Fatal Chances (The Red Lake Series Book 5)

by Rich Foster

  Thank you for your assistance.

  Henry Shrop,

  Vice-President UBI Claims Department

  Harry dialed Jillian Donatello's number.

  "Hello." A bit of the élan was missing from her voice.

  "It's Harry, but don't hang up."

  There was a pregnant pause but rather than a click he heard her cautiously ask, "What?"

  "Did you get the check from UBI?"

  "What business is it of yours?"

  She's got it, her greedy voice gives her away.

  "Do you remember my advice, not to cash either checks?"

  "Yes."

  "Well that is the other one. If you try to deposit it you will find it has been canceled."

  "So you say!'"

  "Go ahead but I am passing on their warning, if you do UBI will prosecute you for fraud and I doubt you want to be a guest in our state prison."

  "But the money's mine!" she whined. "Julia was married to Harvey, and the policy was on him. I am her next of kin so it should come to me!"

  Harry had to give her credit for creative thinking, even if it was fallacious.

  "Sorry, but Julia died first. If her will left her estate to Harvey the whole ball of assets and liabilities were his. Now that he's dead his estate will be probated. Life insurance money will go to the beneficiary of the policy, which with most couples, is the spouse. I'm not a lawyer but I imagine UBI will probably have to pay out to her estate, that money would then go into Harvey's estate as the beneficiary of her will. His executor will use the funds to pay off any claims against Harvey's estate and any remaining funds will be disbursed to whomever he named in his will."

  "But what if Julia left something to me?"

  "Did she?"

  "I don't know."

  "Then she didn't, otherwise you would have heard from the probate attorney when her estate was settled."

  Harry heard a long, sad, "oooohhhh...." on the other end of the line. He sensed the turning and meshing of gears in her brain.

  Cloyingly she said, "Maybe you should come over, Harry. I don't know what to do."

  "Go back to Las Vegas," he retorted a bit too abruptly.

  "You're a bastard, Grim. And by the way, I deposited your check so that at least you'll get a bounced check fee! How's it feel to get screwed?"

  The line went dead. It seemed to be a pattern with her. The woman certainly blows hot and cold. I suspect I'm finally seeing the real Jillian. With the UBI check in his pocket a $40 returned item fee was the least of his worries. Besides, in bed, she was worth a lot more than forty bucks, even in Vegas.

  Harry swung past his bank and deposited the check. Downtown there was a lull in local traffic and the roads uncluttered as beach goers had already gone home and the dinner crowd was not yet out and about.

  He swung into his drive, parked and then walked back up to the highway to collect his household mail among the row of RFD mailboxes across from his drive. Usually most things went to the office, however, Paula's Visa bill was in the box along with flyers addressed to 'Occupant'. It was a small lie he told himself, that he was only opening the envelope to make sure it was not a past due notice.

  Her balance was current and significant. Harry ran his fingers down the posted charges following her travels to Seattle, Sea-Tac, and around Hawaii.

  I should go find her, just as soon as this is over.

  Glancing up and down the road before he crossed back, he noticed a vehicle parked on the shoulder. Because of the curve it was an unnatural place to pull over. Harry thought he saw someone slouching behind the wheel.

  He feigned returning to his house but slipped in front of his truck and into the woods. A few minutes later, under the cover of low lying branches he could clearly see the driver. It was almost a relief to see it was the DEA guy whose name he could not recall and not someone from Marcelli or Montoya.

  As Harry returned to the cabin and opened the door he heard happy laugher coming from Carmen. Dirk had a sheepish smile when Harry came in having been caught charming the girl.

  "The DEA boys are up the road." he told Barton. "I don't think it will be long before it's someone else."

  Barton nodded but said nothing.

  "Anybody want a drink?"

  "Sure," said Carmen.

  "You aren't old enough."

  She stuck her tongue out at Harry. He made her one anyway.

  "What are you going to do with me?' You won't send me back will you?"

