A chuckle erupted. Hell? Sometime he felt like he was already there. The Boss was crazy and was getting crazier by the day. Frank had speculated that the Boss was dipping into the goods, but Chico figured the crazy came from another kind of dipping. He’d seen his uncle go loco after too many trips to town to visit certain senoritas at the tavern. The place had not been a fine example of good sanitation, and God knows what else the girls had shared besides lice. The Cuban was known to run pretty hot with the ladies and hadn’t always been rich enough to afford the quality he bought now.
Whatever the reason, the Boss’s unpredictable behavior had everyone on edge. Chico would rather have dealt with the woman without running it by him, but Frank didn’t want to make an independent decision. When he thought about it, Chico couldn’t blame Frank. People had died for independent thinking.
Pulling his little black Kia behind the classic Rolls White Cloud, Chico stilled the engine. Maybe in his future life he could afford decent wheels, too.
Before he’d had a chance to step out of the car, two men appeared on the wide wrap-around porch that had pillars supporting an upper balcony. The men wore dark suits, shoes shined to a blinding luster, and Ray-Ban shades. Despite the wardrobe nod to respectability, there was nothing respectable about these two. Chico was well acquainted with their Havana reputation, which boiled down to “don’t fuck with us.”
He didn’t even bother to greet them as they flanked him up the steps and across the porch to the door. The courtesy would have been wasted. Instead, he followed them silently as they opened the double, sculpted wood doors.
Inside, they continued to guide him through the large entry where their leather heels clicked across the Terrazzo floor in a staccato rhythm. Original Picasso’s and Monet’s graced the walls with the same abundance that some people hang posters. The men paused at the doorway to a room that opened on the left and motioned for Chico to enter.
Even though he’d seen it before, the sheer magnitude and opulence of the room still filled him with amazement. His family home in Mexico could have fit in there with space left over. Windows filled one entire wall with lace curtains that swayed in a light breeze. Ornate vases and sculptures sat on pedestals placed precisely around the room like museum displays.
A large teak table dominated the center of a Persian rug that seemed to stretch for miles. The table was empty. The Boss sat at a smaller table in front of a wall of bookcases. He appeared to be contemplating a move on a marble chess set. Lazano, a rotund man in his early thirties, occupied the chair on the other side. Chico remembered meeting the man once before. He was on the same level as Frank and ran the Denton area. It was also rumored that Lazano thought a shared heritage gave him an advantage with the Boss and guaranteed his swift ascent up the corporate ladder.
Solly, who filled a role Chico had never quite been able to put a name to, stood to one side of the table. Hands clasped behind his back, Solly balanced his large frame with his feet slightly apart, his pale, almost Albino-white face impassive. But Chico knew the man was anything but impassive. The bulk inside the finely tailored suit was not fat and the ice-blue eyes missed nothing. Anybody who made the wrong move toward the Cuban might never move again.
Chico kept that in mind as he took a few steps forward. “You wanted to see me, Boss.”
The man didn’t take his eyes from the board. “First I take this guy out. Then we talk.”
Solly gave the other muscle the briefest of nods, and they retreated to the doorway where they assumed statue-like stances. Chico stayed where he was and watched the men at the table. The Boss moved his knight and flashed a triumphant smile at his opponent. “Check.”
Lazano stared at the arrangement of chess pieces for a moment, then reached out. Chico had no idea what the man might do. This was one game he knew nothing about. But he was fascinated with the play of emotions on the man’s face as he looked at the Cuban, looked at the board, then looked at the Cuban again.
Chico didn’t have to know the details of the game to recognize the body language of two bullies playing double-dare. Tension crackled between them, and he saw beads of sweat pop out like blisters on the fat man’s forehead. Behind him, Chico sensed a stir of apprehension in the two goons.
Lazano finally picked up his bishop and started to place it on a square. His hand hovered for a moment, and then he moved the piece in another direction in one swift action. “Checkmate.”
As the word reverberated in the sudden stillness, Chico instinctively took a step backward. The Cuban erupted out of his chair, upending the table and sending the chess pieces tumbling across the white carpeting like miniature acrobats. Lazano appeared frozen in place as the Boss pulled a Walther P5 out of his waistband and shoved the barrel deep into a pudgy cheek. “Don’t. You. Ever. Fucking. Do. That. Again.”
Chico held his breath, sure that if someone made the wrong move or the wrong sound, Lazano’s brains would join the chess pieces on the floor.
After what seemed like hours, the Boss pulled back and tucked the gun away. He patted Lazano on the cheek. “Now be a good boy and clean up this mess.”
Lazano gave a brief nod, and the Boss turned to Chico. “Why do some hombres figure the rules don’t apply to them?”
