1 Margarita Nights (36 page)

Well, he deserved everything he got. I introduced them and added, “Tony is the pro out at Windimere I told you about, Marley.”

“Oh really?” Marley said.

Come to Jesus, boy, you’re about to be done over, but not until he bought her at least two more Corona and limes.

Someone must have called a reunion ’cause Lara Zampa took a stool near the door. There were tables open but they were served by wait staff. I was figuring that the only way she could talk to me was by sitting at the bar. I put her out of her misery and went down and took her order for a Perrier.

She didn’t look good. Her eyes had black circles like bruises under them. Her hair was unwashed and barely combed. She wore no makeup. “Have you heard from Jimmy?” she asked.

Oh shit. “We’re not going to be hearing from him.”

Her eyes did a shift that told me she knew what was coming. “Jimmy is dead,” I told her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips pursed against the pain.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

She nodded and opened her eyes. “John said Jimmy was dead. He seemed sure of it.”

“Maybe Dr. Zampa just wanted it to be true ’cause he wants you back. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” She stared at the bubbles in her glass. “But what if he was the one who killed Jimmy? I can’t stand not knowing.”

“He didn’t do it. I’m sure of it.” Her eyes said she wasn’t believing me.

I tried again. “Truly, Dr. Zampa had nothing to do with Jimmy’s death.”

She gave me a weak little smile. I’d tried. I went back to work. The next time I checked on her, Dr. Zampa was sitting down beside her.

“Oh, mother, this is going to be a long night.” I headed down the bar to deal with the coming disaster.

I arrived as she snarled “What are you doing here?” at him. Softly, as if she’d shatter if he spoke too loudly, he said, “I saw your car.”

“You followed me, you mean. Go away.” She turned away from him and he flinched in pain. I put a coaster down in front of him.

“Bring me a Jack Daniels,” he ordered. His eyes never left his wife.

The Sunset is generally a mellow sort of place with only soft music, the clink of glasses and the sound of light laughter to disturb the calm surface. Not that night. The bar was packed. Crowds take on moods and this one’s state of mind wasn’t good. Voices were raised at a table. Bodies moved restlessly around it until the atmosphere settled and then loud laughter erupted across the room where a chair was overturned as someone left abruptly. The air was charged with energy as if an electrical storm was about to crack open the room. Every conversation bristled with emotion and everyone was hanging in as if they were expecting something big to happen. Waiting and drinking hard.

Tony Rollins, his face beet red, as if he’d been holding his breath way too long, got up from his seat and moved further down the mahogany. Marley gave me a sunny smile and went to join Peter and Cordelia.

As I passed a fresh drink to Tony Rollins I asked, “So when did Jimmy fire you?”

His eyes opened in surprise but he answered my question. “He told me the day he died that I was gone. He said he was buying into the club and he didn’t want trash like me around his golf club.” He was astounded. He really didn’t get what Jimmy was objecting to.

Styles came in. A path cleared around him as he walked to the bar. Even drunks have a sense of self-preservation. “Are you working or is this a social call?” I asked.

“Bring me a club soda,” he said.

“Ah, the wicked aren’t resting.”

“What time do you get off?” he asked when I set down his glass.

“Are you asking me for a date?”

“Not likely.”

“Too bad ’cause I bet I could put some color in your cheeks.” Maybe I was as crazy as everyone else in the room tonight.

“What time?”

I watched him drain his glass and leave. I went down the bar to Marley and told her, “All I need to make this fine evening complete is Bernice.” I turned a nervous eye to the door. “If that bitch comes in I’m going to faint dead away. A girl can only take so much.”

“Nah, don’t worry. She’s probably still home destroying property. It’ll be days before she figures out what you did to her.”

I beamed at her in delight.

But it was Eddy who came in right after this, who really put a smile on my face, his own look of delight saying good news before he opened his mouth. “We’ve got your license plate.” He slid a piece of paper across the mahogany bar towards me. “That’s his name and his address. His name is Gregg Ganoff. One of the guys followed him home. Another driver knew him. Ganoff’s wife teaches his kid over on the mainland. Hope you get your money back.”

“Ganoff, Gregg Ganoff,” I told the amigos.

“Yeah, but who is he?” Brian asked.

They all got on their cell phones and started making calls to find out what they could about Ganoff.

Brian was the first with information. “He works for Hayward Lynch.”

“So it’s all true?” Why was I surprised? My hard surface cracked.

“Hey come on,” Brian pleaded softly.

“Can I get a little service down here?” a guy called down the bar.

“Hold your fucking horses,” Brian roared. The bar went silent.

