Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

‘Comedy is pain, bubba,’ Gooch said.

‘Especially mine. I got to go work on my act. I got good lines about mold lawsuits. Y’all stay as long as you need to.’

‘I don’t expect we’ll be here long, Charlie. Thank you again,’ Whit said.

‘Sure.’ Charlie closed the door behind him and they heard the tread of his step going down the wooden stairs.

‘Nice guy,’ Whit said. ‘That audience is in for a laugh-a-minute treat.’

‘That boy’d rather humiliate himself in front of an audience that’s gonna boo him off stage than take another case and a big fat retainer. I hope he makes it. I can’t afford for him to get poor and stop his sport fishing.’

Whit dialed Harry Chyme’s cell phone. He left a message: ‘Harry, it’s Whit. Call me.’

Gooch cracked his knuckles. ‘Let’s talk about the Bellinis. About a plan of action.’ Gooch bent over his duffel bag, pulled out a gleaming Sig Sauer, handed it to Whit. ‘Know your world and get the right spear for it, grasshopper. This is for you. Like I said, this is the only thing the Bellinis will respect.’

Whit held the gun. Beautiful, he thought, although he had never been one much for guns. He knew how to shoot, but it felt awkward and heavy in his hand. ‘This won’t be necessary.’

‘Shows what you know about mob families.’

‘Harry said my mother’s boyfriend runs a high-end strip joint for the Bellinis.’

Gooch took the gun from Whit’s hands. ‘Charlie says Paul Bellini owns Club Topaz. Let’s start there.’

‘I don’t think my mother’s working there, Gooch.’

‘Why don’t you go to the strip club? See what you can see. I got another angle I’d like to work.’

‘I’m calling the shots, Gooch. You understand? I know you’re treating this like a secret mission, but it’s my family problem. I want to handle it my way.’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’

‘Tell me I heard sincerity,’ Whit said.

‘I’m deceit-free right this minute.’

‘What’s this other angle?’

Gooch watched the tree limbs rocking near the window as the wind stirred them. ‘You can try to find your mother at a Bellini hangout. Present yourself as Whit Mosley, nothing to hide, a guy trying to find his mom. Or you can convince Harry that now you’re here, he needs to tell you what he knows and not shield you from the big bad truth. Or… take a more aggressive approach.’

‘Aggressive.’

‘Let’s say you find her, Whit. And she has no interest in seeing you or in a sweet little reunion with your dad before he dies. I’d say toss her over your shoulder and haul her to Port Leo. That’s kidnapping, although I can’t imagine a jury would convict you and she wouldn’t have a lot of sympathy if she pressed charges.’ Gooch let a crooked smile creep across his ugly, kind face. ‘The problem is the Bellinis. They probably don’t take kindly to a guy coming in and hijacking key members of their family. So let me kidnap her; you keep your hands clean.’

Whit paced to the bed. ‘Thanks, but no, Gooch. She’ll come with me.’

‘Why? There’s nothing in her interest to make her do so.’

‘She’ll come,’ he said again.

‘Whit,’ Gooch said, his voice going quiet. ‘Man, I do not want to screw with your head. The bitch-’

‘Don’t call her that.’

‘St Ellen has had thirty years to make amends. She wouldn’t know you if she walked past you on the street. What, she sees you, she suddenly cares? A heart grows where there was stone?’

‘Did you read that in a bad poem?’

‘I wrote that in a bad poem.’

‘So your backup plan is to kidnap her and keep the Bellinis at bay?’ Whit said. ‘You’re a freaking strategic genius.’

‘I’m trying to save you time.’ Gooch shook his head. ‘So what’s it gonna be?’

‘I’m going to see if my new Plan A works first.’

‘What’s Plan A?’

‘Find her,’ Whit said. ‘And get her away from these people. If I can talk to her, really have a conversation with her… that’s all I need to do.’

‘You have an unrelenting and hopelessly naive belief in the goodness of people, Whit. Why should she talk to you?’

‘I’m not so good, Gooch. There’s a man she knew in Montana,’ Whit said. ‘I mention his name, I’ll get her undivided attention.’

Night had begun its fall, and the mercury lights pooled over the lot of Club Topaz. Paul Bellini stood at the window of Frank Polo’s office, watching the valets park cars, the blood hammering in his head, in his chest. He took a calming breath. He liked to play a game with himself, look at the cars, figure out how much money each driver would spend. A Porsche would be a guy who would drop a couple of hundred, because it was himself and a friend. Your Lexuses, BMWs, Mercedes, often four to five guys together, up to a thousand easy. Best of all would be a little fleet of cabs and limos arriving: those meant groups, bachelor parties, sports teams, packs of young wolves ready to lay out serious cash. The lot was half full; it was still early for a Thursday, but the empty parking slots pissed him off.

Paul closed the heavy shades of the office with a flick of a button. The little whir of the device was the only sound in the room, except for the labored breathing and soft crying of Frank Polo.

‘Where is she, Frank?’ Paul asked. His voice was kind, a quiet murmur of buddyhood. A whisper between friends.

‘Oh, Christ, I don’t know,’ Frank Polo sobbed. He sat, curled up on the chair. Paul had punched him twice in the ribs, backhanded him. Frank’s lip was swelling, would purple before long.

‘You hear from her?’

‘She left two messages on my cell phone. Crazy ones. They don’t make sense.’

‘Nothing makes sense right now, Frank,’ Paul said, his voice an ooze of concern. ‘I got five million in cash missing. I got two people who could’ve took it, Bucks and Eve. Bucks comes running straight to me, tells me what happened. Eve runs.’

Bucks sat in the corner, pouting, bleeding from his own mouth where Paul had punched him, staring at Frank.

‘Bucks could’ve taken it…’ Frank started.

‘But you know, he isn’t already stealing from me,’ Paul said. He sat down next to Frank, touched his jaw gently. ‘Frank. This is going to get real ugly, real fast. And I don’t want that. You’re family. Help me understand this.’

‘I really, truly don’t know where she is,’ Frank said. ‘I haven’t talked to her.’

‘You don’t help me, then I got to put a hit on her. That’s gonna tear my heart open, Frank.’

‘Well, don’t,’ Frank said.

‘You love Eve. Help her now. Tell me where she is, so we can talk to her.’

‘I don’t love her if she stole five fucking million from you,’ Frank said. ‘It’s over between her and me if she’s turned traitor.’ He wet his lips with his tongue, looked up at Paul, like a dog looking shyly to nuzzle a stranger’s hand.

‘Now. Eve called you.’

‘Yeah. I forgot my cell phone, left it here. Stayed a long time at lunch. Then ran errands. I came back here, got to glad-handing with an early group, a bunch of Japanese businessmen. I didn’t come back up to my office until an hour ago.’

‘Play me the messages on your phone,’ Paul said.

‘I erased them, I wasn’t thinking straight.’

Paul frowned. ‘What did she say in the messages? And don’t you lie to me. I start snapping fingers if you do.’ And he took Frank’s hand, ran a fingertip along the finger and palm, and positioned the middle finger between his own, bent it back, ready to break.

Frank gasped. ‘She said Doyle and another dink had gotten shot at the exchange point, the money was gone, Bucks had tried to kill her and for me not to go home.’