Close To Home (Westen Series) (30 page)

“Big Tony Carnetti wants to see you and the little lady. Pronto.”

“Big Tony Carnetti? He any relation to Nick Carnetti?”

“Yeah, the cop’s his cousin by marriage. Big Tony don’t like to be kept waitin’.”

Clint raised his hands to keep the well-dressed gorilla from coming in the room. “Okay. Let us get dressed first. We’ll be right with you.”

When he knocked on the bathroom door, Emma opened it, already dressed in a pair of slacks and cotton blouse. “I think this is Nick’s
family
connection. We’ve been summoned to go see someone named Big Tony.”

“This sounds like a plot right out of
The Sopranos
.”

“It sure does.” Clint finished buttoning his shirt then slipped on his loafers. “But I think these guys take themselves very seriously. So stick close to me until we find out what it is they want.”

Emma paused with the brush halfway to her hair. “Do you think they’ll have a lead on where we can find Talbert?”

His gaze met hers in the mirror. “You know as much as I do, sweetheart.”

* * *

Big Tony Carnetti greeted them on the lanai of his Tampa estate surrounded by palm trees, tropical plants and three more overdressed gorillas. Big Tony himself looked like any other northern businessman on vacation. Dressed in pressed khaki slacks, a large print Hawaiian shirt and loafers, he held a thick cigar in one hand and a tumbler full of an iced drink in the other as he sat, surveying his own mini-kingdom.

“Doctor Preston and Miss Lewis.” With a wave of his hand, he motioned them to the chairs flanking his at the umbrella-covered table. “Glad you could make it.”

Not like we had a choice
. Emma sat in the chair Clint held for her.

“So, my cousin Nick says you’re looking for information on someone?” Big Tony took a long puff on his cigar, exhaling a perfect smoke ring above their heads.

Emma fought the urge to wave at it.

“We’re trying to find a man named Martin Talbert, Mr. Carnetti,” Clint said, relaxing into the cushions of his chair.

“Martin Talbert.” Big Tony looked to the sky then used the hand holding the cigar to scratch his chin. “He owed me quite a bit of money. What did he owe you two?”

“We need him to testify in a child custody case.” Emma sat forward in her chair, hope in her heart once more. “Can you tell us where we might find him?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Lewis.” Big Tony took another long drag off his cigar.

“Mr. Carnetti, if I don’t have his testimony I’ll lose custody of one of my sons.” She’d beg if he wanted her to.

Big Tony removed his sunglasses to focus on her. True sympathy etched lines around his eyes. “If I could give you Talbert, I certainly would. No mother should lose her child because of something that loser did. But I’m afraid Talbert is of no use to you anymore.”

“But if I could just talk to him,” Emma pleaded.

Big Tony looked past her to Clint. Some sort of male-to-male silent communication passed between them.

Clint stood and walked to her chair. “Come on, Emma. I believe Mr. Carnetti has given us all the information he can.”

“But, Clint, we can’t just give up.”

He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to focus on him. “Talbert is a dead end for us, Emma. We
need
to go now.” He grasped her by one elbow then turned to Big Tony. “Thank you for your time. We do appreciate it.”

Big Tony stood. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you came for. My men will return you to the hotel.”

Emma dragged her feet as Clint pulled her around the house to the limousine. “Clint, I’m not leaving until I find out what happened to Talbert. If you want to quit, you can. I’m not leaving.”

“Emma, I’m not quitting.” Clint ground the words out in a harsh whisper. “We got the information we came for. Now get in the limo and let’s get out of here.”

Puzzled that Clint knew something she didn’t, Emma climbed into the lush car once more. She waited all of ten seconds for Clint to join her before starting her questions.

“What did you hear that I didn’t?”

He pressed one finger to her lips, stopping her words. “We’ll talk later.” Then he nodded toward the driver.

Emma nodded. Whatever he knew, whatever he meant to tell her, he wouldn’t say it in front of Big Tony’s man.

The second they were inside their hotel room, Emma turned to Clint. “Why did you drag me out of there?”

“Because Big Tony was right. Talbert’s of no use to us anymore.” Clint sat on the bed’s end.

“How do you know that?” She stood in front of him, frustration tensing her body.

