Jay Giles

by Blindsided (A Thriller)

  Julian smiled, handed Nevitt an envelope. “That’s a court order. If you don’t deliver complete financial records to me in two weeks, you’ll he held in contempt. If my CPAs tell me something—anything—is missing, I’ll go back to Judge Bruegger and you’ll do thirty days.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Nevitt repeated. “You can’t—”

  Tansky had started packing up her files. She paused. “I’m afraid he can, Mr. Nevitt. The only way to not comply would be to settle now. Do you want to try and negotiate?”

  “No, we don’t,” Nevitt sputtered.

  Julian stood. “Two weeks, Nevitt. If anything’s missing, I will have your ass thrown in jail.”

  Nevitt, face red, jaw jutting, got up, glared at Julian. “Think you’re so smart. You’re not. You’re only making things worse.”

  I felt like cheering as I watched him leave the room. It was the first time I’d seen Nevitt off balance. “Can you really get him thrown in jail?”

  Tansky chuckled under her breath.

  “Probably not,” Julian said. “But he can’t know that for sure. Might make him a little more motivated to cooperate.”

  Tansky stood, clicked her briefcase closed. “I believe I’m finished here.”

  Julian walked her out. I stayed. There were things I wanted to know. When Julian came back, I asked, “If we find something in these financial records, can’t we get this whole thing dismissed?”

  Julian smiled. “The proverbial smoking gun. That sort of thing?”

  Okay, so it was wishful thinking.

  He shook his head. “They’re not going to turn over anything incriminating. Nevitt’s too shrewd to do anything that self-destructive. Meanwhile, though, we’ve bought ourselves a little time.”

  Time. I looked at my watch. I had a lot to do before I met Tory for tonight’s A.A. meeting. I stood, walked over, shook Julian’s hand. “Great job. Keep after them. I’ve got to run.”

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?”

  “Just business.”

  “I don’t believe it,” he said, smiling.

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t sure I believed it, either.

  Chapter 32

  I’d arranged to meet Tory at Columbia, a restaurant on St. Armand’s Circle. I was sitting at the bar with a really good glass of wine, making notations on my Blackberry, when she arrived. She took the stool next to mine, shook her head. “How can you drink before an A.A. meeting? Don’t you feel guilty?”

  After what I’d dealt with that day, I felt I deserved a glass of wine. I gave her a big smile. “Not at all.”

  The bartender arrived. “What can I bring you?”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, pointing to my glass.

  “Very good,” he nodded and headed to the bar.

  “Talk about two-faced,” I chided her.

  “Yeah, whatever.” She shrugged off my criticism with a smile. “I’ve had a hard day. I looked at the financials of everyone at Merrill Lynch. Do you know how long that took?”

  I shook my head.

  “Eight tedious hours.” Our waiter arrived, placed her glass in front of her. She looked up. “Thank you.” To me, she said, “Do you know what I found?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Zip. Zero. Zilch.”

  “Any luck connecting somebody to Nevitt?”

  She took a sip of her wine, shook her head. “I’ve got a few things left I want to check. But so far—nada.” She took a deep breath, blew out. “Then there’s Frankie. The man’s a constant interruption. He wanted direction on what to do in every situation. If he takes her to dinner, where should he go, how should he pay?”

  “Did you tell him to use the credit card?” I’d arranged for a credit card tied to the Merrill Lynch accounts he was supposed to have in Detroit.

  “Yeah. But then he wanted to know if there was a limit on what he could spend. You know, don’t order an entrée over $12.00. That kind of thing.”

  “What you’re telling me is Frank Ford the multi-millionaire is a tightwad. That plays, I guess.”

  “Anally-retentive tightwad,” she corrected me.

  “So is the anally-retentive tightwad primed to ask the loose woman out to dinner tonight?”

  She laughed. “This is serious.”

  “I know.”

