Bullet From Dominic

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

“Si, signore.”

  “Fabrizio, call the doctor. Tell him to be prepared. We will want him to see Mazza at the warehouse.”

  “Si, signore.”

  Dominic didn’t like using the doctor, but he was a firm believer in using the best tool available. If he needed information from a computer, he would get a hacker. If he needed to extract a bullet next to the spine, he would get a special surgeon.

  And when information had to be extracted from a human being, the doctor had no equal.

  Chapter 23

  A Few More Questions

  We pressed Brent Davids’ coworkers and the people who worked under him, but nobody had anything bad to say. About the only thing we discovered was that Davids worked out three times a week at a local gym, and on the nights he didn’t work out, he frequented a bar.

  “I bet it’s a gay bar,” Tip said.

  “And you think that because he’s single?” I asked.

  “No, because we need a lead on the case.”

  We drove to the bar in heavy traffic. While waiting for a light to change, Tip looked at me. “Just so you know—the reason I don’t ask about what happened is because I figure you’ll say something if you want to talk.”

  I laughed. “I know, Tip. And nothing pleases me more.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said. “If I need to talk, I’ll tell you.”

  “Damn, that worked good. I never get it right with Elena.”

  “Where is Elena, by the way? I thought she was coming back yesterday.”

  “She decided to stay another week, something about a fashion show in Paris that she just had to attend.”

  “What’s up with you two? Is it getting serious?”

  “Gianelli, mind your own business.”

  “I guess I’ll have to ask Mollie,” I said.

  Tip laughed so hard, I thought he might crash the car.

  The club was on Richmond Avenue, near the district. The area had been a favorite for nightlife back in the nineties, but then crime chased the scene inside the Loop. Now it was making a small comeback. Tip parked and we went inside. I had called beforehand to make sure the bartender who had worked on Saturday night would be there. They told us his name was Don.

  When we arrived, a young woman greeted us at the door. “Can I help you?”

  I showed her my badge. “Here to see Don. They told us he was working tonight.”

  She pointed toward the side. “He’s the guy cleaning the tables.”

  We showed Don the badge and asked if there was a place we could talk.

  He pulled out a chair and sat. “Right here’s as good as any.”

  “You worked Saturday night?” Tip asked.

  “All night. I started at six and closed at two.”

  I showed him a picture of Brent Davids. “Do you remember seeing this guy here?”

  Don took the picture, tilted it for better light, and said, “Brent Davids. Yeah, he was here.” He looked around the room and pointed. “He sat at that table over there with two women.”

  Tip perked up. “Two women? You’re sure?”

  “I remember,” Don said. “One of them—I think it was the one he was with—had blonde hair. She was maybe in her mid-twenties.”

  “If you knew Brent by name, he must have been a regular,” I said.

  Don looked at me, then Tip. “Must have been? Something happen to him?”

  “He’s dead,” Tip said. “Drowned in his hot tub.”

  “Damn,” he said. “That’s a bitch.”

  “Getting back to the question,” I said. “Was Mr. Davids a regular?”

  “He came in about twice a week. Sometimes just once. Nice guy.”

  “Did he ever bring a partner or a friend?” Tip asked.

  Don smiled. “Do you mean, was he gay? I don’t think so. Before the night was over, he was usually talking it up with a woman, and if it was a weekend, he often left with one.”

  I shot Tip a glance. So much for his gay theory. “You said earlier that Brent was with the blonde. Why did you say that? Did they come in together?”

  Don looked at me. “I can’t swear he was with her, but it seemed like it. He danced with her two or three times. Bought her a couple of drinks.”

  “He paid for the drinks?” Tip asked.

  “He put it on his tab every time. She drank white wine. He had Guinness.”

  “What about the other one?” I asked.

  Don shook his head and whistled. “Sexy.”

  “Great description,” I said flatly, “but perhaps you could be more specific?”

  “She had a killer body, with light-brown hair and blue eyes. And she had a deep Texas drawl.”

