Thorp swore under his breath. He looked out over the crowd gathered around the fountain.
“Alright, let’s get moving,” Thorp said, shaking his head. He put the gun away and led his reluctant friend through the office and down into the tunnel.
Thorp stopped at George’s cage. “He hasn’t been fed in a while. Go on. I’ll take care of George. You go see what’s going on. What they broke. I want all of you back here in about five minutes.”
“I don’t like this. This guy—”
“I don’t care if you like it. Go. Tell Kora I want to see her now. If there’s a mess, you clean it up. It’s your fucking house.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“I’m feeding George.” Thorp pulled out the Derringer. “I’ll shoot you. Don’t think I won’t. You’re such a pussy.”
The big old lion grumbled.
Rouse went off, mumbling incoherently.
The old lion, lying on a flat rock across the pool, made another deep-throated growl. Thorp liked to believe he had a special bond with George. That he and the old lion had an instinctual connection on some primal level. “We’re going to have us a little party for you one of these days, old sport. How would you like that?”
The big cat stared at him. “You and me, my friend, are the kings. We’re the ones nature made to rule.”
The big cat again responded with a stunted growl.
Thorp, when he was drunk, liked to come down and talk with George, and he thought George talked back to him in some special way. They had an understanding, like Willett had possessed with his lion.
He stared at the old lion lying on the rock, the lion staring back, the dim light on the ceiling of the cage casting a shadow on the lion’s face, heightening the golden hue of his eyes, and the ragged state of his thick, dark mane. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Thorp remembered some animal guy telling him that the mane was what females looked at to see if the guy was healthy and strong. As did the lion’s would-be male opponents. But, the animal guy had said, big manes were going to go away because of global warming. In places where it was really hot, the manes were shorter and less attractive to females, as well as less intimidating.
“You still got that big mane,” Thorp said to George. “Scare the hell out of anybody.”
Thorp laughed. He assumed the big cat agreed.
59
Looking at the large-screen monitor, using the gun as a pointer, Kora said, “There they are in the tunnel. Mutt and Jeff. But looks like Mutt is the only one coming. Old sport is talking to his lion.”
She turned to Leon, handing him the smartphone. “You two go intercept our boy. Me and Sydney are gonna talk, look at files, and see what old Tricky Dick has on the world.”
Sydney wasn’t sure how to interpret this, but she did appreciate the time alone to deal with Kora, find out what the girl was really thinking.
As the men started to leave, Kora said, “Careful, Leon, alcohol and pain pills—”
“I’m good,” Leon said.
When the men were gone, Sydney said, “I gotta hand it to you, you got that boy wrapped around your little finger.”
Kora sat behind Rouse’s desk, gun on the lap of her white Daisy dress. “He’s a sweetheart once you get to know him. We girls both got our Dobermans. Now we just need to get into that damn safe and get the hell out of here. Let’s take a look at what we have in all these files and maybe you can get into the computer.
“So, what are you and your stud thief gonna do once this plays out? If you get what you came for, bring them down.”
“We’re thinking of Rio,” Sydney said.
Kora studied her for a moment. “I guess it’s true what they say about cops, that if you scratch the surface, you’ll find a criminal waiting to get out.”
Sydney smiled. “I guess so. Where are you going once you leave here with all that money?”
“Around the world in style, for sure.”
“With Leon?”
Kora smiled. “We’ll see.”
“When you leave,” Sydney said, “just remember the mistake the turtle made giving the scorpion a ride across the river.”
Kora chuckled. “The river of no return. Don’t worry about me. I got a hard shell, but I’m no turtle.”
Sydney smiled and nodded. On some level, she had no doubt that beneath all that sex kitten stuff, there lay a very dangerous woman.
***
Leon and Marco went into a room that had a huge bar. The only light came from a wine cabinet and two dim lights from somewhere behind the bar below a massive, etched mirror. The bar itself was made of leather and wood with ivory railings. Marco figured it had to cost a fortune.
Leon put the smartphone down on the bar. “Puttin’ a lion in an underground cage. That’s a crime against nature.”
“You’re right about that,” Marco said, looking to agree with this guy as much as possible. Find some way to get at this crazy killer, get him to relax and get careless.
