Sex, Lies & Diamonds (Sex and Lies Book 7)

by Kris Calvert

  “Referencing what?” I asked.

  “That’s a good question. I guess it would depend upon the library.”

  “The library?” I mumbled. “Which library?”

  “I don’t know, young lady,” Knight said, walking to the laptop sitting on his desk. He began to type and then stopped, turning the computer around to face me. “But, seven hundred in the Dewey Decimal Classification systems is the Arts. Seven-fifty is paintings.”

  14

  LEO

  The dealer was as greasy as the dive we’d walked into. Right smack in the middle of the French Quarter in the back of a seedy titty bar, I was about to purchase twenty grand worth of heroin. I stared the dealer down. He was happier than a pig in slop to sell so much junk, but I needed information too. “What are you cutting the shit with, man?” I asked, picking up a bag and tossing in back on the table. “I don’t want anything cut with fentanyl. Know what I’m sayin’? Too fucking dangerous to open the bags. One of my guys breathes in that shit and I’ve got a dead body on my hands. Besides, I want my customers coming back for more, not dying in their car because the cops can’t get there in time with Narcan.”

  The dealer smiled, showing his two front teeth wrapped in gold. “I wouldn’t fuck you over like that, man. You got plenty of cash? I got plenty of smack to sell.”

  “What if I want more than you can handle? What if I wanna talk to your boss?”

  The dealer thumbed his nose and squinted, the cigarette between his fingers leaving a thin line of smoke across his face. He turned his mouth down and gave me a half shrug. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Look.” I brought my voice down and leaned into the table. “I don’t wanna find another place to do business. You’ll get a finder’s fee for hooking me up—I know how to take care of my people—but if you can’t handle it, or if you don’t have the juice with the boss, then don’t waste my fuckin’ time. Capisce?”

  “Yeah, I understand. You wops all stick together.”

  My jaw tensed. “Who you workin’ with? Tell me now, ’cause I know there’s a couple different flows into the Big Easy.”

  “I can get you in with either.”

  “Who’s either?”

  “There’s a line of shit comin’ in from Mexico through the Gulf. I can get you a meeting with him.”

  “That’s your daddy?”

  The dealer shook his head and took a long drag from his Marlboro before crushing it in the overflowing ashtray on the table. “Shit’s been getting tight around the city. Supply is low. The only way to get the protection you need is to go through my guy.”

  I popped an eyebrow “Protection? You got NOLA PD on the take?”

  “As long as they get a cut, nobody bothers you. If you screw around and get in with the Big Man? You’ll have product, but no protection.”

  “Falconi not giving the cops their share?”

  The gold-toothed dealer blanched at Big Man’s real identity.

  I smiled and started laughing, deep and low.

  He relaxed and nodded, pointing at me. “If you want the goods from the wetbacks, you gotta tithe.”

  I held my words. Shocked that the aging dealer, full of racial slurs and barely a real tooth in his head knew what tithing was, I waited for him to finish.

  “God and the Chief of Police always get ten percent, man. That’s just the way it works.”

  I nodded and looked to Tristan. He’d been quiet—I wasn’t surprised.

  Tucking the kilo of heroin into the leather saddle bag I’d taken off my bike and slung over my shoulder, I watched the grease monkey count his cash. I’d have it destroyed—burned. But for the time being it was at least twenty grand worth of smack that wouldn’t be on the street tonight.

  I kicked the chair out from under my feet. “Tell Big Man I’ll be back for more.”

  “Will do.”

  “Next time I want to see his ugly face—not yours.”

  The dealer smiled, and a glimmer of light caught his gold teeth. “What the fuck ever, man.”

  “We don’t wanna get nailed packing like mules on the way out the front door,” Tristan said, opening his mouth for the first time.

  “Nah man, like I said. The police don’t bother us. Ever. You’re free to come and go as you please. You could shoot up right there in the fuckin’ bar and no one would say a word.”

  Tristan shifted his weight and eyes to cast a glance my way.

