Jay Giles

by Blindsided (A Thriller)

  “It might,” I agreed. “I didn’t think I needed to name-drop to get what I wanted from the police.”

  She arched an eyebrow at me. “What exactly did you want?”

  “Twenty-four hours of protection.”

  “Why twenty-four?”

  I dropped back, explained about the stranger’s attempt to get in the front door, his phone call after the police left.

  “His threat was to deliver the securities in twenty-four or else,” she said after I finished. “That was what? Forty-eight hours ago? Aren’t you afraid you’re living on borrowed time?”

  “I’m okay,” I assured her. “I talked to D’Onifrio and—”

  “You what?” she asked incredulously.

  “I talked to him. I went to his office.”

  “How could you be so stupid? Remember? People who bother him disappear.”

  “Well, I’m here. So my idea must not have bothered him too much.”

  She looked at me warily. “Your idea?”

  “There is one way D’Onifrio can legally get his money back. I bounced it off him.”

  “What is it? What did he say?”

  “Having one of his people marry Janet Wakeman. He’d get the money as joint property.”

  Her face registered shock. “That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “Crazy or not, he’s considering it.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I am not believing this.”

  “I’ll probably hear from him today.”

  “He’ll say no. Think about it. What are the chances Janet Wakeman would marry one of his people? One in a gazillion, maybe less.”

  “She’s a gold digger. Dangle a rich, older guy in front of her—”

  The intercom buzzed. “I know you wanted me to hold your calls, but there’s a Mr. D’Onifrio on one. I told him you were in a meeting. He told me to interrupt it.”

  Chapter 19

  “Mr. Seattle,” he said, his voice formal. “I have given your suggestion serious thought and would like to discuss it further with you. Can you come to my office tomorrow at nine o’clock?”

  Not a yes. Not a no. Possibly a trap. “Mr. D’Onifrio, let me share my biggest concern. I show up at your office at nine and I’m never seen again.”

  There was an amused chuckle at the other end of the line. “I give you my word; you will be seen again.”

  “I’d rather have a simple yes or no.”

  “I’d rather have further discussion.” His voice had turned cold. “Be here at nine.” He hung up.

  “Well, what’d he say?”

  “You pretty much heard it. Be at his office tomorrow at nine.”

  “Are you going?”

  I nodded. “He gave me his word it wasn’t a set up.”

  “You believe that?”

  In an odd way I did. If he’d wanted me dead, he’d have made it happen. He could get to me no matter how careful I was, how much protection I had. “I think I’m okay for this meeting. If it doesn’t go well, I’ll go straight to the cops.”

  She looked dubious, shifted in her seat. “With your meeting tomorrow, you still want me to find out about this guy?”

  “Yeah, I want to know who he is.”

  She started packing up her stuff. “I probably won’t know anything before nine, but I’ll get the information to you as soon as I can.” She left, obviously freaked out.

  Rosemary came in, occupied the seat Tory had left. She handed me a stack of pink message slips. “It’s a slow day we’re having. Do you want me to help you prepare for your meeting in the morning, see if I can find you a bulletproof vest?”

  I gave her a disapproving look. “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. I’m with Miss Haughty—”

  “Miss Haughty?” It wasn’t like Rosemary to ridicule.

  “Ms. Knight,” she said, disapproval evident in her voice. “I’m agreeing with her that this is a meeting to which you shouldn’t be going.”

  Despite their concerns, the next day at exactly nine, I entered the lobby of Shore Bank and Trust. Ann, the blond who had escorted me to D’Onifrio’s office last time, was waiting for me.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Seattle. Follow me, please,” she said pleasantly. We rode the elevator up to five, exited. She led me down the corridor to his office. Again the door was closed. She knocked and opened it. D’Onifrio was at his desk, again in shirt and tie, this time smoking a cigar. “Come in, Mr. Seattle,” he said and sent a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  I entered, heard the door close behind me, took the same seat as the time before.

  D’Onifrio leaned forward, the irritating hum of his hearing aids increased, and his eyes seemed to bore into me. “I have some questions for you.”

  I wanted to say shoot but bit my tongue and nodded instead.

  He blew a smoke ring to the ceiling, watched it for a second. “Janet Wakeman, the woman Joe married, what do you know about her?”

  I relaxed a little. He’d lobbed me an easy one. “I had a private detective look into her background. Janet, we discovered, is a professional black widow. Joe was her fourth husband. She has a lawyer working with her. Guy by the name of Greg Nevitt, whose job is to change the will or estate to leave everything to Janet.”

  “Nevitt did that with Joe’s will?”

  “He didn’t have time. Joe’d only been married a week when he died. His will still named me executor. Nevitt had me removed as executor so he could control Joe’s estate.”

  D’Onifrio blew another smoke ring at the ceiling, frowned, sat forward. “Where are my manners? Would you like a cigar?”

  He wanted to be buddy-buddy now. That scared me. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Coffee?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, though.”

  He sat back in his chair, puffed out smoke. “This marriage plan you mentioned yesterday was based on what you learned about Janet’s background?”

