“What’s that?” I said.
“The name of the person who put Eddie Corrado up to it. ‘Cause Eddie ain’t smart enough nor clever enough to do it on his own.”
I shook my head. “You’ll settle for your money. Whoever got Tommy to do anything is irrelevant. Tommy’s the one who did it. Hell, maybe he was upset because Janet Yellen put up the Fed interest rates. Are you going to blame her?”
Tommy smiled. “You just gave yourself away, Titus. You know who it is. It’s the girl, isn’t it? Allie Hayes.”
“Tommy,” I said, “if anything happens to Allie Hayes, I will kill you. If it’s the last thing I do.”
“He’s serious, Tommy,” said Luther. “And if anything happens to Titus and I find out it’s you, I cannot say what plague may befall you.”
Maybe it was Luther’s wonky eye, but I saw a glimmer of fear in Tommy Nero’s face.
“Fine,” Tommy said.
“Fine what?” I said. “I want to hear you say it.”
He scrunched up a linen napkin and held it tight. “Nothing will happen to Allie Hayes by me. Just get me my money back. I’ll have Phil call you when we find out about the locals.”
I looked at Luther. He nodded. We stood.
“Tommy,” said Luther.
“Luther,” said Tommy. “I’d shake your hand, but I need some more wet wipes.”
A waiter magically appeared with a basket of wet wipes.
“Have a nice day, Phil,” I said as I passed him. “By the way, the 1970s called and they want their clothes back.”
“Fuck you,” said Phil.
“Phil’s a real charmer,” said Luther.
“Isn’t he, though?” I said as we walked out.
THIRTY
LUTHER DROPPED ME OFF AND WENT BACK TO THE church. I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around. I think better when I walk. I also think better when I drink, but I heard somewhere that walking might be better for you. Maybe not when there’s a hit man peeling around looking to shoot you, but whatever. I took my chances and kept my eyes open.
As I walked, I pondered Jake Preston and Eddie Corrado. Both were shot by a non-pro—or by a pro who wants it to look non-pro—with a small-caliber gun. Both were shot in the right eye.
Jake blackmailed Rexford J. Hayes with something. With what? I had previously suspected that he had proof that Rex molested Allie, but now I’m not so sure. Allie definitely has all the telltale signs of a girl who was brutalized by men from an early age. You get to know them well as a cop. You can look at a girl and hear her voice and just know. It’s a pattern, a rhythm of speaking, the way she darts her eyes. Just like how a cop can pick out the one hooker from a picture of eighty girls. Allie wanted me to think it was Rex, but my gut tells me she was covering up the real secret. Is it something to do with Pam?
Allie is street-smart. Too street-smart for a girl from Gables Estates. She spent some serious time doing some very bad things. She knows B & E. She knows how to hustle. She has a gun. Where would she have found the time to learn all this after class at Miss Favisham’s Academy or wherever the hell little rich girls go to middle school?
Eddie stole from Tommy Nero. Where is the money? What’s the connection between the fortune Jake pissed to the wind and Tommy’s two million dollars? Did Tommy kill Jake and make it look like an amateur?
No. Tommy Nero may be a dirtbag, but he’s a businessman first and foremost. He wouldn’t do anything that would compromise his reputation.
Right about daily storm time, I felt a headache coming on. I went back to my place, flopped on the airbed, and stared at the ceiling. The couple upstairs must be passed out from exhaustion because all I heard was the storm.
I did some deep-breathing, attempting to clear my mind to allow thoughts to come to me like all the meditation hucksters tell you to do. But instead, I fell asleep.
I woke to a knock on my door. My gun was in my hand before I even thought about it. I looked at the time. 6:01 p.m.
I sprung to the side of the door and listened, holding my breath. There was another knock.
“Open up,” said Sofia. “It’s me.”
I exhaled and opened the door. The sergeant looked sweaty and tired. Her hair was a mess, her face was shiny, and her black pantsuit looked like it could use a tumble at the dry cleaners. She was thoroughly gorgeous.
“Well, hello stranger,” I said. “It’s about time.”
“Can I come in?” she said.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Shut up.” She pushed past me and walked in. I closed the door.
She looked around, her arms folded. It didn’t take long to look around. There’s not much to look around at.
“I usually don’t answer the door myself,” I said, “but my butler is off today. Cleaning staff too, so pardon the mess.”
She turned and faced me. It felt good to have her in my private space. It felt very good.
“I saw another dead body this afternoon,” she said.
I nodded and folded my arms. “Cops see a lot of those—or so I’ve been told.”
“Shut up. It was Eddie Corrado. Someone called it in anonymously. Any idea who that might be?”
I shrugged. “Sonny Crockett?”
“Shut up. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wasn’t sure if Bad Bad Lieutenant Brown had your line tapped.”
She thought about that and nodded.
“Belson got the case,” she said. “I went and saw it. Whoever killed Jake Preston also killed Eddie Corrado.”
“I know.”
She folded her arms and turned to face the wall, tempting me to look at her butt. Which I did. Because how can you not? Wow. Then she took one step—which is all you can take in my place—and turned to face the corner window with the grime.