“I don’t know, Boss. Rules are rules.”
“Good answer.” The Cuban walked over to a portable bar and poured a drink. “What about this broad Frank tole me about?”
“She says she can move some stuff.”
“Not in our territory.”
Chico shook his head. “I was clear on that.”
“What’s her story? She just show up out of the clear blue, or what?”
“She’s been buying for a while. No hassles. No problems.”
“So. You’re going to speak for her?”
Chico swallowed hard. If anything went wrong, it’d be his ass. It’d be safer not to risk his position, and possibly his life, but he hated to pass up the opportunity to add to his stable of pushers. He wasn’t going to get rich if he didn’t expand.
“We’ll start slow. I’ll watch her.”
“You do that.”
The icy tone that underscored the words sent a ripple of shivers up Chico’s back. He’d have to make double sure this bitch didn’t screw him over.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Walking into the entrance of the Harvey Hotel, Jenny glanced at the beautiful sculpture to her left and regretted wearing jeans. The setting was definitely more upscale than Randy’s steakhouse, and she could have at least worn pressed jeans. But at least she wasn’t decked out in leather and chains. She was beginning to hate that costume.
Steve had suggested meeting here because the hotel had several conventions booked, and they could blend into the crowds. Nobody would pay any attention to one more couple having drinks in the lounge. He said the lounge was right across from the registration desk and she spotted it right away. She also saw him sitting at a table at the far wall. He looked comfortably casual in Chinos and a Polo shirt and had a glass of something amber resting on the small table in front of him.
A few other couples sat at various tables scattered throughout the room, with a few singles on stools at the bar. The hum of conversations battled with some country tune on the radio, and a thin layer of smoke battled with the ventilations system.
Jenny wound her way around tables to reach the corner and take a seat across from Steve. “Sorry I’m late. Should have allowed more time to find the place.”
“No problem. I’ve only been here a few minutes.” Steve motioned to the young, blonde waitress who stepped over.
“What can I get you?”
What Jenny really wanted was an ice-cold beer, preferably a longneck, but the setting seemed to call for something a bit more genteel. “Amaretto and coke.”
The girl looked to Steve. “You okay, Sir?”
“Fine.”
After the girl walked back to the bar, he gave Jenny a searching look. “You okay?”
&nbs
p; Jenny broke eye contact, trying to guess how he’d pegged her nervousness that quickly. Maybe because he’s a cop. She almost laughed. Talk about putting her brain on hold.
“It’s just been a little rough.”
“Oh?”
Jenny held her response until the waitress set her drink down and moved off. “Not with the...uh, business. That’s going fine. Although I feel a little slimier every time I meet with them.”
Steve smiled, an action that softened the rough planes of his face and made him almost...Attractive? That is not the kind of thinking you need to be doing right now, girl.
“When I worked narcotics in Dallas I showered so much I was afraid I’d lose a layer of skin.”
The humor provided a welcome diversion and Jenny smiled back.
Steve took a swallow of his drink, then glanced at her. “So what’s wrong?”
His quiet attention was inviting. With all avenues of verbal intimacy cut off, sometimes she felt like she would explode if she couldn’t unload some of the feelings that needed to be shared. But this was professional. She shouldn’t even consider confiding in him the way she’d confide in Carol, or her mother.
“Just the strain of living this double life.” Jenny was careful to keep her tone light. “The kids give me flack. My Mom gets pushy about my carousing.”
“You want to pull out?”
She shook her head quickly. That’s the only thing she was sure about in this whole mess. She did not want to quit. “I can handle the family,” she said. “And I think the bad guys are going to let me move to the next level.”
“I thought the time-line had that happening a few weeks from now?”
“The moment seemed right. I seized it.”
Steve signaled the waitress for another round, and Jenny recognized it as a stalling action. Did he want to yell at her the way Ralph used to for doing something he considered stupid and rash?
She sighed. Don’t go there, girl. You’ve come a long way since that period of extreme doubt. “It was a good call.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t begin to list the risks of going to fast with this.”
“I know. But I also know the huge risk of discovery if this drags on.” Jenny leaned closer and lowered her voice as if even talking about it made her more vulnerable. “It’s not like we’re working in some metropolis. Somebody could blow my cover any time.”
The waitress appeared with the drinks, and Jenny realized she hadn’t even touched the first one. She sat back and watched Steve over the rim of her glass as she took a swallow. He seemed to be conducting an internal debate, a frown pulling his eyebrows together so they appeared to be one continuous brown line. At least he didn’t look angry. Thoughtful, she could take. Anger she still cowered from.
