The Dark Side of Town

by Sasscer Hill

  “And now,” I said, “the document is missing, and he’s dead. He was going to blow the whistle, so someone killed him.” His death had been so violent.

  Calixto nodded. “That is what Meloy thinks, but unfortunately, he doesn’t know any more than we do. The fund has been examined over and over again. They’ve followed the money through every database, through every computer program, and found nothing. Whoever’s running this thing hid his tracks well.”

  I’d been gripping the pencil too hard. I let it drop to the desk and rubbed my sore fingers. Somewhere down the shedrow a horse whinnied, and in the distance another one answered his call. I could hear salsa music and someone singing in Spanish from the barn across the way. I missed the track. When the morning chores were done, and the horses bedded down, the place could truly soothe my soul. I pulled my thoughts to the present.

  “Calixto, do you think another mobster, maybe one from New York, is behind all this? The way Savarine begged Rico to rescue him from this man I think of as the puppet master. It’s got to be someone Rico has influence over.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  But there was something about the tone of Calixto’s voice. “But you don’t think so, do you?”

  “Fia, I don’t know. Meloy suspects a money-laundering operation is behind this and that would suggest Mafia involvement. But they are not the only criminals.”

  Sudden memories of the men who tried to kill me in Florida made me shudder. They had wanted me dead, had planned a horrible ending for me. No, mobsters were not the only criminals. Not by a long shot.

  “But,” Calixto said, “the Mafia is probably our best bet.”

  Damn, we knew so little. Between Calixto, Meloy, and myself, we should run for champion know-nothings. We’d probably win.

  Calixto’s phone pinged. He answered, listened, and said, “Gunny, yes.”

  They started talking. I stood, pointed at myself, and then the door.

  “Gunny, hold on a minute,” Calixto said, before turning to me. “You are leaving?”

  “If Mars isn’t here, I want to see Becky Joe and the horses. Stevie might be over there, too.” I needed a break from the maze of questions.

  He nodded, turned away from me, and continued his conversation with Gunny. When I reached the door to the shedrow, the cat circled my legs like a furry little submarine. With each pass, she rubbed against my shins, her tail straight up, like a periscope. When I leaned over to pet her, she was purring so loud, the vibration almost torpedoed my hand. I picked her up and carried her down the shedrow with my nose buried in her fur.

  Halfway down the aisle, despite the comforting presence of the cat, the thorny question pricked me again. The unseen puppet master. Who was he? Had he killed Percy?

  “He must have!” I said out loud, startling the cat, who twisted her head to stare at me. “Who the hell is he?” I asked.

  The cat wasn’t talking.

  29

  As I approached the end of Maggie Bourne’s shedrow, I scanned the grassy area and dirt paths beyond. A man crossing the grass near the next barn stopped me cold.

  Mars? No, only a guy with the same body type, not Mars. Though his SUV was still absent, I inched slowly around the corner to his shedrow, just in case. Rounding the corner, I found the groom, Javier.

  His eyes widened when he spotted me. “Fay, cómo estás?”

  “Muy bueno, Javier. Good to see you.” I glanced up and down the shedrow. “Mars, está aquí?” I said.

  “No. He is not here. You are happy to know this, yes?”

  “Sí,” I said, setting the calico down in the shedrow. “It’s very good to know.” We exchanged a partners-in-crime palm slap. After giving me a nod, he walked to the barn hose and got busy topping off the horses’ water buckets.

  “Holy shit, look what the cat dragged in!” The voice belonged to Becky Joe.

  As she drew close, the cat who was still at my feet, glared at the woman, lashed her tail, and stalked off.

  “That cat doesn’t like me.”

  I felt myself smiling. “Becky Joe, how are you?”

  “Not as good as you,” she replied. “Look at that grin on your face. When a woman looks like that, and there’s a man around like Calixto, it can only mean one thing. You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  Was it that obvious? I tried to deny it, but felt my grin grow even wider.

  Becky Joe shook her head. “You were just over there, weren’t you?”

  “I might have been,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth.

