Tanzi's Ice (Vince Tanzi Book 2)

by C I Dennis

  *

  Tomas Schultheiss’ driveway would have been a challenge for a mountain goat. It was several miles out the Moscow Road, and it didn’t just have a view of Mount Mansfield, it had a view of the whole goddamn state. Yuliana’s BMW kept on climbing and climbing like a steady little packhorse, and I made it to the top. I parked behind a garage, out of sight of the main house, and looked in a window—no cars. The driveway was empty, and I saw no signs of life. No one was home—I hoped.

  The house was angular with lots of glass and was perched like a peregrine on a craggy ledge, overlooking the valley below. It was also fully wired, with cameras, alarms, and God knows what else. Maybe land mines. I tiptoed toward the front door with my bag of tools. I didn’t give a damn about the security cameras. I was going to let myself in and see what I could find, and if I got caught, it would be a crime, but I didn’t care. These guys were murderers, and I wasn’t going to wait for cops with warrants.

  I was working a tension wrench and a short hook into the tumbler on his big front door, and was concentrating so hard that I almost fell in when it opened unexpectedly. It was Jenny, the au pair, in a T-shirt with no bra. She gave me a cute smile and invited me in. I hurriedly packed my tools into the bag and left it outside.

  Tomas rounded the corner of his foyer as I entered. He did not give me a cute smile.

  “Vince,” he said. “What brings you here? With your tool set?”

  “You might as well call the police, Tomas,” I said. “You caught me, fair and square.”

  “So you came to burglarize the house?”

  “What can I say?”

  “You can tell me what you were really doing here.”

  I decided to lay down an ace. “I was looking for Günter Schramm,” I said. “When I find him, I’m going to kill him.”

  “He’s not here.” His face didn’t betray anything.

  “So you know him?”

  “He’s out of the country,” he said. “Too bad. He’d probably love to hear from you.”

  “Do you have a hammer in the house? I could demonstrate what he did to my brother.”

  “I know nothing about that,” he said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “You need to leave,” he said. “I’ll let you go this time. No police.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, and I left.

  *

  I was frustrated, having gotten nowhere with my home invasion. I suppose I could have reached out and clubbed the bastard, but he had taken me by surprise, and Jenny was right there. I would deal with him later—right now I had my sights set on Günter. Eventually I would kill them both. I don’t usually shoot unless shot at, but the usual rules don’t apply when it’s my family that’s at risk.

  Brooks Burleigh’s farm was across the valley, and the Stowe skiers were heading away from the mountain in a steady stream of cars in the opposing traffic. The lifts had closed and it was either time for an après-ski beer, or to get back to their condos. I climbed up Edson Hill Road just as the sun began to dim behind the peak, leaving pink smudges against the deep blue sky. Florida is flat, and I love it there, but if you are born in mountain country there is a piece of you that feels exposed without the vertical scenery around you.

  Once again the magic gates opened for the BMW without me having to get out. Yuliana, or someone, was waiting. I thought about what my mother had said as I drove the long half-mile to the house. She was right, as mothers tend to be. Lying to Barbara was wrong—dead wrong. If I lied to her, then I was no better than my father. That was kind of a shock, and I saw him in a new way, and my mother too. I’d never heard her say a single word about being beaten. Then again, I’d never really asked.

  *

  Kermit pulled into the driveway right behind me. He looked jovial as he got out of the car, and I helped him with his shopping bags.

  “They had some of them quahogs at Mac’s Market,” he said. “Hard to find them things this time a year.”

  “You’re making chowder?”

  “Yes sir, Mister Dooley,” he said. “Got the salt pork and the rest of it. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  “Where’s Eunice?”

  “She’s taken ill,” he said. “She has the bursitis wicked bad. I’m gonna be doin’ the cookin’ and the servin’ too.”

  “Let’s just do buffet-style,” I suggested. “We don’t need you spilling the soup on your maid outfit.”

  He laughed, showing me his teeth. My mom used to call them “summer” teeth. Some are in, some are out.

  *

  I was downstairs packing up my things, including the Glock 30, which I hadn’t worn for almost a week. Brooks had asked me to start carrying. I was going to carry, but not for Brooks’ sake. He had plenty of his own guns. I would be telling him tonight that I was done as his driver, effective now, and that I’d return the money. I doubted that he would be surprised. Then, we were going to have a talk about what was going on, and this time I wanted some answers.

  Yuliana stood at the door to my room. She wore jeans and a red turtleneck that had specks of food on the front. “I’ve been cutting up potatoes with Kermit,” she said. “Sorry if I’m a mess.”

  “You’re never a mess,” I said. I motioned for her to sit down, and she sat on the edge of my bed while I packed.

  “I want out, Vince,” she said. “Even if I go to jail.”

  “I’m leaving tonight,” I said. “You can go with me.”

  “I’m not ready. I have things I need to discuss with Brooks.”

  “Me too.”

  “He’s out skiing,” she said. “He’s been very sad. He knows he has a big decision ahead.”

  “He’s getting closed down, one way or the other,” I said.

