by Carolina Mac
“I’ve been to his office.”
“Good. Call me.”
Blaine ended his call to Travis as a tall man in a dark suit approached. “Mr. Blackmore-Powell? I’m Paul Nethercott.”
Blaine stood up and offered his hand, then introduced Farrell.
“I was delighted when you called,” he smiled, “You coming to our offices was sure to offer something interesting.” He led the way down a corridor and then into an office furnished with nothing more than a desk, credenza and two guest chairs. “Have a seat and tell me how I can help the Violent Crime Squad of Texas.”
“I’m investigating the murder of Reg Bromwell, an Austin attorney. His brother, Harry Bromwell is the managing partner of the Golden Lotus Casino. As I was trying to find a motive for the killing of Reg Bromwell, we discovered there was a large amount of stolen money involved.”
Nethercott was scribbling furiously on a notepad. “How much?”
“A little more than two million.”
Nethercott smiled. “I knew this would be intriguing.”
“Farrell and I came to Vegas to speak with Harry Bromwell, thinking the money might have come from the casino, and he refused to talk to us.”
“Do you think the murdered man might have stolen money from his brother?”
“I don’t have any evidence that he did,” said Blaine, “The bills were clean. But the way he was killed indicated that someone wanted the money back.”
Nethercott nodded. “Uh huh.”
“When I researched the Golden Lotus, a partner was listed for Harry Bromwell, but I can’t find out a single detail about that partner,” said Blaine. “It’s like he doesn’t exist.”
“Name?”
“Michael Junkin.”
Nethercott began typing and staring at screen after screen and finally he said, “Michel Junkin is deceased, and his share of the casino is in probate. It will be transferred to his partner when the legalities are completed. The records should have been updated before this, but somehow it was overlooked.”
“Is there a date for Mr. Junkin’s death?” asked Farrell.
“Yes, of course. Let me see. Here it is. January 22nd.
“That’s the same day Reg was murdered,” said Blaine.
“What does that mean?” asked Farrell.
“I don’t know,” said Blaine, “but I’m going to find out.” He stood up and offered his hand to Mr. Nethercott. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll send you an e-mail if I find out anything you should know.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m keenly interested now, and I’d appreciate knowing how your case plays out.”
Golden Lotus Casino. Las Vegas.
BLAINE drove back to the strip and turned down the side street for the Golden Lotus.
“Kind of a coincidence that Reg and the mystery partner died on the same day,” said Farrell.
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Blaine, “I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”
Blaine gave the keys of the rental to the valet at the front door, and he and Farrell went inside. The lobby seemed to be abuzz with a plethora of men in suits. “Cops,” said Blaine. “Something is going down.” He approached one of the suits and showed his creds. “Mr. Bromwell is a person of interest in an investigation I’m in the middle of. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Mr. Bromwell is dead in his office, Ranger Blackmore. I’ll escort you up there if you want to see the scene for yourself.”
“I do, thanks.”
Farrell followed, and they took the elevator up to the boss’s office. The executive suite overflowed with police personnel, forensic techs and casino people. A young lady in a tailored gray suit sat on a chair in the corner crying into a handful of tissues.
Maybe that’s his assistant, Miss August.
The Medical Examiner was front and center crouched over the body. Harry Bromwell lay sprawled on the thick carpet in his office, two small caliber bullet holes neatly placed in his head.
“Double tapped,” said Blaine. “We’ll never solve this.” He left his card with the lead homicide detective on the case, thanked them for letting him view the scene and headed for the elevators.
“Execution?” asked Farrell as they stepped out into the lobby.
“Looks like it. Somebody was pissed at Harry. Let’s wait until Vegas Homicide does their thing. After we read all their reports we’ll take a second look.”
“We going home?”
“Soon as we can get a flight.”
“We better check on Mom,” said Farrell. “Make sure she’s solid before we go.”
Blaine nodded. “We’ll do that.”
Palmer Residence. Dallas.
“THAT’S IT,” said Fletcher, pointing to his right. “That shitty looking duplex.”
“We’ll wait until Greg catches up, in case we’re outnumbered.”
Fletcher pulled out his SW and chambered a round. “Think she’s in there?”
“No idea. No car in the driveway.”
“No limo.”
Travis twisted around to see, “Yep, they’re right behind us. Let’s do it. You and I will take the front.” Travis jumped out and waved Greg and Hammer around the back.
Greg nodded, pulled his weapon and ran behind the duplex.
Travis banged on the front door and hollered, “This is the police. Open the door, Mr. Palmer.”
No sound from inside.
“I think I heard her call for help,” said Fletcher.
“You sure, partner?”
“Pretty sure.”
Travis reared back and kicked the door just below the lock. The door splintered and flew open. Travis ran in hollering, “Smell the blood? Smell the fuckin blood? Where is she?”
Fletch let Greg and Hammer in the back door and they searched the duplex from top to bottom. No Barb Bromwell.
“Chief, I need a forensic team at this address in Dallas. No Mrs. Bromwell, but the carpet in the front room is saturated with somebody’s blood.”