“Here’s the thing,” she said spitting the words through gritted teeth. “I put in an inquiry on Foundation Investments LLC.”
“And?” I said.
“It was squashed. I’ve been told to focus on other things.”
“Other things?”
“Yes, like rumors of an art theft ring ahead of Art Basel.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It isn’t. I’m being sidelined. We—Lieutenant Brown and the entire OCS department—have been directed to other matters by the higher-ups.”
I nodded, again sensing the powerful magnetic field between us, like if either one of us stepped into it we’d snap together.
“Drink?” I said, clearing my throat again.
“No,” she said.
“Sit.”
I motioned to one of the plastic chairs. She hesitated but sat anyway. I sat across from her.
We stayed like that for a few thousand years. She gazed off into a distant world. I looked intermittently at the wall and then back at her amazing eyes. I chose her eyes and stuck with them. There was no contest.
“You know,” she said in a voice like she was floating on a faraway ocean, “I used to be young and naïve.”
“You?” I said. “I can’t picture that. The naïve part, I mean.”
“I used to think it was simple. Catch bad guys. Be a good cop. Do your job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But how can you do your job when you’re told not to do your job? How can you just look the other way? Why be a cop in the first place?”
“Perks, detail work, pension.”
She sighed.
“That’s exactly how so many of them think,” she said. “They make checklists, get the bare minimum of clearances, kiss the lieutenant’s ass, and go home counting the days until retirement, hoping maybe they’ll fall down the stairs and bust a hip to get out early. But that’s not why I became a cop.”
“I know,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s why I became a cop. I was solving puzzles and crimes in the fifth grade.”
“Me too.”
“But you’re right. It’s not why mos
t cops become cops. You and I—they call us ‘natural cops’ and make fun of us.”
She shook her head, like she needed to pull herself back to the present.
“There’s just so much—corruption,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong. There’s a lot of good people at all levels. But there’s an equal number of assholes at all levels.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We know it going in, but we choose not to see it. Then, when we’re sidelined for bullshit reasons, it hits us hard.”
She looked at me like she was looking into my soul. “You couldn’t take it. You quit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I kind of, uh—exploded—actually.”
“I know. I read your file the night I pulled you over.”
She smiled a smile that turned the brightness and contrast in the room up ten notches.
“I’ve got to know,” she said. “How did it feel when you punched that FBI agent?”
I laughed. “Good. Real good. But on the flipside, not so good. Yes, he was being a prick. Yes, it was his job to be a prick and I knew it. But the sucky thing was we grew up together. We weren’t best friends or anything, but I knew him from middle school up. I felt bad over that.”
“What was his name again?” she said.
I glanced over at the window, my muscles tightening.
“Clark Erwin,” I said.
“Right. Wow, that must have been something.” She placed her hand on the table in an awkward resting position. “I think I know how you felt. Right now, I feel like I want to quit, to run, to get away. To fucking punch someone.”
The way she said that sent a jolt through my jeans. I shifted in the plastic chair and cleared my throat again. Her face relaxed into a smile I hadn’t seen yet—a soft and warm smile. A smile that could dissolve diamonds. All my problems instantly faded and I didn’t care about anything anywhere else. I contemplated singing.
“That drink offer still good?” she said.
“Aren’t you still on duty?” I said.
“I don’t really know anymore.”
I grinned, got up, took down the Rebel Yell and two red plastic glasses, and brought them over to the table. I poured some in each, again noticing the amazing way her black pants bunch at the top of her thigh. I stifled a gulp.
“Nice glassware,” she said.
“Thanks. I had these specially made to match the decor.”
She laughed.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” I said, unable to not say it. I raised my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she said and sipped the bourbon.
She held my eyes for a good long heartbeat. I hoped it wouldn’t end for a very long time.
Then, her hard face came back.
“But unlike you,” she said, “I didn’t punch anyone. I can’t. I need to keep going. I can’t not be a cop. I can’t lose this job. I need to be this. Just like my dad. He needed to. He still asks me about everything I’m working on every day when I come home.”
“You live with your dad?” I said.
She nodded. “He was shot. Messed up his knee. Bad. Lots of surgeries. He’ll never walk without a cane. He took disability but he didn’t want to—there was no other choice. He hated it. All his friends patted him on the back, wishing they got shot in the knee. Meanwhile, he’s this puzzle-solving beast without a home.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” I said.
“He is,” she said.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Gone.”
“Sorry.”
“My brother and I take care of my dad,” she said. “You met my brother Jorge.”
“I did,” I said. “He’s very—um—not your dad.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m the one who gets to live with him.”
“Now I know why you don’t want me over.”
She frowned. “It’s not that I don’t want you over. It’s more complicated than that. The night I pulled you over, I was dealing with some shit. You were someone else too.”
I sat up and took a deep breath. “Someone else?”
“Yeah,” she said, “you were this fire-breathing dragon hell-bent on revenge. I could see it in your eyes. I know the look. Funny thing is, I felt kind of the same that night. I was in touch with it.”
“That’s why you followed me to West Lido Drive?”