  “Oh, lordy. If a man like him gave me what he gave you, I’d light up like a Christmas tree. And honey, you look like Rockefeller Center on Christmas Eve!”

  Smirking, she pointed at a long bale of hay a few yards down the shedrow. “Sit down and spill. How was he?”

  “Becky Joe!”

  “Oh, come on. Give an old lady a vicarious thrill.”

  I burst out laughing. “Becky, you’re incorrigible.”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  I’d been cut off from people since I’d joined the bureau. I hadn’t spoken to my two cop girlfriends since I left the Baltimore PD. Except for my mother and my niece, I’d been surrounded by men, hardly candidates for relaying life’s intimate details. But I liked Becky Joe and knew she wasn’t big on gossip. God knows she’d been tight-lipped about Stevie when I’d first arrived.

  She settled herself on the hay bale, and I joined her, leaning my back against the old wood of the barn wall.

  A little sigh escaped me. “He was … he was just like I’d hoped he would be.”

  Becky Joe groaned. “That good, huh?”

  “Better.” We grinned at each other.

  A small breeze stirred up the smell of dust from the dirt aisle. I relaxed on the improvised bench, resting the back of my head against the wall, loving the sweet scent of hay that drifted up from the bale below.

  “He’s a rare one,” she said, “Quiet on the surface, but still waters run deep. You’ll have your hands full with that one. That’s a fact.”

  I nodded, and we sat quietly, simply enjoying the luxury of being at the backstretch on a Saratoga morning. Though I’d relaxed, talking about Calixto had sent a heat wave to my core. No one had ever left me breathless and so consumed with desire.

  My memory drifted back to the past when my father’s unsolved murder had left me filled with a burning anger and a need for revenge. To seek justice. Maybe it was the wrong reason to become a cop, but that’s what had happened.

  There had been a guy at Towson University where I’d studied criminal justice for two years and obtained a degree. Mike had studied there, pursuing the same degree. Our romance had lasted almost two years, but when his cop uncle got him a job on the Cincinnati police force, the long-distance relationship hadn’t worked for us. I hadn’t been the easiest woman, anyway. I had too many issues with my father’s murder and the lingering effects of Joan’s abandonment.

  A couple of years later, I’d become close to a cop named Ben on the Baltimore PD. That one had lasted six months, until he got shot in a domestic violence call. When he got out of the hospital, he’d changed. Without a word to me, he’d transferred up to Rising Sun, Maryland. He’d called from there, saying he needed to be where it was safer. Hell, any place was safer than West Baltimore, and I couldn’t blame him. Both Mike and Ben had been good men, but I’d always known I could live without them. Now, a man like Calixto …

  I hoped he wasn’t some kind of fantasy. And then there was that nagging question—how do you ever know when a professional liar is telling the truth? I mentally brushed these thoughts away and turned to Becky Joe.

  “So how are the horses? What’s Ziggy Stardust up to?”

  Becky Joe had fallen asleep and jerked awake. “What? Ziggy?” She rubbed her eyes a moment. “Mars is gonna enter him in the Travers.”

  “I figured he would, after that last work. Is he as ornery as ever at feeding time?”

&
nbsp; “He’d like to take the handle off my rake the other day. Pulled the whole thing into the stall with him. I had to get Javier to help get it out before the damn horse killed himself!”

  “That rake wrestling is dangerous,” I said.

  “Don’t joke about it. He could’ve flipped that thing upright and impaled himself, or maybe put an eye out.”

  “You have a point,” I said, mentally pushing away some of the things I’d seen go wrong on Pimlico’s backstretch when I’d worked for my dad. Sometimes it just seemed if things could go wrong for a horse, they would.

  I stood up and stretched. “I should visit your nags. I’ve missed them.”

  “Help yourself,” Becky Joe said. “I’m gonna set here awhile.”

  I walked down the shedrow, stopping to see Bionic. His dappled bay coat gleamed with health, and next door to him, the gray filly, Wiggly Wabbit, pushed her head over the stall door toward me. I leaned forward until we touched noses. I blew gently in her nostrils, a sort of universal horse greeting.

