Gagliano,Anthony - Straits of Fortune.wps

by Unknown

  The couples at the tables were leaning into their conversa- tions, their faces aglow with candlelight and probably co- caine, which I could have used a bit of myself at that point, it having been a longish couple of days. "What are you doing?" Nick said desperately. "Put that away!" "Let me ask you a question, Nick. How crazy do you think I am?" "What kind of question is that to ask a person? I don't know. I have no idea. Personally, I never thought you were crazy. A bit stupid perhaps, but not crazy." "Did your sister ever tell you I was crazy? Did she?" I jabbed him with the barrel of the gun. "No! Never! She never said you were crazy. I swear to God she didn't!" "Well, guess what? She lied! I am the craziest person here tonight! Next to me, Williams is a bishop. Do you under- stand what I'm saying to you? Do you? Repeat it so I can hear it: `You are the craziest son of a bitch I ever met.' Go on!" I put the gun a little closer to his pancreas. "You are the craziest son of a bitch I ever met," he said meekly. "You don't sound convinced. Say it louder. Say it! Say it before I pitch you over the side!" "You can't do that. I might land on someone!" "That'll be their problem. They've got no business being in this hellhole anyway." "All right, okay! You are the craziest son of a bitch I've ever met! I mean it, Jack. At first I didn't, but now I do. You're fucking insane. I think you're even crazier than Williams." "Right now I take that as a compliment." I stuck the gun back under my shirt. Nick relaxed visibly, but I didn't want him too relaxed, so I grabbed his elbow and pushed down on the ulnar nerve with my thumb. He tried to pull away, but 171

  I held him. "Walk ahead of me," I told him. "We're going down and get your sister. Try to run away and I'm going to kick a bone loose in your ass." I expected him to make a break for it, but he stayed just ahead of me as we edged past the tables and toward the carpeted stairs. Maybe it was the beginning of old age, and maybe it was the mileage of the last few days, but Embers seemed like bedlam to me now, and I wanted to get out of the place as soon as possible. I needed to get Vivian and her brother to someplace quiet where we could have our long- overdue sit-down, someplace with a couple of steel chairs without cushions, a few bottles of truth serum, several pairs of handcuffs, and an overhead light that never blinked. It was even harder to move on the ground floor than it had been on the stairwell, and it took a good five minutes to slowly weave my way to the spot on the dance floor where I had seen Vivian dancing. I went through beautiful women without seeing them. The music banged at my ears like a storm. I was as focused as a bloodhound on speed, and I had to do a fair bit of shoving. Not everybody liked it. A tall kid with a GQ face started to object, but something in my expression seemed to discourage him. I caught his eye and held it briefly, but in that moment I had read his mind to perfection: This guy's a fucking cop. Once you get that look, you never lose it. Vivian wasn't dancing anymore when I found her. She was sitting at the horseshoe-shaped bar at the raised center of the dance floor with a drink in her hand. She had her back to me. A tall man in a black shirt and black pants was light- ing her cigarette as I sat down next to her. Nick was stand- ing beside me, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I tapped her gently on the shoulder. I guess she was used to people doing that, because she didn't turn around, so I rapped on her beautiful bronze shoulder with my knuckles 172

  as though it were a door. The man in black gave me a hard look that I ignored. Vivian turned around, and her mouth fell open. She glanced at her brother, and about five different emotions went haywire on her face all at once. She was good, at least as good as Nick, I'll say that much for her. She jumped off the stool and threw her arms around me while I glared at the man in black over her shoulder. I gave him my best lunatic glare, and his face lost some of its tan. "Why are you lighting my wife's cigarette, you son of a bitch?" I asked. He looked flustered. He was about thirty-five, handsome, and prematurely gray. "Your . . . wife?" he stammered. "I didn't know anything about that. She asked me for a light. Let's just forget about it, okay?" He held up both hands in front of him like a pair of starfish. He grinned at me as though we had just signed a peace agreement at Camp David, then took his drink and entered the crowd. Vivian kissed and hugged me like I'd just come back from Vietnam. Nick looked on grimly. I fought the urge to bite her neck and instead grabbed her by the shoulders. "My God! I was so worried about you!" she said. "I thought you were dead!" "That accounts for the black dress," I said, scanning the crowd. "Let's get out of here. We need to have a discussion. I don't want to hear any more crap right now." Just as I stood up, Nick nudged me with his elbow. I fol- lowed the direction of his gaze to the other side of the bar and saw Williams there, his bald pate gleaming dully in the swirling lights. He was looking around. I grabbed Vivian by the arm, but it was too late. Williams had already spotted us. Our eyes locked across the bar, and I thought I saw a smile cross his face. It was the smile of a man who had amputated noses and ears and enjoyed every slice. 173

