The Downtown Deal (23 page)

She
said, "So that's why you weren't home when I tried to call you the last couple
of nights? I was pretty worried, you know."

"That's
why, Martine." I paused for a long taste of the Dalmore, then said,
"Or should I call you Netty?"

"What?"
Her hand slipped off my good shoulder into her lap.

"Netty.
Just like Blake used to call you when you dated him, right?"

"H-how
— how do you —"

"How
do I know about it? The other night, when you got broken into, I got a look at
your driver's license after you showed it to Madden. Your middle name is
Annette. That and a couple of other things pointed to it. But the real question
is, why did you not tell me you used to date him? Got an answer?"

"I
— I just didn't think it —"

"You
didn't think it mattered? Am I right?"

She
nodded once, not looking me in the eye.

I
said, "You still love him, don't you."

She
couldn't bring herself to nod. That would be like saying it out loud, something
she got very good at not doing. Instead, the corners of her mouth started to
slide downward. I knew the tears weren't far behind.

Then I
said, "But it was a one-way street, wasn't it?" I didn't give her
time to answer. "Blake already knew you from before his divorce. You were
attractive, convenient, there was never any thought of commitment on his part,
but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't make him love you. After a few
months of his late night visits and gooey text messaging, your one-way street
became a dead end."

"He
loved me. In his own way, he loved me." The first tears found their way
out of her beautiful brown eyes, beginning their long tumble down her face.

"In
his own way, he loved you. Right. Women have been clinging to that fantasy ever
since apes jumped out of trees and stood up straight." Her head turned
quickly as she started to look away, toward the window. "So you changed
your cell phone number without telling him, hoping that if he tried to call you
and got the 'no longer in service' recording, he might come out to the
Bootlegger to see if you were all right. But that didn't happen."

I
softly put my hand on her sculpted cheek and turned it back toward me. I said,
"And then there was your 'friendship' with Sandra. If you can call it
that."

"We
were
friends! Good friends!" She pulled a small pack of Kleenex out
of her purse, and started drying her eyes, but the tears kept coming.

"Good
friends? You really think so? Do good friends let phone calls go unreturned?
Her call directory showed you phoning her a number of times in the weeks before
her murder. But there were no calls from her to you. You forced yourself on
her, pestering her to go out with you, so every couple of months, she caved in.
She figured that was easier than giving you another bullshit excuse why she
couldn't see you."

Her
face reddened as I spoke. It was the first time I'd ever seen blood rush to her
cheeks. Rather than bring her porcelain face to life, though, it cast an eerie,
pinkish glow. Scary, kind of.

She
said, "Sandra liked me. She did!"

"You
think so? I don't. I think she thought you weren't of 'her standing', as you
said she liked to put it. I saw her house. It's a multimillion-dollar palace.
She drove a new Mercedes! She had original art hanging in her living room. She
sold high-ticket condos, and made big money doing it. Her electric bill in an
off-month is probably more than two months rent for your one-bedroom apartment
on West Flamingo."

"Stop
it! Stop it!" Her head went straight into her hands, as her words
struggled to slice through the sobbing.

I
wouldn't let up. "Her friends hang out at the Las Vegas Country Club, not
the Bootlegger. When she went to dinner with her real friends, they went to a
five-star restaurant in the Venetian, not to Pasta Mia. You knew all this, and
you resented it."

"I
didn't
! She was my friend!"

"That's
what you kept telling yourself. And then, somewhere along the way, Olivera
entered the picture. You found out she was working with him to get Blake's
downtown land." I drank more Scotch. "She probably didn't tell you
about it right away. Why should she? You weren't that important to her. My
guess is one night when she went out with you, she most likely mentioned it in
passing. Maybe you pressed her for a few more details, but you got the overall
picture nevertheless. You were probably recently split from Blake by that time,
but still carrying the torch. When she told you she was working the other side
of the fence, you saw that as betrayal. A stab in the back to the man you
loved. The man who once loved her. It was too much for you to take. That's when
you killed her."

I
hated saying those words. Worse, I hated myself for having to say them. I knew that
this moment and those words would echo in my mind until I drew my final breath.

