by Jeff Abbott
Gooch said nothing.
‘Y’all have the money. I need the money.’ He got his voice low, put his mouth close to Gooch’s ear. ‘Paul will kill you if he thinks you can’t help him, okay? But I’ll cut a separate deal with you and your friends. And you get to live.’
Gooch considered. ‘What’s the deal?’
‘We could split the money and I can make sure Paul never bothers any of us again. But I have to have that cash. Listen, Paul can cut a new deal with his buyers. Just buy half the coke tonight, not the whole shipment. It’s not ideal but it would preserve the deal, at least for a few more days. And you would still get half the money, and you get to live.’
‘Let’s say you and I cut a deal. What’s to keep Paul from coming in and shooting me at any second? While I’m your captive I don’t have a single guarantee,’ Gooch said. ‘And even if you get half the money, you just let me go?’
‘You’re right,’ Bucks said. ‘You don’t have a guarantee. Except my word that I’ll keep Paul from killing you because I can’t afford to have your death sour a deal with Eve and Mosley. But I need you to tell Mosley and Eve to give me half the money. Or Paul will come at you like that guy in Detroit he chain-whipped to death. Man, I saw pictures. You don’t want to end like that.’
Gooch said nothing, watched the ceiling. ‘They don’t have the money. They can’t cut the deal you want.’ Gooch closed his eyes. ‘It’s really painful to watch a mind work at such a slow pace.’
‘Painful,’ Bucks said. ‘Friend, you’re gonna learn nine new meanings of the word.’ He patted Gooch’s cheek. ‘If you won’t deal, you’ll just have to take what comes. I have an idea on how to keep you on the table as a bargaining chip.’ He went to the top of the stairs. ‘Dr Brewer, come up here, please.’ Chad Channing stressed the importance of keeping all your bases covered.
Twenty minutes later, Bucks went back downstairs. Tasha Strong was on the phone. She nodded, hung up, and Bucks sat down across from her. Frank Polo sat at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of red wine, rubbing his face. The blond kid, Gary, was on the sofa, frowning, while Doc Brewer, who had tended to Frank’s injury last night, returned to his interrupted work of stitching up a cut on Gary’s head. The muscle assigned to watch the Pie Shack lot, Max, with the spare tire now on his Mustang, was out in the garage surveying the damage to Eve’s car.
‘That was Paul,’ Tasha said. ‘Wants the guy brought to his house. Easier to keep him hid.’
‘The guy still hasn’t regained consciousness,’ Bucks said. Forced himself not to look over at Doc Brewer. ‘I mean, a head injury like that, he may be out for a while.’
‘Long while,’ Doc Brewer chimed in.
‘So he can’t give us information yet on Eve.’ Bucks crossed his arms, looked hard at Tasha Strong. ‘Tell me again what happened.’
‘Paul wanted to see if there were any incriminating files on Eve’s computer. I didn’t think there would be, because she would have taken the whole laptop, but she didn’t.’
‘Why you?’
‘I used to be a Web designer, I’m comfortable with computers,’ Tasha said. ‘He said go check it out, so I did.’
‘Why didn’t he ask me?’ Bucks said.
‘Ask him,’ Tasha said.
‘Sounds like a matter of trust to me.’ Frank sipped at his wine.
‘Shut the hell up,’ Bucks said.
‘So I come inside with the key Paul gave me, and I hear a noise. I go up to check the computer, but before I can do anything, Mosley surprises me with the gun. And then he starts asking questions. About you, Bucks.’
‘What about me?’
‘Where you live. Where you eat. How often you got muscle with you. Are you even a decent shot. Stuff like that.’ Tasha gave him a thin smile. ‘They must be planning to come after you. Tit for tat, since you put a hit on them.’
Bucks commanded himself not to flinch. ‘And what did you say?’
‘I told him I didn’t know you well. Didn’t know where you lived, anyplace you hung out other than the Topaz. He fired a shot, through the window, to scare me. I told him I didn’t know. Then he told me to stay quiet when y’all came in, and he went out the window.’ She folded her arms.
‘You find anything interesting on Eve’s computer?’ Bucks asked.
