I glanced at my watch. The bank opened at 9:00. I could go to the ATM, but for a check this size, the inside teller was better. Besides, I wanted to see her face as I deposited a million-dollar check. I decided to check my email before heading to the bank. I deleted the first spam that made it past the filter.
Then the knob on my hall door clicked.
I glanced to my right and saw it turn as it returned to normal position. Someone had tried the door—quietly. I always enter my office through the adjoining conference room, so I leave both conference room doors unlocked when I’m in the office. Nancy knew that, and she always entered through the conference room. And she always knocked before entering my office.
So who was it?
Whoever had tried my office door would try the conference room next.
Ike Simonetti was in the wind.
I pulled my Glock 17 from its holster as I moved to my storeroom door in the back wall of my office. I opened it a few inches, reached in, and turned on the light. I quick-stepped around the desk as I pulled the slide back with my left hand. I stood against the wall behind the conference room door and transferred the Glock to my left hand.
I could be wrong about the hall door. If it was a false alarm, it did no harm to wait a minute for an intruder who never came.
I didn’t have to wait long.
The conference room door opened a few inches and a left hand, holding a Smith & Wesson Model M&P R8 revolver, reached through the opening. The R8 is the only Smith & Wesson with M&P on the barrel; other models have the logo above the trigger. It’s an expensive hand gun that a wealthy sportsman like Ike Simonetti would own. The R8 holds .357 Magnum bullets like the ones found at the site of my gunfight with Simonetti. Now I knew why Simonetti had shot me only once. The R8 holds eight rounds. He’d run out of bullets. If he had used any Glock, like I did, I would be dead.
I couldn’t see his face yet, but it had to be Simonetti. Simonetti was right-handed, but I had wounded his right arm with my shot, and he wouldn’t be recovered yet.
I wasn’t a hundred percent myself. That’s why I held the Glock with my left hand.
The gunman opened the door wider and tip-toed across my office toward the storeroom at the back. I stepped behind him and stuck the Glock behind his left ear. “Drop it, Ike.”
He froze, then lifted both hands. His left hand went up to chest height; his right only to his waist. He spoke without turning around. “Hello, Chuck. You fooled me with that open door. Is that your file room?”
I ignored the question. “Drop the gun.”
Simonetti raised his left hand to shoulder height, but he didn’t drop the gun. “Chuck, you wouldn’t shoot me in the back, would you?”
“Ike, you may get out of this alive, if you cooperate, but I can claim self-defense even if I shoot you in the back. You’re in my office. You’re carrying the same revolver you used to shoot me, and I’m the only witness. Do the math.” I pressed the pistol harder behind his ear. “Now drop the gun.”
He shrugged and dropped the revolver onto the carpet.
I frisked him right-handed. “Sit in this chair.” He glanced to his right as I pulled him backwards to a chair in front of my desk.
I kept the Glock aimed as I moved around the desk to my office chair. “I thought you’d be on a tropical beach, sipping a rum drink with an umbrella in it.”
“That was Plan A.”
“What happened?”
“You did.”
I started to ask, but he waved me off. “I should have waited for you to get closer for that first shot. Yada, yada, yada, whatever. Plan A didn’t work out. Now I’ve had a couple of weeks to hole up while I healed.”
“Are you okay now?”
“No, I am not okay now. You hit me in the shoulder, through-and-through.”
“Did you go to a doctor?”
“Yeah, right. Like I would take a gunshot wound to a doctor. I’m not crazy. I won’t be arrested.”
“So where have you been?”
Simonetti gestured with his left hand. “Some no-tell hotel near the harbor that takes cash and doesn’t ask for ID.”
“You look terrible.”
“I have an excuse—I’ve been living on takeout delivered to my hotel room.”
“How is the wound?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s your Plan B?”
Simonetti shook his head. “I have a few things to do before I split.”
“Like what?”
“Like I have unfinished business with you.”