  “If it’s all the same to you,” I began. “My ass is leaving out the back.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I pointed directly to his weathered face and tattooed neck. “See you in a couple days, no?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Set it up with your boss. I’m flush with cash and I want to buy.”

  Still holding the money in his grubby hand, he replied. “Yeah, man. I’ll make it happen.”

  We were almost out the door when he said it.

  “You dudes aren’t cops or anything are you? Not DEA or some shit like that. That would be fucked up.”

  Slowly, I turned to face him. “Fuck, no.”

  “Had to ask. You know.”

  I didn’t respond, but kicked open the door with my boot and walked into the waning sunshine. Outside, Tristan and I put on our helmets without a word or exchanging a glance. The feeling was mutual—it was time to go.

  I one-kicked my Harley, quelling the urge to peel out. Collecting myself, I slowly pulled away from the smelly back alley behind the strip joint. I needed to make an expeditious trip back to Jackson House. I’d be up a shit creek if I got pulled over with a kilo of heroin in my saddle bag. True, I wanted a face to face with the New Orleans Chief of Police, but on my terms and not wearing bracelets.

  With single point of my finger Tristan followed my lead through the French Quarter and the short trip to the Garden District. Pulling to the back of Jackson House, we again entered through the service drive. The security man I now knew as Snacks gave me a quick wave and opened the gate to allow us in when he heard the bikes coming. I had to be honest, I didn’t care what it cost, having the team around Jackson House made me feel safe and I immediately thought of Polly and wondered how her day had gone.

  I parked my bike in the garage and met Tristan on the back driveway with the saddlebag in tow on my shoulder. Standing outside the back entrance, I found Hawk chatting with Tree and Polly.

  Sneaking up behind her, I gave her perfect bottom a light squeeze on the inside of her thigh. It wasn’t something anyone would notice, just enough to catch her off guard and let her know I was horny as hell for her. “Cher,” I whispered into her hair.

  She turned and I came face to face with a woman who wasn’t my wife.

  “Fuck.” I felt blood rush to my face. I’d just fingered the rock solid ass of a woman that wasn’t Polly. “I—I—fuck.” I dropped the helmet in my hand to the ground and picked it back up again. “Fuck.” I ran my hand across my head, pulling the bandana that held my hair away from my face. “Fuck.” I couldn’t think of another word to say. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought you were my wife.”

  “Dr. Xanthus,” Hawk managed, doing his best to hold in his laughter. “This is Isabella Winter. She’s with our agency and will be acting as Mrs. Xanthus’s double.”

  My face still hot with embarrassment, I took her outstretched hand and shook it. Digging deep, I found the courage to look her in the eye. “Clearly you are very good at your job. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. That was incredibly inappropriate.”

  She nodded, but didn’t drop her gaze. She also didn’t accept my apology.

  “Have you—ah—met Polly yet?” I stumbled over my words and watched the other agents gather to witness my bumbling idiot routine.

  “Yes.”

  “Tristan Bleu.”

  Without warning. Tristan stepped in, offering his hand to the female agent whose name already escaped me. It was an honest mistake but a clusterfuck nonetheless.

  “Isabella Winter,�
� she replied, shaking it. “Everyone calls me Bea.”

  He nodded.

  “And what do they call you, Tristan?” she asked, whipping her long blonde hair that matched Polly’s into a ponytail in one clean motion.

  “Tristan.”

  She narrowed her gaze, her attention completely on him. “What are you? CIA? DEA?”

  “I’m no one.”

  I watched Bea Winters smile at Tristan, thankful he’d bailed me out of my embarrassing moment, then motioned for them to follow me into the house.

  “Boys,” I said with a nod as I tossed the bag on the kitchen island. “How’d it go today?” Hawk and Tree both replied with blank stares. “Jesus. What?” After grabbing Polly’s lookalike ass, I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  “No, sir. Mrs. X is fine,” Tree replied stepping forward. “She’s just a little—”

  My lips twisted. “A little what?”

