The Dark Side of Town

by Sasscer Hill

  “Hey, Rich,” I called. “You have company.”

  “Fia,” Joan hissed, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “You want him to snap out of it or not?”

  I raised my voice a little more. “Rich, I came all the way here to see you guys. Come on out.”

  “Who is that? Damn it, Joan, who’d you let in here?”

  The anger in his voice prickled the hairs on the back of my neck. His sudden steps toward us were rapid and hard.

  “It’s just Fia,” I said. “I’m sorry if I came at a bad time. I was hoping I could have a drink with you guys.”

  He entered the room, his face drawn, deep shadows under his eyes. His jaw was tight, a pulse ticking on one side beneath a bruise. Joan had said he and Savarine had fought. The evidence was obvious.

  Joan rushed to the bar on the credenza. “That’s a terrific idea, Fia. I’ll get us drinks.”

  Rich’s lips compressed in annoyance, then he waved a hand in resignation. “Oh, all right. Make me a scotch.”

  “I’ll have a little bourbon, with a lot of water. Wouldn’t want to drive under the influence.” I grinned, like I’d just made a terrifically amusing comment. Joan managed a weak smile and handed me my drink. Rich’s glare was so acidic, I was surprised my bourbon didn’t turn into a whiskey sour. As I tasted the bourbon, his cell chimed.

  “Can’t people leave me alone?” But he took the call. “Al? You’ve got a lot of nerve, buddy. What? Now?”

  He must be talking to Al Savarine. I walked to one of the beige couches, sat down, and listened.

  “No, I’ve got people here. You can’t expect me to … no, my stepdaughter, Fia. I—”

  Whatever he’d intended to say, Al cut him off. As Rich listened, his face grew thoughtful. He nodded a few times before speaking.

  “I don’t like that he’s in town, either. Maybe we should meet with him. But what do we say?”

  He listened a moment, then, “Okay, you’d better get over here.” He ended the call, but was so nervous that when he tried to slide his phone into a pocket he dropped it on the floor.

  “Who was that?” Joan asked. “What’s happening?”

  He glared at her, his lips compressed. “Al Savarine.”

  After that one response, his stare seemed to cut through us, like we weren’t even there, like he was seeing something else entirely.

  I stood, grabbed his phone from the floor, and handed it to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Savarine just wants to come over and talk, is all.”

  “But you two were fighting!” Joan said. “Why would you agree to see him?”

  It was clear to me that Joan didn’t have a clue what was going on. I raised a palm toward her. “Hold on a minute,” I said, before turning to Rich. “Really? Nothing’s wrong? Then why do you look like somebody’s got a gun to your head? Savarine told you Onandi’s in town, didn’t he?”

  I was almost amused by Rich’s astonished expression.

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Didn’t Joan tell you I used to be a cop?”

  “Oh, God,” Rich said, before backing away from me and collapsing onto the other couch. “It’s all gotten out of control.”

  “What’s gotten out of control?” Joan’s voice was so shrill and demanding, I wanted to cover my ears. “What are you talking about?”

  “Joan, will you please just sit down and shut up! Savarine will be here in a minute. I need to think.”

  Instead of thinking he upended his scotch, then lifted the empty glass to her, his teeth protruding as he smiled. “Fix me another one, sweetie?”

  Joan made a snort of disgust, grabbed the glass from his hand and walked to the bar. She poured herself a stiff bourbon before making his scotch.

  “I’m curious to know what’s going on myself,” I said.

  Rich gave me another sour look. “He’s not gonna talk in front of you. You should leave.”

  “She stays,” Joan said. “She’s my daughter and an ex-cop with connections. Fia could help us.”

  “Damn it, Joan. Cops can’t be involved in this!”

  “Remember,” I said, “the operative word is ‘ex,’ as in no longer a police officer. I just want to help.” I was such a liar.

  The room grew quiet as we sat on the beige couches and waited for the arrival of Savarine. Though no one spoke, I could almost hear the thoughts whirring inside our heads.

