Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (17 page)

“Well damn, Danny,” Mike said. “How many people are pissed off enough at you to be peeking through your bedroom window in the middle of the night?”

I didn’t say it out loud, but the real answer was two that I know of: Pavel Laskin because he was a pissed-off, mean-as-a-snake sociopath, and Rico Maroni, for far different, creepier reasons. I’d been through this in my own mind last night and this morning, and I’d come to the conclusion that it couldn’t have been Maroni: the guy I saw on the patio, even silhouetted through the sheers, was way bigger than Maroni. I don’t know if he was Laskin-big—he may have been. But I’m 90 percent confident that he was too big for Maroni. I looked at Mike. “Only one that counts.”

Mike looked nervously at Sylvia, then back to me.

“Look,” I said. “Laskin seems to be fixated on us at the moment, and that’s okay—we can deal with it. We don’t think you guys are in danger now, but we wanted to make you aware.”

“Why don’t you think we’re in danger?” Mike asked. “How can you be certain?”

“We can’t be certain,” Toni said. “But whoever’s behind this needs something from you—your building. And they can only get it if you agree to sell it. Even Pavel Laskin is smart enough to know that this probably won’t happen by threatening you directly and it
definitely
won’t happen if you’re attacked.”

“We’re confident that he’s going to leave you alone,” I added. “And we’re watching things carefully. The moment we feel things change to be unsafe for you guys, and that includes you, too, Libby, then we’ll let you know.”

Mike looked at Sylvia.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “The bastards aren’t driving me away from our building—I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here overnight with a baseball bat if need be.”

“I’ll help,” Libby said. “I got a Louisville Slugger in my apartment. It’s just waiting for a Russian head to bust.”

I smiled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Mike chuckled. “Well, so be it then. We stay. You know, truth be told, we haven’t heard from them for a few days now. We saw them in the park Wednesday afternoon when you found the body downstairs. But other than that, they don’t seem to have been paying any attention to us.”

“Maybe that’s because we’re distracting them for you,” I said. “Laskin definitely knows who we are.”

“Well,” Sylvia said. “Just in case, perhaps I should reconsider the notion of the baseball bat and move to something a little heavier. Maybe a shotgun of my own.”

Libby shook her head. “Can’t help you there, boss. I left mine back home in Tennessee.”

* * * *

Since we were in Pioneer Square anyway, we grabbed lunch at the Grand Central Bakery. Toni worked on a shrimp sandwich. I polished off the last of an excellent roast beef sandwich and leaned back in my chair. “So—you all set for tonight?”

“What? Dinner? Yeah.”

“You’re pretty quiet,” I said. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I was just thinking about Mike and Sylvia. I mean, I know I sounded pretty confident with them, but do you really think they’re okay? You really think Laskin’s going to leave them alone?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do. You were right—he needs ’em. He can’t afford to piss ’em off too much. Mike said the harassment’s leveled off, right? I’m actually thinking that may be the reason why. He realized he’s pushed it a little too far.”

She thought about this, holding her sandwich in front of her. Then she resumed. “You’re probably right—you usually are when it comes to this kind of thing. You’re good at thinking like a bad guy.”

I smiled. “Years of experience.”

She finished up, set her napkin next to her plate, and gave me a concerned look. “Don’t get mad—I know you’ve been planning today for a while.”

“Yeah . . .”

“And I know the flowers didn’t go the way you wanted . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

“And I know you’ve got us reservations at Daniel’s . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

“But I was just thinking—with everything we’ve got going on, don’t you think maybe we should kick it back a week or so?”

“Dinner?” I sat up straight. “Hell no. Why?”

“I was just thinking about the case.”

“Nuts. The case will work itself out, whether or not we go to dinner tonight. And besides, you gotta eat, right? Besides, next week it won’t be Valentine’s Day. Today, it is. I’ve got reservations made—even got a table picked out. I think we should do it.”

“I’m just a little worried that we should be doing something.”

“We are. We’re running down the anonymous bidder. We’ve already checked out the building. And now, with the DEA lead, we’ve got maybe our best chance to nail Laskin and solve the problem for Mike and Sylvia. But damn, even so, it’s not a twenty-four-hour job. We still have to live.”