  “Rattled…sir”

  I looked back and forth between the two of them for an explanation. “Why? What happened?”

  “Well, sir—” Tree began, then hesitated.

  I felt my face tighten. “Out with it,” I commanded.

  “Sir.” Hawk jumped into the fray and I held my hand up.

  “Hawk, if Tree is responsible for Polly, I’d like to hear from him an account of the day if you don’t mind.”

  Hawk recoiled. “Yes, sir.”

  I watched Tree swallow hard. The musclebound meathead was nervous. He damn well should’ve been. I’d just spent my day buying smack. I was one piece of bad news away from being an asshole. “She had me take her to the lower Ninth Ward, sir.”

  My nostrils flared and I saw the reflection of my anger and disappointment in Tree’s eyes. I lowered my voice, keeping myself calm. “And you took her even though I’d given you specific instructions not to go there?”

  “I did, sir.”

  The kid didn’t look away and I had to hand it to him. I knew I was giving him the stare down of his life. It gave me a new respect for the human hulk, even if he had directly disobeyed an order. I knew how Polly could be. She was smart, beautiful and could make any man do her bidding. Hell, I was one of them. “I don’t want to say that she tricked me, because that would imply that I wasn’t fully capable and in control of her safety at all times. But sir…”

  I said it for him. “She tricked you.”

  I looked above my head and back to them, knowing Polly was directly over me. Hands on my hips, I dropped my shoulders in contemplation. “Gentlemen, what exactly am I walking into?”

  “She saw Mr. Wilson today, sir. He opened his eyes and grabbed her hand. She’s a little shaken up over it and—”

  I’d heard enough. Grabbing the saddle bag, I walked away from the conversation and through the house, taking the grand staircase steps two by two to reach the Gold Room. When I burst through the doors, I called out to her, but she was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t in the guestroom any longer.

  “Cher!” I shouted. “Where are you?”

  “In here.”

  Her voice was faint, but I could easily tell it was coming from the master suite. Opening the double doors, I found Polly on the bed staring at the wall. Both sets of French doors were open for the first time, and the afternoon breeze swept through the room, bringing fresh air and a new perspective. I glanced around the room before making my way to her. The construction and cleanup crew had been busy. The rugs had been pulled, the stains on the floors erased. I could see inside the master closet far enough to ascertain the old safe had been taken away and the debris cleaned. The entire space was prepared for new construction.

  I kept my voice calm. I wanted to scold her, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I could never stay mad at her. “Wanna tell me about today, mon amour?”

  She brought her eyes from the bed to look at me and a grin slowly graced her lips.

  “You have absolutely no reason to be smiling. You’re in straight up trouble with me, cher,” I murmured, closing the space between us.

  “You look like a straight up criminal, Leo.”

  I halted, turning to catch my reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t lying. I knew I smelled like the titty bar, too. “That doesn’t matter now does it? What does matter, is you. Tree said you had a bad day? That you went to the lower Ninth Ward?”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe.”

  My brows rose. “Maybe? Or you went?”

  She sighed. Polly knew Tree would come clean with me the moment I walked into Jackson House. Even if he hadn’t confessed, she couldn’t lie to me. It was one of the things I loved about her. “Yeah. I went there. I kinda made Tree take me, so don’t be mad at him. He’s a good kid. Did you know he’s only twenty-two?”

  I walked to the edge of the bed and stroked her arm with the back of my hand, afraid to get too close, fearful the smell of whiskey, drugs and boobs—or a combination of all three—would reach her. “Just tell me, are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m okay, Leo. But we need to talk.”

  “I agree,” I replied, thinking of what I’d learned today—what I needed to tell her. “Do you care if I take a quick shower? You’re all fresh faced and beautiful and I’ve been hanging with the dregs of society chasing dope around New Orleans.”

  “Chasing dope?”

  I grimaced. “Let me shower and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “How about you tell me now, Leo? You bought the heroin?”

