Dead End Fix (7 page)

Seven of his new brothers stood in a circle in the empty, stripped-down lobby. Kashawn recognized most of them. Big Cheeks was there. So were Mouse, Slow Time, and Six Pack. Even Turk was there. Kashawn wondered who was running his turf while he was gone. He didn't recognize the other two.

And he didn't have a clue why there was a large blue tarp lying on the floor in the middle of their circle.

“What the fuck?” Ax Man growled. “What's this—”

D'Loco kicked him so hard Ax Man was knocked off his feet. Big Cheeks and Six Pack picked him up and threw him in the middle of the circle.

“Smarter than me?” D'Loco roared. “You think I don't know what's going on in my world? Sixteen shipments a day into your zone. Each with twenty-five bags of rock. Each packet ten ounces. Only by the time they reach the streets them packets weigh nine ounces. Not so much you notice at first. But pretty soon buyers catch on. Know they got shorted. Word gets to me.”

“Listen, D'Loco.” Ax Man didn't seem scary anymore. “I don't know what you thinkin', but—”

D'Loco nodded and Turk kicked Ax in the mouth before he could finish his sentence. Ax went down, blood dripping as he spit out two teeth.

“But what, Ax?” D'Loco asked. “You gonna explain? Gimme a lie you cooked up for an occasion such as this? Maybe point fingers at your other brothers?”

D'Loco nodded again, this time to Six Pack, who leaped from where he stood in the circle and landed his full weight on Ax Man's midsection. Six Pack fell to the ground beside his target. He grabbed a handful of Ax's hair and slammed his head so hard Kashawn realized there was nothing but cold concrete underneath that tarp.

“So I watch,” D'Loco continued. “I don't want to believe. Not Ax. We family. But I gotta know. I follow the trail. I see my product you been skimmin' bein' sold outside my area. Small operation, outskirts of Renton. Best I can tell it's just three kids. Not a one of them older than fourteen.”

Ax struggled to bring himself to his hands and knees. Slow Time waited for D'Loco's signal. When it was given, Slow Time kicked Ax in the throat. The big man crashed down again.

Kashawn stepped behind J-Fox, observing from his shadow.

“Thing about kids is they all pose and no steel.” D'Loco's eyes showed no emotion. “Might be they think they cool running goods for the man. But kids don't hold up, Ax. Get 'em away from their posse and they just scared little boys. Willin' to say what you need to hear if you just promise they can run off home.”

D'Loco raised his right hand over his head. The two brothers Kashawn had never seen before wheeled a heavy rack out of the shadows and into the light where the 97s circled around Ax Man. Hanging from the rack were three long bags with zippers running down the fronts. The kind Kashawn had seen white guys carrying through airports in those car commercials.

D'Loco walked to the rack. He unzipped the first one.

Kashawn's knees buckled. No one noticed his stumble. They were all looking at what D'Loco revealed.

“This guy here?” D'Loco pointed to a dead kid, bloody and bruised, hanging from a hook inside the zippered bag. “He tells me you told him he was working for me.” D'Loco opened the second bag. The kid inside was just as dead, just as bloody as the first. Kashawn's legs held this time.

“This one here give me the time line. Said you been settin' him up for least six months. Says
you
keep him in product and he keep 10 percent of what he sells. Poor kid had no idea it was
my
product you givin' him.” D'Loco opened the final bag. The kid hanging there wasn't bloody or bruised.

One clean bullet hole darkened the space between his eyes.

“You done good with this one, Ax. This one didn't tell me a thing. In fact, he told me to go fuck myself. He's gonna protect your sorry ass no matter what. Gotta respect that, I guess.” D'Loco pulled a gun from behind his back and walked toward the man in the middle of the tarp.

“I got my answers. Ain't the ones I wanted, but word is word. I made a promise.” D'Loco looked around the room at his men. “You do me, I pay you back ten times.” Then he pointed the gun and fired three shots into Ax's face.

