by Rickie Blair
“What is it now?” Luca said heavily.
“Your source says the cops are on their way.”
Luca sat up, rubbing his neck with one hand.
“Did he say why?”
“He won’t tell me. He wants to talk to you.”
Reaching for the phone, Luca knocked over a glass on the table beside him. As it rolled across the floor, liquid dribbled onto the carpet. He swore, his voice thick, put the phone to his ear, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What? What did you say?” With his heart racing, he pushed off from the chair to pace the room. “That’s impossible. I don’t care, it’s impossible. That scummy little bastard. I’m going to kill him myself.” He pivoted and paced back. “How long before they get here?” He swore in Romanian, then slammed the phone down on Roman’s outstretched hand.
“What happened?” Roman asked.
Blood pounded in Luca’s ears while he clenched and unclenched his fists. He had sent Petru alone to deal with Zeke Turner because he needed Roman at the party. It was hardly a dangerous assignment. How had that scrawny little fucker managed to kill him? He glanced at Roman.
“Petru’s dead.”
Roman looked puzzled.
“Heart attack?”
Luca turned his full fury on Roman.
“No, you idiot,” he screamed, “that little fucker cut off his fucking head. With a fucking sword.”
All activity in the kitchen ceased. The four servers, a man and three women, froze and stared at him. Luca swiveled, grabbing a vase off a side table as he marched toward them.
“Get out!” he screamed, heaving the vase across the granite-topped kitchen island. The servers ducked as the vase shattered on a cabinet, spraying the room with water, china shards, and crumpled flowers. The servers tripped over each other as they raced for the front door, exploding onto the front steps. Luca walked over to the open door, laughing hysterically as he watched them run down the sidewalk, wrench their catering van’s doors open and clamber inside. The van lurched from its parking spot and drove away.
Luca walked back into the living room and dropped into an armchair. He chuckled for a few more moments and then looked at Roman, who was staring at him with his mouth open. Luca shrugged and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the end table. He slipped a lighter from his pocket, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a stream of smoke.
“Sorry, Roman. I know he was a friend.”
“Then it’s true?”
Luca nodded, his head buzzing. If Zeke Turner wasn’t dead, then he could still find the emails that had been planted on his computer at the Starlight.
Roman headed for the door, fists clenched.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“We have to find him first.”
Roman turned and scowled. “What?”
“He’s gone. Missing.” Luca pointed at the phone. “And we have to find him before the police do. Before he talks.”
A short blast of a siren sounded outside and a police car pulled up the driveway, lights flashing. Two more cars waited on the street. Luca took a drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the nearest ashtray with a scowl. Time for show and tell. Sighing heavily, he got to his feet.
* * *
Luca headed upstairs for a shower after assuring the officers that he had no idea why his associate would be at Zeke Turner’s apartment. Yes, they were welcome to search his house—as long as they had a warrant. The police would be back, but he had things to do first. He changed into track pants and a sweatshirt and returned to the disheveled kitchen where he filled a large mug with coffee and took several gulps.
“Roman,” he called.
His lieutenant came around the corner. Luca flicked a hand around the kitchen.
“Get someone to clean this mess up.” He gestured at the pool. “And kick those losers out.”
Roman stared at him.
“What about Petru? Shouldn’t there be a funeral?”
“We don’t have time for that. Get moving.”
Roman stared at him for a few more moments, then turned slowly and headed for the pool.
Luca carried his mug through the living room and up the stairs. On the second floor, he padded on stocking feet down the carpeted hall to a metal door on the right and punched a five-digit code into a key pad. A lock beeped and the door swung open. Overhead lights came on with a hum as Luca stepped over the threshold of the windowless room.
He eased into a swivel desk chair at the largest of five monitors, placed his coffee on the desk beside him, and woke the first computer. When he found the email he was looking for, he opened an attachment that contained long rows of encrypted numbers. After inserting a thumb drive, he copied the attachment and then transferred it to another computer to run a virus detection program. One bad worm could demolish the entire auction site, and he’d had enough screwups for one day. He cringed at the thought of explaining something like that to his colleagues in Bucharest.
Once he was satisfied the list was clean, he started the decryption program, picked up his coffee, and sat back to watch the screen. He had sent Petru to deal with Zeke Turner and Petru had underestimated his target. Stupid. Now he’d have to finish the job himself. The next online auction started in less than forty-eight hours. That gave him two days to find Turner and ensure that he hadn’t told anyone about the auctions.
Luca fingered the knife in his pocket. Its main blade was sturdy enough to gut a deer, but it also held a screwdriver, serrated-edge blade, and needle-nose pliers. He had displayed his prowess with all of those tools at one time or another, although never on deer. Soon Zeke Turner would discover Luca’s real talents. But for now, he would wait for Turner to make a mistake.
