The Trouble With Murder (29 page)

“You know I’m resourceful,” I said.
“I’ll do what needs to be done, even if it’s a bit out of character.”

“And what are you trying to do?
Create an emotional bond between us, or appeal to my attraction to you in order
to keep me from killing you?”

Another flash from the woman, this
time I saw more than a little anger.

“We already have an emotional bond,
and your attraction to me already has you regretting your decision to kill me.”

A small smile, though I couldn’t
really see it. “So true.”

“Then why the rush to kill me?” I
infused my tone with more than a little suggestion. “There’s always tomorrow.
Or the next day. Or even months from now . . .
if
you grow tired of me.”

He laughed, and I knew it was
familiar; I’d heard it before. Where? Who was he? I felt the same tickling
sensation on the edge of my mind as I tried to think. Something obvious was
eluding me.

“That’s more like the Zoe I know.
Mmm, what I wouldn’t do for a night with you.”

The woman was barely containing her
annoyance, jealousy, and anger now. I wondered if she could be pushed far
enough she would turn the gun on him and pull the trigger.

“What’s stopping you?”

There was a long pause, in which I
knew he was calculating his plans, testing them for any leeway he might be able
to use to satisfy his desire. The woman seemed to tremble. Good. Progress.

“I’m afraid the heart of the
problem is location. We’re wearing out our welcome here and need to get moving.
Dragging you along simply isn’t an option.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Let your
people take care of that. Take me somewhere else. Just you and me.”

Just you and me, so you can rape
and murder me in private?
Maybe not the best plan.

Again, I could see he was thinking
about it. So could the woman. She’d finally reached her breaking point.

“What the hell?” she snapped. She
did little to disguise her voice, and I thought it was also familiar, though I
couldn’t place it.

Her voice agitated the tickling
sensation I felt at trying to remember where I’d heard it before.

“Not now,” he said to her over his
shoulder, maintaining his croaky voice.

She scoffed. “You want us to just
leave then? Give you two some time alone?” She was being sarcastic.

I smiled at the leader.

After a moment, he said, “Yes,
actually. Leave us.”

Another scoff from her, irritated,
hurt.

Now the second man spoke. He used
the same voice he had earlier. “That’s not a good idea. We don’t have much
time.”

“I’m aware of that. You and the
others continue on with the plan as scheduled, and I’ll take care of her. I’ll
catch up when I’m through.”

I could see the other man thought
the decision was an unnecessary risk, but he didn’t further argue the point.
Instead, he backed out of the cellar, pushing the woman with him.

“I’ll post someone outside, just in
case,” he said.

The leader nodded.

When the man reached the stairs, he
finally lowered the gun and turned around. He was careful never to expose
himself to the threat, even though this threat (me) was unarmed.

Once his partners were gone, the
leader turned and pushed the door shut. It latched, but it was unlocked. He
tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants and reached for the mask,
pulling it off. Then he turned around.

I’d told myself to expect the face
I would see, to show no surprise. I hoped the dark had hidden what I’d been
unable to keep private. Seeing that face felt like a sucker punch to the gut.
The tickling sensation I’d been feeling morphed into a sharp sting that reached
out and smacked me as I recognized the man standing before me.

“Joe.”

Pezzani smiled as he moved toward me, tucking the ski mask
into the back pocket of the black jeans he wore. “I thought you’d be more
surprised.”

I shook my head. “You might have
been nominated for the Oscar, but you wouldn’t have won.”

That was the most bogus thing I’d
ever said. His performance all along had been award-worthy, but his finale in
the parking lot outside his condo had been a work of art. I’d had absolutely no
idea any of it had been the least bit false.

I struggled to keep my breathing
even.

“I don’t know,” he said
thoughtfully. “If it wasn’t an Oscar, maybe an Emmy. It was good, you have to
admit.”

“It was good, but not great. I do
have to compliment you on one thing, though. You took an awful lot of risk.”

He laughed. “I thrive on risk. A
born gambler, I get off on the high. Even losing is a thrill.”

“Did you seek me out from the
beginning, or did I come along later?”

“Actually, you have dear old mom to
thank for all this.”

It was easier to keep a straight
face with this revelation. I still didn’t know how it all fit together, but I
am never surprised to hear about my mother stabbing me in the back.

“That sounds about right.”

Pezzani shook his head. “Bridget,
you know, she’s a real piece of work. But she’s fucking brilliant with money.
And when she’s high, she’s quite the talker. Few months back, she told me a
story that was just too good to pass up.”

“She’s got a vivid imagination.” I
didn’t doubt for one second whatever story she’d told Pezzani had been absolute
truth.

He chuckled. “Well, she certainly
likes to ride high. But no, turns out this story was very true. I had it
verified myself. After that, it didn’t take me long to see the benefit of getting
close to you.”

“What benefit would that be?”

He shrugged. “There’s been quite a
bit of heat lately. I was trying to figure out the best way to clean up the
messes and get out. Then you came along. At first, I thought I could use you to
help with one mess, maybe two.” He laughed. “But you just kept pushing, kept
digging, kept turning up where I didn’t plan for you to be, right in the middle
of everything.” He spread his hands, smiling. “You became the perfect fall guy
for the whole thing.”