Kashawn held his breath as D'Loco tossed the gun on top of the dead man's body. The men in the circle bent over and began rolling the tarp in on itself, wrapping what had just gone down into a tight Ax Man burrito. The two men Kashawn didn't know wheeled the rack with the three dead boys back into the shadows. D'Loco walked toward the rear door, stopping when he got to J-Fox.

“We done here,” he said.

J-Fox went to the car, leaving Kashawn without the protection of the driver's shadow. D'Loco turned cold eyes on him.

“You catch all that?”

Lydia sat in the lobby of the Prince of Wales Hotel, taking in the grandeur of the enormous space. The hotel Allie had selected was the most exclusive on Virgin Gorda, an exquisite example of colonial opulence perched high on a cliff overlooking the yacht harbor. Allie was renting the penthouse. The records Lydia had accessed before she left for the island described it as 4,300 square feet of marble and teak luxury. Promotional photographs highlighted the sweeping, ocean-view terrace. Allie had arranged a special evening meal. Her chef was to set up a traditional American barbecue to be served at eight thirty. The reservation included enough food for four guests.

Who did you invite?
Lydia wondered during her flight to the British Virgin Islands.
Who would you trust enough to introduce Hadley to?
Lydia was confident Allie would keep the girl away from her Russian confederates. She could fill several pages with diagnostic impressions of Allison Edith Grant. “Stupid” wouldn't make the list. Still, Lydia wanted to know who the two people were she'd have to get past in order to reach Hadley.

Lydia arrived on the island just after midnight local time. She went straight to the hotel, where a doorman dressed in red overcoat and black silk top hat greeted her. Despite its not yet being one a.m., the cavernous lobby was empty of all but uniformed staff. This was a hotel catering to the überwealthy. There were no business travelers or Hawaiian shirt–wearing tourists looking to extend their vacation day by lingering over one more rum drink before returning to their double-queen-bed room. The patrons of this establishment dined in their suites and drank on secluded terraces in the presence of like-minded gentry.

She had formulated her approach during the long flight from Seattle. There was no time for designing disguises. No value in orchestrating deceptive ruses to gain admittance to Allie's penthouse. Allie could disappear tomorrow, taking Hadley with her and leaving Lydia to mount a round-the-world game of cat and mouse. She was counting on Allie believing she had some time—perhaps as long as a few weeks—before anyone would find her.

Lydia needed to pounce. Quickly, powerfully, and with only one outcome. She wasn't leaving this island without Hadley.

The hand-carved mahogany clock standing against the wall by the potted palm played a subtle Westminster tune before chiming the time.

One o'clock.

Lydia stood up from her teak and cane chair, crossed the lobby, and entered the wood-paneled elevator. The brass doors slid closed. She pressed
PH
.

“Access to this floor is limited.” A recorded female voice, with a British accent straight off Sloane Street, spoke from speakers Lydia could not see. “If you are a guest on this floor, please insert your key card in the slot provided. If you are visiting a guest, please press the floor number again.”

Lydia pressed
PH
again. She stepped back and shifted her body. She first crossed one ankle over the other, assuring herself the snub-nosed .38 strapped to her calf, hidden by her black crepe trousers, was in place. Then she straightened her spine and felt the Smith & Wesson semiautomatic holstered behind her waist. Finally she reached inside her handbag and felt the comforting heft of her FN Herstal pistol.

“Who's this?” A male voice came over the speaker.

“I'm here to visit your boss.” Lydia spoke into the elevator's open space with enough volume for any microphone to pick up.

“Who now?” the voice asked. Lydia detected a muffled grumbling before another male voice came over the speaker. This one had a Cockney accent.

“The lady's gone to sleep for the night now, 'asn't she? Recommend you do the same now, luv. Come back round at a more respectable hour, and if somebody feels like accepting visitors, we'll see what we can do. 'Ow's 'at?”

Two male voices.
You were at the barbecue. You're the ones I need to get past.

“My name is Lydia. Your boss is expecting me. I'm earlier than she may have planned. Make sure to tell her I'm not alone.”

“What's 'at supposed to mean?” Cockney asked. “Wouldn't be some sort of threat, now, would it?”

