by Janey Mack
Around the corner a man drove a glossy yellow Can-Am 6x6 ATV onto the veranda. He pulled a small trailer with two deluxe plate racks in it. The frames, about five feet high, looked exactly like empty swing sets at a playground. Only instead of swings hanging from the crossbar, each rack had six five-inch round white steel plates sitting on top, like birds on a telephone wire.
Two of Carlos’s guests helped the man set up the targets, while another handed out packages of disposable foam 3M earplugs to the crowd.
At Carlos’s top man’s directions, the servants set up two small tables about twenty-five yards back with earmuffs, earplugs, and safety glasses. This apparently was where we’d be shooting from.
Except I had no gun.
Raúl approached the table and removed a Colt .38 Super Automatic from his shoulder holster. His gun was pimped-out to the extreme. Gold- and silver-plated, engraved within an inch of its useful life.
Utterly ridiculous and tragically cliché.
I rapped on the underside of the table. “Hear that?” I murmured to Lee. “Liberace’s ghost wants his gun back.”
Lee glared at me. “Forward-focused. Don’t fuck around with these people.”
“Easy, guy. I’m trying to stay loose here.”
Lee reached into his jacket for his Colt 1911. I gave him the barest hint of a shake and he stopped.
“Um . . . El Cid?” I called. “I don’t have a gun?” I pointed at Raúl’s pig-mess of a Colt and asked innocently, “Is there another one as pretty as yours ?”
At least a dozen of Carlos’s male party guests pulled their pieces and held them out.
The magnanimous King Carlos waved a hand across all his guests. “Choose any gun you wish, Señora Renko.”
I pointed at the small sentry in full gear at the far edge of the veranda. One of Carlos’s Five-seveNs. “I want his.”
That shut everyone up.
Carlos, eyes twinkling, called the man over. In Spanish he asked for the gun and extra magazines. The man complied without the slightest twitch. Carlos weighed the pistol in his hand before handing it over. “Why this one?”
“Because,” I let my voice go husky, “if I can’t have the prettiest gun, I want the scariest-looking one.”
Carlos ate that up with a spoon. His attention to me further rattled Raúl, who realized that not only did he have to beat me, he needed to mop the floor with me to salvage what was left of his machismo.
I thanked Carlos and the Five-seveN and walked over to the table I was shooting from. Lee was already there.
The soldier’s FN 5.7 MK2 felt like exactly like the one I’d practiced with at home. As I’d suspected, the man had chosen the smallest back strap—a slim nylon piece used to customize the grip—to fit his hand better. I handed the gun and magazines to Lee. “Any tips?”
“Exactly like we practiced last week,” he said softly, checking the gun. “Shoot, move on, come back if necessary. Eyes first, then sights to target. Take your time, make clean shots. Worry about speed in the next round.” He ran his thumb over the chamber indicator, and handed it to me, cocked and chambered, ready to fire.
Covertly, I eased the black diamond-chipped safety to On. “May I have a practice shot?”
Raúl leered. “Of course.”
I didn’t bother with the earplugs, just the muffs and glasses. I raised the gun, pointed at the target, and pulled the trigger. Which didn’t budge. I tried it again and again.
“It’s not working,” I complained to Lee.
Raúl covered his eyes with his hand, shoulders shaking. His men laughed aloud. AJ blanched.
“A little heavy-handed, don’t you think?” Lee said under his breath. He reached over and turned the safety Off, and said loud enough for Carlos to hear, “Try again.”
I aimed a good three feet above the target, fired, and missed.
The man they’d chosen to referee explained the rules to the crowd in both Spanish and English. The horn would sound and we’d shoot; the horn would sound again when someone won.
No sweat.
I stepped out of my sky-high Jimmy Choos, feeling the sandy grit on the flagstone tiles beneath my bare feet. No sense risking the contest on a pair of sandals, no matter how cute.
I took off the muffs and rolled the earplugs between my fingers. “You work for Carlos?” I said, trying for a little innocent conversation to distract him further.
