Hallowed Ground (28 page)

“Say no more, Henry. Reggie will be down immediately.”

Reggie stood.

I couldn’t help but prod him. I dug out the yellow ticket. “Hey, while you’re down there, Reg, could you validate my parking? Then have the valet bring it around? It’s a blue Nissan Sentra.

Big dent on the roof. Can’t miss it.”

His neck bulged. He scowled so hard his eyebrows almost covered his big nose.

All Big Joe said was, “See to Little Joe,” and Reggie was gone.

Dammit. I’d still have to pay for parking. If I was allowed to leave.

Big Joe sighed. Pressed back in his office chair and gazed up. “Do you have any children, Ms.

Collins?”

Huh? “No.”

Time dragged on. I didn’t dare break his reign of silence.

Finally, he said, “Children are a curious thing. They can grow up in the same house, with the same mother and father, same financial circumstances, same education, same priest, same set of expectations.

“So how is it I’ve got three sons who never have caused me a minute’s worry, but the fourth one is a complete and total fuck-up?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

Head back, he continued to stare at the dingy ceiling tiles. “I could make excuses for him. Or I should say, I
have
made excuses for him.”

“All that makes is a sorry excuse for a human being.”

He chuckled. “Know what’s ironic? I bought this casino to keep my son from further screwing up my other businesses in New Jersey. I’d thought without his brothers or me interfering he’d find his own way. Find success. Within one month, I had to send in a fulltime babysitter.”

Reggie. Wondered how he felt about being a highly paid
Mary Poppins
.

“Bud Linderman claims you want to own Deadwood,” I said.

“Bud Linderman is a red-necked idiot. I don’t want to own the casino I’ve already got, say nothing of more. There’s no money to be made here.”

Maybe Linderman was paranoid, seeing problems where there weren’t any. Would that make him dangerous? And careless?

“My businesses that are profitable are suffering because, once again, I’m here putting out my son’s fires.” Big Joe sat up and swiveled so quickly it made me dizzy. “Do you know for sure Rondelle didn’t take the money?”

That question shocked me almost as much as his confession about his disappointment of his son.

“Please don’t bullshit me or think you have to tiptoe around the truth, though, God knows, you’ve had no trouble telling me exactly what you think so far.”

Me and my big mouth. But maybe for once my mouth had kept me from wearing cement shoes.

“Yes, Rondelle told me she took the security disk. But it was a little hard for her to grab the money while your son was raping her in the next room.”

Not a single change in his facial expression.

“And you believe her?”

“About the rape? Without question.”

“Have you seen the disk?”

“No.” I exhaled, slowly. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you Rondelle was the most virtuous woman on the planet. But the fact remains your son raped and sodomized her. That is not her fault. And she has the evidence to prove it.

“It sickens me, the ‘she-tied-me-up’ version he fed you. It’s beyond ridiculous. You know it is, or else you wouldn’t be talking to me, would you?”

Drum drum drum
, interspersed with a probing stare.

“I had my suspicions.” He removed his glasses, pressed his thumb above his right eye socket and sighed wearily. “Did Rondelle tell you what she’d planned on doing with that disk?”

“Not specifically. She’d mentioned taking it to the Lawrence County States Attorney’s office.

Whether or not she did ...”

“It’s possible she hasn’t done anything with the disk and might still use it to blackmail my son.”

I debated on telling him Rondelle wouldn’t be blackmailing anyone. I held back. “Someone ripped you off, Mr. Carlucci. That someone was not Rondelle.”

Again, he tortured me with silence.

“I wish it had been her.”

Briefly, I felt sorry for him. Difficult to swallow that someone you love is capable of betrayal.

Then I remembered how the men in his employ had threatened me, broken into my house, smacked me around and beaten an innocent man.

The tiny bit of sympathy evaporated.

I cleared my throat to garner his attention. “Is there anything else?”

“No.” His blank eyes met mine. “If you do hear from Rondelle, contact me.”

“Why should I?”

“My patience only stretches so far, Ms. Collins.”

Yikes. I think I actually heard the thin thread snap in the abrupt stillness of the room.

“I will get answers. Having to track you down for them? Not fun for me, definitely not fun for you.”

