'It's like everything is coming apart at once,' she complained. 'Chooch is missing and that's got me worried sick. This damn gang war is escalating. Now I've got this mess with Valentine, and to top it off, Nora just told me she needs more help with the wedding. One of her bridesmaids, the one from Michigan, who was handling the flower arrangements and the chapel decorations, is AWOL and won't be out here till the day before the ceremony. All that got dumped on me this afternoon.'
'So tell her no.'
'How can I tell her that after all she's done for me?'
Shane knew it was absolutely the wrong time to tell Alexa about Farrell Champion. So why on God's earth did he ignore his instinct? But right there, on Sunset, just as he was nearing the 405, that's exactly what he did.
'Speaking of the wedding, it's just possible that Farrell isn't all we'd hoped for.' Shane had his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, his stare locked on the street ahead, but he could feel her anger pulsing across the seat at him, heating the side of his face.
'Isn't all we'd hoped for? Just what the hell does that mean?'
'Well, remember his bad joke?'
'Oh, no. Please don't tell me you've been investigating that.'
'Honey, it wasn't a joke. Farrell does have two dead exwives-both from food poisoning.'
'You promised me.' She sounded exhausted, or resigned, or maybe it was just that she was massively disappointed.
'I know I promised, but dammit, I had a strong hunch, a feeling I just couldn't ignore. I couldn't.'
'Why?'
'Because this guy's not Prince Charming. He's not even a halfway decent frog. In fact, cutting to the sleazy bottom line, he's a complete shit who skagged two ex-wives, got busted for it by the A. G. in Washington, then rolled over on a drug-money laundering scam he was doing in Panama to beat the double-one.' Shane pulled Fineburg's fax picture out of his pocket and handed it to Alexa, who studied it for a minute, then pitched it into the ever-increasing distance between them.
'This isn't him. It's somebody named Daniel Zelso.
Doesn't even faintly resemble Farrell,' she said disdainfully.
'It's him before the face job. I got prints from his house, Alexa. He's running around testifying for the feds behind a screen while they protect his identity in WITSEC.'
She was staring down at the picture on the seat; then she put her hands up to her face and started to weep.
Shane had just passed over the freeway west of UCLA and was now heading west toward Pacific Palisades. As he slowed, a line of angry drivers started honking behind him, so he made a right onto Barrington. The houses here were large, the lawns well cared for, the neighborhood made famous by O. J. Shane pulled to the curb away from the streetlight and parked. In the front seat, beside him, his beautiful, strong wife was slowly coming unglued.
'Honey…'
'Shut up.' She turned her back to him. 'Just please shut up.' Now facing the side window, sobbing.
Shane knew a lot of things were causing her meltdown. Lack of sleep was probably at the center of it, plus the stress of not knowing where Chooch was. Everything seemed to be hitting them at once.
'Honey, Farrell's a bad guy. I know I made a promise. I know I broke it, and I'm really sorry. I'd do anything if it hadn't come out this way, but dammit, I love Nora, too. She's my friend as well as yours. I had a hunch Farrell was lying and now it turns out he's a money-laundering murderer.'
Shane looked at the dashboard clock: 7:06. He knew they couldn't run a scam on Dennis Valentine with their personal lives falling apart like this. What was he thinking? Why the hell had he told her all this now?
Of course there were two reasons: first, Alexa was the strongest, smartest person he knew, and he needed to strategize with her; second, he simply had a horrible time lying to her.
Finally, she turned to face him. 'We better get going. It's after seven,' she said, opening her purse and taking out a pack of Kleenex. She blew her nose, then threw the tissues back inside the purse, snapping it shut.
'Honey, I'm sorry.'
'We can't deal with it now. I've gotta get my wits about me. You said it's up on Mandeville Canyon. That's only a few minutes from here.'
'Alexa…'
'Shane, stop it. I'll get over it. Let's go. I have to get back to Parker Center.'
He put the Acura in gear, swung a U back to Sunset, then resumed his trip to Dennis Valentine's house. They turned onto Mandeville Canyon and finally pulled up to his brightly lit gatehouse. Shane looked over at Alexa. She was bathed in the glow coming through the side window. 'Honey, are you sure you're up to this?'
'Just ring the fucking buzzer,' she said and sighed.
Chapter 29
They headed up the winding driveway and were met by two bodyguards in dark suits, who motioned them around to the side of the mansion. Another of Dennis Valente's long-armed, short-haired enforcers was waiting in the parking area for them. When Shane and Alexa got out of the car, the man walked over carrying the same 2300 Frequency Finder that Gino had used on him the day before.
The goon came to a stop a few feet away. 'I'm Silvio Cardetti,' he said respectfully. 'Mr. Valentine likes to know that none of his conversations are being recorded. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but if you could both turn around, please.'
Shane and Alexa complied, then one at a time, Silvio ran the wand up and down their bodies. The little StarTAC cell phone clipped to Shane's belt was turned off so it didn't register on the meter. But Silvio did find both of their weapons.
'If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you leave your guns in the car?'
Shane unstrapped his piece from its ankle holster; Alexa took the Spanish 9mm Astra out of her purse. They locked both weapons in the trunk of the Acura, then Silvio led them to the front door of the estate.
'How's Gino?' Shane asked to make conversation.
'Back in New Jersey, recuperating. Mr. DeCesare sent the jet to pick him up.'
They walked up onto the porch and Silvio rang the doorbell, which chimed the first eight notes of Kenny Rogers's 'The Gambler.' The carved oak door was immediately unlatched and Dennis Valentine stood there, smiling widely. He was dressed like the Easter bunny: white shirt, white silk tie, white pleated pants, Pat Boone bucks. A threequarter-cut white blazer with matching silk pocket square completed the ensemble. It took a very handsome, self-assured guy to pull it off… Champagne Dennis was managing to stay just inside the boundaries of fashion comedy.
'They're clean,' Silvio reported, holding up the state-of-the-art frequency finder.
Dennis stepped aside grandly, motioning them into the magnificent but overdecorated front room. It looked as if his interior designer had managed to sell him everything on the showroom floor. The large living space was packed like a furniture warehouse.
On the far side of the room, dressed like a Frederick's of Hollywood model, was Lynette Valentine. She was in her late twenties, with long blond hair and a centerfold's body magnificently displayed in tight, leopard-print stretch pants and a plunging black top. Decorating her dainty feet were plastic platform heels.
'I'd like you to meet my wife, Lynette,' Valentine said.
She moved across the room and extended a slender arm to Alexa, while giving her a competitive once-over. It was no contest as far as Shane was concerned, but he guessed there might be some men who would prefer Lynette's neon flashiness.
'Hi, we're Shane and Alexa,' he said to her.
Lynette turned to check him out before she shook hands. It was a frank, inviting appraisal.
