“How’s this?” She opened her robe and flashed me. Tan skin framed the thin white triangle where her bikini bottom had covered just enough to meet the legal requirements.
I glanced over my shoulder to see if the balconies behind us were occupied. One was, but the couple was sunset watching. “You’re gorgeous, Queens.” I almost took a picture, but embarrassing things often surface on the Internet. Better keep the picture in my mind. What a picture. She shimmied and the queens danced back and forth.
The sight line between Wallace and me cleared. “Show time; close the robe.” She did.
I got the picture.
Mateo and Wallace leaned against their balcony railing, arms around each other, admiring the sunset. I turned on the video and got another good shot of their kiss. Then I panned the same take to include the beach view and the hotel to establish the location. I snapped off another half dozen photos.
I put the camera down. “Now we can relax and enjoy our vacation, Terry. Back to the real world tomorrow afternoon.”
###
It was late afternoon when I carried Terry’s bag to her apartment. She closed the front door behind us and put her arms around my neck. “Chuck, I had a wonderful time, even if it was only business. Would you like to stay the night?”
I figured Terry had had enough of me for one weekend. I would rather leave her wanting more instead of overstaying my welcome. I kissed her forehead. “The offer is tempting, Queens, but we both have early days tomorrow. However, I might be convinced to stay another half hour.”
She kissed me slowly and thoroughly.
“Okay, make that an hour.”
Chapter 56
After the car bomb, I’d installed more secure locks on my townhouse and garage. I felt reasonably safe as I unlocked my front door and stepped inside.
Big mistake.
I closed the door behind me and turned the deadbolt, put my keys in my pocket, and lugged my suitcase down the hall. I didn’t need a light because I knew my townhouse like my tongue knows my teeth. Too bad the landlady was making me move.
The rear glass sliders admitted the waning daylight. Reflections off Seeti Bay shimmered through the living and dining rooms.
The shooter waited in the dining room at the end of the hall.
I saw movement between me and the back of the house. I threw the suitcase at him, drew my Glock, and dived forward. The bad guy’s first two rounds went over my head. I put two of my own into him while sliding the length of the marble floor on my belly.
I didn’t wait to see him drop, because I knew he wasn’t alone. If I had the assignment, I would post a second shooter near the front door to trap me in the entry hall. I rolled onto my back, sighting down above my feet, and waited for another shooter to come through the door off the hallway.
After a few seconds of silence, I heard glass break. It had to be the window in the downstairs guest room.
I ran to the front door and peeped through the narrow window beside it. The other shooter was sprinting across the parking lot.
I threw open the door and galloped after him.
A neighbor was exiting his car. “Jim, call 9-1-1. I just shot a burglar in my apartment. He’ll need an ambulance. Get the cops too.”
Jim pulled out his cellphone.
I hot-footed it around the garage and saw the second man a hundred yards ahead. Here we go again.
Since I’d just come from Nassau, I wore New Balances instead of dress shoes. I can run okay in my Rockport dress shoes, but with New Balances, I can run all day. I settled into an energy-saving stride and fell into pursuit mode. As he made the first corner, I’d already gained ten yards.
The next block was shorter, and I didn’t want him out of my sight. I kicked it up a notch and closed to seventy-five yards as he crossed the canal bridge and headed for Seeti Bay Park. That park is full of tall palms and low flower beds. There are no bushes big enough to hide anyone.
The bad guy glanced over his shoulder, saw me rolling toward him like a tank. He was mine and he knew it, as inevitable as tomorrow.
He ran through the lengthening shadows into the park, dodging families and couples walking hand-in-hand. He left the pavement for the grassy lawn, which slowed him more than it did me. I’d closed to forty yards by the time he hit the parking lot.
Families were returning to their cars in the fading light. He dodged a car leaving the lot, and I pulled closer. Then he checked his speed as he saw a young couple with two children standing by their car, loading an ice chest.
The gunman hit the father in the side of the head with his pistol and knocked him to the ground. He grabbed the woman around the neck with his left arm. The children screamed as he pulled their mother around to shield himself from me. He jammed his pistol into her ribs and yelled. “Stop right there.”
I stopped five yards away with my Glock pointed between his eyes, Weaver stance. No one was in the field of fire behind him. “Fellow, you don’t want to do this. I’ll kill you. Drop your gun and let the lady go. It’s over.”
“You come any closer, and I’ll kill her.”
“You shoot her, and you die a hundredth of a second later. Look at me. You know me from your last attempt. I won’t miss. Your buddy’s already dead. If you want to live, drop your gun and let her go. You can make a deal with the DA to tell her who hired you. Prison is a lot better than a coffin.”
He jammed the gun harder into the woman’s ribs. “No. You drop your gun, or I kill her.”
“Last chance, Bonano. Or are you Scarpetta? Which name do you want on your tombstone?”
His eyes widened when I called his name. He loosened his grip on his gun as he started to say something, and I shot him in the bridge of his nose. He fell like the sack of shit he was.
I holstered my gun and started to kick the pistol away from the dead man’s hand. Then I thought of all the families and kids around and put the pistol in my pocket instead.
