Cool Heat (17 page)

A very unhappy Kora North eased her BMW out onto the back road and disappeared past the trees.

Sydney said, “Real sweetheart. I hate that this whole operation could end up depending on a high-end hooker.”

“Believe me,” Marco said, “I’ve been in operations that depended on a lot worse than Kora North. Let’s get the hell out of here. I’d like to talk to this Dutch. You know how to find him?”

“I can find him. My police-reporter friend will track him down. Let’s go somewhere we can get a few hours rest. Come back to Tahoe after dark.”

They walked back to the Range Rover. Marco said, as he pulled out, “Looks like you got yourself a partner and an inside girl.”

“Hopefully.”

“You know what the end game looks like? We hit that place, no matter what we get, nothing is admissible.”

“I have an end game in mind,” Sydney said. “And it has nothing to do with the law or the courts.”

“I’m starting to like you,” Marco said, “and that scares the hell out of me.”

“It should,” Sydney said.

37

All the way home, Kora North debated with herself about what to do. Run? Tell somebody? Jesup and her boyfriend were nuts. No way in hell they could pull this off.

She figured the damage she could see on their faces—the bruises, cut lips—wasn’t caused by fat-ass. He couldn’t whip himself. So their saying it was some killer who’d taken out Corbin and then nearly them made sense, and that they’d killed the guy.

I’m screwed,
she thought.

Seeing Corbin dead didn’t affect her as she thought it would somebody else. She wasn’t horrified in any way. She was actually satisfied that the universe had finally gotten sensible and killed the nasty little weasel. Her only regret was that she didn’t get to pull the trigger herself.

But now what was going to happen?

They’re gonna use me and then what?

Feeling like she was in a crazy nightmare, Kora drove to her condo depressed, seeing no way out.

I hope the bastard died knowing it, feeling the whole fear and pain, she thought. Payback.

She watched people walking toward the Ketch Restaurant by the boat docks. She wondered if she had it in her to do it. She thought she could. She’d fantasized about killing a whole bunch of assholes who’d messed up her life. Someday, she’d pick one of those miserable sonsabitches and do it. Maybe hunt down the punk bastards who’d raped her when she was fourteen. In her mind, it wouldn’t have been murder. It would have been eradication of a disease.

This guy with Jesup, whoever he was, looked like the real thing. Where’d he come from? Cute in a badass sort of way. Jesup hire him?

If Dutch Grimes was actually working with them, they just might be able to pull off something crazy like this. Maybe that guy had all the information on the security system and the safe. Hell, he put it all in.

She sat in her car for a time staring at the waterfront condos. She was trapped for sure. No way out. Jesup and her buddy had her.

What if they were good to their word? Would they really cut her in? Part of her hoped they succeeded and somebody finally took down Thorp and Rouse. Those miserable bastards needed to be brought down, all the people they ruined.

Not likely. But how cool would that be?

Had her turn finally come around and she’d hit the damn lottery? Or would she just be a tool to be disposed of? This was getting crazy. There’d be killers running all over Tahoe after each other.

Gonna be a Chinese New Year around here, she thought, this gets out of hand. What’s that saying…you want revenge, dig two graves? How about a whole fucking cemetery?

Why in hell am I always in this kind of shit? Kora wondered as she got out of her car.

Her greatest curse was that she’d been born sexy, kept getting sexier, and seemed to have no defense against a world that wanted that. Since she was little, all she really knew was how men reacted to her, reached for her, used her. Next weekend, the highlight of the damn party would be when she, as Daisy, ripped off her clothes and jumped into the goddamn fountain Thorp had built. Other girls would join her. A real fun fest.

That’s my life, she thought, entertainment for jack-offs.

She knew the feeling of powerlessness and hated it worse than anything else. She’d really wanted that moment when Corbin looked down the barrel of the gun in her hands, and even that had been taken away from her. But she wasn’t done yet. She was breathing, wasn’t she?

She thought of Jesup and decided she was like a role model for a girl who doesn’t take shit from the big boys.

I wish I was a killer like the guy who did Shaun.

She thought about Thorp and Rouse and the big weekend coming up. Jesup was no fool. If you did know the security system and had somebody could deal with it, then getting to the mother lode was possible.

