Riptide (20 page)

Biz Brooks drove off, flashing a smile that made Frank McManus forget his ankles were soaked through to his skin.

“So, dawg,” Ben Jackson said when they were back in the car. “Who do you like?”

“Torres,” Frank replied. “I still like Señor Torres for this.” He was bent over his BlackBerry, which had hummed to alert him to incoming messages during the service.

“Okay,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “I’ll ride that train with you.”

“Hold on.” There were two messages, both flagged
URGENT,
asking him to call the office right away.

Rain lashed the windshield as Frank waited for the call to go through.

His admin picked up on the first ring. “I did some checking like you asked on your man Daniel Cunningham,” she began.

What she told him next was enough to warrant using the flashers despite the light traffic.

Jackson shot him a questioning look. But he had already guessed. “The Springs, right?”

Frank nodded as Jackson threw the Crown Vic into drive. He jotted down the name and number of the officer on duty in Deer Park, a rough town in central Suffolk.

“Desk sergeant says he wants to speak with you personally,” the admin explained.

“Let me guess,” Ben Jackson said, when Frank signed off. “We need to pay a visit to Daniel Cunningham.” He swung the car east onto Amagansett’s Main Street, which looked like a Currier & Ives print, even today in the soaking rain.

Traffic was at a crawl in the westbound lane, bumper-to-bumper with city folk heading back to Manhattan. The village streets were empty except for a long line at the Jitney, the overpriced bus that ran between the city and the East End.

Thereby proving Frank’s theory that your average New Yorker had all the staying power of a hothouse flower when it came to weekends in the suburbs.

“Rise and shine, Daniel Cunningham,” Jackson said cheerily.

“Not his real name, by the way.”

“You don’t say?”

“Danny Cisco, aka plain ol’ D.C.”

“D.C.,” Jackson said. “I like it. It has a certain felonious ring to it.”

“He’s an enterprising man,” McManus commented. “I do hope we catch him at home.”

“I’m sure he’s got places to go and people to see.”

The rain continued to blow in strong gusts. Maybe the summer people had the right idea. The radio was tuned to the National Weather Service, which was predicting conditions would worsen as the tropical depression rotated onto the south shore of Long Island.

It was anybody’s guess when or if the storm would blow out to sea.

They headed east against the flow of traffic, making a quick left for the journey due north along Stony Hill Road, which dated to colonial times and cut across the open farmland that led to the South Fork hamlets of Kingstown and the Springs.

A flash of lightning lit the sky. It was, despite the mess on the roads, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Biz Brooks could be very happening for you,” Jackson said out of nowhere, changing back to his favorite subject.

Fact was, Frank McManus agreed. He’d dated a bit since his wife left, but nothing serious. Nothing that ever came close to filling in the giant sinkhole that had opened inside him when she took his kids and moved to Florida. McManus had hated that sinkhole at first. But after a while he got used to it, living with pain.

Like most of the people he met in the course of his work, Frank McManus learned to accept the fact that he had lost his one and only best shot at a happy life.

And then one day, out of nowhere, someone like Biz Brooks showed up and, Bam!

Just like that, McManus remembered how it felt not to have a sinkhole inside him. Whole and happy like everyone else.

He wasn’t about to admit that, so he changed the subject. “I wonder what the honorable Danny Cisco has planned for this fine morning.”

Ben Jackson took the hint. He had been partnered with McManus through most of the sinkhole years, after all. “Worth a looky-see. Nothin’ better than paying a social visit after a funeral, I always say.”

McManus grinned. “Seeing as how we were left off Christina Cardiff’s guest list for the reception.”

“Must have been an oversight.”

“No doubt.”

Jackson headed onto Springs Fireplace Road, taking it slow through the massive puddles that were filling with storm runoff. He slowed for the turnoff into the subdivision of homes between County Road 41 and Three Mile Harbor.

The Springs.

“Did you get her number, at least?” Ben Jackson slowed while they checked house numbers.

Frank let that one pass.

Jackson grinned. “Good. I like it.”

The roads here, chock-f at night with pickup trucks parked alongside minivans and sedans (most were domestic, and most designed to handle a crowd), was like any working-class neighborhood in the middle of the day. So deserted it looked like the day after the big one had hit.