She nodded. “Well . . . okay. I don’t want to blow the plans. I just didn’t want us to miss anything. I started to feel all stressed out.”

“We’re good. We’re on top of things.”

“Okay, I suppose.” She looked at me for a second, then she tilted her head. “You okay about the flower thing? I’m sorry he sent them over. I liked yours better anyway.”

I laughed. “Now I know you’re bullshitting.”

She smiled at me. “I did like yours better. Really. They were beautiful. Besides, I’d take a single daisy from you rather than a whole truckload of roses from Rico. I already tossed his in the trash.”

“What? All two hundred of ’em?”

She laughed. “They weren’t that big. Besides—knowing Rico, they were funeral roses anyway.”

“What’s a funeral rose?”

“It’s the kind that’s been sitting around in the florist shop for a while, almost ready to fall off the stem. The florists cut the price in half and use ’em for funerals ’cause they only have to look good for a few hours. That describes Rico to a tee. He probably spent about half what you did.”

For some prideful reason, this made me feel better. I nodded. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “Thank
you
.” She pushed her chair back. “Now—since you insist on wooing me with a fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant, the least I can do is properly prepare. Knowing you wouldn’t change your plans, this chick has a hair appointment in exactly one hour. Take me home so I can get my car, please.”

* * * *

We exited the Grand Central Building and walked through Occidental Park, heading to the lot across the street where I’d parked the Jeep. Just after passing the chess players, I spotted Abraham walking toward us, pushing his cart before him. I’d told Toni about Abraham, but I hadn’t had the chance to introduce him. I started his way, but as soon as I did, he gave a quick little shake of his head and, with his thumb, pointed back over his shoulder. Then he turned away. I looked where he’d pointed and saw Freddie Sokolov and two others, sitting on one of the benches. Sokolov was watching me, and when he saw that I was looking at him, he gave a little wave. I ignored him, and we continued on past.

“That’s Sokolov, right?” Toni said quietly, looking straight ahead.

“Yep.”

“He’s the one you nailed in the bar?”

“The very same.”

“Good.”

We crossed the street and Toni stopped at the pay station to take care of parking while I continued.

I was twenty feet from the Jeep when she called me back. “Hey, Danny!” she said. “I can’t work this stupid machine.”

I stopped and gave a little grin, shaking my head. Toni’s one of the smartest people I know, but the pay stations seem to have her number—she can never get them to work. I turned back and started walking toward her.

I’d taken four or five steps when suddenly, the air seemed to be sucked right out of my lungs at the very instant the sky behind me lit up with a thunderous “boom!” I was literally picked up off the ground and tossed through the air like a leaf in an autumn windstorm, except rather than landing gently on the lawn, I crashed into the side of a parked car and everything immediately went dark.

I’m not sure when I woke up. I don’t recall dreaming—one instant I was walking back to Toni, laughing about her inability to master the pay station. Next instant, the world seemed to explode. Now, I was lying somewhere in the dark, a monstrous ringing in my ears—a ringing that was so loud, it blocked out all other sounds. It’s as if I was in for a hearing check and the technician turned the headphones up loud and then went for coffee or something. Dark and ringing.

I was lying on my back on the pavement, and I was lucid and able to remember things. This was good. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough head shots to know that most times, the concussion that generally occurs usually includes the loss of short-term memory for a while. This time, apparently, my head had been spared.

But not my shoulder. I had a shooting pain along my entire right side, especially at my shoulder—my contact point with the car that had interrupted my short flight. To my left, I felt heat.

The ringing began to subside, and gradually I could hear voices, although they were muted and sounded like they were coming from a room next door—no, they sounded like they were coming from an apartment next door. They were that muffled.

“Danny!” someone yelled, although I could barely make it out. “Danny!”

I recognized the voice: Toni. Thank God. Whatever force it was that had knocked me silly had apparently missed her.

“Danny!”

After a minute, maybe longer, her voice inspired me to open my eyes a tiny bit. The light was dazzling, but after a bit, my pupils adjusted, and I was able to see. Glancing to my right, I could see a silver Prius with a dented passenger door. I heard approaching sirens—a sign that the ringing was subsiding. I looked to my left and saw a fire, which I found a little confusing. Then I saw Toni. She knelt beside me, her left hand on my arm, and her Glock in her right. Her head was in motion, constantly scanning the area.

