He sounded very cooperative.
Dutch’s small, neat house stood in the pine trees on Regina Street below the Heavenly Valley ski area.
She glanced at him in the mirror. “You have a problem gambling? That why they have such a good hold on you?”
He seemed unsurprised.
“Yes.”
They parked and went inside, greeted by two cats.
Marco, a gun in the man’s back, said quietly, “You’re going to show us everything you have on the electronic security system Thorp’s lawyer uses at his place. All that high-tech stuff. You were the principle installer, if my information is right. What company?”
He didn’t like looking at Marco. He looked down and off to the side. “I worked with a company from San Francisco. Secure Systems International. SSI. I did the installation for a lot of high-end homes.”
“I want the layout of the lawyer’s house. You can provide me with that?”
“Yes.”
Once Dutch got into this thing, he was very thorough. He explained in detail how it all worked and how it could be taken down. He was a man proud of what he could do with security systems.
“You’re being helpful,” Sydney said. She showed him the recording she had of his cooperation.
He didn’t like that. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“Not if this never happened.”
“They’ll know.”
“They might not be in a position to do anything to anybody,” she said. “Just hope we’re successful. If we are, your debt problems will vanish. I’ll put this with a good friend of mind. He’ll know to destroy it when I tell him to. In the meantime, best stay sober. You get talking, you might not like the consequences.”
Marco studied the laptop file with the security info. He had Dutch show him how to deal with the iControl System Interrupter and the code sequencer. Strangely, Dutch began to show some enthusiasm, more than just his pride in a job well done. He was gaining some interest in the caper. He displayed no great love for Rouse or Thorp.
“Sorry about hitting you hard like that,” Marco said. “I thought you’d be more resistant.”
“I think I’ll survive it,” Dutch said.
Sydney said, “This works out the way we anticipate, we’ll have what we want and a hell of a lot of cash. You have gambling debts? House debts?”
“I do.”
“Maybe a few hundred thousand will help you out?”
“Do more’n help me out. My mother needs some medical stuff done. It’ll help her out as well.”
“We get what we’re after, well make sure you get reimbursed for your help. You won’t have to worry about anybody finding out or being able to do anything. You just have to handle the money with some discretion.”
“I’ll do that.”
He gave them night binoculars, meters, and a commo set so they could walkie-talkie each other without using the cell phones all the time. For the torch work he added welding glasses and a powerful torch kit.
He dug out printed Google shots, then made a few notes with some suggestions how he would approach it. He gave them the control system, putting it all in a large work bag he used when out on a job. Twice he wondered out loud if Marco was some kind of ex-soldier or agent or something, given all he seemed to know. He didn’t get an answer but he seemed intrigued by the idea.
After assurances and warnings, they thanked Dutch for his cooperation and left.
41
When they pulled away from Dutch’s place well after midnight, Marco now behind the wheel, Sydney said, “I never saw a man go down so fast from a single body shot like that. You do some fighting?”
“You don’t fight, you don’t live long in a Mexican prison. I’m sorry I did it now—he was really helpful. Nothing humbles a man and commands his attention like a liver shot,” Marco said. “Dutch wasn’t in any kind of shape to take a punch. It hurts bad, closes the lungs, cripples the will. That was the shot Bernard Hopkins used to take out Golden Boy, De La Hoya, out in the ninth at the MGM in Vegas. Another great body-shot-maker was Ricky Hatton. A jaw shot can knock a man out, but a liver shot cuts a man down.”
They headed up the eastern side of the lake on 50. Marco had said he wanted to drive past the Thorp and Rouse estates, see what they would be dealing with.
“How are you doing?” Marco asked.
“I could use a bath, a massage, and a glass of wine.”
“I think we can handle that.”
Sydney felt worse than she was letting on. The fight at Shaun Corbin’s had aggravated the wounds.