  There was no hesitation in him. Almost at once he came for us, parting the crowd with his massive fullback shoul- ders, plowing forward, swimming through people, pushing them aside as though they were stalks of wheat in a field. There were at least a hundred bodies between us, and that should have been enough to delay almost anyone. But they didn't stop Williams. "Let's go!" I said. "Stay with me." I got out in front and barreled forward, not making any friends and not caring. I wasn't as big as Williams, nor as strong, but I had fear on my side. The crowd, like a beast with one mind and many faces, began to sense that a chase of some kind was in progress, and I felt the silent wave of ex- pectation rippling around me as the dancers turned and got quickly out of our way. I looked back and saw a bouncer in his white shirt and pink bow tie cutting crossways through the grain on a collision course toward Williams. Two more of his buddies in identical getups were coming in from the rear. I pushed Vivian and Nick ahead of me. We were almost at the edge of the dance floor. Vivian slipped and nearly stumbled. She reached down, tore off her pumps, and ran barefoot ahead of me. The crowd, partial to the prey, parted for her. I was aware of staring faces blurred by speed. Nick was way in front now. I thought for sure he would run for it on his own, but he stopped and waited for Vivian. I glanced back in time to see a bouncer with a purple Mohawk grab Williams and spin him around. Williams went with the spin and hit the man under the chin with the heel of his palm, dropping him. Then the other bouncers leaped on him, bearing him down, swinging for all they were worth. I wished them luck. They would need it. I ran forward and herded Nick and Vivian toward the fire doors to the left of the dance floor. There was no sense 174

  trying to make it out the main entrance. The police would be sure to stop anyone attempting to leave. I hit the crash bar running with both hands out in front of me and slammed it behind me when we were through. "Where's your car?" I yelled at Nick. "I gave it to the valet." "We'll take mine," I said. "It's down by the park. Come on." I pushed them ahead of me, urging them forward. Vivian ran with her black shoes still in her hand. I kept looking back over my shoulder, expecting to see the juggernaut coming at us. We got to the Beemer and jumped in. I looked through the rearview mirror and saw a giant shadow running toward us. Almost in a single motion, I started the car and pulled out of the spot, not switching on the lights until I made a turn at the corner. "Where are you taking us?" Nick asked. "To Disney World," I said. "It's time to see Mickey." "You are crazy," Nick said. "I didn't think so before, but now I do." "Good. You're starting to catch on." Collins Avenue was jammed, so I headed west. At Merid- ian we swung north again, and it was then I started thinking about what to do now that I had two of the last three mem- bers of the Partridge Family together again. Vivian sat up and looked back at her brother hunkered down in the rear seat. "Nick," she said, "we need to tell Jack the truth." "That's a good idea," I said. "Start slow. I don't want you to hurt yourself." "This is turning into something hellish," Nick said. "My life is over." "Stop being so selfish," Vivian said. 175

  "Okay, kids," I said. "This is how it works: Nobody's get- ting out of this vehicle until I find out what's going d
own. Got that? I have a full tank of gas and nowhere to go, so somebody better start talking before we get to Orlando." "Are we really going to Disney World?" Nick said. "Shut up," I said. "Vivian, what the hell is going on?" "Go ahead, tell him," Nick said. "He's the only chance we've got against Williams." Vivian looked straight ahead. We were on Indian Creek now, heading north, amid that long, interminable stretch of buildings called Condo Canyon, gliding under the glare of a thousand well-lit windows staring down at us from above, each filled with the promise of rest, safety, a nightcap, and a bed with clean sheets and a thin, cool pillow. I was so tired that exhaustion now seemed my natural state. I half closed my eyes just to get the feel of it, then snapped them open as Vivian started to speak. "How much do you know about my father's company?" she asked. "He made drugs. Got the seed money from your step- mother, now deceased. You didn't like her. The company was privately held, never went public. Why do you ask?" Nick leaned forward in his seat. "Did you know that Pel- lucid Laboratories nearly went bankrupt about a year ago?" "No. But then, as maybe you recall, that was about the time I checked out of the picture. Obviously the company survived." Then I recalled the article I'd read at Susan's. "But you don't know how. He had to bring in some outside money," Vivian said. "Quite a bit of it." "You're not telling it right," Nick said. "It really started years ago, about the time when all the major drug compa- nies had jumped on the antidepressant bandwagon. Dad had had a drug in development for ten years. It was called Mor- phitrex. Ever hear of it?" 176