  The sound of tires on the driveway pavers and the soft purr of an engine reached my ears. Clutching her drink, Joan rushed from the living room, through the front hall, to look out a window.

  “It’s him.”

  A minute later, she led Savarine into the room. His cologne smelled fresh, his suit was crisp, but he appeared to have gotten the worst of the fight with Rich. Several purple bruises blossomed on his narrow face, and he’d pasted a bandage above one eyebrow. It made him look more like a thug than ever.

  He stiffened when he saw me. “Why is she here?” Then he waved a dismissive hand, as if I wasn’t really important enough to worry about. “Rich, we need to talk … in the library.”

  “No.” Joan moved closer to Savarine. “I’ve been kept in the dark too long. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

  Savarine shook his head. “No way. Absolutely—”

  “Sit down, Joan!” Rich said. She shrugged and sat next to him.

  I glanced at Savarine. “I already know you’re worried about Onandi.”

  Savarine, who’d been standing on one of Joan’s silk carpets, whirled to face Rich. “You son of a bitch! Are you crazy? What did you tell her?”

  Before they resorted to fists again, I rushed on. “Rich didn’t tell me anything. I used to be a cop. There was a murder in my mother’s home, okay? So I did a little investigating on my own. You can understand that, right?”

  He stared at me, then nodded slightly. “Yeah … but forget about talking to the cops.”

  “Don’t worry, they aren’t involved in this. They’re too busy investigating Percy’s murder. And by the way,” I said, leaning back on the couch, watching their faces closely, “I heard the knife used on Percy wasn’t a household item, like a regular kitchen knife. It was a combat knife. Had a serrated blade and was about ten inches long. Ring a bell?”

  Savarine’s expression never changed, and if Rich knew anything, he was a master at not showing it. Joan paled slightly, and looked away from me. But she might only be lost in the remembered horror.

  Rich bared his bucked teeth in a disdainful smile. “You’re just a world-class detective, aren’t you? So, who told you that?”

  “Someone who knows someone with the Saratoga PD.”

  “Big deal. Who doesn’t already know a knife was used?”

  Joan was staring at Rich. An odd expression I couldn’t read crossed her face, then her gaze dropped to the floor.

  One of Savarine’s legs started shaking, like maybe the reality of Percy’s death was taking a hold on him. He lowered himself carefully onto the other end of my couch. “I don’t care what was used. I don’t want to be next. That’s why we have to work this out with Onandi. He’s got to let us step back from this thing.”

  Joan glared at Rich. “Step back from what?” When no one answered, her hand clawed at Rich’s sleeve. “Whatever it is, why can’t we just get on the next flight to California?”

  “It won’t make the problem go away, Joan.”

  “He’s right,” Savarine said. “Right now, we have to work out some sort of exit strategy with this guy.”

  “Goddamn it, Rich. Tell me what it is you need to exit from!”

  Rich responded by taking another swallow of scotch.

  “This is all linked to the hedge fund, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Savarine’s hooded eyes slid from me to Rich. “She knows too fucking much.”

  Joan jerked upright. “I knew it! That damn thing you bought into. Oh, yes, I know all about that, Rich. Fia tol
d me!”

  If looks could kill, Rich and Savarine would have dropped me dead where I stood.

  Joan’s cheeks flushed with anger. “You morons! You got us into this mess! Maybe you’re lucky Fia knows stuff. Maybe she can help.”

  I didn’t comment on that one, and for a few beats, nobody said a word. But I could almost see the men’s animosity swelling like a balloon in the space between them and me. Still, I had to ask.

  “Onandi’s the money behind your fund, isn’t he?”

  Savarine’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze dropped away from me, and he seemed to grow smaller. His shoulders sagged, and when he spoke, he sounded weak, defeated.

  “I didn’t know what he was doing! You have to understand, he lied to me.” He dropped his head into his hands, making his next words harder to understand. “How was I supposed to know he was running a pyramid scheme in Jamaica? That he’d bilked millions from his clients.”

  Joan gave a little gasp. “My God, Rich!”

