Figurante wasted no time. His calmness oozed an aggressiveness that made Burton press against the door.
“My original plan was to just talk to you while I was up here in New York — tell you to keep your damn mouth shut, and be more careful. Which, for sure, you need to do. But now . . .” Figurante let his voice trail off. For a moment he sat in silence, working his palm on the handle of his cane, thinking, deciding whether or not to recruit Burton one more time. Finally, he nodded and said, “I’m going to need you to do another favor for me. Naturally, you’ll be paid.”
“I’m not sure I want to do any more favors, Mr. Figurante,” Burton said, his voice shaky.
“I’m not asking.”
“It’s harder, now. They’re watching me.”
“I paid you a lot of money.”
“And I delivered.”
“Yeah. You delivered, all right. And you couldn’t keep your yap shut about it. That’s why we’re in the shit we’re in right now. Not to mention, you killed Charles St. Pierre.”
“Someone broke into my apartment. They found the money.”
“You kept all that money in your room? Jesus!”
“Where else would I put it?”
Figurante ignored the question. “I need you to get rid of Hubris.”
Burton’s face folded into a look of fear and dismay. “I can’t do that!”
“Why not? You are the expert, right? You said you could kill any horse, any time, without any trace. Isn’t that what you told me? How many times have you been hired to kill horses for insurance, or whatever?”
“But, like I said, they’re watching me.”
“Now. Tonight. Kill him.”
Burton’s expression morphed from fear to anger. He jerked his fist to within inches of Figurante’s face, middle finger extended straight up.
“Fuck you! You want Hubris killed, you do it yourself,” he said, and reached for the door handle.
“Well, I pretty much figured it would come to this,” Figurante said, not the least bit ruffled by Burton’s response.
His tone was so deadly placid it caused Burton to turn. When he did, he saw Figurante’s cane pointing at him. The humor of that was just rising in his brain when Burton noticed a hole in the end, and realized he was staring into the gaping bore of a gun barrel.
“What are you, fucking Yancy Derringer or something?” Burton said, and tried to laugh, but only gurgled.
Figurante’s expression was like stone. “It’s just a .38, but that’s plenty at this range.”
Burton swallowed hard and kept staring at the cane gun.
“You’re a screw-up, anyway,” Figurante said. “Talked too much. Killed Charles St. Pierre. I was an idiot to figure you could do this. Get out of the car.”
That suited Burton just fine, and he moved quickly, but Figurante kept his gun trained on him as they came around to the trunk. He tossed Burton the keys and motioned with the muzzle. “Open it.”
Burton raised the lid. Instantly, his face paled to the color of polished lead. The trunk was empty except for a plastic tarp that had been carefully spread over the floor. He turned a terrified look at Figurante just in time to see his former boss swing his cane like a baseball bat. It caught Burton on the left temple, full force. His knees buckled. Figurante pushed him into the trunk as he wilted. Burton never even quivered.
CHAPTER 35
Emily tagged along as Maria busied herself between bedroom closet and bathroom mirror, preparing to go out for the evening.
“Tonight, Maria? That’s what the phone call was about?” Emily asked, still surprised by the sudden invitation. “It sounded like a man’s voice when I answered the phone.”
Maria pulled a summery shift over her head, then shook out her hair. “That was one of the girl’s boyfriends you heard.”
“Your friends don’t give much notice.”
Maria checked her makeup in the mirror. “It’s a spur of the moment thing.” She headed down the stairs, Emily in tow.
“Sounds like it. What videos are these, anyway?” Emily asked.
“Last year, the Clinton Equestrian Team went to Nationals. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, some of the other girls from the team are back in town visiting. They called me to see if I wanted to come over to watch a tape of the Nationals with them.”
They reached the kitchen just as Aubrey wedged the last supper dish into the dishwasher and wiped her hands on her apron. She had insisted that the girls stay with her and Barry at her place, so she could keep an eye on them while Kent went about his work and whatever he had to do with Figurante. Not to mention, she had her own ulterior motive — keeping an eye on Maria. Aubrey had mentioned her suspicion to Kent when they last talked, and he flatly refused to even consider it. But there were just too many coincidences: Maria coming back in the midst of all the problems with the stallions, having worked for Figurante, both of them from Ecuador. If Kent wouldn’t face it, she’d check it out herself. The girl definitely bore watching.
She handed Maria the keys to her Outback. “So, where is this videofest going on tonight?”
“On campus somewhere. I’m not exactly sure. We’re all supposed to meet at the equine center, then I guess we’ll find a video machine wherever.”
“Okay. You go ahead if you want,” Aubrey said, making it sound like a tease. ”Em and I are going to chill on the couch with a couple fuzzy blankets, a huge bowl of popcorn, and a movie. Sounds like fun, eh?”
Maria sighed. “Actually it does.” She jingled the keys. “Thanks for the car.”
“We’ll let you know what you missed when you get back,” Aubrey said as Maria headed out the door.
