A Bullet for Carlos (33 page)

“Fine by me,” Tip said.

“Elena, I don’t know what to say. I…”

She reached over and hugged me. “Don’t think twice about it,” she said, and turned to Tip. “When is it?”

“Saturday night.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, but we’ll manage. Connie, come by tomorrow and try everything on. If it doesn’t fit perfect, I can have adjustments made.”

“Nobody’s going to be able to do alterations that quick.”

Elena laughed. “They will for me.”

“Oh,” I said, and found myself blushing.

“Perhaps we should celebrate with a toast,” Elena said. “Tip would you open some wine. Some
good
wine.”

“I guess you mean something
you
brought over.”

“That’s why you’re such a good detective.”

I had one more glass of wine, then headed home. I went straight to the bedroom, stripped my clothes and plopped on the bed. Now I had one more thing to worry over. A charity ball. What the hell did I know about charity balls? I never liked dances when I was young, and things hadn’t changed. I was no longer the gawky, uncoordinated teenager I was fifteen years ago, but I hadn’t gained much in the confidence department when it came to things like this. I laughed. What did it matter.
I’ve made an ass of myself plenty of times before.

Chapter 39

News From New York

T
ico slept poorly, tossing all night. He’d gotten the reports from Brooklyn and the Bronx, and now he had to deliver that news to Carlos. It would
not
be a good day. He dressed, drank his coffee, then went to tell Carlos. Tico arrived as Carlos was finishing the third cup of coffee.

Carlos waved Tico in. “What have you got for me?”

“News from New York.” Tico took a deep breath. “Technically Detective Gianelli was Dominic Mangini’s neighbor. Her mother, Maria Gianelli, died eighteen years ago.”

Carlos’ eyebrows raised to a point, and he stood to pace. “Technically?”

Tico struggled. “One source says that Dominic Mangini used to date a woman named Maria, and she lived in his neighborhood.”

“Go on.”

“The next thing they remember Maria had a baby, and no husband.”

Carlos smiled. “And I would bet your life, Tico, that hospital records show the baby had a father who died—perhaps of mysterious circumstances.”

Tico nodded.

Carlos slowed his pacing, rubbing his chin vigorously. “So, from this information, one might assume that Detective Gianelli is Señor Mangini’s daughter. But why wouldn’t the New York police know this?”

“Who knows if they do or not? There is a record of her birth to Maria Gianelli, and there is a record of her father’s death, so even if they suspect something, they have no proof. It is very convenient.”

Carlos snapped his fingers, motioning for a cigarette, which Tico grabbed from the table. As Carlos put it in his mouth, Tico struck the match to light it.

“With a different name and a birth record, no one would question her,” Tico said.

“And the proper connections,” Carlos added.

“Si, señor. Connections are important everywhere.”

Carlos sucked on the cigarette while he contemplated, but after a moment or so he reached for the ashtray and put it out. “Continue digging in New York. This is a good start, but I need to know
exactly
what that relationship is. But we need to focus on things in Houston now. Roberto tells me we had several more men busted yesterday. We need to put a stop to this. Get with him and figure out how.”

Tico nodded, then started to leave.

“And, Tico, you have not forgotten about my request have you?”

“I never forget, señor. I found one that is ideal—dark, beautiful, speaks our language. She will be the center of attention at the event.”

Carlos smiled. “Spend as much as you need to dress her.”

“There is no need, señor; she is an expert. She will be ready for Saturday night.” He waited to see if Carlos had anything else, then walked out.

“Remember, Tico, she must be perfect.”

He waved a hand without turning. “She is, señor. Don’t worry.”
May God help her if she isn’t.

Chapter 40

Freddy the Informant

W
e got no viable leads from the newscast, and nothing had come up from the Mason or Gardner cases. Unless something broke, we were back to a dead end. As we drove up the freeway, discussing plans for what to do about Carlos, I looked at my watch and cursed. “I’ve got to get to Elena’s. I don’t even know if that dress will fit.”

Tip glanced in his rearview mirror then switched lanes, pulling across two of them toward the right. “There’s an exit a couple of miles ahead. We can turn around and be at Elena’s place in less than twenty minutes.” He picked up his cell and punched in Elena’s number.

“Hello, handsome.”

“I got Connie in the car with me. She wanted to stop and check out that dress.”

A short pause followed, then, “Give me about an hour, then come over. You remember how to get here?”

“How could I forget? See you then.” He set the cell phone in the console. “She said in about an hour.”

“Is that right, handsome?”

He blushed. “You heard that, huh?”

I faked an accent like Elena, a combination of Southern drawl and upper-class snobbery. “Why, handsome, I thought it was you coming to visit all by yourself.”

“Go to hell.”

“All right, what do we do until then?”

“I’ve got a few places we can check out. One in particular that might pay off for us.”

My phone rang. Caller ID showed it was Samantha Roberts. “It’s Roberts. Be quiet.”

“Gianelli.”

“Detective, I’ve got it set to go, but I warn you this better pan out.”

The tone of her voice said she didn’t trust me, but I knew her type—the story was everything. She’d crawl up a rat’s ass for the right story. “I gave you everything. And Denton will have someone get in touch with you to coordinate.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Yeah, bye.”

I made sure the phone was hung up, then let out a big “Wahoo!”

“Wahoo? What the hell is that about?”

