Sounds of laughter came from the living room. Antonio walked closely behind the woman, his shoulders hunched and his head tilting from side to side. The walk to the large oak doors that led to the living room was a relatively long one. Although the sensitivity of their jobs forced everyone in their organization to live humbly, Rodrigo had one of the bigger homes. And it was graced with diamond-encrusted mirrors on the ceiling, paintings from all over the world and numerous ancient artifacts bought at prestigious auctions.
The woman pushed the door open to reveal a large room with a huge fireplace. She led them past the sofas and toward the dining area, where five men sat on padded chairs overlooking a gigantic cider table. Pedro Cruz, an ejecutor for Eduardo, saw them first and quickly signaled Rodrigo, who sat beside him.
The host dropped the cards and placed both hands on the table as all three men stood in front of the table. Checking his phone, Reynaldo looked up after realizing the room had gone silent. His face hardened when he noticed Antonio standing a few feet from him.
“I’ve got no problems with anyone here,” Antonio said. “We’ve just come here to play some cards.”
Rico studied everyone seated at the table. Rodrigo sat directly opposite them at the head of the table. Beside him was the baby-faced Pedro and the elegantly dressed pretty boy Salvatore Campos—another ejecutor for Eduardo—his designer goatee a fine work of art. Reynaldo sat beside Pedro, while Andrés’ ejecutor, Nino, sat opposite him. With Antonio being the only comisionado in the game, he held rank and could insist that the game be canceled. Doing anything other than accepting his offer to join the game would have been stupid.
“Sure,” Rodrigo said. “Please take a seat.”
Antonio smiled at Reynaldo as he sat down. Fernando took a seat beside him, while Rico remained standing.
“What’s wrong?” Salvatore said to Rico. “You too good to play on our table?”
Rico dismissed the comment and shifted his gaze toward the door.
“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Antonio said. “So are we going to play or are we just going to sit here like a bunch of kids?”
“No, we’ll play,” Rodrigo said. He shuffled the cards while watching Antonio. The table remained silent.
“Come on,” Antonio said. “Is this the way to play poker? What happened to all the laughter I heard when I came in here?” He looked at Rodrigo. “What are the stakes anyway?”
“No limits,” Reynaldo said.
Antonio laughed. “Good thing I’ve come prepared.” He pulled out a money clip holding at least $10,000 and stared into the face of every man at the table. He snorted some more cocaine and wiped his nose.
Rodrigo—still shuffling the cards—glanced at Reynaldo before returning his gaze to Antonio.
“Any of you got a problem with me doing that?” Antonio said.
Each man shook his head.
“Good.” He started counting his money.
“So how are you holding up?” Nino asked Antonio.
Antonio stopped counting and stared at him. “How do you mean?”
“You know, the whole Penélope thing.”
Antonio dropped the money onto the table and interlocked his fingers. “What’s done is done. I just hope my uncle stops trusting idiots to bring her killer in.” Rico tapped Antonio on the shoulder. He looked at Rico and nodded. “You know, I didn’t come here to talk about my dead girlfriend. I just want to play poker.”
“So she’s you’re girlfriend now?” Reynaldo said with anger in his eyes.
“What was that?” Antonio folded his arms.
“No, I’m just confused. I mean, I’ve heard people say that you only went with her because you lost Annabel to me.”
Rico stepped forward. “Watch your mouth. You’re talking to a comisionado.”
“We’re all men here, right?” Reynaldo said. “After all is said and done, we’re just trying to make money. So why can’t we just settle everything right here, right now?”
“Fine,” Antonio said.
“Guys,” Rodrigo said, “aren’t we here to play cards?”
“Your cards can wait,” Antonio said. “Reynaldo and I need to sort this out. It’s been going on for too long.” He glared at Reynaldo. “Speak your mind then.”
Reynaldo held his hands out. “I’m just saying that you didn’t really care about Penélope.”
