Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3)

by Dallas Gorham

Vidali jumped to his feet. “You sent Bob a text?”

  “I don’t see what you’re upset about, Vic. I didn’t want him to worry about me.”

  Vidali stomped across the salon and loomed over the woman. “The whole idea for you to disappear was for him to worry but not to know. Sending him a text…” He turned away. “Of all the stupid…” He turned back to face her. “Where did you get a cellphone?”

  Graciela swallowed hard. “I, uh, I…I borrowed one from the pilot.”

  “Mauricio loaned you his cellphone?”

  “Well…not exactly.” She pulled the cellphone from her purse. “I saw it on the counter in the bridge, and I took it.”

  Vidali snatched the phone from her. “You stupid, stupid…child. I’ve been in this business for over thirty years and you think you know more than I do?” He began to curse in Italian.

  Chapter 22

  My cellphone whistled to announce an incoming text. I got a text from Graciela. She’s okay. Call off the hunt. Regards, Bob.

  I called Bob. “That’s great news, amigo. Where is she?”

  “She didn’t say, but she said she’s okay and for me not to worry.”

  “Did she send the text from her own phone?”

  “That’s a funny question to ask, Eighty-Eight.”

  “You pay me to ask funny questions. Did she send the text from her own phone?”

  Bob paused. “Well, no.”

  “Did you try to call her?”

  “Yeah. Her phone goes straight to voicemail like it’s done since Sunday.”

  “She may not be okay, despite what the text says. Where are you now?”

  “I’m in my hotel room, resting after practice.”

  “Have you tried to call the phone number that sent the text?”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Try to call her on that phone,” I said. “Wait there for me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  ###

  I tapped the screen and a text appeared. Querido, no tengas cuidado. Tu sabes que yo tengo que desaparecer y descansar de vez en cuando. Acuerdate de San Diego y de Key West. Me va bien. Regreso antes del Super Bowl. Con mucho carino, tu Bunny.

  I asked Bob, “What happened when you called the number this was sent from?”

  “I got a standard voicemail message from the phone company.”

  “It didn’t say whose phone it was?”

  Bob shook his head. “Just that the number didn’t answer and I should leave a message.”

  I wrote down the number. “It’s the 305 area code. That’s Miami. I’ll text the number to my researcher and get him on it.” When I finished my message to Flamer, I asked Bob what ‘remember San Diego and Key West’ meant.

  “Maybe it was to prove to me that it was Gracie what sent the text, since she didn’t use her phone to send it. She disappeared in San Diego and Key West last year. I’m the only one who knows that.”

  “When I interviewed Miyo, she told me Gracie usually crashes at her place when she disappears. Let’s call Miyo and check it out.”

  “What do you mean that Gracie crashes at Miyo’s place?”

  “Miyo swore me to secrecy before she would talk to me about Gracie. But she said I could tell you that Miyo’s apartment is Gracie’s favorite place to disappear to.”

  “Is Gracie there now?”

  “No,” I answered. “Not unless she showed up at Miyo’s after I left. I’ll call her and ask.”

  After two rings, Miyo answered. “Hello, Chuck. You want to use that rain check for a cocktail?”

  Bob grinned at me and raised his eyebrows.

  I looked at Bob and shrugged. “Not yet, Miyo. I wanted to talk to you about Gracie.”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “We’re not sure, Miyo. I’m in Bob’s hotel suite and I have you on speaker. We got a text from Gracie, but it was from a phone in the 305 area code. Since you have a 305 phone number, we thought she might have shown up at your place.”

  “Hey, Bob. Gracie sent you a text?”

  “Hi, Miyo. Yeah, she did, but it wasn’t from her phone.”

  “I got the 305 number when I lived in Miami. I didn’t change it when I moved to Port City. What did the text say?”

  I said, “It’s in Spanish. I’ll translate: Darling. Please don’t worry. You know that I need to disappear and unwind sometimes. Remember San Diego and Key West. I’m fine. I’ll be back before the game. All my love, your Bunny. Does the reference to San Diego and Key West mean anything to you?”

