Silent Cymbals

by Lakes, Lynde

  “It’s suicide to walk in there when you don’t know what’s already gone down. If that crazy woman has Rusti, our little schoolteacher may already have spilled everything.”

  Traffic began to move again, and Razor whipped around a slow moving car. “You don’t know her. She’s every bit as tough as René. She’d rather go down alone than take anyone with her.”

  “Don’t count on it. Even a seasoned veteran can break under torture.”

  Razor tightened his jaw. Rusti would never talk. And Zena would torture her beyond human limits trying to force her. He hated to consider the degree of depravity Zena was capable of.

  “I don’t like the unknowns,” Buck said. “It doesn’t make sense that a woman, any woman, could have managed all that killing alone. That means she has a partner…and if she’s onto the sting, wouldn’t she have told her father?”

  “Repeatedly, I’m sure, but without proof, he’d chalk it up to her usual theatrics. From what Ben said, Zena is with a cop who moonlights as a bouncer at the Egyptia. His name is Bob Cane. Baxter’s checking on him.”

  “Do you have your vest and B-packet with you?”

  “In the spare tire compartment.”

  “Suit up and follow the plan as close as possible.” Buck signed off, still grumbling about the unknowns but promising Fed backup.

  Razor knew it would take the Feds a while to get their act together. He and Baxter would have to initiate the rescue, and they were both working blind. It would have to be a rescue instead of a cartel bust; if they managed to rake in some of the gang in the process, so much the better. The bust had been planned for tonight when the whole gang would be on hand to distribute the lastest shipment. The banker had promised there’d be no slip-ups on that. Yet, now that the bust had to happen several hours earlier… Too early to grab both the whole bunch and the evidence.

  Razor rubbed his tight neck muscles. He had to find Rusti and get her away from Zena before all hell broke loose. And he had to keep Terrilla guessing until the arrest. It amazed him how his values had changed. He’d been a dedicated federal agent first, last, and always; the mission was sacred. But with Rusti at risk—nothing mattered except getting her out alive.

  Bob Cane was the other wild card in the deck. Had this rogue cop killed for Zena? And how many of Zena’s escapdes did Terrilla know about?

  Razor pressed harder on the acelerator and cleared his mind in readiness to do the best acting job of his life. He’d had a lot of practice, but there’d never been as much at stake, and he’d never been more uncertain of the outcome. He took a deep breath and geared himself up for a life or death battle of wits.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Bright afternoon sunlight spilled through the high transom windows of the gymnasiam, highlighting shiny equipment and glossy floors. Rusti struggled against Zena’s attempts to tie her.

  “Hold her still,” Zena told Bob.

  He grabbed Rusti’s wrists and fastened them tightly to the workout bar. She cried out at the pain that shot all the way up her arm. Zena smiled. Her face appeared bloodless, a porcelain demon with scarlet lipstick and splotches of rouge. Her narrowed glassy eyes promised slow torture before death.

  Rusti couldn’t stop trembling. How could she get out of this? Under the circumstances, her best option was to stall. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, Zena, if you’ll just tell me why you killed René and Petra?”

  Zena made a show of slowly removing her black leather gloves, strutting about and tossing them to Bob Cane as though doing a strip tease. She laughed, humorless, deep, throaty and evil. “They got in my way,” she growled. “And you’re worse.” She turned her tawny, hate-filled eyes on Rusti. “If you hadn’t poked your nose into our business, I would’ve exposed Razor by now. He’d be dead, and I’d be number one with the old man.”

  It sounded more and more as though Terrilla was her father, but it didn’t quite fit. Still, she had to chance it. “Have you ever been first with your father? Has he ever given you what you want and need?”

  Zena slapped Rusti across the mouth. Hard. Rusti tasted blood. “What the hell do you know about it?” Zena asked.

  With her face still stinging from the blow, Rusti said, “Mike told me how your father hurt you.” She had to try to distract Zena with sympathy. “Everyone at the club feels for you, Zena. And Razor does, too.”

  The rope around Rusti’s wrists dug deeply and painfully into her skin, but her hands were very flexible from years of practicing the hand movements her dancing required. But even if she worked her hands free, there was still Bob and that gun.

