Authors: S.D. Thames
Pinkerton finished everything on his plate and the entire bottle of wine. He drank each glass quicker than the one before. I thought I was going to have to carry him out after I paid the $600 bill. At least there were no more Scalzo sightings, and management never approached me about what went down in Scalzo’s private room.
Once outside, I looked around the garage. I felt we were being watched, but I didn’t see anyone watching.
“You mind giving me a ride somewhere?” the judge asked once we were on the highway.
“I was planning on driving you home.”
He shook his head. “I had somewhere else in mind.”
Pinkerton’s teeth glowed in the neon lights emblazoned across the signage of the Tampa landmark. The letters on the sign spelled
Mons Venus
over a line of men waiting to enter the strip club on Dale Mabry.
Pinkerton pulled his paper sack from the glove box and opened it to reveal a wad of cash. “You coming in?”
“Nah, I’ll sit this one out.”
He opened the door. “Have it your way.” He started to close the door.
“Judge,” I said, stopping him. “Be careful.”
He grinned. “Look who’s talking!”
I watched him join the line of men waiting to throw money at naked young women. I’d never been in the Mons, or any of Tampa’s other similar landmarks for that matter, though I’d certainly had more than one investigation take me to their parking lots. The Mons was reputed to be Tampa’s premier strip club. It seemed to be an industry the local government tolerated, if not supported, as it made Tampa a more attractive locale for holding conventions attended by thousands of horny men with disposable cash to burn every year. I imagined the money Pinkerton would throw away that night. Imagining that old man being straddled by a girl paying her way through college brought on a little nausea.
So I took out my phone and called Mattie.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“All taken care of.”
He let out a long sigh of relief that sounded like a balloon deflating. “About time. How’d he react?”
“He burned the subpoena and threw it at me.”
“Sounds about right.”
“You really think he’s going to show at trial?” I asked.
“I couldn’t care less. My client just wanted him served.”
“You seem to bend over backwards for this client. Doesn’t sound like you.”
“What can I say? Times are tough.”
“Do you want me to put that in my affidavit? The part about him burning the subpoena?”
“Absolutely,” Mattie said. “And the part about him throwing it at you too, if true.”
“It’s true.”
“Good.”
I told him I’d be by tomorrow to drop off the affidavit and to get paid what he owed me. Then I hung up and watched a taxi drop off another group of patrons outside the strip club. Orlando had Disney World and Universal Studios. Tampa had Busch Gardens and sex. And the sex business, it seemed, had not suffered during the recession.
I was about to call Val when a tap on my window distracted me. It was polite enough. I figured it was a hobo asking for change.
Still, I wasn’t entirely surprised when I turned around to see the chrome barrel of a 9 mm Beretta grinning at me.
I toyed with the idea of smacking my assailant in the gut with the car door. Whoever held the gun pointed at my head was big enough to fill the driver’s window; his head was out of sight. Really, all I could see was a massive gut and fat knobby fingers gripping the semi-automatic. I dismissed the notion of fighting back when the passenger door opened and another character slithered onto the seat next to me. This one was lean and young, with stringy black hair. He quickly closed his door and started trembling the moment we were alone. He seemed to breathe easier once his partner had taken a seat behind me.
“Start driving,” the backseat said.
I knew the voice. I glanced in the rearview and confirmed the face. “How’s it going, Kiki?”
He didn’t answer.
“Let me guess, we’re going to see Mr. Scalzo?”
The kid to my right butted me with his gun; it was a rather weak lob on the temple. “Don’t hold back, kid.” I tried to sound encouraging.
“Take it easy, Jimmy,” Kiki said, low and easy.
“This your first job?” I asked Jimmy.
“You wanna make it my first kill?” His throat sounded dry.
“I said start driving,” Kiki said.
I reassessed the situation. Kiki didn’t have a firm grip on the Beretta. I could break Jimmy’s nose, duck with his gun, and return fire on Kiki before his meaty finger could squeeze the trigger. But that would guarantee at least one death and create more of a mess than I cared to clean up tonight. A wise swim instructor once told us what to do when caught in a rip current: just let it take you out as far as it will. Don’t kick and fight it. That’ll just wear you out and kill you. Instead, ride it out, stay calm, and the time will come when you can start swimming again.
