Scottsdale Heat: a romantic light-hearted murder mystery (Laura Black Mysteries Book 1) (20 page)

I spent a few minutes in front of the mirror. I refreshed the make-up and fluffed up my hair. I put on a pair of black high-heeled pumps, which gave me the appearance of actually having legs and a butt.

I took the elevator down to the atrium, and then walked out to the parking lot. The night was warm and there wasn’t even the trace of a breeze.

I was unlocking my car when a black Cadillac pulled next to me. The car stopped and two guys got out. One was merely big while the other was huge. The big one was in his late twenties, while the huge one was in his late forties or early fifties. Both were dressed in matching dark suits, white shirts, black ties, and black shoes. They almost looked like the Blues Brothers.

Shit. Not again!

I dug in my purse until I found the Glock. I pulled it out, but then realized I didn’t have a round in the chamber.

“Miss Black, Tony DiCenzo would like to have a word with you,” the merely big one said, unfazed I was pointing a gun at him.

My heart sped up to about one-forty and I felt sweat break out on my forehead.

“Tough Tony DiCenzo wants to talk to me?” I said, trying to sound calm. “You’re serious? Why would he want to talk to me? I’ve never even met the man before.”

“I have no idea why he wants to talk to you, but you can be damn sure it’s important,” the huge one said. “Otherwise, why do you think he’d send us out to get you? However, we aren’t here to make you do anything against your will. You don’t have to come with us. But, honestly, it has been my experience it isn’t wise to upset Mr. DiCenzo.”

I couldn’t come up with an argument against that. Besides, I told myself, the DiCenzos are somehow tied in with this. Maybe I’d learn something.

I climbed into the back of the Caddy. The huge guy came in close behind me. The merely big guy got in front and started the motor. I felt around on the seat.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “There aren’t any seat belts back here. How do expect me to ride in a car without seatbelts?”

“Not to worry,” the huge one said. “Milo is a very good driver.”

“I don’t care how good of a driver Milo is. You can’t just expect me to get in a car with two guys I don’t know from Jack and ride around with no seatbelt. Are you nuts?”

The huge one just looked at me like I was a slug. “So you don’t feel uncomfortable not knowing who we are, I’m Johnny Scarpazzi and that’s Milo.”

From the front seat, Milo turned his head around and smiled at me. The smile revealed a bright gold tooth.

“The seat belts are just wedged under the seat,” Milo said. “None of the guys we drive around want to be seen wearing them. It’s bad for their image. After a while, the belts just slip into the crack and fall behind the seat. If you reach in, you can probably pull one out.”

I reached down into the crack and fished out both halves of my seatbelt. I put on the belt and felt better when it clicked. I looked over and noticed both Johnny and Milo we fumbling around, putting their seat belts on too.

What is it with men?

~~~~

Milo put the Caddy in gear and we drove in silence. After ten minutes we pulled in front of the Carmine Hotel.

The Carmine was built about twenty years before my apartment building, but has been much better maintained. It now serves the upscale business clientele who travel to the downtown Scottsdale area. We walked around to the side of the building and descended a wide deep stairwell. Johnny went down first. I was next. Milo brought up the rear. A large flashing red and blue neon sign reading
Junior Baker’s Blues Club
bathed us in its glow as we descended.

At the bottom of the stairwell was a large red wooden door. Johnny opened the door and the sound of music and laughter poured out. We went into the dim club, walking past the doorman, the cashier, and the coat check girl.

The club wasn’t large, but it was packed. There were maybe thirty tables and a small dance floor all in front of a low stage. The high tin ceiling was painted flat black. A half-dozen ceiling fans blew around the warm air. The walls to the sides and behind the stage were covered with thick red curtains. Along the far wall was a bar with two dozen people leaning against it or sitting on stools. Between the bar and the seating area was a rail with another dozen people standing against it. They all seemed to be talking, laughing, and swaying with the music.

Playing on the stage was a quartet of older black men. I recognized Junior Baker as the man sitting in the middle of the group playing electric guitar. Baker had been playing blues his entire life and was a Scottsdale music legend. The band was playing an Arizona version of Chicago Blues. It had a fast beat with a pounding bass line. The dance floor was packed. People were crowding and bumping into each other, but I noticed nobody seemed to mind. Everyone was laughing and smiling, having a great time. If I hadn’t been with the two goons, I would have liked to have stayed and enjoyed myself too.

We walked to the back of the club where three steps led up to a small room. As we approached, a large guy held up his hand to stop us. He patted me down and searched my bag. Without a word, he took out my Glock and put it in his coat pocket. To my surprise, my two escorts also surrendered their guns. OK, so I guess guns weren’t allowed beyond that point.

I stepped into the room and I saw it had a great view through a large cutout in the wall. The room was elevated just enough to be able to look over the heads of the people sitting at the tables and right onto the stage. The music was clear, but at a softer volume than in the room outside.

The room had several small tables in the front and a couch in the back with end tables on either side. A dozen candles in red glass were scattered on the tables and provided the only light in the room.

Sitting at a table by the door were two grim-looking goons.
I recognized Maximilian, sitting alone at the far table. Just seeing him again made my pulse raise another notch, but in a way that had nothing to do with the fear I was feeling.

Sitting alone at a table in the back corner of the room was a tall, graceful woman. She had long black hair and piercing blue eyes. I would have described her as beautiful, but her eyes sent a tingle of fear down my spine. They were the eyes of a hunter sizing up her prey. I also recognized the man standing between the two tables. It was Tough Tony DiCenzo.