  She took another sip of wine. “She intimidates him. He is so off balance, he doesn’t know what to do.” She shook her head. “He ends up saying whatever pops into his head. So far that’s worked out okay. Will he ask her out to dinner? I think he’ll blurt it out at some point, yes.”

  I shook my head. There was no telling what else he might blurt out either. “On that cheery note, I suggest we order another round so we’re fortified for this evening’s festivities, or lack thereof.” I held up my hand and signaled the bartender.

  We ended up ordering another round of drinks and dinner. It turned out to be a very pleasant meal. We didn’t talk business, just made small talk. Movies. Florida. Sports. Likes. Dislikes. I don’t know whether it was the wine or thinking about something other than my sorry situation, but I actually relaxed for a few minutes. Still, one eye was on my watch. I made sure we got to the A.A. meeting on time.

  Fish was in his usual seat in the front row. Janet was in her usual seat halfway back. However, there was a guy sitting next to Janet with his arm around her shoulder. Every so often, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,” Tory said quietly as we found seats in the back.

  “It looks bad enough to scare Fish off. Romeo there is practically kissing her neck.”

  As the meeting continued, he rubbed her shoulder, fiddled with her ear, hugged her to him. She didn’t return his attention, but she didn’t smack his hand, either. Fish may have known what was going on between the two of them. He didn’t get up to speak; he just sat there, hunched over, staring straight ahead. I sat slouched down, dejected, waiting for the meeting to end and Janet to jiggle and wiggle out with her new lothario. The end, mercifully, came quickly. The bearded guy closed the meeting.

  People stood, milled about. A few headed for the door.

  I watched Janet. She and lover boy stood. He was talking to her, a smirk on his face, his hand on her upper arm, guiding her down the aisle. That was it. I looked over at Fish. He was still sitting there motionless.

  “‘Atta girl,” I heard Tory say under her breath.

  I looked back to see what had happened. Janet had shaken off lothario’s hand, and they were having words. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but the annoyed expression on her face spoke volumes. He tried taking her arm again. She pulled it back angrily. There was another verbal exchange I couldn’t catch; Janet walked away from him. He went the other direction, toward the door. I did catch one word. “Bitch.”

  As he passed where we were sitting, Tory leaned over to me and whispered, “Look at the comb-over on that guy. Yech.”

  He was money, though. Neatly-tailored designer clothes. Kissy sandals. Flashy jewelry. Facelift. Should have spent a little more and joined the hair club for men.

  I turned my attention to where Janet had headed, spotted her up front with Fish. She was talking, explaining probably. Fish was nodding. She finished. They both smiled.

  “Yes,” Tory said as we watched them leave together.

  We ducked out ahead of them and hurried to the car. As we got closer, something about the Saab looked wrong. I walked faster. The closer we got, the more apparent it became. The convertible top had been slashed, leaving a huge hole. Strips of canvas dangled into the passenger compartment.

  “How awful,” Tory said.

  I studied the damage, noticing the slashes were all at angles. That’s when the ah-ha hit. “Wilder did this,” I said angrily. “These slashes are in the shape of a “W.” He cut his initial so we’d know it was him.”

  Tory shivered. “Let’s get out of here.”

 
I couldn’t drive with the strips blocking my vision. I had to put the top down. The torn top folded awkwardly. It took me three tries to get it so things weren’t hanging out, flopping around.

  I raced to Starbucks, trying to make up lost time. When we arrived, I didn’t see the red Mercedes parked outside, Fish or Janet inside.

  “They couldn’t have finished that fast,” Tory said, peering into the shop.

  “Is there another coffee place around here?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “There used to be. Starbucks put them out of business.”

  I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “Damn.”

  She looked over at me. “Don’t get frustrated. Let’s think where else they might have gone.”

  I pulled the car to the curb, put it in park. “Bar? Restaurant? His place? Her place? There aren’t that many places they can go.”

  “There’s a restaurant two blocks down. We can see if they went there. The car should be easy to spot.”