“Because he’s dead.”

“What? How did you get that from that three-minute conversation?”

“It wasn’t what Tony said, but how he said it, Em. I imagine Big Tony took care of his problem with Talbert some time ago. He’s probably at the bottom of Tampa Bay as we speak.”

Emma sat hard on the bed beside him. Her heart felt like a lead weight as she reviewed what Big Tony had said to them. “It’s finished then, isn’t it? Dwayne wins again.”

Clint hugged her close. “It’s not done yet, Emma. We’ll find some way to discredit the jerk and help you keep custody of both of your sons.”

She stared into the depths of his eyes and read the concern there. “Clint, don’t make me promises you can’t keep. It’s time I faced the truth. I’m very likely going to lose my youngest son.”

* * *

Gage pulled his father’s cruiser into the spot outside the sheriff’s office. It felt odd making the rounds in one of the three cruisers the town owned. By the town council’s unanimous vote, he’d been deputized and convinced to fill in for his father while he started his chemo treatments at the county hospital.

A heaviness settled on Gage’s heart. Clint had been honest with them both. Dad was dying. The lung cancer had metastasized, a fancy medical word meaning traveled to other parts of his Dad’s body. The chemo wouldn’t kill the cancer completely, but it might slow the advancement a bit and buy his dad and him some time.

The timing was ironic. Several months ago, he’d come home to lick his wounds and try to find some peace of mind, only to have the solid support of his father kicked out from under him.

Now, he had to say goodbye to the best man he’d ever known.

He rubbed his eyes a couple of times then slipped his sunglasses back on and took a deep breath before climbing out of the cruiser. At least patrolling the town and surrounding countryside took his mind off the pain of watching his father wither away.

As Gage stood surveying the foot traffic in the center of town, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Not a good sign. Those hairs only talked to him when trouble was headed his way.

He slowly glanced to his left. Kids played football in the grassy lot and tourists wandered into the craft and antique stores. Casually, he let his gaze wander along the street. Customers exited the drugstore and several old men played checkers in front of the general store. Nothing unusual there.

Then he spotted the nondescript brown sedan sitting halfway down the block. The door opened, and an equally nondescript man climbed out.

The hairs on Gage’s neck stood at full attention. He knew this guy. He fit the description the Doc had given him the week before—the private dick tailing Emma and the boys.

Gage swore under his breath as he watched the man head his direction. Whatever the detective wanted, it couldn’t be good. He’d learned years ago to listen when the little hairs started tap-dancing a warning. It always meant trouble. Right now they were doing a routine Fred Astaire would envy.

He turned away from the approaching man and entered the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t discussing Emma or her problems out on the street.

“Ruby,” he said, stopping by the septuagenarian secretary/dispatcher’s desk, “there’s a guy headed this way. If he asks to see the sheriff or Dad, send him to the office. I’ll be waiting.”

“Sure thing, Gage,” she replied without blinking an eyelash.

Gage stopped in his office doorway. “And Ruby, leave the intercom off.”

This time she exchanged a look with Cleetus, who was seated at his desk trying to act busy.

A few minutes later a knock sounded on the office door. Gage stood as the P.I. entered.

“Sheriff Justice?” Hesitation edged the man’s voice as he studied Gage, who insisted on wearing jeans and a blue cambric shirt while on duty, instead of his dad and the deputies’ khaki uniforms. The only evidence he was a cop was the deputy badge on the leather holder clipped to his belt.

“I’m his son, Gage. Dad’s a bit under the weather.”

The man held out his hand and gave him an oily smile. “I’m Jerry Bacon.”

Despite the urge to plant his fist in the detective’s face for causing Emma trouble, Gage forced himself to shake the man’s hand. Best to find out what he wanted before throwing him out. “How can I help you, Mr. Bacon?”

Bacon pulled out a chair and parked his large form in front of the desk. “I have some information regarding one of your town’s residents.”

“Who are we talking about?” Gage asked. No use letting him know they’d blown his cover weeks ago.

Bacon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little notebook. He flipped open a few pages. “A little lady named Emma Lewis. Lives with her two boys on Main Street.”

Gage nodded his head. “I know Emma.”

“Mr. Justice, I’m a private investigator hired by Miss Lewis’ ex-husband to gather information for a custody case.”

