by Jeff Abbott
‘When would you need the money for the first shipment?’ Paul said, and Eve bit her bottom lip. Frank gave off a soft wine belch and smiled at José, Kiko’s sideman. Eve didn’t like José; he said little and watched faces like he was studying a map. He was short and squat, with a plain face and heavy cheeks, but his eyes were in constant motion, watching Eve, then Frank, then the rest of the table. He flicked the nail of his stubby thumb with each of his fingers in turn, like he was ticking off seconds from an internal clock. Playing dumb muscle but smart under the skin. He made Eve nervous.
‘Five million even. In cash. By Thursday afternoon,’ Kiko said. ‘We’ve got the shipment already here. Hidden in imported pottery that’s listed as antique on the manifest.’ He laughed. ‘It’s junk. Break open the bases and there’s a half kilo in each one. Stashed near the port. It’s safe as a baby.’
‘Deal,’ Paul said.
Eve took a tiny sip of red wine. Done without discussing it with her in private, and all she could do now was try to protect them in this new alliance. She glanced over at Paul’s new right-hand man, the guy who looked like a corporate drone. He was wearing a Brooks Brothers suit, pink Oxford shirt, navy tie. Like he was here to bring a kid to a prep school interview or negotiate a low-level bank deal. Everyone called him Bucks, short for Buckman, his last name, but more because he was supposed to be brilliant about new ways to make money. Eve hadn’t seen a single glow of smartness yet.
Bucks gave her a stern look back that said keep your mouth shut. Frank, always the host, raised his glass and said, ‘Here’s to good business,’ and they all clinked glasses together.
Kiko smiled at her as her wineglass touched his, like he could smell her disapproval and didn’t care.
The deal done, they dipped into the food: the thick steaks brought up from the club’s kitchen, salads crisscrossed with blue cheese, two-fisted baked potatoes crowned with cheese and chives. She nibbled at a chef salad, her appetite gone.
Five million. She had five million cleaned and sitting in twenty-two different accounts in the Caymans that she could transfer back to a bank in Houston. The only clean money they had and Paul had spent it all in a minute. The revenue streams were drying up, the muscle not yet loyal to Paul while his dad lay dying, and now their cash reserve was in play with people they’d never worked with before.
‘Hey, Frank,’ Kiko said. ‘Sing a little. Give us a few bars of “Baby, You’re My Groove.” ’
‘Please don’t,’ Paul said. ‘We’ve all heard it about nine million fucking times.’
‘That’s because it’s a timeless classic,’ Frank said. He was on his fifth glass of wine.
‘Yeah, it gets timeless about every ten years, when disco gets rediscovered,’ Bucks said. ‘Then it gets untimeless, real fast. What he won’t tell us is how much money he’s made off it.’
‘I was an artist,’ Frank said. ‘Money was for agents to worry about. Not my groove.’
‘The only groove Frank has,’ Eve said, ‘is the one his rocking chair’s wearing in the floor.’
‘Yet you love me still,’ Frank said, and she smiled because it was true.
‘The folks that make Viagra need to use this for their theme song,’ Paul said. ‘Pay you a big-ass licensing fee.’
‘Silence, please, respect for the artist,’ Frank said, and he stood and sang, a capella, the well-known refrain:
I’m just saying what’s in my heart
Been there from the very start
And it sure ’nough’s not some move
’cause baby you’re my groove
Baby you’re my grooooove …
Eve smiled at Frank as he sat back down and everyone applauded, José whistling through his teeth. Bucks clapped but not like he meant it. The voice was still there, worn, but clear as a bell; a tenor smooth as melting chocolate.
‘Voice of an angel, still,’ Eve said.
‘An old-fart angel,’ Frank said, but she could see he was pleased, a tiny stage better than none.
‘Man, you ought to do one of those disco reunion tours,’ Kiko said.
‘Nah,’ Frank said. ‘Club keeps me too busy. Plus they’d probably make me share a dressing room with the Village People, and ain’t no way.’
‘But rejuvenating your singing career,’ Bucks said. ‘That’s a worthy goal.’
‘Yeah, why don’t you draw me up one of your action plans, son,’ Frank said. He turned to Kiko. ‘Bucks here is a human day planner. Got more goals than a soccer tournament.’