  I looked at Tip, confused. This didn’t sound like our mystery woman. “What was she wearing?”

  Don closed one eye and cocked his head to the side. “Tight skirt. I remember that.”

  I waited him out while he squinted and frowned.

  “Beige,” he said. “I’m pretty sure her blouse was beige and the skirt was black.”

  “And tight?” I repeated, dumbfounded at the details that stuck in men’s minds.

  He blushed a little. “Yes, ma’am. It was tight.”

  “I don’t suppose you got her name or a credit card?” Tip asked.

  “She paid cash for her drink—a strawberry daiquiri—and I tried getting her number—believe me, I did—but no luck.”

  “Blue eyes?” I said. “You’re sure about that?”

  Don nodded. “I’m sure. I remember thinking it was strange that she had such a great, natural-looking tan with those bright-blue eyes.”

  “It sounds like she made quite an impression on you,” Tip said.

  Don took a long swig from a bottle of water. “I see a lot of women in here. This one made me look twice. I’m telling you, she was sexy as hell.”

  “What time did Davids leave?” I asked.

  “I can’t swear to it, but if you forced me to say, I’d put it around ten.”

  “Did the women leave with him?”

  “Both of them,” Don said. “They weren’t here that long. Maybe two hours.”

  Tip pulled out a picture of Tiffany. “Is this the blonde?”

  “No doubt about it,” Don said. “That’s her.”

  “Anything else you can tell us?” I asked.

  He thought for a few seconds and then said, “The other one had a limp.”

  “A limp?”

  “Yeah, I believe it was her right leg.”

  “That’s good,” Tip said. “You’ve got a good eye for detail. Which is why I’m gonna ask you to get with a sketch artist.”

  “No problem,” Don said. “I can do it tomorrow before I come to work if that’s good.”

  “That would be great,” I said, and gave him the address for the station. “We’ll have the artist call you to set up a time.”

  “I’ll be here all night,” Don said.

  “Thanks again for the help,” Tip said, and handed him a card. “If you think of anything else in the meantime, call me.”

  “And if you find her, get me her number.”

  We walked out of there feeling a little confused. “What do you think? Was it the same woman?”

  “Definitely. There’s no question in my mind,” Tip said. “But to be safe, we need to have that other bartender give us a sketch too. We should have done that to begin with.”

  I got in the car. Tip slid behind the wheel. “Tell me why you think it’s the same woman.”

  “It’s not that hard to figure,” Tip said. “You can change hair color. You can change eye color using contacts. You can even change beautiful. But you can’t change sexy.”

  I looked over at him. “That’s it? That’s your theory—that you can’t change sexy?”

  “You heard it here first,” he said.

  “God help the state of Texas.”

  Chapter 24

  Eighteen Wheels

  Victoria, Texas

  Joel
Ford mopped up egg yolk with the last bite of toast and stuffed it in his mouth. He chased it down with a half a strip of bacon and a swig of lukewarm, watered-down coffee. As he wiped his mouth with a napkin, he signaled his waitress, Barbara Jean, for the check.

  “You goin’ home this early, Joel? The night’s just gettin’ started.”

  “It’s dang near 9:00,” Joel said. “The night’s almost over for me.”

  Barbara Jean wrote him out a check and said, “Come on, I’ll walk you to your truck so you don’t get mugged.”

  “I thought you said the night was just starting.”

  “It is. I’m off, and now I’m ready to have fun,” Barbara Jean said.

  Joel laughed. “Must be nice being young. I can’t remember if I ever was young or if I just forgot.” He paid the cashier, and then Barbara Jean walked with him to his truck.

  “Take care, big boy. See you next week.”

  “Have a little fun for me,” Joel said and climbed into the cab.

  Houston was almost three hours away, and he was tired. Dog tired. If he was lucky, he’d be home before midnight. Might give him time enough for a little lovin’ with his honey. He pulled out of the diner and headed north on US 59 toward Houston. It wasn’t the best ride, but on a chilly November night in Texas, it would do. Except for the bumps.

