Jay Giles (13 page)

     
She had me on that one. Subconsciously, I had been including her. Presumptive on my part. But not a bad idea. She’d make a great collaborator. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be willing to help. This thing could turn dangerous.”

     
She gave me a doubtful look.

     
“Not hooking up Janet and our groom. D’Onifrio. This guy Wilder.”

     
Her eyes became knowing. Her mouth curled up at the corners. It was the confident expression of a card player who held a full house, knew her opponent only had a paltry two of a kind. “I might do it if the money was right.”

     
I sat back in my seat, took a sip of my wine, studied her. As much as I could have used her help, I wanted to make sure she knew the risks. “It could get ugly. D’Onifrio or Wilder could—”

     
Her smile broadened. “What pitiful negotiation skills. You’re making the price higher.”

     
“I just—”

     
Dinner arrived, along with Charlie. He fussed over our table. Actually, he fussed over Tory. “You have not touched your wine. It was not acceptable?” He made a sad face.

     
“Oh, no. It’s wonderful,” she assured him. “I just got caught up in—talking.” She grinned at me, picked up her glass, took a sip. “Wonderful.”

     
He beamed. Man of a million emotions. “
Bon appétit
, then.”

     
“Thanks, Charlie,” I said as he departed.

     
Tory leaned over the table. “Let’s say you agree to the outrageous fee I’m going to charge. Tell me why it’s so important that I’m a part of this.”

     
“You bring a woman’s perspective. Which is important. You know
Sarasota
better than I do—”

     
She shook her head. “Not to be overly critical, but neither of those is worth the big bucks.”

     
“You’re right. But there’s something else. They don’t know you. Janet saw me in court. Nevitt has seen me twice. You can get close to them. I can’t.”

     
“Get close to do what?”

     
I leaned over the table, said conspiratorially, “You’re going to be catalyst who sets everything in play.”

Chapter 21

Over the rest of dinner and coffee, we talked through what needed to happen. It may all have been wishful thinking, but by the time we went our separate ways, I felt better. I had Tory on board. Tory had to be feeling pretty good, too. She’d negotiated a fee that would pay off the mortgage on her little house on
Anna
Marie
Island
. Good help doesn’t come cheap.

     
We’d agreed to meet tomorrow at nine-fifteen at the Pier Grille and drive over together to meet the groom. On my way home, I called the office and left a message for Rosemary that I’d be late coming in, not to worry. I tried to make my voice light, untroubled. Not that she’d buy it for a minute.

     
Back at the condo, I changed clothes and headed to the weight room. I was still wound up from dinner. What Tory had told me about Wilder had finally registered. I’d assumed he was some punk I could punish for what he did to Eddie. I hadn’t expected him to be D’Onifrio’s top killer. If the authorities hadn’t been able to do anything about this guy, I wasn’t sure what luck I’d have.

     
I used the weights for forty minutes, ran for another forty. It helped. Not enough that I got any sleep. I was still too agitated. I watched the clock creep from one to two to three to four to five to six to seven. At seven, I got up, took a long shower, had some breakfast, and dallied at reading the paper until a little after nine.

     
Tory was waiting for me in the parking lot, standing next to her car. Again, dressed in all black—black turtleneck, black skirt, the ever-present large black bag over her shoulder. I wondered if all her clothes were black. She waved when I turned into the parking lot. I pulled the Saab into the space next to her VW Jetta, black, of course. She opened the passenger door and got in.

     
“You look like shit,” she said cheerfully.

     
I put the car in reverse, backed out of the space, and headed for Shore. “I worried all last night, didn’t sleep a wink.”

     
She looked over at me to see if I was kidding, caught me yawning. “Don’t go. Call it off.”

     
“Believe me, I’d like to. But I figure it’s better to have D’Onifrio working with me than against me. If we work with him, one of two positive things could come out of it. We could pull off this marriage. Or we could find out something about D’Onifrio we can take to the authorities.”

     
“Like what?”

     
“I don’t know.”

     
“That’s comforting,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Stir things up. See what happens. That’s your plan?”

     
I looked over at her. “No. Things are already stirred up. I want to take what’s stirred up, settle it in a way that I’m out from under it.”

     
“We’re going to have to have a better plan than that to get out from under anything.”

     
I nodded, didn’t argue with her.

     
She adjusted her shoulder bag on the floor by her feet. “This meeting is to give us the groom, right?”

     
It was a nervous question. We’d talked through everything at dinner. “Yeah, I just hope it isn’t groom and doom.”

     
She groaned. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

     
“Keeps me from being so scared my voice goes up three octaves.”

     
“I know what you mean. I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet D’Onifrio.”

     
I looked over. “You can change your mind. Not go. I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

     
She dismissed my concern with a shake her head. “I can handle it. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

     
“What if it gets rough?”

     
“What if this groom guy’s a dud?”

     
She’d ducked my question, struck a nerve. My biggest fear was that this guy would be a jerk, wouldn’t cooperate. I sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll need to figure out how to make lemonade.”

     
We rode in silence the rest of the way. I parked the car in the bank’s surface lot, got out, opened Tory’s door for her. “He needs us to do this for him. We shouldn’t have any trouble in this meeting.” I think I said it as much for my benefit as hers.

