by Brian Drake
Wolf waited, enjoying the scratch of Ava’s nails. The softness of her thigh reminded him of better times.
“You saw our pictures,” Thorne said, “which means you saw too much. Now, one of two things is going to happen. You’re either going to help us with our next operation, or your friends, the two women and your homicide buddy, are going to die.”
Wolf passed his half-empty glass to Ava. She slipped off the chair, refilled the glass, brought it back and resumed her position. Wolf kept his face straight, eyes on Thorne. He said, “And your plans are?”
Thorne just smiled. “We were expecting one-point-five million dollars for the gun sales. You messed that up. Which means we need another score that will give us that amount. Does the name Zachary Coleman mean anything to you?”
“Never heard of him.”
A lie. Wolf knew Coleman well, had seen his picture on the wall at the Shipwreck Bar. Coleman, one of the city’s wealthiest businessmen, had once hired Wolf to stop the blackmail of his youngest daughter by an ex-boyfriend who had dirty pictures featuring the Coleman girl.
Thorne shook his head. “You lie like a rug. That’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to tell the truth.”
Wolf let out a breath.
“Coleman has a son,” Thorne said, “who has just been elected to the city council. His father has a lot of money. A lot of money. He’s going to give us some for returning his boy in one piece.”
“You’re insane,” Wolf said.
“Something wrong?”
“Coleman’s tougher than you think.”
“Now that you’re with us, he’s out of luck, don’t you agree?”
Wolf sipped his scotch.
“You’re with us now,” Thorne said, “or I’ll murder everyone close to you.” He reached into a pocket and took out a pair of photos. “How would the Callaway girl look in a coffin with part of her body blown away?” He placed a picture on the table. Kiki leaving work. “Your latest pigeon?” Another picture. Sheila taking orders at the restaurant. “After everything else she’s been through, you want her to end up like her husband?”
“Why don’t I just kill the three of you and be done with it?” Wolf said.
The tips of Ava’s nails stopped moving and bit into his skin.
Joe and McNab stared.
Thorne said, “Blaze away. But what’s my fail-safe?”
Wolf let his shoulders sink a little. Thorne had called his bluff. No other choice. He had to cooperate.
“Why Coleman?” Wolf said. “Why this city?”
Thorne smiled. “Our mutual friend Charles Naughton. Wasn’t always a friendly club owner, you know. He had some contacts that helped us get the guns moving. He also told us about Coleman.”
“What do you want me to do?” Wolf said.
Thorne clapped his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear, old boy. Right now, nothing. Go about your business. But maybe you’ll bump into Coleman, maybe you’ll have a conversation. Maybe you’ve heard a rumor he may be a target and should consider taking you as a bodyguard. He trusts you, doesn’t he? After that we’ll be in touch.”
Wolf swallowed the rest of his scotch.
Thorne said, “I’m sure you and Ava have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t let me keep you any longer.”
Ava and Wolf rose and moved toward the door. Before they stepped into the hallway Wolf turned and winked at the bandaged Skinner McNab. The door clicked shut and McNab turned dagger eyes on Thorne.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Thorne’s eyes remained on the door. “No. We have him right where we want him.”
“It’s the other way around, Joe.”
Thorne looked at McNab. “How?”
“Ava. The worst thing you could do is let her near him.”
Thorne shook his head. “She’s with us.”
“You forgot how close they were.”
“She left him. Wolf won’t open up again.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“So, we just kill them both? Or let them have a leash, see what happens? At least we’ll know where they’re at.”
“You’re the boss.”
“That’s right,” Thorne said.
18
A little past four a.m. and Wolf, too wired to sleep, suggested tea. They went to the twenty-four-hour restaurant at the Bonaventure Hotel, called the Blue Note, and found a back corner booth. She sat a few inches away from him.
Quiet music from the piano player up front covered the silence between them. The low light and combative shadows didn’t highlight Ava’s eyes, it cast a shade over them, like two hollow pits in her head.
She looked down at the left sleeve of her blouse and ran the fingers of her right hand over it, once, twice.
Wolf watched her. She kept her eyes away.
“You hate me,” she said.
“I don’t know,” Wolf said. “I’m not happy with you, for sure.”
She scratched the tip of her nose.
Wolf said, “How did he find you?”
She talked without making eye-contact. “It was an accident. I was living in London, working for a modeling agency.”
“You were what?”
She smiled, finally looked up, brushed back her hair. “Yeah. Finally decided to cash in on what everybody said I should do for so long.”
Wolf laughed.
She said, “I didn’t do much. Not skinny enough or heavy enough. Us girls in the middle are hard to sell. I was looking for a way out when Thorne found me. He saw one of my pictures in a magazine and looked me up.”
“Was McNab with him then?”
She nodded. “We went out for drinks. That’s when Joe told me he wanted my help in a robbery, some payroll truck. The truck would be going to a certain bank and I was to go and seduce the banker in charge of receiving the shipment to make him cooperate. I couldn’t believe how I felt after. It was exhilarating. I didn’t realize how bored I’d been since the old days. He asked if I wanted to join him and Skinner for more and I said yes.”
