away and said, “Get your hands off of me. Right now.”
Lifeguard paid no attention, spun Rick around, and pushed him against the wall. I didn’t think that was a good idea.
The kid was younger and possibly more fit than Del Rio, but it didn’t matter. Rick hit him square in the nose with a jab and followed with a terrifying uppercut. The blond was out on his feet, and I felt like I ought to applaud.
But then Ricci lunged for Rick and hugged him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides while Mosconi put a nine-mil Beretta to Rick’s temple.
“Stop,” I called out. “We’re done.”
I raised my hands. Kept them high and in sight as Mosconi walked my way. Then he hit me hard with the Beretta. I guess we weren’t done.
I went down. Then we were done.
Chapter 46
A few seconds later, Mosconi stood over me, eclipsing the weak sun. I tasted sour bile. Meanwhile, I was thinking that no one knew where we were. Del Rio and I were outnumbered and outgunned. It was Dodge City at high noon, and the smart odds were with the black hats.
Mosconi spoke softly, even kindly. “That one’s for the way you talked to Mr. Noccia,” he said. “Now get the hell up, Morgan.”
I struggled to my feet, and as soon as I was upright, Mosconi hit me with a hard right to the chin. I staggered back and fell again, crushing a lounge chair, breaking a table. Spots blinked in front of my eyes.
“That’s for trespassing,” Mosconi said. “And calling me Francis.”
I felt cold metal as he screwed his gun down into my ear. The other two were working Rick over, cursing and screaming as they pounded him.
“You’ve got to learn some respect, Morgan. You and your friend.”
“I understand,” I said. “I do. I apologize. Help me up.”
Mosconi laughed at me. He reached his hand down, and I grabbed it and twisted his wrist until Mosconi shrieked and followed his pain to the ground.
The Beretta clattered to the flagstones. I grabbed it on the second bounce and jammed the muzzle into Mosconi’s temple. Fair is fair.
“Put your guns on the ground,” I shouted to Ricci and Lifeguard. “Guns on the ground and step away.”
Joe Ricci immediately put his gun on the ground. Then so did Lifeguard.
“Morgan,” Mosconi said with a sneer. “It’s over. You win this time.”
“It’s not over yet,” I said.
I didn’t want to be followed and I didn’t want a bullet in the back, so I ordered the three of them into the pool.
Ricci took off his shoes and his watch and walked down the steps at the shallow end like a gentleman. Mosconi shed his jacket and did a cannonball. Del Rio stiff-armed Lifeguard over the side.
“Don’t forget these,” I called to them.
I tossed their guns into the pool.
The call girls began to move in closer. One of them put her hands on her knees and glowered at Mosconi in disgust. She was a little thing with blazing eyes.
“Now how are we supposed to swim in there?” she asked.
“Flap your arms and kick your legs,” Del Rio said to her.
Glenda Treat watched from a vine-draped window as Del Rio and I left her yard. I waved bye-bye, and predictably, she gave me the finger. Unfortunately, that was all I’d gotten at the Benedict Spa.
Chapter 47
“Consider us even,” Del Rio said. He was holding a wad of paper towels to his bloody nose as I drove us back down the road toward the office.
“What are you talking about?”
“You saved my life back there. I’ve been waiting for this day.”
“Not even close. They were just messing with us. You’re delirious.”
“Shit,” Del Rio muttered.
“Why was Shelby working for Glenda Treat?” I said.
“She was your friend, Jack. I barely knew her.”
A muted ring came from my briefcase in the backseat. I asked Del Rio to pass me the phone, and he did. I opened it, saw that I had a dozen missed calls. I said hello to Colleen.
“Where’ve you been, Jack? I’ve been calling and calling.”
“I know that. I was at the spa. What’s going on?” I asked her. My jaw was throbbing, my skull was a ball of pain, my ego was messed up.
“Justine wants to speak with you.”
“Put her on.”
“I’ll warn her that you’re a wee bit cranky.”
“Put Justine on, Colleen. My mood couldn’t be better.”
Justine’s words came in an agitated rush. “The mayor got an e-mail from the son of a bitch,” Justine told me. “He said that he left Marguerite Esperanza’s running shoes in a mailbox on La Brea. The lab is going over the shoes now. Jack, where the hell are you?”
I said, “Hang on.”
There was a gas station coming up on the corner of Sunset and Fairfax. I pulled in.
“We’ve got almost a full tank,” Del Rio said.
“Use the restroom. Wash the blood off your face. Justine? You still there?”
“Blood? What happened to Rick? What’s going on? Why aren’t you in the office? What’s this about a spa?”
I got out of the car and walked to a secluded part of the Chevron’s concrete lot. I told Justine about the pool party at the “spa” and that Glenda Treat had confirmed that Shelby had worked there but not why.
“You’re a shrink; explain this to me,” I said. “Why was she a working girl?”
“Without knowing her, I don’t think I can.”
“Pretend you’re doing a profile. Just starting one.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “ Shelby was a comic, right?”
“A good one.”
“Okay. Well, if you combine equal parts narcissism and self-hatred, you might come up with a stand-up comic. You might also come up with a prostitute.”
I must have groaned.
Justine said, “Was I too rough, Jack?”
“ Shelby must have found out something she wasn’t supposed to know. Maybe about the Noccias.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not over.”
“I know. Jack?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you coming to the office? Sci and I have two very different approaches to the Schoolgirl case. I need another opinion.”
“Sounds like we’re making progress,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