‘I didn’t have time to look. I’ll do that now.’ She stood.
‘We’ll take the computer with us when we move Guchinski over to Paul’s house,’ Bucks said. ‘All have a look together.’
‘Whatever,’ Tasha said.
Frank set down his wineglass. ‘If there was anything valuable on the computer, Mosley would have taken it.’
‘Shut up,’ Bucks said again, and Frank laughed against the rim of his wineglass.
‘Mosley might have copied the information instead,’ Tasha said. ‘If I hadn’t caught him, no one would know he was here. And they’d have information we didn’t know they had.’
‘Major strategic advantage,’ Bucks said.
‘Baby, You’re My Moron,’ Frank sang.
Doc Brewer stood in the kitchen alcove. He was a short, gray little man with a face the color of faded concrete, and his voice was always soft, as though he preferred to sidle through life unnoticed. ‘Usually I don’t volunteer my opinions,’ he said, ‘but look at the other side of the coin. If he wasn’t here taking something, he was leaving something behind.’ Tapped his ear.
Everyone shut up. Bucks stood on a chair, inspecting the ornate light fixtures. He looked along the window-panes. He pulled the phone off the wall, checked its back. He ducked his head under the kitchen table.
‘Well, hello there.’ Bucks reached for the digital voice recorder.
26
Friday evening, darkness settled over Houston, the sun painting the clouding sky the orange of joy, the gray of sadness. Whit wanted to drive back to the house on Timber; Eve forbade him and he decided it was a bad idea, an ambush waiting to happen. Or maybe they’d chased Gooch and he’d had to lose them and was taking his time getting home, ensuring he wasn’t followed back to Charlie’s house. The news came on; there was no report of a shooting along the quiet of a River Oaks street. No report of a man matching Gooch’s description turning up dead.
Whit sat with Eve at Charlie’s PC, studying the data on Tasha’s disc.
‘This isn’t exactly a backup of the hard drive, Whit,’ she said.
He leaned down, looked at the spreadsheets before him. Columns of numbers with annotations and footnotes inserted beneath that made no sense to him.
‘So what is it?’
‘These spreadsheets show operations from the legit Bellini businesses. And then these are the semilegit businesses, like Alvarez Insurance. We use them to clean the money from the drug deals, by making it look like the funds are coming from legit accounts from various holding companies. But these files’ – she pointed to an array of spreadsheet icons – ‘I’ve never seen before.’
‘But she was copying from your drive.’
‘You sure she wasn’t copying from this CD onto my hard drive? You were tense. Maybe it was the other way around.’
‘I should have taken the whole laptop,’ he said.
‘Then they’d know someone had been in the house.’
‘They’d know anyway once Tasha talked.’
She shook her head. ‘Honey, you think I kept records so a Fed with a search warrant could walk in, seize a system, and indict us? No. I switched out hard drives every few weeks and destroyed the old ones. But I kept the files that made the drug money look legitimate.’
‘So how would Tommy Bellini know if his books balanced?’
‘He and I would review them together before I destroyed the drug files. Of course that stopped after his stroke.’ She glanced at him. ‘The idea was to park a certain amount of real money in his legit interests. So you go ahead and pay the taxes on those. The rest went into his pocket, backed by the money-cleaning books. Out of that he paid salaries, expenses, an
d so on.’
‘And supplies. Like the coke.’
She nodded.
‘Why would Tasha have these other files and want to put them on your laptop?’ he said. ‘Unless she’s part of the frame. She’s in with Bucks.’
Eve scrolled down through the spreadsheets. ‘This looks more like an extra set of cooked books.’ She began to click open files, studying them. ‘Hey. These are files for businesses Paul doesn’t own. With lots of money parked in them. Look at these revenue figures.’
‘So why does a stripper at his club have an additional set of cooked books on a CD? Why?’
Eve frowned. ‘Let’s say Paul gives her the CD, asks her to back up the data on the laptop. Then these are extra files already on the CD – data he was keeping secret from me. I didn’t think he had operations I didn’t know about but now anything’s possible with Paul.’
