Skin Game

by Ann Aguirre

  “They did it while they were still alive,” Sagorksi went on. “We’re guessing they used a meat cleaver for the amputations. We think the knife work is meant as an object lesson. These men suffered a lot.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” He was, actually. “They didn’t deserve to go out like this.”

  Serrano would’ve been content with two shots to the back of the head, but he supposed the Red higher-ups felt there was some need to make an example of them. He could understand the reasoning; he worked in a similar fashion himself, though he’d never gone to such extremes. Quieter methods worked just as well for him since he didn’t have a huge network to hide behind. That would entail trusting too many people with both his secrets and his money.

  “So you don’t know anything about this?”

  They’d gotten a tip, he realized. There was no other reason they’d be looking so hard in his direction. Fury sparked through him. When Serrano found the son of a bitch who’d dimed him, he would make him so sorry. Then reason asserted itself. If their informant went missing after they talked to him, it would just persuade them he’d been telling the truth, even if they had no proof. He didn’t need an army of law enforcement poking into every crevice.

  “I wish I could be more help,” he said. “Is there anything else, detective?”

  “Actually, yes.” Sagorski collected the pictures and tucked them back in his briefcase. “Do you know anything about Wayne Sweet? He was last seen in your company.”

  His polite smile froze. Holy fuck. Who had this bastard been talking to?

  “He went to Switzerland with me,” he answered readily enough. “To provide security. He met some ski bunny . . . they seemed to be having a good time, so I told him he could change his ticket and keep the suite for a week. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “He never made it home,” Sagorski said. “His great-uncle . . .” He consulted his ubiquitous notebook once again. “. . . a Joseph Geller, reported him missing when he didn’t show up to see him. Mr. Sweet visited once a month on Sunday, like clockwork.”

  Goddammit. Foster had checked his record and said he had no next of kin. Well, no fucking way. He wasn’t going down for Wayne Sweet. They might suspect, but they didn’t know.

  “That’s too bad. I’ll send the old gent a fruit basket.”

  “Apparently Wayne was the only family poor Geller had left. He isn’t going to shut up until we find him some answers.” Though couched in innocuous terms, Serrano recognized that for a warning.

  Sagorski may as well have said: I’m onto you. I’ll be digging in your trash, and I’m gonna keep coming until I find something.

  “I’d want to know, too,” he said politely. “But if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

  The cop rose, and with an effort, buttoned his suit jacket. “We’ll be in touch. If you think of anything that could help, let us know.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Rage coiled through him, but Serrano waited a full five minutes before he picked up the lamp and hurled it at the door. His assistant came running, and she looked at the wreckage with wide eyes. “Everything all right, sir?”

  “Fine,” he gritted. “Get maintenance up here, will you? Damn thing had a short.”

  She scurried out as if she suspected he might launch something at her head next. Serrano swore over scaring her. He liked Sandy. The woman was a little timid, but she was efficient, and she didn’t pester him with things she could handle herself. More important, she was reliable and loyal; she’d worked for him for fifteen years.

  He called Foster and left a message when the asshole didn’t answer his cell. “I want you up here as soon as you get in tonight. We need to talk.”

  If he hadn’t been dumb enough to fall for Rachel Justice, Sweet wouldn’t have posted that video. Pasternak and Ricci wouldn’t have needed to go down for disrespecting him. They’d been his friends, once. Every rotten thing that had happened in the last six months could be traced directly to that bitch. And such irony—he’d wanted to go straight for her. Focus on his legitimate business interests, start a family. He hated how much he missed her, even now.

  But she’d pay. And that would make everything else worthwhile.

  Foster got the message marked urgent at four thirty that afternoon. He played it, deleted it, and ignored it. Whatever crisis Serrano was having, he could do it by himself. They were expecting him at Desert Winds to take care of Beulah and Lexie; he needed to sign the paperwork approving their transfer to an exclusive facility in Maryland. He was almost done here. It was time to start tying up loose ends in preparation for the greatest disappearing act of all time.

