The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery (12 page)

When he turned he saw Mills waiting. “I can't believe that just happened.”

“She's just drunk,” Mills replied.

“Yeah, well, she got drunk while she spent about an hour getting ready.” He looked back at the table, Monika nodding while Hopkins and Carscadden were leaning forward, whispering to her. Monika must have sensed his eyes on him because she turned, presenting a sad, sympathetic and crooked smile before averting her eyes down to the table.

15

Carscadden and Nastos sat in the Bikkuri Japanese restaurant across from the King Edward Hotel. Even though it was daytime the restaurant was dark inside. There were bamboo blinds at the windows shielded by silk privacy screens, dim rectangular lights above the tables that were engraved with two dragons holding a pearl. The dinner plates were square with rounded corners decorated with red napkins that had been intricately folded into animals holding chopsticks bound in coloured paper ribbons.

Carscadden had brought a standard car-entry kit just in case, a master electronic opener, a Slim Jim and, as a last resort, two-sided picks. There were only two doormen working at the King Edward and both had been given fifty dollars to beep the horn twice if they picked up the Chevy Tahoe registered to the guest John Smith.

Carscadden paused for the waiter to leave before beginning the conversation. “So, last night's dinner debacle . . . Any thoughts?”

Nastos didn't say anything.

“I take it she's still our client. You know, here we are, still working the case.”

When Nastos asked himself why exactly they were here, he drew a blank. “I'm going to start with the salmon.”

“Okay then, Monika,” Carscadden changed the subject. “What's the deal there?”

Nastos shrugged. “I sent some flowers to the office this morning. Fifty-dollar arrangement with a card.”

“Having a stalker might make you seem more mysterious and alluring.” Carscadden's deadpan didn't hold up long and he began to chuckle to himself. He didn't expect a reply and turned his focus back to work. “You know we can safely assume that these aren't cops we're dealing with. What's your guess?”

Nastos stared through the glass of the hotel doors. “I've been thinking about that but I just don't have an answer. I wish it were the cops, because then we could drop the investigation. I think it's going to be organized crime, and of the options available I kind of hope it's the mafia.”

“Because they're businessmen?”

“Yeah. But either way, we get their names from the hotel and we're done. We email Karen, giving her what she needs, then hopefully I never have to deal with her again.”

Carscadden gulped down a piece of salmon, followed by a kamikaze roll. “You ever even tell her that we're on to these guys?”

“I sent her a text before she showed up at dinner last night. She sent back something about getting fired from work and not being able to take it much longer. Typical Karen drama.”

Nastos watched Carscadden working through the California rolls. Carscadden had stood beside him at the Cherry Beach trial and settled the subsequent lawsuit with the city. With the Bannerman case, Carscadden nearly lost his then-girlfriend and now-wife Tara Hopkins, but stayed committed no matter how dangerous it became. Now Nastos was finding himself in one of those crucial moments that would define the investigation.

For the first time since they arrived there he allowed himself to contemplate how dangerous it was to confront the unknown men. He reached across to the black canvas bag he had sitting in the chair next to him. He had brought it to the office already packed, not wanting Carscadden to see that he had put a gun inside. Viktor had provided him with a pistol. It was stolen from a factory before the stamping process that gave it a unique serial number. If Nastos had to get rid of it, all he had to do was wipe it down and it could never be traced back.

Nastos jolted to reality when Carscadden said, “They could be dangerous. If they are able to coerce cops to rob businesses . . .”

Nastos turned back to the menu to plan what tray to order next. “We don't know they were being compelled. They could be working for the wrong side by choice.”

“Either way we should be armed, don't you think?”

Nastos felt his face flush. “You work the car, I'll work them. I'll call you when I'm clear.”

Carscadden's face contorted. “Screw you. We deal with them together.” He continued, “I'll call Viktor, he could hook us up with something to protect ourselves.”

Nastos sighed. “He already hooked me up. Me, not us.”

Setting down his chopsticks and leaning forward Carscadden whispered, “You have a gun?”

“Yeah, and as I recall, last time you had one things didn't go so smoothly.”