“Take a load off,” Leon said pointing to one of the small tables. “What can I get you?”
“Beer’s fine,” Marco said. “If he has beer?”
Leon reached under the bar yet never took his eyes off Marco for more than a second. “The lawyer’s got three different little refrigerators under here. Here we go—door number two. Man’s stocked up for all types. Let me choose for you.”
Leon put a beer bottle down on the table. He went back behind the bar and rooted around for a time, broke the glass of a locked cabinet, and then came up with a bottle. “Glenfiddich.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me either. But it looks like expensive whisky. Must be if he has to keep it locked up in his own house.”
He opened the bottle, then took out a bottle of pills and got one in his mouth. He poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and then found a straw. He took a swallow and got the pill down. Then he said, “Better.”
He laid his gun on the counter, eyes behind his mask watching Marco. Unfortunately, it was too dark for them to reveal anything about what the killer was thinking or planning.
He said, “You and your girl messed me up bad.”
“We didn’t have a lot of choice; we didn’t want to end up like Corbin. We thought you died up there in the woods. That a couple bullets got you.”
“I’m not that easy to kill.” Leon made a sound something like a wry chuckle, the light from the wine cabinet behind the bar reflecting on his black plastic face mask.
“I’ll tell you what,” Marco said. “We broke your face. You killed my uncle and then ended up with the most beautiful lady on the lake. On top of that, we’re gonna make you rich and then, we get the dirt we’re after, we’ll shield you. You’ll be home free. I’d call it about even, don’t you think?”
Leon leaned on the bar. He thought about that for a time. “Yeah. Why not? Cillo was a tough old bird, I’ll give him that. I wanted to stage it as a simple suicide, but he fought like goddamn angry gator in that pool.” He paused. “Okay, we’re even. And I got rid of the idiot who shot your girl. She should be happy about that.”
“She is.”
Leon nodded. “Those aren’t your average chicks for sure, my man.”
Marco agreed. “They’re the kind can get a man to change course in midstream. We’re both in that situation.”
Leon settled catty-corner at one small bar table over from Marco, where the killer had a view of anyone coming.
This how it was with Shaun Corbin?
Marco wondered.
Sit, talk, get friendly, then a bullet to the brain?
He had no move but to sit there and drink his beer and wait for something to develop he could use.
Even with a straw, Leon had a hard time drinking with the face mask, so he took it off. Marco tried not to show the shock he felt seeing the mess of purple and pink swelling on the side of the guy’s face.
“Ain’t real pretty, is it?”
“You’ll get back to being the handsome guy you were soon as the swelling goes down.”
Leon said, “You’re a funny guy. I amuse you? I make you laugh?”
“
Goodfellas,
right? Joe Pesci.”
“That’s right,” Leon said. “You like that movie?”
“One of the greatest ever,” Marco said, thinking, when dealing with a sociopath, be one.
Marco took a swig of beer, then said, “You should see how things are south of the border. No damn discipline. These
Sicario
Juarez hitters, they just shoot up everything. It’s O.K. Corral day every goddamn day. It’s chaos.”
“You do damage?” Leon asked.
“Time to time. Like this family I had to talk to. I walk in, there’s this guy sitting back against the wall smoking his last cigarette, wasn’t his turn to die. But he forgot to check if everyone was really dead. Got himself shot. Still, he wanted to die like a man. But he was just a kid, and he’d messed it up good. It’s not about the job to them. They never even know why. And they paint the whole fucking neighborhood.”
“You put that boy out of his misery?”
“Yeah,” Marco lied, and did so with effect. “I give him credit. He’s facing it, and he’s swearing at me like some street-corner badass. His last words:
Me cago en la leche de tu puta madres!
You goddamn motherfucker. I got a neat
coup de grâce
. Not quite as perfect as you did with Corbin. How the hell close were you, you took out that ugly mole?”
Another partial smile formed on that ruined face. He liked this—Marco making stuff up that fit into this guy’s wheelhouse, maybe got them bonding a little more.
