by Diane Capri
Sydney lifted his menu to obscure his face from the giant’s line of sight. His server, another young Thai woman, came and took his order for Yum beef, Pad Thai, and pineapple fried rice. He was a big eater and Asian cuisine didn’t stick around in his stomach very long.
She bowed and promised the food would arrive shortly before she hurried away again.
While he was occupied with ordering his meal, Eleanor Duncan had approached the giant’s table. She smiled and spoke words Sydney couldn’t hear across the distance.
She shook hands with the little guy as if meeting him for the first time.
And then she pulled out a chair and sat opposite the giant, still wearing the smile. Whatever had frightened the waitress about the big man didn’t seem to faze Eleanor Duncan.
Sydney’s internal radar pinged.
Maybe there was no connection between Fredo Moretti’s death at the Hoover Dam and Eleanor Duncan.
Maybe the giant and Mr. Average were not here because of Jade and her brother.
Sydney grimaced. Yeah, maybe today was the day when a sounder of wild hogs would soar to the heavens, too.
A few minutes later, his instincts paid off.
Jade joined the giant’s table. Eleanor Duncan gestured introductions. Jade shook hands with the two men. No head bowing was involved. Whether that meant no show of respect was due or that Jade had become too Americanized, Sydney didn’t know.
He couldn’t hear their conversation across the busy restaurant, but the giant had triggered Sydney’s primordial responses. His lizard brain was jumping around in his skull like it had spied a hungry wolf approaching.
His immediate orders were clear.
Jade and her employees must not be harmed, but isolated and collected and transported back to Vegas, where Rossi would deal with them.
Orchid Thai Bistro was the instrument Sydney had chosen, purely for practical reasons. He wanted the women to be vulnerable and easier to manipulate.
Whether Duncan or Jade had hired the giant was irrelevant. Either way, he was an unforeseen complication. The cast on his arm meant he wasn’t operating at full capacity. But it didn’t mean he was less dangerous.
The waitress brought Sydney’s food and he consumed it quickly. He tossed a few bills on the table and camouflaged his exit by mingling with a group from a nearby table on their way out.
There was no reason why anyone should give him a second glance, but Sydney was still alive precisely because he was a careful man.
Before he went any further, his first task was to identify and assess the giant and his sidekick.
Sydney scanned the parking lot, located the Audi SUV they’d arrived in, and made his way to the vehicle. He pulled a small tracking device from his pocket and casually installed it in the front left wheel well, where it would remain undetected.
He adjusted the app on his phone and snapped a few shots of the passenger door where the giant had shoved it closed with his left hand. He might be able to get usable fingerprints using some new software Rossi had acquired. A guy like that was likely to have prints in some database somewhere.
He took similar photos of the driver’s door for the little guy’s prints and the Audi’s license plate before he sauntered toward his SUV.
On the way, he called Rossi. “Boss, we might have a problem.”
Rossi’s long stream of curses could’ve been heard from Vegas without the phone.
CHAPTER 16
Wednesday, May 18
Las Vegas, Nevada
12:10 a.m.
While he listened to Sydney on the speaker phone, Rossi counted the gold beer bottle caps on his silver tray. He’d restricted himself to six bottles after dinner. The temporary limit was both an annoyance and a challenge.
He normally denied himself nothing. This was a device to motivate himself to solve at least six problems in the evening. Tonight, he’d solved four, so far. It was a small thing, but the gamesmanship amused him.
“Did you send me photos of this dynamic duo?” he asked, waking his computer to check.
Rossi hated computers with a white-hot passion. Avoided them whenever possible. Digits and data and gadgets were for little minds. No man with a brain needed to rely on the crutch of technology.
“Half a minute ago,” Sydney replied. “You should have them now.”
Rossi pushed the enter key on the keyboard, one of the few keys he ever touched, and the monitor sprang to life. Four photos filled the screen. He pressed the enter key again and the photos popped up individually.
