She didn't know who Marconi's replacement, Turcello, was but she assumed he had to be just as viciously psychopathic as Marks had been in order to be named to the position.
"And now you've got me in the box with you and these people," Cassie said. "Thanks, Leo. Thanks for - "
"No, you're wrong. I protected you. They don't even know about you. I took the job and set it up. Like I told you before, nobody knows everybody in the caper. They don't know you and they never will."
Leo's promise was not reassuring. Cassie could no longer sit down while it seemed her life was passing in front of her. She got up and walked to the pool's edge and looked down into the calm, clear water. Her left arm hung at her side like a dead weight.
"What are we going to do, Leo? If I have this right, the Chicago mob used us to steal a payoff these Cubans from Miami were making to a third party on the buyout of the Cleo. We're sitting in the middle of what's going to be a war. Do you see that? What do we do?"
Leo got up and came to her. He pulled her into a tight hug and spoke calmly.
"Nobody knows about you. I promise you. Nobody knows about you and nobody ever will. You don't have to worry."
She pulled away from him.
"Of course, I do, Leo. Come back to reality, would you?"
The tone of her voice silenced Leo. He raised and dropped his hands in a gesture of surrender. He started banging a tight fist against his lips. Cassie paced along the side of the pool. After a long minute she spoke again.
"What do you know about Buena Suerte?"
"Like I said, nothing. But I'll make some calls about it."
After another long silence, Leo shook his shoulders.
"Maybe we just give the money back and say it was a mistake," he said. "We find a go-between who will - "
"Then we have Chicago after us, Leo. This Turcello person. Think, would you? We can't do that."
"I'll tell them that when you went into the room last night the briefcase wasn't there."
"I'm sure they're going to believe that. Especially, since the mark has suddenly disappeared."
Leo flopped back into his seat under the umbrella. A defeated look was overtaking his face. There was a long period of silence while neither looked at each other.
"Sometimes you can steal too much," Cassie said, more to herself than Leo.
"What?"
"Max used to say that sometimes you can steal too much. We just did."
Leo pondered the statement in silence. Cassie folded her arms across her chest. When she spoke her voice was resolute and strong. She now looked directly at Leo.
"Let's take the money. All of it. We split it and we run, Leo. One point three and change each. It's more than enough. Fuck Chicago and Miami. We take it all and run."
Leo was shaking his head before she was finished speaking.
"No way."
"Leo . . ."
"No fucking way. You think you can run from these people? Where are you going to run? Name a place where it's worth living and they can't find you. No place, that's where. They will hunt you down to the end of the fucking earth just to prove the point. Bring your hands back to Chicago or Miami in a shoe box and put 'em on display at the wise guys' Sunday buffet."
"I'll take my chances. I've got nothing to lose."
"Well, I DO! I'm set up here. I am dug in and the last thing I want is to spend the rest of my life changing my name every month and holding my Glock behind my back every time I open a fucking door."
Cassie came over to the table and crouched next to Leo's chair. She held the plastic armrest with both hands and looked up into his eyes but he quickly looked away.
"No, Cass, I can't."
"Leo, you can take two million and I'll take the rest. It's still more than I'll need. Two days ago I was thinking I'd be lucky to get a couple hundred out of this. You take the two. It's enough for you to - "
He got up and walked away from her. He went back to the edge of the pool. Cassie leaned her forehead against the armrest. She knew she wasn't going to convince him.
"It's not the money," Leo said. "Aren't you listening to what I'm telling you? It doesn't matter if it's one million or two million. What's the difference if you aren't around to spend it? Let me tell you, there was a guy a few years back. They tracked him all the way to Juneau-fucking-Alaska. Went up there, gutted him like a salmon from the river. I think every couple years they have to make an example. To keep everybody else in line. I don't want to be an example."
Still crouched like a hiding child, Cassie turned and looked at his back.
"Then what do you want to do? Wait until someone comes here and guts you? How is that different from running? At least if we run we have a chance."
Leo looked down into the pool. The vacuum moved silently along the bottom.
"Fuck . . . ," he said.
Something in his tone made Cassie look expectantly at him. She began to think maybe she had convinced him. She waited him out.
"Two days," he finally said, still looking down into the pool. "Give me forty-eight hours to see what I can do. I know some people in Miami. Let me make some calls, see what I can find out. And I'll check on things in Vegas and Chicago. Maybe I can talk our way out of this. Yeah, maybe make a deal and even keep a piece of this for ourselves."
