The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (49 page)

       
‘My instructions are to persuade him to accept a blow job from you instead,’ said Smolev. He smiled as Verity’s face fell. ‘Only joking, Ted. Just kidding.’

       
Smolev patted Verity on the arm, opened the door and stepped inside. Discenza was sprawled along a sofa, a stack of magazines and newspapers at his side. A football game was showing on the large-screen television, the sound turned down to barely a whisper. Discenza swung his legs onto the floor and sat up. ‘Well?’ he said, his eyes gleaming eagerly.

       
‘They’re not happy about it, Frank,’ said Smolev.

       
‘I don’t give a shit whether they’re happy about it or not,’ said Discenza. ‘They’re not the ones sitting locked up with only
Playboy
for company. I tell you, Jimmy, I’ve been seeing too much of my right hand recently and the other one’s starting to get jealous. I want a woman, and I want one now.’

       
‘It’ll all be over in a few days, Frank. The photographs have already arrived in Zurich. Just a few days more. Can’t you wait?’

       
‘Are you married, Jimmy?’

       
Smolev sighed patiently. ‘Yes.’

       
‘How long?’

       
‘Eight years.’

       
Discenza beat a rapid tattoo on his knees with the palms of his hands. ‘Well, unlike you, I still enjoy sex, Jimmy. Lots of it. I like sex, I enjoy being with a woman. Twice a day, sometimes three times. I like pussy, the hotter and tighter the better. Keeping me locked up here is totally unnatural. It’s driving me crazy, it’s like I’m gonna explode.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I gotta tell you, Jimmy, even you’re starting to look pretty tasty. Now, what did they say?’

       
Smolev fought to control his disgust. ‘They said okay. If there’s no other way to shut you up, it’s okay.’

       
‘Trust me, Jimmy. There’s no other way to shut me up.’

       
There was a knock at the door and both men looked towards it as Verity stepped inside. ‘Room service,’ explained Verity.

       
‘Great,’ said Discenza. He leered at Smolev. ‘You hungry? I’m having steak, I could get you something. After all, Uncle Sam’s paying, right?’

       
Smolev watched a white-jacketed waiter push a laden trolley across the carpet. There was a plastic hotel identification badge clipped to the waiter’s pocket and the small colour photograph seemed to match. The man looked vaguely Mexican, with a darkish complexion and a thick moustache that curled down either side of his lips. Smolev looked across at Verity and Verity nodded, confirming that he’d checked out the waiter.

       
‘No, thanks, Frank. I’ve already eaten.’

       
The waiter reached for the silver cover with a cotton-gloved hand and Smolev felt his stomach tense but when the cover was removed there was just a large rump steak with onions, a fried egg and French fries. Discenza nodded his approval and waved his hand at Verity. ‘Sign the check, Ted, will ya? And give the guy a ten dollar tip, yeah?’

       
‘Whatever you say, Mr  Discenza,’ said Verity, barely able to conceal his disdain. There were two bottles of Budweiser on the trolley, beaded with condensation, and the waiter deftly whipped off the metal tops before handing the check to Verity. As Verity signed for the food, Discenza picked up one of the bottles of Budweiser and drank deeply. He drained half the bottle in one go. ‘You sure?’ he pressed Smolev. ‘The food’s great here.’

       
‘Considering what it’s costing us, I’m sure it is. You go ahead.’

       
Discenza carried the plate and Budweiser over to the sofa. ‘Get me the ketchup, will ya?’ he said.

       
Smolev stared at Discenza’s back and imagined plunging a large butcher’s knife into it again and again. ‘Sure, Frank. I’ll get the ketchup.’

       
He put the dish of tomato sauce down on the coffee table and Discenza jabbed a French fry into it. He smacked his lips and began cutting his steak up into small pieces like a mother preparing food for a toddler. ‘So, when do I get the girls?’ he asked.

       
‘Girls?’ repeated Smolev. ‘We’re talking about one girl. One visit. And I’m not even happy about that.’

       
Discenza shook his head. ‘How I get my rocks off is my own business,’ he said. He popped a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed noisily. ‘Sure you don’t want something?’ he asked, his mouth full of food.

