When Hell Freezes Over

by Rick Blechta

  “Somebody in the organization was playing for their own team, know what I’m saying?”

  “Can you tell us more?” Eddie lit a new cigarette from the stub of the old one, which he then stubbed out rather hard. “I’m getting on. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s true. Right, Frank? You and me are on our way out. Anyway, I’m not privy to much that goes on any more. Mastrocolle still calls on me when he wants something special, but day to day? Nah.”

  “So you don’t know what happened?”

  Eddie smiled. “I’m not saying that. I just want you to know that I didn’t see nothin’, know what I mean? I only heard about it.”

  Shannon had forgotten all about her notebook. She was sitting forward, certain that Eddie could deliver the goods.

  “Not having dealt with these Limeys before, they wanted cash from Mastrocolle, so he put his most trusted person on the job. The deal was that the payment would be made here in the States and given to a trusted third party for safekeeping. Then Mastrocolle’s man would go to England to arrange the shipment. When it was on its way, the deal would be concluded. It was a risk, having something go down that far from home, but the old man felt good about it.

  “Problem was, Mastrocolle’s man, the one who arranged the whole thing, had a different idea. He diverted the shipment and substituted sugar. Then he went to collect the payment and managed to sweet talk the third party holding the cash into giving it to him to take to the Limeys—which wasn’t part of the set-up. It would have been a hell of a sweet deal if he had pulled it off. The guy would have walked off with the cash and the stuff.”

  “What went wrong?” Rob asked.

  Shannon felt like kicking him under the table. He knew better than to interrupt when someone being questioned was on a roll, as Eddie clearly was.

  The old hood called for more beer, and it was little wonder that he looked so rough, if this was the amount he normally consumed—before lunch. Shannon reluctantly paid again.

  “Sure you folks won’t have anything? No? Okay, where was I? Yeah. What went wrong...

  “When you want to pull off something like this, timing is everything. You know how this caper got blown all to rat shit? A goddamn better delivery than anyone would have expected! From what I heard, the merchandise should have taken at least a week to get to the States.”

  “So the guy Mastrocolle trusted was still around when the fake shipment arrived?” Rob asked, butting in again.

  Eddie smiled at Shannon, and it made her skin crawl. Fat and old he may have been, but he was still plenty dangerous.

  After pouring his beer, Eddie tipped his glass and drained half. Then, wiping his lips on the back of his hand, he smiled across at Shannon again. “Thanks.” He made a display of gathering his thoughts, maybe as the prelude to asking for some cash for his story. “Yeah, Mastrocolle’s ‘trusted guy’ was still in town when the shipment arrived. Seems his Limey friends were a little too efficient, or actually paid off the right people for a change. I gotta tell you, the ‘package’ must have sailed through security and customs unchecked—at both ends of the trip.

  “As you can imagine, Mastrocolle was not pleased when the switch was discovered, that he’d bought some awfully expensive powdered sugar. So he sent a few of his very trusted men to the guy’s apartment.

  “They were only just in time. Caught the slippery bastard and his know-it-all girlfriend with their bags packed and ready to disappear for points unknown. They were brought to Mastrocolle none too gently, I hear,” Eddie ended with another of his shark-like smiles.

  “Did he have the money?” Shannon asked.

  “Nah. That would have been too much to expect. Also, by this time, the Limeys had discovered they’d also been had and figured it was a double-cross by Mastrocolle. To top it off, the old man couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been double-crossed by the Limeys. It was a frigging mess.”

  “At least Mastrocolle had the brains of the scam,” Rob pointed out.

  Shannon frowned as she thought about what she’d learned about the girl. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  Eddie guffawed. “You’re too smart by half, little lady! It’s obvious now the girlfriend had more to do with the scam than anyone realized. First of all, it was her that found the Limeys to do the shipping.”

  “What happened next?”

  “The usual: bring him in, sheet of plastic on the floor with a chair in the middle. Let him know they really meant business. He knew he was done for, and also that he could make it a lot easier on himself if he spilled his guts. Funny thing is, he never did, and believe me, from what I heard, he got worked over good. Real good.”

  Shannon could feel she was getting close.“So how did your nephew get mixed up in it?” she asked casually.”

  “Like I intimated before, it was a long pair of legs.”

  “How so?”

  “Angelo was told to watch the girl while her guy, Paul, was ‘talked to’. Seems they got a bit cozy in that bedroom while they were waiting. Angelo had a shit-eating grin I should have noticed when I checked on them at one point, but I had other matters on my hands.”

  Shannon noticed Eddie’s slip but let it slide right by. What happened in Mastrocolle’s office wasn’t her business at this point.

  “You mean the girl had been giving herself some ‘other alternatives’ while they were alone.”

  Eddie guffawed again. “I like the way you put that! That’s exactly what happened. She had my Angelo pegged right. Give a fool a taste of honey, and he’ll always want more—especially when it’s good.”

  “Angelo let her get away.”

  “Exactly. She spun him quite a yarn about how she didn’t know nothing. Made arrangements to meet him in Atlantic City.” Eddie shook his head sadly. “Angelo was a complete stunat. There wasn’t nothing I could do for him.”