‘Again, why not simply take the laptop? It’s his.’
‘Because he doesn’t want Bucks or Frank to know it’s gone.’
‘Because he suspects Bucks but doesn’t want to tip his hand,’ Whit said. ‘Or Frank’s. You said he embezzled from Paul.’ Whit leaned over her, watched the screen. ‘Let’s consider another possibility. She has these files on the disc. But did she also copy these files to the hard drive in return?’
‘Why?’
‘Part of the frame-up on you,’ he said. ‘Bucks could say you were incorrectly cooking the books with this data.’
‘Those files would have a date stamp for when they were placed on the hard drive.’ She clicked the mouse, expanded a view. ‘See. They’re showing as transferred today.’
‘But they could be edited once they were on the machine. Assuming Tasha has the computer know-how, and I’ll bet she does. Bucks didn’t want Frank around when the files were added. So he asks Tasha to do it when they’re gone.’
‘I prefer simplicity,’ Eve said. ‘She’s in bed with Paul, he wanted to know what was on that system without alerting Bucks and Frank. He’s a sneaky ass.’
‘She’s sneakier,’ he said. ‘She had that little gun hidden in a cell phone. Have you ever seen that used?’
‘No, but I’ve heard of them. Paul might’ve given it to her.’ She pointed again at the spreadsheet icons. ‘This bothers me. This data makes the Bellinis look like they’ve got way more income that is being cleaned than they actually do, in lots of places that don’t exist. I don’t believe Tommy or Paul truly has this money. So what would be the point of putting it on my computer or tying it to other Bellini financial records?’
‘What would the Feds do if they got this information?’
‘Start auditing each and every company. Start tracing the money trail. Start shutting down operations, making arrests.’ She pointed at the cooked-book files. This would make them pee in excitement.’
‘Then we have a negotiating point, right? We could put Paul in jail.’
‘And me in jail, Whit.’ She touched the back of his hand. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘I didn’t do the crime,’ Whit said.
‘No, you didn’t. I told you, I go to prison, they’ll still kill me. I have no doubt.’ She stood, walked to the window. ‘There has to be another way to use this to get Paul to back off on having me whacked.’
Whit said nothing for a few moments. He tried Gooch’s cell phone again, calling on his own cell, not wanting to call on Charlie’s home number. No answer. ‘This isn’t right,’ he said.
‘We have to assume they got him,’ Eve said. ‘You said he was pulling away but they may have shot him.’
‘In the middle of River Oaks?’
‘He’s not here, is he?’
‘I messed up,’ Whit said.
‘No. Gooch shouldn’t have shown up there. He told me he was coming straight back here. He didn’t stick to the plan, Whit. It’s not your fault.’
‘He saved me from getting shot, and I left him.’
‘You did what he wanted.’ She touched his face.
‘Where would they take him?’
‘The Bellinis own two houses in River Oaks. The one Frank and I were in, and another, much bigger house on Lazy Lane.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Lazy Lane’s a street where practically every house has a guard station. Dogs roaming property. Heavy protection. If they take Gooch there we’ll never get in.’
‘We’re not abandoning him.’
‘Paul owns a house down in Galveston, too, but it’s for sale. I doubt they would head down there.’
‘I can’t risk Gooch’s life. I’m calling the police,’ Whit said.
‘And tell them what?’ Eve asked.
‘Everything,’ he said.
‘Will that help your dad, Whit?’ she asked. ‘You want him to see you in jail before he dies?’
‘Your concern for my dad is a little late,’ Whit said. ‘Like thirty years.’
‘I’m more concerned for you.’
‘And your own hide.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘You have me pegged, anyway. What I did to you defines every aspect of me as a person, right?’
‘Yes,’ Whit said. ‘Would anyone ignore abandoning your family in estimating your character?’
‘I suppose not.’ She sat down on the couch. ‘Call them, then. They’ll arrest the both of us. Me for the felonies I’ve committed, you for the knowledge of them. That’s at least three years in prison, Whit. You already turned your back on law and order, baby.’
He sat down on the couch, put his face in his hands.
‘Whit? What are you going to do?’ she asked quietly.