It wasn’t time to swim yet.
I put the Volvo in drive and turned onto Dale Mabry. From there, we could only go south. I hit the gas hard to create a quick diversion, just long enough to check and make sure my iPhone was between my legs.
“What the hell, man?” Jimmy whined.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like my driving?”
I love the iPhone. I really do. The only problem with it, or any smart phone for that matter, is that with no real buttons, it doesn’t work well for placing surreptitious calls. And man, did I wish Siri could place a call for me without screaming what she was doing for my passengers. Maybe one day she would just read my mind.
Kiki leaned forward as if to remind me of the Italian masterpiece in his grip. “Don’t get wise.”
“Sorry. Some of us are born that way.” These guys were bringing out the worst in me, and I wanted to see the worst of them. Jimmy was quick to return another jab with his gun. “You hit like a grandmother,” I told him, arching an eyebrow.
“Knock that shit off!” Kiki yelled at Jimmy. Wherever we were going, Kiki wanted me to get there in one piece. This could be fun.
We stopped for a red light at Kennedy. He told me to turn right, and we were headed back in the direction of Westshore. “Let me guess,” I said. “We’re going back to the restaurant?”
“I’ll tell you when to turn,” Kiki grumbled.
I kept driving. The traffic was heavy for a Sunday evening. I guessed Jimmy still didn’t like my driving, as his leg was doing the jitterbug. “You drink a lot of caffeine, or suffer restless leg syndrome?” I asked him.
He realized I was eyeing his leg. He grabbed it, but that did little to ease the trembling. “This kid’s in over his head,” I told Kiki, glancing in the mirror.
“He’s fine. We’re just going for a ride to talk.”
“Where we meeting Mr. Scalzo?” I asked.
“Who said we’re meeting him?” Kiki asked in return.
The trident pin stuck to my dashboard caught Jimmy’s attention. He unpinned it and raised it to get a better look in the glow of the streetlights.
“Don’t touch that,” I snapped.
“This what I think it is?”
“Whatever you think it is, I told you not to touch it.”
He swallowed. “You a SEAL?”
“Do I look like a SEAL?”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, and pinned it back to the dash.
“’Cause, you know, if I was a SEAL, I could probably drive this car off the bridge up here. A SEAL would know how to brace himself for impact and swim to safety.” I glanced at Jimmy. “You got that kind of confidence?”
“Screw you,” Jimmy muttered.
“You asked,” I said. “Do
I
seem to have that kind of confidence?”
Jimmy looked back to Kiki. “Can we switch places?”
Kiki rolled his eyes.
I waited for him to meet mine in the rearview. “We can all trade whenever you’re ready. You want to drive, Kiki?” I pulled the car to a stop on Kennedy, right there in the middle of the lane. Cars swerved to miss us, and a procession of blaring horns and raised middle fingers passed us by.
Kiki leaned forward, pressed the gun in a few inches. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re a SEAL, a walrus, or a killer whale. Put the damn car in drive, and if you pull another stunt like that, you’ll be shark bait in about an hour. We clear?”
I waited about ten seconds, just long enough for him to dig the barrel as deep as it could go. As the pain spread through my neck, I remembered I had my regular weekly appointment with Dr. J the next morning. If I made it through the night, we were going to have a lot to talk about.
Finally, I put the car back in drive and floored it. Jimmy hit his seat, and Kiki relaxed the gun.
“Don’t worry, Jimmy. After BUD/S training, I dropped out, took a different route. That’s not my pin.”
“Whose is it?”
I shook my head. “It belonged to a kid from Texas. Touch it again, and we’ll have a problem.”
Kiki barked, “Go south on Westshore.”
I obeyed. We were passing through a wealthy neighborhood of large waterfront estates to our right. Traditional Edwardian brick palaces on the left. Fortunately, there was less lighting on this residential street, offering a better opportunity to get to my iPhone. I slid it onto my left leg and lit the screen. Jimmy was staring out his window, as tense as he’d been all night. I hit the call button to pull up my call history.