Even with Marco with her, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being vulnerable. The windows of the SUV were lightly tinted and at night they were invisible, which helped. But she figured Thorp would bring in all kinds of security and who knew what else. And she didn’t like his relationship with the police and sheriffs, especially on the Nevada side—where they were now. Marco wanted to see if access was feasible by land. If not, they’d have to go in by boat, which was definitely Sydney’s preference. She wouldn’t have security to deal with on the lake. And the noise of the party, and the lights, would provide cover out on the dark lake.
They drove past Zephyr Cove, up past Glenbrook, and through the tunnel, leaving 50 and heading up 28 past the Ponderosa Ranch turnoff, into Incline Village and Crystal Bay.
Sydney said, “If we come in by boat, it’ll be right out there.”
“They really think they can get hold of George Willett’s Thunderbird Lodge and all that property?”
“They think they can do just about anything. You have the right friends here, in Vegas, and Washington, there’s no limit to what you can get away with. You just make deals. Build everything Green to placate the Greens, and who knows? But they aren’t going to get the chance if I have anything to do with it. The plan is, they’ll start with the old casinos around the Cal-Neva. Work from there. I’ll show you the piece of land he wants as his starter property when we get over there.”
He turned down Shoreline Boulevard in Incline Village.
“Half the homes along here were in foreclosure,” Sydney said. “Thorp and Rouse ended up with many of them. They’ll be worth a lot more money once the resort is in place.”
He slowed down on Lakeshore Boulevard. Now they were passing the big Incline estates. Grand houses behind trees, gardens, gates. No lights on the street, the residents not wanting the ambiance disturbed by streetlights.
“We have a checkpoint,” she said, “better pull over and douse the lights.”
A limo passed. “Guests arriving already,” she said.
“They block off a whole street?”
“No, they’re just checking. That gate, that house—what you can see of it, anyway—is Thorp’s. The next one is Rouse’s. They actually have a tunnel that connects the two. Rumor has it, he keeps a lion down there just like the guy who built the Thunderbird Lodge did back in the thirties. George Whittell brought in Hughes and the movie stars of the day. That’s Thorp’s game plan. He wants to be George Whittell. The man couldn’t carry Whittell’s piss bottle. He was the real playboy of the Western world.”
He stared at the houses partially hidden back in the trees, prime lakefront. They switched places, and she got them back on the road. They went a few more blocks down Lakeshore Drive, turned up to the next street, Southwood, and started going back.
“The help they use, Mexicans mostly, live in these apartment complexes,” Sydney said. “They cut the lawns, do the gardening, run the households, kitchens.”
“What’s with the satellite dishes?” Marco asked. Every apartment seemed to have one. They looked like a vertical field of mushrooms.
Many Mexicans were out and about, lots of kids in the street playing.
“No streetlights?” Marco said.
“No. They city doesn’t allow them. It takes away from the ambiance.”
They headed back to the Shaw house. Going through the Cal-Neva highlands, she slowed. “Right up
there. Used to be a big casino, then it was torn down and was going to be rebuilt, but it never was.”
A security or cop car, she couldn’t tell which, turned toward them and Sydney eased on down the road. They turned back up to the main highway and headed back.
“You’re right,” Marco said. “The only way will have to be by boat.”
“Right now, I need that Jacuzzi and some wine.” She couldn’t help thinking maybe a massage wouldn’t be a bad idea, too, though she hadn’t said it again. A massage would be really nice, and she had an idea he would do a good job on her abused body.
What the hell? she thought. We came this far—maybe we should seal this relationship while we’re reasonably alive and well.
42
Nothing clears the mind like a long shower, Kora North thought, lifting her face up into the rush of water as if it might wash away this crazy day.
A little earlier, she’d briefly contemplated suicide, but not too seriously, though she did have hypnotic sleeping pills and figured she could take a bottle of them with enough vodka to kill a couple truck drivers. But suicide wasn’t her thing. So, changing her mind, she chose a shower and a big glass of wine to help her think about the mess she was in.
