Hunter's Moon.htm (29 page)

He hung up. I thought about calling him back, but if he'd followed instructions, his phone was already dead. I pulled off the battery from the unit in my hand— it would work on my regular cell. Then I closed my fist around the phone. I felt the plastic begin to give as I applied pressure. I squeezed harder. A moment later, it shattered in my grip. So much for that hundred bucks. These new muscles are occasionally damned useful. I dropped the shards of plastic in the trash bag hanging from the gear shift. I'd dump them at a couple of different car washes around town. I swung the car around at the intersection. Carmine's house was my next stop.

I wasn't there long. He wouldn't believe the tip without talking to Scotty, "up close and personal." I couldn't blame him. There hadn't been a peep on the street about Carmine. We'd checked. So now I was driving a black sedan with Mike in the passenger seat next to me and Carmine in the back.

Normally, Nico would be in the car beside me instead of Mike, but Nico was… unavailable. His current residence was at the bottom of a lake. Carmine's boys had lifted some nice prints off one of the papers in the briefcase. Nico shouldn't have had any access to the document to have a print on it. After some prompting, he'd admitted to searching my car.

Carmine still wasn't satisfied that he had plugged all the leaks. He was taking the whole thing very personally, and very seriously. We were in the bulletproof rig today and he was packing in a couple of places.

I had to admit, I was surprised about Nico. I would have bet my favorite body part that Jerry was the leak. But Carmine swears that he's had no opportunity. I guess I have to believe him. But if I were Carmine, I'd be watching my back with that guy.

We'd been following Scotty for a couple of blocks, looking for an opening. I saw him start to cross the street to reach an arcade when I made my move. He looked both ways and darted into the street between two parked cars. I stomped on the gas and felt the car leap forward. Then I screeched to a halt in the middle of the road right in front of him. Carmine opened the door of the sedan on the fly, just barely missing his leg. I turned in my seat and lowered my sunglasses so he could see my face.

"Get in, kid."

Scotty's face was surprised, but he did what he was told. He slammed the door behind him and we took off again. I could hear Scotty's heart beating like a triphammer. He was good, but he knew he was out of his league. I'm sure he recognized Carmine. He's been in the papers a lot— mostly in the society column. Carlin's is a favorite of the "in" crowd.

The air was suddenly awash with hot and sour soup. It made my jaw clench and I felt a trickle of spittle at the edge of my mouth. I wiped it away before anyone noticed. Damn it. I should have eaten before I went to Carmine's. My stomach was going to start growling any second.

I kept my attention on my driving while Carmine talked to Scotty. Mike and I both pretended we were deaf.

"So you're Scotty," he said. Carmine's voice gave nothing away.

"Yeah… I mean— uh, yes sir, Mr. Leone." Good boy. Make some points.

"Tell me what you told Tony. I want some more detail."

Scotty cleared his throat. "Okay. Well, I've got this friend named Sally, and she… "

Carmine interrupted. "Define friend."

I could see him shrug in the rearview mirror. "We hang out. Sometimes we have sex."

Mike shook his head and sighed. The kid's pretty young, but he wouldn't be the first.

I asked a question from the front seat. "I thought girls made you nervous. And how do you see her when you still live with your folks?" I'd told Carmine I would only butt in if it was something important. His relationship with the girl could be.

"Well, I mean, Sally's not a girl. She's a hooker. And I don't live with my folks anymore. I got bored and took off. I live with another guy." He shrugged. "He doesn't care what I do as long as I pay him rent."

Carmine was the one to ask the next question. His voice was sharp and intended to frighten. "What is this "Sally", some sort of drag queen?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," replied Scotty, who was starting to smell confused. "I mean that she's not a girl you date. She's just a hooker."

Ah. Mike gave me a knowing look. It's a common attitude. They've even got a name for it: the Madonna complex. Either a girl is a good girl that you date and marry, or she's a whore and not even seen as a person. That attitude wouldn't win any points with Carmine. He's very equal opportunity. Of course, he has little choice with Linda around.

"So tell me what Sally told you." Carmine's voice wasn't warm and fluffy, but he kept on point.