I turned to the couple. “You all okay? What about your children? They look a little shook up.”
Mother Weiner taught me that you should give people who’ve been through a trauma someone else to look after. They don’t get so worried about what just happened. It worked. Each of them picked a kid to hug.
I called 9-1-1. “Dispatch, this is Chuck McCrary. I’ve got a 419 in Seeti Bay Park Parking Lot…” I looked around and found the sign, “…North 2A. I shot another guy back in my townhouse so I’m leaving the scene to see to him.” I gave dispatch my home address. “He may be alive. My neighbor was supposed to call in that incident.”
As I spoke, I pulled out my business card case. I turned to the young couple and gave them each a card. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but this guy and another guy tried to kill me. The other one is wounded in my house. I have to go back so I can help him. Will you folks please stay here and tell the police what happened? Here is my license.”
The man looked at my license and took my card. “You saved my wife’s life. Thanks. We’ll tell the cops what happened.”
I jogged back home. I was tired. The ambulance and cops weren’t there yet. My neighbor Jim stood in the parking lot. “You don’t need to wait for them, Jim. You’d better go inside; it’s safer.” I hurried into my house.
I turned on the hall light, walked to the dining room, switched on the chandelier, turning the dimmer to full bright. The crystals cast multi-colored light prisms all around the room. The gunman’s blood had pooled on the marble floor.
I kicked his pistol into the living room, patted him down, and found a Texas driver’s license with his picture.
He was gut shot. I knew he was a goner, even if he’d been en route to the hospital in an ambulance. I’d seen abdominal wounds in Afghanistan—mostly on the bad guys, thank God. This guy would be lucky to last ten more minutes. Or unlucky. He was in real pain.
I felt a little queasy again, but not as bad as the last time I’d shot someone. I hoped I wasn’t getting used to shooting people.
I squatted just out of reach. “Well, if it isn’t Bones Bonano. How you doin’, Bones? That must be Scrambles Scarpetta I killed in the park.”
Bonano groaned. “Call me an ambulance.”
“Okay, you’re an ambulance. Bones, who hired you?”
“I’m dying. Call an ambulance.”
“All in good time. First, tell me who hired you.”
Bonano stared at the blood flowing between the fingers he’d clasped over his stomach. “Am I going to die?”
“Bones, you haven’t got much time. I’ll call the ambulance after you tell me who wants me dead.”
“Charlie Chops.”
“What’s his real name?”
“Charlie...Civitis.”
“Why?”
“He…don’t pay me…to ask questions.” He passed out as I heard the sirens outside.
I called Flamer. “ I have another name for you to research.”
Chapter 57
Vicky met me for breakfast. “I heard the excitement on the eleven o’clock news last night. I didn’t call because you looked okay when that reporter interviewed you, and I knew I’d see you this morning.”
She nodded at the server who approached with a coffee pot. After the server left, she put her hand on mine. “I’m glad you’re okay. Does that account for everyone who wants you dead?”
“Until they send more.”
“Until who sends more? You told the reporter you didn’t know who sent the gunmen. And you claimed they died without saying anything.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? They worked for Charlie Civitis, a boss in the Houston mob.”
Vicky looked interested. “What’s he got against you?”
“Haven’t got a clue...yet. But Civitis is a lieutenant for the Santorini crime family in Houston.”
“Mafia?”
“Beats me. Are they Mafia when they’re Greek-American? They’re still hoods. But there may be a connection between them and Lorraine Wallace.”
“What kind of connection?”
“Albert Compostela is a boss in the Houston mob. The Compostela and Santorini families have divided Houston between them. Big Al Compostela has four sons. One is married to Lorraine’s sister.”
“You think Lorraine used her sister to gain access to a hit man?”
“It looks that way.”
“So what will you do?”
“My usual approach is to blunder around, annoy people, and ask embarrassing questions. If I turn over enough rocks, I’ll find a snake.”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea to approach a Houston boss on his home turf and ask him why he’s sending hit men after you. You need another approach.”
I took another slug of coffee while I thought about Vicky’s advice. “I guess I’ll just have to be extra alert and hope for the best.”
The server approached and took our order. While we waited, I told her how I took Ramona and Gloria to Mexico. “Gloria is safe at home with a new nanny until we can get this thing with Lorraine sorted out. I have three off-duty cops on shifts to guard her 24/7.”
“I’m glad, Chuck.”
“It’s all part of the expenses I charge to Sam’s estate.”
“Still, not everyone would’ve done what you have to protect Gloria.”
I turned my tablet computer around and showed the video and photos from the Bahamian Caribe that I’d taken the previous weekend.
“Is that your girlfriend in the foreground?”
“Teresa Kovacs. She’s a cop.”
“Nice enough looking I suppose, if you like your women young, sexy, and blond.” Then she grinned. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch.”
“You can’t help it. You’re a female attorney.”
“I had to check out the competition.” At least she smiled as she said it. “Okay, Chuck, down to business. Now that you have proof Lorraine is involved, what do you do next?”
I shook my head. “I proved only that she is a client of Franklin Turbot’s. I haven’t proved that she hired him to find an arsonist. Her connection to Turbot is legitimate on the surface. I’ve missed something.”