“Yes.” Raúl sneered. “And you? What is it a woman like you . . . does?”
Ahh. The language of the smack. My favorite part of any contest.
“Aside from crossword puzzles in ink and sweating glitter?” I asked full of chirp and sunshine. “I watch a lot of cowboy movies.”
Raúl looked at me like I was insane.
He might have a point.
We plugged and muffed up. The referee stepped between us. “Shooters make ready. Stand by.” He blew the air horn.
I squeezed the trigger. Clang. Target down.
Clang. Clang.
Da’s voice sounded in my head, “Aim small, hit small.”
Clonk.
The fourth one stayed up. I took down the fifth, sixth, and went back to clean up number four.
Clang.
The air horn blew.
Raúl had a target up. And now, his dander.
The only thing that kept me from doing a winner dance was that Lee would have kicked me in the shins.
Raúl didn’t like to lose. He especially didn’t like being sandbagged by a honey. And he hated the flurry of activity between the men behind us making bets. “¡No me jodas! Puta!”
I glanced up at Lee, impassively surveying the crowd. “Any advice?”
“Let him win this round.”
Agreed. Every time Raúl looked at me, my dress felt as though it was made of ants.
Sorry, C-Rey.
The ref blew the air horn. I knocked down the first three in a row and committed the cardinal sin of a glance to see how he was doing.
Even.
I hit number four, missed five and six on purpose, and hit five just as the horn sounded.
Raúl won round two. Chest puffed and haughty, he nodded at the crowd. “¡Me cago en todo lo que se menea!”
I didn’t know what that meant, but the venom was . . . disturbing. He kept spewing, like a PMS-ing progressive.
I visualized a big fat strip of silver duct tape across his mouth.
AJ, sitting next to his uncle, raised a glass to me with an it’s-okay-to-lose chaser face.
“What are you gonna do?” Lee asked quietly, loading the 5.7.
“Save C-Rey.”
“Okay.” Underneath the table, Lee locked his pinkie with mine and squeezed twice. “Bang bang.”
I squared up to the table, cracked my neck, and put on the glasses and muffs. I exhaled in a slow hiss, the pounding in my chest matching my pulse, vision narrowing into tunnel-focus.
“Shooters make ready,” the referee called, “Stand by.”
The horn sounded and I took those targets down like all my brothers were watching.
The referee blasted the horn as I dropped the last one.
I looked over. Raúl nailed number five. But he was too late.
I’d won.
There were cheers and jeers, but they were between the gamblers in the crowd. Two men stepped forward, calling for the referee to set up the plates and let them have a go.
AJ walked to me, arms extended. “Madre de Cristo, Maisie!” He picked me up and spun me around with a laugh. “If you shot them any faster, it would have sounded like an alarm clock!”
Raúl walked over and offered his hand. “Where did Señora Renko learn to shoot, El Cid?”
I genteelly put my fingers in his and lied. “My husband, Stannislav.”
“I must commend him on his excellent instruction.”
Yeah, never mind my mad skillz, bro.
He raised my hand to his mouth.
Now I know what bait feels like.
�
�Carlos is waiting,” AJ said. Raúl let go and together they walked over to Carlos, still on the dais.
I gave a little shudder and stepped back into my shoes while Lee returned the gun to the Five-seveN.
AJ and Raúl made peace in front of Carlos, laughing and smiling. Although if anyone thought that made any difference, they were as wet behind the ears as a newborn calf.
Chapter 33
After the competition, Lee and I headed back up to our rooms for a siesta, as did all of the guests who were staying over. The house was packed.
The children had gone home and a small army of servants dissembled the carnival in the front yard. The real birthday party started at 8:00 p.m. and was scheduled to go all night.
Lee held out his hand. In it was one of the Five-seveN’s rounds. He held up his smartphone. “Wanna read the ballistics report? I’m guessing it’ll have markers similar to the ones that Cash took.”
I really don’t want to think about that at all.
At least he was on the ball.
“Nice work.” I sat down on the bed and pulled off my shoes. “My case-building skills went out the window at the first sight of piranha-mouthed Raúl.”