  “Where’s the microfilm?” he asked, getting in her face, his eyes bulging.

  Zena tossed her black mane of hair back off her shoulders. “Talk,” she said, kicking Rusti in the shin with her high-heeled black boot. Frightened yet fascinated, Rusti couldn’t take her eyes off Zena. The woman had straightened to her full six feet, statuesque and beautiful, the way a predatory black panther is beautiful. Lunacy glinted in her eyes.

  Rusti understood her life or death situation. But dare she tell the truth—that the authorities already had the microfilm? No. Candor would blow Razor’s cover. And if he was one of the good guys, she couldn’t be responsible for his death. She had to just make up something. “There isn’t any microfilm” she blurted, playing for time. “There never was.”

  “You admitted its existence at the winery.”

  “I was scared. I merely told you what you wanted to hear to get you to leave.”

  “Liar!” Zena shot Rusti a scornful smile. She unsheathed one of her knives, laid it against Rusti’s arm and barely pressed it before drawing blood. “Imagine what a little more pressure will do.”

  “What’s going on here?” a silver-haired man asked, his voice as thick and smooth as honey. “Never mind. I think I can guess. This must be the Rusti Collins I’ve heard so much about. Untie her.”

  He and a dozen armed guards had slipped into the gym as silently as thieves. On his shoulder were two yellow love birds.

  Zena spun around. The tight expression on Bob Cane’s face was one of sheer terror as he untied Rusti.

  “Well, Stretch, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “My father,” Zena snarled. “Enrico Terrilla.”

  Rusti stared, speechless. She’d been right. Zena Matthews was Terrilla’s daughter! And Razor had to know. He’d been the man’s pseudo-son for over two years. Her heart almost stopped beating. She had just begun believing in him again and now this. Why hadn’t he told her?

  Rusti thought Terrilla looked more like a grandfather than a godfather, and no matter what else she might think about him, he’d saved her life. Or at least, delayed her death. His appearance seemed to be anything but reassuring to Zena and Bob. They stood frozen in place, like statues, as Terrilla’s guards closed ranks and blocked the door with their Uzis. Rusti felt like she was caught in an old Capone movie where everyone ended up dead.

  No one spoke. Zena glared at Rusti while the old Capo inspected Rusti’s wrists. “You’ll be all right, my dear.” Then, he turned his attention to his daughter. “This is the stupidest trick you’ve ever pulled, Stretch.” He shook his fist at her. His diamond rings reflected spectrums of fractured light onto the wall behind him.

  Zena lifted her chin and stood tall. “I’m not stupid! And don’t call me Stretch. Or someday I’ll—”

  “Be careful what you say, Stretch. You’ve involved me by bringing Rusti to my home. I call that stupid.” He shook his head. “There’s no going back now—for any of us.”

  Terrilla looked long and hard at Rusti. The logic of the old man’s words sent a chill through her. By bringing Rusti here, Zena had signed her death warrant.

  Zena raked back her midnight-black hair. “I suppose your precious Antonio never brought outsiders here,” she said.

  “Your brother used his head. He never acted against my wishes.” Terrilla’s pale-blue eyes blazed with anger. “Never brought
trouble home with him.”

  “You always took his part. And now you’ve been taken in by his traitorous look-alike. Your son is dead! Dead. Dead. Dead. Why can’t you accept that?”

  “Silencia!”

  Zena wilted for only a moment, then met her father’s gaze head on. “Listen, for once,” she snapped, “and I’ll explain—”

  “Only if you have a plan to get us out of this mess,” Terrilla said, “because for the life of me I can’t see a way out.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Zena shouted. “Rusti knows about Razor, and she knows about the evidence. I could’ve made her talk if you hadn’t interfered.”

  “Ah, proof at last,” Terrilla said, his tone mocking. “You have my interest, but first let’s get rid of outsiders.”

  Abruptly, Terrilla turned and nodded toward Bob Cane. Bob’s eyes were pinpoints of fear. Terrilla’s guards broke rank and moved in. Rusti noticed an opening to their left. She would have made a run for it, but one of the guards was looking right at her.