“I’ll send a team up from the Waco office. That’s the closest. Secure the scene until the techs get there.”
“Yes, sir.”
While he was waiting, he called Blacky and gave him an update.
“Good work, Trav. Maybe it’s not her blood.”
“Too much blood, boss. The person who belongs to it ain’t got no more.”
“Fuck that,” said Blaine.
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
ANNIE ordered coffee and relaxed for an hour in her suite before she showered. She wasn’t sure what she should be doing on the Dog front, and she had to give it some thought. She filled her cup for the third time and was adding cream when Blaine called.
“Hey, honey, how’s your case going?”
“My prime suspect is dead in his office and LVPD are all over it—nothing I can do here at the moment. Mrs. Bromwell has been kidnapped in Dallas and Travis can’t find her. Farrell and I have to leave pronto. I’m booking a flight. You coming with, or staying another day?”
“Trying to sort out what to do on the Dog detail. That’s what I’m doing. Drinking coffee and sorting it out in my head.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes, is a little thinking.”
“You go ahead and book your flight. I’ll wait a couple hours and see what happens.”
“If you stay, Mom, be careful.”
“I will, sweetheart.”
BLAINE pressed end and the black cat came on his screen. “Morning, Governor, how goes it?”
“Good morning, sweetie, you sound like you’ve been up for a good while.”
“I had an early morning meeting, then I went to see Harry Bromwell in his office. Dead as dirt, he was.”
“What?”
“Double tapped. Somebody was pissed at him.”
“Was it the same people who killed Reg?”
“No idea, but LVPD has it, and I’ll let them run with it. I’ll have them send me copies of all their interviews. I have other
problems looming large at home and I’m leaving as soon as I can get a flight.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re coming back.”
FARRELL drank coffee and smoked while he listened to Blacky talk to Annie and then to Cat.
“I know you’ve got shit to do at home and Mrs. Bromwell is AWOL and all the boys are waiting for orders…”
“You want to stay with Annie?”
“She’s treading dangerous ground, bro. I don’t like leaving her here alone one little bit.”
“It’s been bothering me too. She came to Vegas to finish her assignment, but I think she likes Dougie and doesn’t want to take him out.”
“She could have done it by now, couldn’t she?” asked Farrell.
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s number one and he’s got protection swarming around him. Might be cutting down on her opportunities.”
“I’ll stay,” said Farrell. “You check out and I’ll move into her suite.”
Blaine nodded. “Good call. I’ll get a flight and pack my stuff.”
Doug Robertson’s Residence. Las Vegas.
DOUGIE slept later than usual after his all-night poker session. He took a leak in the bathroom, went back and pulled the money out of his dresser drawer where he’d hidden it while he slept, recounted it and put the elastic back in place. His cell—the one only the club had access to—rang while he was making a pot of coffee.
“Yeah, Henny.”
“Wondered how the poker went, boss.”
“Went good. Close to fantastic.”
“We going to Yuma?”
“Calling this morning to set up the meet.”
“Good. Good.” Henley hesitated like he had something else he wanted to say.
“Something else?”
“You clear of the bitch now?”
“Uh huh. All clear.”
“Good.”
Why’s he asking about Annie? Weird.
Dougie switched phones and texted Annie.
“You up?”
“Yes. Thinking about going home today.”
“The boys leaving?”
“Gone.”
“Can you come over?”
“Aren’t you going to Yuma?”
“Haven’t set it up yet.”
“I’m doing some shopping, then trying for a flight.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“You have work to do.”
“Can I see you before you leave?”
“Not sure.”
Dougie ended the call and reined himself in from heaving his cell against the fuckin wall. “Goddammit, I don’t want her to go back to Texas.”
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
FARRELL WATCHED Annie texting Dougie the Dog. “Have you got a plan in mind, Mom?”
“He’s well protected, baby. They’re close to him and his guys all have scopes on their weapons. I’m not keen on getting shot again.”
“Did you bring a vest?”
She nodded. “I think Yuma might be the answer. Unfamiliar territory for him. Cartel people all around. His guys wouldn’t know who killed the boss.”
“How many are you takin out?”
Annie shrugged and then winked at Farrell. “How many can we get?”
“We’ve got ears on his house if he hasn’t swept it in the last couple of days.”
“Where’s the iPad?”
“In my duffel.”
“See what you hear while I pack up,” said Annie. “I want to change vehicles, drive down to Yuma—not one of my favorite places—and get a feel for the area. I haven’t been there for years and things change.”
“What if they meet on the Mexico side?”
“Play it by ear, I guess.”
“They might meet somewhere private, like in a hotel room, and we’d never fuckin find them.”
“Maybe Dougie will be nice and tell you where to find them,” said Annie.
Farrell smiled and got set up. “Hope to hell he does.” Farrell tried to listen in on Dougie’s residence but wasn’t getting anything.
Maybe I’m too far away.
He strode into Annie’s room where she was folding clothes. “I can’t hear. I’m going closer.”
“Okay, you do that little chore and I’ll rent us a truck while you’re gone.”