  Harry wondered if he was being played. Was Carmen as much an actor as Jillian? Did her father really rape her? Something told him it was all true.

  "Can you cook," he asked?

  "Sure."

  "There is salad and the makings for burritos in the kitchen. Barton and I have some work to do in the garage.

  "I suppose you think I won't run away because you have all my money."

  Harry smiled, "That did cross my mind."

  Out in the garage Harry took a cut off blade to the safe. It was cheaply made and barely deserved the name strong box much less safe. Sparks flew and a cloud of smoke floated above their heads. The back panel was rather thin and cut out easily. Harry pulled out stacks of money, and a folder of papers. He thumbed through the papers while Barton made a quick count of the cash.

  "Close to a hundred and fifty thousand. I figure the bundles with bank bands are the girls, the rubber band stuff is non-sequential and used."

  "Well this stuff could get the DEA off our backs. It would put Marcelli and company out of business."

  "It might also put us on a non-expiring hit list."

  "True, my friend, true." Harry tapped the papers against his leg. "Do you have a problem putting him away?"

  "I'd prefer not."

  "Why? He deals dope, he orders hits, he runs prostitution."

  "Somebody is going to do it. At least Marcelli plays by some sort of rules. I don't like drugs, or for that matter hookers but it's not my job to save everybody. Nobody makes a teenage kid to toke up, or the user to shoot up, and as far as he goes his girls aren't forced to roll on their backs, the ones I've met like the big pay." Barton paused, then added, "He's been a useful contact."

  "And if I insist?"

  "Then I'll roll with you, but like I said I'd rather not."

  Harry stuffed the money into two sacks and the documents into a third,

  "What do we do with Carmen?" he asked.

  "I'm sure not giving her up to Montoya."

  "So you believe her?"

  "Yes." His answer was emphatic.

  Harry nodded, "Me too. I say we cut her loose."

  "What do I tell Las Vegas?"

  "The truth. She was with Donatello. Now she's gone. I expect they will take care of the rest. Donatello will disappear, probably in a hole next to the body guard he shot or wearing a bucket of concrete on his feet in the middle of the lake. Marcelli won't tell Montoya because Donatello was his man and Montoya would hold him responsible."

  "Carmen would never be safe. He will never stop looking. I'd like to take him out."

  "How?"

  "I'm not sure but we'll think of something."

  Harry dropped the sack of papers and one bag of money into a trashcan and scattered trash on top of it.

  "Be a shame if you forgot it was there," Barton chided. "Be, a hell of a tip for the garbage man!"

  The house smelled of sautéing onions and peppers, amidst the sound of sizzling meat. Carmen appeared to be experienced. She worked with the ease of one who had done it before.

  Harry set the money bag on the counter beside the stove. "I'll watch the meat. Why don't you put your money away."

  Carmen eyed the bag suspiciously. "You mean it?" Her experience was men seldom meant what they said.

  "Yep. It's yours. Take it and run or keep a hold of it and wait until we make a plan."

  She smiled. "That's okay. It will still be there after dinner."

  "One question, the package that Vito mailed, do you know what was in i
t or who it was sent to?"

  "Papers. He stayed up late the night before making copies on the printer. I think he thought I was asleep because he looked my way regularly. He seemed nervous so I stayed awake and watched. Finally, he locked one set in the safe and put the other into the Priority Mail envelope."

  "Then what?"

  "He woke me up for sex but he couldn't keep it up. He was really nervous and not thinking about it."

  "So you don't know who he sent it to?"

  "Yes, his sister in Sioux Falls. I was curious and looked the next morning."

  Barton turned on the stereo and Harry set the table. Outside the sun was low on the mountains, the red and gold hues bouncing off the lake and lending the living room an intimate warmth. Carmen served burritos, rice and salad. They began to eat when Barton rose.

  "Forgot to wash my hands."