     
Inside the bank, Ann was waiting for us in the lobby. She eyed Tory, sized her up. To me, she said, “Mr. Seattle, right on time. Let me escort you up.”

     
We rode the elevator to the top floor. When the door opened, Ann stepped off briskly, led us down the hallway to D’Onifrio’s office. She knocked on the door, opened it, closed it hurriedly. “He’s on the phone. Shouldn’t be but a minute.”

     
We stood in the hall and waited. A minute passed. Two. Five. Ten. Twenty. At the forty-minute mark, we heard a muffled, “Ann,” from inside.

     
She opened the door, stuck her head in. “Bring them in,” we heard him say. She opened the door all the way, indicated we should enter, closed the door behind us.

     
D’Onifrio was seated behind his desk. In addition to a white shirt, foulard tie and braces, he wore a tired expression. I would have liked to believe he’d been up all night worrying about this meeting, but he probably had bigger, more sinister things to worry about. He frowned, acknowledging us, stood, came around his desk. “Mr. Seattle, introduce me to your friend.”

     
He came up close to her, held out his hand. I made introductions over the hum of his hearing aids. “Mr. D’Onifrio, this is my associate, Ms. Wright.”

     
Tory looked like she wanted to bolt. She didn’t. She shook hands with him, smiled.

     
D’Onifrio released her hand, gestured to his left. “I believe you’re already met my associate, Mr. Wilder.”

     
I had to turn to see him. He was seated on the sofa by the door we’d just entered. He didn’t get up. He grinned, showing us his pointy teeth, then adjusted the crease on one trouser leg of his light blue sharkskin.

     
Maybe that was why we’d been kept waiting. He was discussing my death with Wilder. “What’s he doing here?”

     
D’Onifrio went back to his desk chair. “Let’s just say he’s the groom’s best man.”

     
“This isn’t going to work—”

     
“It works the way I say it works,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. So much for the friendly meeting I’d hoped for. “Sit down.”

     
As we sat, he stared at us. “Don’t get the idea because I’m letting you do this for me that I’m not in control. You’re going to do what I say, when I say. Understood?”

     
He was trying to intimidate us. The scolding parent talking to unruly children. I needed to keep this on an adult-to-adult level. “I thought you wanted your money back,” I said calmly.

     
“I do,” he scowled.

     
“We’re going to need some room or this isn’t going to work.”

     
The scowl deepened. Not the obedient child he’d been expecting. “Listen to me, you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll have Wilder turn you into fertilizer.”

     
“I’m not trying to cause you trouble,” I said evenly. “I’m trying to keep this on a business-like basis. Threatening me isn’t helping. Turn me into fertilizer, and you’ll never see your money.”

     
I thought that would provoke another outburst. It didn’t. He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. His eyes narrowed. The frown turned down even further. A look meant to terrorize. I sat there quietly, hoping all the squirming my insides were doing didn’t show.

     
After an eternity, his gaze shifted to Wilder. “Get Fish.”

     
Wilder got up from the sofa, left the room. He came back followed by a second man.

     
As soon as I saw him, I understood the Fish reference. He looked exactly like Abe Vigoda, the guy who played Fish on the old Barney Miller cop show. He had the same sad sack face—deep dark eyes under black, bushy, out-of-control eyebrows, thin no-lip mouth, heavy jowls, thinning brown hair. He wore a short-sleeved white dress shirt, cheap striped tie that extended only mid-paunch. Brown polyester pants a good two inches too short revealed light blue socks.

     
His gaze went from D’Onifrio to us. “Hello,” he said in a fog-horn voice.

     
D’Onifrio got up from his seat, walked around the desk, put an arm on the man’s stooped shoulder. “Fish, here, has volunteered to marry this woman. Haven’t you, Fish?”

     
“Always wanted to try marriage,” Fish agreed matter-of-factly. Since he didn’t have any lips, his mouth barely moved. His jowls quivered.

     
I had a feeling I knew why he was still single. I had a feeling I was going to get very good at making lemonade. I put all that out of my mind, stood, held out my hand. “Matt Seattle, good to meet you.” Tory stood as well. “Tory Knight. I work with Mr. Seattle.”

     
“Frankie F. Fontaine,” Fish said as we shook hands. “Pleased to meet both of you.”

     
D’Onifrio clapped him on the back and went back to his seat. “Fish is your guy. Tell me how quickly you can have him married.”

     
I shook my head. “Hard to say. If we get lucky, within a month.”

     
“Get lucky, get very fucking lucky. I don’t want to wait a month for that money. If it goes a month, your time is up. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

     
Back to threats. “We’ll do our best.”

     
D’Onifrio dismissed me, looked at Fish, who was standing there looking very ill at ease. “Go with them, Fish. If they give you any trouble, just raise your hand. Wilder will be watching.”

     
“I’ll be fine, boss.”

     
“Let’s get a cup of coffee and talk,” I suggested.

     
Fish nodded and walked heavily to the door. Tory and I followed.

     
I was almost to the hallway, when Wilder said, “Remember,
Seattle
, I’ll be watching.” He pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at me. “Waiting for an opportunity to put a bullet between your eyes.”

     
His laugh followed us down the hallway.