‘Does he now,’ Kiko said.
‘Goals are vital,’ Bucks said. ‘Goals help us actualize—’
Paul interrupted like he’d heard the words one time too many before. ‘Kiko, got a couple of fine girls who can come in and dance for you. There’s a worthy goal.’
Bucks shut his mouth, like a switch had been flipped.
Kiko smiled. ‘No thanks, man. But I’d like a quick tour of the club, if Frank here would show us around. See who’s famous downstairs tonight.’
‘You sure you don’t want a little private performance?’ Paul asked, drawing out performance into way more than a hint.
‘I got a wife pregnant back in Miami,’ Kiko said. ‘But appreciate the hospitality.’
‘How about you, José?’
José shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’ Declining because his boss did, Eve thought.
‘Sure. That’s fine,’ Paul said. A little disappointed such a generous offer had been refused, Eve could tell. ‘So the money,’ he said. ‘We’ll get it for you, deliver it tomorrow night.’ Today was Wednesday.
‘Tomorrow afternoon would be better,’ Kiko said. ‘Why wait?’
‘We have to move it from overseas. Tomorrow night,’ Paul said, asserting himself too little too late, and Kiko, having won every other point that mattered, gave a slight nod. They stood. Eve rose to go but Paul said, ‘Eve, stay a moment, please,’ and she sat down, watching Frank, Kiko, and José leave. Bucks stayed at the table.
Paul said, ‘Bucks, go downstairs and count boobs, okay? Tell the strippers to wait a minute outside.’
‘You’re in trouble, queen bee,’ Bucks said as he went out the door and Eve felt the blood leave her face.
‘What’s the matter, Paul?’ she said.
‘I want to hear your opinion,’ he said, ignoring her question.
‘They’re asking too much for the coke. Our profit’s too thin. And they sure as hell want to get their foot in here. Kiko’s ambitious. Houston’s a workable market for him. The Dominicans here, they’ve already got ties back to Florida gangs. He could negotiate a separate peace with them. And cut us out. Easy.’
‘You thinking everyone’s trying to tear us down …’
‘They are, Paul.’ She leaned forward, covered his hand with her own. ‘They are, honey. We’re vulnerable. Any time there’s a power shift, here come the wolves. We need to do several smaller deals, boost our revenues and our profit margins, not cut one big deal with a guy we’ve never worked with before.’
‘You think I can’t handle this?’
‘You may not realize how weak we are right now. No one gets a second chance with deals like these.’
‘This puts us back on top. Get the five million,’ he said. ‘And Bucks will handle the exchange with Kiko.’
The air in the room felt weighted with smoke, with the world starting to take a left turn. Tommy would have had her handle the exchange. But she said, ‘Okay.’
‘Change is coming, Eve,’ he said. ‘Nothing for you or Frank to worry about. I’m gonna take good care of you both. But we’re gonna rethink business priorities. My dad, bless him, he wasn’t growth-minded. Bogged us down in too many small deals. You’re worried about Miami horning in here. They should be worried about me horning in on them,’
‘Paul, baby, reality check.’
‘How about a reality check on your part, Eve? Who works for who here?’
‘I’m trying to give you perspective so you make an
informed decision, honey.’
‘The decision’s made.’ Paul Bellini cleared his throat, put on a smile. ‘You think I’m such a horse’s ass, then you can help Frank with running the club day-to-day.’
To her it wasn’t far removed from a job flipping burgers. ‘You don’t need me and Frank for real work, we’ll go back to Detroit. I don’t care much for Texas, to be honest.’
‘Eve, of course I need you.’ He eased back in his chair a little bit. Wriggling his butt into the throne. He was twenty-four and he didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Worse, he didn’t know what he didn’t know. ‘As long as you support our new directions.’
She saw she couldn’t win. Being put out to pasture, her and Frank both. She had known Paul his entire life and he looked at her with all the interest he’d give yesterday’s paper. ‘How does Kiko want the cash?’
‘Nothing bigger than a fifty,’ he said. ‘Who you gonna work with?’
‘Richard Doyle at Coastal United,’ she said. ‘He’s safe.’
‘Yeah, if the doggies ain’t running,’ Paul said with a laugh. ‘Go find Frank, rescue him from Miami Vice. Tell Bucks to take ’em back to their place. And send the girls in, would you? Kiko’s shy but I’m sure not.’
