by Kyra Davis
Reluctantly I sent her a text telling her to get some sleep. We set our alarms for five a.m. so we could talk and maybe do some more investigating before Alex woke up.
I glanced around my temporary bedroom. It was beautifully appointed with lots of dark leather and mahogany, just like everywhere else in the house. When we had first arrived he made a point of asking if I needed a toothbrush or a bathrobe. I had already packed the former and didn’t need the latter. My room had a bathroom attached to it while Dena was invited to use the bathroom a few doors down. There were a lot of bathrooms in this house. If he ever served bad fish at a dinner party his guests would have no problem finding a private space to be sick in.
I locked my door and then stood by the window in my nightgown and looked out at the grounds. The sky was that dusky black color that allowed it to hide all its secrets.
Where was Anatoly now?
I opened the window so I could feel the cool air against my face. “Are you okay?” I whispered out into the dark. “Are you coming back to me?”
The wind whispered its reply but I couldn’t make sense of it. The air was cold against my cheek. Not at all like a kiss or an assurance. Nothing I could hold onto.
I lay down in the bed. I wanted to feel him next to me. Instead I squeezed one of the extra pillows to my chest and waited for sleep that I pretty much knew wasn’t coming.
An hour passed, then two. A book would have helped. I could have asked Alex for a book. I was sure he was in bed by now, probably asleep. The house had that unnatural quiet that only comes after everyone has retired.
And if everyone was asleep then I should probably be awake looking through his things.
I picked up the gun and stepped out into the hallway. It was pitch black and I didn’t know where the light switch was. I considered knocking on Dena’s door but again decided not to. I owed her a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. I also needed to assure myself that Alex was asleep. If there was even a flicker of light under his door or any sound coming from his room other than snoring I needed to get back to bed immediately.
I knew the way to Alex’s room. I kept my hand against the wall to guide me. As I walked my eyes began to adjust. It felt weird, wearing a light, romantic nightgown, holding a gun and feeling my way around a strange house like a blind man.
I knew when I was close, not because I could really see anything, but because I heard the voices. Alex’s voice…and…and someone else’s. I stood as still as a statue and strained to decipher the words. They were keeping their voices very low so it was hard. I held my breath and tried again. Oh, now I knew why I wasn’t picking up a single word. They were speaking in Spanish, Alex and Margarita.
Well that was hardly a surprise. I knew Margarita was too gorgeous for Alex to resist no matter what he said….except…the tones weren’t right. There was nothing romantic or melodic in their murmurs, in fact, if I had to guess, I’d say she was pretty pissed and he was appeasing and…and nervous. This didn’t sound like a lover’s quarrel. I’ve had enough of those to recognize them in any language. This lacked the note of hysteria and personal pain that was universal to those kinds of arguments. In fact, if this conversation wasn’t taking place in a bedroom in the middle of the night I might have thought it was a boss telling off an employee.
And what was really interesting was that I would have thought Margarita was the boss. I stepped a little closer to the door. I still couldn’t understand the words but the tones…Alex wasn’t just nervous…he was scared shitless.
If I was wrong and this was a lover’s quarrel then I had a lot to learn from Margarita. She owned his ass.
Margarita’s voice was getting easier to hear…but she wasn’t raising her volume. Oh shit, she was getting closer to the door. I jumped into another room and pressed myself up against the wall.
I could hear Margarita’s heels click down the hallway. I waited for the sound of Alex following but it didn’t come. After a few minutes I thought I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, but it was so faint I could have been wrong. A moment later I heard the sound of Alex’s door closing. Two possibilities there, he had walked out of his room and closed the door behind him (I couldn’t think of a good reason to do that unless you were expecting company and the room was a mess) or he had closed himself in, which made more sense. Still, I couldn’t afford to take a chance.
I stood there in the black room, my back pressed flat against the wall and listened as my eyes once again adjusted to the darkness.
Unfortunately the only light was coming from the charcoal sky outside. I could see the outline of a desk and a chair against the window. That was about it. I took a couple of tentative steps forward, my bare feet felt the hardwood floor give way to a softer area rug and I scrunched up my toes against the fibers.
The house was silent again but I knew Alex was still awake. People didn’t just go to sleep after arguments like that.
I could see a little more now. Shapes were coming into focus although the details still belonged to the darkness. When I got to the desk my fingers brushed against the metal of a picture frame resting on top of it. I lifted it up and held it close to my face but I still couldn’t see the people in it…assuming there were people in it. But I didn’t know a lot of guys who had framed pictures of landscapes on their desks. Did Alex have a significant other? An estranged child? Was it a picture of his brother?
Could it be a picture of Fawn?
Unfortunately I had a gun, not a flashlight.
I felt my way around the desk and tried to open one of the drawers. It was locked. That was interesting. Obviously a lock wasn’t going to keep the mafia out so perhaps the person who he was hiding something from was me. I moved my hand to the next drawer. It was shallow and I felt the thin oblong shapes of pens and the cool, metal curves of paperclips. And then I felt something else…a lighter.