“Killing me now wouldn’t have saved you. The cops have your DNA from the blood you lost at Jerry’s Gym. You didn’t need to risk coming here.”
“I didn’t come here to kill you, Chuck. The gun was for protection. I need to talk with you before I leave.”
“You’re not leaving.”
“You calling the cops?”
“Of course. Our business was finished, but since you dropped in my lap, I can’t let you walk away.”
“Hear me out first.”
“Okay. I want to ask you a few things too.”
“Such as?”
“First, how’d you get in?”
“I took the stairs from the parking lot. There’s an exit to a stairway at both ends of your hall. I made sure the hall was empty before I came to your office.”
I nodded. “Next question—I’m curious how Ramona got you to father Gloria.”
He smirked. “The usual way.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been more discreet with the rest of your affairs. You’d usually wait until you were out of town. If I were guessing, I’d guess that she put the moves on you, not the other way around.”
“How’d you find out I was Gloria’s father?”
“Same way you found out—a DNA test.”
“I never gave you a DNA sample.”
“You left your coffee cup at Vicky’s office when we last met. Your DNA was on the cup. You were the logical guy to check after Reynaldo.”
“You know I never intended to sleep with Ramona.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Ike. Ramona is hot as a jalapeño sandwich. You’re a red-blooded man with a history of womanizing.”
He laughed. “Well... maybe it was in the back of my mind. Anyway, Lorraine attended a medical convention in Puerto Rico. I’d have gone with her because I love to deep sea fish in San Juan, but Dad was in the hospital. Ramona and I spent all day with him and we were tired and depressed. She claimed she hadn’t slept well the night before, and she was too tired to drive home.”
“And you, being a gentleman...”
“I drove her home. When we got there, she wanted to cook me dinner to thank me. I protested, of course.” He glanced down to his left where the revolver lay on the floor.
I’d screwed up. I shouldn’t have left Simonetti’s gun on the floor. I couldn’t see it from my angle, but Simonetti could. I debated whether to retrieve the revolver, but I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. My security system was recording his confession.
Simonetti continued. “She said she didn’t get a chance to cook with Dad in the hospital. She told me I’d be doing her a favor. She insisted.”
“Of course she did. And you couldn’t tell a lady no, could you, Ike?”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.” He glanced at the revolver again. “She fixed us mango daiquiris while she cooked. They carry a kick like a mule.” Simonetti managed a laugh, then grimaced with pain. He rubbed his right shoulder. “We had more daiquiris during dinner and Ramona told me how lonely she was in the big, empty house. And how she needed someone she could lean on.”
“She wanted to lean on you,” I repeated.
“That’s what she called it.” He glanced at the revolver again. “Then she said I was too drunk to drive home, and she insisted I spend the night in a guest room. Well, to make a long story short, she slept with me literally and figuratively in the guest suite—three times. A
nd then two more times in the morning before we went back to the hospital.”
“And now you have a daughter to show for it.”
“I still find that hard to believe.” He sighed. “That’s my unfinished business.”
“Okay, what about Gloria?”
“I haven’t thought about anything else for three weeks. I came to tell you she’s my daughter. Gloria deserves the best of everything, including parents.” He glanced over his shoulder and wheeled the chair back a foot on its carpet rollers. I raised the Glock and he held his left hand up. “Just crossing my legs, okay?”
“Okay.”
Simonetti rolled the chair back a little more and crossed his left ankle over his right knee. “I’ve screwed up big time, Chuck, but I don’t want to hurt Gloria.”
“Lorraine is her guardian, legally and as godmother.”
Simonetti gestured with his left hand. “Lorraine always wanted children. Will you look after them?”
“If they need it, I will. But Lorraine and Gloria are fine. Lorraine moved into your Dad’s house. Gloria has the same nursery and nanny she’s always had. And Lorraine is trustee of Gloria’s portion of your dad’s estate, so they have money. In fact, Lorraine’s decided to be a stay-at-home mom.”