  Shannon reached into her coat pocket, unfolded the printout of the girl’s image from the security camera at the hotel in Toronto and slid it across the table.

  Eddie suddenly grew very still, and anything in the way of good nature disappeared from his face, as if it had never been there. Shannon saw his hand slide off the table ominously, and it seemed as if the room had grown very quiet indeed.

  The old, fat hood leaned forward, and as the beer fumes wafted across the table, said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “I think you need to tell me where you got this, little lady.”

  Sixteen

  Saturday, a day which should have seen me practising for many hours, instead got spent in time-wasting activities, considerably worsening my mood.

  The previous night, my recurring nightmare had steamrolled my tired brain over and over. It was caused primarily, I suppose, by having spoken with Rolly.

  Around noon, the need for a change of clothes finally pried me from my hotel room. I had the doorman hail a cab. A short ride got me to Stollery’s at Yonge and Bloor. Since it was a Saturday, I knew it would be crowded, and if the bad guys somehow were on my tail, they’d hesitate before coming after me there.

  Forty-five minutes later, with three days worth of new clothes I didn’t need nor want, I had the store call another cab to take me directly back to the hotel. My neck was aching, though, from having to watch my back.

  Periodically, I’d have a room service delivery, but my time was taken up watching a succession of mind-numbing shows on the telly after I’d exhausted the few good movies on the hotel’s pay-per-view.

  Saturday night was no better than Friday: eventually doze off, have bad dream, wake up, eventually doze off, have bad dream, wake up...

  By Sunday morning, after two nights and a day filled with boredom, frustration and almost no sleep, I was near my breaking point. Through it all, I couldn’t see any way out of my mess. I had a business to run, and in only a short time, I’d be front and centre on a rock and roll stage—and life would get even more weird. Unless my luck finally turned, eventually I’d be run to ground by those after me. It was a pretty bleak pr
ospect.

  Shannon finally rang my cell at ten a.m.

  “Michael? Where are you?”

  “Trapped in a hotel room and getting bloody desperate!”

  “Well, for once you made a good decision about something.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  I could hear the tap, tap of a computer keyboard in the background. “Well, for instance, I’m checking on the cameras in your apartment right now, and if you’d been dumb enough to be home the past two nights, you would have entertained guests. Let’s see, last night they came around three a.m. Two of them...no, all three. I’m watching them plant two bugs, one in the living room and another in your bedroom. Pretty clumsy, too. Using the inside of a lamp shade went out in the sixties! Oh-ho! You’ve also got a bug on your phone.”

  “Bloody lovely.”

  Shannon finally twigged to the disgust in my voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t appreciate having to live my life this way, hiding out in some hotel room.”

  “I understand your frustration, but I have been making progress.”

  “Will it give me back my life?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then what bloody good is it?”

  “Michael, that’s being rather unfair. I’m doing pretty well, considering what we had to go on.”

  I got off the bed, walked over to the window and looked out at snow falling in big, lazy flakes. “You’re right. I’m behaving like a prat.”

  “Look, I have a lot to tell you. Do you have some time later on in the day?” She sighed. “Sorry. Dumb question.”

  “When can you come and spring me?” I answered dryly.

  “That bad?”

  “Yes, that bad.”

  “I have reports for a couple of other cases to look over and phone calls to make after that, and I also promised to take the kids out to breakfast, but I should be able to make it down to you by midafternoon. Is that okay?”

  “Just get me out of here for a few hours!”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Look, what harm can it do if we just drive around? Bring a gun or even a rocket launcher for all I care, if you think the bad guys will give us a hard time. I just cannot stay here much longer without going bloody mad. Call when you’re near the hotel, and I’ll wait in the lobby. No one will bother me there. I’m at the Four Seasons on Yorkville.”

  At five minutes after four, I hurried out the entrance and jumped into Shannon’s waiting SUV , feeling a bit of a fool and sure that everyone could see how jumpy I was.

  She had on a pantsuit which looked much more businesslike than her usual jeans, sweater and ski jacket. “I had to see a client I’ve left hanging a bit too long.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  She shrugged. “That’s how it is sometimes.” We turned up Avenue Road. “Where to?”

  “Anywhere. I’m just happy to be out of that hotel room.” I sat back with a sigh. “You said on the phone that you’d made progress.”

  She zoomed ahead to make it through the light at Davenport. “Yup.”

  “So you know where the girl is?”

  “Well...no. But I do know a lot more about her.”

  “Tell me—and don’t spare the details. I want to know everything about the person who stuffed my life into a blender and hit frappé.”

  Shannon snorted as we charged up the big hill towards St. Clair.

  Her monologue lasted for a good hour, during which we wandered all over the Forest Hill neighbourhood, then up the Allen Road to Highway 401 before circling around to the bottom of the city via the 427 and Gardiner Expressway.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said when she’d finally finished, “you’re not even sure the girl is American, Canadian, French Canadian or Italian? She sounds like a damned chameleon!”

  She nodded in agreement. “That’s exactly what she is, Michael. I’m finding it impossible to tell where the truth stops and the lies begin.