  “I think he’s starting to realize that. He’s a complicated man.”

  “You’re a complicated woman,” I said.

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m very simple. But I seem to have gotten myself into a very complicated relationship.”

  “Likewise,” I said.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “If I was a heartless bastard, I’d just shut the door and take off your clothes.”

  “You are anything but a heartless bastard.”

  “It would be a lot easier if I was one,” I said. I sat down next to her and took her in my arms. We lingered for a long time over our kiss as if we both knew that it might be the last one.

  She stood up and, on her way out of the room, turned to me. “You are going to be a good father.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I had come to a crossroads, like Brooks. And for the second time today, I felt like smashing some furniture against the wall.

  *

  Supper was Kermit’s fabulous, insane, hold-me clam chowder, with Westminster crackers and a side salad of greens, crumbled feta cheese, and caramelized walnuts. Brooks drank a Pellegrino, and Yuliana had opened a bottle of Riesling from Washington State. She poured me a generous glass. Brooks looked ruddy from skiing and was very quiet. Yuliana finally broke the silence.

  “Tell us about your brother,” she said.

  “No amputation,” I said. “But he’ll be in nursing care for weeks, and he’ll never play the guitar again.”

  Brooks looked at me. “I’m partially responsible for this, Vince. Not directly, but responsible all the same. I’m going to set up a trust for your brother.”

  “Please don’t,” I said. “You set up an insurance policy for my father, and it got him killed.”

  “He wanted the policy,” he said. “It was money I would have paid him, but he said he didn’t need it, and he wanted to provide for your mother and the three of you.”

  “What was your angle?”

  “I was buying his loyalty, to be perfectly frank. And I was able to launder some funds in the process.”

  “Through Canada?”

  “We have a foundation. Theoretically, it’s for marine research.”<
br />
  “What else does it do?”

  “I can’t answer all your questions, Vince. I’m sorry. I’m going to see some attorneys in D.C. soon, and I’m about to make some changes.”

  “What if the cops pick you up before that?”

  “Then the attorneys will have to come to me.”

  “So, how many girls are there?”

  “Girls?”

  “Au pairs. The honey traps,” I said.

  “Seven, at the moment,” he said.

  “Wow,” I said. “Where did my brother fit in?”

  “Ginny had him do transportation when your father was away.”

  “Ginny ran it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “When they killed her, I realized we were next.”

  “I can’t be your driver anymore.”

  “I know. You can stay here, and we’ll get you a cab in the morning.”

  “I’ll take him,” Yuliana said. She looked at me from across the table. “You can leave tonight if you want to.” She’d changed into a black dress. It wasn’t fancy, or sexy—just simple, and stunning.

  “Vince, Yuliana told me you want to return the money,” Brooks said. “Please keep it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “For your child.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Let’s stop talking about my child.” They went silent. I was going to bust this guy, and here we were breaking bread together, being all nice as if we were the oldest of friends. I couldn’t help but like Brooks Burleigh, and I would have even felt sorry for him, but he was right. He was responsible for this. At least he was man enough to accept that, unlike many of the other powerful people I’d met in my life. Being rich usually meant that you had a ready supply of excuses, lawyers, and other people to blame.

  Yuliana poured herself a generous glass of the Riesling and drank half of it. “You’re driving,” I reminded her.

  “I drive just fine with a buzz,” she said.

  As good as the chowder was, I had lost my appetite. I didn’t stay at the table to see what Kermit had made for dessert. I had some more packing to do.

  *

  There was no moon out, and the sky was clouded over. Neither of us talked while Yuliana steered through the darkness down the long hill to the Mountain Road. I took out my phone and saw three missed calls from Robert Patton and one from Barbara. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so I put the phone back into my pocket.

  I had been thinking about spending another night in Junie’s room, but I was tired and needed a real bed, so I’d asked Yuliana to take me to my mother’s where I could also borrow the Subaru. She had drunk most of the Riesling and was concentrating hard, but she weaved a little once we hit the interstate.

  “I can drive,” I said.

  “I can fly a jet,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I’m flying him to D.C. the day after tomorrow. We discussed it while you were packing.”

  “He’s going to turn himself in?”

  “Hardly,” she said. “He’s going to negotiate.”

  “What about you?”

  “He said it’s all contingent on me not being charged with anything.”

  “He may not be able to just dictate things like that.”

  “You haven’t seen him negotiate,” she said. “I’m not worried about me. More about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I don’t want you to be killed.”

  “I won’t be,” I said. “People have tried.”

  “I saw the scars,” she said. “The time we left the lights on.”

  “Cut myself shaving,” I said.

  She laughed, and then turned serious. “Günter Schramm is a psychopath.”

  “You know him?”

  “I was married to him,” she said. “It took me eighteen months to find out he was mentally unstable. He and Tomas were on loan to the Moldovan security agency. They were spies, in East Germany, before the Wall went down. Tomas has his hands in lots of things, and Günter just likes to threaten people. Or kill them.”

  “Border Patrol says that according to their records he’s never been in this country.”

