CHAPTER NINETEEN
The rental car stopped in front of the Hickok Road Bed and Breakfast in Valdosta, Georgia. Sal, the driver, looked across the street at the empty field. Future Site of The PaLargio South was written on a freestanding billboard. Then he looked at the B & B. He shook his head. “We’re dealing with fools,” he said.
Reno, in the backseat, and Tommy, on the passenger seat, looked at him. “What do you mean?” Tommy asked.
“Look at this rathole. How could they ever think they could compete against a high-class brand like the PaLargio? Only a fool would think that.”
“A fool,” Reno said, “or a psychopath. My money’s on the psychopath. So stay on your guard.”
They all got out of the rental car in their business suits and business shoes, looking all business as they walked across the graveled parking lot, and then entered the front door.
The stench, of what smelled like wet carpet and dog odor, met their nostrils as soon as they entered. The walls were dingy. The front desk counter had peeling paint. It was a dump in the first degree.
Sal and Reno looked at each other. “Psychopath my ass,” Sal said. “My money’s still on fool.”
The lady behind the counter, a silver haired old lady with a big smile, stared at them as they approached. Reno and Sal placed Tommy in front. He knew how to finesse it. He knew how to get good intel without offending old ladies and children. Reno and Sal did not.
“Welcome to the Hickok,” the woman said as the men approached. “Do you have a reservation, sirs?”
“No, ma’am,” Tommy said with a smile of his own. “We’re actually looking for someone. We’re looking for a Miss Sylvia Nathan.”
“Oh,” the older woman said, surprised. “Why that would be me, young man. How may I help you?”
Reno moved up beside Tommy. Sal started looking around in case she was lying. “You’re Sylvia Nathan?” Reno asked her.
“That is correct. May I help you?”
Reno had expected Sylvia Nathan to be the wife, and possible accomplice. “So you’re Joe Nathan’s . . . what’s it? His mother?”
“That is also correct.” Then she exhaled. “Oh, dear. What has he done now?”
Reno and Tommy glanced at each other. “What do you mean?” Tommy asked.
“Well dressed gentlemen like yourselves would not be interested in finding my son unless my son owe you money, fooled around with your wives, or did something else equally disgusting.”
Tommy smiled. “You may have a point. Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t heard from that boy since he left here nearly three weeks ago.”
“He’s a truck driver, right?”
“Yes. A truck driver with big dreams. He plans to retire from the road and turn this place into a truck stop hotel and café. That’s why, if I had to guess, I’m guessing he owes you money.”
“He’s a dreamer, is he?” Tommy asked.
“A delusional dreamer,” she said. “He gets ahead of his station. He doesn’t want to be a trucker for the rest of his life. It’s a comfortable living, isn’t it? But he doesn’t want that. He wants to be a millionaire. And only this place, he believes, can make him rich.”
“By turning it into a truck stop hotel and café?” Tommy asked.
“Right,” Sylvia said. “And it wasn’t just a pipedream. He was on his way to getting approved for a bank loan and everything.”
“Oh, yeah?” Reno asked. “What changed?”
“The PaLargio South,” she said and all three men looked at her. “Once the bank found out that the PaLargio was coming to town, and it was going to be located right across the street from us, they pulled the loan. The PaLargio was out death nail, they told my son.”
Reno exhaled. Now he understood. “So where is he now?” Sal asked. He knew where. He wanted to see if she knew where.
“Last I heard from him he said he was heading to Seattle for some job there. He said he was going to work for some trucking company for the time being. Until he could regroup, I guess, and reconfigure his dream. I guess that’s why he wanted to go so far away.”
“You didn’t ask him why?” Tommy asked her.
“I asked him, but he told me to mind my own business. Same thing he always says.”
“So you don’t know where he is right now?” Reno asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” she said.
Good, Reno thought. That meant his men had disposed of the body exactly right. He’d be discovered, they weren’t completely heartless, but they didn’t want the bodies to pile up and the police to start asking too many questions before their mission was accomplished. And until they caught those two shooters, in Reno’s eyes they hadn’t accomplished a damn thing.