  I nodded.

  “Be honest now. Do you think this marriage could be arranged?”

  “I think it’s possible, yes.”

  “Possible doesn’t sound very positive.” Behind the cigar smoke his face changed.

  I saw whatever chance I had slipping away. Sell, I thought. “She’s a black widow. I’m positive that if you dangle a wealthy older man in front of her, she’ll go after him.”

  That must have been what he wanted to hear. “Good,” he said. “I have decided to give your plan a try.”

  That wasn’t what I expected to hear. The expression on my face must have telegraphed that.

  “You seem surprised?”

  “Well, I guess I am. You threatened me. Why aren’t you threatening them?”

  “With you, I had hoped to force a fast resolution.” He shook his head dismissively. “That’s gone. Now, I think it is in my depositors’ best interests to do this without attracting undue attention. Of course, if that fails, I will use force, take the money. First, though, we will see how you do.”

  “Me?” I said, alarmed. This wasn’t what I intended at all. I wanted to pit the two of them against each other, end their involvement with me. “You don’t need me. You know who she is. You can do this by yourself.”

  He blew a smoke ring in my direction. “It was your idea. Who would know better how to bring it to life?”

  I saw my opportunity to get out of the middle vanishing. “I can tell you how to do it. You really don’t need me.”

  He smiled at my discomfort. “You forget, you have no choice in this matter. I’m appointing you matchmaker.”

  He was on a roll. I nodded.

  “By tomorrow, I will give you someone who can be this woman’s new husband. Be here—” he leaned forward, flipped over the page in his planner, studied what rape, pillage, murder, and torture filled his calendar. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Got that?”

  �
�Got it. See you at ten,” I said as I stood to go. Maybe I could still get this to work out. “When I pull this off, will you do something for me?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”

  “The brother—the shyster lawyer—has accused me of churning…”

  He made a face, waved his cigar in the air. “You churned Joe?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I explained carefully. “Joe was my friend. This guy, Nevitt, is an ambulance chaser. He’s falsely accused me of making lots of commissions off Joe. Essentially he’s blackmailing me, trying to get money he doesn’t deserve. I don’t suppose, if I make this marriage happen, you could convince the brother to drop his complaint?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll say this for you, you have nerve. No one asks me for favors. They do favors for me.” He paused, studying me. “But you amuse me. If you pull this off, I’ll fulfill your request. I will convince Mr. Nevitt to drop his action against you and never bother you again. How is that?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.” I started to back out the door.

  “A warning—if my amusement turns to anger—” he waved a finger at me. “Very unhealthy.”

  I left before he could say more.

  Ann was waiting for me in the corridor outside his office. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow at ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk you down.” She led me back to the lobby. Left me with a word of caution. “He has given you a lot of rope. Don’t forget that one end is tied around your neck.”

  Chapter 20

  Even Ann’s warning didn’t faze me. I was elated. I’d taken a big first step in getting the various factions fighting each other instead of me. I wasn’t out of trouble by any stretch of the imagination, but I hadn’t had anything positive to build on in so long that I wanted to savor this.

  Maybe that’s why, when Tory called at four o’clock to let me know she had information on the guy who shot Eddie, I impetuously asked her to dinner.

  She didn’t jump at the invitation. “What’s this about?”

  “I had my second meeting with D’Onifrio. I’m still among the living and feel like celebrating my good fortune. Dinner by myself won’t be much fun. We need to talk. Why not over dinner?”

  She hesitated. “All right.”

  “Charlie’s Crab at eight?”

  “How about eight-thirty? That would be better for me.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll meet you there. Thanks, Tory.”

  I finished what I was doing, drove back to my condo, took a shower, and changed into some fresh clothes. Even taking my time, I was at the restaurant by eight-fifteen.

  Charlie, owner and host, greeted me. He was a small man with slicked-back hair and a waxed moustache, as always dressed in a tux. “Mr. Seattle, good to see you.” He looked around by my feet. “Where is Eddie?”

  The pain returned like a fist to the chest. “I lost him,” I said, trying not to turn maudlin. “An accident.”

  “I am sorry. Dinner is on me tonight.”

  “Thank you, Charlie, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist. Please.”

  “I am meeting someone, so—”

  Charlie’s eyes lit up. “A woman. Even better. I will have a bottle of champagne sent over.”

  “No. No. No. Charlie, this is a business dinner. She’ll get the wrong idea if champagne shows up.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Dinner for you both, however, is on the house. Let me show you to your table.” I followed him to a secluded spot by a window with a bay view. “Is this businesslike enough?” He grinned impishly.

  “It’s great. Thanks.”

  “I will watch for your business friend.” He stroked his moustache. “I’m sure she’s fat, ugly, with warts.”

  I laughed at his feeble ploy to pry information out of me. “Then you’d be wrong. She’s attractive. But this is a business dinner.”

  He put his hands up by his face as if to say I believe you even though it was obvious that he didn’t. When he brought Tory to the table, it was even more obvious.