       
‘I’m not an escort agency, Frank. You asked for a woman, I’ll arrange it. But that’s it.’

       
‘I asked for company. Female company. I never said how many I wanted.’ He dunked a handful of French fries into the ketchup and thrust them into his mouth, smearing his lips with sauce. He looked as if he’d cut his lip.

       
‘Don’t jerk me around,’ Smolev warned.

       
‘That’s an option,’ retorted Discenza, ‘but between you and me I’d prefer a couple of eighteen-year-olds.’

       
The waiter left the room, followed by Verity. Smolev went over to the window and looked out at the car park.

       
‘Is it hot in here, or is it me?’ Discenza asked.

       
Smolev turned around to face him. ‘Feels okay to me. You want me to turn the air-conditioning up?’

       
Discenza nodded and took another swig from the bottle of Budweiser. He burped as he put the bottle down on the table. Smolev looked around for a thermostat but couldn’t find one. Discenza took a card from his jacket pocket and held it out to Smolev. ‘Call this number,’ he said, ‘tell them I want Terry and Amanda.’

       
Smolev took the card. ‘How stupid are you, Frank?’ he said.

       
Discenza’s jaw dropped. The man’s mouth was full of half-chewed food and Smolev averted his eyes. It was a disgusting sight. ‘Now what’s wrong?’ Discenza asked.

       
‘What’s wrong is that you’re in protective custody, and you expect me to call your regular hookers and invite them over. Don’t you get it? The man we’re after is a stone-cold killer. And if he finds out that you’ve betrayed him, how long do you think it’ll be before he comes after you?’

       
Discenza swallowed. ‘You said I’d be in the clear, you said you and the Brits would get him, that was the deal, right?’ He loosened his collar. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his cheek.

       
‘If you let us take care of you, sure. But if you contact dial-a-hooker, it’s just asking for trouble.’ He paused. ‘Terry is a girl, right?’ he asked.

       
Discenza scowled. ‘Of course Terry’s a fucking girl. What do you think I am?’

       
Smolev fought the urge to sneer at the man. He knew exactly what sort of man Discenza was. A liar, a fraud, a cheat, a man who was prepared to pay to have another man killed, a man who’d do anything to save his own skin. A man without honour. ‘Just checking,’ he said, and forced a smile. ‘I’ll arrange the girl.’

       
‘Girls,’ said Discenza.

       
‘Girl,’ repeated Smolev.

       
The two men stared at each other for several seconds. Eventually Discenza smiled. ‘A blonde,’ he said. ‘With tits out to here.’ He held out his cupped hands in front of him.

       
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Smolev.

       
Discenza nodded and drained his Budweiser. He put it down and then drank from the second bottle. His forehead was damp with sweat. He stabbed a chunk of steak with his fork. ‘Does the Bureau use a regular agency?’ he asked.

       
‘Oh sure, we have an account with Tits ’R Us,’ said Smolev. ‘What do you think, Frank? You think we call up and say the FBI’s got a hard on and would they send someone over?’ Smolev went back to the window. A large white delivery truck with the name of a laundry service drew up in the car park.

       
‘Jesus, it’s hot in here,’ complained Discenza.

       
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Smolev.

       
‘Yeah, well you’re not cooped up here all day,’ said Discenza.

       
‘It won’t be for much longer,’ said Smolev, turning around. ‘Like I said, the pictures have been delivered. Vander Mayer’s out of the way, our man’s in place. A few days, max.’

       
Discenza squinted over at the FBI agent. ‘How the hell did you find someone dumb enough to take Vander Mayer’s place?’

       
Smolev’s tooth began to ache and he rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know. The Brits got him.’

       
‘Yeah? Does he know what he’s letting himself in for?’

       
Smolev shrugged. ‘That’s not my business. All I’ve got to do is keep you safe until we’ve got the killer.’

       
Discenza thrust another handful of ketchup-covered French fries into his mouth and washed them down with Budweiser.

       
Smolev spotted a thermostat on the wall by the bathroom door. It was set at sixty-five degrees and Smolev felt comfortable, but he lowered it anyway. ‘Tell me, Frank. Why did you take out the contract on Vander Mayer?’