“A real nasty piece of work.”
“AJ and I won’t be anywhere near him.”
“Raúl’s going to be waiting for his chance to slip the blade in,” Lee said.
Gee, you think?
I grabbed the throw on the end of the bed and lay down. “That’s why AJ and I are going to be joined at the hip. And you?”
“Me? I’m on duty.” His face hardened. “Watching you walk neck-deep into shit and wondering how far you plan on going.”
“We’re at Carlos Grieco’s Tampico estate. Surrounded by his elite Five-seveN army. My plan is to take it easy tonight, maybe get a little sun tomorrow, and jet back to Chicago on Monday. So, honestly, Lee? How ’bout you have a couple of drinks and chill out?”
He leaned in the doorway, forearm on the jamb, considering.
I closed my eyes.
“Yeah,” he said after a long pause, his voice sounding like it came from a far-off place, “Maybe I’ll do just that.”
After he left, I heard him turn on the shower in his bathroom.
The man was born in a barn—the door connecting our rooms was still open. But getting off the bed to close it seemed like an overwhelmingly onerous chore. Until I caught a glimpse of him—unaware or uncaring—padding naked into his bathroom.
Then I was sorry I hadn’t.
* * *
Carlos turning fifty-three was like Bud Light Party Town meets Scarface only without the giant snow pile of coke. Instead tidy trays of lines and pills were served by women in itty-bitty nurse costumes.
Acrobats and a band in the front, a light show and a band in the back, and a full casino in the main house. Ice sculptures, martini towers, the most ostentatious food stations imaginable, and half-naked women everywhere you looked.
AJ was higher than high after besting Raúl. A speedball of coke didn’t hurt, either.
Everywhere we went, people thumped me on the back and congratulated El Cid for his clever way of saving C-Rey. After more small talk than at a nervous insurance salesmen’s support group, AJ led me onto the black-and-white dance floor set up on the back veranda. The sparkles on my Sue Wong cocktail dress flared and fluttered as he gave me a whirl. “Did I mention I’m in love with you?”
My eyes bulged like a soft thing being held in The Grapes of Wrath.
“For saving C-Rey.” He laughed. “I may have fiebre del Ártico, but it’d take more than your sweet face to make me cross swords with Stannislav Renko.”
“The fake-out with the safety . . .” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I thought Raúl was gonna blow a gasket. Goddamn pissant motherfucker. You’re like that fucking kid from Paper Moon.”
“I want my two hunnert dollars!”
He laughed and pulled me in. “Damn, Maisie,” he murmured. “What are you doing marrying Renko?”
Raúl approached us, a stunning young woman on his arm. Eighteen, nineteen tops. They stopped inches from us. The blonde let go, prowled over to AJ, and slid her hands up his chest. “Happy birthday.”
AJ caught her wrists and held them away from him. “It’s not my birthday.”
Eyes flashing, the teenager jerked away and returned to Raúl’s side. Hate radiated off her.
Which was weird, because AJ was a good-looking guy and he hadn’t been impolite.
“A mistake anyone could make, right, cousin?” Raúl’s nostrils flattened in smug repose, making him look more than ever like a piranha. “Tell Carlos I’m waiting with his other birthday present in the wine cellar.”
“Yes.” AJ’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
Raúl and the girl sauntered into the kitchen.
“Why did you do that?” I asked. “Agree to tell Carlos?”
“Easy. If I don’t tell Carlos, Raúl tells him I’m making decisions for Carlos’s life. How soon until I’m making decisions he doesn’t know about the business?”
“I see your point.”
“Either way, my dear, our night is at an end.”
“Why?”
“I have to tell Carlos about the gift. After which, one of two things will happen.” He counted off on his fingers. “One, Carlos wants the girl. I spend the night entertaining my delightful Tía Grieco.” He snapped out his second finger. “Two, Carlos wants the girl gone. Which means I must extricate her from here as quietly and pleasantly as possible. Raúl, naturally, would prefer she make a scene.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“Where’s Sharpe?”
