Stealing the Golden Dream

by Sally J. Smith

  She looked across the table at the gorgeous man who had turned and signaled the waitress.

  She sighed. Second thoughts assailed her. Maybe this had been the wrong thing to do. Maybe Danny Reilly wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes on her face. “I’ve heard a little about Shea Investigations. Your company, right?”

  She nodded. Where was he going with this?

  “You have a partner, too.” He stopped as if trying to recall something. “Eddie Marino? That’s his name, isn’t it? Eddie Marino’s your partner.”

  She caught her breath.

  “I heard he’s had some trouble.”

  She stared at him. How the hell would he know about Eddie if he weren’t involved?

  What was he playing at? Trying to intimidate her? Did he somehow know about what Tank had been doing? Was this a threat?

  Okay. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. He was even scarier than she thought. Coop had been right about Danny Boy Reilly. Deadly. Dangerous. But they couldn’t turn back—the plan was in motion. It was too late.

  The look on Danny’s face was smug, maybe even calculating. “You think I’m stupid or something, sugar?”

  Well, yeah, I was hoping. She didn’t answer or even blink.

  “I know why you’re here. I know you’re playing me, but I figure, what the hell? Maybe we can work something out—you and me. I give you something, you give me something back.”

  Coop’s voice rose above the rest of the crowd noise. He was singing, Blondie’s “One Way or Another” … sort of. It was way off-key. Jordan turned and ice cold beer splashed over her shoulder and down the front of the dress.

  Danny shot to his feet, his voice loud. “Hey, asshole. Watch what you’re doing.”

  Coop leaned over, squinting his bright blue eyes as he peered at her. “Sorry, pretty lady. I’m just … I’m just ….”

  “Aw, man, look at you.” Diego pulled Coop upright and hustled him toward the door, turning back to say, “Lightweight. Whatcha gonna do?”

  Jordan sopped up what she could with one of the smallest cocktail napkins she’d ever seen then looked at Danny, who was still riled and glaring after Coop and Diego. He finally sat down and looked across at her. “Want me to go out and teach him some manners?”

  She laughed. “No, thanks, Sir Galahad.” Sir Galahad? Right. Danny Reilly is anything and everything but pure of heart. “I need to drain the puddle of beer in my bra.” She stood and picked her bag up off the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just ….” She lifted her chin toward the far side of the bar, where a neon sign flashed Babes.

  “Don’t keep me waiting long.” Was it her imagination or was there an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before?

  She nodded, and walked toward the ladies’ room until she was swallowed up by the crowd. Then she headed straight for the front door, exiting right after Diego and Coop.

  “Not long at all, Danny Boy. Just forever.”

  Chapter 33

  Tank pulled her Pilot around to the entrance and she hopped in. Diego and Coop were already in the back.

  She turned around to Coop. “It would have been nice if you’d drunk more of your beer before you dumped it on me.”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t want to miss.”

  She gritted her teeth. “It isn’t even my dress. Theresa’s not gonna be happy. Throw me that backpack, will you?”

  Coop tossed it to her, and she pulled out a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  After yanking the jeans up over her hips, she crossed her arms, reached for the hem of the dress and pulled it off. When she came up for air all three men were looking out their respective windows. Tank, shy Southern boy that he was, whistled something snappy Jordan didn’t quite recognize. She yanked off the tape holding the mic to her breast and tossed it over the seat then shrugged into the T-shirt.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  Tank shifted into gear and pulled out onto Jackson Street then turned right and headed south.

  “How’d it go?” Jordan asked.

  “Like cake,” he answered. “The contents of locker number four-thirty-eight at Blackie’s Gym, signed out to one Danny Reilly, are exactly what we thought.”

  Diego reached over the seat and thumped Tank on the shoulder.

  Coop tsk-tsked. “Drug dealers are so freakin’ predictable, aren’t they? I mean, really? Keeping merchandise in a gym locker? Dude!”

  Jordan took out her phone. “I’m calling in the cavalry. Tank, let’s head on over there.”