  She didn’t look like a business dinner. She was dressed in black again. A tight black tank top, black stretch pants, black heels. She was wearing gold hoop earrings, hot pink lipstick, her hair pulled back and tied at the base of her neck with a pink scarf. Hardly business attire.

  She took her seat, Charlie presented her with a menu, took drink orders—water with lemon (hers) and Diet Coke (mine)—and departed.

  She glanced at the menu, looked up at me.

  “Let’s order,” I suggested. “We can talk while we eat. Dinner is on Charlie, so don’t be shy. He likes women with appetites.”

  “Really? I would have thought women were not what Charlie found attractive.”

  “Wow, you are a detective.”

  “It’s a gift, these powers of deduction.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “He likes you.”

  “Too bad. The powers have failed you. He liked Eddie.”

  “The powers tell me it wasn’t Eddie. Anyway, he’s a cat man.”

  “Cats? You think Charlie has cats?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The waiter arrived with our drinks. I asked him if Charlie could visit the table for a moment. The waiter left, and Charlie materialized in a flash.

  “Charlie, I have a question.”

  “But of course.”

  “Do you have cats?”

  “Cats?” He gave each of us a puzzled look, stroked his moustache. “Yes, I have three cats. Why?”

  I looked at Tory. She was trying to keep a straight face.

  “Ms. Wright,” I nodded at Tory, “was recommending I get a cat. What do you think?”

  Charlie looked at me, squinted his eyes, pursed his lips. Finally, he said, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t see you as a cat person. Sorry.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.” He turned, and sashayed away.

  Tory was trying not to laugh or look smug.

  “Okay, you win.”

  She broke into a broad smile. “The three magic words every girl wants to hear.”

  I opened my menu.

  “What do you recommend?” Tory asked.

  “I think I’m going to have the grilled grouper.”

  She started to put her menu down. Our waiter, ever vigilant, arrived at the table the moment her menu closed. Once we’d ordered and the waiter had departed, I said, “Tell me about the shooter.”

  She dug in her black bag, pulled out a legal pad, studied it. “That monogram you spotted identified him. WW stands for William Wilder.” She looked over at me as if that name should mean something to me. Not getting a reaction, she continued. “He’s also known as Wild Will or Willie the Kid. He’s got quite a reputation as a hit man. The police think he’s been responsible for more than twenty deaths the last three years. D’Onifrio reputedly uses him to get people out of his way.”

  “Out of his way? What does that mean?”

  “These businesses around the state that Shore now owns weren’t all smooth acquisitions. If a major stockholder or officer of the company objected, he or she disappeared or had an accident. Wilder’s work. It’s also believed he’s responsible for the deaths of Judge Richard D. Clayton and State Senator Mark Kraski, who headed a committee looking into organized crime in Florida. The D.E.A. believes he killed three of their operatives who tried to infiltrate D’Onifrio’s organization.”

  “Was he arrested for any of those deaths?”

  She shook her head. “Never charged. No evidence. The D.E.A. knows D’Onifrio has other professional killers in his organization. They can’t be one hundred percent certain it was Wilder.”

  Our waiter returned carrying a bottle of wine and silver bucket of ice.

  “What’s this?”

  “Charlie said you didn’t want champagne, but he thought a good white wine would accent y
our dinner.” He placed the ice bucket on the table, presented the unopened bottle, used his corkscrew, and splashed a taste in my glass.

  It was good.

  He filled both glasses, put the bottle in the ice bucket, and departed.

  “Listen,” there was an edge in Tory’s voice, “I thought this was business. If you’ve got something else in mind, I’m not interested. I’ve been burned. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

  “I hear you. Let me assure you this is business. Charlie knows I’m by myself. He’s trying to play matchmaker. That’s all. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “As long as we understand what the rules are here.”

  “Strictly business.”

  The assurances seemed to settle her a little. “Tell me about your meetings with D’Onifrio.”

  I needed to settle down, too. Her revelations about Wilder and overreaction to the wine had unnerved me. Talking was as good a way as any to regain my composure. “I was expecting D’Onifrio to be the kind of bad guy you see on TV. He wasn’t. He’s more polished, more intelligent. At our first meeting, I was surprised by how pleasant he was. Of course, he probably thought I was there to deliver the stocks. When I floated my marriage idea instead, he got angry. Said something cryptic about outside forces I didn’t understand. After that, he calmed down, said he’d consider it.”

  “So you had a second meeting.”

  I nodded. “Again, he was very pleasant, offered me a cigar.” I took a sip of wine. “He told me his depositors wanted the money back but didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, so he was willing to give my marriage idea a try. When I heard him say that, I thought I was out of the woods.”

  “It’s never that easy.”

  “No, it’s not. I thought D’Onifrio would use my idea, have his people execute it. He had a different take. He said because it was my idea, I’d pull it off better than anyone else.”

  “Some truth to that.”

  “I don’t know. Having an idea is one thing. Making it work—especially when it involves one of D’Onifrio’s people, our potential groom—is something else entirely.”

  Our salads arrived.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked around a bite of salad.