Antonio faced him sharply. “Has he got anything?”
Rico shook his head.
“What the fuck? Why do we pay these animals?” Antonio took another snort and wiped his nose. “Does Annabel know anything?”
“No,” Rico said, “but there’s something else.”
“What is it?”
“Monroe thinks the guy at the club is holding out on something.”
Fernando’s and Antonio’s eyes widened.
“He thinks he really knows where Tobias lives.”
“And what’s he doing about it?” Fernando asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Antonio said. “That won’t do.” He grunted and lit a cigarette. “This whole thing is getting out of fucking control,” he shouted and took a deep breath. “Right, this is what I want both of you to do.”
5. Questionable Loyalties
Juan rose to his feet upon seeing Jorge and Eduardo enter the room. He embraced both men and studied their faces. “Look at you two. Tirianna was good to you. Look at your fucking tans.”
Jorge laughed and sat down. “It was great out there. You really need to go home sometime. America isn’t going anywhere.”
Juan smiled as he took his seat. Reynaldo and Eduardo sat down, too.
“So how did it go?” Juan asked.
Jorge smiled broadly and nodded at all four men on the opposite side of the table. “Fucking brilliantly.”
Juan’s eyes widened.
“They loved your proposition. They’ll go for it. And not only that, they’ll provide protection even past Mexico with their own men.”
Jorge stood up, frowning slightly. “And the Mexicans?”
“Not going to be a problem.”
Juan wiped the bridge of his nose. “I trust you, Jorge. Sometimes more than I even trust myself, but this sounds too good to be true.” He shook his head. “Why would Hector guarantee a shipment like that as far as Mexico for us? We’re his main competition in Tirianna.”
Eduardo leaned forward and rubbed the fingers of his right hand together as if he were caressing money. “It’s for the American dollar, boss. One hundred million for this deal alone, and after that, who knows?”
Juan lit another cigar and took a long drag. “So you’re telling me that Hector is willing to work with us without causing any trouble, even after our history?”
Jorge smiled. “You know Hector and I go way back. His grandkid goes to the same school as Ed’s. We’re tight with him”—he glanced at Eduardo—“both of us, just as you once were, too. But since we work for you, he won’t cause any problems.”
Juan pounded the table and laughed coarsely. “Jorge, Jorge, where would I be without you, huh? Come here.” He gave Jorge an embrace and poured him a glass of brandy.
They settled back in their seats, and the men talked among themselves for a few minutes. When Jorge raised his hands to speak, Juan waved everyone to silence.
“We hear you might have some problems,” Jorge said, “something to do with the suspect in Penélope’s death.”
Juan nodded and whispered in the ear of Andrés, who then motioned for Nino and Pablo to leave the room. Reynaldo followed suit after Jorge nodded at him. With three of his comisionados in the room, Juan stood and placed both hands at the back of his head, interlocking his fingers.
“Rumors, my friend,” he said, “how quickly they spread.” He smiled. “It’s a mess, a whole heap of crap.” He looked at Jorge and saw that he was listening intently. “I get a call on my cell today saying that my nephew’s woman is dead. Naturally, I’m wondering what’s happened to my nephew? He never lets that girl out of his sight, so I’m thinking the worst.” He sat down. “Anyway, it’s about 1 p.m. when my guy at the precinct calls to say that my nephew reported the crime and that they have a suspect. I now have a smile on my face, but wait for it.” He took a deep breath. “He then tells me that word around the precinct is that this suspect might have some damning evidence on me, the kind that can send me away for life.”
Jorge frowned and leaned forward.
Juan held both hands out. “Now, what could put me away for life apart from that thing last week? It must be it. Someone must have seen or heard something and is now talking. But what I don’t get is what some standard punk has to do with it. This evidence—whatever it is—had to have come from somewhere.”
Silence filled the room. Jorge ran his fingers along the table in a circular motion, his lips twitching. Juan looked at Andrés and Eduardo, who focused only on what Jorge was doing.
Jorge rose. “There’s something wrong with this picture. This man, whoever he is, must be working with someone.”
Juan walked forward with his hands clenched. “One of us?”
Jorge half-nodded. “I think so.” He looked toward the door and back at Juan. “What do we know about this guy, anyway? Is he like us? Is he in the game?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Juan said. “My man in the precinct thinks he’s just a regular Joe, a Wall Street computer whiz, in fact.”
“Then he’s either working with someone or this is all bullshit.”
Juan growled and stamped his feet on the floor. “But while this rumor circulates, I’ve got to do something. We have to get to him before the police find him.”
“So they haven’t got him?” Jorge started to pace.
“I don’t think they know where he is,” Juan said. “My man tells me they don’t even have a clear ID yet.”
“I say we just put a bullet in him the minute he pops up,” Eduardo said, “and just end this whole nonsense.”
Jorge dismissed his comments with a wave of his hand. “We have to tread carefully here. The feds are already on everyone’s back about the other thing. Taking this guy out will only draw more attention.” He turned to Juan. “Have you spoken to your nephew?”
“He says he knows nothing.”
Jorge gave Juan a long, questioning look.
