Jan Burke
Nine
For my admired friends
John F. Mullins
and Barry A. J. Fisher
who fight the good fight
and, remarkably, still have a sense a humor.
Prologue
His boss wanted to kill him.
Julio Santos let that thought run through his mind over and over again as he watched Bernardo Adrianos finish his meal. These last few days had been challenging for Julio, trying to behave naturally, to pretend that he was unaware that Adrianos wanted two of his bodyguards dead-Julio and Julio’s partner, Ricky Calaban. Ricky was even worse at hiding his feelings. Julio had sent him outside a little while ago, afraid that he’d blow everything.
Adrianos leaned back from the table and belched. He was built like a bull. He wore his shoulder-length black hair in a ponytail. Ricky had once said that both of Adrianos’s grandfathers were bald, and that Adrianos was just trying to grow out enough hair to make wigs for himself. Julio didn’t know if that was true.
Adrianos was covered in tattoos, and you could see a big difference in the ones he got on the streets when he was a kid and the elaborate ones acquired after he had become wealthy-thanks to trading in drugs, whores, and similar business ventures. None of that bothered Julio. That was just giving the people what they wanted. But Adrianos had broken faith with Julio, and that was unforgivable.
Adrianos eyed Julio for a moment, and reading the look, Julio felt more certain than ever that Adrianos was wishing him dead. Maybe Adrianos had decided to kill him tonight. The irony of it made Julio smile. Adrianos narrowed his eyes, then reached into the pocket of his big, loose pants. Julio tensed, then saw that Adrianos was sticking to routine-the boss was holding a little pearl-handled knife. Adrianos opened the knife and used the tip of the blade to clean his fingernails.
Julio thought Adrianos’s after-dinner manicure was a disgusting habit, but took some pleasure in knowing he would not have to witness it again. He forced himself to hide that pleasure.
Adrianos sighed. “It’s not really all that great, with no one around.”
No one here to kiss your ass, Julio thought, but he said, “At least you were able to get out for an evening, Mr. Adrianos.”
“Fucking cops. I need to get out of L.A. ”
Julio made no reply.
Three days ago, when the two strangers had played the tape for him, Julio had seriously considered killing Adrianos-just blowing him away without worrying about what Adrianos’s friends and business associates would do about it. The tape had been made from an illegal wiretap, the strangers told him. On it, Adrianos’s voice was clearly identifiable. He bad-mouthed Julio and Ricky, and said that he was unhappy about the number of close calls he had experienced lately.
Julio’s pride had been wounded. Adrianos had a temper that led him to behave recklessly, and he tended to get involved in matters that should have been left to others to handle-that sort of thing was exactly the kind of trouble that had put Adrianos on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. If there had been close calls, the close calls were his own damned fault. Typically, though, Adrianos was shifting the blame.
The caller, whose voice Julio hadn’t recognized, had asked Adrianos if he wanted the bodyguards to work for him in some other capacity, but Adrianos turned that idea down flat. “They’d be unhappy,” Adrianos said. “And they know too much. You know what will happen if the FBI gets one of those two to testify against me? They have to disappear.”
The more he had heard, the angrier Julio had become. Here he had risked his damned life twenty times over for the son of a bitch, and Adrianos was talking about putting a fucking contract out on him. Ricky felt the same.
But the strangers-who spoke fluent Spanish and had cautiously approached Ricky and Julio through their families-convinced them to calm down and listen to a proposition.
An extremely generous one.
The strangers would take care of Adrianos, and privately. Julio and Ricky weren’t required to do much of anything-supply a small amount of information, such as the name of this restaurant, Adrianos’s favorite. Tell them the name of the wine the boss usually drank. Subtly convince Adrianos that he could enjoy a meal at the restaurant on a night when it was usually closed. It had been easy.
They didn’t let him in on all their plans for Adrianos or tell him why they were going to all this trouble. They were rich-Julio knew that much. And there were more than just the two involved in it. Maybe one of them had lost a kid brother or sister to drugs, or something like that. He didn’t think they were connected to the Colombians or the Russians or any part of the mob. They called themselves some stupid-ass thing-Project Nine. Yeah. Whatever the hell that meant. Some vengeance deal, he was sure.
Julio didn’t care about any of it, because they were helping him to get a step ahead of Adrianos. They had already shown their good faith by buying his mother a beautiful home in Mexico, in a place where she would be safe from retribution if things went wrong. But nothing had gone wrong yet. Julio thought there was something about these guys that said they were used to getting their way, and he had confidence in them.
Julio figured they were giving Adrianos some poison in the wine tonight or something in the food. As Adrianos cleaned his nails, Julio thought he saw the first signs that the poison might be kicking in. Adrianos’s movements seemed slower than usual. He wondered if it really did take his boss longer than usual to work over all ten fingers, or if his own eagerness for the poison to take effect only made it seem so.
“I gotta drain the dragon,” Adrianos said, lumbering to his feet. He swayed. “Had too much to drink.” He slowly looked around the empty restaurant and said, “Where is everybody?”
“You have the place to yourself tonight, Mr. Adrianos, remember?”
“Oh…yeah. That’s right.” Slightly slurred. He frowned, then said, “I mean, where’s Ricky and-”
“Ricky’s watching the alley. Everybody else is in the kitchen, having a little dinner. You told them to, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” He faltered as he took a step forward. He gave Julio a hard look. “You didn’t slip something into my wine, now, did you, Julio?”
“No, sir,” Julio answered truthfully. “I’ve been sitting here, right across from you all evening, Mr. Adrianos. And you saw the waiter open the bottle. Your other team has been in the kitchen, keeping an eye on things there.”
Adrianos seemed satisfied. He walked back to the bathroom, let Julio look around in it first, and then went in. Adrianos, the fucking weirdo, always wanted someone in the bathroom with him when he was taking a leak. “Wouldn’t want to be caught with my pants down, now would I?” he was fond of saying. “Any public place, one of my bodyguards comes in with me. Always.”
Julio hated this duty, but he never let Adrianos see any hint of that. Adrianos wasn’t as stupid as he acted, and Julio had never met anyone who was as cruel as Adrianos could be when angered. The list of things that could make Julio feel queasy was short. There hadn’t been anything on that list before he met Adrianos.