  Between the music and the running water no one heard the car that pulled in behind Harry's truck, nor the woman's footsteps on the side porch, nor the fury in her eyes when she saw Harry dining with a beautiful, young Mexican girl. The girl's dark hair and dark eyes and budding youth were the complete opposite of Paula. By the time Barton, whose presence would have defused the scene, returned from the bathroom Paula had turned around, stalked back to her car, and wildly driven back to town.'"

  *

  Late that night Harry and Barton sat on the moonlit deck. Fireflies spotted the woods. And an occasional boat passed, the red or green running lights appearing to be fireflies of a novel color. The bourbon was smooth, the night warm, and their looming troubles big.

  "Guess I'll call Marcelli," Barton said.

  Harry glance at his watch, "Close to eleven in Nevada."

  "If I wake him, it lends a sense of urgency."

  Barton went into the house and pulled out one of the dozen cell phones he rotated through in an attempt to stay under the radar.

  Barton dialed the contact number Marcelli had given him. As it rang he switched to speaker phone.

  "Yes." A voice asked.

  "Barton"

  "One moment, I'll transfer you."

  There were audible clicks as circuits connected and a military grade scrambler kicked in on Marcelli's end. When he came on the line it sounded normal.

  "Why are you calling?"

  "I found the missing kitten?"

  "Why have you not returned it to the owner?"

  "The owner has been abusing it."

  There was a silence. "In what way?'"

  "Inbred breeding habits."

  The phrase would mean something to Marcelli. He did not mind pimping girls, nor for that matter procuring drugs for them, but in his code of ethics family was sacrosanct.

  "I see. The problem remains, it is his. It would be awkward to not inform him. Where did you find the missing kitten?"

  "She was with the person who my friend inquired about."

  "That is a complication. It exacerbates the owners sense of loss and he will blame me for permitting him to ever take his pet." There was a long silence. "Did you recover the kitten?"

  "Yes. The kitten is safe but seems to want to run away."

  "I feel your friend is the cause of all these troubles. He asks too many questions in the wrong places. I should have dealt differently with him when it arose."

  "I must disagree, the problem began when an employee of your house was disrespectful in another's. As for my friend, he has obtained documents that were in the possession of the kitten thief that might imperil your personal interests."

  "What sort of documents?"

  "It's what you might call a Mexican standoff insurance policy. My friend only looked at enough to know they were extremely private, papers you would not want your Uncle Samuel to see, after that he sealed them up and spoke to me about arranging their safe return."

  "I would be grateful to recover my property. Your friend wants nothing?"

  "He wishes to live a long, peaceable life. He values his privacy and that of others."

  "That is agreeable. As for the thief I shall need to ask someone to speak to him."

  "That could be problematic. The papers appear to only be copies."

  Again there was silence.

  "Thank you for your call I shall have to think about how to proceed."

  Barton and Harry continued to drink. It was late when they retired. Carmen was upstairs in the guest room, Barton took the sofa, Harry went up to bed. Despite it being late he took a shower to wash off the day and the filth he seemed to acquire doing his job. He slid into bed and was soon on the edge of sleep.

  Something stirred beside him and his hand instinctively reached for the pistol on his nightstand. As his hand closed on the butt of the gun warm hands caressed his body and lips nibbled at his ear.

  He sat up. The sheets flew back and he could see the shape of Carmen's body lying beside him.

  "What are you doing," he asked much like a nervous young girl on her first date to a drive-in theater.

  "I wanted to thank you for the money."

  "It's your money, you don't need to thank me."

  "Most men would not be so generous. Most men would take me!"

  "I'm not most men."

  She sat up on the edge of the bed with a pout. "You think I'm ugly!"

  It was hardly the case, Harry was struggling, and occasionally failing, to keep his eyes raised to her face.

  She stood and turned a pirouette, her long hair swirled out in the darkness, and it spun the scent of her body to him. Her efforts failed. He gave her a more than firm swat on her rump and said, "Go to bed!"

  She actually stomped her foot and strutted out of the room.