  “Let Bob alone,” Zena said. “He’s one of us.”

  The guards hesitated, waiting for Terrilla’s okay. When he nodded, they released Bob, who eased over, visably shaking, and stood beside Zena. The guards kept their guns trained on him.

  “One of us, eh?” Terrilla patted the bulge his shoulder holster made under his jacket. He narrowed the distance between his prey and himself, studying him as though deciding his fate. “You’re the cop who works at the Egyptia as a bouncer. What’s your name?”

  A low, pained moan came from Bob, as though he’d swallowed his tongue. Finally he managed to say, “Robert Cane, sir.”

  Terrilla’s thinned lips broke into a smile. “Mattie Cane’s boy?”

  Bob nodded, his face pale as death. With the focus of Terrilla’s attention on Bob, Rusti had time to think, but with all that fire power she saw no means of escape.

  Terrilla laughed. “Quit shaking, man, you’ll pee your pants. Mattie’s boy is okay with me. She and I go way back. Used my influence to get her that job at LAPD. And she never forgets her old friends.”

  Rusti wondered if this Mattie person was Terrilla’s personal mole. And was Bob Zena’s conduit to the Police Department?

  Bob Cane blew out the air he’d been holding as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Another door at the other end of the gymnasium opened noisily, and Razor Jones swaggered in. Rusti’s heart sank—he was alone. Why hadn’t he brought the police? Rusti realized that her misplaced sympathy for Zena had put her and Razor in harm’s way. It was the kind of mistake Razor had warned her about—the kind that could get them both killed.

  “I see the gang’s all here.” Razor hugged the old Capo with what seemed real affection in his eyes. Rusti’s mind spun in confusion.

  The birds on Terrilla’s shoulders took flight and landed on one of the weight bars. Razor turned his attention to Rusti. He winked. “I see you found her.”

  “Just as you thought, my boy. Just as you thought.” Terrilla’s benign smile didn’t reassure Rusti. He placed a hand on Razor’s shoulder. “It was a good thing you called when you did. I got here barely in time to stop Zena from carving her up.”

  It wasn’t Razor, the FBI man, but Razor Jones, the Capo’s righthand man who looked her up and down as though inspecting a new playmate for his gangster harem. Then he planted a moist kiss on her mouth. “We wouldn’t want that, would we, Baby?”

  Rusti wiped her hand across her burning mouth, and wrenched herself out of his arms. “Zena said you killed René, that she has proof.”

  Zena made a move toward Razor. He sidestepped her, but not before her long, red nails left talon marks across one side of his face. “Spy,” she hissed.

  Razor shook his head. “More so-called proof against me, Zena? You made a mistake when you involved Rusti in your sick schemes. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize you’re the slash-happy killer the cops are looking for. I just hope to God you haven’t led them here.” He put his arm around Rusti. “Don’t ever touch Rusti again, or—”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Terrilla said. “You’ve got your little redhead back now, Son. No harm’s done.”

  Razor gave Rusti a reassuring squeeze. “Zena’s always been reckless. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops are right behind her.”

  Rusti wondered if that was a message for her. God, she was confused. Terrilla glared at Zena. “For all our sakes, I hope not.”

  Rusti’s mind swirled. Razor hadn’t come in with blazing guns and police backup, and he was behaving toward Terrilla the way a real son would. She’d known from the beginning that Razor had a role to play, but seeing him in action stretched her faith close to the breaking point. At this moment he was, for all intents and purposes, Enrico Terrilla’s faithful pseudo-son. And he was much too good at it—unless he wasn’t acting.

  Razor looked questioningly at Bob Cane, who had his arm around Zena, almost clinging to her as if she were his shield. “What’s the Egyptia’s bouncer doing here?” he asked, turning to Terrilla. “Do you know this guy’s a cop?”

  “He’s okay,” Terrilla said.

  Zena looked up at Bob. “See, he likes you, Baby. Now, light me a cigarette.” Bob Cane quickly lit up, took a few puffs, and handed the cigarette to her. “Now comes the moment of truth.” Zena sauntered toward Rusti, the glowing coal of the cigarette aimed at her face.