“Ah, sure, I’ll call you.”

“Wise decision.” He spun back toward the windows. “You know the way out.”

I successfully avoided Reggie and Little Joe as I escaped to the parking garage and out of town.

But I knew I hadn’t seen the last of them.

THE STUPID SON OF A BITCH WOULD BE DEAD INSIDE two minutes.

No close range shots this time. No chance to see the look of surprise. Or feel the vibration of fear as his life was snuffed.

With his left hand he yanked the red bandana out of his pocket and mopped the sweat from his forehead.

Through the scope, he saw the man fumble the wire cutters.

Frustrated, the man swore and grabbed the replacement section of 10-gauge wire that had fallen to the ground. He began to twist it around the fencepost. Dropped his glove. Took his own sweet time standing up and getting back to work.

Get moving, old man, I ain’t got all day.

He lifted the rifle slightly, and squinted through the scope again. About 150 yards out. Ideal range.

The man turned around.

A clear shot.

Oh yeah. The pocket on his yellow polo shirt made a perfect bulls-eye.

Not a breath of wind whispered his murderous intentions.

He pulled the trigger. Pulled it twice more before the body crumpled to the ground, amid broken barbed wire, milkweed, and dirt.

He waited, keeping the scope trained on the form in case he’d missed.

But he never missed.

Gun down; he studied the blazing midday sky. With any luck no one would come looking until dusk.

By then he’d already have served as a buzzard’s afternoon snack.

THE MAIN DOORS WERE OPEN AT FAT BOB’S AND STILL the sour scent of booze, unwashed bodies, and mildew lingered.

Whew. This place could benefit from an industrial-sized air freshener.

A bartender with the mass of a John Deere tractor was parked behind the bar. He eyed me like he knew me but couldn’t quite place my face.

“What can I get for ya?”

“What’s on tap?”

“Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Coors Light, Miller, Miller Light, and Leinenkugel Red.”

“I’ll take the Leinenkugel.”

The pilsner glass he slid in front of me had a substantial head of foam. No wonder he worked the day shift. Even I could pour a better glass of beer. I tossed a five on the counter.

He snatched the money and brought my change. A blue flame flickered as he struck a match and held it to my cigarette.

“Thanks,” I said, blowing out the flare with my first exhalation. I sipped the amber-colored brew and my mouth, tongue, and teeth hummed “Ode to Joy.” On a hot summer day, a sip of cold, crisp beer is close to a holy experience for me.

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” he said.

I shrugged. “Mostly I’ve been in at night.”

“Ah.” Sensing I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, he busied himself, arranging liquor bottles, removing empties and lining them up on the far side of the bar. Breaking open the stacked cases of bottled beer and loading the individual bottles back into the glass coolers.

I stole a quick glance around. Kind of unnatural with no shitty music blasting or people getting drunk and acting like total jackasses.

With nothing else to do except enjoy my beer, I watched the bartender, namely the bloody dagger inked on his forearm. Since Martinez and Harvey had the same tattoo, I figured it must be a Hombres thing.

He got close enough that I didn’t have to shout over clanking bottles. Casually, I said, “Martinez around today?”

Any pretense of his earlier friendliness fled. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“Me.”

“And you’d be?”

I crushed out my cigarette. “Julie Collins.”

His eyes took on a harder edge. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Yeah, I know.” I braved a smile. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Harvey don’t need anyone to tell him. He knows every little thing that goes on in this bar.”

“Is he here?”

As an answer, he picked up a phone and dialed. Angrily. Fixed his evil eye on me as he listened to the person on the other end of the receiver.

I wasn’t surprised he’d reported a Julie Collins sighting. I’d actually expected my butt to meet the pavement much sooner than this.

“Mr. Martinez wants you to meet him in his private office.”

More time in close quarters with Martinez? Not wise. I needed to keep this relationship professional, though I wondered if I was the only one deluding myself about the status of that relationship.

I shook my head. “Tell Martinez if he wants to talk to me I’ll be sitting right here, finishing my very tasty beer.”

The bartender seemed reluctant to relay the message but he did so anyway.

“He’ll be right out,” he said, and dumped my spent cigarette butt. “Get you anything else?”