Gage simply nodded. If the guy tried to slander Emma he’d gladly punch his lights out.

“I don’t mind surveillance, or even a little phone tapping, but there are some things I can’t in good conscience do.” He took a breath waiting for Gage to say something.

“I can understand that.”

“Well, my employer has asked me to do something that crosses the line, as far as I’m concerned.”

Gage lifted a pen from the penholder and gripped it between both hands. He was tired of playing pussyfoot with the guy. “What has he asked, Mr. Bacon?”

“The guy wants me to arrange a hit on Miss Lewis.” He took a pause for effect. “I told him I’d try to see what I could do, but hey man, I don’t hold with murder.”

Gage tightened his grip on the pen to keep from reaching across the desk and yanking the guy’s larynx through his lips. “Exactly what did your client want, Mr. Bacon?”

“He asked me to find someone to get rid of his ex-wife. Said it would be worth five thousand dollars to him.”

Gage nodded. “How did you reply to that?”

Bacon shrugged. “I said I’d see what I could do. I mean five thousand isn’t much to offer for someone to risk prison.”

“Not to mention the cost of a woman’s life.”

“Well, yeah. The client might think he could buy it so cheap, but I know it’ll take twice that much.”

Gage didn’t doubt for a second that Bacon’s moral line would take a minimum of ten grand to cross. If Emma’s ex hadn’t thought so little of her life, this guy wouldn’t be sitting here calmly selling him out, but trying to find a way to collect the money himself.

“Did he say when he wanted the contract carried out? Is there a time limit?”

“He wants it done before next week’s custody hearing. Says he wants the lady to be a no-show. He figures with her out of the way, he’ll have clear sailing to getting custody of the kid. He’s expecting a big money score once he has custody.”

Gage leaned back in his father’s chair, appearing to consider all the information Bacon had given him. “The problem is, Mr. Bacon, right now all I have is your say-so that this guy wants to buy a hit on his ex-wife. I don’t have any concrete evidence to take to the county DA. And if anything happened to Miss Lewis in the next week, I’d have to believe you decided to do the job yourself.” Gage rocked the chair a few times, letting the detective absorb the meaning of his words.

“I could tell the guy I’d found someone, but he’s sort of cagey for an upright citizen. I think he’d know if I was wearing a wire.”

Gage leaned forward, both elbows on the desk, his listen-to-me-you-scumbag glare focused on the man seated opposite him. “If you were to convince this guy to actually meet with the hit man, say the guy is nervous and only wants to deal with him direct, I think I could consider your civic duty fulfilled.” He wrote the Wagon Wheel name and a time for the meet on a slip of paper then handed them to Bacon.

Sweat beaded on Bacon’s upper lip, his gaze lowering from Gage’s to the paper in his hands.

“I’d hate to go the DA and tell them you refused to cooperate, Detective.”

“No, no problem, Sheriff.” The other man’s eyes darted from Gage to the paper like a trapped dog studying the bone offered by the dogcatcher. He reached in his coat, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

He rubbed his finger across the perspiration on his upper lip then smiled shakily at Gage.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said into the phone after a few seconds. “I’ve got the guy, but he wants to meet with you personally.”

T
he scene that greeted Emma and Clint when they walked in the kitchen door back in Weston the next evening was as surreal as a mid-seventies martial arts movie without the subtitles.

Both boys, dressed completely in black, wore Emma’s newest cream-colored towels wrapped around their foreheads ninja style. They crouched, ready to pounce. Their intended victim appeared to be Mama, who stood between them and the basement door, brandishing her largest knitting needles like a set of daggers she planned to use to fight them to the death. Hoppy ran between the three yipping in utter confusion. And behind the basement door came pounding and female voices begging for help.

“What in the world is going on?” Emma asked over the din of barking, “Ya-ha!” yelling of the boys, Mama’s shouts about prisoners, and pounding from behind the basement door.

“Mommy! Clint!” both boys shouted and hurled themselves at them.

“Whoa, fellas.” Clint caught both of them mid-flight, nearly toppling to the ground. “Answer your mother. What’s going on here?”

“Mama has Gwen and the county lady locked in the basement,” Ben said.