Finally, he set his glass down on the table and met her gaze. “I’m not going to debate the merits of a mother’s instincts as compared to those of a cop. Hell, my mother would kill me if I even insinuated mine were better than hers. But let’s keep a perspective here. I wouldn’t feel confident in your arena, so you shouldn’t be over-confident in mine.”
“Point taken. I won’t push about this.”
“Good.”
They sat in silence for a moment, other conversations humming around them. Jenny watched Steve sip his drink and look around the room, eyes resting briefly on each person. She wondered if he was mentally checking them against Wanted Posters.
“Do you have a family?” Where did that come from? Jenny touched a finger to her lips wishing she could rewind this scene and edit that question out. “I am so sorry. I had no-”
“That’s okay.” He leaned back in his chair, and a hint of amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Just takes a sec to adjust to the sudden conversation shift.”
Jenny covered her nervousness by folding her napkin into a neat little square. “That was a stupid question. Please don’t feel compelled-”
Steve touched her hand to stop her restless fingers. “No worries. I’m not easily compelled to do anything.”
Again his humor eased her discomfort, and she realized that she harbored a wish that the answer to her question was ‘no.’ But then what? You going to ask him if he wants to move in?
That thought spurred another surge of nervousness, and Jenny grabbed her leather purse. “I should go. Spend some time with my kids.”
“And leave the question unanswered?”
The smile lines deepened around his eyes, and she noticed how dark they were in the subdued lighting. Like languid pools... Okay. I am definitely going to have to quit with the romance novels. She glanced away, hoping to keep her unprofessional thoughts from showing.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of a family.” Steve said.
Something about the way he phrased that drew her curiosity. “Oh?”
Now he seemed to have difficulty meeting her gaze, and Jenny wondered what could be causing his discomfort. Not that it was any of her business. But this was very different from the air of confidence he normally wore like a comfortable old jacket.
“Not that I haven’t probably messed up a couple of opportunities,” Steve said, the attempt at humor sounding a bit forced this time. “But...I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I think I’ve been running a bit scared since...”
Not sure how she should respond to his frankness or his hesitation, Jenny used her napkin to wipe condensation off the side of her glass.
He sighed. “I should just shut up so you can go.”
“That’s okay. I mean. I’ve got time. You can talk if you want. Or not.” Way to go. Smother him with words.
“You don’t want to hear the whole boring saga of Steve Morrity.” He hesitated a moment, then emptied his glass in one large swallow.
Jenny waited. Maybe he just had to work up the courage to talk about whatever it was that had him running scared. But he surprised her by dropping a couple of bills on the table and standing. “It would look better if we left together.”
“Oh, sure.” Jenny pushed back her chair, wondering what was was propelling him out the door so fast.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned building, the heat was like a rude slap. What had happened to autumn? This was like August at its worst. But why should she be surprised. Nothing seemed to be happening in anything close to a prescribed manner, including this meeting with Steve. What had ever possessed her to ask such a personal question?
Stopping at her car, she glanced two rows over where he was unlocking a blue Maxima so crusted with street dust it looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. She watched him open the door and slide in, glad for the moment to be distanced from him. It made it easier to think. It also made it easier to remember in which compartment of her life he belonged.
The sun ricocheted off the windshield of an SUV that pulled in, momentarily blinding Jenny. When her vision cleared, she saw his car heading out of the parking lot.
He didn’t look back.
~*~
Steve walked into the station and was hailed by Linda. “The Chief wants us in the conference room ASAP. Some of the Task Force is there, too.”
“Did he say why?”
“No.” She looked at him appraisingly. “You got anything you want to tell me before we go in?”
“Why does it always have to be something I did?”
“Now that’s a dumb question.” Linda smiled to soften the indictment.
Steve led the way down the hall and pushed open the door to the conference room, holding it for Linda to enter. Gonzales sat at the head of the table, Sheriff Tubbs to his right, and the DEA guy, Burroughs, to his left. Gonzales wore a scowl with his three-piece suit. Burroughs looked like he’d gotten his crimson shirt and white blazer from the Miami Vice wardrobe department. Tubbs had his usual khaki uniform with the usual sweat stains seeping out from under his arms. Never failed, summer or winter the man oozed like he had an internal sprinkling system.
“What’s up with our girl,” Gonzales asked withou
t preamble.
“Okay if I sit?” Steve asked.
The Chief made a vague gesture. Steve made a big show of pulling a chair out for Linda, then sat down.
“Last time I was this uncomfortable I was under the screws of Internal Affairs.” Steve leaned his chair back on two legs and regarded the trio of men facing him.
“You been keeping close tabs on this Jasik woman?” The question came from Burroughs.
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