"No,
I didn't!"

"You
couldn't bring yourself to tell Blake you killed her. I know that because if he
had known you did it, he never would've hired me. He would've just taken out
his own justice on you."

"No,
Jack! You've got it all wrong."

"Do
I?"

"Yes!
I was at the movies when she was killed. I can prove it! I did prove it to the
police."

"Your
torn ticket stub, right? To see
American Wedding
, right?" She
nodded. "Except you didn't see it that night. Oh, you went to the Palms
and bought the ticket, all right. But you tore it yourself. Then, after tucking
the stub into your purse, you left the theater immediately and made the drive
back to Sandra's house. She let you through the gate and in the door, never
knowing you were coming there to kill her. Then, the next afternoon, when the
police were trying to find you, you went back to the Palms, bought another
ticket for the one-twenty showing of
American Wedding
, and actually watched
the movie, so you could prove you'd seen it."

Her
tears flowed now, uncontrollably. I knew it would be a minute or two till they
subsided, so I picked up my cell phone and punched in Madden's private cell
number. It was Sunday, he was probably at home.

"Frank,
Jack Barnett. I'm at my apartment. You better get over here right away. I've
got Sandra Blake's killer sitting on my couch."

I hung
up. She put her hands to the sides of my neck, her lips inches from mine. With
wet, red eyes and wet, red cheeks, she said gently, "Jack, honey, you
can't do this to me. Not after what we mean to each other. Please!"

I
didn't pull away. "You might never believe this, but I hate doing this
almost as much as you're going hate having it done to you." I placed a
soft, brief kiss on her lovely lips. All our good times came back to me in a
rush, all that she meant to me. Even so, I knew that would be the final kiss
between us.

"We
had it all, Martine. You could've been the one for me. You were everything I
ever wanted in a woman. Except for the murderer gene, of course. And now,
you'll have to face the law for it."

She
pulled away, but not by much. Her voice shot up to the next octave, adding
urgency. "You don't have to do this. You can tell them it was all a
mistake. That you were mistaken!" Her brown eyes were still wet, but
pleading.

I
shook my head. "And if I did that, I would regret it every day for the
rest of my life. Sandra Blake's face, complete with the bullet hole in her
forehead, would haunt me all the way to the grave."

Fifteen
minutes later, Madden knocked at my door. He'd rounded up Bolino on his way
over. The two of them came in. I gave them Martine.

"She's
the one you want, Frank." I ran it all down for them. "Check with a
kid named Jared who takes tickets at the Palms movie theaters." I gave
them the photo of Martine I had shown to Jared. "He works days, and he can
put her in the theater watching the same movie the next afternoon. That was
supposed to be her cover, in case you asked her to describe the movie. As for
the gun, I don't know. Maybe it's still in her apartment. Maybe she threw it in
the lake. I don't know. You'll have to get that out of her."

Bolino
briefed Martine on her rights, then put the cuffs on her. As he led her out to
the car, I stopped Madden before he got out the door.

"I
could have fallen in love with her, Frank. I almost did."

My
voice cracked. He caught it, then placed his big hand on my good shoulder. He
pulled his lips together tight, then nodded twice. Finally, he patted me a
couple of times, and went out the door. I closed it behind him.

B
lake showed up at quarter to four. No-Sleeve Steve was with
him. His Cadillac Escalade was parked in the next spot over from mine, just a
few feet from my front door. I spotted Julius holding down the driver's seat.

Even
though it was Sunday, supposedly an off day, Blake wore his major-dealmaking
power costume: European-cut designer suit, charcoal gray, custom white shirt
with French cuffs, and a silk tie. The tie probably cost a hundred bucks, but
it was Kelly green and totally hideous. He carried a black leather briefcase,
which looked to me like one of the most expensive I'd ever seen. No-Sleeve
Steve wore his customary sport coat, this one was navy blue, over a pale blue
dress shirt, which was no doubt sleeveless.

I, on
the other hand, wore a brown sweatshirt pulled over my sling with wrinkled
khaki pants.