  "Never." Vivian lit a cigarette. She waved the match in the air and tossed it out the open window. We were in Surfside now, among the parallel rows of ratty motels where the Canadi- ans used to stay before they got smart and took their busi- ness north to Hollywood Beach. But to me, as tired as I was, every chintzy neon sign was the entrance to the palace of sleep. "That was the trouble," Vivian said. "No one else did either. The FDA killed it just as it was about to be approved. They found out he had faked some of the research. It turns out the drug had way too many side effects." "That's when the money trouble started," Nick added. "The big boys like Merck and Pfizer can afford to lose huge like that, but not Dad. You know why he never took the com- pany public?" "Because he's a control freak," I said. "That's right," Vivian said. "He's a control freak. But when he saw the company he'd built from nothing going under, he had to bring in the venture capitalists, the deep- pocket people. But they didn't just give him the money and then go home and take a nap. You don't borrow a hundred million dollars and not give up control. It almost killed him, but it was the only way he could save Pellucid." "Happens all the time," I said. "What's the point?" "Guess where the money came from?" Vivian said. "The Tooth Fairy," I offered. "Matson," Nick said. "Impossible," I said. "Matson had money, but not that kind of money. He made booty movies," I told him. But then the image of The Carrousel and what Agent Hackbart had said at Susan's place about Matson and Duncan came back to me. "Matson had friends," Vivian said. 177

  "That reminds me," I said. "You forgot to mention that there was a second dead man on the boat. I know it's a minor detail, but I don't recall announcing any two-for-one-sale on dead-body disposal. He was the other lucky guy in the home movie your pops gave me to watch." "His name was Harry Duncan. He was a friend of Mat- son's. Anyway, what difference does it make?" Vivian said. "They were both dead, weren't they? All you did was get rid of them." "From what I saw on that video, you seem to have known him pretty well," I said. "Not as well as you might think. They gave me Mor- phitrex. That stuff makes everybody your friend." "Are you on it now?" I asked. "A little." "Is that why you were kissing that girl back at Embers?" "Yes, but I would have kissed her anyway." I looked at her for a moment and wondered who she was. I glanced at her half brother and noticed for the first time that they both had the same eyes. Not the same color--his were a washed-out blue, and hers were dark almond, almost black. But they had the same penetrating sheen to them, making them look like grown-up naughty children caught in the act. It came to me then that I had lived too long in a foreign country, and that country was my own. With a pair like these two riding with me, I was glad I had the gun. Too bad it wasn't loaded with silver bullets. "If the FDA didn't approve the drug, how'd you get hold of it?" I asked. "This is the good part," Nick said. "They manufactured some of the pills initially, just as samples for the trials. One night I was snooping around in my father's office, not looking for anything in particular, when I came across a box of these little blue pills. Well, you 178

  know me. I just popped one down, and boy, it was fantas- tic, better than ecstasy, way better. Anyway, I gave one to Matson. That's when he brought Harry Duncan into it, as a partner. And that's when they made Daddy an offer." "What kind of offer?" I asked. "They wanted access to Daddy's research. Their idea was that Morphitrex was just the beginning. They would man- ufacture a whole line of designer drugs offshore for prac- tically nothing, then bring them here and sell them at the clubs. Matson figured we could make a hundred million the first year alone." "And your father agreed to this?" I asked. "Yes, but the deal was just for Morphitrex," Vivian said. "The rest, Father never intended to sell. He thought that some of the other drugs he'd worked on might still be made legally in this country. He didn't want Matson to have them." "So what soured the deal?" I asked. "How did Matson and his buddy wind up dead?" "It was her fault," Nick said. "She was going to double- cross our father." "That's right," Vivian countered. "And you went along with it, too. Don't pretend it was just me." "Your father told me you shot Matson," I said. "No," Vivian said. "It wasn't me. It was Williams. He shot Duncan, too. Father told you it was me just to get you to sink the yacht. He knew you'd never do it if you thought it was Williams who did it." She looked away. "I didn't know he was going to call you," she said. There were tears in her eyes, but they didn't mean anything to me. "But you went along with it when he did," I said. "Tell me this: Why did Williams think he had to kill me?" "I didn't know about that," Vivian said. "Otherwise I would have told you. Probably he thought you knew too much. I'm not even sure Father knew what he was going to do." 179