Because, why did everything in her life end up like this?
I’m cursed, she decided.
In the shower, she again contemplated running. Playing it out. Back and forth. Where? How long before they hunted her down? Girl like her couldn’t hide easily. She’d have to get a protector and, once again, she’d be under some guy’s control until he got tired of her.
She reached her arm out and found the glass of wine on the vanity. She drank half the glass, then put it back down, returning to the shower for a moment, luxuriating in the flow of water over her perfect body. The feel of a thousand tiny fingers on her flawless flesh.
So many grubby, grasping fingers on her, in her—no water could wash those memories away!
She dried off and entered her bedroom, fresh and feeling better, wearing nothing, the nearly empty glass of wine in her hand. And there stood a shocking, frightened creature in the middle of her bedroom. He had a bloated face like some movie monster.
“Jesus!”
“Not quite,” he muttered.
Naked, glass in hand, she stared at this horror, the man’s face all discolored and swollen. Then she saw a gun hanging in his hand by his side and she knew she was dead. She knew it had to be the guy Marco had beat up, the professional who’d killed Shaun and got into that fight. Shaun must have told him she was coming over. Maybe he’d seen her there from up in the woods.
Fuck, it is him, she thought. Is this how it ends?
She couldn’t deal with that, so she threw the wineglass at him, ran back into the bathroom, and locked the door. Then she went to the window, wondering if she could get out. She’d probably kill herself on the sidewalk or break something and he’d just kill her there.
Her body naked, bloody. People staring. We knew it would end badly for her, they’d say.
She didn’t even have time to formulate a real plan. The man kicked open the door and stood there looking at her, rheumy eyes raking her body. She swung at this mad clown’s wrecked face. He grabbed her hand with one hand, put the gun to her face with the other.
“Go ahead!” she screamed at him. “You bastard, you want to kill me, do it! I don’t want any sick shit while I’m alive, okay? Just know this, I’m glad you did that miserable prick Shaun Corbin. I appreciated that.”
That seemed to have a strange influence on him, because he released her hand and stepped back, as if surprised about something.
Her .32 was still in her bag, along with the money, and was on a chair in the living room. She tried to remember if she’d even reloaded it. Damn that Marco guy. He’d taken the bullets out. They’d left her defenseless. They hadn’t protected her. So much for being their inside girl.
Horror-face tried to talk, seemed like he couldn’t. He waved a gun at her, motioning her to go to the living room. She grabbed the silk robe from the back of the bathroom door and put it on as he watched. He followed her into the living room, then settled gingerly on the couch against the far wall, facing the small bar. She sat on the chair at the end of the couch, their eyes fixed tight on one another.
“They really fucked you up, didn’t they?” she said.
He stared at her for a moment longer, then glanced at the large picture above the small bar. Cost her three grand. A western scene—bunch of cowboys in a bar fight over a big-breasted girl wearing only a black cowboy hat and black boots.
He got up, went to the bar, and made himself a drink, but that didn’t work out very well. Ended up all over his chin. She told him there were straws under the counter.
He got one and was able to get it in his mouth. He sucked the alcohol in with a slurping sound. When he finally spoke, his lips hardly moved at all, his jaw didn’t move at all. She had to lean forward to understand his garbled voice.
“You…” He paused. Gathered himself. “Jesup. How are you and her…connected?” His voice was raspy and low like an old, dying man’s voice.
“We’re not connected,” Kora said with defensive anger, shifting her legs, pulling the thin robe tighter, trying to maintain an icy, calm demeanor. “They grabbed me and wanted to know things. I don’t know things. They left me here alone. Fuck them.”
She was furious at them for putting her in this situation. If they wanted to use her so bad, they should have done more to protect her.
He looked at her and she thought that’s wasn’t a good enough answer. She’d given up nothing to trade with. She added, thinking fast, “That’s not exactly true.” She had to have something he needed, something he needed right away before he got crazy on her.