She bowed her head and started absently tugging at the bracelet on her left wrist. “We were finally working for ourselves. Nobody to tell us what to do. No chain of command or bureaucratic garbage. I loved it.”
Wolf turned his water glass in circles, watching the ice. He wasn’t shocked. None of them had responded well to authority. The waitress brought tea for Wolf, coffee for Ava. Ava opened two containers of cream, poured, stirred. She said, “So you never looked for a real job?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Wolf said, but didn’t elaborate.
She sipped the coffee. “Do you really think you’re doing any good?”
“For somebody.”
“What does that mean?”
“A lot of innocent people have been killed because of your gun deals, but maybe I stopped that from happening to others.”
She lowered her eyes.
“What happened to you, Ava?”
She kept her head down.
“You can’t be happy with what you’re doing.”
The woman remained silent.
Wolf said, “Quit pretending.”
“What?”
He scooted close and kept his voice low. “You’re doing the same thing I used to. Being something you’re not because you’re afraid of what you really are. You’re afraid of being vulnerable because it means somebody can hurt you.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened but no words came out. Lines on her face seemed to crack the make-up shell.
“You can’t hide behind a cover story, kitten,” he said. “I tried. For a long time.”
Ava’s eyes didn’t leave his.
“You’re a good woman,” he said. “Maybe I can find that woman again and we can pick up where we left off.”
They didn’t say anything more for a long while.
Ava drove back to Wolf’s hotel and followed him to his suite. He said, “See you later.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding.” She snaked her warm fleshy arms around his neck, pressed against him, made him weak inside. His arms circled her waist, the warmth of her body running through him. Their lips touched. Before either leaned into the kiss he pushed her away. Her eyes opened, brow furrowing.
“I don’t--”
“No, Ava.”
“But--”
“No.”
She stared at him. He blinked once, twice. She smoothed the front of her shirt, readjusted the shoulder strap of her purse, cracked a weak smile, and walked away. He watched her hips swish.
In the bathroom he splashed his face with cold water. He felt hot. His reflection showed a man in a daze as he tried not to think about Ava or Joe, about himself.
Out on the deck he watched the sun come up.
Wolf rehearsed the words like an actor memorizing lines. He needed to get them right.
Wolf hiked up the front walkway to the Callaway home. The large two-story home had a curving front drive with a statue in the center. It had been a long day and it was well after nine, the sky dark, crickets chirping. This visit to Callaway’s home was the first time Wolf had left his hotel all day.
Tapping on the red oak door, he waited. The lock clicked, the door opened, and a wet nose at the front of a small dog stuck through the opening accompanied by hyperactive breathing. Behind the door John Callaway said, “Get back, Jeeves,” and the dog huffed. Callaway opened the door with his head turned away and his right leg extended to keep his hyper beagle from racing out. He ushered Wolf inside. The dog, Jeeves, yipped at him, but Wolf glared, and the dog scurried to the protective cover of a chair.
“Don’t torture the boy,” Callaway said, a low laugh escaping his big chest. He wore a dark blue bathrobe over dark blue pajamas. He pushed the door closed and the lock struck with a solid click. Jeeves stuck out his snout and yipped again.
“He knows better than to get too excited,” the inspector said. Wolf smiled and followed Callaway into the den. Jeeves fell in step behind, but at a discreet distance.
Callaway held the door open. He said, “Come on,” and the dog trotted in. Callaway shut the door and the dog assumed his position on a doggie bed in a corner.
Wolf said, “Kiki get her hands on him yet for wrecking her roses?”
Another low laugh from Callaway. They moved to a small couch. The den wasn’t very large but resembled his office. Desk (cluttered), small bookcase (not full), Jeeves’s bed (full of hair), and the couch. Usual sea ship pictures on the wall.
Callaway said, “You caught me at a bad time. I have our press conference tomorrow. About Brock and all.”
“My apologies.”
“Forget it.” He looked at Wolf, but Wolf couldn’t hold the gaze and turned away. “What’s on your mind?”
Wolf explained about Thorne, the gun running, the new plot against the Coleman family, the East Coast gunmen hired to help, and the threat to Kiki and Sheila.
“Is my daughter in immediate danger?” Callaway said.
“Not if I play along.”
“Can’t you be sure?”
“I’m not sure of anything right now,” Wolf said.
“I understand.” A pause, then: “So what do we do about this?”
“Do you trust me?”
Callaway’s face softened a bit. “Do you even have to ask?”
Wolf pressed his lips together.
“I just need notice. Time to hide the bodies.” Callaway smiled.
“No bodies this time,” Wolf said.
“What are you thinking?” Callaway said.
“Kiki told me you’ve been watching the east coast gunmen since they started arriving.”
“Not total surveillance, but we know where some of them are.”
“Get some men on it. Find all of them.”
“For?”
“Round them up when I tell you to. A clean sweep with Thorne and McNab and Naughton included. Between you and the Feds there’s plenty of manpower--and firepower. If you don’t find enough evidence, I’ll get everything you need.”
“How?”
“I’m working on a witness. It’s a long shot, but I think she’ll turn.”