“Fall guy?” I repeated. “That was
your big plan? That doesn’t even make sense. What, exactly, did you want me
blamed for?”

“I had a list of people I needed to
get rid of. I’d originally been toying with ideas of how to kill them myself,
but everything seemed too messy or obvious or connected to me. What I needed
was someone else to kill them. Even better if the police didn’t look into those
deaths very closely. What kinds of deaths don’t the police look into? Natural
causes and . . .
self-defense
.

“That little story your mom told
me? It was the one about how you shot your father dead. With that history, and
being so familiar with guns, I guessed you wouldn’t be afraid to pull the
trigger again. So, all I had to do was set it up so these ‘messes’ I needed
cleaned up would come after you. Then you’d knock them off.” He grinned. “It
worked perfectly. You’re a deadly shot. Well, almost perfect, anyway. Like I
said, you just kept pushing. Things got a little out of hand before I could
have you finish the job. I had to kill the last of them with the gun we took
from you.” He shrugged. “It will look like you managed to kill and fatally
wound your captors before they killed you.”

It was a bit frightening to think
his plan had worked as well as it had. Maybe all the pieces didn’t fit
perfectly, but I was the one and only suspect in at least two murders. And I
had killed at least one of his “messes” in self-defense. Who knows how much
worse things could have been if I’d sat back quietly and played along. I’d
probably be in prison by now. Of course, even I could appreciate that irony; if
I’d been in prison, I wouldn’t have been standing in a cellar somewhere with
the man who’d kidnapped and planned to murder me.

I grinned at him. “You don’t work
security, do you?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s
a consult-based gig. I am in security, and I consult with several businesses
around town. Including Home Depot. That’s how I happened to run into you that
day. Also King Soopers. I was there when you came for your interview. The
managers were quite impressed with you, by the way. It’s a shame you got the
boot.”

“Actually, I quit.”

“Whatever. It took a little bit of
planning, but I knew Wolf Security had done business with White Real Estate in
the past. If I could create a threat on one of their properties, I figured it
would be enough for them to call us in. Even better if it was one of your
properties and I could have the chance to meet you.” He grinned. “That part
worked out better than I’d hoped.”

I really, really hate when people
explain to me just how easily I’ve fallen face-first into whatever little trap
they’ve laid for me. And it’s always that much more insulting when they do so
with such self-satisfied glee.

“Anyway,” Pezzani went on, “the
mess I needed cleaned up was my full-time business, which had recently fallen
under increased police scrutiny.”

“That business being?” I had a
guess. If my mother was connected to Pezzani, that significantly narrowed the
possibilities.

“Ecstasy.” He said this as if it
should have been obvious. And it turned out I’d been on the right track. My
mother is a partier, but it was annoying to learn she was more involved than
that.

“I dabbled in manufacturing,”
Pezzani continued, “but the truth is, it wasn’t worth the headaches. Every time
we got set up somewhere, we barely got a batch made and we had to move again.
Distribution is much less hassle. We find a place we can use for several days,
maybe as long as a week, then put the word out. The kids call them raves. I
call them paydays. It hasn’t been difficult to find a place, and with two major
universities and all the community colleges, not to mention the high schools,
there is no shortage of paying customers.

“For several years, I had a
permanent location. A partner and I opened the club, originally thinking it
would be a sound business investment, Fort Collins being the party town it is.
Then we were approached with another business opportunity and branched out,
started selling X. Everything was great until my idiot partner got ripped on
the shit and plowed into a minivan full of middle-schoolers last year. Cops
started sniffing around, got wise to the business expansion, though they
couldn’t prove anything. They settled for a bunch of charges that would get his
liquor license yanked. Which meant mine, too. No more club.” He shook his head.
“Fortunately, my partner isn’t a problem anymore. Still, I have plenty of
messes to clean up. It’s time to move on. Too much heat around here.”

“My mother doesn’t constitute a
problem?” I honestly wasn’t sure what I felt at the thought that she might be
on Pezzani’s hit list. Now that I was thinking about it, I hadn’t seen her
since I’d picked her up at the courthouse a week ago. For all I knew, she could
already be dead.

Pezzani shrugged. “As big a pain in
the ass as she is, she’s too valuable. No one can do with money what she can.
And that’s the whole point: money.”

I realized it was relief I felt at
hearing Pezzani had no intention of killing my mother, even if only a small
degree. No matter what else she’d done, she’s still my mother, and apparently
that counts for something with me.

Her arrest Sunday night made a
little more sense now. No one had said as much, but I now suspected she’d been
at one of Pezzani’s raves when the police had busted her. And if Pezzani’s
business was under increased scrutiny, as he claimed, it wasn’t surprising the
police had crashed the party. Her party habits likely also explained how she
and Pezzani had gotten together in the first place. I didn’t think she would
have volunteered to work with him, or sought him out, but if he’d threatened to
expose her, she would have complied. Hiding the extent of her darker habits
from her legitimate business partners has always been a driving force in her
life.