Aubrey sat with her arms around her knees at the foot of the couch where Emily was stretched out. The young girl’s breathing was deep and slow. Freddie Krueger’s hideous face and slashing fingernails hadn’t been enough to hold Emily and now she slept like the dead. Aubrey half watched the TV screen that still played the last gory minutes of the movie even though she had muted the sound. She stewed about Maria and Figurante. The employer-employee relationship, the Ecuadorian thing, there had to be something there.
Now she wished she had talked Maria out of this evening of horse videos, with Figurante still in town and all. Granted she’s out of harm’s way with friends over on campus, but still weird stuff happens.
Then her newfound mistrust of Maria raised its head again. What if the whole video night was bullshit? What if right now Maria wasn’t with friends at school? Aubrey hit the remote and sat in darkness as the screen popped off, extinguishing the room’s only source of light. What if Maria was meeting Figurante? She listened to Emily breathe as she collected her thoughts. Screw it! Emily wouldn’t be budging till morning. Plus, Barry would be home from the CVC soon, too. He could keep Emily company. She had to know.
She tiptoed into the kitchen, jotted a quick note for Em just in case, found the keys to the F-250 pickup she used to run farm errands, and headed out, closing the door quietly behind her.
Jefferson didn’t have more than a dozen blocks plus the college. This time of night, sidewalks rolled up and all, she knew she’d find her Subaru in no time. She figured she’d give Maria the benefit of the doubt and start searching at the college equestrian center, so she took a left off the main drag and headed toward campus. She hadn’t gone a hundred feet along the first block when she saw her car, big as life, parked at the curb next to the Red Horse Inn.
“Dammit to hell, Maria,” she said. For a second, she felt validated for having been right, then she felt like crying, then she felt like stomping in there and decking the girl. Instead she hit the gas and headed back home. Kent was going to be crushed.
Figurante fumed. Getting angrier by the minute, he sat concealed in a dark booth in The Groggery, the Red Horse Inn’s mahogany an
d brass taproom. He batted a coaster back and forth on the table, then picked it up and read it: Löwenbräu, imported from Munich. He sipped impatiently from a gold-rimmed mug. “Where the hell is she?”
It hadn’t been all that difficult to ferret out Maria’s whereabouts. Another disguised call to VinChaRo’s office — Jesus, that secretary had to wise up sooner or later — she had informed him that Maria lived at Doctor Stephenson’s house. He didn’t have to guess what the good doctor had in mind with that arrangement. Then, a call to the house and a chat with Kent’s amiable, eager-to-please housekeeper, and — voila! — he had Maria’s location at Aubrey Fairbank’s home, and the phone number to boot.
When he’d called her, he had specified eight o’clock sharp. His watch said nine o’clock. He hated waiting.
But the very next time he glanced toward the entrance, his eyes were rewarded with Maria’s unmistakable silhouette; all features strong yet perfectly feminine. His palms moistened against the cool table. Lewd memories of that hot summer night at Criadero del Jugador stirred his groin. Such a prize, and taken with just the right amount of resistance. He half rose, leaned out of the booth and signaled her over with the congeniality of an old friend.
Maria hesitated, then slowly she started toward him. Her cold stare was the antithesis of his congeniality.
“Maria, I’m delighted that you could make it,” he said, with an oily politeness.
“One rarely refuses the invitation from someone who threatens harm to their family should they decline,” Maria said, ice crystallizing on each word.
“For that, I apologize. I wanted to be sure that you would come.”
Maria slid in across from him. “I’m here. What do you want?”
As Figurante drew a breath to speak, a waitress in a short, tight skirt stepped to their table. “Can I get you something, ma’am?”
Maria waved away the distraction.
“Another for you, sir?”
Figurante covered the beer mug with his hand. “Do you think we could have a bottle of champagne sent up to my room, instead?”
A knowing smile crossed the waitress’s lips. “Sure,” she mentioned a brand, wrote down his room number, and departed.
When she was out of earshot, Figurante turned to Maria and smiled darkly. “Shall we go up?”
Maria leaned across the table, her face within inches of the man she despised. “No, we shall not go up! What do you think you’re doing? Surely even you don’t think you can appear in this town, find me, and then demand that I go to your room with you! You’re crazy. Not after what you did to me at Criadero del Jugador. Not on your life.”
As she slid across the booth to leave, Figurante grabbed her arm. She twisted to pull free, but he was too strong.
“Maybe not on your life, senorita, but what about Antonio’s?”
It took a moment for Maria to grasp his meaning. When she did, she stiffened. “You absolute bastard! You would hurt my family, wouldn’t you?”
“You tell me if I would,” he said, his voice a roaring whisper. “I’m sure your family told you about the bomb, and Alicia’s little ride, and Antonio’s cheating ordeal?”
Antonio had written to Maria about disturbing things that happened to her family back in Ecuador. A phony mail bomb had done nothing more than fill the room with smoke when her mother opened it at the kitchen table. Little Alicia, Maria’s five-year-old sister, had been lured into a car by two men, driven once around the block, then released with a note to deliver to her parents: ONE MUST KEEP WATCH OF ONE’S CHILDREN! No signature. And there was the anonymous call to the head master at Antonio’s school describing in great detail how Antonio had cheated on his university entrance exams. He had endured an embarrassing three-week inquiry before being absolved.