  “Broken any phones lately?” I asked her.

  She didn’t answer, just wiggled her ears at me.

  “That how you got the name Wiggly Wabbit?”

  She snorted and withdrew her head.

  “And now for the big guy.” I moved to Ziggy Stardust’s stall. Since it wasn’t feeding time, he was calm, even friendly, nodding his head up and down at me, letting me pet the large star on his forehead. My fingers traced the little spangles of white that cascaded down his face.

  “That’s some trademark you got there, Ziggy. You going to win the Travers? I bet you will.” He nodded his head up and down more vigorously, making me smile. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll put some money on you.”

  At the last stall, I stroked Dodger’s neck, before deciding I’d counted on Mars’s absence long enough. He could show up any minute. As I started to head back to the other side, I heard Stevie’s voice.

  “Hey, Fay, wait up.”

  I turned to see his skinny form hustling past Becky Joe, who’d fallen asleep again on her hay bale.

  “Are you still working for Mars?” I asked. I’d hoped he’d find a job with another trainer. My wish must have shown on my face.

  “It’s not so bad,” he said.

  He stood before me, his eyes about level with my nose. I’d almost forgotten how small he was. It was one of the things that had made me even angrier when Rico had been so brutal with him.

  “Look,” he said, “it was Alberto and Tony Rizelli who grabbed Lila. Not Mars. And Rico leaned really hard on Mars to get me to help with that betting scam. Alberto’s out of the picture, in jail, and I’m telling you, Mars didn’t want any part of it. He’s been good to me.”

  If he was determined to believe that, there was no point in arguing with him. I’d learned to keep quiet when someone locks themselves in the denial cage. Stevie held the key. I hoped one day he’d use it.

  “At least,” I said, “he’s got some good horses, and you’ve done well riding them.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. I made money on Bionic and Wabbit. People noticed me.”

  “Yeah, they did. I think you’ve got a good future ahead of you, Stevie.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wabbit thrust her head into the aisle next to Stevie and he rubbed the side of her cheek. She pushed harder against his hand as if to say, “Don’t stop.”

  “So, how’s Lila?” I asked.

  “Pretty good. She’s seen some therapist woman a couple of times, and her nightmares aren’t as bad.”

  I didn’t say anything to that. I worried about the extent of damage done to her. None of what had happened was good, but at least the two of them were in one piece.

  “We’re back in our apartment at Lou’s,” Stevie said, “and Lila has the dog. She loves that dog. I figure we’re lucky.”

  “You are,” I said. “You riding a race anytime soon?”

  “Mars has a couple shipping in to run, and I get the rides. So it’s all good.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’d better be going.” I left him there at Mars’s barn, wishing I could make him see reality, but knowing in the end it was up to him.

  When I reached the other side, Calixto was gone, but checking my phone I found a text asking if I’d meet him for dinner at the Brook Tavern at seven.

  “Absolutely,” I texted back. I was not one to pass up a free meal at a nice restaurant on Union Avenue. Especially with Calixto. I could get used to the life I’d enjoyed the last two days. No dirty chores at the track, meals out, an opulent suite at a five-star hotel. But on my drive back to the Adelphi, I got a call from Gunny, a reminder that my job with the TRPB was far from over and my life of luxury would end soon.

  “You feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Gunny. I’m fine.” In the background I heard a familiar sound, like dice rattling in a cup, and I knew he was taking his antacids. “Don’t worry about me, Gunny, I’m tough.”

  “So you say. Listen, I’ve been talking to my contact at the FBI. You’re still keeping an eye on your stepfather and Savarine, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay then. A huge deposit was made to the hedge fund this morning and the FBI is trying to trace it back through overseas shell companies. Somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks.”

  “You got that right. I want to know who it is as much as you do. I’d bet a year’s paycheck this person is behind Matt Percy’s death.”

  He was silent a moment, then, “Not necessarily. It could be anyone. You be careful. You got that?”