He was nodding to himself, getting himself ready for the biggest negotiation of his life - of their lives. He couldn't see Cassie shaking her head. She didn't believe they had a chance his way. But she stood up and came to his side.
"Leo, you have to understand something. Turcello isn't going to give you a cut of what's in the briefcase. He never was. You call his people and tell him you have it and you'll be saying, 'Here I am, guys, come get me.' You'll be this year's salmon."
"No! I tell you I can get us out. I can negotiate with these people. Remember, it's all about money. As long as everybody gets something, we can get out."
Cassie knew she wasn't going to convince him. She was resigned.
"Okay, Leo, two days. And that's all. After that we cut it up and we go. We take our chances."
He nodded his agreement.
"Call me tonight. I might know something. Otherwise, do what you do. I can only reach you at the dealership?"
She gave him her cell phone number, telling him not to write it in his book.
"I'm going, Leo. What do we do with the money?"
"The usual. It's still the perfect spot."
Cassie hesitated. She knew it was best for him to hold the money, but parting with it gave her pause. Then she remembered something that had completely slipped her mind amid the recent developments.
"Hey, did you get my passports?"
"All I can tell you is that I got word they're on their way. I'll check the drop again tonight. If they're not there tonight, they will be tomorrow. Guarantee it."
"Thanks, Leo."
Leo nodded. Cassie turned toward the sliding door.
"Wait a minute," Leo said. "Let me ask you something, what time was it when you went in the room?"
"What?"
"What time was it when you went in the guy's room last night? You must've looked at your watch."
She looked at him. She knew what he wanted to know.
"It was five after three."
"And what, it took five, ten minutes tops to do the job, right?"
"Normally."
"Normally?"
"He got a phone call, Leo. I was in the closet with the safe. The phone rang and he talked to somebody. I think it was about the payoff. He was going to make it today. Then after he hung up he got up and went into the bathroom."
"And you snuck out."
"No. I stayed in the closet."
"How long?'
"Until he was asleep again. Until I heard him snore. I had to, Leo. It wasn't safe. You weren't there. I couldn't leave until - "
"You went into the void moon, didn't you?"
"It couldn't be helped, Leo, that's what I'm trying to - "
&
nbsp; "Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Leo . . ."
"I told you. I only asked you to do one thing."
"It couldn't be helped. He got the call - a phone call at three in the morning, Leo. It was just bad luck."
Leo shook his head as if not listening.
"That's it then," he said. "We . . ."
He didn't finish. She closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Leo. I really am."
A buzzing sound near her left ear caught her attention. She looked around and saw a hummingbird suspended in air, its wings a blur.
It darted to the left and then swooped over to the pool, dropping to just a foot above the surface of the calm water. It seemed to be looking down at its reflection on the surface. It then dropped lower until it hit the surface. Its wings fluttered wildly but they were too heavy now for flight. The bird was trapped in the water.
"See what I'm saying," Leo said. "Dumb birds."
He started around the pool to get to the net so he could try to save the tiny creature's life.
27
JUST before getting to Los Angeles, Jack Karch pulled off the 10 Freeway at the Ontario airport exit and followed the signs to the long-term parking lot. He cruised up and down five long lanes of parked cars before he came upon a Towncar that was the same make and model as his, and with California plates. He double-parked behind the car and left the engine running while he got out with the battery-powered drill that was among the tools recovered by Grimaldi's thug from the air vent in room 2015 .
The drill worked beautifully. Karch had the plates off the front and back of the Towncar in less than a minute. He shoved them under the front seat of his own car and drove toward the exit. He had been in the parking lot so briefly that the cashier at the pay booth told him he had made it under the ten-minute grace period and didn't have to pay a thing. He asked Karch if he had a spare smoke and Karch was happy to oblige.
He had made good time from Vegas, traveling at a steady 100 mph until he hit traffic close to L.A. The last fifty miles took him a frustrating hour to cover. He decided that people in Los Angeles drove the way people walk through casinos: oblivious to the fact that somebody else might be on the road and need to get somewhere. In downtown he branched off the 10 to the 101 and headed northwest toward the San Fernando Valley. Though it had been at least a couple years since the last time, Karch had been to L.A. plenty times enough to know how to get around. When it got down to specific streets and places, he had a Thomas Brothers map book in his briefcase on the seat next to him. It was a few years old but it would do. He was headed to the Valley because the cell phone number Grimaldi had retrieved from Martin as being the contact number for Leo Renfro had an 818 area code and Karch knew that covered the Valley, the city's northern suburban sprawl. It was his assumption that Leo would be found in the confines of his cell phone's area code.