“Just your name. You know, so when Harvey kicks my ass I can tell him I tricked you into serving me. At least
you’ll
be in the clear.”

He grinned and it was a beautiful thing. Obviously he wasn’t a former hockey player; his perfect smile rivaled Martinez’s. “Name’s Big Mike.”

Oh. I’d heard the name before. No wonder he was so lousy at tending bar; he wasn’t a bartender at all, but one of Martinez’s bodyguards.

I held out my hand. “Nice to meetcha, Big Mike.”

“Same here.”

Big Mike yanked his back like I’d shocked him with a joy-buzzer.

When Martinez sidled in behind me I knew why.

“Ms. Collins. Haven’t you been warned about trying to charm my bartenders into serving you?”

Glad to see he was capable of lazy amusement after what we’d seen yesterday. “Big Mike here doesn’t count, seeing that he’s a bodyguard, not a bartender.”

“Smart girl.”

I rolled my eyes at the “girl” comment.

He purposely layered his body against mine as he leaned over and instructed Mike. “Bring us a pitcher of whatever she’s drinking and two glasses. We’ll be in the back. Hold my calls.”

“Yes, sir.”

I gathered my stuff, leaving the money for a tip.

When Martinez took my elbow, I didn’t respond with a forearm strike, as I had with Reggie.

He directed me to the first of two circular booths where the bars separated, where it was really dark.

I slid in. He slid in next to me. Right next to me. A bar napkin wouldn’t have fit between us.

Nervous, I pulled a cigarette from the pack and he had my lighter out before I’d brought the filter to my lips.

He flicked it. I inhaled. “Thanks,” I said, blowing smoke away from him.

His fingertips skimmed my neck. He brushed my hair from my face. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Bet you didn’t sleep any better than I did last night.”

The nightmare reemerged and I suppressed a shudder. “No. I didn’t. Did you tell Harvey?”

His hand fell to the table like a sail without a breeze.

Big Mike dropped off the pitcher. Martinez poured the beer. No foamy head this time. I drank deeply, using the lull to organize my thoughts.

“Yeah, I told him. Last night after we closed and everyone had left.”

I didn’t ask him how Harvey had taken it. I knew. I took another tentative sip.

“I really think ...” He sighed. “Fuck it. I
know
he’s lost it. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Why did you tell him?”

“Because I realized it might be days before the cops contacted him as Rondelle’s next of kin. He needed to know. He needed to hear it from me.”

That reminded me I’d forgotten to call Jimmer this morning about Lilly. The one thing I’d told Kevin I’d do I hadn’t. Yeah. I was some reliable friend.

“What’s wrong?”

Normally, I would’ve hedged the personal garbage and stuck strictly to the facts of the case. But Martinez and I had gone beyond our previous boundaries in the last few days, and frankly I needed someone to unload on.

Cynical laughter trickled out as I exhaled. “Sure you wanna hear this, Martinez? Cause it doesn’t show me in the best light. And I know you’ve put me up on some kind of marble pedestal.”

“Tell me.”

“When I got home yesterday, after what we saw ...” I took a fortifying sip of beer as those gruesome images danced in my head. “Needless to say, I was a wreck. Kell used the opportunity to point out everything that’s wrong with me before he hightailed it out the door. Not that I’m sorry he’s gone.”

Thinking about it made me so angry I smashed my cigarette butt until the filter unraveled. “With the help of my old friend Don Julio, I numbed myself enough to fall asleep until this epic nightmare woke me up.

“Then, I got a phone call from Kevin telling me Lilly had died. So I raced over there in the middle of the night to make sure he wasn’t suicidal, even though I suck at the sympathy thing.

But I couldn’t tell him anything about what’s going on with this case, which is so not the norm with us because we
are
partners.

“After I got home this morning, I drove out to the ranch to shoot my bow and clear my head.

This pickup load of men comes barreling up with their goddamn rifles. They threaten
me
. On my dad’s land. God. Ends up these old guys are my dad’s friends and are patrolling the whole damn county. Acting like they’d shoot anyone who mouthed off to them.”

His lips twitched. “Did you mouth off to them?”