“Just a description, mate. Let her know I'm leaving my friends in the lobby. She and I can have a chat.”

“Don't think the lady's much up for that, luv. But if you like, me and me mate 'ere could come down. 'Ave a drink with you and your friends. 'Ow's 'at sound?”

Lydia paused before answering. She wanted them to think their threat was having an effect.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I'm so certain she'll want me to come up that if she doesn't, you two boys can call this car up and I'll come alone. We can have a party. Just the three of us. Remember. Tell her Lydia is here.”

The sound of two men whispering came over the speakers. Lydia imagined them weighing what their boss might do if her sleep was disturbed. Then again, what might she do if they turned away an expected guest? She leaned back against the polished wood wall and waited. Then she heard an electronic buzz.

“I just locked the elevator doors there, luv. Me mate's going to let the boss know you're 'ere. She don't want to see you, there's no way out for you. You got that?”

“I do, indeed. What's your name?”

“My name's no concern of yours, now, is it? I know yours, don't I? You don't 'ave any doubt I'm going to forget you, do you, Lydia?”

“None at all. We're about to be formally introduced in a few minutes. I thought I could speed things up.”

“We'll take charge of 'ow things are paced, luv. Don't you doubt that.”

In less than three minutes Lydia heard the two men whispering again. While she couldn't make out the words, she could detect the anger in one voice and the insistence in the other.

“You're in luck there, dearie.” Cockney's voice filled the car. “Boss says you're welcome.”

The elevator car began to rise.

“More than one of you steps out and things are going to get ugly, luv.”

“I understand.” Lydia unzipped her purse before steadying its strap on her shoulder. She stepped forward and waited for the elevator to stop. The brass doors slid open, revealing two men standing shoulder to shoulder. Each pointed a weapon at her. The man on the left, with pockmarked skin and close-cropped dark hair, held a Del-Ton assault rifle. Standing next to him was a handsome man with hair the color of autumn wheat curling down to his collar.

He held a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic.

“Look at you there, luv.” Smith & Wesson eyed her slowly head to toe. “You're a beauty, now, ain't ya? Wasn't expecting anything like you to step into my life.”

Lydia held her hands up. “I'm here to see your boss.” She stepped forward into a marble-floored entryway.

“Let's have you stand aside there, dearie.” Cockney set his weapon aside. “This pat-down may take longer than I might have thought.”

Lydia stepped deeper into the hall, gaining room to maneuver. She needed Cockney two steps farther away from his gun. She shifted her attention to the Del-Ton as Cockney leered and slithered toward her.

The penthouse door opened.

“I wouldn't touch her if I were you.” A woman stepped into the hall, dressed in a pale silk robe and pink satin slippers. “Lydia is a guest of mine. Treat her as such.”

Cockney stepped back, leering. “Some other time there, luv.”

Lydia walked past the two men. “Hello, Allie.”

“Lydia.” Allie stepped aside and waved her in. “Always a pleasure.”

Lydia surveyed the penthouse as Allie gave orders to her men before closing the door. To the left was an opulent sitting area with two white silk sofas, three similarly upholstered chairs, and occasional tables carved from dark mahogany. Beyond that was an archway leading to another wing of the vast suite. To the right a more casual arrangement of three chairs clustered in front of a wall-mounted television. Beyond that was a dining table with twelve chairs. Serving as a backdrop to it all was an open-air terrace. The stars in the moonless sky blended with the lights of the city and the twinkling yachts in the harbor, giving the illusion of countless jewels tossed across a black velvet sea.

“Hadley's in bed.” Allie crossed over to the dining area. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No.”

“How did you find me?”

“I'll always find you, Allie.”

Allie looked down at her slippered feet. She crossed her arms across her chest and glared. “You came alone. If Daddy was with you, there's no way he'd wait in the lobby. What's to stop me from calling Rick and Johnny in here? You'd be dead in one shot.”

“Your father's back in Seattle. He doesn't know I'm here. That doesn't mean I've come alone. And if that's not enough for you to not kill me, well, there's always Hadley. She believes you're a fairy princess come to grant her every wish. Having to explain a bloody mess right here in your magical castle might dim her adoration.”