  Then the words tumbled from Savarine’s mouth, as if once he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop. “And now, that son of a bitch has funneled the money through my hedge fund. He’s suckered us into running a money-laundering operation for him!” He stopped, as if temporarily spent.

  I glanced at Rich. “So why did you buy into the hedge fund? Surely someone with your business expertise suspected something? And you knew Onandi years ago. You knew what he was.”

  Rich just looked at me, but Savarine started in again.

  “Percy found out. He was going to the feds.” Savarine’s elbows pressed into his sides, making him appear to shrink even more. “Do you think Onandi killed him to keep him quiet? Oh, God,” he moaned. “And we’re in the middle of it.” His last words were so low I had to strain to hear them. Clearly, the man was terrified.

  “I bet that’s what happened,” Rich said. “I bet Onandi killed Percy, or maybe that Rastafarian that works for him.”

  “At least we’ve kept quiet about this,” Savarine said, “and Onandi knows it.”

  “What do you mean?” Rich asked.

  “I told you! I told you on the phone I’d talked to him. Remember? He wants to see us this afternoon so we can work this out. I told him we’d meet at my cousin’s restaurant, Zutti’s Café. Rico’s expecting us.”

  “Yeah,” Rich said, “I remember. When?”

  “Around three thirty. So we should get going.”

  I remembered listening to the recording of Savarine talking to Rico. He’d asked for the mobster’s protection, and now he probably felt safer meeting at Rico’s restaurant. I glanced at my watch. It was approaching three. I doubted the café opened before six, so this was a good time for them to meet.

  Joan rose from the couch. “I’m going with you, Rich. If you don’t let me, I’ll just follow.”

  Rich scowled at her. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t like this,” Savarine said.

  “Too bad, I’m coming.”

  I didn’t say a word. I had my own plans.

  I stood, walked into the kitchen and set my tote bag next to Joan’s purse, where she habitually left it on a small counter used as a telephone desk. I fished inside a zippered pocket of my tote and found the device I wanted. After switching it on, I dropped it into Joan’s purse, making sure it disappeared into the bottom beneath her wallet, cell phone, and makeup bag.

  I hurried back to the living room, almost bumping into Joan as she came to collect her purse. The men had their car keys out, ready to leave.

  Rich gave me a sour look. “Don’t try to follow us.”

  “Why would I do that? I’m just heading into town.”

  35

  As I sped over the stone bridge, I reached Calixto on his cell, and explained what had happened at Joan’s house.

  There was a short silence before he spoke. “Fia, I don’t think you should follow them.”

  “It’s just a meeting at a restaurant. I might learn something useful by tagging along.”

  “You aren’t thinking this through. The restaurant will be empty at this time of day. You can’t possibly go in there without being noticed. They will simply escort you out.”

  Calixto was starting to annoy me. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Querida, from what you have told me, these people are becoming desperate. Don’t do this.”

  “I’ll be fine, and besides, I feel like I should keep an eye on Joan. Just in case.”

  “So, you admit that something could go wrong?”

  “No. I just want to watch my mother’s back a little.”

  “Fia, you are not a police officer, you do not have a gun. Stay out of this.”

  “I’m not abandoning my mother!”

  “Like she abandoned you?”

  I had no comeback for that. Holding the phone away from my ear, I glared at it, brought it back, and said, “Let me think a minute.”

  Calixto didn’t respond, leaving the line open with an empty feel to it.

  On either side of the road the woods were thinning as we drew closer to Route 9. I accelerated the Mini until I could just make out the tail end of Rich’s Mercedes in the distance.

  It wasn’t in my nature to leave Joan to fend for herself. I could see Rico and his affiliates protecting Savarine. After all, Savarine was “family.” But my mother? If something went wrong, why would they care about her? She’d be considered collateral damage.

  Besides, I wanted to know what was going on. Okay, I admit it, I couldn’t bear not to know.

  “Calixto,” I said, “have you forgotten that we were directed by Gunny to keep an eye on Savarine and his hedge fund?”

  He had no comeback for that, so I continued.

