Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

She said nothing, she didn’t want to shiver in front of him.

‘So, Eve. When you took the money, the Bellinis came after you. Where did you put it?’ Kiko said.

‘I didn’t take it,’ she said. ‘Over the years I’ve had plenty of opportunity to steal from the Bellinis. I didn’t do it.’

‘They seemed very sure you did.’

Eve took a careful breath. Play the hand right, she thought, and they’ll see going after Whit as a no-gain. They’ll leave him alone. She had not even had a chance to say good-bye. ‘The most logical choice is that Bucks took the money and framed me.’

‘Why would Bucks betray Paul?’ Kiko asked almost idly.

‘For five million reasons,’ she said.

‘But you see, Eve, I had an arrangement with Bucks,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to steal the money for me. The money’s gone but it sure ain’t in my pocket.’

She watched Jose inspecting a hand juicer. He made her nervous, futzing in the kitchen like an old woman. ‘So Bucks betrayed both you and Paul.’

Kiko shook his head. ‘He was highly motivated not to screw me over, Eve,’ he said. ‘In fact, he would be an idiot if he screwed me over. I know you don’t like him, but do you think he’s stupid?’

‘I suspect he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, Mr Grace.’

Kiko laughed. ‘Who’s your partner? Bucks says his name is Whitman Mosley. That his real name?’

‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s a fake name. Two of his English professors in college.’ The answer sounded inspired. A slowness crept into her limbs, the pain pill starting to kick in, fast and sweet.

‘What’s his real name? Where is he?’

‘Since I didn’t take the money, neither did he. He was trying to help me prove Bucks took it. Leave him alone.’

Kiko leaned over and stabbed her with the syrup-sticky fork, deep in the meaty part of her arm. She screamed as the dull tines drove into her flesh.

‘Quit lying. He offered to trade the money for you. Made the appointment. So where’s the money?’ Now his voice was soft. She turned to Jose; he was drying the juicer with a dishtowel, looking bored.

‘Whit doesn’t have it.’ Blood dribbled down her arm. The fork hung from her flesh. He leaned over and shook the fork and agony bolted up her arm, searing every nerve, worming into her bones. She screamed again, nearly fell from the chair. Jose moved in behind her, pushed her into Kiko’s reach.

‘Where’s the money?’ Kiko asked again.

She said nothing.

‘I used the fork,’ he said. ‘I still have a knife.’ He held it up, smeared with butter and a loose rope of syrup. ‘You want to meet my personal Norman Bates? He’ll be on the first flight from Miami if I FedEx your picture and your panties to him.’

She closed her eyes. Oddly she thought of the small, close air of that Montana motel room, thirty years ago, the whiskey-and-hamburger smell of James Powell, his idle threat against her children, the way the gun snuggled into his mouth like it was meant to fit there, dark against the white of his teeth. The heady little rush of righteousness that soared into her heart when she pulled the trigger. And she thought: I deserve whatever I get.

She spat in his face. He slapped her and the blast of pain against her savaged mouth nearly made her pass out. ‘Let Bucks rob you blind,’ she gasped. ‘With that money he can hire enough muscle to send you back to Miami with your tail between your legs.’

Kiko thumped the end of the fork. She tried not to wet herself. ‘I got serious dirt on him, Eve. Proof he’s a murderer, and he’s scared to death of me sending it to the police. So you’re lying. Mosley’s got the cash and you’re shielding him.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘With that money, Bucks can put a big-ass contract on you, one you can’t escape from.’

Kiko tilted his head, studied her with a half-smile. ‘I heard you were smart once. Shame to lose the edge, ain’t it.’ He stood, pulled the fork from her arm. Skin and flesh gave way, blood bubbled from her skin. ‘Same question. This time I want an actual answer.’ He grabbed the back of her head, brought the fork close to her eye. One of the tines dug into her eye’s corner.

She had gone down the wrong road in blaming Bucks. Kiko wasn’t rattled. Dumb thinking done fast. She wished she could suck the words back in, turn back time five minutes. He would never leave Whit alone.

But then Kiko looking up past her shoulder, saying, ‘No need, man, going slow yields more…’ and then three pops in rapid succession, three red eyes opening on Kiko’s forehead, the hair and flesh shearing away from the skull, Kiko toppling backward against and then off his chair.

Jose stepped around her, a pistol in his hand, a silencer screwed on the barrel. He prodded Kiko with a foot.

‘ “Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway’d? Is the king dead?” ’ he said. ‘I would say, Eve, the king is pretty fucking dead.’

Eve swallowed against a tide of bile in her mouth, waited for him to raise the gun to her.

‘Don’t I get a thank-you?’ Jose said.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘You killed him.’

‘It was a choice,’ Jose said. ‘You ever do that, Eve? Weigh your choices?’

He waited for an answer.

‘Yes,’ she managed to say.

‘Even for decisive people it’s difficult.’ Jose went to the kitchen, got a first-aid kit, grabbed a dispenser of antiseptic soap. He came back, set the gun back in his shoulder holster, and started to clean the fork wound on her arm. She sat perfectly still.

‘Now,’ Jose said. ‘I’m doing big serious weighing right now. I can either believe you or Bucks. You know the whole infrastructure of the Bellini operations. That’s valuable information. I think I’ll believe

… you.’

She continued to stare, glanced at Kiko, syrup still on his lips, the beauty mark by his mouth all bloodied, distorted wide-eyed surprise on what was left of his face. ‘Is everyone turning on their bosses these days?’ she managed to say.

‘I did it because he was a drug-dealing animal. And I’m a good citizen. Consider it a public service.’ He laughed softly, bandaged her arm, taped it, lowered her sleeve back over the dressing. ‘That’ll do for now.’

‘But I don’t know where the money is.’

‘I know you don’t,’ Jose said. ‘I believe you. Sorry about the teeth, but I did the least I could for him to know you got worked over proper. We have a dentist we can probably get you. If you behave.’

She stared at him.

‘I’m interested in a lot more than five million,’ Jose said. ‘You know how much drug money is laundered in this country each year?’

She shook her head.

Jose smiled, gave a little canary chirp of a laugh. He tapped her forehead. Once, twice, gently, almost with respect. ‘So you don’t know the numbers. But I bet you can help us find a big percentage of it, can’t you?’

‘What…’

‘You know all the tricks of the trade, don’t you, Eve? How to clean it, hide it. You’re a number-rattling little genius.’ Jose gave her a smile. ‘You’re key to what I need.’

She was going to live then, at least a little bit longer. ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just leave Whit Mosley alone? Please?’ She hated herself for asking but she had to. She had to.

‘First things first.’ Jose pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s finish the night’s work, okay?’

Greg Buckman wasn’t what Claudia expected. He looked like a stockbroker, trim but muscular, average-handsome with ruddy cheeks, hair thinning early. He wore a white button-down that had gotten dirty in the course of the day, wrinkled suit pants, an old-school rep tie loosened – a tie on Saturday? she thought. He looked like a young exec fresh from a one-martini-too-many happy hour, a little bleary, tired, and sour. And he had a nasty black eye.