He pulled out two photographs of the two shooters and handed both pictures to Sylvia. “Do you know these guys?” he asked her. “We think they’re friends of Joe’s.”
The pictures were cropped to avoid showing the guns the two men were firing, but Sylvia didn’t notice any cropping. “This one I don’t know,” she said, handing back one of the photos. “But this one I do indeed know.”
Sal stood erect. Reno and Tommy looked at each other. It was music to their ears. “Who is he?” Reno asked.
“His name is Owen,” Sylvia said. “I’m afraid I don’t know his last name, but he’s Joe’s ex-wife’s cousin. He used to be a police officer here in town before they kicked him off the force. Now he runs that Laundromat over on Lowly Street. And you’re right, he and Joe are friendly. They were really close once upon a time. They were always getting into some kind of unsavory dealings together.”
Reno could have kissed that old lady. Finally they were taking this baby home.
Reno stepped out of the rental car and headed inside the Laundromat. Sal stepped out and headed for the back of the building, while Tommy got out and followed Reno. They could see through the blinds that the only person in the facility was sweeping up in the far back. And they recognized him. Reno’s heart began to race with anticipation when he saw the shooter’s face as they entered the Laundromat.
Tommy began to search out any cameras so that he could disable them and remove any film, while Reno headed for Owen.
“We’re closing,” Owen said. “You’re have to come back tomorrow morning.”
When he looked up from his sweeping, he saw Reno walking fast toward him, with his gun drawn and pointing at him. He dropped his broom and held up his hand.
“We don’t keep any money onsite, sir. Not a dime. The owner already did his pick-up. You’re robbing the wrong place.”
“Does it look like I need to rob this shithole?” Reno asked him. “Or does it look more likely that I’m here to rob you?”
“Who are you?”
“He didn’t tell you? He didn’t school you on who it was you decided to execute?”
Reno stood toe to toe with him. Owen saw Tommy up front, knocking down the camera. Tommy then headed outside, to take care of the camera out there and any in the vicinity. But Owen’s eyes didn’t follow the man taking out any camera. They stayed on the man with the gun.
“What do you want?” Owen asked him.
“Answer my question. You don’t know who I am? Joe didn’t tell you who it was you decided to execute?”
“You’re her husband?” Owen asked.
“That’s right, Owen,” Reno said, glad to see this man wasn’t going to try and bullshit him. “I’m her husband. I’m that guy. You tried to rob her of her life. Now I’ve got to rob you of yours.”
Reno slammed him repeatedly across the face with the butt of his gun, opening a gash, and causing Owen to fall to his knees, yelping in pain.
Reno knelt down to him. “But you didn’t do that to my wife, did you? You didn’t hit her. You didn’t knock her down. You went in for the kill. You showed no mercy and tried to murder her on the spot.”
But Owen was shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, as he stared at the barrel
of Reno’s gun. “It’s Joe Nathan you want.”
Reno hesitated. He gave in this easily? What a rat, he thought.
“Joe Nathan?” Reno asked.
“He’s the one behind everything. He’s the one you want. I was just . . . I was just doing a job.”
Reno’s jaw tightened at the thought of this prick referring to shooting Trina as just doing a job. “Doing a job. That’s what it was, officer? You used to be a cop, right? You used to be a law enforcement officer? Now you’re a killer. A cop turned killer. And you’re trying to turn me into a cop killer. But I don’t like that title.”
Owen saw hope. He was in pain, but he was grasping at hope. “You don’t?”
“No. I don’t like it. So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll spare your life, Owen.”
More hope. “You will?”
“I will. Because you’re right. I want Joe Nathan. I want you to tell me everything, and I mean everything you know about why Joe wanted you and what’s his name . . .”
Reno waited. He was playing Owen like a fiddle, but Owen didn’t know it.
“What’s his name?” Reno asked again.