~~~~

I walked over to DiCenzo. Physically he was only slightly taller than me, but he was built like a bull. He had the tanned skin of a man living year-round in the desert. He had a round pockmarked face, a bulbous nose, and piercing dark eyes. His black and gray hair was short and slicked straight back. I knew from news reports he was in his late fifties. I knew by reputation that he didn’t take a lot of crap from anybody.

“So, you’re Laura Black,” he said. He offered his hand as he looked me up and down. “I’ve heard some good things about you. Welcome to my club. So, what do you think about it?” His voice had a Brooklyn accent mixed in with the raspy overtones of a two-pack-a-day habit. “You and me have business to discuss, but first, what’ll you have to drink?”

“Scotch,” I said. “Whatever you have handy, one ice cube.”

“I got a twenty-one year old Glenlivet single malt. You oughta try it. It’s not too bad. In fact, I think I’ll have one myself.” He motioned to Milo, who in turn relayed the drink order to a waitress who was walking by the alcove. DiCenzo then walked over to the couch and sat. He motioned me to a chair next the end of the couch.

“Well, Mr. DiCenzo,” I said. “This is your club? It’s nice.”

“I’m glad you like it, and call me Tony. Do you know I bought this hotel almost twenty years ago? Back then, this room was just part of the hotel basement and was used by the Scottsdale Memorial hospital for document storage. Where the stage is now was nothin’ but a pile of dusty boxes going nearly up to the ceiling. Twenty years ago Junior Baker’s records had stopped selling and he was flat broke. As it so happened, I met him and found out he wasn’t such a bad guy. On a hunch I opened this club and let him run it. Now, he’s a household name all over the world and his record sales have never been stronger. This club has turned a profit every year for the last eighteen years. See, that’s what can happen if you find someone you believe in and you give ‘em an opportunity.”

The waitress came into the alcove carrying the tray of drinks. She sat them on the end table next to the couch.

I picked up my glass and took in a mouthful that I swallowed in a gulp. Hey, at this point I needed it. Hot pleasure spread from my throat outward. I looked up to see DiCenzo watching me.

“Damn,” I said, smacking my lips together. “That’s amazing.”

DiCenzo picked up his glass and leaned back on the couch, a slight smile on his face. We sat in silence for a few minutes; DiCenzo enjoying the music, me sipping the Scotch and trying not to shake.

“Now then,” DiCenzo said, leaning forward again. “To why we are here. What do you know about diamonds?”

“They’re a girl’s best friend?”

“Oh, they’re much more than that. Let me give you some background on the situation I find myself in, or perhaps I should say, the situation
we
find ourselves in. Through the years, I have found that the more information a person has, the better decisions they are able to make. And, over the next few days, Laura Black, I want you to make some very good decisions.”

Something about the way he phrased that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Now then,” he said. “Some weeks ago, I was approached by a representative of an organization outta Russia. Seems they had acquired a large quantity of high-quality diamonds. As luck would have it, they had found a buyer in a group called the Consortium. The Consortium is made up of various factions in the Middle East and Southeast Asia. They asked for my help, so they could make the sale.”

“Why’d they want you to get involved?” I interrupted. “It seems like it would be a straightforward deal. Wouldn’t having you involved just increase their risk?”