  I’m sure you’ve noticed that parts of what that hood in New York told me sound like the story she fed you. She got away by, um, talking one of Mastrocolle’s stooges into helping her. But even though I now know more, everything I learned leads to more questions. Somehow I’ve just got to find her.”

  “Any ideas how to accomplish that?” I asked.

  Shannon shrugged. “Not a clue at this point, but I’ve baited my hooks and may catch something yet. That’s how these things often work.”

  I tiredly rubbed the bridge of my nose. “You know, Shannon, you’re always telling me that I’m taking risks. Sounds as if you took a big one meeting with that hood.”

  “I did have a bad few minutes when I showed him the photo. He thought I’d been stringing him along, that he was being set up. He thought I knew where she was, and I was totally blindsided by the ferocity of his reaction. He really wants to get her. She set his boy up when she talked him into letting her get away. All I’ve got to say is that I wouldn’t want to see the results if he does catch up with her!”

  “Shouldn’t you tell the police about what you learned?”

  “Eddie certainly played some part in the killing the girl’s accomplice, but now is not the time to turn him over to the cops. I know it sounds weird, but that wouldn’t be, well, ethical. We now know exactly why the heavy hitters are after the girl. There’s big money involved with what went down. Several million, I’m sure. There’s also a whole honour thing involved—especially with Italians.”

  “I think we need to get that surveillance footage from my apartment to DCI Campbell in Scotland. The big man that’s the brains of this crew is from Birmingham, a Brummy like me,” I clarified. “We’ve got the same accent, although his is stronger. I’m betting he’s got a record, and maybe Campbell can dig up something on him.”

  “You could be right.”

  “Would it be difficult to send it?”

  “Easy. I’ve got a recording on the laptop I have in the backseat. All I need is his address.”

  “Could I watch it?”

  “Sure.”

  We were going up Bay Street. Shannon pulled over and reached around me for her laptop. We sat there for about twenty minutes, watching the bad guys roam around my apartment, my private space, as if they owned it. I felt ill.

  Suddenly, I felt her stiffen next to me, and I immediately began looking around for the bad guys, but she was still staring at the computer screen, swearing softly to herself.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I am such a dunce! I should have spotted it right away!”

  “What?”

  “They’re not wearing gloves!” She smacked her forehead. “They’re leaving fingerprints all over the place. Now we have them!”

  Her attention was back on the screen. “Look at that. They’re leaving without wiping anything down. Fools. Now, if the big man left some prints, we could have a very useful gift indeed. The Brits have a nationwide computer program that tracks stuff like that. If we’re lucky, we’ll have a name attached to that ugly kisser. I just can’t tell if he’s got gloves or not. His hands are usually in his pocket.”

  “I don’t want you going to my apartment alone.”

  “No, Michael, I know what I’m doing, and I can take care of myself. They’d be stupid not to have the place staked out, bugs or no bugs. I know how to do these things. You don’t.”

  “But I need to get into my apartment to pick up some things. I had to go out and buy the clothes I’m wearing today. See if you can figure out a way to get me in there safely.”

  Shannon held out her hand. “Just give me your keys. I’ll pick up whatever you need.”

  “I’d rather get them myself.”

  “I’ve said it before: you have a stiff neck, Quinn.” Her hand remained out. “The keys.”

  Seeing her hand, her fingers wiggling to prompt me to do something yet again I didn’t want to do was suddenly just too much. Days of worrying and looking over my shoulder with no end in sigh
t, the pressure I was under with those damned concerts and having almost no sleep for the past two nights, caused me to finally snap.

  “You don’t order me around!”

  She got right into my face. “And you don’t tell me how to do my frigging job!”

  With that, I stepped out of the car and began walking. Shannon yelled something after me. I just kept walking.

  I was not going to be pushed around any more! Not by her. Not by anyone. I almost wished the three blokes after me would pull up. In my mood, I would have taken them all on.

  With no place else to go, I eventually ran out of steam, hailed a cab and went back to the hotel.

  ***

  Someone knocking on my door woke me at half six. I’d fallen asleep sitting up in bed, and now my neck had a bad crick in it. Groggily rubbing it, I made my way to the door and looked through the peep hole. Shannon. Shit. I saw her arm balloon in the fisheye lens as she raised it to knock again.

  In an effort to gain time, I asked, “Who is it?”

  Her response sounded put out. “I’m assuming you’re looking through the peephole.”

  “I’m not dressed.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t about to bugger off, so I threw on pants and shirt and opened the door.

  “Michael—” she began.

  “I give up.”

  “What?”

  “You were right. I should listen to my hired expert.”

  “Michael, that’s not what I came here to tell you. I should not have said what I did. It just sort of slipped out before I could stop it.”

  Two people were coming down the hall from the lift. “Get in here! I really don’t feel like airing my dirty laundry to everyone coming down the hall.”

  She entered and looked around. I stood leaning against the closed door. “Casing the joint? Sizing up the suspect?”

  Her face fell. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m just so frustrated I could scream! I want to fight back and hurt somebody, but that somebody shouldn’t be you.”

  “And I have to remember not to yell at clients who have every right to be frustrated and irritated.” She sat down in the chair by the window and looked up at me. “What?”