“Roberts is set to go.”

“I’ll get Murdock to work with her. In the meantime, let’s see if we can find out anything else.”

He made a left at the next light, and within a few miles he pulled into a parking lot much like the one where Tiny lived.

“These places all look the same,” I said. “This whole city is nothing but shopping malls and office buildings.”

Tip pulled up to a group of teenagers hanging out by a skate shop. “Guess I’ve been gone too long. I don’t know any of them.” He got out, nodded to them. “Any of you know Greg Buss?”

“Who wants to know?” a wise ass with half a dozen earrings and funky hair asked.

Tip showed his badge. “He’s not in trouble. I just need to talk to him.”

A skinny kid with his ribs threatening to poke through his skin stepped forward. His head was shaved, and he had tattoos from one ear, around his neck to the other ear. And he had at least eight or nine piercings. “You’re Tip Denton?”

Tip gave him a sideways glance. “You Buddy? Greg’s little brother.”

“That’s me.”

“I’ll be damned.” Tip smiled when he said it. “You know how I can reach Greg?”

“I guess you ain’t been around in a while. Greg’s dead.”

Tip faltered and looked as if he were in a trance for a few seconds. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He pulled the boy to him, hugged him. “How’d it happen?”

“Drugs.”

“Goddamn…” He looked at Buddy, then let his gaze fall across all of them. “I hope ya’ll are smart enough to stay away.”

Three of them spoke at once. “We might look like degenerates,” one said, “but we don’t do drugs.

“Good job.” He pulled a few cards out and handed them to the boys. “Keep these. You don’t have to tell anybody you got them, but if you ever find yourself in trouble, call me. I’ll do what I can.”

One of the kids said, “What are you looking for?”

“There’s a club called Paradise down off Westheimer…”

“I know it,” the kid said.

Tip got more interested. “Looking for some people who might know their way around the place, if you know what I mean.”

“Talkin’ about dealers?”

“If you want to get technical, yeah.”

The kid pointed east. “A guy named Freddy hangs with some Mexicans by the Galleria. They shift places sometimes, but never too far.”

“How will I know him?” Tip asked.

“He’ll be the only white guy hanging with the Mexicans. And he’s got a shaved head with tats.”

Tip pulled out a fifty and handed it to the boy, then another fifty to Buddy. “I appreciate it. And remember about those cards. I’m serious. I owe you.”

“So you’re still the Tipster,” Buddy said.

“Guess so.” He patted Buddy on the head. “Sorry about Greg. I really am. He was a nice kid.”

I got into the car before Tip. He was still shaking his head.

“Goddamn shame what’s happening to kids nowadays.”

“It’s not just kids,” I said.

“I know, but this boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, that lead might pan out and it’s not too far from here.”

“How about the dress?”

“Elena’s not going anywhere.”

About three blocks from
the Galleria, Tip spotted a group of Mexicans hanging out with one shaved-head white boy. We pulled in.

“This could get dicey,” he said.

Tip brought the car to a stop. I unbuttoned my gun strap and got out.

The group began dispersing, but Tip’s call brought that to a stop. “Whoa. Where’s everybody going?”

The shaved-head white boy turned first. “What the fuck you want, man?”

“Watch your mouth, son; we got a lady here. Besides, Freddy, it’s you I’m looking for.”

Freddy acted stunned and the Mexicans cast suspicious glances at him. “What the f… how you know me?”

“Everybody told me you’re the one to talk to if I need information.”

“Fuck you,” he said, and looked at me. “I don’t care if you do got a
bitch
with you. Fuck you
and
her. I don’t give information to nobody.”

I wanted to smack the look off his face, but Tip stepped up and grabbed him by the shirt.

“I know you don’t, Freddy, but I still want to talk with you.” Tip shot a quick glance at the others, then lowered his voice. “Privately.”

Freddy cocked his head, raised his shoulders a few times, then said to the others, “Be right back.”

Tip grabbed hold of him and pulled him toward the car. As he shoved him in the backseat he turned to the rest of them. “Like Freddy said, be right back.”

I guess I wasn’t the only one wondering about Tip’s plans.

Freddy seemed a little nervous. “Where you taking me, man?”

Tip said, “Relax, we’re going to get coffee.”

A few blocks down the road Tip stopped at a Starbucks. “Connie, watch him while I get us something to drink, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Tip? You that lunatic that used to be in narcotics?”

“That’s me. You want coffee?”

“Yeah. Black,” Freddy said.

I got out of the car. “I’ll get the coffee. You watch him.”

“Okay, get me—”

“I know what you want,” I said. “And don’t forget to shoot him if he tries to run.”

I waited in line until the barista asked for my order.

“Espresso, caramel macchiato, and water for tea.”
No way I’d let Freddy spill coffee in the car.

“You got it,” the barista said.

A few minutes later, I walked across the lot and set the drinks on top of the car. When I opened the door, Tip’s coffee spilled. I got in and set the remaining two cups in the holders. “Tip, would you mind going back. I dropped your coffee.”

“No problem,” he said, and headed to the shop.

I watched him go in, then grabbed the hot water, opened the lid, and tossed it onto Freddy’s crotch. “That’s for calling me a bitch.”

He screamed—loud, then he grabbed his crotch while trying to strip his pants off, leveraging his feet against the front seat to lift himself up. “You bitch. You goddamn bitch.”