  Coop sat back. “Thanks for letting me come along, Miss Welsh. There’s a lot I can learn from you.” He sounded surprised.

  Ironic, thought Jordan. Coop’s remark made her see what they were doing in a clear, passionless light. If she were honest, this was as much about revenge as anything. But in the end, it was righteous. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d planted the drugs in Reilly’s locker. Danny Boy Reilly had cooked his own goose.

  Tank took another right, then a left. They were down by the tracks and Jordan saw what he had in mind.

  “No, Tank. Turn around.”

  “Miss Jordan, aren’t we going after Eddie? We can’t just leave him there.”

  “We’re not leaving him. I’ve made arrangements for Eddie to come home. Tonight. But we can’t be part of it. We’re going to Blackie’s Gym now.”

  He looked at her.

  Nobody said a word. She wasn’t even sure the boys were still breathing. “I promise you. It’s handled—Eddie’s in capable hands.”

  “Detective Murphy.” It was obvious the call woke her up.

  “It’s Jordan.”

  “Jordan? What is it? Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m okay.”

  “Is it LaSalle?” Ann asked. “Did you get LaSalle?”

  “No, but we have a promising lead.” She took a deep breath then went on. “A tip on a known accomplice of LaSalle’s. It could well lead to information on the coin collection.”

  Ann yawned. “Hope it’s a good one. Do you know what time it is?”

  She didn’t. Not really. Jordan looked at her watch. Twelve thirty. If it wasn’t all over but the shouting, it soon would be.

  Must have been around eleven thirty or later. Maybe. Angel had come back to be his watchdog and Eddie knew from observation the gringo switched out with Angel around eleven or eleven thirty, every twelve hours.

  He felt like crap. His head and face throbbed. He’d been hit so many times he’d lost count. Circulation to his hands and feet was cut off thanks to the tight duct tape. He’d lost feeling in them a long time ago.

  He was too weak to fight now, so they’d quit dosing him with the drug. Angel called it “sux.” Succinylcholine. He’d heard of it. Potent. Surgeons used it to keep patients immobile during procedures. Paralytic, but not sedative. It was perfect if you wanted to beat the crap out of somebody while he was unable to do anything about it and still have the poor sap hurt like hell the whole time.

  Speaking of which …. “When do you think LaSalle’s coming back here?”

  Angel looked up from the comic book but ignored the question.

  Eddie tried to shift in the chair and take some of the pressure off his back and hips. He’d been thinking things through and had come up with a plan that might just get him out of this. If he told LaSalle he’d lead him to where the coins were hidden, at least he’d be mobile.

  The only regret he had about the way things were going to end was, of course, Jordan. They’d hardly even had time to get to know each other very well, although he still felt like he knew her better than anyone else on the face of the planet.

  Jordan. The fire in her eyes flashed through his mind. He could almost hear her laughing at some silly thing he’d said. That was the best reason he could think of to put on the ridiculous Jersey Shore goomba act. It made Jordan laugh.

  God, how he wished he’d had more time with her
.

  She’d be okay. Jordan Welsh always landed upright, just like the Weebles Gina used to play with when she was little.

  He’d never let Jordan know just how far gone he was, never let her see he needed her a thousand times more than she needed him. He would have liked to have the chance to set a few things straight with her.

  The service door slammed. Eddie’s head jerked up, his heart in his throat. He hadn’t heard it open, but it banged shut like a gunshot. LaSalle was back. Time was up. Do or die.

  His worst nightmare strolled across the big empty space like he was window-shopping. He stopped in front of Eddie, slapping an airline ticket jacket against his palm. “My ride out of here. I can’t hang around much longer. Since I’m such a swell guy, I’m gonna give you one more chance before I punch your ticket.”

  Tony pulled out those damned leather gloves and slipped them on.

  Eddie watched him do it, every nerve in his body on alert. Showtime. “I got a proposition for you, Tony. Untie me, and I’ll take you to where the coin collection is stashed.”

  He rubbed his knuckles against his palm. “You mean you’re not going to give me even a few knocks? I mean, I think I deserve at least a few shots at you.”

  Eddie shook his head. “But I’m going to give you what you want.”