His cell phone buzzed. He answered it, praying it was Gooch. ‘Hello?’
‘Whit? It’s Claudia.’
‘Hey,’ he said, his stomach sinking at the sound of her voice.
‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘You’re okay?’
‘Sure,’ he said.
‘I’m in Houston. Did you know about Harry Chyme?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was on the news. I’m so sorry, Claudia.’
‘Had Harry found your mom, Whit? Tell me.’ A crackle marred Claudia’s voice on the line. ‘Whit? Did you hear me?’
‘No, he hadn’t found her,’ Whit said. Seeing how the lie tasted in his mouth. ‘I talked with him briefly, he said he thought Eve Michaels was in Houston, but I didn’t hear anything more from him.’
‘Are you still in Houston?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Where? I want to see you. Now.’
‘This is a bad time, Claudia. Really. I can’t talk right now.’
‘I’m staying at a Hampton Inn near the Galleria. I came to Houston to find you, find out what happened to Harry. And you are going to tell me what the hell’s going on. When I heard Harry was found dead with a man, and you had gone to Houston… I’ve been scared to death. I’ve left you messages, why haven’t you called?’
‘I’m sorry, Claudia. I’m sorry. Go back to Port Leo, okay? I’m okay and I’ll talk with you later.’
‘Whit, for God’s sakes, this is me!’
‘You’re one of my best friends, Claudia, and I love you and I don’t want you involved in this. I’m sorry. Go home.’ And he clicked off the phone.
‘Girlfriend?’ Eve asked.
‘No. Good friend.’
‘I didn’t even ask if you were married. Or had been.’
‘I haven’t been. But I won’t be bringing a girl home to meet you.’
‘You shouldn’t. I would probably scare a nice girl.’
He said nothing.
Eve sat next to him on the couch. ‘They will torture Gooch if they have to, Whit. They’ll blow the fingers off his hand one by one. Cut off his balls. Cut him so he bleeds to death an inch at a time. Strangle him until he’s nearly dead then give him the gift of breath back. Then strangle him. Again and again, till he’s begging to die. He’ll tell them where we are. We’ve got to find a new place to hide.’
They’ll never break Gooch,’ Whit said. ‘If he’s dead and
beyond our help, we’re too late. If he’s not, he’ll never turn on us.’
‘Whit. He’s an incredible person. I can tell that. But these people will break him.’
‘Tell me. Have you seen them hurt people before?’
‘Yes,’ she said after a moment.
‘And did nothing.’
‘Stop judging me, Whitman.’ Her voice was as low as a whisper.
‘If I were judging you, I would be walking out the door. I would never have even tried to find you. Because I did, Harry is dead. Gooch may be dead. I don’t blame you. I blame me.’
‘Whit…’ Her voice softened.
‘My choices,’ he said. ‘So I got to fix it. I’m calling the cops. But you, take Gooch’s van and go. You’re good at hiding, they’ll never find you. You leave. I’ll stay to get Gooch.’
‘Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you to face this alone.’
‘You have to, because if I call the cops you’ll be arrested.’
She put her face in her hands, shook her head.
‘And I lose you all over again,’ Whit said. ‘But I can’t let them hurt Gooch.’
She looked up at him. ‘What if there’s another option?’
He got up, walked to the window, let the drape drop down. ‘I don’t know how to beat these people.’
She followed him to the window. Slowly, awkwardly, she hugged him. His arms tensed under hers. She rested her head against his chest and he let his breath loose.
‘I don’t have a right to hug you, son,’ she said. ‘But pretend I do, okay?’
He stood there in the fading light, his mother holding him and his heart fractured along a thousand fissure lines, a thousand hurts, a thousand wishes. The house was quiet and he listened to the hush of her breath. Slowly he hugged her back.
‘I’ll make it all right, son,’ she said.
Her cell phone, tucked in her purse, rang. She broke the hug and went to the purse, dug it out, clicked it on. ‘Yes?’
She listened for a moment, then handed Whit the phone. ‘Bucks. He wants to speak to you.’
‘Hello?’
‘Your friend is made of stern stuff,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Is he alive?’