  “Last year, she called me from San Diego and sent me a first class ticket to join her in Tijuana for a few days. A few months after that, she finished a photo shoot in Key West and came here to unwind for a few days. Bob, I’m sorry I never told you she was with me, but Gracie swore me to secrecy.”

  “Why tell me now, Miyo?”

  “A couple of reasons. When she disappeared from San Diego and Key West, you two were dating, but you weren’t engaged. For all I knew, she wanted to escape from you. Remember, this was before you and I met. Now you’re engaged. That’s different. The other reason is Chuck says she’s missing. I figure you have a right to know. Changing the subject, Chuck, what did she say at the end of the text? Something about a bunny?”

  Bob smiled. “That’s a pet name I use for Gracie when we’re alone. It’s another signal that the text was from her. No one else would know that.”

  “That’s precious, Bob. No wonder Gracie fell for you.”

  My phone signaled a text. “Miyo, I’ve got a text coming in. Thanks for the help.”

  “You need anything else from me?”

  “We’re good, Miyo. If you hear from Gracie, call me anytime, day or night.”

  “I will. And you and Bob call me if you hear from her. Or when you want to collect on that rain check.”

  “It’s a deal.” I disconnected.

  “What was that Miyo said about a rain check for a cocktail?”

  “It was nothing.”

  Bob grinned. “Sounded like something to me, Eighty-Eight. Come on now, don’t hold out on your ol’ buddy.”

  “When I interviewed her at her place, it was about five o’clock. She offered me a drink and I took coffee instead. I had more work to do later.”

  “So she invited you to come back another time?” He grinned.

  I felt uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

  “Why haven’t you taken her up on it? She’s a real nice girl. Good looking too.”

  “I’ve been kinda busy trying to find Gracie. Or did you forget about that?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Eighty-Eight. You’ve been shy around girls ever since middle school. Hell, I remember that I’m the one that had to fix you up with a date to the junior prom. Don’t tell me you’re still nervous around women.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

  Bob clapped me on the shoulder. “It’d be great if you and Miyo got to know each other better. Call her when all this is over.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I will. Now, let’s get back to work. Do you know a guy named Mauricio Cuevadas?” I showed Bob the cellphone screen.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s his phone that Gracie used to send the text.” I held up Bob’s phone again. “Can I have this until tomorrow?”

  Chapter 23

  Vicente Vidali sat in the owner’s stateroom lounge. The distant shore passed in stately fashion as the sun dropped behind the Port City skyline. “Mix me another drink, Dante. Fix one for yourself and Pistolet too.”

  Vidali brooded by the window as he stared at the darkening sky. “Dante, she’s a stupid bitch.”

  “Women are not cut out for our business, Vic,” Dante agreed.

  “I think it’s the hormones,” added the other bodyguard.

  Vidali sipped his drink. “When she first approached me with this idea, I should’ve run like hell. This looked too good to be true.” He stood and stared out the window. “She swore up
and down that the fucking quarterback would fall for it. She said she had him wrapped around her finger.”

  “Yeah, Vic. I remember,” Dante said.

  “Why the hell would she send a text to the stupid jock?”

  “Said she didn’t want him to worry too much, boss.”

  “I know that’s what she said, Dante. But that was the whole goddamn point of disappearing—get him to worry, get him a little off his game after I placed the bets. She acts like she has no sense at all.”

  He gestured with his drink and amber liquid flew across the room. “And using a stolen phone. If Martinez has two brain cells to rub together, he’ll know something is hinky. You don’t get to be an NFL quarterback by being stupid.” Vidali pulled Graciela’s cellphone from his pocket and stared at it as if it would tell him what to do now that the quarterback had been warned. He put it back. “If Martinez knows something’s wrong, it’s for goddamn sure that fucking McCrary knows it too.”

  “You want me to get rid of the woman, boss? We’re offshore. The Gulf Stream would take her body all the way to North Carolina.”

  “No. We need her until after the game. Martinez may want proof she’s alive. We’ll keep her…for now. Besides, after she calms down, maybe I’ll invite her to the owner’s suite one more time.”