“What did you miss?”
“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t be missing it.”
Chapter 58
The LT was in the autopsy suite talking to a woman in her early forties who wore a blue lab coat. Weiner waved me over. “Doc, have you met Chuck McCrary?”
The woman shook my hand. “I’m Anandi Mahajan. Please call me ‘Annie.’” She pushed a wayward wisp of thick, dark hair behind her ear.
“Nice to meet you, Annie.”
Lieutenant Weiner gestured at the stainless steel door. “Annie, show Chuck what you showed me on Sam Simonetti’s body.”
Mahajan slipped on a fresh pair of rubber gloves and pulled the cadaver drawer out all the way. She lifted the drape and pointed to the cadaver’s left foot. “The embalmer did a good job. Look between the second and third metatarsal.” She parted the two toes and showed me a small indentation.
“See that, Chuck? That’s a puncture wound where someone gave him an injection. If the lieutenant hadn’t told me this was a possible homicide, I wouldn’t have looked there.”
“What was injected?”
She replaced the drape and pushed the drawer closed. “We found Fentanyl in a tissue sample.”
I’d heard of Fentanyl. “So whoever injected the Fentanyl induced a heart attack?”
Mahajan nodded, “A fatal one; this is now officially a homicide.” She stripped her gloves off and tossed them in a waste bin. “It’ll be in my report. But for now, any more questions, Lieutenant?”
“No, thanks, Annie,” Weiner said. “Now we have to find out who gave the injection.”
I turned to the doctor. “Annie, did it require any particular skill to inject the Fentanyl?”
“Anyone who’s ever seen a medical drama on television can give an injection. All you need is the drug and a hypodermic.”
I said, “My vote is for Lorraine.”
Mother frowned at me. “You know better than to jump to conclusions, Chuck. Follow the evidence. And we don’t have enough to point fingers yet.”
The LT and I walked out the door and almost bumped into Renate Crowell. She stuck a microphone in the lieutenant’s face. “Lieutenant Weiner, was Sam Simonetti murdered?”
“The autopsy report hasn’t been released yet.”
“That wasn’t my question, Lieutenant. Was Sam Simonetti murdered?”
Weiner paused.
Crowell was like a shark that smelled blood in the water. “Lieutenant, medical examiner cases are public record, and anyone can copy the Medical Examiner’s Report. I know the report isn’t final, but it will be soon, and the public has a right to know if Sam Simonetti was murdered.”
Weiner hesitated.
Crowell put her microphone away. “Lieutenant, we can go off the record. You could be ‘an unnamed source close to the investigation.’ This is a big story.”
Weiner glanced at me. “You tell her, Chuck. I’ve got work to do.”
I nodded and the lieutenant left without saying good-bye.
Crowell stuck the microphone in my face. “So, was Sam Simonetti murdered?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Someone injected Fentanyl between his toes.”
“How do you spell that?”
I spelled it into her microphone.
“What does it do?”
“It mimics a heart attack.”
“Who injected it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are there any suspects?”
“You’d have to ask Lieutenant Weiner.”
“Well, do you, personally, have any suspects?”
“None that I can discuss.”
“Is Ike Simonetti a suspect?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“What about Ramona Simonetti?”
“Again, not as far as I know.”
“You’l
l tell me when you’re ready.” She put away her microphone.
I’d baited the hook a few days before. Now I decided to dangle the hook in front of her. “It won’t be long, Renate.”
Chapter 59
Tropical Storm George had popped up in the Gulf of Mexico two days before. The weather gurus expected George to make landfall on the west coast of Florida sometime that night. George’s outer bands alternated between periods of sunshine and buckets of rain and gusty winds and calm. Thirty minutes before, the sun had beamed down like the Port City Visitors Bureau had it on the payroll. Then another band of George joined our regular sea breeze. The humid air over the Everglades multiplied the thunderheads, and they bloomed like mushrooms in the spring.
Thunder boomed like pens in a distant bowling alley as Snoop drove my minivan to Wallace’s medical building. The lower floors of the parking garage were full. We’d snaked our way back and forth up to the roof and still hadn’t found a spot.
Snoop braked in front of the elevator lobby that perched like an island on the roof deck. “You get out here, Chuck. I’ll find a spot and meet you in the lobby later.”
It would be raining buckets when I came out. I grabbed my folding umbrella as I left the van. The storm blustered and lightning smacked to my left. Before I could say one-thousand-one the ear-splitting cr-a-a-ck shook the building. Less than a half-mile away. There would be gusting winds and flying debris later and I was glad we hadn’t come in the Ghost.
Port City Dermatology Associates was on the third floor. I rang the bell beside the frosted sliding window. “Good afternoon, Mr. McCrary. I’m Sylvia Chang,” the nurse said. “Has the storm hit yet? I heard thunder, but we don’t have any windows in this area.”
“No, but I expect it any minute, and it’s gonna be a big one.”
“Thanks for the weather report.” She handed me a clipboard and a ballpoint pen. “Please fill out this medical history form and sign the notices and bring it back when you’re finished.”
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