by Jeff Abbott
The woman was pretty, must have been drop-dead gorgeous in her shallow youth, fine-featured, high-cheekboned, thin lips parted in an honest smile for the camera. She looked normal, nothing bent or broken within her that would make her leave her family, her children, run off with an embezzler, perhaps kill him, then join a crime family. She didn’t look like a mom who’d bake cookies for the PTA but she looked like a mom who’d let you eat ice cream until you got sick. Whit looked like her, Claudia could really see the resemblance, across the eyes, the mouth, the cheekbones, and she bit her lip, her heart full for Whit.
Frank Polo came back into the kitchen, holding a small photo. She stepped back into the kitchen to meet him and he handed her the picture. ‘Took that last year on a trip to Cozumel. It’s a good likeness of Eve.’
Claudia took the photo. The same woman, wearing Capri pants and a white blouse, turquoise jewelry at her throat, smiling in bright sunlight. ‘You know, her name isn’t Eve. It’s Ellen.’ The woman named Ellen should have had a life with her sons. As she looked at the picture, an acid dislike for Ellen Mosley settled in her mouth.
‘Ellen. It doesn’t fit her. Too Sunday-school teacher.’
‘Where is she, Mr Polo?’
‘I told you I don’t know.’
‘I find it hard to believe that if she left because of Whit, she didn’t tell you where she was going.’ But her voice stayed friendly.
‘She didn’t want Whit strong-arming it out of me,’ Frank said.
‘I know you know,’ Claudia said.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I don’t. Having your unwanted kid show up is enough to make a woman like Eve run for cover. There’s nothing else to it.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Does that mean you’re not going to give me her number?’
He went to an address book, wrote down numbers and an address, handed them to her.
‘Tasha Strong’s phone number and address. Eve’s number. Good luck.’ Tasha Strong’s address was on Telephone Road, a major thoroughfare near Hobby Airport.
‘Greg Buckman,’ she said. ‘You know him, too.’
He let three beats pass. ‘Yes. Worked at Energis, the jerk. Bad freaking influence on Paul.’
‘A bad influence on a mobster.’
‘Paul’s not a mobster. No matter what you think. But Bucks, he’s a greedy, mean bastard.’
‘Yet, when Bucks nearly gets killed the other night, he comes running to you. To this house,’ Claudia said. ‘It’s odd.’
‘He probably thought Paul would be here.’
‘But Paul was dead by then. See, if Bucks killed Paul, he sure wouldn’t have come to your house afterwards and sat waiting for you. He’d leave Houston.’
‘People are idiots,’ Frank said. ‘Haven’t you noticed? I haven’t really talked to Bucks since Paul died.’
‘Because the police are watching you all.’
‘Are they? No one’s at my door or window,’ Frank said. ‘And like I said, it’s been nice talking to you.’
‘Bucks could turn, cut a deal. Say you and Eve are more to the Bellinis than family friends. With Paul dead, the structure may crumble and crush you underneath it.’
‘Sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’m not doing a half-assed plea deal. Because I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m going on with my life. I got to get my throat into shape, practice my arpeggios and finger snaps and hip swivels.’
‘I’m glad you have your priorities.’
‘You want to help your friend. You know, I like Whit. I know it’s tough. Losing his mom. I loved my mom. She was the best person, next to Eve, I’ve known. Don’t look surprised. Eve is a wonderful person. You don’t know her.’
‘Thanks for the coffee,’ Claudia said.
‘If Eve calls,’ Frank said, ‘I’ll leave it up to her whether or not she wants to talk to you. Since you’re Whit’s friend. You got a number where I can reach you?’
‘Yeah.’ She set down the purse on the counter, dug inside for paper and pen, pulled them out. Wrote down her cell phone number. Handed it back to him.
‘You seem like a nice young lady,’ Frank said. ‘I know Whit’s your friend and you want to help him. Can I give you friendly advice?’
‘Sure,’ Claudia said, not wanting to burn this bridge quite yet.
‘Stay out of this. It’s between a mother and son. Or two people wondering if they can be a mother and son. Let them sort it out.’ He gave her his best smile. ‘You still want an autograph? For your sister?’