  “Of course.” We disconnected, and after finding a parking spot on a side street, I walked into the Adelphi. Three feet inside the lobby, I stopped abruptly. Talking to the hotel’s concierge was a tall man with curly hair. His profile was visible, and I recognized the light cocoa skin and large hooked nose of the Jamaican, Darren Onandi.

  30

  Why was Onandi back in Saratoga? At the Adelphi? I drifted to a nearby couch, sat down, and pretended to search for something in my tote bag. The last time Onandi had seen me, I was at Joan’s party. I’d worn makeup and was dressed to the nines, so I doubted he’d recognize me now as Joan’s daughter.

  So why was I afraid that he would? I glanced up from my tote. Onandi nodded at the concierge, turned, and when his small, piercing eyes swept over me, a little spider of unease crawled down my spine. He turned away, and walked through the potted palms marking the entrance to the courtyard, probably intent on a late lunch.

  I abandoned the couch and made for the elevators, not wanting to be around when he returned to the lobby. He might not recognize me, but I didn’t particularly want him noticing me, either. As soon as I was in the elevator, I called Calixto, but was sent to voicemail. I left a message.

  “Onandi’s here at the Adelphi. I’ll be in our room on my laptop. I want to talk to Brian about digging deeper into Onandi’s bank records. See you at the Brook Tavern.”

  I ended the call and suddenly felt like kicking myself. Joan had revealed the connection between Rich and Onandi. Why hadn’t I run with it? Any momentum I’d had in that direction had stopped abruptly with my trip to Lake Desolation. Afterward I hadn’t even thought about it. Damn.

  If Onandi had invested money in Rich’s start-up company way back when, maybe they still shared business interests. In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous that Onandi would have traveled from New York City to Saratoga with his entourage just to attend a garden party.

  By now, the elevator had reached my floor. The doors slid open, and I stepped into the hallway that was lit by the subtle glow of antique wall sconces. Sudden movement caught my attention. Down the hall, a woman peered around the door of her hotel room, before snapping her head back inside and quickly shutting the door.

  I knew that face. Julissa. I strode down the carpeted corridor to the door that had just closed and rapped my knuckles on it.

  “Julissa, it’s Fia McKee. Open up.”
/>   I was answered by silence, but I could almost feel her presence just inside. “Julissa, please, let me talk to you.”

  I heard a slight rustling sound, then the knob turned, and the door opened.

  “Fia? You look different.”

  “I was totally dolled-up at the party,” I said, staring at her face. She had a black eye. The cheek next to it was swollen and horribly bruised. Her stale sweat smelled of fear. But the hopelessness I saw in her eyes hit me the hardest.

  “You have to leave,” she said. “You’ll get me in trouble. What do you want?”

  “For starters,” I said, “to get you away from the animal who did this to you.”

  “No. I’ve told you. I have no money. There’s nowhere to go. Darren’s spies are everywhere.” With these last words she began to shake. She glanced up and down the hall, and the fear in her eyes made my gut contract.

  “You can’t help me,” the words came in a soft wail.

  “Bullshit! I can. I’m taking you out of here.”

  “No, if he sees me trying to leave, he will kill me. He could be on the elevator now. He could—”

  “No,” I said. “He isn’t. He just went into the dining room for lunch. About four minutes ago. I saw him. Come on, Julissa, this is your chance!”

  A flicker of hope lit her eyes. Seeing it, I grabbed her wrist, and tried to pull her through the doorway.

  She dug in her heels, resisting. “I won’t make it through the lobby.”

  “You’re not going through the lobby. I have a room about ten doors down.” I held up my key card.

  Seeing truly is believing. She darted across the threshold and into the hallway. Together we ran to my room, where I barely got the door unlocked, before she lunged inside. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

  Restless and panting, she wandered about the suite. She finally sank onto the gold and beige upholstery of the parlor couch, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. She looked so thin and weak. The lustrous, curly black hair I’d so admired in Violet’s boutique had grown dull, almost matted.

  “When was the last time you ate?”