Luca was good at waiting. As a boy he waited years for his father to return while his mother paid for the roof over their head, put food on the table, bought his school uniforms, and procured a steady supply of high-proof tzuica. Even as a boy he knew where the money came from. Most nights he waited with his face turned to the wall, unable to sleep until his mother’s visitors left. He curled up against Vidra’s warm fur, listening to the little dog whistle and snort in her sleep. Sometimes the men would stagger over to his bed and insist with a gust of alcohol-tinged breath that he join in. Vidra would leap up, growling and snapping, and he would twist his fingers in her fur to hold her back. He was always terrified that the men would snatch her away. His mother would settle the men down while Luca turned back to the wall, his heart pounding.
At school he learned nothing other than how to fight back. He was small and scrawny with curiously prominent eyes, a combination bullies found irresistible. And when rumors about his mother made the rounds, it fanned his schoolmates’ contempt even more.
One chilly morning he took a paring knife from the kitchen drawer and waited in the laneway for his chief tormentor to appear. Then he walked up and plunged the knife into the boy’s belly with all his strength. Leaving his victim bleeding in the snow, Dragos hitched a ride to Bucharest. There was no time to return home for Vidra. For years afterward his throat would tighten whenever he thought of her. He wondered how long she had waited by the door.
He slept on the city streets, blending into the shadows, his heart racing at every glimpse of the National Police. Eventually he found a place among young men who shared a squalid flat filled with electronics equipment. Luca started as their runner, sleeping on the floor. He sourced the materials they needed but couldn’t afford. Now his non-threatening appearance was an asset. His new associates showed him how to use a computer and praised his natural talent. His chest welled with pride as he looked around at his companions. He was willing to do anything to repay their trust.
One day, a stranger with bad teeth and a loaded gun visited the flat and forced the men to empty their pockets. Luca stood among them and held up his hands, suppressing the bile that rose in his throat. The stranger mistook his trembling for fear, and laughed as he smacked the gun across his f
ace. Luca swallowed blood, but held in his rage.
Afterward, he followed the man into an alley where the stranger whirled and pulled out his gun. Luca cringed and took a step back with his hands up. The stranger laughed, tucked his weapon into his waistband, and roughly brushed against Luca on his way to the street. He didn’t see the knife until it was too late. Afterward, Luca retrieved his colleagues’ belongings and left the stranger face down in the alley.
Dragos Luca had found his calling.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ruby eyed the bag of groceries in the back seat of the rental Audi. Now she just had to find Millie, its intended recipient. Too bad she had no idea where Millie was. As she climbed behind the wheel, her phone beeped with a text.
r u ok?
Ruby’s hand hovered over the keys. Should she tell Felicity what she was doing? No. Her best friend worried too much.
i’ll b back soon, Ruby texted.
our reservation’s @ 8.
i’ll b there.
Ruby dropped the phone on the seat beside her and turned the key. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up alongside the first homeless shelter on her list. Three men with hunched shoulders stood on the front stoop, smoking. Ruby left the car and walked over. The men looked up as she passed.
“Buenas noches,” she said.
“Buenas noches,” they replied.
She pushed open the front door to step over the threshold, then pulled the door closed behind her. A woman was bent over a desk, checking names on a list.
“We don’t open for another two hours. You’ll have to wait outside,” she said without looking up. She turned her head to the side and called, “Who left the front door unlocked?”
“I’m not looking for a bed, thanks. I’m looking for a person.”
The woman looked up from her list and stared at Ruby. Then she straightened up, walked around the desk and held out a hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “busy day.”
“I’m sure all your days are busy.”
“You have no idea.” She smiled, shaking Ruby’s hand. “I’m the director here. How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find an elderly woman, Millie Havelock. She was evicted from her home and might be staying at a shelter. She’s about seventy-five, tiny, and frail.” Ruby fumbled in her purse for the photo of Millie and Norris and handed it over to her. “This was taken many years ago.”
The director glanced at the photo and handed it back.
“I don’t recognize either the face or the name, I’m sorry. If this woman was here, she’s not any longer.”
“Thanks for taking a look.” Ruby tucked the photo back into her purse.
“You could try again later, after we open for the night.” Ruby turned to go. “Wait a minute,” the director said, her brow furrowed. “What did you say her name was?”
“Millie Havelock.”
“There was a man here yesterday looking for an elderly woman and her name was similar, I think. I wrote it down.” She returned to her desk, riffling through the untidy papers.
“Yes,” she said, pulling out a torn paper with something scrawled on it, “here it is. Millie Havelock.” She looked up. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten about that.”
“It wasn’t the man in the photo, was it?” Ruby pulled the photo of Norris in his army uniform from her purse and held it up.
The director took another look. “No, not him.”
“Did he leave a name?”
“I’m afraid not, sorry. He was looking for somebody else, too. Some kid, I think. He mentioned a sword. It was ridiculous. I only wrote down the woman’s name because he insisted.” She crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket.
Ruby drove to the next shelter, where a harried looking man glanced at the photo and handed it back.
“Sorry, no.”
“Has anyone else been here asking for Mrs. Havelock, maybe yesterday?”
“I wasn’t here yesterday, sorry.”
At the fifth, and last, place on Ruby’s list, a big woman with blowzy hair listened carefully to her story, knitting her brows.