"Just that there was this guy that picked her up. She got him off and he fell asleep. He started mumbling your name and some other stuff. She really didn't know what to think. The next day he picked her up again."

Carmine was listening intently. He was leaning against the locked door, watching the kid's face. I was doing the same in the mirror when I could spare a second.

"So anyway, the next time he fell asleep, she checked out the room. She found a case and opened it. I guess there was a gun inside that breaks down and fits into foam. She put two and two together. She told me because she thought he might be competition. She doesn't like the guy much and wants to help get rid of him. She said she can set him up. Get him wherever in the room you want him. The apartment belongs to a friend of hers. You'll have to pay for anything you break, though."

Carmine sat silently for a long moment, just watching the kid. He was sorting. Without taking his eyes off Scotty, he said, "Tony? Mike?" I knew he was asking our opinion.

On the way to Carmine's, I'd driven by the only apartment building in town that's across the street from a parking garage. Each unit had a balcony overlooking the street that is accessed by a sliding glass door. It wasn't a bad set-up, but it was obvious that Scotty didn't understand how to plan a job using a firearm. The garage was too close to get away after a gunshot sounded. The complex has a full-time security guard. He would recognize the sound and either investigate or call the police.

But I did like the idea of using a garage. Fortunately, there was another parking structure about a block and a half away with a clear line of sight to that side of the building. The Thompson with the 50mm scope would work fine so long as I loaded the shells a little hot and she could get that glass door open. The Thompson is a single shot, not a semi-auto. I could use one shot to take out the window, but couldn't reload before he took cover.

"The girl will need to get him out on the balcony," I said flatly, implying to Scotty that I already knew where the job would take place. "Or at least get the sliding door open. I'll only have one shot. The mark will be paranoid—especially since you already made one try for him. He won't want to be in the open like that. I sure as hell wouldn't if I was on a job."

I conceded a point. "Of course, if the girl flubs it and he kills her, I can probably still pop him when he comes out on Vine Street. It's the only exit he can use. The back one has a dead bolt. Killing her would be an impulse. He wouldn't have time to get a key."

Scotty started when I said all that, because he knew that he hadn't said anything about the location. Once again, the cloves and fear returned, blended with amazement.

"Yeah, he might be paranoid like you, Tony," said Mike, "But you wouldn't visit a hooker during a job and let her see your piece." said Mike. "The guy sounds pretty dim. It should be an easy hit. I say we believe the kid."

Good point. I took a deep breath, trying to sort out which scents belonged to Scotty. He smelled mostly like mustard— probably his underlying scent, but there was no deceit. I'd say he was possibly being used by the girl, but he hadn't smelled particularly warm or concerned when he talked about her, or when I suggested she might die. And he already tried to take the guy out. No, if Scotty said the guy was a pro, he probably was. He seems to know his limitations.

Carmine watched me in the mirror and then turned his attention back to Scotty when I gave a brief nod. I was nearly back to the spot where we'd picked him up. I stopped the car just a little up the street.

"I'll be in touch, kid," said Carmine as Scotty left the car. It was the closest Scotty would ever get to a "thank you." If it played out, I'd check with Carmine about some apprenticing.

When I left Carmine's after the meeting, he said that he would do some checking and get back to me, one way or the other. It would be at least hours, maybe even days. I might as well take the card and the now melted candy over to Sue.

Chapter 26

"Tony! Wait!"

Sue's plaintive call was cut off sharply as the door slammed shut behind me. I stalked to my car. I was more furious than I'd been before in my life. The sun was just setting, creating long shadows as I walked. As I reached the car, the pole lights around the circle drive blinked on and chased my shadow away.

The other boot I had worried about had dropped, all right. Right on my frigging head.

I got the car keys out of my pocket and promptly dropped them. I just barely stopped myself from kicking the car door. I'd be really pissed if I had to take the Mustang to a body shop because I couldn't control my temper.

One tall oak door opened as I reached down to pick up the key ring. Sue raced out, leaving the door open. "Tony, please! Don't go. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again."

I looked up at her, furiously. "Damn straight it won't!"

