be getting a nice bump from a real estate deal he’d been working on. He thought about Jack Beals. Although White had never cared for him, he had been useful. He may have been a preening smart-ass, but he would do anything for money, and he and White had made a few hundred grand by taking winnings from people who walked away with money they didn’t deserve. White knew the cash that had been found in Beals’s house was from their little sideline venture.
Albert had his money well hidden, and once in a while he would take it out of the vents and count it. Since he didn’t go on vacations or buy expensive toys, he had more than he needed. When he wanted sex, Albert had a colored gal who would come over and set him right as rain for a fifty-dollar bill.
Albert was saving for retirement. He had bought a small house on a lake in Florida, and when he walked out in five years, six months, two days, and fourteen hours, he would have enough to pad his retirement from the force in West Memphis, his social security, the bundle he’d saved from the years of collecting money to look the other way in West Memphis, Arkansas, and the liberated winnings he and Beals had put together. Nine hundred thousand dollars, but he planned to have well over a million before walking away into the glorious sunrise.
Albert’s thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on his office door. Finch opened it. “You ready, big buddy?”
“Yeah,” Albert said. “Where’s your two guys at?”
“Waiting outside in the limo,” Finch said, smiling. “We’re going first-class all the way, big fellow. We go eat at that steak house you were bragging about, have a few drinks with Tug at that blues club outside town, and then we get some girls and have our ashes hauled. You up for all that?”
“I reckon I am,” Albert said.
“Then let’s have a run at it.”
Albert nodded, took a look at the locked drawer, and followed Finch down the hall toward what he was sure was going to be a pure pain-in-the-ass experience.
100
Alexa dressed in the living room while Styer and Cynthia looked on.
“You are a very attractive woman,” he said.
She buttoned her blouse.
“I find women of small stature attractive.”
“Girls who look boyish.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, frowning. Styer’s eyes hardened for a few seconds, then softened.
“You don’t have to. Maybe psychotic young men like Jack Beals are more your speed. I’ll just use my imagination.”
“Jack…?” Cynthia said, startled. “He’s dead?”
“Males have never held any sexual fascination for me. Jack had a high opinion of his mediocre talents with a gun. He never allowed his targets to face him on even ground. He was a thief and a coward, who used a badge to get close.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“
Alexa didn’t know that Cynthia knew Beals. She would have loved to ask her how she knew him.
Styer shrugged. “The young man was supposed to be helping me, but I discovered that he was trying to figure out what I was up to so he could tell certain people with interests contrary to those of my employer. All of this intrigue over the land, and so much duplicity swirling around. As it happened, his body was a convenient sign holder for Massey.” He smiled.
“Did you kill Sherry Adams just to draw Winter in?”
“File that under killing two birds with one bullet. Now, Cynthia, put on your parka. If you so much as look the wrong way, your fashion accessory will spread your lovely body, and unfortunately ours, too, all over the landscape. You get that?”
Cynthia nodded mutely.
Styer made Alexa’s skin crawl. She was fairly sure, despite his assurances, that he didn’t intend to leave her alive after she’d served his purpose. Time was running out, and she had to start looking for a weakness to exploit.
Alexa put on her coat and slipped her purse on her shoulder. After Styer fixed the do-not-disturb sign on the door, she walked beside him down the hall toward the elevators. His left hand, hidden in his coat pocket, held his cell phone. The valise in his right hand contained God knew what.
They didn’t speak as they rode down to the casino, now crowded with Saturday night gamers. The gamblers ranged from fat to fit, rich to poor, and their clothes reflected a wide range of fashion and functionality-from gowns to jeans and halter tops, Armani to hunter’s camouflage jackets and matching ball caps. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the insipid sounds of ringing bells, as the wheels of a thousand slot machines spun in place.
Alexa kept her eyes on the floor in front of her, thinking in ten directions at once. “We’ll take your vehicle,” Styer said. “Wouldn’t be good if Massey saw it sitting here, what with you supposed to be in Memphis meeting with those FBI agents.”
As they exited the casino, Alexa spotted Albert White climbing into a limousine. He stooped to get his considerable bulk into the Cadillac, reminding Alexa of a fat groundhog slipping into a narrow opening in a wall.
At Leigh’s pickup, Alexa unlocked the door and handed Styer the keys. He aimed Cynthia into the rear seat and placed the valise on the floorboard beside her feet. He watched as Alexa opened her door and climbed into the cab. She started the engine and backed out carefully.
“So what’s in the valise?” she asked.
“Maybe I’ll let you look if you behave yourself. Aren’t you going to try and use psychology on me? It’s a long drive out to the plantation, and I like entertainment where I can find it.”
She shook her head.
“Well, then, what’s your listening pleasure?” he asked, turning on the radio.
101
Albert White squeezed past Finch’s pals in the jump seat and crabbed back to the rear bench, lowering his bulk to the cushioned leather. The other two men, whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn, were large and serious individuals who didn’t look like they were going to enjoy this any more than he was. Only Steffan Finch was smiling, and as soon as the car rolled away, he opened the bar on the side bench and started fixing a drink, dropping ice cubes into a crystal highball glass, then pouring in scotch from a decanter.
“You know how to get to the steak house?” Albert called to the driver as they stopped at the entrance to the casinos, facing the highway.
The driver shook his head.
“You shouldn’t be driving for the casino until you know the area,” he said, annoyed. “Take a left.”
The driver looked into the rearview and lit a cigarette, illuminating his features for a couple of seconds. He didn’t look familiar to Albert-at least the back of his head didn’t, but the cap made it hard to tell.
One of the two large men coughed.
“Put out that cigarette,” Albert commanded.
Instead of tossing out the cigarette, the driver took a deep drag from it and turned right onto the road, pushing down the accelerator.
“Fuck’s sake,” Albert mumbled. “I guess he doesn’t want to keep his job. Well, then close the glass.”
The driver slid up the glass partition.
“And turn around, damn it!” Albert said, his anger rising.