‘Sign it to me. I’ll make her jealous. I don’t suppose… well, you’re famous. Would you have a photo of yourself on hand?’
‘I always do,’ Frank said.
Claudia drove away from the house, sure his eyes were watching her from the window.
From her car seat, a thirty-years-younger, open-shirted Frank Polo smiled at her, the words TO CLAUDIA, YOU’RE MY GROOVE! YOUR FRIEND, FRANK POLO scrawled beneath his then-perfect chin.
Frank watched her leave. Nice young woman but clearly not the kind who would give up. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the cool of the glass.
He wanted Eve back so bad. Whit was right. The best answer was to deal with one more devil.
44
‘Jose Peron has Eve,’ Frank said. ‘He therefore has the money.’
Bucks sat across from him at the dining-room table Monday night, hands steepled in front of his mouth. ‘I knew it.’
‘Greg,’ Frank said, and Bucks looked up, a little surprised at the use of his first name. No one but his parents and Robin, who wasn’t even talking to him now, ever called him by his given name. ‘You’re the dirty guy here. The police know that you’re dirty because Jose tried to hit you. They’ll keep digging until they find evidence to truly connect you with Jose, Kiko, or Paul. It’s over. Your only hope is that money. You can do anything, go anywhere with it. Brazil. Ecuador. Thailand. Places where cash shuts folks up and they never ask questions.’
‘You want me to have the money?’
‘I just want Eve back if she’s still alive,’ Frank said. ‘That’s all.’
‘Because you care,’ Bucks said.
‘Because I love her,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t have much time. Robin’s not gonna keep her mouth shut for long once the police start leaning on her.’
‘Robin doesn’t know shit.’
‘Son, women always know more than you think they do. Look at Tasha. I heard she’s taken off. Because she knows too much about Paul and she don’t want the police bugging her. Or us whacking her to keep her quiet.’
‘I’m not whacking Robin.’ Bucks found, to his surprise, he was really missing her. She wouldn’t talk to him. He had never felt so alone in his life, even with Chad Channing’s reassuring words playing in his head for company.
‘You act like you still have choices.’ Frank shook his head. ‘The police can haul you in at any minute, lean on you hard if you’re not cooperating with them about why Jose tried to kill you. Paul’s dead. And you’re the one doing the dirty work for him and for Kiko both. Trying to play them against each other has left you on the bottom, son.’
‘I didn’t…’
‘Save it,’ Frank said. ‘I can guess what went down. How long do you live if Paul’s guys knew you’d helped Kiko?’
Bucks swallowed. ‘I didn’t have a choice, Frank, I…’
‘It seems to me, though,’ Frank said, like he didn’t care about excuses, ‘you and I are the ones that truly suffered.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve lost the woman I love. You’ve been through hell.’
Bucks looked like he hadn’t slept in two days. He’d shaved, but missed spots, and one scraggly bit of stubble lay along the edge of his cheek. The immaculate grooming was slipping. ‘So why are you even talking to me, Frank? If I screwed Paul so bad, why do you want me to have the money?’
‘You in jail is a bad thing. Not just for you. For everyone. The pressure on you to talk will be huge. And any frie
nds of Kiko, they believe you killed him and that’s why Jose tried to kill you, well, they’ll whack you in jail. Simple as a phone call.’
Bucks raised an eyebrow. ‘But that would take care of the problem of me.’
Frank cleared his throat, tented his hands under his chin. ‘How about a private little deal between you and me? You take care of Jose, you get Eve and the money back. You give half the money to me and Eve, you keep the other half for yourself, and nobody ever knows you screwed over Paul. I’ll keep my mouth shut.’
‘I didn’t kill Paul.’
‘I don’t think you did. You know they found Gooch’s van where Paul died?’
Bucks said nothing.
‘Wasn’t in the paper. I know that from Whit Mosley. Now, what does that suggest to you?’ Frank said quietly.
‘Whit killed him.’
‘Getting Gooch back.’
‘I’m not gonna kill Whit Mosley because he killed Paul,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m out of the ring. I don’t do revenge.’