He got off the freeway at the Ventura Boulevard exit and drove until he saw a gas station with a pay phone. He opened his briefcase on the passenger seat and withdrew the folded piece of Cleopatra Resort stationery with the name Leo Renfro and the cell phone number written on it. Below the fold was the name of the contact Grimaldi had in L.A. but Karch had no intention of calling the man. Under no circumstances did he plan to allow a perfect stranger - no matter who vouched for him - to have knowledge of his business and activities. That would just be stupid and he wasn't about to turn stupid. The same reasoning prevented Karch from using his law enforcement contacts to run traces on Leo Renfro and Cassie Black. This job had to be done without leaving a trail.
Surprisingly, the pay phone had an intact phone book. Karch pulled it up and started with the white pages on the unlikely chance that Leo Renfro was actually listed. He wasn't. Karch then turned through the commercial business pages until he came to the advertisements for cell phone service providers. Judging by the size and quality of their advertisements, he made a list of the bigger companies and their service numbers. He then used the edge of the shelf under the phone to crack open a roll of quarters he had bought at the change cage at the Cleo and made his first call.
The call was answered by a machine that offered a variety of pathway selections. Karch chose what he wanted and was transferred to billing inquiries, where he was put on hold for two minutes before a human voice picked up.
"Thank you for calling L.A. Cellular, how can I help you?"
"Yes," Karch said. "I've been called out of town indefinitely and I want to cancel service on my cell phone account."
After listening to a sales pitch for out-of-the-area service, the phone representative got down to business.
"Name?"
"Leo Renfro."
"Account number?"
"I don't have that handy at - "
"Cell phone number?"
"Oh, okay."
Karch glanced down at the paper and read off the number Martin had provided during his interrogation by Grimaldi.
"One moment, please."
"Take your time."
Karch heard the sound of typing on the other end of the line.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not showing an account with that name or - "
Karch hung up and immediately dialed the number of the next company on the list. He repeated the story over and over and finally hit the right company on the seventh call. Renfro had his account with a company called SoCal Cellular. When the service operator pulled up the account information on her computer, Karch immediately went in for the final con.
"I'm going to need you to send the final bill to my new address in Phoenix, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, sir. Let me first set up the close-out screen."
"Oh, sorry."
"No problem. It will just take me a second."
"Take your time."
Karch let a few seconds go by and then started in again.
"You know, I just realized I'll be back in L.A. at the end of next week for a few days to clear up some things. I may need the phone then. Maybe I should wait and do this after."
"It's up to you, sir."
"Uh . . . tell you what, let's wait, then."
"Okay, sir. Do you want to wait on the address change, too?"
Karch smiled. It always worked best when the victim prompted the con.
"No, let's do - tell you what, maybe I should wait. My mail's being forwarded from my old place anyway. But wait a minute, I forget offhand, which address does the bill go to? My home or office?"
"I don't know, sir. Four thousand Warner Boulevard, number five-twenty. Which is that?"
Karch didn't answer. He was writing the address down on the letterhead.
"Sir?"
"That's the office. So everything is fine. Let's leave it as is and I'll take care of it after next week."
"Okay. Thank you for calling SoCal Cellular."
He hung up the phone and went back to the car. He looked up the address in the index of the map book and learned he had been correct. The address was in the 818 area code. But it wasn't Los Angeles. It was Burbank. He started the Lincoln and checked the digital clock on the dash. It was exactly five o'clock. Not bad, he thought. He was getting close.
Fifteen minutes later the Lincoln was at the curb in front of a private mail drop and packaging shop at 4000 Warner Boulevard. He was not too disappointed. It would have been too easy and suspicious if the address he'd conned out of SoCal Cellular had led directly to Leo Renfro's front door.
He checked the business hours marked on the door. The shop closed in forty-five minutes but another sign on the door announced that clients had twenty-four-hour access to their boxes. Karch thought for a while about what to do and decided that Renfro was the type who probably checked his box after hours anyway to avoid becoming familiar to the people who ran the shop. It was in that thought that a plan suddenly sparked in his mind.
Karch entered the shop and saw that it was shaped like an L , with the counter at the end of one branch and the other branch lined with postal boxes. To the left of the door wa
s a counter with a stapler, a tape dispenser and several plastic cups with pens and paper clips and rubber bands in them. Karch saw a man working on something on the floor behind the counter. Above him was a roll-down security fence that allowed for the business side of the shop to be closed and locked while still allowing customers with a key to the front door access to their mailboxes twenty-four hours a day.
Void Moon Page 21
