment complex and waited.
For me, the hardest part of surveillance is I start to crave cigarettes. I had quit about six months ago and I’m OK about it, except when I get stressed or have to sit for long periods. Until six months ago, I would pass the time while sitting in the car by smoking cigarettes. I preferred the long skinny ones. It took about fifteen minutes to smoke each one, so I could tell how long I had been there by how many butts were piled up on the ground. Six butts equaled an hour and a half. Twelve butts meant I had been there three hours. A month ago, I had bought a pack while doing surveillance. I had gone as far as putting a cigarette in my mouth and keeping it there, unlit, for half an hour. Finally, I threw away both the cigarette and the pack. That was the last serious craving I’ve had, until today.
I could really use a smoke.
At 9:20, Alex pulled out of the lot, followed ten seconds later by the Lincoln. Alex drove east to the Loop 101 freeway and then headed south. It appeared he was headed toward Mesa or maybe Chandler, two of the suburbs on the East Valley side of Phoenix. We passed the exits to Thomas, McDowell, and McKellips. Alex was in the middle lane of the freeway, about to pass the exit ramp for the Loop 202 freeway.
Without warning, Alex turned sharply to the right and shot across a lane of traffic and onto the Loop 202 exit ramp. I saw smoke as the car behind Alex hit the brakes. Alex almost hit the plastic crash barrier mounted at the end of the exit ramp, but he made it. The Lincoln saw him exit, but was blocked by a semi-truck in the right-hand lane. They tried to get around the truck by speeding up and diving in front of it. I had to hand it to their courage because they almost made it. With a tearing thump, the semi clipped their back end and sent the Lincoln in a spin, bringing the entire freeway to a screaming halt. I hit the brakes, as did everyone around me. Tires screeched and there were several loud thuds as cars behind me rear-ended each other. Blue smoke and burnt rubber filled the air.
For a moment there was an eerie calm as every car the highway came to a stop. When the smoke cleared, I was in the front of a rapidly-forming traffic jam. The Lincoln had hit the same crash barrier Alex had managed to miss. It had come to rest in the middle of the Loop 202 freeway entrance ramp. All four tires had blown, the right rear quarter panel was in tatters, and there were pieces of car scattered all over the road. The semi had locked its wheels and jack-knifed, but fortunately had not turned over. Unfortunately, the truck had an open bin in the back and had been carrying a full load of oranges, several thousand of which were now scattered across the freeway.
After a minute, traffic began to filter around the accident. I heard sirens in the distance. In the age of cell phones and OnStar, freeway accidents are now reported in real-time. The tattered Lincoln completely blocked the off-ramp Alex had taken. There was no way I could get around them. I supposed it didn’t matter. Alex was already lost for the day.
I followed the trickle of cars going around the jack-knifed semi. I felt the soft squish under my tires as I ran over several oranges. The smell of citrus mingled with of burning rubber.
As I passed the Lincoln, I saw the two men were out of the car, both looking a little shaken. Apparently neither had been wearing a seatbelt. The tall guy was holding a towel to his bleeding nose. The short guy was holding his right arm close to his side, as if in pain. His good arm was holding a cell phone. Although I couldn’t make out the words, the sound of his shouting into the phone carried to my car. As usual, neither man looked happy.
~~~~
I drove back home to decide what to do next. Since my day of surveillance was turning out to be a bust, I decided maybe this would be a good time to get some more background on Meyer’s Jewelers and the creepy people at the Tropical Paradise. I also thought this might be a good excuse to talk to Jackson Reno. Who knows, I thought, maybe my erotic dreams about him were a sign? I took a deep breath, opened my cell phone, and called him at his old number. He answered on the third ring.
“Hey,” I said. “Remember me? It’s been a while. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
The phone was silent. The kind of silent where you know the person is still on the other end, but they just aren’t talking. I was about to ask again when he spoke.
“Laura Black,” he said with a sigh. “I always knew someday you’d show up again.”
“And, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I asked.
“No.”
“We always had a good time together.”
“Good time?” Reno said his voice starting to rise. “As I recall, you dumped me. I also remember while we were dating, before you dumped me, you had people trying to kill you. I mean, seriously trying to kill you. How is that a good time? Do you know how it feels to have people actively trying to kill your girlfriend?”
“It was only a couple of times and never while we were actually on a date.”
“There was that guy who rammed into your car and made you crash through the side of a car wash. Remember that?”
“Well, yeah. But it was only a rental and nobody got hurt.”
“And, there was the crazy woman who put all of those scorpions in your bedroom. Remember that?”
“Well, yeah. But wait a minute,” I said, my voice also starting to rise. “You’re a cop. People try to kill you all the time too.”
“No they don’t, and besides that’s completely different.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” he said. “You said we always had a good time together? I don’t remember it that way. What’d we ever do together that was so good?”
“The sex was pretty good.”