  Even Houdini couldn’t better it, he thought with a wry half smile.

  He parked the Altima and strode up the walk toward the building. The head day nurse ushered him into the director’s office, where everything was expensive and understated. He wouldn’t be surprised if the plaque that read “Donald Moody” was embossed with real gold. Moody was a tall, thin man with a cavernous face. To Foster, he looked more like an undertaker, which didn’t exactly recommend him as a manager for a long-term care facility.

  Still, it didn’t take long to sort things out. When money greased the wheels, everything was easier. The director produced the documents and Foster started signing them with a flourish that wasn’t his own.

  “We’re sorry to see them go,” Moody said.

  You’re sorry to lose my payments, you mean. Foster could count the times he’d spoken to this man on one hand, including patient intake. He offered a polite smile and continued writing the name that wasn’t his own until he’d completed the stack.

  Belatedly he realized the man was accustomed to acknowledgment when he spoke.

  “I’m being transferred,” he explained. “But the care they’ve received here has been stellar.”

  Moody smiled. “Glad to hear it. Obviously we take care of transport for you. You’ll be able to see them in Maryland next week.”

  Foster calculated. Even if he hadn’t completely wrapped up, it would be good to get them out of Vegas. Things would be coming to a head by then. It could get messy.

  “That sounds excellent,” he said, standing. “Is there anything else?”

  “Not on our end.” Moody handed him his copies of the paperwork. “You’ll want to check with the facility in Maryland to make sure everything went smoothly.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  They shook hands, and he left without seeing Lexie or Beulah. The old lady thrived on routine, so if he showed up on the wrong day, it would confuse her. He twinged with regret over needing to move her, as she’d gotten really used to this place, but it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay once things heated up. Whatever else could be said of him, he looked after his dependents.

  Foster made his way out, long strides eating up the distance back to his car. He hadn’t spoken to Mia in days, but he knew she was here. After that near miss at the diner, she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. He realized he’d injured her vanity, but explanations would only make it worse; it was better to retain this layer of constraint. She’d called him a few days back, though, to let him know Kyra was on the way.

  How he’d smiled over that. Yes, matters were coming to a head, after a long roiling boil. Staying at his apartment, knowing somebody had been inside, took all of his control. But he went about his usual routine, knowing that any deviation would give away the game, and he’d come too far to fail now.

  After he left Desert Winds, he grabbed a meal and then went to work at the usual time. Serrano would be furious by now. Foster passed through the Silver Lady, answering a few questions from security personnel along the way. Then, using his personal key, he took the executive express elevator up to the penthouse office. As usual, Sandy was already gone when he stepped off the lift and into the antechamber, so he let himself in.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Off work,” he returned. “I’m not so much as half a second l
ate, Mr. Serrano.”

  “We have a situation brewing here. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Sweet had relatives, somebody to raise a fit when he went missing?”

  Foster furrowed his brow, enjoying his part in the drama. “I checked his personnel file, sir. He listed ‘no next of kin.’ Would you like me to get it for you, so you can verify the documentation?”

  The other man paced. “No, I don’t want to see the damn file. Why didn’t you dig deeper? I can’t afford to work with someone who’s sloppy.”

  “With all due respect, sir, my job is chief of security, not chief of your personal Gestapo.” That subtle insubordination might be pushing it, but he needed to keep Serrano off balance or he might start looking too hard at various pieces of the puzzle.

  Serrano narrowed his eyes dangerously. “For what I’m paying you, you’re my bitch, and you do whatever I tell you to do. If I say bark, you make some noise. Get me?”

  “Woof,” Foster said.

  “We could be in a world of shit over this.”

  What’s this “we,” white man? For obvious reasons he kept the joke to himself, merely listened with a grave, impenetrable patience as Serrano outlined the travails of his day. He’d already known most of it, or at least suspected, but it explained why Serrano was so worked up.