“Either I go with you, or we bail now and call the cops.” Carscadden took out his phone and began scrolling for a number. “We can call in some bullshit
911
domestic. The cops go in and investigate, we go in after when it's clear.”

“If we call the cops in then we tip these guys off and screw the entire investigation. We'd have to give statements, everything would get run by a dozen different people. It would get bounced around two different Field Commands and eventually to Professional Standards. It would be a shit-show. I don't miss the buck passing.” He ran through the options and found himself thinking about the conversation he had with Doctor Mills about Chief Dimebag.
He's expecting a call from me. May as well run this one by him.

Nastos stood and pulled out his phone. “Order something, I'll be right back.” He paused for a second then grabbed the bag that he had placed on the bench next to him. He left Carscadden scrolling through the menu and moved to a more private area to dial a number.

“Steve Nastos? What can I do you for?”

“Hey, Chief, you have a few minutes?”

“One sec.” He heard a chair scrape back as if the Chief was moving to someplace else. “I'm right in the middle of something . . . Okay, shoot.”

“Listen, if you're busy, maybe it can wait.”

“It's budget time,” the Chief said. “I'm trying to put a case together for funding to take on organized crime but the Police Services Board disagrees. They think that because car thefts of all things are down, that we can cut our budget to nothing.”

“Exciting . . .” Nastos glanced to the table and saw Carscadden using the menu to point out an order to the waitress. “Well, speaking of organized crime, I'm working a private case and —”

“Pardon me, Steve, is that why you're calling? About a case?”

“Well, no. Not really.” He immediately regretted that he hadn't planned what to say if Dimebag actually answered the phone. “Actually, umm, sir, I want to apologize for the misunderstanding we, had when, you know, I —”

“Nastos, if I may?”

“Yeah?”

“That was the lamest attempt at a non-apology I have ever heard.”

He couldn't disagree. “I guess I'm not good at saying I'm sorry. Sorry.”

“Maybe your heart's not in it.”

Nastos had nothing to say.

“Listen, thanks for calling but I have to get back to work, okay?”

“Wait, Chief. Listen.” Nastos thought about Josie, who he had just dropped off at school an hour ago and how ever since Maddy died he had become paranoid about his own well-being. Not for himself but for her. “Organized crime. I think I might be on to something here and rather than go through a lot of
BS
, maybe you can —”

“Nastos, Nastos, no, I can't. I can't and frankly I wouldn't want to.” The Chief's façade of stoicism finally eroded. “Christ, Nastos, after what you did to me — in public on
TV
was so embarrassing. Do you know the self-control it took me to not beat the shit out of you right then and there?” His voice had become a hiss.

Nastos knew all about struggling for self-control. “I can imagine, sir.”

“Yeah, well, next time you want to call?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't.”

Nastos stared at the disconnected icon on his phone.
There goes that idea.
He put the phone away and looked over at Carscadden at the table. After the Bannerman case and how close Hopkins came to getting hurt, he was reluctant to bring Carscadden into any kind of danger. But with Karen the way she was, Jacques unavailable because of work and Dimebag uninterested in doing any favours, all that left was Carscadden. Nastos took his seat at the table and rested the bag on the bench next to him.

“Okay, we do this together.”

“Exactly.” Carscadden perked up.

“We keep our eyes open and be ready for anything. If things go south, we drop everything and book it.”

“Got it.”

Carscadden squeezed his hands into fists and relaxed. He clearly didn't want Nastos facing the unknown alone. He smirked to himself and nodded in the direction of Nastos' cell. “Was that the bunny boiler on the phone? Last night was great, until she showed up.” The enthusiasm for the conversation was obvious. Nastos reckoned Carscadden was probably about the right age to have seen
Fatal Attraction
when it played in the theatres.

Nastos shuddered. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. It was Josie's school,” he lied.
From one unwanted conversation to another.
“I can't believe Karen did that. Thank god Josie wasn't there when she came to the table.”

The waitress brought over the second platter of food. They both thanked her as she left.