He ran through the four images. Two men. Two photos each. One big guy and one much smaller. Rossi had never seen the smaller man before. He looked vaguely like a celebrity. Maybe he worked as a lookalike somewhere. But not at the Snake Eyes lounge.
The other guy, the big one, seemed vaguely familiar, too. Rossi narrowed his eyes and peered at the screen as if seeing a slice of the guy might revive his memory. Didn’t work.
Maybe he’d never seen the man before. There were a lot of big guys in Vegas. Some were footballers or wrestlers. Some were bouncers. Some tourists. Didn’t matter. They were irrelevant. Rossi paid little attention.
“What are their names?” he asked.
“Don’t know yet. I’m running them through facial recognition. As soon as I get a hit, I’ll pass it along,” Sydney replied.
No sooner than the words had left his mouth, Rossi heard a ping of the kind that electronic devices made when something was received.
Sydney said, “Got it. The little guy’s coming up in several recent news stories. His name is Petey Burns. Looks like he escaped in that South Dakota prison break last week.”
Rossi’s thumb began tapping the buttery leather chair arm. The prison break had been the lead story in all of the newspapers Rossi read for a few days. That’s why the little guy looked familiar.
If he’d recalled the man, he could have rewarded himself with the fifth beer. Since he hadn’t recognized Burns, he’d failed. The delayed gratification was becoming more annoying. Rossi rarely denied himself anything he wanted. Perhaps this six-problem challenge should be revised.
“What about the big guy?” Rossi asked. He’d been thinking about Reacher. Wouldn’t it be nice if this big guy turned out to be him? He shook his head. Not likely.
“Nothing’s popped up on him so far,” Sydney said. “An anonymous tip to the authorities on Burns might be all we need to fix this.”
“Fix what, exactly?” Rossi asked, eyeing his four bottle caps wistfully.
“Hard to say. These two had dinner with Duncan and Jade. Something about them triggered my instincts. Which, as you know, are pretty damned reliable,” Sydney said.
“If Duncan or Jade have hired these two for muscle, that suggests they know they’ve got difficulties ahead,” Rossi said. “We tip the feds to Burns, and we won’t find out what those difficulties are.”
“Possibly they don’t know what problems they have. Or who they need protection from,” Sydney replied, a hopeful note in his voice.
Rossi pushed his lips in and out, thinking things through. “No. Let’s find out more before we make the call to one of our friends at the FBI.”
“Okay by me. I’ve got plenty to do tonight anyway,” Sydney replied.
Rossi smiled and opened another beer. Five problems, five solutions. Only one more to win, and that would happen shortly.
Dolly knocked on the door and stuck her head inside his office. “Alan Chen’s here.”
Rossi nodded. “Wait a minute and then send him in.”
When Dolly backed out and closed the door, Rossi said, “Sydney, I have to go. Keep me apprised. I want to know who the big man is, too. I think I’ve dealt with him before.”
He disconnected and closed the screen half a moment before Chen knocked twice and opened the door.
Chen walked into the room like a man who feared nothing. He carried himself with the kind of assurance borne of extreme competence in close-quarters combat. He bel
ieved, with good reason, that nothing and no one could best him.
So far, his confidence had proven true.
Which meant Alan Chen walked through life uncowed and unafraid.
It was a stance Rossi fully understood because it was also ingrained in him.
His confidence was well placed while the boxer’s was foolhardy. It was well past time to deliver that message to Chen and make him believe it.
Rossi waved his open palm toward a chair on the other side of the desk. Chen moved with the easy grace of a dancer as if he could sit and spring up again without effort. Which he probably could.
“Thanks for coming in,” Rossi said hospitably as he poured his fifth beer into a chilled glass. He did not offer Chen a beer. Rossi never shared his beer.
Although he’d never met Chen in person before, the civilized greeting was mere theater. Chen was Rossi’s property, pure and simple. Whatever Rossi wanted, Chen supplied. No questions asked.