  “You want me to look into this Sagorski?” he guessed. “See what I can find.”

  His boss nodded. “Yeah. There’s no such thing as a clean cop, just one who hasn’t been caught yet.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “That’s all for tonight. Oh, and make sure we run clean games for the next month or so. Tell the dealers. I don’t want to give them anything on me if they send undercover assholes sniffing around.”

  “Smart.” Foster bit back a smile. “They got Capone on tax evasion, after all.”

  “Precisely. Now I’m going home. This place better be in one piece when I get back.” Though Serrano’s tone seemed jocular enough, Foster knew he was being warned.

  I’m watching you. You made one mistake already. One more, and you’re gone.

  And Serrano didn’t exactly offer a retirement plan to those who knew firsthand how he did business. That might just be the politest death threat he’d ever received.

  Once the asshole left, Foster put the word out that they were going legit for the foreseeable future. No trick dealing, no fixes on roulette. The dealers groaned a little because they depended on their extra cut of the skewed winnings, but that couldn’t be helped. He had to keep the man happy for a little while longer, however little he liked it.

  Otherwise the night went smoothly enough, just the usual snafus. He ejected a few drunks, caught a few people trying to work a new system, after buying some e-book online that had foolproof in the title. In the morning, he headed out, glad to put some miles between him and the Silver Lady.

  Lately he’d found the place oppressive, and since he’d been forced to sever a satisfying sexual arrangement, he felt restless and prickly. Foster had no pressing business, so in the predawn coolness, he drove back to his apartment for a shower, food, and sleep, in that order.

  Out of pure reflex, he surveyed the parking lot, checked all the paths. Foster didn’t see anything out of place, no strange cars, no men lurking, and no sign of a tail. At that point, he left his vehicle and made for his building. Surprise sparked through him when he saw Mia sitting on the stairs, waiting for him.

  Devoid of her usual high fashion, she wore black slacks and a matching pullover, almost as if she were dressed for a burglary. Doubtless that was her idea of what a woman wore for skulking around in the middle of the night. The dark colors should have made her skin look sallow. She should have looked frumpy. Instead she looked dangerous, and he wanted to touch her so badly he had to curl his hands into fists at his sides. He remembered she’d nearly kissed him, and for the first time in longer than he could recall, Foster could think of nothing to say.

  She pushed to her feet. “You told me not to come to the casino again.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “That would be a bad idea. Have you been here long?”

  Stupid woman. Why couldn’t she stay put? She shouldn’t be roaming around at this hour.

  Her being here was a bad idea, too, for several reasons. First off, he was tired and horny. He didn’t know if he could trust himself to be alone with her. There came a point when he just didn’t care what was right or fair; he could only think about what he wanted. Second, if someone was watching his place, they would’ve seen her by now, and he needed to keep her secret. She couldn’t be allowed to fall into Serrano’s hands. That would give him leverage.

  “No, the cabbie dropped me off five minutes ago. I’m sorry for dropping by like this, but I wasn’t sure you’d take my call. Can I come up?” She actually seemed worried that she’d offended him with her unspeakable advances the other day.

  Foster wanted to howl at the irony of it. What heterosexual male in his right mind refused to kiss a beautiful woman? Mentally he raised his hand and banged his head against a brick wall. No matter what she thought, it was for the best. The sooner she got out of his life, the better off they’d both be.

  Regardless, they couldn’t talk there. He’d left the bug in place, letting it report innocuous activity. He hoped he’d bored the crap out of whoever was listening to him. Maybe the sorry son of a bitch was asleep right now, but he’d review the logs later. That had to be Serrano’s work, as the guy searched for some useful dirt. That was the way he worked. The Foundation would have moved on him long before now.

  “That depends on what you want.”

