Michael Koryta - Tonight I Said Goodbye

“Why would they think that?”

“Because she does have it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Not yet. I hope to tomorrow.”

“So she produces the tape, testifies if she needs to, and they go to jail,” he said. “End of story. Except that’s not how it works with the mob. She testifies, they go to jail, and their buddies hunt her down and kill her just to make a statement.” He sighed again. I’d really spoiled his night with this call.

“I guess it’s not our problem,” I said. I didn’t want to hand Julie and Betsy Weston over to the FBI, but it seemed the logical way to handle the situation.

“You’re thinking we turn them over to the police?”

“We have to,” I said, “don’t you think?”

“I’m a little hesitant to do that now, and here’s why: While you were lounging poolside today, Kinkaid and I were doing some damn fine work. We spent the day wearing out shoe leather and interviewing anyone who might know anything about our Soviet acquaintances. Guess what we found out?”

“No idea.”

“Turns out Dainius Belov is a silent partner in a number of local businesses. You know, fronts that he can use to launder cash. And one of these said ‘businesses’ is located in the Flats. It’s a charming little establishment called The River Wild.”

“You mean the strip club Hubbard’s trying to buy out?”

“The very one.”

I stared out at the dark ocean and thought about that. If Wayne Weston had been shooting film for extortion purposes and pissed off the Russians, it could likely have been at The River Wild. The timing was perfect, since Hubbard was actively pursuing the property.

“What are you thinking?” Joe said.

“Just that it makes sense. Heard of any murders at The River Wild lately?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ll check it out.”

“Do that.” I switched the phone to my left hand and leaned against the wall, watching the white crests of the waves glitter on top of the black water as the moonlight hit them. “A minute ago you said you were hesitant to hand the Westons over to the police. I’m not arguing with you, but I don’t understand your reasoning.”

“That’s because I didn’t get a chance to finish. Like I said, Kinkaid and I had a productive day. Finding out Belov owns a stake in The River Wild was just a small portion of that productivity. I also decided to check out our man Cody, since I never had a good feeling about him. I didn’t like the way he had us misled initially, and I also didn’t like the way he blew off our tip about Hubbard.”

“Right.”

“Well, we ran a pretty thorough background check on him. Turns out Mr. Cody is ten years out of law school.”

“Okay.” That didn’t surprise me; many FBI agents are law school graduates. The best way to get into the Bureau without a police background is to have a degree in either law or accounting.

“While he was in law school, Cody held a summer internship in Cleveland. I’ll bet you can’t guess where he did his internship.”

“Hubbard’s real estate company?”

“Nope, but close. I’ll give you a hint; you called him Dicky D.”

My smart-ass comment in Hubbard’s office when he’d referred us to his attorney.

“Cody worked for Richard Douglass?”

“Uh-huh. He worked three summers in a row for Mr. Douglass and his associates. Then, when he graduated from law school, he came back and worked another year and a half with the firm before he was accepted into the FBI Academy.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “You’re saying Hubbard’s pulling the strings in this investigation?”

“I’m not saying that yet,” he said. “But knowing what we know about Hubbard and Weston, and knowing what we know about Cody, do you really want to call him and tell him where the wife and daughter are?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I ran my hand through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut. What had started out a relaxing evening was now anything but that. “What the hell should we do, then, Joe? We can’t just pack them on a plane for Belize or wherever it is they were going and let everyone think they’re dead. We owe John Weston more than that, if no one else.”

“We’ll work something out,” Joe said. “For now, the most important thing is keeping them safe. That job’s in your hands.”

Great. I was the appointed guardian of a woman who attracted corpses almost as fast as she attracted stares from men.

“So I stay here? I just sit in the hotel with them, keep them safe? And then what? Eventually we’ve got to take some sort of action.”

“I know that. Give me a day to sort things out.”

Sort things out. That’s what Julie had said Randy Hartwick intended to do. It hadn’t worked out well for him.

“What are you planning on?” I asked.

“We need to know more about this murder. Once we have an idea of what went on with that, we can talk about our options. Tomorrow, you watch that tape. See what you can learn from it; see if any familiar faces are on it, whatever. In the meantime, Kinkaid and I will be doing the same thing on our end. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon and we’ll see what we have.”

“Okay.”

“And LP?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to keep those two alive until then, all right?”

He hung up before I could answer. I set the phone down, pulled the drapes shut in front of the balcony door, picked up my bag, locked the room, and went back upstairs. Julie pulled the door open at my knock.

“That was a long time,” she said. “I was starting to get scared.” She was wearing an oversize T-shirt now, and her legs were bare and her breasts uninhibited by a bra. I tried not to stare. It was dark inside the room, but she was standing very close to me.

“Sorry,” I said, “I called my partner.”

She took a half step back, frowning. “Does he know where we are?”

“Julie,” I said gently, “if you’re trusting me, you’re trusting my partner. We’re a package deal, all right? And I promise you, there’s no more reliable man in the world than Joe Pritchard. The last thing he said to me before he hung up was to be sure I kept the two of you safe.”

She watched me thoughtfully and then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I guess you’re right. Well, I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Goodnight,” I said, setting my bag on the floor and stepping toward the couch.

“Goodnight,” she said. She started into the bedroom, then hesitated and turned on her heel. She took three quick steps over to me and squeezed my forearm gently with her hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, and then she disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

As I stood staring at the closed door, my arm seeming to tingle and burn where her fingers had touched it, I was glad I was there, too. Maybe a little too glad.

AN INCREDIBLY beautiful woman was standing just a few steps from me with a knife in her hand.

This was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next morning. It took a few seconds for my conscious mind to shed the fog of sleep and dreams and recall how and why I’d found myself in this situation. The woman was Julie Weston, and in the hand that wasn’t holding the knife was a plate of bagels. Julie looked down at me and gave me the same shy smile I’d seen the night before in the whirlpool.

“Good morning,” she said. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Great,” I said. “Thank you.”

I picked my watch up from where I had left it on the floor and looked at the time. Almost nine. Surprisingly, I’d slept well. I stretched and got to my feet, feeling the twinges and aches left from a night of sleeping on a short couch that had both my feet and my head at a higher elevation than the rest of my body. Julie turned away quickly and went to put the bagels in the toaster, and I remembered I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d expected to wake up ahead of the rest of them. Oh, well, some women would be pleased to find a shirtless young man on the couch in the morning. No sense feeling guilty about it.