Except for one house, where a lone individual appeared to be making up for lost time and heading for the hills.

Daniel Cunningham was attempting to wrestle a large canvas duffel bag into the trunk of his car.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Jackson swung the Crown Vic into the drive and gave the horn two quick toots.

Cisco didn’t turn around, just kept wrestling with that bag. The Toyota’s trunk was so jam-packed, it wouldn’t close.

Jackson parked the cruiser, and they got out.

It was raining pretty hard. Frank’s feet were already damp, but he didn’t care. “Shitty day for a road trip,” he remarked.

“Good morning, Mr. Cisco,” Jackson called.

Cisco did not answer. He was busy rearranging his stuff.

“Hope you’re not planning to go far in this weather,” Frank said.

Successful at last, Cisco slammed the trunk. He took his time, and when he turned to face them, he was scowling. “You looking for something?”

“You, Mr. Cisco,” Jackson replied softly.

Cisco showed no reaction to their use of his real name.

“We know your true identity, Mr. Cisco, which you neglected to tell us last night,” McManus added.

Cisco’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

“It must have slipped his mind. He’s got a lot to worry about.” Ben Jackson’s voice slipped into hard-ass mode, and he moved forward an inch or two, no more.

Enough to make Cisco flinch, which was nice to see.

“You got a list of convictions and charges going all the way back to 1991,” McManus said.

Cisco shrugged.

“The sergeant on duty in Deer Park didn’t have anything nice to say about you, Danny.”

Stone-faced, Cisco tugged at a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead and was plastered, wet with rain.

“Neither did the officer on duty in Fort Lauderdale, Florida,” Jackson added.

Cisco said nothing, but his eyes had shrunk to tiny little slits. And the tapping of his left foot gave him away. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Cisco’s mouth stretched into a sneer that made McManus picture Cisco’s mother slapping him a lot when he was a kid.

Or, more likely, Cisco didn’t get slapped often enough.

“That’s over now,” Cisco said. “I’m finished with that.”

“I doubt that, Danny.” Ben Jackson stood his ground, not budging an inch. “Bad luck follows you around. Several clients in Florida claim they lost a great deal of money after you did some work for them.”

Cisco ground his left foot down to stop the tapping.

At last, Frank McManus thought, a suspect who knew a little something about body language.

“The problem is,” Jackson continued, “two of them went missing. Nobody’s heard from them since you got involved. Why is that, Mr. Cisco?”

The driveway was filled with the sound of falling rain and the tapping of Danny Cisco’s foot, which had started up again.

Cisco shrugged. “I have no freakin’ idea. That’s too bad.”

“You know what else is too bad? Your record,” Frank shot back. “Turns out you have a list of convictions
going back years in Deer Park. When you do a job for people, bad things happen. They lose money, or…”

“They just disappear.” Ben Jackson finished the sentence. “Like that couple in Fort Lauderdale, Danny.”

“Like Jason Cardiff,” Frank added.

Cisco stared down at his feet. The tapping stopped again.

“There’s one basic truth about our line of work, Danny,” McManus said in a conversational tone. “Any cop will tell you. The last person to see a guy alive always had something to do with it.”

Cisco’s left foot started up again. “I don’t think so. And I got five people who will tell you I left that night when they did.”

“You know, you’re talking like someone who’s got a lot to hide,” Jackson commented.

Cisco shook his head, keeping his eyes on his feet. “Whatever.”

“We didn’t see you at Cardiff’s memorial today. Why is that?” McManus stared.

“Seeing as you said you were such a close friend and all,” Jackson added.

Cisco made no reply.

The Toyota was hanging low to the ground thanks to the weight in its trunk. “Planning a vacation?”

Ben Jackson didn’t give Cisco a chance to reply. “You run into some extra cash lately?”

But Danny Cisco had heard enough. He looked up at them and glared. “Unless you got a warrant, I’m headed out now.”

“I’ll bet any money our forensic accountants will find a trail straight from Christina Cardiff’s account to yours, Cisco,” McManus said.

Cisco’s sneer widened. “I’ll take that as a no. If you don’t have a warrant, you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go back into the house.

“We’re working on it. Twenty-four/seven,” McManus said evenly.