There was another pause on the other end of the phone. Then he sighed, again. “OK, the sex was great. But that doesn’t mean I had a lot of fun the rest of the time.”
“Yes you did. You’re just upset because we stopped seeing each other.”
“Stopped seeing each other? As I recall, you dumped me. No good-bye, no kiss my ass, nothing.”
“I didn’t dump you, I was tied-up and couldn’t see you.”
“For over a year?”
“Well, it was only for a few weeks. But when I got untied-up, you had already started seeing someone else.”
“I won’t even begin to tell you I understand a word you are saying. Besides, I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since you dumped me.
”
Oh, really?
“I didn’t dump you. And what about Cynthia Redburn? Tall with long blonde hair? You were seeing her. She spent the weekend over at your house less than a month after we stopped seeing each other.”
“So you dumped me and then stalked me?”
“I didn’t stalk you, Sophie did. You still haven’t said anything about Cynthia.”
“Cynthia was my rebound after I hadn’t heard from you for like three weeks. And yes, I did spend the weekend with her, but after that I never saw her again.”
“Why not?”
“It’s really none of your business, but she spent the entire weekend trying to get me to suck her toes. I mean all of them, all at once. I’d wake up and she’d have her foot shoved in my mouth.”
“Eeeyuuww, gross.”
“Exactly.”
“OK, so let me buy you dinner,” I said. “To make up for it. And actually, I wanted to talk to you about business.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, dinner wouldn’t make up for it. What kind of business?”
“Cop business.”
“What kind of cop business?”
“Like, where would I go to if I wanted to fence some expensive merchandise?” I said.
“You’re trying to fence something? Your old engagement ring perhaps?”
“Maybe. Where would I fence it if I just wanted cash and no questions asked?”
“You could go to a lot of places,” he said. “Did you have anywhere particular in mind?”
“Maybe at Meyer’s Jewelry or maybe at the art gallery in the lobby of the Tropical Paradise?”
The phone went silent again. I waited it out.
“So,” he said. There was an edge to his voice. “You want to tell me what this is about?”
“Sure, over dinner?”
“No, not over dinner. Dinner would make it seem like a date.”
“OK, how about lunch? Frankie Z’s today at 1:00?”
Again with the sigh. “OK, sure. But I’m going to regret this. Don’t say I won’t, because we both know I will.”
“You won’t.”
~~~~
Frankie Z’s is a small, family-run, Italian restaurant off Hayden and Via Linda. Reno and I had been there several times before. I suppose if anywhere could be considered as our restaurant, Frankie Z’s was it.
As I drove closer to the restaurant and thought about seeing Reno again, some long forgotten feelings of excitement began to wake up in the pit of my stomach. I pulled into Frankie’s parking lot at 1:10. Hey, almost on time.
Walking in the door, the aroma of oregano, baked garlic, and olive oil wrapped around me. I hadn’t been here since I was here with Reno, over a year ago. Walking in the door felt good, sort of like coming home.
As I walked in, Frankie saw me and greeted me with a warm smile. Frankie Zappitelli is not only the owner, but also the full-time hostess and part-time chef. She is a small, ageless, Italian woman. As always, her black and gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She had on her usual long black cotton dress and black flats. She stopped and gave me the once-over. Her dark eyes sparkled as she spoke.
“Where you been?” she asked. “It’s been too long. You used to come here all the time, and then you disappear. Look how skinny you are. Hey, that’s OK. I fix you up good now. Both you and your cute boyfriend.”
I followed close behind as she went through a maze of tightly packed tables. She led me out to the patio where Reno was waiting. He looked up and saw me. He took me in with his eyes as I walked over and sat.
Even though I hadn’t seen him for almost a year, he was exactly as I remembered. His body was the kind you see on the covers of fitness magazines -- strong and tight. He was dressed in a faded Hawaiian Aloha shirt, blue jeans, and cross trainers. This was his typical uniform for surveillance and undercover work. I took a moment to look him over. Yup, those feelings were awake all over now. I was starting to tingle and sweat in some unusual places.
I’ve never been able to explain why I’ve always felt this way about Reno. It isn’t just because he’s good-looking. I know lots of guys who are good-looking. It isn’t just his great sense of humor or his firm body. I think it was more Reno knows where he wants to go. He has a real direction in his life. He also knows the difference between right and wrong and it seems to draw me to him. Plus, he can touch the tip of his nose with his tongue. Just thinking about it always makes me tighten up a bit.
“Well, Laura Black,” he said. “You look great. I hear you’re still working for Lenny. I suppose he’s doing well, even though he’s probably still a jerk.”
“Sure,” I said. “Lenny’s doing great. He has more money than he could ever spend. And yes, he’s still a jerk.”
“I ran into Gina a few months after you dumped me,” Reno said. “She said you were dating a golf pro?”