       
Discenza sneered. ‘That’s between me and my lawyer, Jimmy.’

       
Smolev sat down opposite Discenza. ‘Come on, Frank, you can tell me.’

       
Discenza loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘It wouldn’t be smart for me to tell you, now would it?’ He pushed the plate away.

       
‘Something wrong with the food?’

       
‘I’m not hungry any more. Maybe the steak’s gone bad.’

       
Smolev picked up the plate and held it under his nose. ‘Smells all right to me. The food’s supposed to be first class here.’

       
‘Yeah? Well maybe the chef’s having a bad day.’ He took another swig of beer then slumped back on the sofa. ‘So you wanna know why I wanted Vander Mayer taken out, right? I guess it can’t hurt to tell you, what with the deal my lawyer’s worked out. The conspiracy charge has been dropped, right?’

       
‘That’s the deal, Frank.’

       
‘How much did they tell you?’

       
‘Me? They’re treating me like a mushroom.’

       
‘A mushroom?’ frowned Discenza.

       
‘You know, they keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit.’

       
At first Discenza didn’t get it, then he broke out laughing. ‘Good one, Jimmy. A mushroom. Good one.’ He picked up a white napkin and used it to wipe his forehead. ‘He killed my brother.’

       
‘Yeah?’

       
‘Killed him or paid to have him killed. Comes down to the same thing: one dead brother.’

       
‘How come?’

       
Discenza undid another button on his shirt. ‘We were putting together a deal in the Keys, a hotel development. Vander Mayer was putting up most of the money, I was doing the legal work and bringing in extra investors and a management team. My brother Rick was helping me. Keeping everyone sweet, you know? He was just a kid. Twenty-five years old. Just out of Harvard.’ Discenza rubbed his throat. ‘God, I’m thirsty,’ he said. ‘Get me some water, will ya?’

       
Smolev was going to protest but he could see that Discenza was in considerable discomfort. He went to the bathroom and filled a glass tumbler with water. ‘Why did Vander Mayer kill your brother?’ he called through the open doorway.

       
‘He’s got this assistant, this Oriental girl. Chinese or something. She’s always with him, he never goes anywhere without her. She’s some sort of adviser to him, and God knows what else. She took an instant dislike to Rick. Wouldn’t have anything to do with him. You got that water?’

       
‘Coming,’ said Smolev. He carried the glass of water out to Discenza, taking care not to spill any.

       
‘Seems she told Vander Mayer that Rick wasn’t to be trusted,’ said Discenza, taking the glass from Smolev and drinking greedily. He drained the glass and put it down on the coffee table. ‘Funny thing was, she was right. Even I didn’t know. He was planning to put Mafia money in the investment through a company in the Bahamas. He’d lost a bundle gambling and some pretty heavy guys were putting the screws on him.’

       
Smolev went over to the window and stood looking out. The laundry truck was driving out of the car park. ‘So Vander Mayer had him killed?’ Smolev asked.

       
‘Not right away. Rick went around to talk to the girl. Things got out of hand.’

       
‘Out of hand? How exactly did they get out of hand?’

       
‘Depends who you believe. Rick said she led him on, she says he tried to rape her. Two days later Rick disappeared and the deal was off.’

       
Smolev saw a man walk out of the front entrance of the hotel. Smolev vaguely recognised him but couldn’t place the face.

       
‘I knew it was Vander Mayer, but I could hardly go to the cops, could I? A friend in Dallas gave me a number, told me that a Swiss banker could get the job done for me for half a million dollars. Jimmy, I don’t feel so good. Maybe I need a doctor.’

       
Smolev tapped his fingers on the windowsill as he stared at the man walking away from the hotel. He frowned. Suddenly he realised that the man was the waiter who’d delivered Discenza’s food. But his appearance had changed: his hair was shorter now, and he was missing his moustache. Smolev turned around. Discenza was lying back on the sofa, his mouth open, his chest heaving. Frothy white saliva dribbled from between Discenza’s lips and his eyes were wide and staring. ‘Oh shit,’ Smolev gasped. He rushed over to Discenza. ‘Ted!’ he yelled. ‘Get in here.’