Нельсон Демилль: The Best American Mystery Stories 2004

“So will you,” she said, staying calm.

“No, I won’t. Because I sure don’t know you, and you can’t prove that I know you. Or that I knew Bobby.”

“You would have been seen with him at the hotel.”

“Maybe. Maybe those folks don’t talk after Vic calls his friends at the casino. But Bobby-boy’s dead in your house.”

“I haven’t shot a gun anytime recently. They have chemical tests...”

“I wouldn’t waste a good bullet on Bobby. Smothered with a pillow, sweetheart,” Sean said. “How hard they got to look for a new suspect?”

Red took a microscopic sip of her wine. She set the glass down carefully. “So. What now?”

“Who else here’s with you?” he asked.

“No one.”

“You had help in getting Bobby out of the King Midas. So don’t lie to me. It makes me want to call 911.” He smiled at her, touched her hand gently. “You’re no longer running the show, sweetness.”

She let two beats pass. “The guy in the windbreaker at the bar. He’s my partner.” Sean allowed himself a very quick glance. The guy was watching them, not threatening, but worried, and he glanced into his beer right when Sean looked at him. The guy was big but had a softness to his hands and his mouth, had a nervousness to him that made Sean feel confident.

“How’d you find out about Bobby and the money?” Sean asked.

She gestured to the waitress for another glass of wine, and he knew then she would tell him, that he had her. “My partner works for an office equipment leasing company. He delivered Bobby’s office equipment when Bobby got started. Late in the day, he and Bobby got to talking. Ended up going out for a beer. Bobby doesn’t like to be alone, ever, and here he was new in a big town where he didn’t know anybody. They got to be drinking buddies and Bobby’d give my partner a little coke now and then when he came to town. One night Bobby drank too much, talked plenty. The safe combo — Jesus, Bobby stuck the numbers on a sticky note in his desk drawer. Not the brightest star in the sky.”

“And you were the handy redhead.”

“It’s not natural,” Red said. “I spent $250 on this hair color at a really uppity salon on the Strip after Bobby told my friend he dug redheads.”

“Looks good,” Sean said.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sean looked back at the bar and now her partner kept his stare on Sean. “Your friend appears to be a little nervous,” he said. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“No.”

“He more than a friend?”

“My brother.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, really, he is. No joke.”

“I love a family that works together,” Sean said. “Okay, wave Bubba over here.”

She did and at first the brother, uncool, acted like he didn’t see her. But then she stood up and said, “Garry, come here, please,” clear as a bell and Garry got up and came and sat across from Sean and Red. His mouth was thin. Scared, in over his head.

Sean didn’t smile, didn’t say hello or offer his hand. “So, the two of you thought you could screw me over.”

“Not you,” Red said, “Bobby and Vic. Jesus, you act like it was personal.” Her smile warmed a little. “I told you it wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sean said. “You got a dead guy in your house. What I don’t have is what I came here for, Vic’s money. Now. I give you guys credit; the scheme was clever. You get rid of Bobby, get the money, and make Vic think that Bobby’s on the run so he never, ever comes hunting for you.”

“Thank you,” Red said.

“You’re welcome,” Sean said. “I want that money here on this table in ten minutes or I’m calling the police and telling them that there’s a funny smell coming from y’all’s guest bedroom.”

Garry went white as salt. Red took a calm sip of her wine.

“And if we don’t cooperate, you get nothing,” she said. “You get screwed over just as bad as us, because Vic’ll kill you, won’t he?”

“Of course not,” Sean said.

“Really? You’ll have failed in your errand and he’s not gonna take it lightly,” Red said. “Bobby told me all about him, and we did some checking on him. People piss themselves when Vic comes into a room.”

“Maybe Bobby did. He’s easily impressed,” Sean said, and for the first time Red laughed.

“He was impressed with you, Sean. He liked you. Truly.”

Sean felt a pang of regret, wanted to close his eyes, but instead put a hard stare on his face. “Don’t tell me that; you’ll make me feel bad.”

“I’ll make you feel worse,” Red said. “If you send us to jail, you go home empty-handed. You’ll never get your money because we’ll give it to the cops, cut a deal to tell all we know about you and Vic and Bobby, and you’re just as dead as we are. So call 911, Sean. We’ll sit here and wait.”

“For God’s sake...” Garry said.

“Hush, now,” Red said. “Sean’s thinking. He needs his quiet time.”

They had him by the throat just as surely as he had them. Standoff.

“So there’s no way out for any of us,” Red said, “unless we work together. And unless you’re willing to get out from under Vic’s thumb.”

“I’m not under his thumb,” Sean said.

“There’s two types of people in this world,” Red said. “Bosses and errand boys. Bobby, at least during his time in Vegas, he got to be a boss. But you’re always gonna be Vic’s errand boy, aren’t you? He could’ve kept his business running in Vegas, given it to you, let you take the risk. And the reward.” She leaned forward and he could smell the rose perfume he’d smelled in Bobby’s hotel room with its lie-dry shower, the soft scent of wine on her breath. “Are you always going to be an errand boy, Sean?”

He said nothing, watching her.

“I mean, say Vic was out of the picture, you could take over in Vegas. There’s a whole infrastructure of dealers and customers in place, ready for someone smarter than Bobby to step in. Make more money than an errand boy ever would. I could help you, Sean. We could get rid of Vic. Together. It beats sending each other to prison.” And she gave him a wry grin.

“I can’t just kill Vic. The rest of his organization would come after me like an army.” That was all of ten guys, but it was enough.

“Not if something happened to him here. Away from them, where they couldn’t know exactly what had happened. Maybe the same trouble that happened to Bobby. A rival gang, let’s say. Vic dies, you take over the operation before the other gang can, you’re a hero. End of story.”

“What,” Sean said, “are you suggesting?”

Feeling another rush of decision, of possibility, imagining a roulette ball spinning in her smile.

“Tell me,” Red said, “does Vic like redheads?”

The King Midas bar, two nights later, was quieter than the first time Sean had been in here with Bobby, a different bartender, tonight a black woman with a soft Jamaican accent. Vic watched her walk to the other side of the bar. They were at a back table but with a good view of the curved teak of the bar.

“These Caribes,” Vic said. “They’re everywhere. If you grew up on an island, why would you want to move to a goddamned desert?” He coughed once, sipped hard at his vodka and tonic. “It’s pissing me off.”

“Change of pace.” Sean cleared his throat. “I’m sorry this has turned into a hassle, but I’m confident we can catch the bastards that kidnapped Bobby.”

“You got a lead on these assholes?” Vic took another tense swallow of vodka.

“Asians from Los Angeles, moving east,” Sean said. “That’s the word on the street.” The lie was easy now, practiced in his mind, and it made sense.