  Harry lay back and stared at the ceiling. Carmen was no sweet Catholic girl. But he still thought she told the truth about her father. Somewhere along the way in her life Carmen learned that outside of sex, she had no value. Perhaps, it was too late for her, but Harry would not be a part of it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next day Barton fueled his plane. He chose not to file a flight plan. Not even Harry knew his destination.

  A stiff breeze rolled down from the mountains. It tossed Carmen's long dark hair, she might have been a model on a photo shoot. Harry stowed her bag. She gave Harry a hug and then a kiss that was long enough to leave him feeling uncomfortable, as if he were a mouse and she a big cat that toyed with him.

  When Barton wound up the engines and the plane taxied away he felt relieved. As it roared down the runway, pulled up, the wheels retracted, and the plane began a long curving arc over the lake, Harry turned away, he did not care to have any sense of the direction Barton took.

  Sadly he thought, It's too late for her. No matter where she lands it will be the wrong place.

  He drove home the long way. That is up Route 12 ten miles to where he crossed the Forks River and took the Eastern Shore Road that curved around to the south. He passed his favorite fishing hole at Woods Bay, ADX Praxis, the maximum security prison at Upper Cransden, numerous impressive waterfront homes, including Amber Wood the estate where the body of Alison Albright was hidden for twenty years, and at last to his cabin above Rocky Nook Point and Granite Ridge State Park.

  To his surprise Paula's car was in the drive. When she went to Seattle she left it in the long term lot at the Beaumont Airport. He parked just as Paula came with an armful of clothes. She looked at him coldly and then heaved them recklessly into the back of her SUV.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  Paula ignored him and went back for another load. Harry trotted after her. As he entered the house he tripped on one of a half dozen partially filled boxes. He looked up to see her tromp up the stairs. Picking himself up he followed, taking the steps two at a time. She was in the bedroom, angrily shoving, lingerie, sweaters, and t-shirts into a suitcase.

  Peevishness got the better of his discretion. "Obviously you are leaving, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to hop the minute you wanted a ring, but I thought at least we might talk about it."
>
  "There is nothing to say." Icicles were warmer.

  "First you take off while I am gone, then you sneak back when I'm not home, and now you say you have nothing to say!" His voice rose with each word.

  "Tell it to your new girl."

  "I don't have a new girl!"

  "Is this payback for me going to bed with my ex-husband last year? I thought that was behind us? I thought at least we'd talk before you began screwing around!

  Harry was flummoxed. How the hell did she learn I was dumb enough to bed Julia? There was nothing to do but play it out. And though it was a thin and failed excuse he blurted out, "That was work."

  "Right!" Paula whirled and tore the sheet off the unmade bed. "I can smell her perfume on the sheets! On my own sheets! In my own bed!" she cried indignity. "How could you?"

  With relief, Harry realized Julia was not yet in play. Quickly he assessed the odds of Paula believing a girl came to his bed and he turned her away, he chose the safer route.

  "She was a house guest, Barton was here too!"

  "So where is he? And let's see what she has to say."

  "They left this morning."

  "God, Harry, can't you a least try to do better than that?"

  Harry sensed she was no longer crazy with anger, rather he filled her with disgust.

  "I'll leave for now. If you decide you want to talk I'll be at the office."

  As usual in July downtown traffic was a crawl. To pass the time Harry tuned in an oldie station and drummed his finger along with an ancient song by the Beach Boys, who sang the praises of California girls. The DJ chose to follow this up with the Beatles singing, Back in the USSR. For Harry they were frequently replayed tunes that carried no memories, both bands having been popular long before his time.

  Then he was caught by a hard jab to his gut and the world ran out of air as the first few guitar picks of Reminiscing by the Little River Band came on. It too was before his time but it was Jill's favorite tune. They had made out hearing it and danced close as it played. The night they gave up their virginity to each other it was the song she chose to play. For an instant Harry was sixteen again, filled with all the angst and hormones of youth. As the tune played he was back in the past. Two year later it had come on the radio right after Jill said, "I'm sorry, Harry, but it's over. Good-bye." As she walked away and she never looked back. It was why the next day he had enlisted.