by Steve Brewer
Damn.
Big Jim hadn’t revealed how much he’d paid for the horse, but it must’ve been hundreds of thousands of dollars. By the look of him, it was worth every penny. His eyes sparkled and he couldn’t stop grinning. He stepped over the packing material on the floor and ran a hand over the horse’s smooth flank.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Yes, sir, it sure is,” said the delivery crew’s boss. “Best-looking stallion I’ve ever seen.”
Big Jim wheeled on him. “It’s not a stallion, you idiot. It’s a gelding, just like Lucky. Look under there. Do you see big old balls hanging down?”
The guy muttered his apologies, but Big Jim was through with him. While the crew anchored the statue to its prepared space on the floor, Big Jim went over to Rex and quizzed him about the house’s new security measures, whether the alarm system and the steel bars over the windows were enough to keep his new possession safe.
“We’re all set, chief,” Rex assured him. “There’s not a safer house in all of Nevada.”
Shamu watched the nervous deliverymen gather up their trash and tools, staring at them in that baleful way he’d perfected at the casino. He didn’t want them dreaming about that golden horse, maybe coming back here with larceny on their minds. The best security system, to Shamu’s way of thinking, was fear.
Once the work crew departed, Big Jim approached the horse again. He caressed its golden skin as tenderly as a man would touch a woman.
Shamu turned away, looking out the windows at golf course, so his boss wouldn’t see him smile.
Chapter 14
Nick Papadopoulos was enjoying his first Scotch of the day when Lola showed up at his office.
“Hey, Nicky. Kind of early, isn’t it?”
“I’m celebrating something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“It’s a secret.”
She raised a penciled eyebrow, waiting, but he simply smiled at her.
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
“All the time,” he said. “You just never know.”
She gave him a look, then flopped into a chair across from him and crossed her shapely legs. She wore a sleeveless grasshopper-green dress that barely reached mid-thigh, and matching high heels with straps that snaked around her ankles.
“If it’s something worth celebrating, you could let me in on it,” she said. “All I ever hear from you is gloom and doom.”
Nick couldn’t stop smiling. This kind of shit drove her crazy, but he couldn’t help himself.
She frowned, but when it was clear he’d offer nothing further, she said, “What’s up with you, Nicky? You’re not acting like yourself.”
Shaking a Winston out of a red pack, he said, “Really? Who am I acting like?”
“You’ve been so worried, and now you’re acting happy and strange. What happened?”
He lit the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “I’m the same as always.”
She gave him a pouty look.
“You don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “There’s a whole history you know nothing about.”
Images flashed through his mind: Dino Stormante flopping over onto the white leather seat of his bloodied Cadillac. Tommy “Bugs” Bugalosi down on his knees, begging for his life in a filthy alley behind a Chinatown restaurant. The way a crowbar split Ziggy Gold’s skull, his brains opening up like a red flower.
Lola didn’t know shit about the real Nick Papadopoulos. Not the man he’d once been, the man he still was, deep down inside. He liked to kid himself that he was a more-or-less honest businessman now, a pillar of the fucking community, but the real Nick was the guy who didn’t blink when he pulled the trigger.
Lola dabbed a pinkie at the corner of her lipstick.
“We’ve all got our secret histories, Nicky. But I’m talking about the here and now. Suddenly you feel better? You’ve found some way to solve your financial problems?”
Nick sat silently smoking. No way would he discuss his mounting debts, his money-grubbing bitch of an ex-wife, the monthly raping the Starlite took from Bobby Crabs and friends. The “here and now” was what he was trying to solve, but none of it was any of Lola’s business.
“Okay, don’t tell me,” she said finally. “If your problems are gone, I’m happy for you. We can leave it at that.”
She paused, allowing him one last chance to tell. He gave her his best Cheshire cat grin.
“Fine,” she said. “If you’ve got money, why don’t you buy me a drink? It’s not healthy for you to sit in your office, drinking alone.”
“It’s gonna make it healthier, if you’re drinking, too?”
She laughed to show she was done being cross with him. Like he cared. Then she gave him her sexy look, chin tucked, eyes at half-mast, a smile playing around her inflated lips.
“You never know what might happen if you get a girl drunk,” she said.
He knew all right, and it was hard to resist. Lola might not know as much about him as she thought, might be dumb as dirt about some things, but in other ways she was well-schooled.
Reaching for the phone, he said, “I’ll order up some ice.”
Chapter 15
Eve Michaels rode the eastbound Geary bus all the way to the theater district. The morning rush was over and the bus was only half full. She checked out the other passengers, making sure no one followed her. She and Tony had no reason to believe the cops were onto them, but she always took precautions. Sometimes, her life seemed as exciting as the spy novels she enjoyed – watching for tails, checking the shadows, trying to anticipate the opposition – even if the perils were mostly in her mind.
She got off the bus two blocks from the Gold Nugget Theater, and walked the rest of the way. It had been foggy at the apartment, but sunshine spilled over downtown and the temperature was climbing. Eve slipped out of her light jacket and draped it through the strap of her shoulder bag.