  "You said you were going to double-cross your father," I said. "How were you going to do that?" "Williams had her apartment bugged," Nick said. "He heard us talking." "About what?" "Vivian and I were going to get squeezed out of the money. That much was for sure. We could see it coming, so we made a side deal with Matson. We'd get him all of Father's papers, not just those about how to make Morphitrex. We wanted a flat fee: three million apiece. Duncan and Matson agreed to it. They put the money in an escrow account in the Cayman Islands. All we had to do was deliver. After you left to sink the yacht, Vivian called me on the phone. That's when Wil- liams heard us talking about how we'd pulled it off. He said he was going to kill both of us. He almost caught us, too--at a restaurant. We had to run out through the kitchen." "I lost my cell phone," Vivian said. "That man can run." "For the first time, I agree with Williams," I said. "I'm thinking of killing you both myself. A small loss to the world you'd be, I might add." "It was Harry who taught me how to hack into Father's computer," Nick said. "He knew a lot about computers." "So I guess the whole thing with that juicy little video was just your father's way of softening me up," I said. "I guess it worked." Nobody said anything. "Are you sure it was Williams who killed Matson and Duncan?" I asked. "And one more lie, and somebody's going to have a long walk back." There was an extended silence. As a cop I had come to know that breed of silence well, the silence of someone who has hit the wall of lies and who is too tired or too scared to think of any new ones. We were in Sunny Isles now, still heading north. I could smell Rascal's Deli before I could 180

  see its sign. It was calling me like a cup of coffee on the midnight shift up in Harlem, far away in another life. The Thunderbird Hotel summoned me sweetly from the east side of Collins as we sailed by. The sign said they even had a swimming pool. It was about all a tired man could ask for in this life. "Williams killed both of them," Vivian said from a place I had wandered away f
rom. "Then he dragged me back and made me confess the whole thing to Daddy, about selling the other drugs to Matson. He took my computer and all my files. He wanted to get rid of any of Daddy's research I may have stolen. Then he got hold of Nick's computer and did the same thing." "Let me guess," I said. "You'd made backup files, prob- ably on a disk or CD. Right? You were still in the game. What happened? Williams found out about it?" "It was my fault," Nick said glumly. "I thought I had hidden them well enough, but Williams found them. He caught me and held a cigarette lighter under my palm. He asked if Vivian had her own set of files. I had to tell him. That's why he's after her now." "So," I said to Vivian, "let me guess again: You've got your own little stash of stolen research. Williams found out about that, too, but he hasn't managed to locate it yet. Is that it? Tell me this: What were you planning to do with it? Your two partners are both dead. What good is that stash now?" "I don't know," Vivian said. "All I know is I'm the one who brought the deal to Daddy, and I'm going to get my fair share. Besides, Matson introduced me to a lot of his friends. Maybe one of them can help me." She edged closer to me on the seat, so that her thigh pushed up against my own. "Maybe you can help us, too." I let that one ride. But it gave me an idea. "Where's the stash?" I asked. 181

  The car got quiet again. I made a left turn, pulled into the rear of an all-night gas station with a well-lit minimart, and killed the headlights. "Tell me where the disk is or I feed you both to Williams." "You wouldn't do that to me," Vivian said. "I know you wouldn't." "Not to you," I told her. "But your brother back there is another story. I'm sure he's got Williams's name saved on his cell phone, and I'm also sure Williams will be very glad to see him again. What do you think?" "Even if I tell you where it is, what are you going to do with it?" Vivian asked. "Go into business for yourself?" "Don't worry," I said. "I'll cut you both in. I'm not greedy. But neither of you is equipped to go up against Willy Boy alone. I am, and you know it. You need an enforcer. Come on. We're wasting time, and I'm getting tired." "Can't we stop someplace?" Vivian asked plaintively. "I haven't slept since you went out to sink the boat. Just for a little while?" "Not until you tell me where you hid your father's stuff," I said. "That's the deal." "It's back at the house," she said. "Where?" Nick asked. "In my room." "Okay," I said. "That's enough. Let's crash. In the morn- ing we'll head out to the mansion. All three of us, just like one big fucking family." Ten minutes later we walked into the overly lit but nearly empty lobby of the Holiday Inn in Hollywood Beach. I knew the clerk on the midnight shift. He was a big, soft-spoken man-child named Casio Davis, whose father had paid me five grand a few years back to help his son get ready for the marines. I had to refund the money, though. The work we 182