“Yeah, you’d think that,” DiCenzo said, apparently not minding my interruption. “But the sad truth is these things never go smoothly. You put a dozen stressed-out guys in a room with guns, money, and a briefcase full of jewels? Christ, something always goes wrong. Feelings get hurt, cultures clash, somebody says the wrong thing, or God forbid, somebody tries to change the terms of the deal just as the money is exchanged. The results are never pretty. The two Consortium brothers who are currently calling themselves Smith and Jones have somewhat of a reputation for violence, as you may have noticed. That tends to put people on edge. Also, there was the question of which country to do the exchange in. Turns out there’s a general dislike of Russians in the Consortium. Too much bad blood over the years. The Russians didn’t feel none too safe going on their territory. On the other hand, the Consortium refused to travel to Russia because of some recent government interference in this sort of transaction.”

“So how do you fit in?” I asked. I was so proud my voice was still steady. On the inside, my guts were starting to knot up.

“I’m the broker, the middle-man, the referee you might say. I provide a neutral location for the sale. I provide an independent expert to verify both the quality of the merchandise and the method used to pay for it. What’s more, I provide nonaligned security for all parties. You might say I make sure nothing goes wrong. In exchange for those services, I receive a percentage of the sales price.”

“But something went wrong?” I asked.

“You’re damn right something went wrong!” DiCenzo yelled, slamming his hand down on the table. Everybody in the alcove turned to look at him. “The goddamn Russians no more than checked into my hotel before they lost the fuckin’ bag with the diamonds. That simple fuck of a Russian currier got distracted when some girl flashed her tits at him. Then some little jack-off switched the bag and just walked off with the diamonds. It took us two days of questioning people and reviewing security tapes until we found out what had happened. Then even after we found out what had happened, we still didn’t know who’d done it. We’d never seen the guy before, had no idea who he was. Now, I’ve been doing this sorta thing for years and believe me when I say security was airtight. Nobody other than my top guys knew merchandise was even coming into Scottsdale. It shoulda been impossible for anyone to get at the diamonds, but it happened anyway. I’ve lost sleep over this one, and let me tell you I
never
lose sleep over business.”

“But other than losing your commission, how can this go badly for you? No one could blame you for it.”

“No, that’s not how it works,” DiCenzo said, shaking his head. “The bag switch happened in my territory and in my hotel. That makes it my fault. If I don’t get the diamonds back and make sure the sale takes place smoothly, I look like a world-class asshole. And believe me I ain’t going to be known as a world-class asshole.”

“Did you find out who switched the bag?” I asked. “I saw the hotel security tape. You couldn’t make out any details of the man who made the switch. I suspect you know my partner Gina Rondinelli has been looking for whoever took the bag. So far she’s come up with zip.”

“That’s true, I do know. And you’re right, the tapes don’t show shit. If the prick had just taken the diamonds and laid low, we might never have known who’d done it. But he got greedy. In the end they always get greedy. In the bag was a pouch containing three diamonds, samples you might call them. We put word out to the street to keep a lookout for them. They’re easy to spot because they’re big, three to five carats, blue-white, and internally flawless, rather rare. Turns out the first diamond was sold to a pawn shop in downtown Scottsdale a week ago Wednesday. The jerk sold it for half of what he could have got from a proper fence. The pawnshop owner gave us a call to let us know he had one of the diamonds. We still didn’t know the guy’s name because he used a bogus ID, but the pawn shop owner let us have the disk from his security camera. Much better resolution than the tape from the hotel. But except for showing his picture around we were forced to wait. Not to worry though, we knew if he sold one diamond, he’d sell the other two. People are stupid that way.”

DiCenzo paused and held up his now empty glass. Milo took off to get two more.

A bag with diamonds? Alex?

“A few days later, my old friend Jimmy Meyer called to tell us a guy matching the photo had just sold him the second diamond. Jimmy also told me he had set him up with Ingrid at the Tropical Paradise to sell the third. Ingrid was going to handle the buy, but I also called in the Iceman in to verify the diamonds were the ones we was looking for.”

Milo came back in with fresh drinks. I was grateful for the Scotch. It was the only thing keeping me from running out of the building, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“At this point we only wanted to find out who the guy was and where he lived,” DiCenzo continued. “After the sale at the Tropical Paradise we had additional pictures of him and from Meyer’s parking lot security camera we got his license plate. From that we discovered his identity.”