  “Protection,” she said baldly. “I think someone’s after me, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Kyra had a serious case of confusion going on. She couldn’t believe the crew Reyes had deputized. They’d started rolling in a little after eight, punkers and street thugs, all. They had an oddly alert air, though; none of them seemed to be junkies or ’heads, and they waited with good humor. Their leader, Apex, looked to her like a tropical fish, but he had a sharp mind, and he’d immediately gone to work on the laptop Reyes provided.

  “You really think this will work?” she asked quietly.

  Reyes studied her for a moment, somber, and his black eyes reminded her of a night without stars. “It has to. I’m out of ideas.”

  She wasn’t overwhelmed with them, either. How hard they hit Serrano had to be tempered by her fear of what might happen to Mia caught in the crossfire. Kyra wished she’d never yielded to a weak impulse and confided in her friend. She’d never imagined Mia would come halfway around the world, trying to stop her, trying to help her. So much love and loyalty made her smile, even as worry gnawed a hole in her gut.

  “I’m in,” Apex said, after what seemed like forever, listening to him click the keys. “His phone records are right here.”

  Reyes took over the laptop then. “What’s Mia’s cell number?”

  She thought it unlikely he’d have called her from his landline, but you never knew. She didn’t spot it among the numbers called. Apex was skimming down the list over Reyes’s shoulder. “Look, he’s called this number twelve times in two days.”

  “You think he might be giving orders to guys guarding her?” Kyra asked.

  “Can you find out who that number belongs to?” Reyes asked.

  The hacker smiled. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  Reyes eased away from the laptop while Apex’s boys milled around the loft. They’d complained about the lack of entertainment until their boss reminded them they were on a job, not here to have fun. Apex sat down again.

  A few clicks and he said, “The number’s unlisted, give me a minute.” True to his word, he didn’t take much longer before adding, “Bobby Rabinowitz. Serrano’s been burning up the phone lines calling his money man.”

  “He’s worried,” Reyes guessed. “Checking out his options if he has to flee, how much money he can liquidate quickly.”

>   “Because of the cop Apex said was leaning on him?” Kyra frowned. That didn’t track with what she knew of Gerard Serrano. He was one tough son of a bitch, and he didn’t scare easy. This wouldn’t be the first time the police had looked his way.

  “I don’t think he’s chatting with Rabinowitz because of Sagorski,” Apex said.

  She ran her hand through her hair, unnerved by the dark hue. “Then what?”

  “If I knew that, I’d charge for the answer.” Apex grinned, and for the first time, she noticed he had eyes that shone like slivers of jade.

  “He calls this number a fair amount, too.” She leaned forward, touching the screen as she counted. “Six times in the last few days.”

  “That’s Foster’s cell,” Reyes said.

  Kyra sighed. “So no help there.”

  “Here’s another one.” Apex pointed. “Four times. Either of you recognize it?”

  “No.” They spoke in unison.

  “Then let’s see who else he’s been talking to.” The hacker went to work, running the number through a series of programs. “Prepaid cell phone. Damn.”

  “That sounds like one of your colleagues,” she said to Reyes. “You think?”

  “Could be Van Zant,” he admitted.

  They’d never know because he’d buried the guy with his cell. Serrano might be calling a man who was six-feet deep, his phone vibrating away in his pants pocket. That image struck Kyra as more than a little macabre.

  “Again, no help.” She wanted to punch something.

  The clock was ticking away. Every minute they spent trying to figure out where Mia was, her chance of survival went down. In many respects, this was like a kidnapping. They’d already lost valuable time.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find anything out online,” Apex said eventually. “It looks like this guy’s too smart to leave a trail, point us the way.”

  “Agreed.” Reyes spun to regard the rest of the crew who had been remarkably patient up until this point. “Time to move to phase two.”

  “Finally some action,” one of them muttered.

  “Keep your heads on straight,” Apex warned. “No drinking, no gambling. I took the man’s money in good faith, and I don’t want any trouble in the casino that we haven’t been paid for.”