“Don’t move, baby,” she said. “Just lie there.”

“Not moving.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you okay?”

“I am. I got knocked down, but I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Danny, the motherfuckers tried to kill us! They blew up the Jeep!”

“What?” Despite her advice, I lifted my head and looked. Where my beautiful olive-green Wrangler had been parked, there was now a blazing heap of metal. “Son of a bitch!” I lay back down.

“Stop moving,” she reminded. “Should I call Miguel?”

“The police will probably be here soon. Have them do it. Just keep scanning now, but remember to holster your sidearm when they get here—before they see it. They’ll get all freaked out.”

She nodded. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like I got shot out of a cannon into the side of a car.”

“You pretty much did. More specific?”

I relaxed and took a mental inventory. I was able to wiggle my fingers and toes and flex the muscles in my arms and legs. No paralysis. I was able to breathe. “Am I bleeding anywhere?”

“You’re a little scraped up, and the right side of your face is swelling like you got punched, but I don’t see any blood on the ground.”

“Good. I’ve got a bad ringing in my ears. My right side is dinged up—especially my shoulder. It hurts like hell. I can still fight if I have to, but it’ll be weak-handed.” I paused for a second. “All things considered, I’d rather just lie here for a minute.”

She smiled. “Just lie here, then. I’ll watch.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed. It seemed like it took longer, but it was probably only a few minutes later that I heard footsteps running up. I opened my eyes on hearing the steps. I must have tensed up, because Toni leaned forward and held me down. “It’s okay. It’s the police. Over here!” she called. “We need an ambulance!”

* * * *

“Sokolov was in the park, watching.” I’d just been lifted off the pavement and placed on a gurney by the EMTs in preparation for transport to Harborview. They’d checked my vital signs (all normal) and inspected me from top to bottom to make sure I was stable. Then they said my problems seemed mostly orthopedic, but they went ahead and started an IV for good measure.

“You didn’t see anything unusual over here by the Jeep?” Miguel asked.

I tried to shake my head, but the quick movement caused a sharp pain in my shoulder. “No.”

“I saw Sokolov, too,” Toni said. “He waved. Nobody around the Jeep, though.”

“Maybe the bastard thought he was waving good-bye for good,” I said.

“Yeah, well, he almost was,” Miguel said. “Sounds like if Toni hadn’t called you back . . .” he stopped and rolled his eyes. “Not good.”

“Not good,” I said. “That’s one way to put it.” I lifted my good arm, and Toni grabbed my hand. “She’s my hero.”

The fire department had arrived earlier and smothered the remains of the Jeep in foam. I turned my head, slowly, and looked at the sad carcass: charred black, roof melted off, frame dripping foam. “I liked that car.”

Toni squeezed my hand. “It’s insured.”

“For bombing?”

“Don’t worry about that now.”

“Is Sokolov still in the park now? I can’t turn my head that far.”

Miguel turned and scanned the area for a few moments. “Not that I can see.”

I tried to shift my position on the gurney. “Didn’t want to hang around for the show.”

“Don’t worry,” Miguel said. He looked around. “This parking lot’s probably covered by half a dozen video cameras from surrounding businesses. We’re going to review them, and then we’re going to hammer the bastard who did this.”

* * * *

We got to the hospital, and I figured Pri would take care of me. I thought I’d do the usual three-hour emergency room checkup with maybe another couple hours tossed in for X-rays. Five, maybe six hours tops, then I’d be free. Still time to get home, get cleaned up, and make the dinner reservation.

Things started going bad right away. I spent the whole afternoon getting checked out. First, cardiology (they were impressed with my low heart rate). Then radiology, where they shot me with enough gamma rays to make me glow at night. Then they threw me into an MRI tube for twenty minutes or so before rolling me up to a room. It was getting late, and I was getting worried.

Finally, at 5:00 p.m., Dr. Manish Kanda, the emergency doctor I’d been seeing, showed up. Pri was with him. She’s the Harborview ER supervising physician, and it was the first time I’d seen her today.