“But how do you know? You don’t do girlfriends. You just fuck the next tramp that will have you.”
“And, of course, the woman who didn’t want to be with you. How does it feel, knowing that I won?”
“Reynaldo!” Rico moved toward him, but Antonio held him back.
“Annabel and I had our time and it passed,” Antonio said. “I fell in love with Penélope.”
“And you accuse me of sleeping with whores?”
Most of the men at the table gasped. Some fidgeted in their chairs. Antonio squeezed his palms together his scowl intensifying and his eyes turning red.
“That’s low,” Nino said. “You can’t speak of the dead like that.”
Reynaldo sniggered. “A dead whore is still a whore.”
Antonio pushed past Rico and kicked Reynaldo to the floor and punched him in the face. He pulled out his gun and smashed the butt of it against his nose. “Who the fuck do you think I am?” Antonio growled. “You think you can just talk to me like that?” He struck his head with the butt of the gun until blood splattered the cream carpets. He pounded so hard that the sound of cracking bone could be heard.
He finally stopped hitting Reynaldo’s lifeless body after a few minutes and stared at his bloodstained hands. All the men got to their feet and looked across the table at the dead ejecutor, their mouths open in horror. Red stains spread from the carpet to the walls. Antonio looked at the unrecognizable corpse and rose to see Rico looking at him with a mixture of disgust and shock.
Antonio pulled out one of his miniature bottles of cocaine and snorted into his left nostril. He looked at the corpse again. “Who’s the whore now?” He raised his voice. “Who’s the fucking whore now?”
Rodrigo drew his gun and pointed it at Antonio. Rico and Fernando immediately pulled theirs and aimed them at Rodrigo.
“You fucking killed him,” Rodrigo said, “in my fucking house.”
“Put the gun down, Rodrigo,” Rico said.
“Fuck that! He fucking killed Reynaldo for no fucking reason.”
“You don’t point a gun at a comisionado, ever. Now put the fucking gun down.”
Breathing heavily, Rodrigo cast glances at the men around the table, all of whom stared at the dead man. He put his gun down after a few minutes. Rico ran toward him and grabbed him by the neck. “I should fucking kill you. That’s Juan’s nephew. You got a death wish or something?”
“That’s it,” Antonio said. “No more. Let him go, Rico. I didn’t come here for this. You all saw what he did. I came to play cards and he called my dead girlfriend a whore.”
The men all nodded.
“I’m going to go now. There’s a lot of heat on me right now. I can’t be involved in this.” He walked up to Rico. “Can you clean this up?” he whispered.
Rico nodded, and Antonio left the living room with Fernando. The large-breasted woman stood by the door with tears in her eyes.
The other men looked at Rico after the door shut, their faces filled with shock and disgust.
“What the fuck was that?” Nino demanded.
Rico knelt beside the corpse and studied it for a moment. Pieces of the skull were exposed. He looked up at Rodrigo. “You need to take care of this.”
“Fuck that. Antonio killed him. He should get rid of the body.”
Rico rose. “Can you fucking hear yourself? This isn’t about Reynaldo or Antonio anymore. It’s not about you, me or any one of us. It’s about the family. If just one of us goes down for murder, they’ll start breathing down all our necks. Reynaldo’s death needs to look like a mugging or something.”
“A
nd what mugger would do that to someone?” Salvatore shouted. “That body is fucking mutilated.”
Rico slammed his hands on the table. “I don’t have time to argue with any of you. This body needs to be out of here as soon as possible. You need to tell our guys in the NYPD so they get the report straight.”
Rico holstered his gun and turned around. He was headed for the door when Nino called out to him.
“Do you think Antonio was right in killing him like that?”
Rico put his hand over his nose and looked at the floor. “No. Reynaldo didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
19. A Time of Grief
Tobias yawned when he returned from the bathroom. Annabel stood in front of the drawn curtains with a newspaper in her hand, scowling. He returned to the bed and lay on his back. He stared at the ceiling as he lifted his leg. The pain had subsided considerably after nearly three weeks of recuperating.