Simonetti nodded. “Good for her. No matter what happens to me, I don’t want them to lack for anything.”
“By the way, Ike, buying the mortgage on Turbot’s house—that was a stroke of genius.”
“You found that, huh?”
“I’m the world’s greatest investigator.”
“Once I bought Turbot’s mortgage, I had him by the balls.”
“Did you know he paid Lucas only fifty thousand to arrange the fire in Cleveland?”
“Chump change. Turbot needed the extra money to catch up on his mortgage. I knew I’d get it all back plus a few hundred million for me.”
“Ike, another question. Where did you get the Fentanyl to inject your father?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I had nothing to do with Dad’s death.” He ponderously crossed his legs the other way.
“Ike, we know a hospital janitor stole the Fentanyl. It had to be for you.”
He just stared at me.
“Ike, everything’s coming out into the open now anyway. Just tell me, okay?”
He looked at me for a long while. Finally he shrugged. “Yeah, it’s all hit the fan anyway. A thousand bucks cash to this poor schlub was like a million to me.” He glanced again at the revolver.
At that moment, I knew how this would end. They’d taught us about suicide by cop in police academy. A suspect points a gun at a cop, forcing the cop to shoot him in self-defense. In the movies, the cop shoots the suspect in the leg and doesn’t kill the guy. In real life, you can’t shoot a handgun that accurately. You aim for the center. A torso shot is usually fatal.
I considered how to change the outcome without getting myself killed. I knew I didn’t have much time.
“What happened to the janitor?” I asked.
Simonetti shrugged. “You know, loose ends to tie up.”
“Did the Santorinis handle that too?”
“Yeah, they have connections with the Cuban gangs here. They subcontracted the hit. He’s sleeping with the fishes.”
“How did you connect with the Santorini family in the first place?”
Simonetti shrugged, causing a wince. “Back in the day, Tom Collins used them to arrange accidents in Texas if a landowner wouldn’t sign an oil lease.”
“Accidents?”
“Yeah, you know, a slashed tractor tire, a busted windshield, a cut fence to let cows out of the pasture. Accidents on the farm.”
“And the hypodermic needle to inject the Fentanyl? Where’d you get that?”
“Any pharmacy has syringes. Diabetics use them to inject themselves with insulin, for God’s sake.” He shifted his weight and uncrossed his legs.
He took a deep breath and dropped to the floor between his chair and my desk. The chair rolled back, slowed by the carpet, and banged against the wall.
I figured he’d go for the revolver. He’d killed at least four people and sent four others for me to kill. I knew he’d kill me if he could.
I dove to the floor on my right near the revolver. I pointed the Glock midway between the revolver and the desk pedestal and waited for Simonetti to reach for the gun.
And waited.
I’d made a rookie mistake. I hadn’t checked him for an ankle gun. He could have gone for one, or he could be creeping around the other side of my desk. I scooted back to watch both ends of my desk.
As I waited, I heard my office door open and close. I checked the other side of my desk to make sure it wasn’t a ruse. Simonetti had escaped.
I bolted after him and glanced both ways down the hall. The rear fire door was closing as I ran toward it. I cracked the fire door and checked the hinge gap to make sure he wasn’t lying in wait. I heard the downstairs door open and close. I took the steps three at a time. I hit the door to the parking lot at almost full speed.
Simonetti must have heard me slam the fire door open. Hell, the whole neighborhood would’ve heard it. He stood in the open door of yet another black SUV. He raised his left hand and pointed a gun at me. This time I didn’t hesitate.
We fired simultaneously like we had in the gym parking lot. Simonetti’s gun had a two-inch barrel—worthless beyond five or ten feet. My Glock 17 had a four-and-a-half-inch barrel. My shot hit him in the right shoulder, spun him to his right. He fell backwards and sat heavily on the driver’s seat.