She stopped at the mouth of an alley and again checked for tails. The sidewalks were busy with shoppers and early lunchers, but no one seemed to pay her the least attention. She walked down the paved alley to where a steel fire door was cut into the theater’s brick wall. The door was propped open an inch by a block of wood. Eve opened the door and stepped into darkness.
She stood still for a few seconds to let her eyes adjust. The door led into a work area behind the stage. Enough light leaked from the auditorium so that Eve could make out the dusty hardwood floor and the painted canvas flats leaning against the wall. She picked her way around coils of heavy rope to reach a door labeled “Wardrobe.”
Inside, snowcone-shaped lights dangled from the high ceiling. A long wooden table occupied the center of the room, along with a couple of heavy-duty sewing machines. Down the walls were racks of hanging costumes – caftans and kilts, khaki uniforms and royal velvets and taffeta ballgowns in a rainbow of colors. Shelves above the racks held every kind of hat you could name – pith helmets and derbies, fezzes and fedoras, crowns and clown hats, Easter bonnets and Viking helmets.
Eve loved this place. It made her feel like a little girl again, made her want to walk around in oversized pumps and paint her face with Mommy’s makeup. Before she could get too carried away, a voice came from a door next to a three-way mirror at the far end of the room.
“Eve? Is that you?”
“Hi, Lucy!”
Eve walked the length of the wardrobe room, her hand trailing along the clothes, the rich fabrics swimming over her skin.
“I knew it was you,” Lucy Merriman said as she burst from the office door. “I could sense your aura as soon as you came into the building. You’re very happy these days.”
Lucy looked like she dressed off her own costume racks. She wore a silky red gypsy blouse that hung off one bony shoulder, a full skirt embroidered with gold thread, black ballet slippers and a jangling collection of bangles and bracelets. A dozen crystals hung on chains aroun
d her neck. Her shock of white hair stuck up from a purple scarf tied haphazardly around her head. Her lipstick was purple, too, which made her fair skin look all the paler.
She enveloped Eve in a big hug and a cloud of patchouli. Eve was impressed, as always, with how frail and birdlike the sixty-year-old woman felt in her arms. Then Lucy clutched Eve’s elbow and led her into her cluttered office.
“There’s a man in your life,” she gushed. “I can tell from the energy you’re putting off.”
“Same man as usual, Lucy. Nothing’s changed.”
“Something has. I sense it. And you know I’m never wrong.”
A certain amount of dramatic mumbo-jumbo came with the territory when dealing with Lucy Merriman. Eve found it all amusing, but Tony and the boys didn’t want to get near her. Another way for Eve to make herself indispensable to the crew.
“Maybe you’re just sensing my excitement,” she said. “This new job could mean a big score for us.”
Lucy made her eyes big, then put a shushing finger to her lips. She flounced over to the office door and shut it firmly.
“Have to be careful,” she said. “You know how these theater people are. Big gossips. Can’t keep a secret. Blah, blah, blah.”
Lucy moved a heap of paisley fabric from a yellow armchair and made a sweeping gesture for Eve to sit. Then she edged around her desk, which was piled high with swatches and patterns and photos and books, and plopped into a creaking swivel chair.
“So,” she said, purple lips stretching into a smile. “Right to business, eh?”
“Wish we had time to do lunch,” Eve said, “but this is a rush job. Every minute counts.”
Lucy rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Let’s see it.”
Eve pulled a sheaf of papers from her shoulder bag and unfolded them to show the sketches she’d made.
“Basic guard uniforms, in dark brown,” she said. “Hats and leather gunbelts. We’ll supply our own guns.”
“Of course.”
“The uniforms have a triangular patch with the company logo on the right shoulder and over the left breast pocket. I found the logo at the company’s website and printed it out for you.”
She handed the printout to Lucy.
“These are the sizes,” Eve said as she handed over another sheet. “Pretty much same as last time.”
“Still using that one giant, eh?”
“Somebody’s got to do the heavy lifting.”
“We could use a guy like that around here. These airy little drama types can’t lift anything heavier than a purse. Takes three of them to close the curtains.”
She waved the size list at Eve. “Which one of these is your man?”
“He doesn’t go for uniforms. But the others get a kick out of dressing up.”
That made Lucy smile.
“So,” Eve said, “how soon do you think you can get these together?”
“Whipping up the uniforms is easy. The patches will take a little longer, but I’ve got an embroidery machine that will crank them out once I’ve got all the settings and colors together. Say, two days?”
“That’s fast.”
“We’re between shows at the moment, so I’ve got time on my hands. We’re doing ‘Oklahoma’ next, and it’s all jeans and bandanas and straw hats. Too easy. Give me a costume drama anytime, something full of kings and maidens and knights. That’s the fun stuff.”
“Guard uniforms must seem pretty mundane.”
“It’s knowing what they’re for that makes them exciting,” Lucy said. “And they’re lucrative. I’m thinking two thousand apiece? Including the hats.”
That was about what Eve expected. She nodded.
“I’ll loan you the gunbelts from the theater’s costume collection, so I’ll need them back when you’re done.”
“I’ll make sure the boys take good care of them.”
Lucy studied the logo, seemingly eager to go to work. Eve got to her feet.