Carscadden said, “I bet she waited for the right moment. When Styles would be there but Josie wouldn't. I bet she was watching. She saw Viktor lead her away and made her move.”

The thought of being stalked made it worse. “I don't know. Just when I was beginning to feel relaxed, like myself again. If it's not Maddy's ghost haunting me it's Karen.”

“She comes on strong, but maybe she's just socially awkward.”

“Yeah. Maybe if she had a non-crazy sister.”

“Maybe if she was a gorgeous psychologist who could sing like an angel . . .” Carscadden sounded chipper.

“Since when did you become such a gossiper? Does Hopkins also have you watching
Coronation Street
?” Nastos tried to brush it off. “Besides, psychologists don't date customers, they have them locked up, and I'm in therapy for serious issues. If she was in any way interested in me — and I'm not saying I'm interested in her — but if she was, she needs meds.”

Carscadden clenched a piece of tempura between his chopsticks, dipped it in sauce and spoke as he chewed. “You know there was a time, back in the day, when someone said to me, ‘You're not the only guy in the world who has a drinking problem.' And you know, you're not the only guy in the world with a temper after he lost his wife. Maybe you need to cut yourself a bit of slack and remember that you're not in this alone. Hopkins nearly died back then and for a while there I lived her death in my mind. I'm not saying that I know what you're going through but I've been close. There, I said my piece. Now try the kamikaze roll, it's spicy as hell.”

Before Nastos could say anything Carscadden speared a roll with the point of his chopstick and thrust it at him. He grabbed the mid-point of the stick and tried the roll. It was good, the perfect amount of smooth and heat, just like Carscadden.

“Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad.”

They had progressed from the kamikaze to the octopus when they saw the car. Nastos took pictures of the two men who exited it. The older guy looked like George Clooney. The younger kid with fake blond hair was flipping his index finger laterally across the screen of his iPhone. He was going through pictures. The doorman who took the car nearly blew the operation when he made it as obvious as hell that he was eyeballing the restaurant, trying to catch a glimpse of them in the window.

Carscadden wolfed down three bites of sushi and they didn't get up until both men disappeared through the hotel's revolving door. Dutifully the doorman hit the horn twice, garnering a glace back from Clooney.

Nastos said, “That right there is why I friggin' hate trusting civvies.” He puffed out air. “Okay, first we work the car. Then we deal with the front desk to get their names and credit information.”

“Right.” Carscadden had this look on his face like the most exciting thing in the world was to break into a car in a parking garage.

In silence, they watched the doorman get in the Tahoe and drive away. A short time later the man returned, keys in hand. Carscadden grabbed them. “We won't be long.”

The
SUV
was a short walk away in an underground lot. Well lit, with the aroma of car exhaust. Carscadden found the car by hitting the remote key and listening to the chirp. When they arrived at the car Nastos watched as Carscadden spent a few minutes peering inside before touching anything. A rental with leather interior, it was the cleanest car he had ever seen. There was nothing obvious inside the passenger compartment but he hit the button anyway and searched under and behind the seats, the glove compartment and the visors and found nothing other than lint. He pulled up the lever for the cargo area release and locked up the passenger area.

Nastos kept watch during all of this but no one came other than the doorman dropping off another car. Carscadden walked to the trunk door that had popped open an inch and swung it open the rest of the way. Considering how clean the front of the car was, it was surprising to find anything in the cargo area. Inside sat a laptop computer bag. Carscadden glanced around the underground parking and saw no one.

Nastos asked, “What?”

“I wasn't sure what I expected — maybe a duffle bag full of guns, disguises, cash — but I didn't expect a computer.” He grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He gave the rest of the back a quick search then closed it up. “Cool. Let's get out of here.”

Nastos replied with a thumb jabbed back toward the hotel. They walked to the King Edward at a good pace. Nastos allowed himself to be optimistic for the first time since he took the case.
Maybe we're going to put this mess behind us faster than I thought
.

Carscadden handed the keys back to the doorman. “Thanks.”

The doorman took off a white glove and ran his hand through his thick black hair. “Get everything you need, officer?”