  He kept the speed within reason; they loved nabbing truckers in this neck of the woods. Speeding tickets brought good money for the locals.

  There wasn’t much traffic on 59 tonight. The little town of Edna was dead, looking more like a ghost town than ever. He passed Ganado without even knowing he had, and as he approached El Campo, he spotted a car on the side of the road. A woman stood outside it, waving him down.

  Joel downshifted, hit the brakes, and brought the big rig to a crawl. He passed her by and stopped a hundred feet or so past her on the shoulder of the road. He activated the flashers and climbed down from the cab. As he walked toward the car, he could tell that the woman was young. She had a good look about her.

  “Car trouble?” he asked when he got within shouting distance.

  “It just stopped on me,” she said.

  “Stopped?”

  “Flat out died,” she said, then held her hand out. “My name’s Andy.”

  “Andy?” he said, and laughed. “You don’t look like no Andy.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he said, “What do you mean it just died?”

  “My friend said it ran out of gas. She went to try to find a station.”

  A few seconds later, a car coming from the other direction stopped in the road. A young woman got out carrying a can of gas. She waved to the driver and said bye.

  Joel looked at her strangely and then at Andy. “I assume this is your friend.”

  “That’s her,” Andy said. “That’s Sahrina.”

  Sahrina was all smiles. “I told her she ran out of gas, but she didn’t believe me. That man had to take me all the way to El Campo to get this gas.”

  Joel looked at Sahrina and smiled. She had an accent that pegged her as coming from deep in the woods of East Texas.

  He poured gas in the tank, saving a little in case he needed to prime it. After a few dry pumps on the gas pedal, the car started right up. “I guess you’re all set,” Joel said to the girls, and then he headed toward his truck.

  “Aren’t you going to thank the man?” Sahrina said to Andy.

  Joel got in his truck, but before he could fasten his seat belt, the passenger door opened and Andy climbed in. She was naked. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

  “I wanted to thank you proper.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good-looking woman, but I’m married. And I guess I’m one of those few who’re happy about it. Now go on and get your clothes back on before you catch a deathly cold.”

  Andy lifted her legs up on the seat and put her feet on his lap. “It won’t take long. I really do want to thank you.”

  “Whether you really want to doesn’t matter. I’m tired and need to get home.”

  The passenger door opened again. Sahrina pointed a gun at him. “I admire your morals, but I’m afraid you’ll have to be unfaithful tonight. You see, we’re playing a game, and for us to win, she has to fuck a trucker on the front seat of his cab.”

  Joel narrowed his eyes and stared. “That’s disgusting. Both of you, get the hell out of my truck.”

  Sahrina held the gun with both hands. “I’m afraid it’s not just about you, Joel.”

  His eyes went wide at the mention of his name.

  “Yes, I know who you are. Listen closely. I’m going to tell you something, and it will make you want to kill me. But if you try anything, I’ll kill you first. Do you understand?”

  “My ears still work.”

  “Good. Now listen. I have someone watching your house right now. If you don’t do everything I say, he’s going to enter your house and rape Nora, and then he’ll shoot your son.”

  Joel wanted to go for Sahrina, but he controlled himself. He gripped the steering wheel and squeezed it. The vein in his forehead tightened. “If you—”

  “I’ve heard every threat imaginable, so please don’t waste them on me. We don’t have much time. I suggest you take your clothes off and move over on top of Andy.”

  Andy’s eyes darted back and forth from Joel to Sahrina.

  “Spread your legs, Andy. It won’t take him long.”

  Joel removed his clothes slowly, and the whole time he thought about his wife, Nora. What was she gonna think when he told her about this? All these years together, and now this—

  “Hurry up,” Sahrina said.

  He hesitated, looked at Andy, but she shook her head.

  “You better do what she says.”

