Claudia hustled Robin to her feet, looking back in the bullet-peppered den for Bucks. She shoved Robin toward the back door where MacKay lay splayed. Robin was sobbing.
Bucks was gone. A door slammed shut to her left, Bucks hiding elsewhere in the townhouse.
‘Get out! The back!’ Claudia ordered. Robin stumbled, opened the door, went out. Not a backyard but a small garage. Trapped.
Then more gunfire erupted behind them. Claudia turned. Bucks, running from a bedroom, laid fire across the shattered windows with an automatic of his own. Claudia slammed the door to the condo shut, jabbed the garage door opener. The door rose with slow suburban solemnity and she pushed Robin down behind a battered Jaguar. But no greeting of gunfire as the door tracked upward, just the heavy swampiness of the night.
Silence. The gunfire ended.
‘Run,’ Claudia said. ‘Get to a neighbor’s, call 911.’
Robin Melvin ran toward the gleam of the pool and the clubhouse beyond.
Claudia turned back toward the door. She eased open the door, yelled ‘Police! Lay down your weapons!’ She listened. No sound. Staying low, she went through the door, keeping her gun trained on the opposite corner.
The room was empty.
She checked MacKay. No pulse. A lock of his hair lay across his throat like a rope, smelling of sandalwood. She moved through the rest of the condo. No sign of Greg Buckman. She headed out of the condo, through the garage, working her way toward the front, then around again.
No shooter. No Bucks. A car raced off across the lot, a late-model black Suburban, ripping across the landscaping and then through the main exit, splintering the wooden rail that didn’t rise fast enough. Gone. The license plate began with TJ, the rest of it unreadable as the car vanished into the night.
Then the thrum of a second engine sounded and the Jag tore out of Bucks’ garage into the lot. She chased it, yelling at Bucks to stop. He must’ve gone out a window and circled the condo in the opposite direction from her. The Jag zoomed through the exit. Chasing the Suburban.
Claudia Salazar put her gun down at her feet, dug her police ID out of her jacket, and sat down on the driveway to wait for the police. The distant wail of sirens approached. Her nerves caught up with her now, and her hands shook, a coldness crept over her, and she wondered if Whit still breathed.
39
Sunday morning, at Frank Polo’s house, there were no hymns. There was disco. Frank wrapped himself in the cocoon of his own voice, the beat and croon drifting up from the speakers, the one slow ballad he had made into a hit, ‘When You Walk Away.’ He lay on the couch, a wet cloth on his eyes, a cup of coffee balanced on his stomach. His left foot bopped in rhythm to the song.
‘Do you really listen to yourself?’ Gooch asked. He stood by the small music collection, which offered mostly Frank Polo CDs.
‘Those are promotional copies,’ Frank said from underneath the wet cloth. ‘We give ’em out at the club. Very popular.’
‘Right. No one goes to that club for the women, it’s all about the giveaways.’
‘Frank.’ Whit sat by the singer’s feet and took the coffee cup off his stomach. ‘I need you to think.’
‘Jesus, thinking is the last thing on my mind.’ Then what he said struck him as funny and he gave a nervous little laugh. Whit and Gooch didn’t laugh.
‘When he was a kid, Paul used to lip-sync to my songs,’ Frank said. ‘He had the attitude of a performer. He could’ve been so much more.’ Sounding genuinely sad.
‘He’s spilt milk now,’ Gooch said.
Frank lifted one corner of the wet cloth. ‘Yeah, but he was a sweet kid, once, okay?’
‘Paul cut your hand open and tried to have Eve and me killed,’ Whit said. ‘You’re sorry he’s dead?’
‘No, I’m sorry he turned into such a bastard.’ Frank sat up. ‘There’s a difference. I got to call his mom, I’m dreading that.’ He tossed the damp cloth on the coffee table, smoothed his hair. ‘With Eve and Paul gone, there’s no senior leadership left but Bucks, and he’s MIA, the traitor.’
‘How would he know about Paul meeting me? He’s on Kiko’s side now,’ Whit said. ‘How would Kiko know, for that matter?’
‘Paul told Bucks, simple as that,’ Gooch said. He still didn’t look good to Whit, his skin waxen. He’d slept fitfully, vomiting this morning, sweating with chills, but still refusing to go to a doctor.
The shootout at Bucks’ condo and the triple homicide that included Paul Bellini last night had been all over the morning news, and Bucks remained missing. ‘Kiko’s people killed Paul and then went after Bucks,’ Whit said. ‘Double cross.’
Frank stood. ‘I should be at Paul’s house. Rallying what’s left of the troops for a war with Kiko. This is not my style. I don’t want to do this.’
‘Frank, if my theory’s right, you don’t want to become the head of the Bellinis. Kiko’s eliminating them.’
Frank said, ‘Leadership ain’t my groove.’
‘We’ve got to find where Kiko hid Mom,’ Whit said. ‘Think, Frank, please.’
‘I want to believe she’s still alive, too, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘But if Kiko killed Paul and Gary and Max, and tried to kill Bucks, why’s he gonna keep Eve alive?’
‘Because she can hand him the Bellini assets. Transfer funds. There’s no one to stop him now from a complete takeover. With what Eve knows, Kiko can force Mary Pat to hand over control of every business, every asset. He’s erased the Bellinis’ power in a night.’
Frank got up. ‘Bucks and Paul knew where Kiko was living, but I didn’t. So I put out word on the street. Said I’d pay cash to know where Kiko’s staying. There’s nothing more I can do.’
‘I’il go nuts sitting here and waiting,’ Whit said.
‘Learn how. Unless you want to call the police.’ Frank crossed his arms. ‘You find Eve, you’re leaving town?’
‘Yes. She’s coming home with me. For a short while, at least.’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ Frank said.
‘Thanks, Frank,’ Whit said.
‘Lot of ifs there,’ Gooch said. ‘You boys are optimists.’
‘Don’t talk like she’s dead. Don’t,’ Whit said.
The phone rang. Frank went to it, said hello, listened, said no a few times, hung up. ‘No one’s seen Bucks. The rest of the ring isn’t meeting at the Bellinis’; there’s a cop car on Lazy Lane, probably there to take pictures of the license plates of the cars coming and going. Oh, man, I’m moving to Vegas.’
They sat, waiting, and two hours later the phone rang again and Frank answered it, spoke quietly. ‘Yeah. Fine. Stop by and I’ll give you your money.’ He hung up. Didn’t look at Whit, at Gooch, leaned against the little bar counter for support.
‘That was a dealer I know. He said Kiko Grace and his bodyguard Jose are living in a townhouse on Fannin, near downtown. The dealer’s got three other dealers working under him. One knew Kiko from Miami, saw him at those condos last week when he did a YSD.’
‘What?’
‘Yuppie Scum Delivery,’ Frank said. ‘So this condo, maybe that’s where he’s got Eve.’
‘Give me the address,’ Whit said.
‘Sure. But then I got to go to the Topaz,’ Frank said. ‘I should put in an appearance today, calm the girls that we’re staying open.’
‘No,’ Gooch said. ‘You come with us, Frank. In case you’re setting us up in a trap.’
‘Gooch, I love Eve. I’m not gonna let her kid get killed.’ Frank touched Whit’s shoulder. ‘C’mon.’
‘Maybe Whit trusts you. I don’t,’ Gooch said. ‘Sorry.’
‘You can be a little late for the Topaz,’ Whit said. ‘And it’s safer for you staying with us.’
‘Right. What you gonna do,’ Frank said, ‘ask Kiko Grace pretty-please to give you Eve back?’
‘No. I’m going to tell him if he doesn’t release her, I’m going straight to the police, with everything I know.