I smiled and carefully pulled it out. It took several flicks of my thumb before I got it to light and in the silence every little click sounded like the pounding of a drum. But it did light and I held the small flame up to the frame. I could now make out Alex’s face. The fire gave his green eyes an unnatural twinkle. And standing next to him was a man who looked like a younger version of Alex. He looked youthful and happy. He was leaning into Alex for the picture. Two brothers.
I couldn’t help but notice that Alex’s smile looked a little evil in the firelight.
And then I heard something.
I froze in place, my breath caught in my throat and I let the flame of the lighter die.
It was coming from Alex’s room. It was soft and muffled and…and…mournful.
It was a sob. Alex was crying.
I put the frame back on the desk and fumbled for a moment as I struggled to find the exact spot where I found the lighter in order to replace it. Again my fingers moved over the paperclips. What could make a man who could speak so casually about murder cry? But it wasn’t a question I could ask him. I wasn’t supposed to be here and I had to get out of here and back to my room before he wandered out of his bedroom for a just-need-to-dull-the-pain-cocktail. Unlike some psychiatrists, Dr. Vodka is on call 24/7, ready to medicate.
I found the spot where the lighter belonged and was about to pull my hand away when I felt one more paperclip…this one oddly deformed. That gave me an idea. If I straightened it out could I unlock the drawer? I picked up the weird shaped paperclip but then thought better of it. Maybe I’d have a chance to try in the morning, but not now.
I don’t know why but I held onto that paperclip as I tiptoed out of the room and walked down the dark hallway, the hardwood floor felt almost warm against my feet in comparison to the cool steel in my hand.
And as I crept away Alex’s sobs followed me, providing a soundtrack to the night.
It wasn’t until I was safely in my room that I was able to look at the oddly shaped paperclip by the light of my bedside lamp.
It was a paperclip shaped like a bone…exactly like the
paperclip Dena had put on the strap of my computer case before it had been stolen.
CHAPTER 22
“Stalin and Hitler, John Gotti and Paul Castellano, Darth Vader and the Emperor, when are evil people going to learn to stop trusting each other?”
--Death Of The Party
This time I didn’t hesitate to wake Dena up. I had to call her phone to get her to unlock her door and when she did I discovered she was fully dressed. “I can’t go anywhere in a hurry,” she explained, holding up her cane, “so I figured I’d sleep in my clothes to cut down on my prep time in case of an emergency.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I said as I breezed past her, “and I don’t think Alex would bug his own house.”
“Not even his guestrooms?” Dena asked, yawning. “Does this mean you’re starting to trust him again?”
“He didn’t know we were coming,” I pointed out. “He couldn’t have planned for it. And no, I don’t trust him at all.” I held out the bone paperclip for her inspection.
She took it from my hand and held it up to the light. “So?”
“So you put that on the strap of my MacBook case, remember? I found it in Alex’s office.”
Dena stared at the paperclip. “Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Did you look to see if your MacBook was in his office?”
I shook my head. “I had to get out of there. He’s awake…and Margarita was here…maybe she still is.”
Dena looked up from the paperclip. “Do we need to get out of here?”
“Are you kidding? We’re so close!”
“To what? Getting your stuff back? Are we just going to find it, grab it and make a run for it? I think we’re going to have to come up with a plan that’s a little more subtle.”
“No, no, we’re close to figuring out what’s going on! Alex ordered someone to break into my hotel room. He had my MacBook stolen and I’ll tell you something else, he knows I was at Red Rock Canyon.” I told her about his little slip of the tongue.
“But he didn’t know who you were there with? How is that possible?”
“I don’t--”
“And,” Dena interrupted, her expression thoughtful, “how is it possible that he knew you were in Mary Ann’s room this morning?”
I hadn’t thought of that. I sat down on the bed next to her. “He knows where I am but not necessarily who I’m with…he’s tracking me.”
“With what? You don’t have a car here to put a tracking device on and even if you did you didn’t drive up to Mary Ann’s room.”
“No,” I said quietly, “the only thing I brought up to that room was his gun, my purse and my phone…last time I was here he insisted that I keep my phone in a different room so it couldn’t be used as a recording device.”
“You can put tracking devices on phones, Sophie.”
“Yes, you can.”
Dena and I stared into space for a minute as we mulled this over.
“I think maybe we should leave,” Dena said again. “And leave your phone here.”
“Check your iPad. Find out if Leah sent you the information yet.”
Dena got up and went over to her purse. She seemed a little shaky on her feet but I suspected that was due to nerves rather than any physical disability.
She pulled out the iPad and together we looked over her emails.
There was one from Leah.
She wrote a personal note berating me for not telling her where I was going ahead of time and to tell me that Marcus had a new friend named Bo whom she didn’t like the look of. Then there were the files. I don’t know what I was expecting. Not records of airline tickets to Mexico, that’s for sure. The tickets were all for men with various Russian names and the tickets had been used seven years ago.
“So what?” Dena said aloud, articulating my own thoughts.
“It has to mean something,” I said as I stared at the files. “Where in Mexico is Abraham González International Airport?”