Damn,
she thought,
this isn’t impossible.
If there was one time a year when it could be done, the party was the perfect cover. She started getting worked up about it. She’d been trapped for a long time on a train going nowhere. Maybe in some bizarre way her time had finally come. She sure as hell was due.

How strange would it be if the one who got her out of here with a ton of money was the most feared and hated woman in Lake Tahoe?

38

Thorp’s lawyer grabbed him by the arm. “Oggie, I need to talk to you right now.”

Rouse was wild-eyed like he was on the verge of a nervous collapse.

They were in the hallway at Cal-Neva lodge, where Thorp was giving a tour of the past and the future. He pulled his arm away. “Calm down. In a minute.”

Thorp continued his tour with a group of investors. He pointed to the wall of history, a line of pictures leading to the main ballroom. “Sinatra, Marilyn, Robert Goulet, Lena Horne, Jack Benny. Back in the day, actually, the heyday, yes, indeed…but a new day is upon us, and we have to make changes or we’ll lose out.”

Rouse had that panic twang in his voice as he whispered in Thorp’s ear, “This is an emergency. Come out on the deck.”

“Gentlemen,” Thorp said, “make yourselves at home. The bar tabs are on me. I’ll be right back.”

“What now?” Thorp uttered with a low hiss as he followed Rouse down the hall and out past the bar. He’d been back from the funeral less than three hours and in the midst of an important tour for a small group of big investors and wasn’t in the mood for interruptions. But he could see it was serious. Maybe the body of Cillo or Shaun had been found and there was a police investigation or news reports.

Rouse led him outside on the patio above the swimming pool, his face all tight, a weird, frantic look in his eyes.

Thorp stopped. “What?”

“Your boy is back,” Rouse said in a low voice. “He’s down there in his cabin, and he’s in bad shape. Got his face broken.”

“What in hell—?”

“Happened at Shaun’s place,” Rouse said.

“I thought Corbin was out of the picture?”

“He is. You’re not going to believe this. He was there going through some of Corbin’s stuff when Jesup and Cruz showed up.”

Thorp couldn’t believe that. He was stunned. “What the hell are you talking about? Speak up, for Christ’s sake.”

Rouse said, “What I could get from him, he got into a fight and he got the worst of it. Got hit hard in the head with a steel bar or maybe a dumbbell.”

Thorp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Something like this was impossible. Insane. Sydney Jesup and the criminal nephew of Cillo’s still in Tahoe, and they beat up the pro? It was beyond comprehension. It couldn’t be true.

Thorp asked, “He sure it was them? How does he know it was them? I don’t understand.”

“Ask him yourself who beat the hell out of him. He was lucky to escape. He wants to see you. And he wants painkillers,” Rouse said. “I sent for some and a gun. No way I’m going down there again.” He pushed a package at Thorp.

“What’s this?” Thorp, in a daze of disbelief, took the package.

“He wanted OxyContin. What he needs is an X-ray or MRI and medical treatment, but he’s not interested in that right now. He’s crazy. He’s mumbling about broken bones in his face. They got everything.”

“Everything what?”

“Corbin’s computer and files and whatever he had. He’s nuts right now. Threatening to kill half the people in Tahoe. He wants a replacement for his gun. It’s in the bag. If I were you, I’d consider shooting him. Bring in somebody to clean up.”

“He lost his gun?” Thorp couldn’t believe this. It was unacceptable. The idea that Jesup wasn’t all that shot up—that she had this Cruz with her and they were on the move
and
had gone after Corbin—was just not what he needed right now. The whole deal could blow up in his face.

Rouse said, “Yeah. This greatest of all”—he lowered his voice—”hit men got his ass kicked in a fight and lost his gun. This guy you want on retainer, or to run all your security operations, is waiting for you.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it. This Cruz she’s hooked up with could be real trouble. He needs to be dealt with soon. You want, I’ll get them to open the Sinatra tunnel.”

“No. He said he’d kill anybody who came through there. He didn’t like it when I did it the first time.”

“You have the gun,” Rouse said. “He’s incapacitated.”

“Then maybe you should deliver this.”

“No. He wants to see you.”

Thorp looked down at the Celebrity Cabin. Going down there wasn’t something he wanted to do. He glanced up at the veranda and saw concerned faces looking at them. He turned to Rouse. “Go entertain them. Tell them I have to deal with a relative. This is a fucking nightmare.”