  “She’s too skinny, boss.”

  “Variety is the spice of life.”

  Vidali finished his drink and stared at the empty glass. “Dante, I want McCrary off the case. He’s been to Mango Island. He suspects I’m involved in the woman’s disappearance. You’ve got to convince him Graciela has taken a brief, informal vacation.”

  “You want me to whack ’im, boss?”

  “No. That would draw more attention to the woman’s disappearance. Take Pistolet with you and try to reason with him.”

  ###

  Graciela sat alone in the yacht’s salon, one deck below Vidali’s stateroom. She, too, watched the shoreline pass like a tantalizing vision, lovely and, for her, out of reach. She, too, saw the sun drop behind the skyline of Port City. She had three more glasses of Pino Grigio. By the time the Double Scotch passed offshore of Miami Beach, the lights from the high-rises showed in the dark sky. The yacht slowed to allow a container ship to exit Government Cut. It gained speed again as it passed Virginia Key.

  The Double Scotch throttled down and turned west around Biscayne Key. Graciela recognized the famous lighthouse as it flashed its tireless rounds in the darkness. She ordered another Pinot Grigio.

  An hour later, the mega-yacht hove to in the middle of Biscayne Bay.

  Vicente Vidali entered the salon with a cup of coffee. “Good evening, my dear. I hope you enjoyed the sunset and the city lights on the horizon.”

  “Fat chance, Vic.”

  Vidali set his coffee cup down. “I’m afraid I must leave you now. I have business on shore.” He pulled a cellphone from his pocket. “I’ll give this back to Mauricio and tell him to be more careful with it.”

  Graciela watched from the salon as the crew brought the tender around from its berth at the stern. She picked up her Pinot Grigio and drained it. She turned to the steward. “I’ll have another, please.”

  Vidali and his bodyguards descended a ladder out of sight. A few seconds later, the tender came into view as it pulled away from the yacht and sped toward the shore.

  It returned an hour later with only the crewman at the wheel.

  Graciela staggered down the steps to her stateroom and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 24

  I walked into the North Shore Precinct squad room and spotted my buddy. “I’m glad you have the seven-to-three shift this week, Jorge.”

  Detective Lieutenant Jorge Castellano looked up from writing a report. A smile broke across his face. “¡Hola, amigo! Cafe?”

  I answered in Spanish. “Is it as bad as last week?”

  “And last year. It’s a tradition to have bad coffee in the squad room. Builds character.”

  We shook hands. “I wouldn’t mess with tradition. I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’ll have a cup.”

  We walked to the coffee station.

  “What gets you up at this ungodly hour, amigo? My shift started at 7:00 a.m., but everyone knows you like to sleep late.”

  “Yeah, like you.”

  “Seriously, Chuck. What brings you here?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Anything,” said Jorge as he poured our coffees.

  “Let’s walk.”

  When we reached the sidewalk outside the North Shore Precinct, I asked, “Can you keep something off the books?”

  Jorge looked to see if anyone was paying attention in the pre-dawn twilight; they weren’t. “For you, of course. What is it?”

  I handed him Bob’s cellphone. “This belongs to Bob Martinez.”

  Jorge’s eyes widened as he stared at the phone. “The Bob Martinez?”

  I nodded.

  “How did you—?” Jorge began.

  “Long story,” I interrupted. “The short version is that Bob and I played high school football together and we’ve remained friends. He’s hired me to find his fiancée, Graciela Perez. She’s a model.”

  Jorge nodded. “I know who she is—the Latin Angel, right? You mean she’s missing?”

  “I’m afraid so. She disappeared late Saturday night or, more accurately, early Sunday morning, after a Super Bowl party thrown by the Sports 24/7 Network.”

  “You want to file a missing person report?”

  “No. Bob wants me to handle this on the down low. No cops yet.”

  “Why?”

  “He won’t tell me.”

  Jorge lifted the phone. “What does this phone have to do with it?”