  “I believe it,” she said. “Borders mean nothing to those two.”

  “How did Brooks meet Tomas?”

  “When he met me. I was twenty-four, and just divorced from Günter. I was in the Air Force, but they paid us nothing. I was desperate for money.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I was the first. You call them the honey traps.”

  “With Brooks?”

  “Yes. They made me his au pair, back when his kids were young. He brought me here, and we carried on for a while. Then Tomas put the pressure on him, and so Brooks simply told his wife. That was two wives ago. He and Tomas had a big laugh over it, and they ended up being friends.”

  “Amazing.”

  “The seven girls are in incredibly high places,” she said. “Politicians, CEOs, lawyers, bureaucrats, all married, with families. There’s going to be a lot of damage done.”

  “They have it coming,” I said.

  “Don’t be too quick to judge,” she said.

  She was right. I knew how easy it was to fall for a Moldovan girl.

  *

  Yuliana turned off the BMW and took my bag from the trunk. She and I walked across my mother’s driveway to the darkened front door. This might be the last time I saw her, and I couldn’t raise my eyes to look.

  “I’m sorry about everything,” I said.

  “I’m not,” she said. “Please invite me in.”

  “You can come in,” I said. But—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” she said. We entered the house and turned on the lights.

  “Does she have any wine in here?”

  “If you can call it that,” I said. The Carlo Rossi Paisano bottle was still two-thirds full. It would probably still be here when I returned on the next Thanksgiving. I poured her a glass, and she tasted it and winced.

  “You have to be pretty desperate to drink this,” she said.

  “It’s good after about the tenth glass,” I said.

  She put the wine to her lips and drank the entire glass. “Nine more to go,” she said, wiping the red liquid from her lips.

  “Are you trying to get drunk?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I won’t touch you, I promise. But I’m not ready to leave you yet.”

  “It’s late,” I said.

  “I’ll sleep right here,” she said. She took off her shoes and lay down on the same couch where Mrs. Tomaselli slept. I left the lights on, and watched her until she dozed off.

  *

  Having Yuliana in the next room was not restful. I could hear her snoring through the thin wall—she would have made a good Tanzi. I tossed and turned, got up, had a glass of milk, knit a few rows of Roberto’s hat, looked at the weather on my phone, recapped the entire day’s events (especially the things I’d bungled), got mad at myself, felt sorry for myself, forgave myself, and then began the whole cycle all over again. I finally drifted off into a fragile truce between anger, sorrow, absolution, and sleep.

  *

  Someone was in the room. The Glock was at the side of the bed, and I reached for it, groping in the dark.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” Yuliana said. She got under the covers and lay next to me, and I put the gun back on the table. She was naked and I was in my boxer shorts.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “I promised I wouldn’t touch you.” Her breath smelled of the cheap wine but was still sweet.

  “That’s not possible in this bed,” I said.

  “I’m a little tipsy.”

  “Maybe more than a little.”

  “Am I slurring my words?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you,” she said.

  “You’re doing an excellent job.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “It wasn’t supposed to
feel like this.”

  We didn’t make love, although I couldn’t see the difference. Just lying there with my arms around her and feeling her warm softness was as much making love as it was anything else.

  WEDNESDAY

  I showered for longer than usual, hoping to clean everything including my conscience. It didn’t work. Yuliana had left before I woke, and I heard my mother and Mrs. Tomaselli bustling through the front door as I toweled off.

  “Hello, dearie,” Mrs. Tomaselli yelled, through the door of the bathroom. “We’re just here to pick some things up. Then we’re going to the hospital to see your brother.”

  “OK,” I yelled back. I shaved and dressed, and when I emerged into the kitchen my mother was standing at the stove making a sausage-and-egg scramble. She added some sharp cheddar cheese and mixed in her homemade garlic-and-onion croutons, which she had fried in olive oil. I poured a cup of coffee and descended on my plate before it got to the table.

  “This is unbelievable,” I said, between mouthfuls.

  “Thanks,” my mother said.

  Mrs. Tomaselli sat across the table and watched me eat. “Would you like some?” I asked her.

  “I don’t have breakfast,” she said. “But I make up for it at lunch and dinner, unfortunately.”

  “You look great, Mrs. Tomaselli,” I said.

  “You’re such a flirt, Vinny,” she said, giving me a coquettish bat of her eyes. “So, whose perfume did I smell on the way in?”

  When it comes to perfume, women can detect a stranger quicker than a police dog can sniff out a joint under a car seat. “Just a friend,” I said.

  “Ooh-la-la,” Mrs. Tomaselli said.

  “It’s none of your business, Donna,” my mother said. “So that means you’ve decided to stay with her?” she said to me. “The new girl?”

  “No, Mom,” I said. She had her back to me, and it was clear that I was on her shit list.

  “I hear you’re going to be a daddy,” Mrs. Tomaselli said.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to fend off the questions by keeping my mouth full of the scramble.

  “You’ll make a good father,” she said.

  “That’s what my friend said,” I said.