39

On the way down the hill, Thorp glanced toward Incline across Crystal Bay. At this moment on the main lawn of his estate, though he couldn’t see anything from where he was, the band platform for the weekend Gatsby Gala was under construction. Already one of the big tents was laid out and ready to be raised.

Thorp swore bitterly, his blood pressure maxed out. He struggled to breathe, his chest tight as a fist, his mouth clenched. He wasn’t happy at all about going down there to meet this greatest hit man of all time, this top of the line, this crème de la crème who got his ass kicked.

He knocked on the cabin’s side door and heard a mumble. He went in.

“—took long enough,” the killer, sitting on the bed, muttered in a thick whisper, his jaw not moving when he talked, like a ventriloquist.

Thorp, trying not to shake, to show fear or weakness, handed him the bag.

The face of this greatest of all hit men was a bloated mass of distorted flesh around the mouth, eyes, and nose. Just looking at him made Thorp extremely uneasy. Something really nasty had happened to this guy. Thorp shook his head, all kinds of terrible scenarios whirling around.

The killer clenched and unclenched his left fist, his right hand at his face. Then he rolled his neck. A man in terrible pain.

Out on Ogden’s lake, as Thorp liked to think of Lake Tahoe, sailboats and speedboats darted about at play, awaiting the next big thing to hit Tahoe.

The suicide specialist stared at Thorp, right eye bloodshot, swollen. He was holding an ice pack against his face. Up close, he looked like a freakish, inflamed gargoyle.

“Goddamn!” Thorp said.

“Pills,” the killer muttered, fishing around in the bag. He came out with the OxyContin.

“Richard said they hit you with a dumbbell. Jesus, that’s like getting hit with a damn sledgehammer.”

Leon took the bottle, dumped a couple OxyContin tablets out, and slipped them one at a time between his teeth, apparently not able to open his mouth. He picked up a drink he had sitting on a table to wash them down, but most of the water fell down his chin.

“The woman with him—definitely Sydney Jesup?”

Leon nodded.

“You need to get your face looked at. I can get you someone who won’t ask questions or remember the visit. Take a look and see if you have broken bones.” Thorp thought as he spoke of getting more guys up here fast to deal with this mess.

Leon shook his head. Waited a minute before whispering, “Later.”

Blood bubbles formed at the corners of his mouth like the froth of someone with rabies. He said, “I got work to do tonight. One of your girls…”

“One of my girls?”

“Kor…ah…Kora North.”

Thorp had to lean in, get uncomfortably close just to make out what he was saying, the noise of a powerboat all but drowning him out. “What about her?”

“Showed up,” the killer said with a tight grimace, swearing under his breath. “At Corbin’s…they took her. I need address. Find out why.”

“I don’t understand.”

“…kidnapped. Or working with them.” His eyes flashed in rage.

Thorp backed off. He saw the killer in the guy just then. That look in the eyes like a cobra.

“Kora North,” Thorp said. “Are you sure?”

“Address,” he whispered. “Give me her goddamn address.”

Thorp, so buoyant a few minutes ago, now began to feel cracks developing everywhere around him. He saw a massive conspiracy rising. At the root of it, this insane woman who’d linked up with this criminal nephew of Cillo’s. That he hadn’t killed her a long time ago…the biggest mistake of his life. Rouse’s fault. The nervous fool had counseled against it. Weak. Pathetically weak.

“Look,” Thorp said. “We can get you help. But you don’t look in any condition to be doing much of anything. We can bring up a couple of Vegas boys to deal—”

“You bring nobody,” he whispered in a guttural snarl. “You just do what I ask. You hear me?”

Thorp stared at the killer’s eyes. Like looking into gun barrels. He nodded.

“Her address?”

Thorp said, “She lives in the Tahoe Keys in South Lake. You want the speedboat?” Thorp said, “I have a guy who can get you over there fast.”

The killer shook his head. “Last thing I need is to be slamming across water in a fucking boat.”

“I don’t want her dead,” Thorp said. “Get this settled. This girl is my Daisy, playing the Mia Farrow role at my party. Don’t mess her up.”

The killer’s expression grew reptilian cold.

“Look,” Thorp pleaded, scared of his guy, “she’s worth too much. One of my best assets.”