What a nice guy he’d turned into since his dad’s accident. She stood.
‘And Eve. I noticed your body language while I was cutting the deal. Bucks saw it, too. I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, smile and sit still like you’re happy.’
If Big Tommy was here and heard him talking to her that way, he’d backhand Paul across the room. But she said, ‘Sure, Paul, sure,’ and kept her gaze to the floor. She closed the suite door after her.
The two dancers, the tall one they called Red Robin and a stunning black girl named Tasha, chatted in the hall, wearing their stupid theme costumes. Frank wouldn’t let the girls simply strip, no, they had to be characters. Red Robin had a leather bikini with cowboy fringe, a holster with little fake pearl-handled revolvers, and a white Stetson. Tasha wore a bra covered with CDs, and a miniature flat fake computer screen mounted in front of her crotch. A computer mouse’s cord wound around her throat like a necklace, the mouse resting atop mountainous breasts. Eve wondered how much the gear weighed. She’d heard Paul was hot for this one.
‘Y’all can go in now,’ Eve said.
Red Robin did, already swaying her hips to the downstairs music, but Tasha stopped. ‘Hi, Eve, how are you doing?’ Tasha spoke with the clean enunciation of an actress. No street about her.
‘Fine, honey,’ Eve said with a thin smile.
‘I wanted to talk to you … you know a lot about money, right?’
‘Depends.’
‘Well, Paul said you knew how to hide cash. So you don’t have to pay taxes on it.’
‘Paul’s mistaken.’ Eve jerked her head toward the door. ‘And he’s waiting for you.’
‘Sure, Eve. No offense meant.’ Tasha went inside, shutting the door behind her.
Eve stood alone in the thin light of the hall. Paul deciding deals involving millions – millions – and shutting her out. Now an uppity big-titted dancer wanting tips on taxes because Paul mouthed off about cleaning money, a topic his father never would have discussed with a girlfriend.
A little pulse of nausea seeped into her guts. She hadn’t wanted to come to Houston, God no, swearing never to set foot in Texas again, but Tommy had insisted she and Frank come to Houston with him when the other mob bosses forced him out of Detroit. Connecting a minor celebrity like Frank to the Topaz had been sheer genius for generating interest and crowds and giving it a more respectable sheen. Then the stroke took out Tommy and now Paul was risking everything they’d built.
Eve walked down the flight of red-carpeted stairs. Club Topaz was in full swing, a cramped city of men. In the dim light a trio of women danced on three different runways, all three of them stunningly beautiful. Throngs of men, and even a few women, were in the crowd. It was big business for a Wednesday night. In one corner a group of young Astros whooped and hollered. In another corner a Houston Rocket and a couple of visiting Dallas Mavericks enjoyed synchronized lap dances by a pair of Swedish twins. Near the main stage, ogling a pole-dancing double-D brunette, was a local actor who’d hit it big in a movie last year and scored an Oscar nomination. And of course, around them, a locust swarm of everyday guys, drawn by knowing that athletes and actors and the famous would be on display as much as the supple thighs and perfected breasts.
Did you all not get enough tit as kids? Eve wondered as she moved through the crowd, looking for Frank. Apparently the tour had slowed to enjoy the attractions. She found Frank, Kiko, and José at a front table, a chesty Latina dancing for Kiko, with a plumage of folded twenties on her thonged ass.
Eve leaned down and said into Frank’s ear, ‘Paul says give them to Bucks. And I’m ready to go home. Excuse yourself from the table in ten minutes and I’ll be in your office.’ Frank nodded.
She worked her way back through the crowd and went upstairs, to Frank’s spacious office. It was more for meeting and greeting than for reviewing liquor inventory or interviewing staff or talent. Plush chairs, a mahogany table, the inevitable photos of Frank Polo glad-handing every notable who passed through the club doors.
She sat behind his desk, put her face in her hands, and wished that Tommy Bellini wasn’t laid up in a bed for the rest of his life. It had been him thirty years ago that she’d met to return the money that James Powell had stolen. For a chance at even greater money, and Tommy had not disappointed. Tommy had liked her, brought her into the organization, given her responsibility, power, and protection. And a life free of cloying attachments.