“Drop it,” I shouted as I walked toward him, keeping my aim steady with a two-handed grip. “Don’t do it, Ike.”
He tried to raise the gun again. Call it suicide by private eye.
I squeezed off two more rounds. At thirty feet, the Glock was accurate—I should say ‘dead on.’ The first bullet caught him in the upper chest and knocked him across the seat. His gun fell to the pavement. The second passed through air where his head had been an instant before and shattered the passenger side window.
I approached the open SUV door, kept the Glock trained on him. I kicked his gun away and checked his pulse.
He opened one eye. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “I told you I wouldn’t be arrested.” Then he was gone.
Chapter 71
Uncle Felix carried a fresh pitcher of sangria onto the balcony and refilled Terry’s glass. Then he refilled Janet’s and Snoop’s. He raised an eyebrow at me.
“I’m good.”
He refilled his own glass and set the pitcher on the patio table. “The zarzuela will be ready soon.”
“Zarzuela?” Terry asked.
Felix grinned. “Think of it as Spanish seafood stew.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help you, Felix?” Janet asked.
“I cook the best zarzuela in Mexico, señora. This is my way to thank the gringo for letting me stay here while I handled this Ramona Gamez business. No, you and Terry just sit there and inspire us all with your beauty.”
Terry turned to me. “Is your whole family like this?”
“Like what?”
“You know, romantic.”
“Pretty much all of them on the Mexican side.”
“I’m glad you take after the Mexican side.”
“Oh, my dad is romantic too. After all, I have a sister and two brothers.”
“I’ll drink to that.” And she did.
Felix leaned on the rail. “Nice view, gringo.”
“Do you refer to Seeti Bay or to the ladies?”
He laughed and raised his glass. “Yes.”
Snoop raised his glass toward Janet. “I’ll drink to my lovely wife.” And he did.
My new condo was on the southeast corner and the balcony wrapped around both sides of the unit. We sat on the south balcony and watched the sunset develop. An ocean breeze carried the smell of salt water from the Atlantic, visible from the east side of Port City Beach. A few plea
sure boats swung at anchor on Seeti Bay in a daily ritual of sunset watching.
Felix joined us at the table.
“So, Felix, did you finish examining Ramona’s belongings?” Terry asked.
“Si, chiquita. I found some evidence—emails and such. I’ve arranged to extradite Ramon, so I must return with him to Mexico.”
“It’s a shame you can’t stay longer,” Janet said. “I love your accent.”
Felix favored Janet with his smoothest Latin smile. “I have squandered my vacation days fishing in Acapulco. These days in Port City have been business; they don’t count as vacation. But they have come to an end.”
Terry placed her hand on Felix’s arm. “We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll second that,” said Snoop. “I can smell your zarzuela. I know you’re a better cook than Chuck.”
“Better looking too,” Felix answered. “Changing the subject, how fares the daughter Gloria?”
“She and Lorraine are well,” I answered. “Lorraine inherited Ike’s assets as his widow. Gloria inherited Sam’s estate as his daughter.”
“What about Ike’s assets in the Pacific?”
“Vicky is after them like a hound on a raccoon.”
Chapter 72
Terry and I took the Gator Raider out to celebrate.
This would be our last time on the old boat. I’d used some of my bonus to buy my condo outright and some to order a bigger boat. I hadn’t decided about the rest. My business fluctuates, so I need a cash reserve. And income taxes, of course. I just turned the balance over to my CPA and told him to invest it in something short-term.
We dropped anchor in Seeti Bay about ten in the morning. I set up a table and deck chairs in the shade of the hard top on the rear deck. Terry brought cheeses, crackers, and fruit from the galley.
She set the table and tossed her bikini top on a deck chair, leaned back on a padded bench, and stretched out to embrace the sun. I sat beside her. She clinked her wine glass to mine. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Chuck, you ever wonder what the poor people are doing right now?”
“I’ll bet they’re not admiring a good-looking, sexy sunbather.”
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