“What’s whose name?”
“The other shooter,” Reno said.
“Oh! Aaron Grudd,” Owen said.
Reno’s eyes became hooded with lust. Bloodlust. This was the fucker who tried to kill his wife, and he just named the other fucker. “Where’s Aaron?”
“What do you mean?”
“What the fuck do you think I mean, Owen? Where is he?”
“I don’t know where he is! He’s home, I guess.”
“Where’s home? Here in Valdosta?”
“Tifton.”
Reno frowned. “What the fuck is Tifton?”
“It’s further up 75. It’s a town.”
“Where does he live in Tifton?”
“In a trailer off Old Spice Road. The only trailer back there.”
By giving up that intel, Owen had just signed his death warrant and didn’t even know it. “So tell me,” Reno said, “what was Joe Nathan’s motive. And if you lie to me you will not be spared.”
Owen swallowed hard again. “He wanted to make sure that the guy who’s going to open up that new hotel across from his mother’s Bed and Breakfast was so grieved and so torn up by events that he’d change his mind. He was obsessed with it. He saw that new hotel as the beginning of his end for him. He was certain that if the PaLargio opened, his future plans would be over. And he had big plans for that B & B. Major plans. And he saw the PaLargio as too much competition standing in his way. He figured he couldn’t kill the owner. A smart cop could implicate him. But he could kill the owner’s wife and get away with it. Especially if he found somebody else he could pin it on.” Owen was crying now. He could sense impending doom. “That was the plan anyway.”
“But she didn’t die. My wife didn’t die.”
Owen nodded. “I know. But the plan was for her to die. Joe went to Vegas and rented an apartment there. He asked around about the owner’s wife. He followed her. Then he found out she was tight with the owner of a trucking company, and he was a trucker with a lot of experience, so he saw it as fate. He saw it as a way to create a plausible alibi.”
“How would that give him an alibi?”
“He can say that the owner of the trucking company hired him to find some shooters. That she betrayed his wife. They wouldn’t want him. They’d want the big fish. He asked around and asked around and then he got an interview, and then he got the job. He was well experienced, so that was easy for him. He knew he had to act before the paperwork on the new PaLargio was finalized. So he discovered that the woman was going to a trucking convention, he called in sick and followed her there. They talked, although she didn’t realize that he worked for her, and she mentioned the fact that she was heading to Vegas next. He asked if she was going to hit the casinos and she said no. She was going to some nightclub called Scrolls and she was going with the wife of the owner of the PaLargio. Bingo. He felt as if he had just struck gold. Then he followed her to Vegas. He already had an apartment there.”
“But how could he point the finger at her?”
“Because we couldn’t start shooting until she made some kind of movement that he could claim proved that she was in on it. She wasn’t in on shit, but we had to wait until she got up to use the restroom, or did something. Then she bent down, to pick something up from the floor, and that was when I called it. It was time to strike. So we did our job. We did what Joe paid us to do.”
Reno nodded his head, and then stood up. Owen, still in pain from that pistol whipping, looked up at Reno. Reno began walking around him. Owen followed his every step. But when Reno continued to walk around him, he became too anxious to remain silent.
“What are you doing?” he asked Reno.
“I’m sparing your life,” Reno said. He walked around him one more time. And then another time. “Okay,” he said. “It was spared. Now payment for what you did to my wife has come due.”
“No!” Owen screamed as Reno grabbed him by the catch of his shirt and all but dragged him to the largest washing machine in the Laundromat. He opened the huge door, and despite protests and struggling from Owen, tossed him inside. Then he slammed the door shut and locked it.
Because of the round, see-through door of the machine, Reno could see Owen’s body scrunched in the confined space, and his face pressed hard against the mirrored door. Then Reno found some detergent, poured it into the top dispenser, put the money in, and turned the machine on.
Owen’s body began to go around and around and around. The water was filling up. The suds were coming in force. And Owen was screaming and kicking and fighting. But the blades began to cut into him. And soon, the white of the soapsuds turned red. And then there was no more banging, and no more fight. Because it was over for Owen.