“Why?” I asked. “Do you need some help?”
AJ shook his head. “But you do.”
“I don’t get—”
“You don’t actually think Raúl is going to let that contest lie.” AJ grasped my upper arms and put his nose inches from mine. “You can’t be alone tonight.”
I winced. “I kind of gave Sharpe the night off.”
“Okay.” He saw a Five-seveN at the edge of the pool and waved him over. “Señora Renko is in your charge. Do not leave her side. No matter what Raúl says.” The soldier nodded. AJ rattled off another series of orders, this time in Spanish, then kissed my cheek. “I have a very special day planned for the two of us tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” I said.
The Five-seveN watched him leave. His focus switched to me.
“I think it’s time for a drink,” I said, moving toward one of the bars. I actually had two Cuba libres, and picked up some interesting background on my step-in bodyguard’s South American childhood of murder and mayhem. Around 2:00 a.m., I started yawning and couldn’t stop.
The Five-seveN escorted me to my room.
Lee wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t answering his phone, either.
“Will you help me find him?”
The Five-seveN nodded vigorously. “Sí.”
After fighting our way back through the casino crush on the main floor, we slid out a side door and I walked the perimeter of the backyard, looking for Lee.
He was nowhere to be found.
We crossed the pool area and walked down to the beach. I kicked off my shoes and walked down along the sand, the Five-seveN keeping a moderate distance from me. The sand was smooth, but after the day I’d had, too much work. I moved down to the water’s edge, the beach easier to navigate. Cool, salty water splashed up against my ankles. I shivered.
This wasn’t like Lee. I tried to feel annoyed, but rising unease was the only sensation I could generate.
Where the hell is he?
Five jaunty beachfront cabanas were just up ahead. Over my shoulder the Five-seveN was getting nervy as I strayed farther than his comfort zone.
Yawning, I turned back at the last one.
Against the whisper shush of the surf came Lee’s laugh. Half-chuckle, half-purr. A panty-melter. Followed by a high-pitched titter.
O
kay, then.
“Señora Renko,” the Five-seveN shouted.
Shite.
I backed away from the tent to the water. The flapping of canvas was unmistakable. Lee stumbled out, shirt completely unbuttoned, shoulder holster, gun, and jacket still on, feet bare. “Maisie?”
Go back. Go back to the tent.
“Maisie?” He caught up to me and snagged my arm. “You okay?”
AJ’s guard came at us. I waved him back. “Sure.”
He stood, weaving slightly. “Isths—it’s not what you thi—”
“Wanted to let you know I’m turning in.”
Lee put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Lessgo.”
“Don’t you want to say good night?” I pointed at the tent.
“Nah.” He reeked of tequila. Like he’d taken a shower in it. “Lessgo.”
“Shoes might not be a bad idea.”
“Shit.” He gave that traitorous laugh. “Hang on.”
I didn’t wait, but I didn’t exactly run, either. He caught up, stumbling, grabbing my arm and knocking us both down into the sand.
The Five-seveN was at my side, helping me to my feet before I’d even pushed myself up.
“Aww, fuck.” Lee got to his feet, leaning slightly. “I’m sorry.”
I swiped the sand off my dress. “No worries, Lee.”
I bent to pick up his shoes—his combat boots actually, more comfortable to be sure, although not exactly apropos—but he beat me to it. “Lead on.” A goofy smile split his mouth, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
It took several minutes to make it back to the main house. The Five-seveN torn between trying to help Lee and trying to protect me. Inside, the gambling and partying were as wild and loud as when it started. The three of us garnered not even the slightest glance as we made it to the central staircase.
“Thanks, but I got it from here,” I told the Five-seveN.
He followed us at a short distance.
Lee and I started up the stairs. Getting him upstairs was hard work, and he had no problem letting me do the bulk of it. “Geez, you’re so sweaty. What have you been doing?” I said, instantly regretting the words once they left my mouth.
“Uh . . .” He knocked into the railing.
God only knew what happened to his key, so we stumbled to my room and then into his through the open en suite door.