  I put the Saab in gear, pulled away from the curb. They weren’t at that restaurant, nor were they at any of the other six places we tried before we gave up and drove to the Sovereign to wait for Fish’s return.

  Up in the condo, Tory got two beers from the refrigerator, handed one to me. “You look like you could use this.”

  I handed it back to her. “I don’t like beer all that much.”

  “I do,” she smiled and used a bottle opener to pop the top.

  We waited in the living room. Tory got comfortable on the sofa, took off her shoes, surfed the TV. I paced. “Sit down,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’m too wound up. I can’t sit.”

  “Just ‘cause we don’t know where Frankie is?”

  That and the convertible top and Wilder and the meeting tomorrow and—

  “Look,” she said. “It’s only nine-thirty. He’s a grown adult. He might not come home until midnight. If he gets lucky he might not come home until morning. You can’t pace all that time.”

  I continued to pace.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Come here and sit down. Let me rub your shoulders.”

  I stopped pacing. “I’m all nerves tonight.”

  “Sit right here,” she pointed to a spot on the sofa.

  I sat. She kneaded my shoulders. It felt good.

  “Jeez, no wonder you were pacing. You’re one solid knot.”

  I laughed.

  Fish picked that moment to walk in. “Whoa,” he said and leered. “Don’t let me interrupt you; I’m just going to get a beer and go in the other room.”

  I sprang up. “You’re not interrupting,” I told him. “We were waiting for you, couldn’t find you after the meeting.”

  He sauntered into the kitchen and got a beer from the refrigerator. “She didn’t want to go for coffee. She wanted to get something to eat. We went to a place called Jewel’s. Not bad. Pricey. But not bad.”

  “If you guys had dinner tonight, did you ask her out for tomorrow?” Tory asked.

  Fish came out of the kitchen, chugged his beer, burped. “I’ll have you know we’re spending the afternoon together tomorrow. I’m picking her up at three o’clock; we’re going to go to Mote Marine Lab and look at the fish. Stupid, if you ask me. But that’s what she wanted to do. Then we’re going to get something to eat at the Chart House. They got a band.” He took a big drink. “She wants to stay and dance.”

  “Dancing. Way to go, Frankie,” Tory said enthusiastically.

  He shook his head sadly. “Her idea. Not mine. I told her I don’t dance.”

  “Lot of holding and touching when you’re dancing,” Tory pointed out. “I think you’re going to enjoy it.”

  “I’ll enjoy the holding and touching part,” Fish said, his sad sack expression betraying no emotion. “Not the rest of it.”

  “What time are you going to get there for dinner?” I asked.

  His shoulders twitched. A shrug. “How long can it take to look at a bunch of fish? Bet we eat early. Six, maybe.”

  “You’re doing great—”

  “Yeah. You’ll be in the sack in no time,” Tory said with a smile.

  Fish turned red. “I need another beer.” He turned and went back in the kitchen.

  “We need to go,” I said to Tory.

  “Okay.” She put her shoes back on, got up. “I’m ready.”

  “Good luck tomorrow,” I said to Fish as we headed out the door. “We’ll catch up afterwards, see how it went.”

  On the ride down in the elevator, I asked Tory, “What do you think about this dinner and dancing thing?”

  “Sounds like a woman with a plan. She’s moving things along.”

  The elevator reached the ground floor, the doors opened. “That’s what I’m thinking,” I said, agreeing with her. We walked to the Saab, and I drove her back to the Circle where she’d left her car. On the way, I let her know I was going to meet with Raines in the morning.

  She looked over at me. “You want me to go with you?”

  “No. I’d rather have you concentrate on the Merrill Lynch/Nevitt connection.”

  She groaned. “I didn’t realize you were such a slave driver.”

  I chuckled, pulled the Saab into a space next to her car. “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon; how’s that?”

  “I may have died from carpal tunnel by then.” She grinned, got in her car, and drove away.

  I drove home, worked out in the gym for an hour, took a shower, read for a little bit, went to bed. Unfortunately, although I was tired, I was also wound up. Too worried to fall asleep.