“That name sounds familiar. We get a lot of people here, though.”
Ruby pulled out the photos and handed them to her. The woman studied them.
“No,” she said, “I’ve never seen the woman. But the man…” She took Norris’s picture over to a desk lamp to peer at it. She walked back to Ruby and handed her the photo. “I’ve seen him, for sure.”
“When?”
“Last night. He was looking for a bed and caused a little trouble so we had to call the police. He said he needed a spot for his mother, but there wasn’t anyone with him. We had no space anyway, so it didn’t matter.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Sorry, no idea.”
Ruby’s heart sank. She had been at this for hours without success. And now it was dark. She walked outside and headed along the sidewalk to the rental Audi. The men and women who were lined up outside the shelter looked down as she passed. Half a block away, next to the Audi, a panhandler sat on the ground. He had a purple birthmark on his cheek and, when he grinned up at her, she saw that his few remaining teeth were crooked and gray.
“Hey,” Ruby said, with her hand on the Audi’s door handle, “want some groceries?” She opened the back door, hauled out the bag and put it on the ground beside him.
He opened the bag and looked inside. “Ooh, nice.”
“You waiting for a bed here?”
“Nope,” he said, pulling out a box of crackers and ripping it open. “I got a nice little spread over there,” he pointed across the street, “in the storm drain. Lots of people stay over there. It’s better’n this place.” He spit on the ground. “Too many rules here.”
Lots of people? Ruby pulled out the photo and crouched beside him.
“Have you ever seen this woman? She would be older now, much older, and her name is Millie.”
He jammed a cracker into his mouth, took the photo from Ruby and stood up to hold it under the streetlight.
“Mm-hmm. I know her.” He handed it back. “She’s over there.” He pointed again and sat back on the ground with the crackers and a hunk of cheese. “I’m heading over there myself soon.”
Ruby looked across the street but could see nothing in the dark.
“How do I get there?”
“Just keep walking,” he said without looking up. “You’ll need a flashlight, though.”
She crossed the street and walked up onto an embankment. Faint lights from what looked like campfires flickered fifty yards away, but the space between her and those fires was unlit. An eight-foot-high wire fence barred her way, but there was more than one hole in the ragged mesh. Pulling out her cellphone, she turned on the flashlight app. It was bright enough, but the battery would run down if she kept it on for very long.
Ruby walked to the small convenience store at the corner, where she bought a large neon green Maglite and some more groceries. Back at the fence she shivered, pulled her cardigan tighter, then bent to push her way through the largest gap.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It took nearly ten minutes of dodging small shrubs, stones and debris for Ruby to reach the encampment. People seated around the campfires looked up as she approached, their faces glowing yellow in the firelight. Two men walked up, stopping a few paces away and staring. No one else moved. Ruby swallowed hard.
“I’m looking for Millie Havelock and her son Norris. I was told they might be here.”
One of the men stepped up to her and lightly touched her ear. His hair was plastered against his head, stubble darkened his chin, and his clothing smelled of smoke and sweat.
“Nice earrings,” he said, stroking Ruby’s diamond studs. He lowered his hand and leered at her.
Ruby placed the groceries on the ground and backed away, her heart thumping.
“If Millie and Norris aren’t here, I should go.”
“What�
��s your hurry?” The man stepped nearer and touched her ear again.
“Stop it.” Ruby swatted his hand away.
A woman rose from the ground beside the campfire and grasped a small boy’s hand, pulling him to his feet. They walked to a tent of packing crates covered with a tarpaulin. The woman pushed the boy inside and followed him, glancing back at Ruby as she pulled the tarp closed. The light inside the tent went out.
The flashlight beam bounced in Ruby’s trembling hand. Time to go. She took a step back.
The man gripped her arm and yanked her even closer.
“I said, what’s your hurry?” He tightened his grip.
Ruby swung the Maglite beam directly into his eyes. He dropped her arm and raised a hand to cover his face. Ruby cracked the flashlight on his head, then dropped it on the ground.
The man yelped, slapping both hands on his head, which provided an opening for Ruby’s sharp knee to the groin. He doubled over and she grabbed his arm, pivoted around his back, and yanked his arm up as hard as she could. He screamed.
Then she planted one foot on his rear and kicked him face first onto the ground. He sprawled in the dust as Ruby whirled to face the second man. She anchored her feet in the dirt, clenching her fists.
The second man raised his hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot,” he yelled, then burst into laughter.
Ruby glared at him while he laughed. What was so darn funny, exactly? She assessed her stance. Was she doing it wrong?
Finally he stopped, wiping tears from his face.
“That was awesome,” he said.
On the ground, his friend groaned and sat up. Ruby whirled on him again, fists raised.
He held up his hands in surrender.
“No, no. I’m sorry, okay?”
Applause sounded behind her. Ruby turned.
The second man stopped his clapping, grinned and held out a hand.
“I’m Victor.” As he stepped forward, light from the campfire glinted off his stringy hair and the purple birthmark on his cheek. It was the man she had met outside the shelter. She shook his leathery hand.