“No,” Juan said. “You can’t be serious. I’m his uncle.”
“And he craves power,” Andrés said, lines forming along his gaunt neck. “I’ve seen that boy’s eyes. The coke’s slowly taking bits of him away. All he sees now is the power.”
Juan slammed his hands on the table. “Enough of this. There will be no talk of that here. He’s my kid brother’s boy, and I owe that man my life. It could so easily be me in the pen, with him here in my place. I refuse to believe Antonio has anything to do with this.”
The three comisionados nodded in unison
“We need to handle this, one way or the other.”
“Then let me talk to someone in the department,” Jorge said, “one of my guys. He works in internal affairs, no affiliation with our people in there. He’ll hear things none of our other guys can. If there’s anything to fear, we’ll know about it.”
Juan sat down. “Get it done, but leave my nephew out of it. I want him to continue handling it as he said he would. If he’s trying to fuck me, I guess we’ll soon find out.” He ushered everyone out of the room and swiveled his chair to face the wall.
***
Tobias stirred in his bed, his left arm numb from lying on it. He slowly opened his eyes to the glare of the sun coming through a small gap in the curtains. He felt drowsy and sluggish. He rubbed his eyes and huffed after noticing that he had slept in his clothes. He sat up to see that the clock on the wall said 9:30 a.m. Confused, he looked out the window again and quickly realized he had slept for over twelve hours, missing his planned night at the Roof Garden. He reached for his phone and saw that he’d missed a few calls from Chris, but still nothing from Penélope. His mind was filled with worry for her safety.
He felt hunger and looked through his fridge, but most of the food had expired. He ruffled his hair in the mirror and took a ten-minute shower. He then rode the elevator to the bottom floor and headed out to do some quick food shopping.
After leaving his apartment on West Eleventh Street, he walked along through G
reenwich Avenue and West Eighth Street to the nearby Jas Mart. He frowned upon realizing that the store was much busier than usual. He moved swiftly from section to section and limited himself to buying just enough food for the day.
He greeted a number of his neighbors on his return but cut the conversations short. He nodded at the apartment building’s doorman on the way back up to his apartment, wondering why he had never seen him in the building before. The doorman didn’t acknowledge him. Wearing a cap low on his face, his eyes remained hard as stone, making Tobias’ hands twitch. He stole another look before pressing the fourth-floor button. He thought he saw the man staring at him.
As he entered his apartment, he contemplated what he’d seen but quickly shrugged it off. He cooked scrambled eggs and sausages and added toast and cereal to the meal. He booted up his laptop computer and went to his Facebook profile. He searched for the Roof Garden’s page and saw that the pictures from Saturday night were not yet up. He sat still for a moment before going through the entire photo gallery until he saw the album for Friday night.
He scrolled through eighty pictures—many taken near his cabana, some with side shots of him—before he saw one with Penélope and Annabel. They looked beautiful, smiling broadly at the camera. He then felt for his cell but saw that it was on the cabinet next to the TV. Its battery had died, so he put it on “charge” and continued going through the pictures.
After he reached the end, he went back to the one with Penélope and clicked on the “Like” button beneath it. Then he posted a comment: “Beauty, Elegance and Class. Love it!!”
He heard his phone make a loud sound and walked over to find that it had turned on. He had missed two calls from unknown numbers, but still none from Penélope. He frowned at the ceiling, still angry with himself for letting her leave without getting to the root of her fear.
He attempted to call Chris back but gave up after being sent to voice mail for the fifth time. He dialed Penélope’s number again and received the same lack of response. He scratched his head and took a swig of orange juice. When his phone vibrated, he saw that someone had responded to his Facebook post.
He walked to his computer and clicked on the “notifications” button. His friend Amber Harris had written, “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? It’s such a shame what happened to her!!”
Tobias grimaced. “What’re you talking about, Amber?” he wrote. “What happened to her?”
He waited anxiously by the computer until his phone vibrated two minutes later. His screen automatically refreshed itself with the message: “Where have you been? Don’t you know what happened to her? It’s been all over the news this morning!!”
Tobias almost tripped as he rushed to the kitchen, where he remembered putting the remote control. He turned the TV on and tuned to FOX News. They were reporting on the world’s global economic crisis, and Tobias hit his hand against the couch in frustration, eager for the news to change. When the anchor, a young woman with mousy brown hair, appeared on the screen, Tobias listened intently:
“The hunt is still on for the killer of financial wizard Connor Murray,” she said. “Mr. Murray was shot six times in the chest and once in the head near Van Cortlandt Park last week. The New York Police Department is still pleading for eyewitnesses to come forward. It’s still believed that Mr. Murray’s shooting is somehow connected to the damaging reports that have been surfacing about his affiliation with some of the organized crime families in New York City.”
The woman continued on the same subject, but Tobias couldn’t concentrate on it. The news of Connor Murray’s slaying had filled every TV and radio news report for the nine days since it happened. He had been an influential man on Wall Street, but revelations had started to come out about his involvement with organized crime. He was implicated in money-laundering schemes, drugs, racketeering, human trafficking and all form of nastiness not expected of a blue-eyed Harvard graduate.