In South America, threats and vengeful acts were not uncommon, especially against wealthy families. She had told Antonio to be careful, but not to worry. Then she had dismissed the whole thing. Now, suddenly it became clear.
“You did those awful things to my family?” she asked in disbelief. “You?”
Figurante conceded with a shrug.
“Hijo de puta!” Maria swung hard at him aiming for his left cheek. He caught her wrist so that her fingertips only grazed him.
“Such a nasty mouth you have. They were just little jokes. No harm done, was there?”
“You scared the hell out of my parents!”
“Nobody got scared to death.”
“But that was after I left Criadero del Jugador. Why?”
“I thought it would force you to come back when you realized who was behind it. But, you didn’t even figure it out, let alone return. I gave you too much credit.”
“Like I would ever come back to you. I’m glad I didn’t understand,” Maria snapped.
“I can still do any of those things to your family, you know. And I will, if you don’t cooperate.”
“If you think I am going . . . “
Figurante held up a hand. “This is not the place. Let’s continue this discussion in my room.” He gestured for her to lead the way.
“Forget it, Hector, I’m out of here,” Maria said, but it did not come out with the intensity she intended.
Figurante let her rise. “As you wish,” he said, then with an ominous dryness he added, “But, don’t forget about Antonio, and Alicia, and the rest of your family.”
The very utterance of her family member’s names by this vile man made her knees weak.
“I just want to talk,” he explained.
She knew that was a lie.
“I have something important to tell you about Hubris,” he said.
Now Hubris! My God. She could feel the web he was spinning wrap still tighter around her, cutting off her air.
Figurante placed his hand on the small of her back, nudging her toward the stairs. For an instant she resisted, holding her ground. Run from this monster and endanger her family, or submit? She closed her eyes.
Figurante pushed her again, more firmly this time.
She could hear the sound of her teeth grinding as she allowed him to guide her up the stairs to his room.
As they stepped into Figurante’s room, he motioned her toward the bed. “Have a seat.”
Maria sidestepped and took a seat in a straight-backed chair.
He flashed a disdainful smile at her prudishness. “Relax. I just need some cooperation from you.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“You are always in such a hurry,” Figurante said. He crossed the room and took his time uncorking the bottle he had ordered. He offered Maria a glass. “Champagne?”
“No. I don’t care to talk over old times.”
He huffed a laugh. “Of course not.” Figurante took a long, slow drink.
Maria heard his splashy swallow. He moved slowly to a position behind her. Terrible memories of that night at Criadero del Jugador rushed into her head and took away her strength. She could feel herself shaking and knew he could see it, too. She felt a feathery touch on her neck as Figurante rolled a lock of her hair in his fingers.
“Why do you suppose I invited you here, Maria?” he asked, a moan of arousal in his voice.
She knew what she supposed. She knew he knew what she supposed. No answer came from between her lips.
She heard Figurante swallow more champagne.
“Do you think you can stop me this time any more than you could at Criadero del Jugador?” he said.
His hands began kneading her shoulders. Maria wanted to die.
“You were the best of any of them, Maria,” Figurante said. “I was so disappointed when you left.”
“I’ll scream if . . .”
“No you won’t. Remember my little bag of tricks? You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your brother or sister. Would you?”
Maria began to cry quietly. She did not want to, but irrepressible tears erupted onto her cheeks and trickled down. She had no doubt that he would carry out his threats.
He laughed and swilled down the last of his drink. Then his hands were under her arms ordering her to her feet. He was right; she had no way of repelling him before, and none now. Her hands squeezed into white knuckled balls as Figurante loosened the row of buttons down the front of her dress, slid the straps from her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor.
With a forefinger under her chin he raised her head so that she stood, in submission, looking directly into his eyes.
“Maria. Do you want it again? Do you want it like before?”
“Let me go home.”
“Yes, Maria. I’ll let you go home,” he said. “But in return you must do something for me. Is that agreed?”
She looked away. “Whatever you want. Just let me go.”
“All right, then. Tomorrow, you will rid us of that obnoxious beast, Hubris.” He let the silence hold, as Maria comprehended what he had just said. Then he said, “Do we have a deal?”
Maria’s stunned eyes met his. The thought was too bizarre, even for this monster, but she was not about to ask questions or argue. Not now. Not the way he had her.
CHAPTER 36
It was drizzling, the first rain of what the weatherman predicted would be a wet week. Kent sat in his truck in the Mattson Cemetery. He held a sandwich that he barely tasted in one hand, and massaged Lucinda’s ruff with the other. Mostly, he stared through the windshield at Maria who ignored the misty rain as she twirled a wildflower in her fingers, deep in thought. He couldn’t believe what Aubrey had told him. To outright lie so she could meet Figurante. He tossed his sandwich out the window for the birds to finish. How could she? He watched Maria gently weave a flower into Em’s hair. Granted, he wasn’t the best judge of character, but not Maria. She was so open, so innocent, so — perfect.
They hadn’t said anything to Em, and they wouldn’t. Not yet. But he and Aubrey had agreed that one of the two of them would watch Maria every second. He let his head rock back until he was staring at the roof of the cab. Now they had to keep tabs on Figurante and Maria.
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