“Won’t you have to turn in the Cherokee?”
“I’ll have them pick it up from the ramp.”
Farrell smiled. “I love you, Mom.”
Doug Robertson’s Residence. Las Vegas.
FARRELL PARKED the Cherokee a couple of blocks from Dougie the Dog’s digs and tested the sound.
Much better.
He sat and smoked for half an hour with the Vegas country station on low. His favorite station was in Austin, but he couldn’t tune it in this far away.
He heard a door close and a couple guys started talking. He turned off the radio and listened.
“Sit down and I’ll get you a beer.”
“Did you talk to Caranza yet?”
“Yep. Tomorrow night. It’s all set up.”
“Where’s the meet?”
“Lucky’s at nine.”
“How much we forking over for the first load?”
“Five.”
“And we’ve got the cash, right?”
“Part of its mine, but yeah, we’ve got it all.”
Farrell started the engine and headed back to the Bellagio.
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
ANNIE had the luggage by the door by the time Farrell returned to the hotel.
“Tell me the good stuff, sugar pop.”
“Lucky’s Truck Stop in Yuma, tomorrow night at nine.”
Annie smiled. “Let’s go to Yuma.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday, February 3rd.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE woke and reached out for Misty, but she wasn’t next to him. The sheets were cool, and the bed was empty. Not knowing when he’d be back from Vegas, she’d gone back home with Hoodoo to catch up on work and see waiting customers.
Should I ask her to sell her house and move in permanently? What if we have another one of those huge fights? Fuck. I never know what to do.
Lexi whined at the door of his room. “Yep, I’m getting up. Were you a good girl while I was gone?” She wagged her feathery tail and Blaine smiled at her. He loved his dog. “Bueno.”
On the way past the kitchen, he got a whiff of something baking in the oven. Carm was up early and spoiling him already. He let Lexi out, had a quick smoke on the back porch, then headed inside. A long narrow hallway divided the back portion of the house, rooms on both sides—some he had converted to offices—he wished the layout could be changed and the intimidating hallway scrapped, but there was the thing about support walls and he was stuck with it. No time to worry about it anyway.
He desperately needed caffeine.
After giving Carm a long hug and whispering to her in Spanish, telling her how beautiful she was, he took his coffee to the table and called Farrell.
“Tell me what’s going on with the Dog.”
“Mom and I moved out. We’re holed up at the Hampton Inn in Yuma. The meet is at one of the truck stops at nine—I think its Lucky’s—with a cartel dude named Caranza if you want to look him up.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that right away and get back to you, bro. “I’m worried that there will be a lot of protection for both sides. Dougie will have a dozen and the cartel boss, at least that many. More of them watching each other, both sides antsy and nervous, makes it more dangerous.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Farrell. “If it looks too fuckin impossible, I’m calling it and we’ll be heading back home—done or not fuckin done.”
“Good,” said Blaine, “I hate it when I’m so far away. I think I should have stayed until Mom was finished.”
“We’ll be okay. This is our last night and we’re home no matter which way it goes.”
“Both of you we
ar aprons.”
“We will.” Farrell chuckled. “You’re worrying more than me.”
Blaine ended the call to Farrell, blew out a breath and pushed back in his chair. “I don’t like it, Carm. It feels weird, and when it feels weird something goddam awful always happens.”
She walked across from the stove, stroked his hair, told him not to worry so much and put a plate of warm apple muffins on the table. “I miss Farrell,” she said in English and Blaine smiled at her.
“He’ll be back manana.”
Doug Robertson’s Residence. Las Vegas.
DOUGIE was awake before dawn, his brain playing out all kinds of scenarios about what would go down in Yuma—some were better than others, but all had that lack of trust factor thrown in. Caranza was dangerous and violent—the head of a huge cartel. He didn’t need business from the B team. He had a huge network without them and he could kiss them off without a second thought. Caranza might rip off the club’s half mil and never deliver a single gun, and what would they do about it? Go to Mexico and take him out? Never happen.
Rice and Bentley wanted the partnership with the cartel and the members had voted in favor of it. It was up to him to make it happen. It a perfect world, it could be the start of a profitable working relationship for both sides. Maybe.
He’d been trying to keep Annie out of his head and just concentrate on the deal. Focus. Get ready. Make the plan and stick to it. No remembering how she felt in his arms. No thinking about wild sex on the blanket in the canyon. No thoughts of how loving Annie made him want to scrap the club and follow her back to Texas. No texting. No phone calls.
Convinced that talking to Annie would weaken his resolve and undermine his determination to make this deal work for the club, he tried to get her out of his head. He paced. He smoked. He picked up his phone. He put it down. He cursed the air blue. He hauled his miserable ass into the bathroom and took a cold shower.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
LILY and the boys were drinking coffee at the kitchen table when Blaine hurried downstairs after his shower. He was running behind because he’d taken twenty minutes to Google Caranza. Not much on him, but maybe he preferred a low profile. He e-mailed the info to Farrell’s phone then got ready for work in a hurry.