The list of people associated with his crimes had grown steadily over the course of a six-month investigation of him. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him, Tobias had initially thought, and considering the influence of his enemies, it was highly unlikely that any witnesses would come forward.
The broadcast segued to a reporter who said a few words outside one of the financial institutions on Wall Street. She showed pictures of Murray ranging from his days at Harvard to his time as vice president of one of the big investment banks. He was a handsome man. His coiffed blond hair gave him a movie-star appeal. How deceiving looks were.
Tobias paid attention again when the anchorwoman reappeared on the screen.
“In other news, the body of a twenty-nine-year-old woman discovered yesterday in Pelham Bay Park has officially been identified. She is believed to be Penélope Salazar, girlfriend of mobster Antonio Cabrera, supposed heir to The Dominguez Criminal Organization.”
Tobias clutched his throat, bent over and vomited violently. His hands trembled as he took deep breaths, and his vision grew blurry. Penélope was dead. How the hell did that happen? The kind, affectionate woman he had seen only a few days ago had been murdered, a woman who got his heart racing every time he thought of her.
He walked toward the window, his mind shifting in multiple directions. How can she be dead? I only saw her...The girlfriend of a mobster? That can’t be right. She said she lived with her brother. Fuck, fuck. Did her boyfriend kill her? What if they know I was with her? Shit. Shit. Then he remembered Annabel. Surely she would have told them everything about him. What if they were on their way to kill him right now? What if he was a suspect?
He had never seen the doorman downstairs before. What if he was the one they’d sent to pull the trigger? He rushed to the door and tugged at it to make sure it was locked. But they’ll probably have a key. He pushed the couch against the door but wondered if it would hold. He poured himself a glass of vodka, unsure of what else to do. He gulped it down with trembling hands. Seconds later, he poured another one. The newscast showed the area around Pelham Bay Park. He concentrated again on the reporter’s words.
“The body was severely mutilated, making formal identification extremely difficult. Although a friend identified Penélope’s body yesterday morning, dental records and fingerprint analysis are also being used to assist. The NYPD has also reported that they have an actual suspect but are not yet divulging any information.”
Footage depicted a tall, tanned man with dark hair and a large tattoo of a prancing bull on his neck.
“They have not commented on whether Antonio Cabrera—seen here leaving a courtroom after being acquitted of assault and battery—is officially a suspect, but they have said that they have spoken at great length with Mr. Cabrera and he is officially helping them with their inquiries.”
Tobias was flustered. He knew that once DNA was taken, along with Annabel’s testament, they would realize he had been with her on the night before she died. He squeezed his head and paced. He had heard nasty things about The Dominguez Organization, especially Antonio Cabrera. If he were the suspect in Penélope’s murder, the gangster would most certainly want to see him killed. Penélope. Oh fuck, Penélope. She can’t be dead. She just can’t.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed Chris. Again, it went straight to voice mail. “Fuck, fuck!” He dropped the phone and rummaged through the kitchen drawers until he found an old pack of cigarettes. He immediately lit one.
The sound of his ringing cell startled him. He ran tap water over the cigarette, threw it into the wastebasket and ran to the phone.
“Hello, Tobias,” a woman’s voice said. It was deep and somewhat muffled but sounded vaguely familiar.
“Who’s this?”
“A friend. Possibly the only friend you’ve got left.”
6. Conversation by Telephone
Tobias stood in the middle of his living room, unable to speak. His heart was beating so fast he thought he would pass out at any minute. He looked at his phone again, and the number st
ill displayed as unknown.
“Who’s this?” he demanded. “How do you know my name?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” the woman said, “but you have probably four minutes to do exactly as I say.”
Tobias edged toward the window, leaned against the wall and peeked outside. Four police cars had pulled up across the street from his apartment. He ducked, panting rapidly.
“Listen to me,” the woman said. “You’ve got to act now or they’ll be there before you know it.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“First of all, I need to know if you have the memory stick.”
“The what? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay, it’s like this. You have something a lot of people want, and they’ll kill you for it.”
“What the fuck have I got?! And why are the police coming for me?”
“Stop fucking talking and listen! ... Now, I need you to look around your apartment for a memory stick. It looks like a fountain pen, but it opens in the middle and you should see a USB connector.”
“I don’t think there’s anything like that here.”
“There is. You just haven’t realized you have it yet.”
Tobias rushed to the couch, threw the cushions to the floor and searched every crevice. He lifted it up and looked underneath. “There’s nothing here.”
The woman didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Go to the bedroom.”
Tobias glanced toward the room, deep in thought, wondering who the woman was and how she knew so much about his situation.
“Don’t think,” she shouted, “just do it!”
Tobias rushed into the bedroom and emptied his drawers. Nothing. He searched behind the TV and in the wardrobe.
“You need to hurry,” the woman said. “You now have less than two minutes.”
Tobias started to breathe heavily as he imagined what the people coming for him would do. They could only be gangsters posing as police officers. He stood by the bed, trying to think of where else to look, and realized he had not checked under it.
The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy) Page 5