Lydia held Allie's gaze.

“You killed Staz.”

“I did. And I will kill every person you send to kill me. I will do the same for every person you send to hurt your family.”

“Staz was mine.” Allie's voice was cold. “You had no right.”

“You believe that, don't you? No one has the right to interfere with what you want. Even if interference means stopping their own murder or the kidnapping of an innocent child.”

“Hadley came with me of her own will.”

“She's seven years old.”

“You could have prevented all of this.” Allie's facade cracked, exposing her rage. “If you'd only done as I told you. Convinced my father to welcome me back into the family. It's
my
family, Lydia. Not yours. Robbie's
my
brother. Those girls are
my
nieces. And as much as the two of you may wish things to be different, Mort Grant is
my
father. Not yours.”

“I can't let you hurt them.”

“Don't make this bigger than it is, Lydia. I'd never hurt my family. They're
mine
.”

“I've come for Hadley. I'm not leaving here without her.”

Allie's laugh lacked any humor. “Is that so? The great Lydia Corriger…or should I say
the Fixer
…has come to take what is mine. And you expect me to…what? Hand her over? Give you the one piece of family my holier-than-thou father allows me?”

“Mort didn't
allow
you Hadley. You took her.”

Allie slammed her fists against her thighs. “She came of her own free will! She's with her aunt! I have a right to her!”

Lydia walked across the room onto the terrace. She inhaled the salty sea air and felt the warm Caribbean breeze brush across her face.

The night is so dark,
she thought.
I could kill Allie now. There are no eyes watching. I could invite the guards in and finish them here on this terrace. Gather up Hadley and walk out. We could be in Seattle in time for breakfast. Mort could be happy again.

She looked out into the night, appreciating the Fixer's simple morality. Allie was a sociopath. A murderer with no remorse. A criminal czarina beyond the reach of any established justice system.

I could kill her now. Make things right. Be done.

But Allie was Mort's daughter. Despite all Allie had become, Mort loved her still.

Lydia turned her back to the night and took a seat on Allie's white silk sofa.

“Come sit, Allie.”

“You do not command me.”

“It was a suggestion. Come sit with me.”

Allie glared. She stared out into the night. Finally she tightened her arms across her chest and walked over to sit across from Lydia.

“We're alike, you and I,” Lydia told her. “Maybe that's what your dad sees. Perhaps he sees you in me.”

“We are nothing alike, Lydia. I rule my world. I fear nothing. You? Despite all the kills you've claimed…all the
good
you imagine yourself doing with that psychology practice of yours…you're nothing but a useless victim desperate for someone to love her. You're so afraid Mort Grant will turn away from you that you gave up the one thing that gave you power. You stopped being the Fixer simply because he asked you to. I may be many things, but I'm not what you are. I'm not
pathetic
.” She spat the word.

Lydia inhaled. She focused on her breath and tuned out Allie's taunts.

“We're both killers, Allie. We know we could each take out the other.”

“I'm not afraid of you.”

“Really? Then why was your first question how I found you?”

Allie squirmed against her chair. “Call it curiosity.”

“You like to talk about yourself. You talk enough, you give clues. Doesn't take long before someone puts them together and ends up knocking on your door.”

“Like you did?”

“I will always find you.”

“But you didn't tell my father where I am?”

Lydia hesitated. “I don't know if I'm going to have to kill you to bring back Hadley. If I do, I'd prefer your father not know you died at my hands.”

Allie was quiet.

“You've seen my skills, Allie. Remember that night you sent those men to my house? Those men are dead. You watched me. If you're thinking about calling for those guards in the hall, remember that night. Then remember Staz.”

Allie looked away. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

“Did he suffer?”

“Not as much as he could have.”

Allie hung her head.

“You work with dangerous men, Allie. Men who kill simply because they don't like the way you look at them. What do you think those men would do if they thought they could gain control of your empire?”

“No one takes what is mine! Those who have tried died. Those who dare to try will meet the same end.”