But Paul was why monarchy fell out of favor. You could have a king with an idiot son and piss away the empire in no time flat and leave the loyal subjects with no jobs. And one did not walk away from the Bellini family with all the information Eve had. You didn’t list on your résumé the millions of dollars you laundered or how many hits you knew the Bellinis had ordered. Frank was already relegated to being the club’s frontman; God knew what job Paul would give her, probably stuck in a back office counting bar receipts.
If he doesn’t kill you.
She had been afraid of Tommy, of course. The fear kept you alive, the caution of every step you took. He could be kind, generous even, but if you crossed him, you lost money, you lost a finger, you lost your life. He held himself to high standards of performance. Paul wanted respect he couldn’t yet command and seemed to have little regard for her or her abilities. Piss him off and she would sink like a stone in the waters of the Ship Channel, sporting concrete sandals and three bullets in her head, one for each decade of service.
The door opened and Bucks stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, gave her a bright, snappy smile.
‘Don’t you know to knock?’ she said.
‘This isn’t your office.’
‘No, it’s my boyfriend’s office. What do you want?’
‘Peace and quiet,’ he said. ‘This place is too loud. Not conducive to clear contemplation.’ Bucks sat down on the leather sofa like he was used to lounging in the office.
‘Shouldn’t you be guarding Paul?’
‘From what? Attack of the killer tits?’ Bucks said.
‘That tall redhead up there, Robin? I thought you were sweet on her.’
‘She’s sweet on me. There’s a difference. Plus how involved am I really gonna get with a stripper? I can’t take her home to mama.’
‘I was unaware you had such lofty morals.’
‘All this lust, it shows a lack of discipline and self-control.’ Bucks leaned back against the leather. ‘You handle Paul’s money. Makes you important right now. Seems to me I ought to be protecting you more than him.’
‘I’m feeling safe, thanks.’
‘Chad Channing says you can never feel safe because complacency blocks you from your goals.’
She didn’t know who Chad Channing w
as and didn’t care.
‘So you giving our friends any money?’ he asked.
She let a beat pass. ‘No. You are. Paul wants you to handle the exchange, honey.’
‘Naturally.’
This guy had Paul’s ear, so she decided to try. ‘This deal, Bucks, I have serious reservations about it. These guys are looking for a back door into Houston. They’ll crush Paul soon as they get their foot in the door.’
‘Paul and I can handle them,’ Bucks said. ‘Look at Kiko and José. They don’t have four neurons between them. Bet neither one of them even got beyond high school.’
‘Baby, getting a degree means you spent less time learning the actual business we’re in,’ Eve said.
‘This seems like every other business I studied at Wharton.’
‘You won’t find an MBA case study on the Bellinis.’
‘So what do you recommend?’
‘Find out a little more. Why they’ve approached us. Why aren’t they dealing this coke in Florida?’
‘Or take a shortcut,’ Bucks said. ‘Kill them and steal their coke. That’d be one way to sweeten the deal.’ He gave her a crooked, half-mad smile.
Eve stared at him.
‘You ever seen a frijole popped? They lose all command of their English. Blabbering all this Spanish bullshit, begging for their lives. Doesn’t occur to them I don’t speak Spanish, so it’s not helping their cause any.’ Bucks leaned forward, put his elbows on his legs.
‘Killing people on a whim is what got the Bellinis in trouble before.’
‘I might fire your ass on a whim.’ Like the power was his.
‘Honey,’ she said. ‘I’d watch how you talk to me. I’m higher up than you in this family, and I’m telling Paul what you said about killing them.’ She picked up the phone, dialed the extension for the private suite. Bucks yanked the phone away from her, shoved her back onto the floor. Then he was on top of her, his fingers working into her neck. Not closing around her throat but digging into the flesh.
‘I was joking about popping them. I’m not joking now,’ Bucks said. Pain exploded from her neck, coursed along her arms, her chest. ‘See what I got here? This is all the flesh around the carotid. Now. I start to squeeze, the lights go dim. I shut it off and that’s all you wrote. Or I nick it … just so … and we have a mess on Frank’s nice rug.’ He brought his lips close to her ear, the weight of him crushing the breath out of her. ‘You. Don’t. Fuck. With. Me. You understand?’