It was a horrible death.
Reno was not a man who took satisfaction in killing. But he took satisfaction in this. Because he saw Owen’s eyes. Owen had seen the terror in Trina’s eyes when that first bullet sailed into her body and he didn’t give a fuck. Now Reno saw his terror. And he didn’t give a fuck either.
He left. The machine began to overflow like a river of red blood. But Reno didn’t look back.
Aaron Grubb got out of his pickup truck with his beer can still in his hand. He didn’t see the rental car because it was behind his house in the woods. Talk about seclusion, Sal thought, as he and Tommy sat in that hidden car. But they could see Aaron. They phoned Reno. Reno’s phone was on vibrate.
“He’s home,” Sal said.
“About time,” Reno said.
Aaron stood on the porch of his single-wide, rundown trailer, drank the last of his beer, and then tossed the can in the yard with the other beer cans in the yard. Then entered his home. As soon as he turned on the light in the pitch dark room, Reno greeted him.
Aaron nearly pissed in his clothes when he saw that he had an intruder, but he had no time to react. Because Reno gave him no time. All he needed was for that light to come on and he could I.D. that face. Owen was the front shooter. He was the one who argued with Trina and led the massacre. But Aaron was the back shooter and was right there with him, and even got off more rounds from what Reno could see on that video. For Owen it was a job. For Aaron it was a sport. He enjoyed it more.
And Reno had a good time with him. He threw him to the floor and began kicking him like a dog. Then he got on top of him and began beating him down. He spared no aggression. He punched and punched and punched himself into exhaustion. He beat him so decisively that Aaron was nearly unconscious by the beating alone.
Then, when he had no strength to take another swing, he stood up. And pulled out his gun. “You picked the wrong one, Grubb,” he said. “The absolute wrong one.”
And then Reno riddled Aaron’s body with bullet holes. Aaron jerked and jerked, fighting against his own fate, until he had no fight left. And was gone.
Reno stood there. S
taring at Aaron’s lifeless body. Thinking about how powerful he must have felt when it was Trina on that floor, fighting for her life, and almost fading away too. Reno shot him again, and then again, and then again. As insurance. There would be no heroics this time. There would be no surgeries that could repair this man. They came to a gunfight with a knife. Sal was right. They were fools.
Reno stepped over Aaron Grubb, and got out of there too.
When they returned to Vegas, after notifying the Vegas crew that all of the business had been handled and the threat was gone, Jimmy and Val returned home. Gemma and Sal returned to their home. And Trina was able to go out onto her bedroom balcony for the first time since that night, and take in fresh air.
When Reno and Tommy arrived at the penthouse, Reno found her out there.
He sat down beside her, and took her hand. Trina continued to stare up into the clouds. It was a nice day.
“I heard you took care of it,” she said.
“You heard right,” he said.
“Not one of those wonderful individuals alive?”
“Not one,” Reno said.
There was a time when that would have broken Trina’s heart. Not this time. She nodded. “Good,” she said.
“Grace wasn’t involved at all. It was all a scam cooked up by the leader of this ragtag to throw us off. They wanted disruption.”
“Of course,” Trina said. “Although, in Grace’s case, they may have succeeded.”
“What do you mean?”
“Grace left.”
Reno looked at her. “She left?”
“She took the baby and headed back to Seattle.”
Reno frowned. “But why wouldn’t she wait on Tommy? Jimmy didn’t tell her we were on our way?”
“Yes. He told her. But I believe that’s why she left.”
Reno let out a harsh exhale. There were always casualties. The one you expected, and the ones you never did. “How long ago since she left?” he asked Trina.
“Not long. She’s probably still at the airport.”
Reno jumped up, ran back into the penthouse, down the hall, and into the guestroom Tommy was sharing with Grace.
Mob Boss Eleven- The Wrong One (The Mob Boss Series Book 11) Page 16