‘Then get rid of Whit because he can bring you down. Keep you from the money. If Eve’s dead, he has no further reason to try to deal with you. Eve is his mother.’ Frank watched Bucks blink. ‘So Whit, eventually, will tell everything to the cops. That you tried to have him and Eve killed, you kidnapped his friend, you’re in with drug dealers. But if you and I have Eve, the money, and plane tickets, our worries are pretty much over.’
‘You act like you know where Jose has the money,’ Bucks said.
‘Oh, I do.’ Frank pulled a Sig Sauer out from under the table, leveled it at Bucks. ‘But you get rid of Whit for me. He’s willing to meet you because he thinks you know where Jose has Eve. And Jose called him, told him Eve was still alive.’
‘Why do you want him dead?’
‘I want Eve with me, not her kid. He’s a judge down on the coast. She goes with him, she gives up our life together, and I’m not letting her go.’
‘Wow, you’re a really romantic old fart. So where’s the money, Frank?’ Bucks asked, the low growl coming back into his voice. ‘Tell me or no deal at all. You want Whit dead, that’s sweet with me.’
‘They’re at an old warehouse off Mississippi,’ Frank said. ‘I know the dealers in this town, the big ones who like to come to the club, and I got more eyes than a fly. Our time’s running out, son. You take Whit with you, he’ll fight these guys to save his mom, you get the money, we get Eve. But make sure Whit doesn’t make it out alive.’
‘Can I state the obvious?’ Bucks said. ‘I could risk getting killed, take the money myself, and why should I worry about saving Eve?’
‘Because, if you don’t, I’ll tell the cops you killed Kiko.’ Frank watched Bucks. Frank knew that Bucks probably thought Jose had the movie, had taken it after killing Kiko, because if the police had found it, then his Brooks Brothers ass would be behind bars, getting warmed up to be a jail boss’ new bitch. Bucks didn’t know Whit and Frank had both seen the movie.
‘But I didn’t.’
‘But you had every reason to, didn’t you, Bucks?’
Bucks tented his cheek with his tongue. Frank waited. Let the greed and the fear work their magic. It wasn’t that different from dealing with music promoters. If you appeared quiet and relaxed, not desperate to sing, even if every fiber in your body was screeching please, God, book me, please let me get up onstage because I know they will love me then the other person usually blinked first. Frank never wanted a real agent, not when he had Tommy to cut the infrequent deals. He had watched and learned.
‘All right,’ Bucks said. ‘You got a deal. Get Mosley here.’ He gave Frank a wicked little smile. ‘Chad Channing always said you should turn enemies into friends if it shortens your to-do list.’
*
‘Gomez will kill me for pulling this stunt,’ Vernetta said, changing lanes to get around a stalled bus.
‘You don’t work for him,’ Claudia said.
‘No,’ Vernetta said. ‘But he’ll kill my boss, and then, with his dying breath, my boss will shoot me.’
Tasha Strong lived in one of the many complexes near Hobby Airport, along Telephone Road. The complexes lay in a steady necklace, with withered yards and peeling paint. Monday evening was settling in for another long stretch of unease. Claudia had hijacked Vernetta at the Harris County Courthouse as she got off work, insisting that Vernetta come with her to find Tasha Strong.
‘He won’t shoot you. He’ll fire you. Think positive,’ Claudia said.
‘I’ll see if the Bellinis are hiring,’ Vernetta said. She pointed at one decrepit apartment building. ‘Love what they’ve done with it. A Chinese gang here took over a wing of one of these complexes, ran a whorehouse and peddled dope out of it. They had elementary school kids as their gofers.’ She shook her head. ‘If I don’t sound caustic, I’ll cry.’
‘Here. This is the address.’
‘Gomez and his team already tried to get in touch with her,’ Vernetta said. ‘No dice.’
‘Yes, but we’re not the scary police, are we?’
‘You are. You’ve scared me since you came into town,’ Vernetta said. She pulled into the parking lot, past three hard-faced working girls. The bored ladies watched them ease into a slot and walk across to the stairs, up to apartment 325.
Claudia knocked. No answer. But she could hear the soft strains of a radio playing on the other side of the door.