  Everything hinged on what Raines had to say the next morning.

  Chapter 33

  At the dry dock office, I asked for Mike. He turned out to be a short wiry man wearing a wife-beater, faded swimming trunks, flip-flops. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. “Paul told me you was comin’. Boat’s ready,” he said, flicking his cigarette away.

  I followed him out to the docks and a small fishing boat. He untied the lines, indicated I should get in. He jumped in after me, started the motor, guided us out into Sarasota Bay.

  I wanted to ask where we were going, but the engine noise made talking difficult. I sat back, tried to enjoy the ride. We crossed the bay, ran north to Bradenton. Mike slowed the boat for a no-wake zone, entered a waterway, pulled up to a private dock. He nodded at the house. “Paul’s inside.”

  I got out of the boat, started up to the house, hesitated. “Are you going to take me back?”

  “Yeah, don’t be all day.”

  I walked up to the back door, knocked, looked in. It was the kitchen of someone’s home. Paul opened the door. “C’mon, in.” He led me to the kitchen table. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.” I took a seat.

  He poured two cups from a Mr. Coffee, handed me one, sat across the table from me. “Why aren’t you a thousand miles away from here?” he wanted to know.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Life is never that simple. Survival is.”

  I gave him the Reader’s Digest version of why I didn’t want to go; he shook his head.

  “You should leave,” he said when I finished. “You can start over someplace else.”

  “I may do that.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Couple of things I’d like to know first.”

  He nodded.

  “You said Enrico and his nephews were coming to town. When exactly? Is this a special visit? Do they come often?”

  His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. He looked like he was going to clam up on me.

  “Please. I know it’s sensitive information. I just need to know so I can make my peace with this.”

  His face relaxed a little. He stroked his moustache. “Enrico and his entourage will arrive in seventeen days. It’s a regularly scheduled visit. They come twice a year to review the investments D’Onifrio has made on the cartel’s behalf. The difference this time is that Enrico is going to make his decision. He wants all three
of them present for the announcement.”

  “Do you know where they’ll be staying?”

  “They always stay at the same place, the Colony Beach.”

  Figured. The Colony, just down the beach from me on Longboat Key, attracted the rich and famous from around the world. A contingent of South American businessmen wouldn’t be out of place at all.

  “How long will they be there?”

  Raines took a sip of his coffee. “Their reservations are for two weeks.”

  “How soon after they arrive do you think Enrico will make this announcement?”

  He looked at his coffee cup, frowned. “That’s hard to say. My guess is he’ll want to go over D’Onifrio’s resume with a fine-tooth comb, make sure there’s nothing there that could prove embarrassing. How long will that take?” He shrugged. “If D’Onifrio passes muster, I think Enrico will go ahead, quickly make the announcement. This has been hanging over his head a long time. I think he wants to get it over with.”

  “What would happen if something embarrassing turned up?”

  “Depends on how embarrassing.”

  “Say this stolen three hundred thousand dollars D’Onifrio missed.”

  Raines stroked his moustache, thought.

  I took a sip of my coffee, waited. This was payoff time.

  “You’ve got a couple of factors,” he said finally. “Enrico has already told key advisors on the senior council that he favors D’Onifrio. How invested that makes him, how betrayed he’d feel, I don’t know. I do know that in their culture you don’t make the big guy look bad without suffering the consequences.”

  “What kind of consequences?”

  “Could be anything from demotion to death. Although—even if D’Onifrio embarrassed him badly—I don’t think Enrico would have him killed. You don’t kill somebody who saved your life. The nephews, on the other hand, would kill D’Onifrio in a heartbeat. They’d jump on an opportunity to eliminate a rival.”

  “Which nephew is the bigger threat?”

  He grinned. “Depends on whether you’d rather be shot or have your throat slit. They’re both dangerous.”

  “Let’s say the nephews decided to eliminate him. Would it happen immediately? Would they do it here? Or would they do it in Columbia?”