‘Even for decisive people it’s difficult.’ Jose went to the kitchen, got a first-aid kit, grabbed a dispenser of antiseptic soap. He came back, set the gun back in his shoulder holster, and started to clean the fork wound on her arm. She sat perfectly still.
‘Now,’ Jose said. ‘I’m doing big serious weighing right now. I can either believe you or Bucks. You know the whole infrastructure of the Bellini operations. That’s valuable information. I think I’ll believe
… you.’
She continued to stare, glanced at Kiko, syrup still on his lips, the beauty mark by his mouth all bloodied, distorted wide-eyed surprise on what was left of his face. ‘Is everyone turning on their bosses these days?’ she managed to say.
‘I did it because he was a drug-dealing animal. And I’m a good citizen. Consider it a public service.’ He laughed softly, bandaged her arm, taped it, lowered her sleeve back over the dressing. ‘That’ll do for now.’
‘But I don’t know where the money is.’
‘I know you don’t,’ Jose said. ‘I believe you. Sorry about the teeth, but I did the least I could for him to know you got worked over proper. We have a dentist we can probably get you. If you behave.’
She stared at him.
‘I’m interested in a lot more than five million,’ Jose said. ‘You know how much drug money is laundered in this country each year?’
She shook her head.
Jose smiled, gave a little canary chirp of a laugh. He tapped her forehead. Once, twice, gently, almost with respect. ‘So you don’t know the numbers. But I bet you can help us find a big percentage of it, can’t you?’
‘What…’
‘You know all the tricks of the trade, don’t you, Eve? How to clean it, hide it. You’re a number-rattling little genius.’ Jose gave her a smile. ‘You’re key to what I need.’
She was going to live then, at least a little bit longer. ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just leave Whit Mosley alone? Please?’ She hated herself for asking but she had to. She had to.
‘First things first.’ Jose pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s finish the night’s work, okay?’
38
Greg Buckman wasn’t what Claudia expected. He looked like a stockbroker, trim but muscular, average- handsome with ruddy cheeks, hair thinning early. He wore a white button-down that had gotten dirty in the course of the day, wrinkled suit pants, an old-school rep tie loosened – a tie on Saturday? she thought. He looked like a young exec fresh from a one-martini-too-many happy hour, a little bleary, tired, and sour. And he had a nasty black eye.
This was the man Whit thought killed Harry.
The man with Bucks had a Caribbean accent spicing his ‘hello’ to Robin, dreadlocks neatened back with a red embroidered band, dressed in faded jeans, white T-shirt, and a leather jacket, but he wore a back holster that Claudia spotted the moment he came through the door. The man stayed by the door, not quite like a guard, but like a friend, bored and ready to go find excitement, waiting on his buddy.
‘Who’s this?’ Bucks said to Robin. Staring at Claudia. No hello, honey, how are you. Or hi I’m Greg.
‘She’s a writer. She’s working on a book about Energis,’ Robin said. ‘But defending the guys like you.’
Claudia stood, offered a hand. Bucks didn’t take it. ‘I’m Claudia Salazar.’
‘Lady, I don’t talk about my former employer. At all. Please go.’
She lowered her hand. ‘I can help salvage your reputation, Mr Buckman.’
He gave a sharp little laugh. ‘I didn’t know it needed fixing. I’m asking you to leave. Nicely. You’re trespassing.’
‘Robin invited me in.’
‘Please go.’
‘My research assistant died earlier this week,’ Claudia said. Second card to play, the one she was afraid of, to throw him off entirely if he knew anything about Harry’s death. ‘His name was Harry Chyme. He was helping me with research on Energis execs. He got shot in an insurance office near the port.’
Bucks touched his temple as though a migraine were blossoming. ‘What part of go did you not get?’
‘You’re in danger.’ She decided to try the approach she’d tried with Robin. ‘Harry was tracking information on three Energis employees killed last year. I understand they worked for you.’ See how he handled a curveball, see how he reacted under sudden, terrible pressure to the unexpected.
Bucks came close to her, smelling of gunfire. She took a step back. ‘I’m sorry about your friend’s death. But it has nothing to do with me.’
‘You know what it’s like to lose a friend,’ Claudia said. ‘You lost three at once.’
Not a muscle on his mouth or face moved. ‘I’ve not had a good day. You’re pissing me off. And anger blinds, it leads to obstacles.’
‘Greg, listen to her, you might need to-’ Robin started.
He hit Robin. A solid slap that sent her reeling. She fell, skidding across the coffee table, knocking over a candlestick and a small stack of Chad Channing videos.
Claudia had her police pistol out, close to his face. ‘Don’t move,’ she said slowly. ‘Hands where I can see them, sir,’ she said to the dreadlocked friend, who stayed still and who now wore, to her surprise, an amused smile. He kept his hands away from his jacket but not exactly up.
Bucks said nothing, his eyes big.
‘Anger is the road to obstacle, Greg, you are so right about that,’ Claudia said.
‘Sorry. A momentary loss of control.’
‘If you draw,’ Claudia told the friend, ‘I will shoot him, then you. You got me?’
‘I believe I do,’ he said.
‘Call the cops, MacKay,’ Bucks said.
‘Is this a 311 or a 911?’ MacKay said. But he didn’t move toward the phone.
‘Robin. Go outside,’ Claudia said.
Robin climbed to her feet, a bright little stream of blood dripping from her mouth, her fingertips probing at her jaw. ‘Oh, Greg,’ she said. More stunned than tearful, too surprised yet to be angry. She flailed an arm at Claudia. ‘Hey, put that gun down.’
‘I will, when you and I are out of here.’
‘A feminist with a gun,’ Bucks said. ‘Isn’t that a contradiction, waving your phallic symbol around?’ He’d gotten the cool back in his voice. He circled away from Claudia, putting her between him and MacKay as he moved toward the living room’s bank of windows.
‘I’ll shoot your phallic symbol off with it if you don’t shut up,’ Claudia said. ‘C’mon, Robin.’
‘He never hit me before,’ Robin said. Digging in her heels, not thinking.
‘You never pissed him off before,’ Claudia said.
‘She pisses me off plenty,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m picking up the phone, okay? Calling the cops. Robin wants to press charges, she can. But you’re trespassing and threatening us, and-’ He leaned down to scoop up the cordless phone from its cradle and the windows behind him shattered in gunfire, glass, blinds, and curtain sharding into the room. Claudia dove to the floor, knocking Robin down with her, the redhead screaming, Bucks screaming, the other man screaming.
The dust-stale taste of the sisal rug was in Claudia’s mouth and suddenly the thunder of gunfire stopped. She turned her head away from the window, Robin squirming in panic beneath her, and saw MacKay slumped against the far wall, a red smear on the wallpaper behind him, his hand tucked uselessly into his jacket.
Silence now from the guns, from the destroyed windows that faced onto the parking lot. Then a man stepping through them, blunt-faced, stocky, Hispanic, dressed in black T-shirt and jeans. Carrying an automatic rifle. Looking at Bucks’ feet, sticking out from under a table.
Claudia fired at the man’s chest. And Robin moved under her, trying to bolt.
Her shot went wide, splintering the window frame next to the gunman; he fell back, firing again, but wild.