Facts Chen seemed to have failed to grasp.
Chen nodded politely. Quietly, he said, “How may I be of service to you this evening, Mr. Rossi?”
Rossi’s thumb was tapping slowly on the chair arm, like a metronome, keeping the conversation moving at the tempo Rossi preferred as he savored the fifth beer and anticipated the sixth.
“I wanted to give you some good news,” Rossi said.
Chen’s demeanor remained unchanged. “Good news is always welcome.”
“You’ve been with us a long time. Despite your advancing age, your performance remains at the highest level. We appreciate your focus and your dedication,” Rossi said as if he was planning to name Chen boxer of the year or something.
Chen nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I have some disturbing news as well.” Rossi frowned, lowering his neck to display his triple chin. “You must have heard the reports today about the bodies found in that desert canyon up north.”
Chen did not reply.
“The young men have not been positively identified. So far.”
Chen nodded as if he was following along. Perhaps he was.
“There is no reason to believe you’ll be questioned in connection with those deaths,” Rossi said, matter-of-factly, as the statement wasn’t a thinly veiled threat. “If you are approached with questions, you must let me know immediately.”
“Of course.” If the suggestion that Chen might be deliberately fed to the authorities as the perpetrator of those deaths bothered him at all, he gave no indication.
Illegals sometimes got crazy notions about whistleblowing and human rights and other crap they were fed by the press. Rossi wouldn’t stand for such nonsense.
Chen should harbor no illusions about his situation.
He was totally expendable.
He’d been treated well because he’d performed well and because he was extremely profitable for Rossi. An astonishing number of gamblers were willing to pay to cheer a fight to the death. Rossi had made millions giving his customers exactly what they craved.
But Chen was a prisoner here and he shouldn’t forget that. Not even for an instant.
“You must also know that if those bodies are tied to you, your association with us will be terminated immediately.” Rossi paused to let the euphemism settle in firmly. He didn’t mean Chen would simply be fired. “We shall have no choice. You understand?”
Chen nodded. “Yes.”
Rossi continued to watch Chen for a few moments as he sipped the beer. It was important for Chen to absorb that he could lose his life at any moment.
Chen remained as poised as before, but when Rossi became satisfied that Chen understood the precariousness of his situation, he offered a final curt nod and moved on to the next topic.
“I’m hoping you can help me with another small problem. One of my men has gone missing. Fredo Moretti,” Rossi said, tossing the bait into the calm water and watching for the widening ripples on the surface of Chen’s implacable expression. “Moretti is one of the bodyguards we provide for you. You’ve been seen talking with him.”
Chen didn’t flinch. He displayed iron-willed self-control, as always.
“Perhaps you didn’t know, but Fredo is one of my cousins. I’ve known him all his life. His family is asking about him. My family.” Rossi continued to sip the beer as he waited for Chen’s reaction, which Chen failed to supply. “Fredo said he was meeting you on Sunday, and he hasn’t returned. It’s been two days. This is unlike Fredo. He’s always reliable.”
Chen said nothing.
“I’m worried that something untoward has befallen my cousin. You know how this town can be. People get hurt here. Killed, even.” Rossi found the young man’s composure infuriating. His thumb had increased its tapping tempo as Rossi’s internal temperature rose with Chen’s impertinence. “Did you see my cousin on Sunday? Do you know where he is?”
“I do not.” Chen didn’t break a sweat. No twitching or blinking or other signs of agitation. He was as calm now as he was every time he delivered a hard knockout in the ring.
Rossi had questioned many evil men over the years. None had exhibited such complete self-control over their autonomic reflexes, even when they had the balls to lie to his face.
Chen was a cold-hearted killer, as well as an effective and efficient one. Now Rossi knew he was a stellar liar as well.
A momentary, slight, niggling doubt about Fredo Moretti’s disappearance passed through Rossi’s mind. Could Chen be telling the truth?