  Tony looked almost disappointed. “Okay. But why now?”

  Eddie just looked up at him.

  “Oh, sure,” Tony said. “The girl, right? You’re playing hero, trying to save the girl. Ain’t that just too, too noble of you.”

  “You are still interested in the gold. Right? I mean, if you don’t want me to give ’em up—”

  “No. I’m interested. It’s too late for me to stay here—the Mexicans already have me on their hit list—but I’m not stupid enough to turn down a few million bucks toward my retirement. Still, if you think I’m turning you loose ….”

  Eddie shrugged. “Those are my terms. What do you have to lose? Hell, you’ll be with me. Bring Angel along. He’s three times my size. He can pick me up and throw me against the wall with one hand. I’m in no shape to walk away, not before you’re ready for me to, that is.” And I know your plan never included my walking away.

  LaSalle frowned and zeroed in on Eddie like a rattler before a strike. Eddie found he was holding his breath as Tony began pacing in front of him. Do it, Tony. Do it. Sure, it’s a trick, but it’s your only shot. Hell, it’s my only shot.

  After what seemed like an hour or two, but was probably only a couple of minutes, Tony stopped pacing, took off the gloves, and jerked his head at Angel, who walked around behind Eddie and cut the duct tape off his arms.

  When he yanked it off, Eddie hissed.

  After he was free, Angel grabbed him under one arm and jerked him out of the chair.

  Eddie’s legs cramped and collapsed. Angel held on and Tony grabbed the other side. They turned toward the door.

  Tony’s head jerked up as the overhead door engaged and began to crank up. Two men dropped to the pavement and rolled under it ninja-style, followed by a half dozen just like them. Eddie recognized a few of the men. They sprang to their feet, automatic weapons leveled at Angel and Tony.

  Tony and Angel let go of Eddie. He hit the concrete floor with a grunt. It hurt like hell.

  He raised his head as the door lifted, and Anthony Vercelli strode into the warehouse like Patton marching into Sicily. Tony was smart enough to stay where he was and not even twitch. He raised his hands. Angel followed suit.

  Vercelli’s face was in shadow, but his body language radiated rage. Without stopping or hesitating, he drew his arm across his body and backhanded Tony across the face.

  “I trusted you, you son of a bitch.” Vercelli didn’t look away. “You okay, Eddie?”

  Eddie wanted to sing, but instead said, “No, sir. Not okay. Not even close.”

  “Stay still just a couple more minutes,” Vercelli said. “Something I need to address then we’ll get you out of here.”

  “No problem, Mr. V.” Relief so powerful he couldn’t contain it surged through Eddie.

  One of Vercelli’s men took Angel aside, patted him down, and led him outside. Vercelli was totally focused on LaSalle. “You have some things to answer for, Tony,” Vercelli said.

  Tony began to shake.

  Eddie didn’t blame him, not one bit. Vercelli’s bad side was damn scary at best.

  “Not just for Eddie. The Mexican cartel has been hot and heavy on my ass. I understand I have you to thank. It seems they had the impression it was me stealing their product, not you.” Vercelli went on. “And now this ugliness with Eddie …. Tsk, tsk.”

  “And Muggs,” Eddie ground out. “Don’t forget about Muggs.”

  Vercelli nodded. “Muggs is on your dance card, too.”

  Eddie had heard Vercelli make similar statements. It wasn’t good, and apparently Tony LaSalle knew it too.

  “Anything I can do about this, Mr. V?” Tony asked.

  Vercelli shook his head. “What do you think?”

  Tony shrugged. “No way I’m going down without a fight.”

  He reached into his waistband, yanked out a big automatic pistol and raised it to draw a bead on Anthony Vercelli.

  As Tony’s arm came up in a burst of gunfire, Eddie grabbed his ankles and yanked his feet out from under him. Tony came down hard, his head snapped back, and his gun clattered to the floor as he collapsed on top of Eddie. Eddie couldn’t do anything but try not to suffocate as a half dozen gun barrels descended toward Tony’s head.