I
apologized for the disheveled appearance of my apartment, then motioned for
them to sit down. Blake took the one easy chair in the room. No-Sleeve Steve
took it upon himself to go get one of my dinette chairs, which he brought into
the living room. He sat in it, his large hands folded in front of him.

"How're
you feeling, Jack?" Blake asked.

"Better.
The pain has subsided to a mere throb." I was about to blurt out the news
about Martine, but decided to wait until Blake's little show with Olivera had
concluded.

Blake
said, "What's going to happen here is this. I'm going to sell Olivera my
land for the price he offered me. We're going to sign the contracts here today,
and he's going to give me earnest money in the amount of ten million dollars.
We'll have the actual closing in a couple of weeks. I'm also going to throw in
the wine. Can you go and get it when the time comes? I mean, are you able to
drive?"

Ronnie's
place was less than ten minutes away. Today, with little traffic, I felt
confident. "I can get it. But wait a minute. You're selling your land to
him? I thought you were using the wine as a hammer to pound him into selling
his land to you."

"Things
have changed. I'll explain afterward. But you're certain you can get the
wine."

"I'm
certain." I knew Ronnie would be home at this hour watching movies.

"Want
a drink?" I asked. "I've got some good Scotch."

"No,
thanks."

I
looked at No-Sleeve Steve, with the same offer in my eyes. He shook his head. I
went to the kitchen and poured myself a short Dalmore.

Before
I got back to the living room, there was a knock at the door. I set the drink
down and went to answer it. I saw Olivera and Calzado through the peephole.

"Mr
Olivera," I said, as I opened the door widely. "And Mr Calzado.
Please come in."

They
slowly entered behind tight faces and clenched jaws. Their eyes darted this way
and that, not exactly knowing what to expect from this odd meeting where so
much was at stake. They both wore expensive dark suits, with appropriate shirts
and ties. Calzado carried a briefcase, as though it were a spear. I assumed it
belonged to Olivera. Blake and No-Sleeve Steve stood up when the Cubans got inside
the room.

Olivera
saw the blood on the carpet. "What happened here?" As if he didn't
know.

"I
was attacked Friday night by two armed men. Fortunately, I was able to
successfully defend myself."

"Armed
men?" Olivera asked, keeping up the charade of having no idea what went
down.

"Yes,
it was just terrible," I said, trying to inject mock drama into my voice.
I figured he'd swallow it.

He and
Calzado took seats on my lumpy couch, a far cry from the soft leather sofa in
Olivera's suite at the Venetian. Olivera sat closest to Blake. He and Blake
shook hands just as they were sitting down. "Mr Olivera," Blake said,
"thank you for coming to this unusual meeting place on a Sunday. In
addition, let me congratulate you on the Marlins' stunning victory."

Olivera
couldn't hold back the smile that exploded over his face. His eyes ignited with
joy as he said, "It was the most important event in Marlins history, and
one of the greatest victories in the history of all baseball! This year marks
the beginning of a long period of greatness for the Marlins. Maybe even an era
of domination!"

Of
course, he was swept up in the hype and in the improbable turn of events, but I
had to admit, my Yankees were definitely dominated by these outliers from
Miami.

I
added, "Let me congratulate you too, Mr Olivera. I'm a Yankee fan, and I
will say right now that the best team won. Good job."

His
smile was radiant, almost infectious. "Thank you, Jack. I appreciate your
good will."

I
noticed that even Calzado wore a wide grin. You couldn't blame them. They were
part owners of the world champions of baseball.

He
turned his attention back to Blake. "So, Mr Blake. Are we ready to do
business?" He continued smiling.

"We
are." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
Calzado opened their briefcase, handing Olivera the necessary documents. They
exchanged a few of them, looked them over, then talked back and forth about the
broad outlines of the deal. Olivera had a couple of questions, which Blake
answered to his satisfaction, then they examined the papers some more. After
about ten minutes of this, during which time No-Sleeve Steve and Calzado sat
motionless, they whipped out their pens and started signing. Once the
signatures were in all the right places, Calzado handed Olivera a cashier's
check, which he in turn gave to Blake. Blake looked it over and they shook
hands.