I glanced down. The most recent number was Pinkerton’s. That would do me no good tonight, or any other night for that matter. I surreptitiously scrolled down. The only number I recognized was Hector’s. I hit the name, hoping it would dial his line, and left the phone sitting on my lap.
The scenery started to light up as we approached a few commercial blocks with restaurants, antique shops, and specialty food stores. “All the way to Gandy?” I asked, loud enough that I could be heard on the phone.
“You got it,” Kiki said.
“We crossing the bridge?” I asked.
“Not quite,” he grunted.
“We meeting Scalzo there?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
“Come on, Kiki, admit it, Scalzo’s pissed that I served him tonight, so you’re taking me out to some place on Gandy to rough me up.”
Kiki leaned forward. “What the hell are you doin’?” He smacked Jimmy’s head. Jimmy still didn’t get it. I lowered my left leg and let the phone slide onto the floorboard. I had no idea if the call was still connected, and what, if anything, Hector might have heard.
Kiki gave me more directions. I knew the area we were going to and I didn’t like it. Next thing I knew, we were turning onto a gravel road off an island. He pointed to a storage garage facility. I knew the place, but couldn’t quite put my finger on how I knew it.
Once we were inside the facility, it hit me. Sal Barton had a garage at this place. Sal liked to buy old cars, restore them, and sell them. He usually lost money doing it, but it was a hobby nonetheless. I slowed as we passed Sal’s garage. “Keep driving,” Kiki said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
I obeyed. Just then, my phone started ringing.
“What’s that?” Jimmy yelped.
“What’s it sound like? It’s my phone.”
“Where is it?” Kiki asked.
“I’m not sure. I think on the floor.”
Kiki slapped Jimmy. Jimmy got the drift, bent over, and picked up my phone. I saw Hector’s name displayed on the caller ID. And for the life of me, it looked like Jimmy had accidentally hit the answer button.
I listened for Hector’s voice, but all I heard was Kiki barking in the backseat, telling Jimmy to turn off the phone, oblivious that his understudy might have actually answered the call.
“Find my phone,” I said as clearly and loudly as I could without yelling. “Find my phone.”
“What the hell you talking about?” Jimmy asked. “It’s right here.” He thumbed it clumsily, rolled down the window, and threw my phone out. I could only hope Hector got the message. He had showed me the Find Your Friend app a few months earlier, and we’d agreed to follow each other in the unlikely chance that something like this happened one day.
“Enough of this already,” Kiki said. “Drive around there.”
He directed me farther into the complex, to the last row of garages.
The only sign of life was a Porsche. I imagined it being Mattie’s, and wondered for a brief moment whether he could somehow be behind this, setting me up. But as we got closer, I saw that the Porsche was black, not red, and its license plate read SCALZ0.
Once I parked, Jimmy looked to Kiki for instructions.
“Kill the engine,” Kiki said. Then he nodded to Jimmy. Jimmy got it and raised his gun toward me. Kiki’s barrel was tickling me again, too. “Now get out, nice and steady.”
So I got out quick and mean. Kiki was on me. He had nice moves for a guy his size. Jimmy was running around the front of my car, his gun pointing every which way but at me. He paused for a moment when he got a good look at me standing up. I suppose I had a good six inches on him. He took a deep breath and let Kiki take the lead.
Kiki led me into the garage with his gun in the small of my back. I kept it nice and arched, like I was getting ready to pull some weight off the floor.
A flashbulb glowed in the center of the room. That was all I could see until I caught a quick glimpse of brass flying toward my face. It was a good hit. Might have knocked me down or out had it been a split second sooner.
I caught my balance, wiped my lip, but saw just a little blood. I braced for the next blow. It didn’t come. Just a question: “Who the hell do you work for?”
Scalzo emerged from the darkness of the room. He smoked a cigarette and had lost most the layers he’d worn earlier that night: now he had on just a white V-neck and the same black jeans.
“I
said
,” he started to say, but stopped when I shed Kiki and connected a roundhouse to his chest. I couldn’t see the contact, but it sounded like it sent him flying back against the far wall. It also felt like I’d pulled something in my groin.