  “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Fia—”

  I shut the phone off, and focused on Rich’s Mercedes barely visible ahead. I knew where they were going, but I felt better keeping them in sight. Things happens. Plans change. Who knew what underlying agenda men like Rich, Savarine, and Onandi might have?

  Face it, my mother had married a crook. He and Savarine could play the we-didn’t-know card all they wanted, but I wasn’t buying it. Serve them right if they both went to jail.

  Far ahead, Savarine, who led the pack, hit Route 9 and sped recklessly down the highway. Fortunately, when the road merged onto Broadway, he was forced to slow down for traffic and I didn’t lose them completely.

  As I drove, I remembered Savarine’s complaints to Rico that night at the restaurant. He’d accused Rico of hurting him by connecting him with a man like Onandi. Had Savarine been so stupid as to think his mobster cousin would set him up with a trustworthy partner?

  I bet Rich had never bothered to warn Savarine about Onandi, either. And now, Onandi was making a fortune using Savarine’s racing fund. Did Rich and Savarine really think the Jamaican would give them an easy out? For all I knew, Onandi and Rico might have some unholy alliance about which the other two men were clueless.

  I had no answers. All I knew was that tangling with the Saratoga mob had almost cost me my life. And now, Joan was running to Rico with Savarine and Rich. In spite of my reassurances to Calixto, the whole thing gave me a really bad feeling.

  Get a grip, Fia. It’s only a business meeting.

  I dropped even farther behind as we drew close to Zutti’s. When Rich and Savarine’s cars pulled in to the restaurant’s lot, I drove past the entrance, and steered the Mini into an alley on the far side of the restaurant. I eased to a stop next to a Dumpster, then sardined the Mini into a spot between it and a metal fence. I’d always loved this about my little car, that I could squeeze it in almost anywhere.

  I climbed out and walked down the alley to the rear of the restaurant. A man in a white tank stood on a rear deck outside, finishing a cigarette. He squinted at me through the curling smoke, stubbed out the butt, and went inside. Before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of a tile floor and shelves laden with supplies.


  I kept walking behind Zutti’s and glimpsed around the back edge of the building in time to see Savarine, Rich, and Joan hurrying around the front corner. I sped forward and watched Rich enter Zutti’s behind Joan. She was carrying her purse.

  I turned my phone on and texted Calixto, “I’m fine. They are in Zutti’s.”

  His words came right back. “I know, I am watching.”

  I scanned the area, but saw nothing.

  “Do you and Brian have me on satellite?”

  “Of course.”

  I waved at the sky, just as a long black limo nosed its way down the street and stopped in front of Zutti’s. It looked like the one Onandi had brought to Joan’s garden party, the one Detective Ferguson had said was bulletproof. Did Onandi have a private jet he carried the thing around in?

  The windows were heavily tinted, and I couldn’t see inside as Onandi and the Rastafarian climbed out the opposite side before heading into the restaurant.

  I glanced across the street, scanning up and down the block. I walked to the curb, turned around, and studied the storefronts on both sides of Zutti’s. A current of air brought the scent of chocolate to my nose. Two doors to my right was a bakery.

  I zipped back down the alley to my car, dug around in my carryall, extracted a different jacket and my only other wig, a red one. I changed jackets, pulled the wig onto my head, and using my makeup bag, darkened my eyes and applied black Goth lipstick. For good measure, I put on a pair of tortoiseshell glasses with fake lenses. I’d used them and the red wig in Florida when I’d adopted the role of Kate O’Brien. I realized I hadn’t played Kate since I’d first met Calixto.

  I jogged back to the bakery, hurried inside, and stared at the selection of cakes, pies, and cookies inside the glass counter. Nothing looked as good as what they sold in Zutti’s. At least, not until a stout woman appeared from the back bearing a tray of cannoli.

  “Oh,” I said, “those are just what I need!”

  She tilted her head up enough that she could look down her nose at me. “You’ll have to get in line, miss. Let Rudy help you. When he’s free.”

  I assumed the guy behind the case with a line of three customers was Rudy. I pulled out my wallet, withdrew a wad of bills, and waved them at the woman.