  Razor stepped in front of Rusti and knocked the cigarette out of Zena’s hand. “Let’s hear you tell the truth, Zena. Tell your father how Antonio really died.” Razor’s words were measured, deadly.

  He paused and looked sadly toward Terrilla, who stood calmly by, watching Zena and Razor in their battle of wits. A hushed silence heightened the tension that crackled in the air. Zena shifted nervously. Bob Cane looked confused.

  Terrilla’s faded blue eyes registered intense interest. “Zena?”

  Although Rusti sensed coiled energy throbbing beneath that milky white skin, she gasped when Zena sprang into action, thrusting a knife toward Razor’s chest. Razor ducked and grabbed her wrist. He twisted it behind her back without even breaking a sweat.

  It was all coming clear now—Razor Jones was Zena’s nemesis; he’d stolen her father’s love.

  “Basta!” Terrilla shouted. “Enough, both of you.”

  “Call her off, Enrico,” Razor said, calmly. “She’s gone over the edge.”

  “Zena-girl,” Terrilla soothed. “Calm down. Show me your proof, and I’ll let you have him.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Razor muttered.

  Terrilla smiled, took a cigar from the pocket of his pin-striped suit and rolled it between his palms. Razor paused, no doubt weighing his options, then released Zena.

  Zena stepped back and thrust her chin upward. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” she said, pivoting quickly. In a flash she grabbed Rusti, holding the knife blade against her jugular vein. “Now, what was it you were saying, spy?”

  Rusti trembled, but Razor didn’t blink an eye. How could he be so calm with this cold steel blade at her throat? Because he was Razor Jones? Reason told her that no one could play the part so well and not be the genuine article. Yet, her heart told her that couldn’t be true.

  Rusti wished she could stop trembling. She stared at Razor. Who was he deep inside, Razor Jones or Marc Devaux, government agent?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Razor captured Rusti’s gaze for only an instant, but that brief glance told her what she needed to hear—don’t be afraid, I’ll get you out of this, I love you. He glanced up at the clock. He was stalling for time. She could help him by dragging the drama out.

  Terrilla’s expression remained guarded, but he inclined his head in Zena’s direction. “Let the girl go, Zena,” he growled.

  “Not without a confession,” she said.

  Razor glanced at the clock again. “Let her go, Zena, and I’ll tell you everything Rusti told me a
bout René and Kincaid.”

  Terrilla met Razor’s gaze. A look of disappointment clouded his eyes. “You said she didn’t know anything. Now it sounds like you’ve been playing games with me. I don’t like games.”

  “Have I ever betrayed you?” Razor asked.

  Rusti wanted to scream. The conversation was going in the wrong direction. Razor had told Zena to tell her father how Antonio really died. Why wasn’t Razor or Terrilla pursing that?

  “Let’s get on with it, Girl,” Terrilla said. “You’ve brought this to a head. Mission accomplished. It looks like Razor knows something after all.”

  “I told you!” Zena said, her tone triumphant. “But let’s hear it from the canary herself, not secondhand from some undercover nobody.” Zena nicked Rusti’s chin, and blood oozed from the cut and ran in a scarlet stream off the cold blue steel. Zena pressed her lips to Rusti’s ear, and said in a deadly whisper, “That’s just a sample. When Razor goes down, you’ll get the full treatment.”

  Rusti struggled to break free. She felt the knife prick her chin again. Blood dripped onto her shirt.

  “Damn you, Zena.” Razor whirled and judo kicked the knife from her hands. While she scurried for the weapon, he grabbed Rusti and pulled her away. “And damn you, too, Terrilla. Now, put a leash on your tigress so we can talk this out.”

  A shocked silence filled the room as everyone waited for Terrilla to explode. It was clear that no one other than Zena had ever spoken to the old Capo in such a disrespectful way and lived.

  Zena’s gaze connected with Rusti’s, and a sly smile played about her mouth.

  Be careful, Razor, Rusti thought with dismay. You’re playing with fire.

  Terrilla flicked his gold lighter and watched the flame for a moment before lighting his cigar. “My high-spirited daughter has forgotten her manners,” he said, handing Rusti the handkerchief from his breast pocket. “My apologies.”