‘He’s a solid bet. And now you’re all at each other’s throats, and Bucks could benefit. Or Kiko. Or someone else.’
Tasha crossed her arms. ‘Yeah. Eve.’
‘You’re wrong. I don’t give a. rat’s ass about the money,’ Whit said. ‘I want whoever killed the men at the office, all right? And I want Paul – and his people – to leave Eve alone. Forever. Guarantee her safety.’
Tasha shook her head. ‘Better ask for nuclear disarmament. More likely to get it, scout.’
He held up the CD. ‘This buys me a treaty, Tasha. FBI would love records relating to the Bellini family.’
She didn’t want him to leave with that CD. A cell phone lay on the desk by her purse, a bigger, old model, and she slowly took it, turned it toward him. ‘Fine. You win. Call Paul yourself.’ She turned the antenna toward him, her finger sidling to the side button, and thought you don’t want to kill him but girl, you better.
He started to reach for the phone but then he shoved her hand and the phone went off, a shot popping from the little snub antenna, and the window that faced out onto the backyard shattered. He yanked her up from the chair, smashed her wrist against his knee. The phone gun dropped and she screamed. He kicked it under the desk.
‘Bad girl,’ he said. ‘I read about those in the papers. Big with gangs in DC and Miami. And I saw the antenna was open-ended. Handy if you don’t want anyone to know you’re armed.’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘You just tried to shoot me, so you lost all room to complain,’ Whit said, but he let her go, pushed her back into the chair. He steadied the barrel of his gun at her face. ‘Give me a reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.’
‘I aimed at your shoulder,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t gonna kill you.’
‘Let’s be friendly and clear. I’ll shoot you in the knee if you do one more single thing to piss me off.’
She was silent.
‘Now. Who’s the hit on, who’s carrying it out?’
Tasha bit her lip. ‘The hit’s on Eve,’ she said. ‘Paul could get any of a dozen people locally to carry it out.’
‘Give me names.’
‘Well, Bucks.’
‘How about fresh new names?’
‘There’s a guy, real vicious bastard, named the Wart. He used to have a bad one on his face, but he got it taken care of. The name stuck.’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t know. Truly. I don’t. Probably more. Five million is a lot of money to lose.’ She squinted at him. ‘Simplify, scout. Tell Eve to give back the money. Leave it in an airport locker, call us, leave the key where we can get it. Tell her to walk away and I can chill Paul down.’
‘She doesn’t have it. Bucks framed her.’
‘Or she’s got it and she’s sharing it with you, and you’re blowing smoke,’ Tasha said.
‘If we had it, and we intended to keep it, we wouldn’t be sticking around Houston. She wants to prove to Paul she didn’t take it. Tell him for us.’
‘Since you have the gun,’ Tasha said. ‘You didn’t do it. Not at all, scout. Let’s all go have a latte.’
‘If we get into a fight with Paul,’ Whit said, ‘this will end badly. For everyone. I assume you don’t want Paul or his business hurt.’
‘Useless to negotiate with me. I’m merely the girlfriend.’
‘Behind every great man,’ Whit said. ‘You’re smart and you can help me. And help yourself and Paul.’
‘I’ll tell him you’re trying to find the real thief,’ she said. The cold look that had come into Whit’s eyes scared her a little now. He meant business as much as Paul did. She suddenly envisioned him taking her with him, forcing a deal with Paul, and that would ruin everything. Like Paul would pay to get her back. He wouldn’t.
‘I already gave you the message he needs to hear,’ Whit said. ‘But I want information. Has the deal with Kiko Grace been called off?’
‘If Eve didn’t have a death sentence on her for stealing the money, she’d have one for telling you about the deal.’
‘Answer me, please.’
‘You don’t have to say please when you have the gun,’ she said. ‘As far as I know the deal’s still on.’
‘So what’s Paul going to tell Kiko if he can’t get the money back?’
‘Call off the deal, I suppose.’
‘And what? Ask Kiko not to sell to Paul’s rivals?’
‘Call Paul and ask him. What do I look like, Robert Duvall in The Godfather? I’m not his consigliere. I’m just a dancer.’
He held up the CD. Tell Paul to cancel the hit on Eve. Look hard at everyone else who has a motive to bring him down, because she didn’t do it. If he doesn’t want the Feds to get a detailed phone call from Eve about the Bellinis over the past thirty years, with these files, he needs to back off. Am I making myself crystal clear?’
‘Like Waterford, scout.’
Downstairs, the front door opened, the alarm giving off its little soft bleep of announcing entry.
23
Paul Bellini watched the slow, slow rise and fall of his father’s chest. His mother had converted a spare bedroom into a miniature hospital ward, and Paul wondered exactly how much money it was costing a day to keep the old guy going. His mother wouldn’t tell him, and once he’d shoved her about it, pissing mad, and Mary Pat Bellini said, ‘Every cent is for your father, not another word,’ and a deep welling shame overcame him. But last week, he’d sat by his father, calculating each breath in terms of dollars spent, and before he’d had two thoughts he’d wrapped the ventilator’s electric cord around his ankle, wondering how many shakes of the foot would pull the plug. Literally. How long his dad would breathe on his own, pr if he’d go with a merciful snap of the fingers. It would, after all, save money. A lot of money. And yeah, give his dad his dignity, too. That was a bonus.
He took his father’s hand, felt the faint warmth in his fingers. Kissed the fingers, tucked them back under the sheet.
‘I need you to wake up, Dad. Now.’
No answer.
‘I’m in trouble, Daddy. Wake up.’ Keeping his voice lower than the hum of the machines.
Of course nothing again.
‘Two guys got killed at the Alvarez place. And the cops are gonna be on the Alvarezes like white on rice, Dad.’ When he used a Southern expression his father had always affectionately tapped him on the jaw, telling him don’t talk like your mom but not meaning it bad.
He brought up his father’s hand, brushed it against his jaw in a little limp slap.
‘Do I pay the Alvarezes to keep quiet? Do I kill them? I don’t want to fuck up again, Dad.’
He could hear his father’s voice inside his head: Nothing to connect you to Alvarez. And one thing to connect you to Eve. Doyle, and he was a screwup who probably owed money to any number of lowlifes. Pray the cops focus on him. Pray the old lawsuit that we won against the cops slows them down enough if they start looking at you, Paulie.
Paul got up, went to the window. The window was taller than he was, facing onto the lush green yards and live oaks that led to the stone walls and gate at the front of the house. No reporters yet. What if Eve goes to the press? The thought was impossible to swallow; she’d incriminate herself. But if she got immunity, hell, she might end up giving interviews to People. Get a book deal. Appear on Oprah. Nausea wrenched his guts, and he put his forehead against the windowpane.
The paper said the guy with Doyle was a Corpus Christi PI named Harry Chyme. But why was he there? What did he know about Doyle or the Bellini operations? The loose end of Harry Chyme, entirely unexpected, worried Paul sick. He’d asked Tasha to check up on the name Harry Chyme using her and her friend’s computer knowledge, see