Pezzani was standing only a couple
feet in front of me now, the flashlight held in his left hand and pointed
straight up. The light from the beam was enough to illuminate both our faces. I
studied his and saw nothing of what I expected. I had hoped to find he was
crazy; it would have explained some, if not all, of his behavior. Instead, I
saw he was perfectly sane, totally in control and aware of his behavior, his
decisions conscious and deliberate. I thought that was worse.

He stepped even closer, and I saw
the dark gleam of desire in his eyes. He hadn’t been kidding about his
attraction to me. I was sweaty, dirty, and blood had begun seeping through the
shoulder of my shirt. But none of that seemed to slow him down.

“I should have pushed you a little
harder that night before Pengue showed up at the house,” he said. “That would
have been so much more . . . comfortable . . . than this.”

He leaned toward me, his gloved
right hand on my cheek, and kissed me. Then he stepped forward, and I felt the
gun press against my abdomen. I knew it was now or never. I had to make a move.
More than that, I
wanted
to make a move; I didn’t want him touching me an
instant longer.

As if I was getting into the kiss,
I shifted my weight to my left foot. Then I did several things at the same
time. I lifted my right knee, bringing it up forcefully into his gonads. I also
brought my right hand around in front of me and snatched the gun out of his
waistband. Finally, I brought my head down hard against his, stunning him.

“What?” he gasped in a tortured
whisper.

“You didn’t double lock your
cuffs.”

I swung the gun, bringing the butt
of it down against his temple with a sharp
crack.
He crumpled to the
floor in a pile, inert.

Stepping back, I put some distance
between us as I brought the gun up in my right hand. My left was hanging mostly
useless at my side. After a pause to catch my breath, I squatted beside him and
felt for a pulse in his neck. He had one.

Satisfied I’d only incapacitated
him and not killed him, I held the gun in my left hand while I searched his
pockets with my right. I found the handcuff key I was hoping he had and freed
my other wrist. I finished my search, pocketing the cell phone and keys I
found, then rolled Pezzani onto his belly and, after stripping off the black
sweatshirt, handcuffed his hands behind his back.

I examine the weapon, ensuring it
was fully loaded with the safety off, then chambered a round and stood. Pezzani
hadn’t had any additional ammunition, nor did he have an extra round in the
chamber, so I was limited to the fifteen shots in the magazine. Keeping my ears
open for sounds beyond the heavy door, I again held the gun in my left hand,
standing well away from Pezzani, and examined the phone with the other. I saw
what I’d expected: no bars. Cell reception is usually poor in cellars.

“Hey, boss!”

I jumped as the guard outside pounded
on the door and yelled. My heart hammering against my ribs from the scare, I
quickly pocketed the phone and transferred the gun to my right hand.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes!” I snapped in an imitation croak.
“Don’t bother me!”

“Sorry, boss.”

I wondered what my chances were of
getting out of the cellar alive. And if they were any better than my chances of
getting off the property alive.

I worked my left arm into Pezzani’s
sweatshirt and pulled it over my head. Then I raised the gun and reached for
the doorknob. Any hope I’d had of opening the door without notice was wiped
away practically the instant my hand touched it. It creaked loudly, and the
hinges squeaked.

Quickly, I pulled the door open.

“Hey, boss,” the guard started, not
attempting to hide his voice. He was on the third step when he stopped and made
to turn around.

I rushed forward and pressed the
barrel of the gun into his back. He froze, instinctively bringing his hands up.

“Back down the stairs slowly,” I
directed.

I couldn’t see it, but I swear the
guy rolled his eyes.

“I should have known,” he said as
he obeyed.

“Walk backward into the cellar.”

I moved with him, keeping the gun
steady at his back.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Ask you a few questions and hit
the road.”

He scoffed. “You won’t get
anywhere.”

“We’ll see. Now, where am I?”

“Take a peek.”

“Neighborhood or a compound of some
sort?”

He shrugged. “Neighborhood, but
very rural. That’s the appeal.”

“How many people are here?”

“Just you and me. Well, Joe, too,
unless you killed him. Did you kill him?”

“No. Contrary to popular belief, I
don’t like killing people. How many people are outside?”

“I told you, it’s just us.”

Yeah, right.

In one quick move, I swung the gun
toward his head. It cracked against his skull solidly, and he went down with a
small groan.

Keeping my eye on the door, I
ripped the ski mask off his face. It was the guy I’d seen leave the motel with
Tyler Jay, the one who had driven the white Saturn, the one who looked
familiar. Actually, he kind of looked like Pezzani.

I made quick work of emptying his
pockets, stuffing his cell phone and the two sets of keys he had into my
pockets. I found little else of interest, aside from a gun and pocketknife,
which I also took.

I hadn’t found another pair of
handcuffs. I guessed he was out for the count, but I thought it was a wise move
to ensure there was one less bad guy to contend with on my daring escape. I
untied his boots then pulled the laces free. I used my foot and rolled him
toward Pezzani unceremoniously. Then I used the laces to tie his hands and
anchor him to Pezzani.