He had enjoyed the way Annabel treated him in that time. He almost wished they could live there forever. He got back to his feet and put a T-shirt on, the pain no more than a slight twinge he felt when he walked. Annabel now had a cigarette in her mouth, the newspaper on the table beside her, but her scowl was still present.
“What’s wrong?” Tobias asked.
She stared at him with anger in her eyes and walked out of the room. “I’m going for a walk.”
He followed her to the door. “What’s happened? Why are you—”
The door slammed, leaving him speechless. He returned to the room and picked up the newspaper, searching for what she might have read. He found it on the fifth page:
The gang war plaguing New York City has claimed yet another victim. Reynaldo Machado, a senior member of The Dominguez Criminal Organization, was found beaten beyond recognition in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, on Saturday afternoon. Police have suggested that Reynaldo might have been the victim of a mugging that went awry. FBI Deputy Director Ross Wheeler, however, believes that his death is linked to the previous violent murders that have been connected to the organization, including the grisly killing of Penélope Salazar. The main suspect in that killing, Tobias Mead, is still at large, along with possible accomplice, Annabel Lopez.
Tobias threw the paper to the floor and slammed his hand against the window frame. “What the fuck’s happening?” He looked back at the paper. It was open to a page with a picture of a man with a long gray beard. He trembled as he picked the paper back up, his eyes turning red as he read on:
German steel magnate Albert Eichelberger was killed on Friday night in what is being described as a gangland-style assassination. Eichelberger was shot in the chest four times after attending a play at a theater in Düsseldorf, his hometown. A man was seen fleeing the scene moments later, but police say they have not obtained a description.
There are no suspects in the slaying, although senior members of law enforcement agencies in Germany and the United States are suggesting that he might have been killed by the same people who killed Wall Street whiz kid, Connor Murray. Eichelberger was one of the people named in the damning report linking the banker to numerous organized crime operations.
Worth billions, Eichelberger has been repeatedly linked to senior members of the Russian and Italian mafias as well as large American drug cartels. He had maintained the legitimacy of all his businesses, reminding all who leveled allegations at him that he had never been charged with anything.
There was a grainy picture beneath the article, but it would be obvious to anyone in the know that it was Tobias. He swallowed with a dry throat, nearly choking. He poured a glass of water in the kitchen and gulped it down. His heart pounded. He felt dizzy but had to know what else the story said. He picked up the paper and continued reading:
Although it is not known exactly how much Eichelberger was worth, his lawyers have confirmed that his entire estate has been left to his estranged grandson, Siegfried Eichelberger, whose whereabouts are unknown. Siegfried, however, is said to have rejected his grandfather’s fortune due to a long-running feud.
It is unknown what will happen to the Eichelberger legacy, but—
The front door slammed and Tobias looked up to see Annabel staring at him. She leaned against the couch with her fists clenched. Tobias put the paper on the table and approached her.
“You’ve got no fucking money, right?” she growled.
“You don’t understand?”
“Don’t try to get out of this. You’re worth billions and yet you said nothing. I risked my life for you. I can’t go home. I can’t stay in the states and we’re running out of money, and yet all this time you didn’t think to tell me that your grandfather was this mega-rich guy.”
Tobias walked toward her and extended his hand, but Annabel shunned it and walked away. Tobias scratched his head and followed her. “He’s always been dead to me. I hadn’t spoken to him for years. My parents pretty much died because of him. I wasn’t going to let him buy me back with money. I have too much integrity for that.”
“Not now you don’t,” she screamed. “Or are you still not getting it? Everything you were is over, but with that money you can buy your freedom.”
“And sell my soul?” he shouted. “No, I won’t do that. I’d rather die.”
“But what about me? I sacrificed myself for you. Are you so fucking selfish that you don’t care?”