  “Hold your fire,” Vercelli ordered. “Leon, get that piece of garbage off of Eddie.”

  Chapter 34

  Blackie’s Gym was dark when Jordan and the crew arrived.

  They waited in the parking lot and watched as two Phoenix PD blue-and-whites pulled up, along with a Ford Explorer. The cherry topper on its roof made it obvious it was a police vehicle as well. Ann and Neil got out of the Explorer. Jordan and the crew joined them.

  “Impound?” Jordan asked, indicating the Ford.

  Neil made a face. “Yeah. We couldn’t find anything better. No sports cars tonight.”

  “Sorry to get you out of bed, Detective Thompson,” Jordan said. “You look terrible. You probably could have used the rest.”

  “Very funny, Welsh,” he said. “You drag me out in the middle of the night, you better have some damn good info. Who’s this secret informant of yours, anyway?”

  She shrugged. “Really? If I tell you who it is, it’s not much of a secret, is it?”

  Ann, beside her, spoke into her ear. “But you are going to reveal your source. Right, Jordan?”

  “My source? We’re looking for this LaSalle guy, and we have feelers out all over the place. On the streets, on the inside, everywhere. Let’s just say one of those feelers came back that this Reilly guy and Tony LaSalle are dealing drugs together. And we’re confident enough of the information provided to follow up on it. Who knows, maybe it’s connected to the Dahlonega theft.”

  “I don’t like the way you operate,” Neil said. “You or that Marino guy either. Something off about him, if you ask me.”

  Jordan put out her arm to bar the way as both Tank and Diego moved in on Neil.

  The detective’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “What was that, Neil?” Jordan asked. “I don’t think I heard you clearly. Were you casting aspersions on my partner?”

  He grumbled and moved away.

  Jordan turned to Tank and Diego. “Where’s Coop?”

  “Taking a nap,” Diego said. “Past his bedtime.”

  Jordan laid her hands on each of their shoulders. “Why don’t you join him? I think I have this one covered.”

  A bald, muscle-bound fifty-something man-ape arrived in a Chevy pickup.

  He spoke to the Phoenix officers, unlocked the door to the gym and went inside.

  All the lights were on in Blackie’s Gym by the time everyone went in. Neil showed Blackie the warrant while Ann
took the lead. One of the Phoenix cops followed them with a lock cutter.

  Jordan breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Blackie. He hadn’t been present when she and Tank talked to Reilly there that morning.

  “Men’s locker room?” Ann asked.

  Blackie led them.

  Jordan followed along as if she didn’t know the way on her own.

  As she remembered, the concrete floor was pitted and cracked, paint chipping off the lockers. It looked clean, but the smell of sweat and gym shoes hung in the air while the heavy humidity assaulted them all. The curls Theresa worked on for so long collapsed out of Jordan’s hair.

  “Four-thirty-eight?” Blackie stopped. “Here ya go.”

  They all stood back while the cop moved in, snapped the lock off, and stepped aside.

  Ann and Neil looked at each other then at Jordan.

  “Well, let’s see how good your secret informant is.” Sarcasm had always been Neil’s specialty, but tonight he really rubbed Jordan the wrong way.

  She slanted Ann a look and spoke beside her ear. “How can you stand working with this miserable jerk?”

  Ann smiled. “He lets me drive.”

  Neil reached for the handle and opened the locker.

  Even though Jordan knew exactly what was inside, she held her breath. Tank had told her every item in the locker—from the can of Axe deodorant, to the illegally modified Colt .38 automatic handgun, and a hundred-foils of black tar heroin in a baggie like Jordan used for leftovers.

  This might have been the first time in a long while that Detective Neil Thompson smiled—not just smiled but laughed out loud. “What do you think about that? Didn’t find the gold coins like we came for, but now we have this Danny Boy as a consolation prize.”

  “How you like me now, Neil?” Jordan broke into song and dance. “I’m awesome. I’m awesome. I’m awesome.”

  “Smartass,” Neil said.

  Ann interrupted. “Don’t pay any attention to Detective Thompson. Nothing like a white girl with rhythm and a good CI.”