I could hear Myra's shrill voice through the open door. "Just let him go, Suzi. He must have something to hide if he got so angry over an honest mistake."

I glared at the voice behind the triangle of yellow light and bit back a smart-ass reply with gritted teeth. She wasn't worth the effort. I should have trusted my first instinct and dusted her when I met her.

Sue was in tears as she ran around the car. I stepped back. I didn't want her to touch me right now. I was entitled to my anger and I would be damned if I would let it roll away in that silvery glow.

She stopped when I backed up, not coming any closer.

Her chin was quavering and salty tears rolled down her cheeks. I felt her embarrassment and pain. Fear and sorrow tightened my chest and all I wanted to do was wrap her in my arms. No, damn it! I'd been careless enough.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Not your fault." It wasn't. But it didn't calm me down any. I unlocked the car door and she let me.

Her voice remained soft and guarded. She didn't want to be overheard. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Are you coming back?" Her fear hit me full in the nose. She didn't include the word, "ever" but it was implied.

"Probably not tonight."

She nodded, miserable. The fear was a little less but only a little. "Can I come with you?"

"I'm not real good company right now, Sue. I need some time alone." The tension was still in my voice. Big surprise. "If you don't want to stay here with her, go to a motel, order some room service and veg out in front of the television. Or go out somewhere."

Her arms were wrapped around her body, hugging tight against the world. Her head dropped and glittering tears fell to the pavement. "I don't know anyone to go out with. And I don't want to stay in a motel. I don't like motel rooms when I'm alone."

I stopped as some of my anger was defeated in her pain. I leaned against the car, hands resting on the open window jamb. I bowed my head and took a deep breath. "Why don't you call John? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

She shook her head. "It's almost seven. He's probably already left."

I opened the car door, leaned inside and grabbed a pen and paper. I wrote a number and handed the sheet to her, being careful not to touch her skin. "This is his home number. Call him." When she wouldn't meet my gaze, I touched her shoulder. I fought off the familiar pulling in my groin. She looked up suddenly and gasped at the contact. "Call him, Sue. Please."

She took strength from me gratefully and nodded. It was shaky but she nodded.

I drove off with a roar, leaving her standing alone and forlorn in a circle of light.

I went to Nick's. I needed somewhere where I felt at home. The band was up and running as I stalked in the place. The joint was packed. A gust of wind caught the door and slammed it shut behind me, rattling the windows.

"Hey, easy on the building," Jocko exclaimed as I grabbed the only available stool and pulled up to the bar, "It's not paid for yet."

Not funny. I glared at him. One look at my face made him utter a low whistle. He grabbed a shot glass with one hand and an unopened bottle of Maker's Mark with the other. He broke the thick red wax seal and poured the caramel-colored liquor into the shot glass, stopping just short of spilling.

Without a word I grabbed the glass and carefully lifted the whiskey to my lips. I threw it down my throat but forgot to inhale first. The liquid seared and nearly went down the wrong pipe. I refused to cough. A shudder passed through me, and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Warmth spread through my chest as it flowed toward my stomach. When I opened my eyes again, the glass was full. A small smile played at the corner of my mouth and I gladly downed the second shot. I couldn't get drunk anymore, but the effort made me feel better.

After a third shot, Jocko finally said, "What's got you so lathered up?"

I snorted and pushed the glass toward him a fourth time. He tilted his head and shook it a little with a sigh. He smelled nervous. A bartender really doesn't like to get an angry guy drunk. But he poured.

My voice reflected my irritation. "I got a visit from Bob Sommers today." I sipped the whiskey this time to make him feel better.

"That homicide dick from the Fourth? Shit. He's so Ivory Soap that he squeaks."

I was sipping when he said that and I laughed abruptly, spraying whiskey on the marble bar. It wasn't all that funny but it just occurred to me that Sommers really does smell like Ivory Soap. I hadn't realized it until that moment.

Detective Robert Sommers is tall with greying blonde hair. Blonde hair doesn't grey well. It makes him look jaundiced. He has a perpetually rumpled look that always reminds me of Columbo. They'd have been pals.