“Yeah, him. Well, his name was Dusty and it didn’t last more than a few weeks. Since then, I really haven’t had time to get involved with anyone else.”
OK, so that was a big fat fib. After I found out about Dusty boinking the aerobics instructor, I totally swore off men for a couple of months. Jeez, I thought, an aerobics instructor. How 80’s can you get? She probably wore pink leg warmers while he was doing her. Since then, I haven’t found anybody I wanted to be with, at least anybody who wanted to be with me too.
Dominic, the waiter, came by with a basket of bread. The menu hadn’t changed from the last time we were here and we each ordered our favorite lunch. His was still the grilled chicken breast and a side of steamed vegetables. I had the sausage sandwich, an extra side of marinara, fries, and garlic bread.
“You wanted to talk cop business?” Reno asked.
“I’m looking into a guy named Alexander Sternwood,” I said. “He’s from a wealthy Paradise Valley family, although he hasn’t inherited his share yet. All of the sudden he’s come into a lot of money. It’s possible he gets his money by selling things that don’t belong to him. Do you know anything about a fence at a store called Meyer’s Jewelers on 32nd Street over in Phoenix?”
Reno thought about it for a moment. “The guy who runs the jewelry store is Jimmy Meyer. He’s been around for years. He used to be muscle for a crime family out of New York. If our information is right, he still maintains a loose connection with organized crime through the DiCenzo family. Twenty years ago, he was one of Arizona’s biggest fences for high-end merchandise: paintings, sculptures, jewelry, and those sorts of things. Now he’s semi-retired and is only involved in small stuff, at least as far as we know.”
He leaned closer to me. “The part that interests me is how you know about the art gallery at the Tropical Paradise. We just found out about it last month. Since the Tropical Paradise is controlled by the DiCenzo family, we think there is a connection between the family and the fencing operation there.”
The DiCenzos are Scottsdale’s largest crime family. Of course, since we’re talking about Scottsdale, the DiCenzos are pretty much Scottsdale’s only crime family. They have a controlling interest in about a quarter of the Scottsdale resorts including the upscale Scottsdale Blue Palms and the Scottsdale Tropical Paradise.
If you believe what they print in the paper, they also handle illegal aliens coming into the U.S., private gambling, high-end prostitution, and illegal arms traffic -- both in Phoenix and those smuggled over the border into Mexico and Central America. Rumor also had it they were in the process of trying to broaden their influence into narcotics. Maybe it was because of the economic cycle we were in.
The head of the family is Anthony “Tough Tony” DiCenzo. According to an article I had read, he had relocated to Scottsdale from New York about twenty-five years earlier. Some say the move was voluntary, some say otherwise. In either case, after he had taken over, things had always remained relatively quiet in Scottsdale, at least quiet as far as turf wars were concerned. Stories in the paper about organized crime were rare in Scottsdale. The family’s activities were
usually kept well below the public radar. Tony DiCenzo ran crime in the city like a business and everybody got their share.
“I take it you saw Sternwood make a sale at the Tropical Paradise,” Reno said. “When was this?”
“Yesterday, about noon.”
Reno pulled his cop notebook from his back pocket. He flipped a few pages, then looked up at me. His face had an odd expression.
“When your guy was at the Tropical Paradise, who’d he make the sale to?”
“At first there was just a woman there. Then a man showed up. He got there just after Alex arrived.”
The man,” Reno asked. “What did he look like?”
“Umm, he was medium height and thin. Somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty. He looked like he worked out a lot. He had a short blonde hair, a gray beard, and moustache. He was businesslike, but the guy gave me the creeps. He had these small watery eyes and the lids were red, like he had allergies or something.”
Dominic brought the lunches to the table. The wonderful aromas wafting up from the plates reminded me how hungry I was. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, each attending to business.
“The woman who works there is named Ingrid Shanker,” Reno said between bites. “She isn’t so much involved with the high-end fencing, more of a bookkeeper. The man you saw is most likely Albert Reinhart. He’s better known as the Iceman. He spends most of his time in Europe, but is known to come into the U.S. two or three times a year. Usually to Palm Springs or Scottsdale. His specialty is jewelry and fine art, usually acting as a middleman. He has a reputation for being an honest broker for his clients. He can spot a fake within seconds and apparently won’t let a client pay money for something not genuine; at least that’s what we hear.”
“So how do you know so much about this guy?” I asked. “You sound like freakin’ Google.”
“It’s funny you ran into him,” Reno said, ignoring me. “We knew he came into town last week for what was supposed to be a major buy. Word had it he was going to be a middleman on something special. I was on a team monitoring him when the deal seemed to fall apart. Reinhart’s usual MO is to come into town in the morning, conduct business, and then leave that same night. Instead, he just checked into the Scottsdale Princess resort and has spent a week golfing and laying by the pool. It’s possible he just came here for a vacation, but I doubt it. I think something went wrong.”