“Yeah—I think—maybe. I don’t know.”
I liked that we were sharing. She usually keeps her walls up. She caught herself looking at me too long and moved her gaze past me as she sipped her drink.
“So why were you on uniform probation?” I said.
“I was getting too close to something,” she said. “While I was pulling over drunks and suspicious guys in rental cars with broken taillights for a month, they swept it all under the table so when I got back everything sparkled again. No trace of it.”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah.”
Our eyes met for another long heartbeat. Is this what it feels like to hover over Nirvana? She bit her lower lip.
At that very moment, the couple upstairs commenced Act One.
“Right on time,” I said.
“What is that?” Sofia said.
“My neighbors upstairs have a theatrical sense of foreplay.”
We both took deep breaths as the screaming escalated, our eyes locked on each other. A dollop of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She reached up with her tongue and licked it away. I finished my drink and poured another.
Sofia took a deep breath, shook her head, and sat up. She was suddenly a cop again.
“So,” she said, “it looks like Allie Hayes killed Jake Preston and Eddie Corrado.”
I thought hard about what I was going to say next. I probably shouldn’t. It would ruin the mood. In fact, I definitely shouldn’t—but the cop inside me spoke first.
“Allie Hayes didn’t kill Jake Preston and Eddie Corrado,” I said.
Her hard stare returned. “You know this how?”
“Gut instinct,” I said, kicking myself inside for saying it. “Besides, we talked about it. She—uh—spent the night here last night.”
Sofia leaped to her feet. She glared down at the airbed with a combination of shock, surprise, and disgust. Then she turned back to me with a grimace I could feel in my spine.
“What did you say?” she said. Her voice sounded like metal sheathing being ripped off a roof.
I felt myself blushing. I don’t think I’ve blushed since I was a kid.
“She just showed up,” I said. “I was surprised, too. See, I had found her at Hinraker’s the night before.”
“What?” she said. “You found her and you didn’t tell me?” There was a hint of anguish now.
I told her all about Hinraker’s—the show, my confrontation with Allie, my suspicions.
“We’ve been trying to get to Morton Hinraker for suspected human trafficking for years,” she said, “but no judge will ever authorize a warrant.”
“Naturally,” I said. “I’d bet a judge or three has a private room at Hinraker’s.”
“Still, you could have told me.”
“I didn’t tell you because I needed to get information from her and then convince her to go see you, which is a notch better than just telling you. We were on our way to see you this morning.”
“So what happened?”
I leaned forward, my shoulders down, and stared at the corner.
“She, uh—outsmarted—me,” I said.
“Outsmarted you how?” she said.
“She ran off with some kid in a McLaren. I guess she only needed a place to stay for the night. Yeah yeah yeah, she looks good for Eddie Corrado. Maybe she ran here to escape the police. For some reason, though, I know she didn’t do it. She was there, but the window out back was open. The back porch screen was torn. The room was full of flies. I think she jumped out the back and escaped from whoever held the gun that shot Eddie.”
She sat down again. I could
see her brain thinking. “You think it was Tommy Nero?”
“No,” I said. “If Tommy Nero wanted it to look like an amateur, he could have, no doubt. But this was personal. I feel it. Whoever it was shot him in the left eye up close, just like Jake Preston.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Also, I can’t be sure, but I don’t think Allie’s gun was fired. No smell. Rounds still in place. They all looked the same. In fact, I’m willing to bet on it.”
I stood up, opened up the closet next to us, and pushed the spring lock that flipped open the stash space. I picked up Allie’s gun by two fingers and placed it on the table.
“Got a baggie on you?” I said. “I’m willing to bet this isn’t the gun that killed Jake Preston nor Eddie Corrado.”
“That’s Allie’s?” she said.
“You bet it was. She pointed it at me when I walked in.”
Sofia stared at the gun, then at the floor, then back at the gun, then at me. She reached into her bag, removed a baggie, put the gun in it, and stuffed it in her bag. I just knew she’d have a baggie on her. I bet there’s one under her bed.
“Then you—convinced—her to talk to me?” She almost spat the words out. “How did you—convince—her?”
“I fucked her silly, of course.”
Sofia stood up again and folded her arms, her face morphing into a version of the swamp creature. “I knew it!”
I laughed. “Sofia, come on. I’m joking. I couldn’t get it up for Allie if I tried. She’s used, abused, damaged—very damaged. Maybe beyond repair.”
Sofia tapped her foot and stared at me like an interrogator to a terrorist with a car battery attached to his genitals. I held her eyes. They relaxed.
“I’m not sure if I believe you,” she said, slowly sitting down again.
“Here’s another piece of the puzzle,” I said. “Somebody’s hired a pro cleaner named Z—just the letter—who has been keeping tabs on me.”
“How do you know this?”
“Someone warned me. And I saw Z—twice.”
“Who warned you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Burner number.”
We both stared and thought, rolling all this around. Her hand neared mine on the table again. The magnetic field was back. The couple upstairs were doing an enhanced version of Act One. I took a chance and wrapped my hand around hers.
Miami Burn (Titus Book 1) Page 21