She said, “Actually, they want me to help them out…this plan they have. I know exactly what they’re going to do and when they plan on doing it. They have a hold on me for my cooperation. It’s not like I want to help them out. They have recordings, video that might put me in prison.”
He stared at her. A black and yellow swath of ruin ran from his lower jaw right to the corner of his bloodshot eyes. He looked like the face from hell.
“What are they planning?” he murmured, voice barely a whisper and his eyes jumping weird, like the lights in his brain were flickering. Fucking guy was something out of a monster video game.
“Yeah, like I’d tell you so then you kill me and go your merry way. That’s gonna happen. I need something in return.”
She studied him the way you’d study a coiled rattler. The distance of the potential strike.
He was deciding something. Was she valuable enough to keep alive or not? What was it he wanted most? He didn’t kill her right away. So it wasn’t her. It was them! He’s after them, not me, she thought. I’m just a means to that end. She had to play that card.
He couldn’t kill Thorp’s Daisy. No way.
Desperate to keep him on the track of her survival, she repeated herself in case he didn’t get it the first time. Then she said, “They want me to work with them. They threatened to kill me if I didn’t. Then they told me what they have planned. Don’t think you can beat it out of me. Or scare me. You can’t. If I’m gonna die…one thing I’m not going to do is give another asshole any satisfaction. You need to understand that.”
He almost smiled, tried to anyway, then mumbled, “Tell me…”
Screw that, she thought. Once he gets whatever information I can give him, this psychopath bastard is going to put a bullet right in my forehead like he did Shaun. Maybe that was Thorp’s order. He could find fifty Daisys to replace her if he wanted.
She changed direction. “You have a name?” Kora asked. Anything to connect.
He whispered something she couldn’t make out. Sounded like Lee…On.
I’m going to be killed by a guy with a fucking Chinese name? Behind that wrecked face, was he Chinese? No. Maybe it was just he couldn’t get it out.
She
’d had moments in her life like this. The first time she was raped and thought the guy would kill her. Somehow she’d got free of him, fighting and biting and clawing—and he’d given up and ran off. And there was the time somebody stuck a gun in her mouth and threatened to blow her head off. She was fourteen. She’d known these and many other moments, and surviving them made her street tough and street smart.
But this was the first time she’d come face to face with a real professional killer. The kind like you see in movies. Only those are just actors.
She needed to keep talking, get him thinking her way, so she said, “I’m assuming Thorp and Rouse are the ones who hired you to get Jesup. That’s your mission, isn’t it?”
He stared.
“I might be able to help you with that. You want to know how they’re going to take them down. And when. Then you need to play it my way. I’m in a position”—this occurred to her like a flash of genius—”where I can hand them to you on a silver platter. Make your life a lot easier. But it’ll cost you leaving me alive. That’s a fair trade.”
“You can do that…silver platter?” he whispered.
She thought he wanted to smile at the idea, but couldn’t handle the pain it would bring.
“I can. I think you know by now they aren’t some joke like Shaun was. This guy you’re up against, he’s the real deal.”
She was playing him now. Challenging him. She pushed it.
“This guy is a badass. Maybe worse than you, by the looks of things. He’s a Mexican stone-cold killer. You want to take him on without knowing anything, in the dark about what they got planned, good luck to you. I can help you, but do I look like a girl does things for free?”
He waited, the gun now resting on his thigh, eyes fixed on her. Fixed on her eyes, her mouth, drifting up and down.
“I didn’t get your name. Sounded Chinese.”
She leaned in when he said it this time.
“Leon.”
“Leon. Got it.” Then she said, “What they plan will surprise you. To say nothing of Thorp and Rouse. Jesup’s determined to get Thorp if it’s the last thing she does in this life. I know what they’re gonna do. You can kill me, but what good will that do you? Like I said, you can’t scare it out of me. I’ve been down that road too many times.”
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