“Don’t plan any trips to Florida, Cisco,” Ben Jackson said. “Because the officer we spoke with down there says if he sees you in his jurisdiction again, he’ll make sure you serve out your full sentence this time.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Cisco muttered.

The flash of anger in his eyes left little doubt that Cisco’s temper had pushed him down the road to ruin.

It was a theory worth testing.

“Good luck with Christina Cardiff,” Frank said softly. “She got what she wanted, and my guess is she’s done with you.”

Cisco’s shoulders hunched, but that could be nothing more than an attempt to shake off the rain. Frank gave it one more try. “She’s not gonna waste her time with a piece of garbage like you.”

Bingo.

Cisco wheeled around.

Blink and you’d miss it, he was that fast. His eyes had gone blank. Cold, dark, and empty.

Shark time again. Frank’s training kicked in. His gun hand was steady. In position and steady. Ready.

“You f-…” Cisco started to say something that Frank knew he would enjoy hearing.

So it was a disappointment when Cisco snapped his mouth shut.

Ben Jackson held out a business card. “Don’t leave Suffolk County. You check with us before you leave town. Got it?”

Every muscle in McManus’s body twitched, on high alert.

Cisco’s only answer was to take the card from Jackson’s hand. His movements were slow and deliberate.

This small act of self-control reinforced McManus’s opinion that Cisco was ruthless, capable of anything that would serve his own interests.

The only sound now was the tiny ping of raindrops landing on the Toyota.

Cisco stepped back slowly, in the manner of someone who understands just how delicate his situation is.

The sneer on his face made Frank’s parting shot that much sweeter. “Hey, Cisco,” he said softly, “don’t go far. We won’t stop till we find out how Jason Cardiff died.”

“I keep tellin’ you I left with everyone else.” Cisco shook his head as his eyelids drooped low over those blank dark eyes. “It was just a couple friends at a pool party.”

It was late. The moon faded away when the wind picked up, blowing gusts that prodded even the heaviest tree branches with a constant rustling noise. Ocean waves pounded hard against the sand, landing closer together as the closing hours of the day just ended merged with the earliest hours of the day still to come, creating the long, dark nameless hours of night.

Rave music thumped at full volume.

The neighbor’s dog barked.

Jason Cardiff barely noticed. He’d done more coke after everyone left, draining the remains of a bottle of champagne while he thumbed through porn magazines at the side of the pool.

He had rubber dick, hadn’t been able to get off even inside Lisa’s tight ass.

She left, clutching her clothes to her stomach, shuffling slowly out the side gate. She barely said good-bye, rubbing her jaw and sniffling.

Jason Cardiff could find a piece of ass like hers whenever he wanted. Any girl would give her right tit to be in Lisa’s shoes, and she knew it.

Her friends both kissed him good-bye, all smiles. The prettier one, the one with the better boob job, had slipped her card into the waistband of his swim trunks, caressing his balls while she was at it. “Call me,” she whispered, not giving a shit if her good friend Lisa noticed. “I like to do everything.”

Daniel Cunningham had departed, too, without obtaining payment for services rendered. “We got things to discuss,” he’d said at one point. “We need to settle.”

“Not yet,” Jason replied.

The others were too wasted to hear.

But Daniel Cunningham pressed on, careful to keep his voice low. “I want my money.”

“Couple of more weeks, like I said.” Jason Cardiff’s new attorney, Maurice Gold, had warned him not to pay until they had filed a motion in divorce court.

“It keeps things cleaner,” Gold had said.

Jason Cardiff had learned early on what successful businessmen knew. If you were going to pay for legal advice, you should act on it.

“Hang in there,” Jason Cardiff said, out of earshot of Lisa and her friends.

Daniel Cunningham looked ready to argue, but Jason cut him off. “Not till my wife gets back. It’ll be a couple of weeks.” Gold had advised against serving Christina
in rehab. It would look bad to a judge. With any luck, she’d start drinking again after she came home. One look at the evidence against her, and it would be a slam dunk.

“I need it now,” Cunningham said. His voice was low, but something about him stiffened, making him seem bigger than he was. The look in his eyes was cold, harder even than when they had first come up with their plan early last summer.