“Right,” said Terry.
“How huge?” Knute asked.
“Millions. Tens of millions. Maybe a fucking hundred,” Gary said. Terry just nodded. He was no whiz like Financial Gary, but he’d roughed out a general idea. “You want to be Starbucks…,” Gary continued, with admiration.
“Fuckin’-A,” Terry said. “Except I don’t want to round ’em up and operate ’em.”
“No?” Numbers asked.
“No, because we’ll get skimmed and beat and ratted on. It just won’t work. What I want is to close ’em down, kill the business city-wide-”
Numbers nodded, excited now. “Create a vacuum-”
“That’s right, create a vacuum, and then open our own to fill it,” Terry finished.
Knute shook his head wearily, the practical little bastard. “That’s gonna be a lot of work. A lot of work.”
“Yep,” Terry had said. “You think you were gonna get out and relax? You were supposed to rest inside.”
So they’d gotten started. The pea-shake houses run by white dudes had fallen like dominoes. They knew half the guys operating those joints, and they were willing, if not happy to close for a while and agreed to let the Schlegels take over later rather than face the alternative. A roughneck out by Speedway held fast but reconsidered after he’d had his dental work rearranged by Terry’s boys. That turned out to be good advertising anyway.
When they moved into the Latin market, word was already spreading. A pair of hard cases out by the fairgrounds had stood up and had to be dealt with-fucking immigrants had a lot more sack than real Americans these days-but that was it. The gangs supposedly had a piece of some of the houses, but they hadn’t come forward to claim them. And if they had, the Newt had some connections from Michigan City he could work out a deal with. The converts and closures started coming fast. Before long, any houses that were still shaking were too small to get on their radar. One place was so accommodating when they showed up that they decided to just leave it open to get a better idea of the take. “Beta testing” Numbers Gary had called it. But that had turned to shit in its own special way, for Dean anyhow. Maybe showing a little lenience and mercy had been a mistake, because now there was this current stubborn prick… But that would be ending tonight. Once the Latin ones went, they’d start hammering the black-run houses. They expected some opposition there, which is why they saved them for last. Terry wanted them to feel like the odds were stacked against them, like they were in the Alamo and surrounded.
Then, when the darkies had gone down they’d reopen big-time to fill the void. The players would come in droves once word got out that it was safe. Between him and Knute and the boys, and other guys they knew, they had all the right personnel to operate fewer but more profitable houses city-wide.
“It can’t last forever,” Knute had said.
“Don’t have to. We only need to be up for a month or so, show some returns, before we sell,” Terry responded, and the others had gotten it.
Now, Knute nodded in the car. It was easy enough for him to follow the disjointed statement. After they were open and were pea shake in town, for all intents and purposes, buyers from Chicago, or maybe Campbell Doray locally, would take them out lump sum, buying the infrastructure for cash, and the Schlegels would stay on in management for a cut, under the umbrella of protection, of course. It actually mirrored standard mergers and acquisition procedure, according to Numbers Gary.
An electronic beep punctured the quiet of the car. Kenny and the boys had just arrived, and his voice blared over the walkie-talkie feature of his phone. “You believe this dumb fucking cholo?” Kenny said.
“Shut your phone off,” Terry answered, trading a look with Knute, and then shut off his own. A moment later the back door of Charlie’s Durango opened and Kenny came running back to the driver’s window.
Terry lowered his window. “You want the cops to be able to triangulate our whereabouts by cell records-,” he began.
“Sorry, Pop-,” Kenny cut in.
“Why don’t you send ’em a text message while you’re at it?”
“All right. Good idea. I’ll set up a Web cam, too-”
“Enough,” Terry said, and Kenny shut up. “Where have you been?”
“Training. So what’s the play?” Kenny asked. “We go in storm trooper?”
“Not this time,” Terry said. “You guys tried to make your point, and this fucker missed it. Get back in the truck and wait till all the players leave. Tell Dean to come over here.”
Kenny’s eyes went serious. He nodded and walked back to the Durango.
Behr left Donohue’s and was headed home when his car seemed to develop a mind of its own and he found himself parked in front of the building on Schultz Park. He went to the door and buzzed but got no answer. He had turned and was walking back to his car when an early ’90s silver Honda Accord rolled down the street and parked. A tall, black-haired woman got out and started for the building. Behr felt himself hitch and process something unconscious. He slowed his step as he reached his car, turned and moved quietly back for the door. She was putting her key in the lock when he spoke.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said, noticing her shoulders jerk upward in surprise. “I think…” He let her face him before he said more, and when she did, he was struck by her beauty. Her skin was creamy and mocha colored, her lips full, her eyes dark. “Flavia Inez, right? My name is Frank Behr,” he said.
“Frank Behr?” she asked.
“I’m a private investigator. I left you messages regarding Aurelio Santos,” he said, flat and sure, leaving her no room to maneuver. She processed it quickly and nodded.
“Yes, of course.” There was the slightest of Latin accents under her words. “Would you like to come in?”
I found the girlfriend, Behr thought.
Her apartment was dark, and when she flipped the switch it was still mostly dark, because all the lights were on dimmers. There was a faint whiff of sandalwood incense in the air. A large piece of batik fabric functioning as a shade flapped in the slight breeze coming through an open window. There was a white slipcovered couch and chair that appeared to have come in a set, and a dark wood coffee table covered with crystal figurines of dolphins. The kitchen was new-a stainless steel fridge and range, granite countertops and cherrywood cabinets. Even if it was a rental, the place cost some money.
“So you heard what happened to Aurelio?” Behr said as she tossed her keys on the counter.
“I did. How terrible,” she said plainly. “Would you like some water?”
“No thanks,” Behr answered. “How come you weren’t at the memorial?”
“I couldn’t make it. I really wanted to, but I had an appointment.”
“I see,” Behr said, wondering at the cool temperature of her voice.
“He was such a nice guy…,” she said, as if recalling a grade-school friend she hadn’t seen for years.
“You were his girlfriend…?” Behr half asked.
“Me? No.”
“No?” There was a moment of silence as she shook her head. Her smooth hair shushed over her shoulders when she did. Behr forced his eyes from her and glanced at some framed photos on a shelf. He saw none of Aurelio. There were shots of Flavia out with girlfriends, and others of an older couple-her parents it seemed-and one of an even older couple, likely her grandparents.
“He was a good-looking guy, but I just got out of something and wanted a break.”
Behr thought of Ezra’s condition back at her prior building. “I think your ex roughed up your old building manager.”
“Ezra?” she said, concerned, her hand coming to her mouth. “Is he all right?”
“A little banged up, but okay.”
She pouted over it for a moment and then moved on. “He told you where to find me?”
“Let’s just leave it at I found you,” Behr said. “How’d you know Aurelio?”
“He was my teacher.”
“He was teaching you jiu-jitsu?” Behr asked. She didn’t seem the type. But that was the thing about martial arts, especially a grappling style; it brought in all kinds. “I never saw you at the school. What class did you usually take?”
“I was taking private lessons. I don’t like to go to classes in a group. I learn better on my own,” she said, and Behr felt himself nodding in agreement.