Dena did a quick Google search. “It’s in some little city called Ciudad Juarez.” she tapped a few more keys and stopped. Carefully she put the iPad down on her lap. “It’s known for its drug cartels and extreme violence. It says it’s considered the most dangerous city in Mexico. Sophie, that’s like saying some chick has the most extreme boob job of all the Playboy Bunnies.”
I stared at Dena. I had asked Anatoly why the Russian mafia was coming after him again after all these years. His answer had been “It might not be them…not entirely.”
“It seems there’s been a war between two cartels in the area for years now,” Dena went on. “Between a cartel known as Ángeles de la Muerte and another cartel known as Los Tres Seises.
The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears. “Tres Seises?” I repeated. Margarita’s three diamond circles linked together on her pendant…each circle had six stones.
“It says that Los Tres Seises is one of the many cartels these days that’s run by a woman.”
Anatoly had said that revenge wasn’t enough of a motive for Alex. There had to be more.
“Why are they fighting the Ángeles de la Muerte?” I asked.
Dena typed some more words into Google. “That’s going to be hard to figure out,” she admitted. “It’s not like these guys keep public records of their conflicts…but I assume they’re fighting over the things drug cartels usually fight about. Drugs and who gets to sell them where and to whom.”
“Uh-huh.” Natasha had said there would be a war. “This war between the two cartels,” I said slowly, “when did it start, approximately.”
Dena spent another few minutes searching Google. “Actually I can give you a definitive answer to that. The first truly public and violent battle between the two crime organizations was seven years ago on November 24th. Five innocent people, including a kid, were killed in the crossfire.”
“What’s the date of the return plane tickets Anatoly has on file?”
Dena pulled up the file again. “Not all of the guys who flew in have return tickets but the ones who did return by plane left seven years ago…November 23rd.”
“Dena, I think that file could spark a war between the Russian mafia and Los Tres Seises Mexican cartel...and I think the head of Los Tres Seises was just in this house and is working with Alex.”
Dena looked down at her iPad. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we need to get the hell out of here.”
I took the iPad out of her hands and put it back in her purse. “Get your things together and I’ll be back here in two minutes.”
I went back to my room and quickly traded my nightgown for my jeans and a long sleeved tee. I purposely left my phone by the bedside. When I got back to Dena’s room she already had the duffle bag packed back up. I took it from her and held the gun in my free hand. “Come on,” I whispered.
As quietly as possible we made our way to the stairs. As soon as we were about to descend I heard his voice.
“Sneaking out in the middle of the night?” Both Dena and I turned toward him. He looked surprisingly composed for a man who had been sobbing less than twenty minutes ago.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Look, I don’t know why I came here to begin with.” I glanced at Dena and she nodded at me encouragingly. “I don’t want to find Anatoly anymore so I don’t need your help with that. I can’t sleep and we’ve imposed on you enough.”
“It hasn’t been an imposition.”
“That’s sweet but really, we’re just gonna head out. We’ll find a coffee shop or something to hang out in until we’re ready to head to the airport.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to find Anatoly?”
“I’m sure.” I gestured for Dena to start down the stairs.
“Because I just found out where he is.”
I froze in place, one foot hovering over the descending step. This time Dena shook her head and mouthed the word no. Staying there an extra second wo
uld be exceedingly stupid. But…
“Where?” I asked softly.
“I just got the tip and mapped it out. Here, I’ll show you.” He started back to his bedroom and held the door open for us but we didn’t take a single step toward him.
“Bring it out here to me,” I said warily.
“Come on, I’ve given you all the information you’ve asked for. I’ve ‘fessed up to my role in things and I even gave you that gun you’re holding.”
I looked down at the weapon in my hand. “Is this the gun that killed Tanya?”
Alex laughed. “No, I think that was done with Anatoly’s gun…maybe Natasha’s. But I swear on my brother’s grave that gun was never used in a crime.”
“Sophie, we have to go,” Dena reminded me.
“You’re armed and I’m not, what are you afraid of?” Alex asked, clearly frustrated. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “You know what? Suit yourself. You said you didn’t want to find him anymore so I guess this information is more useful for me then it is for you. Have a safe trip back to San Francisco.”
“Wait!” I called out, finally taking a few steps toward his room.
Dena followed me and grabbed my arm. “Please tell me you’re not this gullible.”
I looked at Alex’s hands. They were empty. He was right, I was armed and he wasn’t. I didn’t think Margarita had come back yet and he was holding open the door to his room…from what I could see there was no one else in it.
And this was Anatoly we were talking about.
“You have two minutes,” I said striding into the room. Dena followed at my heels grumbling the whole way.
“Very well.” Alex went over to his bedside table.
The same bedside table that I had found the other gun in before. “Stop!” I yelled holding my gun up. I cocked it, ready to shoot.
But he didn’t wait. Perhaps he didn’t think I would do it? In a second he had that drawer open and the other gun was in his hand but I didn’t give him time to turn around.
I pointed the gun at his back and pulled the trigger.
There was a very brief flash that came from the barrel followed by a touch of smoke…but very little sound. Alex turned around, his own gun now pointing at Dena and me.