“She?”
“Long story. I’m seeing her tomorrow night and I’ll make my pitch. I think she’ll cooperate.”
Callaway nodded.
“How’s Sheila’s situation?”
“I’m getting back to that as soon as I leave,” Wolf said.
“Make it up as you go,” he said. “Just like the rest of us.”
Jeeves had fallen asleep in the corner and didn’t hear the men go out. Callaway showed Wolf to the door. They shook hands and Callaway closed the door.
Wolf drove over to Kiki’s apartment building, parked across the street, and looked up at her dark window. He wasn’t going to go up and knock because he had no words for her. He thought of those who died at the hands of others despite his best effort. He swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes and prayed like never before that he wouldn’t have to try to save Kiki.
He wasn’t sure if he could even save himself.
19
Wolf returned to the cul-de-sac across the street from the Amis home, waiting for the white-haired man who could lead him to Gambolini and Regan. The empty driveway and dark house offered no encouragement.
Presently the garage door opened. The black Lincoln Town Car reversed onto the street, drove past the cul-de-sac. Wolf trailed the Town Car halfway across the city and turned into a block of office buildings and new construction sites. No other traffic. The buildings were dark, parking lots lit with tall lamps. The Lincoln pulled into one of the sites with the skeleton of a building and construction equipment dominating the lot and stopped outside a portable trailer. Inside the trailer, lights burned. Wolf parked a half block down.
He pounded across the blacktopped street, approached the construction site, and dashed over the loose dirt. A dust cloud trailed behind him. Wolf found a bulldozer to hide behind while he examined a posted sign, A Project of Magnum Engineering. Jack Amis, Owner/Operator.
Two other cars sat next to the now-empty Lincoln, a convertible Corvette and Ford Five Hundred. Blinds covered the trailer windows. He stayed low and moved across the dirt to the trailer, eased between the metal support frame and lay down on the dirt. The rocks and mounds of dirt made his back arch. He stifled a grunt. The voices above were faint, but some of the words came through.
Teddy Gambolini didn’t hide his frown as he braced his hands on the arms of his chair and lowered his body into the seat.
Ben Regan and a third compatriot, Jake Sanborn, sat in front of the desk. Sanborn, the youngest of the three, flaunted his age with long hair and a surfer look. The white-haired Gambolini studied the men a moment and said,
“Ain’t we up the creek?”
Ben Regan said, “There was never a promise that Palakis would turn over Califano’s hideout. We’re no worse off than when we started. This was just a little side adventure that didn’t pay off.”
Gambolini turned to Sanborn. “What’s he forgetting, Jake?”
“The contract is still open.”
“Right,” Gambolini said. “This whole ‘side adventure’ was to get the home boys off our neck. That detective, Brock, found us. Who knows if he told? Miles Kincaid thinks we still have the DVD. He will be looking for us.”
“You weren’t so concerned with whom Brock may have spoken to when you asked me to kill him.”
“With Palakis still alive it didn’t matter and”--he leveled the stubby finger at Regan--“I’m not in the mood for your lip tonight.”
“So, what are you asking?” Regan said. “Do we just cut and run?”
“Be serious. There’s too much invested here.”
“Didn’t you imply that we’re sitting ducks?”
“We aren’t running. We’re fortifying. Keep working your contacts back home. If anybody gets a hint that Scarlatta knows where we are, we
’ll reconsider our plans.”
“Fine,” Regan said.
Gambolini pointed at Sanborn. “And you. I better not hear about any interruptions in sales.”
“We’ll be fine, but the next shipment needs to get here soon. I have more customers than product.”
“This Wednesday, ten-fifteen at the Mill. It’ll be there.”
Gambolini stopped talking. He took out Chapstick and dabbed his lips. “I liked this business a whole lot better when I was younger. Oh, and Ben? Go find Miles Kincaid before he finds us, okay?”
Wolf remained in his awkward position beneath the trailer. Shuffling footsteps indicated the end of the meeting. The white-haired man left first, his heavy body jolting the structure as he rumbled down the steps. He climbed into the Town Car and drove away. When the other two emerged, they lit cigarettes, stood by their cars. Streetlamps highlighted their features. The long-haired man meant nothing to Wolf; the other, with his dark hair and graying mustache and the visible nine-millimeter on his hip, matched the description Harvey the Hook had provided about the man who’d come looking for Freddie Webster.
A fire smoldered in Wolf’s belly, but he held back. He wanted the whole operation destroyed, not just the men behind it. Too many would be ready to take their place. He’d heard enough of the conversation to know that if anything happened to Regan, the white-haired man, Amis, might indeed cut and run. And take Gambolini with him.
Wolf stayed in the shadows while the other two smoked and talked and when they stomped out their smokes and drove away, Wolf remained in place for five extra minutes.
He rolled out, stood, stretched, and wandered over to the sign at the entrance. The white-haired man was Amis. He’d seen Ben Regan. He didn’t know the long-haired kid but had heard the name “Jake”; didn’t know Teddy Gambolini.
He froze. Why wasn’t Gambolini at the meeting?