  After a moment, he climbed on top of her. Another few moments passed before he said, “I can’t do it. I can’t get hard.”

  “That’s all right. Kiss her neck.”

  Joel gritted his teeth. The thought of kissing this tramp was worse than sticking his dick in her. He glanced at Sahrina. She had a firm grip on the gun, and she had a look in her eyes that convinced Joel she was capable of pulling the trigger.

  “Now,” she said.

  He closed his eyes and placed his lips on Andy’s neck, kissing her. Sahrina grabbed Andy’s hand and placed her finger on the trigger. She pushed the gun against the back of Joel’s head and pulled the trigger twice. Andy screamed. Sahrina put the gun against Andy’s head and pulled the trigger again.

  Sahrina walked back to Andy’s car and drove about 10 miles to a remote spot north of El Campo, where she met the guy who had dropped her off earlier with the gas can. “We need to get rid of this evidence,” she said, and dumped gas all over the back seat of Andy’s car. “Get the front,” she said, and handed him the gas can. “Make sure you soak it.”

  He opened the door, put his knee on the seat, and emptied the gas can. Sahrina placed her foot on his back and kicked him into the car. She slammed the door, tossed a match inside, and stepped back quickly. The car erupted in flames, the man inside, screaming. Sahrina stepped farther back and waited until he no longer moved. Then she got in his car and headed north toward Houston.

  Chapter 25

  Connecting the Dots

  I was sitting at my desk in the station when the phone rang. Caller ID showed that it was from the Medical Examiner’s office. “Gianelli.”

  “Connie, it’s Ben.”

  “Have you got results already?”

  “I don’t have everything on Davids, but after your partner ranted on and on about Lipscomb, I went back over his results.” A long silence followed, then, “As much as I hate to admit this, that damn clown might be right.”

  “You mean about it being a murder instead of a heart attack?”

  “Lipscomb had taken a heavy dose of Viagra. We already knew that. But Lipscomb didn’t have a history of heart trouble, so I did a few more tests, specifically for nitrates
. I found small traces of amyl nitrate in his blood.”

  I took notes while he talked. “Ben, you’re going to have to explain that to me. What would that do? And why does that change your mind?”

  “Amyl nitrate has been used for a long time in the gay community for relaxing involuntary muscles, like the anal sphincter. It’s a vasodilator, which means it expands blood vessels and lowers blood pressure, sometimes drastically. If you combine that with sildenafil, the active ingredient in Viagra, the blood pressure drop could be deadly.”

  I shook my head, amazed at the stupid things people do. “So this could have been nothing more than a man living on the edge and going too far.”

  “Or?”

  “Or, someone who knew what they were doing could have given him too much Viagra, and combined it with the nitrates. His blood pressure would have crashed and that could easily have sent him into shock.”

  I thought for a minute. “So what you’re saying is that someone might have murdered him?”

  “Might have,” Ben said. “But that’s the problem. I can’t prove anything, and unless I get something else, I’ll be ruling it as an undetermined cause of death.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, and then, “How about Davids? You said you didn’t have everything on him. What have you got so far?”

  “Davids drowned, which is no surprise, but I have no way of telling if it was an accident or if he had help. He had a very high blood alcohol level, and he also had alprazolam in his system. When you combine those two, and add the effects of a hot tub…I can easily see him falling and hitting his head.”

  “And time of death still looks good for Saturday night?”

  “I’d say between 10:00 PM and 1:00 AM.”

  “Thanks, Ben. I’ll tell Tip.”

  Charlie made his way to the coffee room. “What’re you gonna tell Tip?”

  I hung up the phone and turned to Charlie. “That was Ben. He was giving us the preliminary results on that banker.”

  “Y’all got a case?”

  “I’m not sure. But it looks like we have a case with the lawyer.”

  “You mean the one in the hotel?”

  I nodded. “That’s him.”

  “Damn,” he said, and fidgeted with the mug he held. “You want coffee, Connie?”