I’d have been less shocked to hear Noble swear from the pulpit. I gulped down a laugh. “No more language like that Mr. Spears or I may have to ban you.”

The big guy was frowning along the bar at Brian, trying to decide if he wanted to make something of it. I sauntered down.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told him.

“Not only is he a lawyer but he’s a personal friend of the chief of police.”

I gave him my sunniest smile.

“Now how about a drink on the house?”

When I came back, my amigos were in a heated discussion of what to do “Call that cop . . . what’s his name?” Brian asked.

“Styles,” Peter told him, “His name is Styles.”

“Yeah, Styles. Call him,” Brian ordered.

Clay was turning his mug of beer around and around. “Well?” I asked him.

“Sure, call him.” His eyes flicked up and then back to his glass. There was only an inch left in the bottom so I couldn’t see what he was finding so interesting. “But?” I urged him on.

He shrugged. “Without proof we go nowhere. Maybe the police will get lucky.”

I watched his face closely and asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Lynch doesn’t know he got your only copy. Maybe we should run Jimmy’s scam and see what happens.”

They got even louder now, shouting and arguing with each. I went off and pulled a couple of pints and mixed a Tom Collins while the idea percolated.

“It’s too dangerous,” Brian told me when we picked up the conversation again. “Don’t listen to these guys.”

“Maybe Brian is right,” Peter said. “Leave it to the cops.”

“And let Lynch get away with it?” I lifted his glass and wiped the bar under it. “Besides, I’m still the one the police will arrest if there are no other choices.”

“Lynch already has your copy of the video,” Brian reminded me. “Why would he try and pay you off?”

“He doesn’t know it was the only one. Besides, he’s already tried to kill me twice. I won’t be safe until he’s in jail.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

There were about twenty seconds of horrified silence and then they were on their feet firing questions at me.

“Sit down and shut up,” I ordered. When they finally settled down, I said, “I guess I forgot to tell you about the first time.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to forget,” said Peter.

“Can I get a carafe of house white?” Jessica Blair, our cute little waitress, asked from the end of the bar where she waited for the order.

I went to the wine fridge to get it. Intent on convincing me, Peter followed me along the bar to where Jess waited. For once Peter didn’t even try out one of his lines. Jess was fresh out of high school and gorgeous, so it was clear Peter was upset.

“Go to the police,” he advised me. “You can’t deal with this on your own. You need their help if you’re going to get Lynch.”

“Maybe,” I said.

But Clay had a better idea. “We could get you miked and then you make a pitch to Hayward. I know a good investigator who’ll take care of the details.” He grinned at me. “Tell Hayward you want the same deal Jimmy had or you’ll blow the whistle on him.”

My mind had been going in the same direction. Hadn’t we all seen this in the movies dozens of times?

“Are you trying to get her killed?” Brian yelled. He slammed his glass down hard on the bar, liquid splashing over his hand. His face was crimson and a thick vein stood out on his left temple. He looked like his head was about to explode.

“Okay, Brian,” I soothed, “I’ll do it your way.” I reached out and patted his hand to try to calm him down. “I’ll call Styles. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.”

“You’ll stay well away from Lynch?” He pushed at the bridge of his glasses. “Promise?”

“Hey, I’m no fool.”

“Maybe not, but you are foolhardy. Promise me you won’t call Lynch or have anything to do with him.”

“Why don’t you come with me to meet Styles? Then you can tell him what’s worrying you.”

He was on his feet now. “You aren’t saying it, Sherri.” He turned to the others. “Do you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to change the subject.” He put the flat of his hands against the bar and leaned forward. “Promise me you won’t call Lynch or go anywhere near him.” Each word was enunciated clearly.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, dismissing his fears.

“Promise,” he insisted.

I laughed at him. “It sounds like we’re back in school.”

“You aren’t going to put me off that easy.”

“He’s right, Sherri,” Peter said.

“Let me talk to Styles before I go making any promises.” Jeff was giving me the evil eye. I hadn’t been pulling my weight all night and his patience was running out. I went back to work.

As I pulled pints and mixed drinks, my mind explored the options. Lynch had nothing to lose. He’d already killed two people and if he thought I was a threat, I was dead. And if I did nothing, the police would arrest me for Jimmy’s death. There was only one other choice . . . find Andy’s copy of the tape.

The night from hell finally ended at the Sunset.

Clay opened the door and we scanned the parking lot. Clay had pulled the Lexus right up to the bottom of the stairs. Another car was parked beside it, a beige sedan. The door opened and Styles got out, letting us see him in the overhead light.

“What’s he doing here?” I asked Clay.

“Who cares? At least we know he isn’t trying to kill you.”

“I can believe anything at this point.”

Styles got back in his car.