Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

‘She’s running because of what happened to Paul Bellini,’ Vernetta said as they drove away.

‘But why would a woman whose brother was killed by drug dealers take up with a drug lord?’

‘She didn’t know Bellini’s business.’

‘She knows enough to be scared, so she’s asking her grandmother to do clumsy lying for her,’ Claudia said. ‘Can you ask HPD to look for her?’

‘If she’s a witness, or she’s charged in a crime. But if she’s left willingly and doesn’t want to be found, well, you hire another PI to find her.’

‘What?’

‘If she’s left willingly…’

‘No,’ Claudia said. ‘You said another PI.’

‘Yeah. I was thinking of your friend Harry. Like him looking for Eve Michaels.’

Frank Polo said something about another PI, when she was getting ready to leave his house. Another, like he’d known of a first one. Harry. Perhaps Whit had told Frank about Harry. Of course. Yes. Probably.

The thought irritated her brain like a thorn prick. Whoever killed Harry had stripped him of his ID. Possibly of his notes on the Eve Michaels case; none of those had been found by the police, and she knew Harry kept his notes with him. There was a simple way to test her theory. ‘Have they identified all the prints at the Chyme/ Doyle murder scene?’

‘I don’t know. Gomez would. I don’t even know if they have suspect prints to compare to.’

‘How quickly could Gomez get prints done?’ she asked.

‘Why?’

‘That photo of Frank Polo that’s on my back seat,’ Claudia said. ‘Let’s put it under the powder, see what shows.’

At ten on Monday night, the front door of Frank and Eve’s house stood open, a rectangle of glowing light in the darkness. Whit stepped inside.

Frank’s phone call to him had been quiet and calm: Bucks is here and wants to talk. We have a plan. Make no mention you have the film, he doesn’t need to know. Come alone. And so Whit had walked past the doctors and nurses and families facing down death at the ICU, left a sleeping Gooch behind and driven to Frank’s house in Charlie’s borrowed Lexus.

‘Come on in,’ a voice called from the den. Unhurried, relaxed.

Whit walked into the den and Bucks sat at the edge of the couch. Pistol in hand, but pointed down at the floor. His suit was rumpled, his tie gone, the black eye Whit gave him in full bruising bloom.

‘You want your mom back?’ he asked.

‘Where is she, you bastard?’ Whit said. But calm.

‘Frank knows,’ Bucks said.

‘So where’s Frank?’

‘I’m here, Whit.’ Frank stood in the doorway.

‘Truce,’ Bucks said. ‘Because we’re all buddies now. We’re all on the same side. Got a proposal for you.’

Whit waited.

‘You could have brought the police,’ Bucks said. ‘You didn’t. I could kill you. I won’t. We got to trust each other. At least for the next few hours.’ He smiled. ‘I admire your steadfast focus.’

‘Give me a minute to come up with a compliment about you,’ Whit said. ‘Maybe an hour.’

‘Peace treaty, okay? I know you don’t have the money.’

‘So why help us now?’ Whit glanced over at Frank. ‘Need good deeds for extra credit?’

‘Jose’s the bad guy,’ Bucks said. ‘We get your mom, we get the money, and then we’re all fine.’

‘And we all go our separate ways.’

‘Yes, Whit. And never open our mouths. You want mommy with you, right, not dead or rotting in jail or worrying about getting whacked. I want a nice little house on a beach that doesn’t extradite.’

‘Where is she?’ Whit said.

‘A warehouse off Mississippi Street, not far from the Port. Used to be used by a South American importer who brought up fake pre-Colombian art, Guatemalan weaving, hippie crap,’ Frank said.

‘You know this how?’

‘Frank got a paid tip.’

‘It cost me a thousand in cash, Whit,’ Frank said quietly. ‘A regular dealer who is a good customer at the Topaz and liked Paul told me. Jose’s started to put word on the street he wants to deal the coke. The information is valid.’

‘I’d like to talk to this informant,’ Whit said.

‘He doesn’t want to talk to you, though. You can appreciate that, can’t you, Whit?’ Frank said.

‘Be cool, Whit. That warehouse, if they don’t have Eve there, we force them to tell us where she’s at.’

‘So our solution is simple,’ Whit said. ‘We call the police, have them raid the warehouse, arrest everybody.’

‘That will get Eve killed. Or in prison for the rest of her life. You don’t get your mom either way. Remember, Jose knows about your mom and… Montana, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t want Jose caught but cutting a deal with prosecutors, that hurts your mom.’

Bucks asked, ‘What about Montana?’

Whit said, ‘Never mind.’ He watched Frank.

‘No police,’ Bucks said. ‘Jose and I got our own issues to settle. He killed Paul, right?’

‘Whit, it’s simple. We attack the warehouse. Rescue Eve, force Jose to turn over the money. Jose has the money, Whit. You were right, it’s the only explanation. He’s got it all. He killed Doyle and your friend Harry. We get Eve and then we all part ways.’ Frank crossed his arms.

‘And the two of you are millionaires,’ Whit said.

‘You too, if you want,’ Bucks said.

‘But your mother is safe, Whit. She can be with you,’ Frank said. ‘The police don’t have anything hard on her. And if they do, we can hide her for a long while with that money. You won’t lose her again.’

‘I don’t want any of that cash,’ Whit said. ‘None of it.’

‘I like you more and more,’ Bucks said.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Whit said. Getting into bed with the devil.

‘You and me,’ Bucks said. ‘We go there, kick ass, save your mom.’

‘I’ll stay here,’ Frank said.

‘No,’ Whit said after a moment. ‘You come with us.’

‘I want to, Whit,’ Frank said. ‘But I’m not a young man, I’m not good with guns.’

‘You’re coming with us, Frank,’ Whit said. ‘End of discussion.’

Three a.m. Tuesday morning, and they were on the 610 Loop, and Frank Polo sat in the back of the Jag, fighting down the temptation gnawing at him. Bucks drove, Whit sitting next to him. It would be easy to blast Whit’s head open, nuzzle the warm, bloodied gun barrel against Bucks’ neck, get him to pull over, kill him, take the Jag and head down to Galveston Island. Wait for the bank to open in the early-morning light. Open the big safe-deposit box where he’d hidden the five million. That was a siren song that played constantly in Frank’s ear. But now was the time for self-control. To be cool.

Because the money without Eve was nice but not what he wanted.

If Frank thought about Eve too much, he would cry, and he hated that. He hoped it had ended quickly for her if she were dead. Painlessly, a single bullet in the brain. He knew she wouldn’t have screamed or begged, if she could help it. She was stone-solid, stronger and better than him, just as he had told Whit. But he believed she was alive. He wished it hadn’t unfolded this way; it wasn’t supposed to. His plan was to frame Bucks cleanly for killing Richard Doyle, plant a little of the cash in Bucks’ condo, a hundred thousand to make him look guilty, urge Paul to have Bucks whacked and then, within a year or so, part ways with the Bellinis, head to the West Coast, quietly vanish with Eve. But Paul decided to send Eve to the meeting and screwed up everything. Life twisted back on you, but a smart guy could make it work out in the end. It was the kind of self-boosting thought Bucks lived by, but it was true.

Five million in cash to see him through retirement, an extra bit to finance cutting a new record. Dance beats were back in. Tony Bennett, after all, still wowed the kids. He could be Tony Bennett with a beat. Have sexy backup dancers. Wear a suit that made him look cool and trim. Eve in the front row every night in Vegas, clapping for him. He could see it.