  I nodded to the saddle bag I’d tossed in the chair. “Twenty grand worth. I’m trying to get a meeting with Tommaso Falconi.”

  “And who’s he?”

  “He’s the other network of smack coming into New Orleans. He’s the Balivinos’ biggest competition.”

  “You’re getting us involved with more mobsters?”

  I walked to her. “He’s our best chance of shutting them down.”

  “And then what?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far—yet.

  I walked into the bathroom. Polly sat on the end of the bed and watched me start the water in the sink. I foamed up my face to shave my overgrown beard. Nervously, she twirled her hair. My lips thinned and I slung my hands low on my hips, thinking now was as good a time as ever to come clean over my mistaken identity brush with her lookalike. “Have you met your security detail? Bea?”

  She nodded. “I don’t think she looks like me very much.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “No. Why?”

  I stopped shaving my face, took a full breath and stared at the floor.

  “What?”

  “I accidentally grabbed her butt and whispered in her ear.” I said it fast and quietly, but I knew by the look on her face she’d heard me.

  “You did what?”

  I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and I looked to the floor. “Tristan and I had just made it back. I did the thing where I come up behind you—you know the love touch and—”

  “Between the thighs?” Her voice began to rise.

  Sheepishly, I nodded. “Then I whispered into her hair.”

  “Oh my God. What did you say?”

  “Just cher. Nothing else.”

  “Jesus, Leo. Is she going to sue?”

  I went back to shaving, dipping my razor into the pool of hot water in the sink. “No. Cher, it was an honest mistake. She was supposed to be you. I’m paying her to look like you. And she’s doing a damn good job.”

  “Leo.”

  “I did apologize. I was embarrassed as hell. It was awful. Then Tristan jumped in. Those two had a stare off.”

  “Maybe we’ve found a girlfriend for Tristan.”

  “I’m pretty sure Tristan gets along just fine in that department. Anyway, like I said, it was an honest mistake and I wanted to tell you about it. Do you forgive me?”

  She recoiled at my question. “Of course I forgive you. But it doesn’t matter what I think. We should speak
with Bea about it together.”

  I nodded, rubbing my cleanly shaven face in frustration. “I agree.”

  Unzipping my jeans and kicking them off to the side, she stared at my naked body.

  “See something you like?” I teased, coming closer.

  She didn’t say a word and I worried my snafu with Bea was a bigger deal than she was letting on. “C’mon, out with it.”

  A serious look crossed her face. “I know what Balivino wanted from the safe.”

  “You do? What?”

  Polly held up her left hand, her engagement ring catching the light of the overhead chandelier. “This.”

  I smiled and let out a small laugh. “Cher. I think your ring is beautiful of course, but it’s a four carat diamond. It has sentimental value, but it’s not like it’s twenty carats.”

  “I don’t think that has anything to do with it.”

  I took a full breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Today when I went to visit Oscar, he woke up. Leo, he grabbed me. At first I thought he was in pain, or maybe he needed something. He was squeezing my fingers so hard. It wasn’t until I got this from Dr. Atwood and we left that I put it all together. Well, actually, Tree put it all together.

  I took the drawing from her hand. “What is this?”

  “Atwood said when he woke up, he wanted to communicate but couldn’t because he was intubated. They gave him a pen and paper. This is what Oscar drew.”

  Clearly missing what she was seeing, I turned it all around and upside down. “What is it?”

  “I didn’t see it either. Tree did, though. And then I put it all together and we went to his father’s high school and I looked at my ring under a microscope and it’s a clue, Leo.”

  I straightened, holding my hand in the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, cher. Slow down. What are you talking about? You went where?”

  I watched her swallow hard and collect her thoughts. “Oscar. He’s trying to tell us what Balivino came for. He’s warning us. It’s the ring. He squeezed my hand to tell me, it’s the diamond. He literally pinched the stone with his fingers. He drew the ace of diamonds on the paper.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just draw a diamond?”