  “Yesterday, Graciela sent Bob a text to this phone, but she didn’t use her own phone to send it. It was from the 305 area code. I need you to use your police super powers and tell me where Graciela’s phone is. And where the phone that sent this text is and where was it located when it sent the text.”

  “Is it okay if I read the text?”

  “Just keep it under your hat,” I told him.

  He tapped the screen and a text appeared. “What does she mean by ‘remember San Diego and Key West’?”

  “That proved to Bob that it was her who sent the text, since it didn’t come from her own phone. Bob is the only one who knows she disappeared in San Diego and Key West last year.” I decided not to mention Miyo, since she was not relevant to the task at hand. “Only Graciela knows that Bob calls her ‘Bunny.’ Graciela definitely sent the text.”

  Jorge looked at the screen again. “She says she’s fine and she’ll be back before the game.” He looked at me. “If she’s okay and she’ll be back, why are you still looking for her?”

  “That’s what Bob said. But I don’t think she’s fine. Graciela’s phone goes straight to voicemail like it has since Sunday morning. The phone that sent the text goes straight to voicemail too. And that phone is registered to Mauricio Cuevadas.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I’ve got a guy looking into that right now. But Bob Martinez said he’s never heard of him. I need your cop super powers here.”

  “Let’s head back to the squad room.”

  A few minutes later Jorge looked up from his computer monitor. “Graciela’s phone hasn’t been turned on since Sunday at 4:04 a.m. The last time it pinged a cell tower was near the Portside development. It was turned off there.”

  “Portside Marketplace is where her cell phone was turned off?”

  Jorge glanced at the screen again. “It was that cell tower. Look here on the screen. It wasn’t necessarily Portside Marketplace, but it was that cell tower. Portside Marina uses the same tower. The unknown phone with the 305 number that sent the text to this phone,” he tapped Bob’s cellphone, “used the cell tower on Mango Island.”

  Chapter 25

  The sun was low in the east when I pulled into the parking garage. I was scheduled to meet Bob for
brunch in his suite. He had a walk-through practice for the afternoon, followed by weight training.

  A room service employee in a white coat wheeled a food cart to the door of Bob’s suite as I arrived. We came in together and the server started to set the table.

  “Hey, Eighty-Eight.” We shook hands. Bob slipped the server a few bills. “That’s all right, ma’am. We can serve ourselves. Thanks.”

  We waited for her to leave.

  Bob picked up a serving dish. “You through with my cellphone yet? I’m lost without it.”

  “Here.” I handed the phone over. I filled both our cups while Bob served the food. “Bob, this is worse than I thought.” I played him the voicemail message sent to Gracie’s flip-phone. “That’s from a burner phone that belongs to a guy named Sam Torrance. His street name is Sharky. He’s a drug dealer who lives in Brooklyn. I have my researcher running a report on him. I haven’t heard back yet.”

  “If it’s a burner phone, how do you know who the guy is?”

  I couldn’t resist. “Professional secret. I could tell you, but then…”

  “…you’d have to kill me.” Bob laughed. The tension in the room eased.

  I showed him Jerry Greenbaum’s text on the flip-phone screen. I tossed the printouts of the agent’s emails on the table in front of Bob. “Gracie owes money—a lot of money—to at least one really bad dude. She hasn’t made a credit card payment since November. The balances are up to their maximum. She’s in debt up to her professionally plucked eyebrows—again.”

  Bob put his hands on his hips. “Why the hell would you run a credit report on Gracie? She’s the victim here.”

  I added creamer to my coffee while I figured out how to answer. “That’s what you hired me to do—investigate. Credit card charges could tell me where she is. She hasn’t charged anything since she disappeared. Her last charge was at the Port City Palace boutique Saturday afternoon.” I referred to my notes. “She bought a red bikini. The key point is that she’s in over her pretty head. Desperate people do stupid things.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I discovered the identity of the two men on the elevator. The main guy in the black tux is Vicente Vidali. The bald guy is an ex-con named Dante Orsinati, his bodyguard. Vidali is the Vic who sent her the text about her reservation on the Mango Island ferry. Does the name mean anything to you?”