“Great to see you again, Lucy. Call me when it’s time to pick them up.”
“Oh, I will, my dear. Go look after your young man. Tell him I said your aura’s very rosy today. Good time to get you into bed.”
Her laughter followed Eve all the way out the door.
Chapter 16
Tony Zinn wasn’t happy that razor wire topped the chain-link fence behind Peerless Armored Services, but it wasn’t much more than an inconvenience. The fence also had brown privacy strips woven through the chain-links, the idea being that the slick plastic would make it harder to climb. But hell, the fence was only six feet tall – plus the razor wire – so climbing wasn’t a problem. Not with Angie Hernandez on the job.
Tony and Angie approached from the south, crossing a dark parking lot that separated Peerless from its back-door neighbors. The concrete-block Peerless office faced an industrial street in East San Jose, and an alley ran along one side of the building. A gate off the alley allowed access to the rear yard, where silver armored cars and courier vans were parked for the night. A narrow guard shack, similar to the one behind the Starlite Casino, stood just inside the gate. Floodlights on its roof were angled toward the gate and toward the main part of the yard, but the corner directly behind the wooden shack was in shadow. That was where Tony and Angie paused, just outside the fence, listening for the Cooper brothers’ van to bump into the alley.
Tony and Angie were both dressed in black. Each held a thick blanket, the padded kind that moving companies use to cushion fragile items. Angie had “borrowed” them from his day job. Just the thing to deal with razor wire.
Headlights in the alley, then the squeal of brakes. Ross revved the engine a couple of times, but the heads-up wasn’t necessary.
Tony sailed the blanket up onto the razor wire, where it caught and hung, its weight mashing the steel coils. Angie tossed the other blanket onto the wire beside the first, so Tony had six feet of nicely padded protection.
Angie cupped his hands together in front of his knees. Tony put a foot in the hands and – alley oop! – Angie boosted him into the air. Tony barely touched the blankets as he flipped over the fence and lightly landed on his feet, knees bent, his hand already going to the gun inside his jacket.
The stocky guard wore a khaki uniform, complete with visored hat, and he had his hand on his holster as he peered through the gate at the dark blue van. His other hand held a Maglite at shoulder height, shining it out into the alley.
“Hey, buddy!” Don’s voice. “Is this Peerless, the armored car place?”
The guard was cautious. All alone here at night, he probably never got visitors.
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“We’ve got a delivery for you.”
“In the middle of the night? I don’t think so.”
Tony slipped past the guard shack. A gooseneck lamp glowed in there, along with a portable TV silently showing an old black-and-white movie.
“You’ll have to come back during office hours,” the guard shouted to the van.
“The package says ‘urgent,’“ Don yelled. “You want me to toss it over the fence to you?”
“Just back that van out of here before I call the cops.”
Tony tiptoed right up to the guard. He racked the slide of the Browning Hi-Power, and the unmistakable snick-snack froze the man in place.
“Pull that Glock out of your holster,” Tony said. “Real slow.”
The guard hesitated, and Tony didn’t give him time to make a mistake. He stuck the Browning’s muzzle in the tender place behind the guard’s ear.
“I’m not telling you again,” he said. “Do it now.”
The guard pulled the Glock, using his thumb and forefinger, and held it out away from him.
“Toss it.”
The gun clattered onto the pavement.
“Turn around,” Tony said. He took a step back as he said it, expecting the guard to make a move.
The man wheeled, swinging the heavy flashlight, going for where Tony’s head should’
ve been. Nothing but air.
As the off-balance guard got turned completely around, Tony kicked him between the legs. Hard. The man went up on his toes. His knees clutched together, too late to protect his jewels. Then he collapsed to the asphalt and curled up in a ball, coughing and groaning. The flashlight rolled away one direction, and the guard’s hat rolled the other.
“Stupid fucker,” Tony said. “Be still.”
The guard moaned. Tony could see now that he was an older man, past sixty, probably close to retirement. He supposed he should feel bad about hurting him, but the guy shouldn’t have tried to play hero. Nothing changes a hero’s mind like a swift kick in the balls.
Tony knelt beside the guard and pressed the gun to his bald scalp. The guard didn’t move while Tony unsnapped a key ring his belt.
Tony went over to the gate. Don and Angie were on the other side, peeking through the gap.
“Here,” Tony said. “Catch.”
He tossed the key ring over the gate, which was secured with a padlock on a heavy chain. Don started going through the keys, finding the one that would open it.
Tony went back to the guard and nudged him with his toe.
“Can you get up yet?”
The guard feebly nodded.
“Do it slowly.”
He gingerly rolled up onto all fours, then struggled to stand. He couldn’t straighten up all the way, one hand still clutching his groin, but that was okay. Tony preferred him moving slowly.
“Where are the keys to these trucks?”
“Inside. In a cabinet by the back door.”
“Anybody in that building?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Let’s go over there.”
The guard took pained baby steps to the office. Tony stayed right behind him, gun pointed at his back.
A keypad was fitted into the wall next to the blank steel door. The guard reached for it, and Tony jabbed him in the kidney with the gun.