True, Fredo’s body hadn’t been discovered. And he could be a little flaky sometimes. He might have found a woman he’d wanted to party with for a few days before coming back to work. It had happened once before, and Rossi had disciplined him severely. Fredo had promised never to stray from his orders again.
“Did you kill my cousin, Chen?” Rossi asked outright.
Chen said nothing. Simply sat as still as before.
But now Rossi knew for sure. Chen was a sociopath and Fredo Moretti wouldn’t be back. Problem solved.
“Thank you for coming in,” Rossi said, nodding toward the door. In one fluid, graceful motion, Chen rose from the chair, turned toward the door, and left the room.
Rossi drained the fifth beer and opened the sixth with a smile.
CHAPTER 17
Wednesday, May 18
Golden, Colorado
3:30 a.m.
Burke was sleeping in the Navigator’s passenger seat when Kim pulled into Golden, Colorado. Following the directions in the GPS, they’d made good time on the drive from Nebraska.
As Dr. Landon had warned, there had been nothing but darkness between Duncan and the interstate. But once they’d hit I-76, the drive had been easy. Light traffic. Dry weather. Ideal conditions, for the most part.
Kim had connected with I-70 northwest of Denver. An exit ramp dumped them not far from Orchid Thai Bistro, located on the north end of Golden. Five minutes later, instead of a typical town’s nighttime quiet, the Navigator approached what had the look and feel of a full-on crime scene in the typical early stages of chaos.
“Wake up, Burke.” She reached over to give his arm a sharp poke. “Something’s going on here.”
“What the hell?” he said, sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
From four blocks away, Kim saw the fire illuminating the darkness and the smoke rising to the sky. Two empty police cars blocked the street at the corner, and she could drive no closer. She parked the Navigator and shut off the engine.
“Looks like Orchid Thai Bistro is ablaze,” she said, slowly reporting her observations to settle the situation in her mind. And because The Boss was probably listening, which would save her from filing a formal report. “It’s a free-standing building. Surrounded by its own parking lot.”
“Which means the fire shouldn’t spread too far,” Burke said, still gazing at the burning building, mesmerized.
“Right.” Kim unlocked her seatbelt and opened the door. She slid off the leather seat and s
ettled her feet firmly onto the pavement. “Don’t get too close. We don’t have the proper equipment. And there’s nothing we can do to help anyway.”
The fire’s acrid odor was heavy on the air. It was a stench she remembered from childhood and had become all too familiar with over the years. The scene conjured an eerie sense of déjà vu.
When construction and household materials burned, the combination produced toxic fumes that could kill you if you inhaled them full strength. The scent itself clung to clothes and furniture and never dissipated.
The unmistakable stench lingered indefinitely. She could still smell it in her parents’ home after all these years.
After a school dance when she was fourteen, she’d returned to find her family home surrounded by fire trucks, lights flashing in the darkness. No one had been injured, but the house was damaged and later repaired.
The noxious fumes had irritated her nostrils, then and now. Kim wrinkled her nose against a round of sneezes. A mask would have been a helpful filter. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” he said, climbing out on the passenger side and closing the door.
The night air was cold. Forty-five degrees and a slight breeze, which was a mixed blessing. The breeze carried the worst of the fire’s smoke and scent away, but it also fanned the flames.
Firetrucks and other emergency vehicles surrounded the scene. Red and blue and white and yellow lights flashed, bouncing off nearby structures. Firefighters, police officers, paramedics, and more first responders scurried around like well-choreographed dancers on a stage.
Kim shivered, turned her jacket collar up, and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
She scanned the personnel, looking for a senior police officer in charge who could brief them on the situation. She didn’t find one.
Burke moved them along the sidewalk to get a better view of the Bistro. Kim stopped when she could feel the heat.
The building’s windows had blown out, leaving gaping holes on all three floors. Bright red and orange flames lapped the oxygen like a giant, thirsty dragon’s tongue.