“I hear about all those crazy mothers down there,” Leon agreed. “Fucking Mexicans, no offense, are trying to take back California, New Mexico, and Arizona. Latinos already own Florida. We ain’t gonna lose the country to the fucking al-Qaedas. While we’re fighting stupid wars over there, your relatives are coming in by the millions to take it over.”
“I’m half-wetback and half-wop. The wops have been here awhile, and the Mexicans used to own it. So I’m in the best of both worlds,” Marco said with a grin.
“True. Badass on both sides.”
“You’re getting ahead of the game working with me.” Marco smiled. The killer seemed to like that. Then he added, “You and Kora North seem to have a real connection. Guys in our businesses sometimes have a hard time finding women who can fit in.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” he said, then looked at the smartphone. “He’s coming up into the back room.”
“How’d you get into the trade?” Marco asked.
“Not like you might imagine,” Leon said. “Happened by accident. I’d killed my mother’s crazy boyfriend. But I knew right off I was a true hunter. Then later on, this rich kid came to me. I had a rep by the time I got out of high school. In and out of juvie. I don’t know how he knew about me, but he had a problem with somebody trashing him on the Internet.”
“Happens a lot these days,” Marco said.
“Yeah. Making up shit about him. Nasty stuff. How he was this fag and did all these things. He wanted the bastard located and killed. But he wanted it done so nobody would do any investigation. Paid me more for it than I’d earn in a couple years. I did the job, my second suicide. No links. And two years later, he finds me again. He’s got this friend who needs help. Before you know it, I’m in business. Been booming ever since.”
He checked the smartphone again. “What the hell’s taking this guy so long? He’s walking like something’s gonna jump out at him.”
Marco said. “A suicide specialist is a pretty unique and cool profession.”
“Hell, I turn down five for every job I take,” Leon said. “First of all, I won’t do certain kinds of jobs. You do, you get sloppy. Thing is, the usual guys aren’t in business so much anymore. Mob types. So now what you got is freelancers. Some of them come out of the military. Can’t find legit work. Try these contractor companies and then get tired of that and somebody contacts them, makes an offer, and the rest is history. It’s a new world, my friend. But then, good for guys like us. You aren’t an old-school, second-story guy either, all that high tech. It’s a new age.”
Leon seemed to be feeling good now, sucking down the whisky, chatting, watching the lawyer make his way through his mansion, the killer talking about his kills. Next talking about his last job in New York. How the guy wanted to die. Hardly needed Leon, except he wasn’t man enough to do himself.
Marco wished they had a little longer. Get the guy drunk. But it didn’t work out that way.
Leon put his mask back on. Then he got up and looked down the hall. “Our boy has arrived.”
He waited a moment, then, his voice amped up a bit, “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.”
Rouse came across the great room, the lawyer abruptly stopping, unsure what he was walking into, making Marco think of a virgin boy in a brothel, eyes wide.
“C’mon, counselor,” Leon said, “get your butt over here.”
Rouse remained tightly rooted to the spot, shocked, like he was considering which way to run.
“Goddamn, dude, don’t hold up the party,” Leon said in an exasperated voice. “I got to drag you over here? Nobody gonna bite you.”
Looking at Marco, Rouse said, “Who is this?”
“Friend of mine.”
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” Marco said. “None of it good. Best do like the man says.”
Rouse struggled to gather himself. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“Been a little change in plans, counselor,” Leon said. “Got somebody I want you to meet.”
Rouse glanced at Marco. “What’s going on. We need to get back to the party. You break something?”
Leon stared at him.
Suddenly Rouse saw the bottle of whisky. “That’s a sixteen-thousand-dollar bottle!”
“It ain’t bad,” Leon said. “Little overpriced, if you ask me. I see old sport is waiting at the lion’s den. What’s he doing?”
“He wants me to send Daisy. He’s angry you guys aren’t at the party.”
“Tell old sport she’ll be down shortly,” Leon said. “Don’t elaborate.”
Leon handed the phone to Rouse and the lawyer made the call. Before he could say anything else, Leon grabbed the phone back. “Let’s go to your office.”
“How the hell did you get into my office?” The lawyer didn’t seem to want to believe that they were really in his office. Or much of anything that was going on.
“Have a sixteen-thousand-dollar drink,” Leon said. “A double. I think you’re going to need it.”