‘Tasha? Tasha Strong?’ she called softly. ‘I’m a friend of Robin Melvin’s. She’s worried about you. Please open up.’
The door opened. An old woman stood there, dressed in a faded pink robe and a maroon baseball cap. ‘Tasha don’t live here,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hello, ma’am. Do you know where we could find her?’ Claudia said, ignoring the woman’s blunt manner.
‘No,’ the old woman said. ‘She’s gone for good.’
Claudia and Vernetta looked at each other, then at the old woman. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, when did Tasha leave?’ Claudia asked after a moment.
‘Who are you?’
Vernetta and Claudia both showed their official IDs. ‘Oh, God,’ the old woman said. ‘She’s in trouble, I’m sure of it, but she won’t help herself get out and she sure won’t listen to me.’
‘We can help her,’ Vernetta said.
‘Come inside, then,’ the woman said. They came inside the apartment. It was small but clean, although there was a clutter of a tea mug, tissues, a rumpled newspaper. A cane was next to the door and the woman used it as she headed back for a chair. ‘Gettin’ over flu,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t be contagious any more. Sit.’
‘Are you Tasha’s mother?’ Claudia asked.
‘Grandmother,’ the woman said. ‘Mrs Annie Strong.’ She sat. ‘I don’t hold with lying, and I haven’t slept well since the police called looking for her. Tasha asked me to lie for her, and I can’t do it no more because you folks are gonna keep knocking on my door.’
‘What lie did she want you to tell?’
‘First Tasha told me that if anyone came looking for her, say she was dead. Not to say she moved, or gone on a trip, but dead. Killed in a car accident in New Orleans, that was her story. Showed me what looked like a death certificate she’d faked up. I said you’re crazy, girl, what kind of trouble you in?’ Mrs Strong shook her head. ‘That’s a tall order to give me, after I done half the raising of her. I told her I’d tell people she’d left town, but not that she was dead.’ Mrs Strong spit out the last word.
‘So where is she?’
Mrs Strong shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She ain’t lived here in years.’
‘She gave this as her address to her employer.’
‘Huh. She got her community college degree, she moved uptown fast. Left me in the dust. Came to see me when it suited her.’
Claudia remembered Robin’s mention of the photos. ‘Does Darius live here?’
The old woman closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Darius, he really dead. Five years ago. Out playing bask
etball down the street with a group of boys who dealt. Other group of boys shot at ’em all. Killed Darius. He was fifteen.’ She leaned against the door. ‘Fifteen-year-olds killin’ each other for crack. Tasha, got everything in the world going for her, she tells me to tell the world she’s dead because she’s in bad trouble she won’t let nobody help her fix. Like I could bear her and Darius both dead. It would kill me. I can’t pull off such a lie for her. I ain’t doing it. No. Ain’t doing it. You find her. Please.’
‘She’s running because of what happened to Paul Bellini,’ Vernetta said as they drove away.
‘But why would a woman whose brother was killed by drug dealers take up with a drug lord?’
‘She didn’t know Bellini’s business.’
‘She knows enough to be scared, so she’s asking her grandmother to do clumsy lying for her,’ Claudia said. ‘Can you ask HPD to look for her?’
‘If she’s a witness, or she’s charged in a crime. But if she’s left willingly and doesn’t want to be found, well, you hire another PI to find her.’
‘What?’
‘If she’s left willingly…’
‘No,’ Claudia said. ‘You said another PI.’
‘Yeah. I was thinking of your friend Harry. Like him looking for Eve Michaels.’
Frank Polo said something about another PI, when she was getting ready to leave his house. Another, like he’d known of a first one. Harry. Perhaps Whit had told Frank about Harry. Of course. Yes. Probably.
The thought irritated her brain like a thorn prick. Whoever killed Harry had stripped him of his ID. Possibly of his notes on the Eve Michaels case; none of those had been found by the police, and she knew Harry kept his notes with him. There was a simple way to test her theory. ‘Have they identified all the prints at the Chyme/ Doyle murder scene?’
‘I don’t know. Gomez would. I don’t even know if they have suspect prints to compare to.’