“I didn’t fucking ask you to!” He kicked the couch. “Maybe you should have just left me to die. All these people are probably dying ’cause I’m alive. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
Annabel sat on the sofa. Tobias sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. “Even if I did want to take the money,” he said, looking at the ceiling, “first I’ll have to find a way of getting to Germany. Can you see that happening with everyone here after us?”
“There’s a solution to everything, but first I need to know whether you’ll go ahead with it. No one will think any less of you if you took that money. Your parents won’t turn in their graves. If anything, you’re having the last laugh. A ‘fuck you’ to your grandfather. With his money, you’ll be setting yourself free.”
He stared at her. “Say we do go over there and get it—then what? Where do we go from there?”
She stood and grabbed his hands. “Wherever we go, it’ll be difficult, but how much easier would it be if we had that money? A million dollars would be perfect, but imagine how far we can go with a billion.”
Tobias pulled his hands away and frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
***
“This just won’t do,” Wheeler said. The deputy director paced around Tom’s office like a man possessed. The newspaper article on Albert Eichelberger was on the screen. “How did we miss this? Tobias is the grandson of one of Europe’s biggest gangsters and we only find out after he’s killed in yet another gangland assassination?”
“We’re still chasing every possible lead to catch them, sir,” Emma said.
“Not good enough! There’s a connection with all these murders, and I want to know what it is. Eichelberger and Machado dying on the same day is too big a coincidence.”
The room remained quiet for a moment. Tom and Emma exchanged glances.
“Well, what progress have we made so far?”
Tom swallowed before rising. “Sir, I think this whole thing is a multi-headed Hydra and we have to look at each one independently. I’m not saying they’re not connected somehow, but we need to pick at it piece by piece.”
Wheeler sat down and took a swig from his glass of water. “Talk to me. What’re you thinking?”
Tom stood in front of the projector. “What if The Dominguez Organization is trying to wipe out all involvement with the Connor Murray debacle? What if Connor’s and Eichelberger’s murders were simply to eradicate all evidence of their complicity.”
“But what about the others? I mean, what have we got? Penélope, Reynaldo, Chris Hawkins and now the Madisons, not to mention Nathan. This is getting out of
hand, folks. I want to know the cartel’s connection in all this. Don’t tell me there isn’t one either.” He stood up. “We’ve now found out that Tobias Mead is actually Siegfried Eichelberger, grandson of one of the men you think Juan and company are taking out. So tell me how he fits into this.”
Tom took a deep breath. “I actually believe that Tobias was nothing more than a man in the wrong place with the wrong girl. I think Penélope’s murder was rage and jealousy on the part of Antonio. His girlfriend had just cheated on him. We all know how much of a hothead he is. We can’t be sure of Juan’s part in all this. All we know is that word around the police precincts is that Tobias has serious evidence against him, evidence that can put him away for life. We’re still trying to find out just what this evidence is and if it’s actually real. As for Tobias being Albert’s grandson, what if it’s not a coincidence at all?”
Wheeler returned to his seat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked around the room. “So what about Reynaldo? Who killed him?”
“Well, we certainly don’t believe it was a mugger,” Emma said, rising. “We now know that Reynaldo was a love rival to none other than Antonio himself.” Wheeler’s eyes widened. “Antonio actually dated Annabel before he even noticed Penélope, but it seems he lost her affections to a certain Mr. Machado, something we’re sure the comisionado didn’t take too well.”
Wheeler leaned forward. “What are you telling me? That Antonio was seeing Annabel before Penélope?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom said.
The deputy director scratched his head. “What do we know about Annabel?”
“Nothing concrete,” Tom said. “But we’ve been to see her foster mom, and she’s been telling us about something she thinks happened in Mexico, something that changed her.”
“Changed her how?”
“We don’t know,” Emma said. “But we’re still looking into it. And, sir, you should probably know that Annabel’s mother was once a mental patient.”
The Kiss after Midnight (The Midnight Trilogy) Page 17
