Cooler Than Blood (19 page)

CHAPTER 31

G
arrett, Morgan, and I piled into my truck. Morgan drove as I wolfed down a paper plate of bland scrambled eggs. I had forgotten the pepper, which really bugged me. Morgan was appropriately donned in a shirt and bona fide shoes. He’d overheard our plans, and I was grateful for the extra set of eyes. But he didn’t carry any pepper, so what the hell good was he?

We pulled into the deserted parking lot where PC and Boyd were waiting for us. We all gathered beside my truck, and I gave marching orders. I provided PC the address of West Coast Tool and Die.

“Walk in and tell them you’re looking for a job,” I instructed him. “Get a good look at the place.”

“What
am
I looking for?”

“Basement. Interior rooms. Just give me a feel for it. Think of where someone could be held against their will.”

Morgan said, “When at sea, and we wanted to hide someone, we’d put them in the hold of the ship. Some boats were designed with that in mind. I would think—”

“
That’s
what we’re looking for,” I said. Morgan, on more than one occasion, had brought whole families to the land of the free.

“We just need a quick in and out of these places,” I said, aware of my accelerating speech. “We don’t need to camp out. Scout for steps either up or down. Maybe a side door that leads to the adjoining building. If that building is vacant and owned by Sally properties, it’s under consideration. After today, the only property that will require constant surveillance is one that could possibly be housing her.”

I turned to Garrett. I had decided to go with an alternative plan. I’d grown weary of our slow progress and ineffectual actions. That, plus the lack of pepper, had placed me in an aggressive mood. “You and Morgan take the truck south. I’ll rush up the middle, put pressure on Dangelo. By nightfall, he’ll know it’s a new game.”

“What happened to ‘hold?’”

“No such move.”

Garrett said, “You’ll need wheels. I should have driven my rental.”

“I’ll requisition Kathleen’s car.”

“Should be no problem,” Morgan said. “She has that meeting at the Vinoy that runs most of the day.”

“What kind of meeting?” I asked. She would have walked to the Vinoy, as it was only a few blocks from her condo.

“Publishing study of some sort. She not tell you?”

“I might have missed that.”

Garrett let out a chuckle.
Did she tell me?
I called her, but she didn’t pick up. Screw it. I needed her car. PC and Boyd took off to West Coast Tool and Die. Garrett and Morgan dropped me off at Kathleen’s condo garage.

I entered the code and saw her bronze two-door Lexus convertible in its assigned spot. It didn’t even reflect the overhead light. I took the elevator to her unit and grabbed the fob out of the Silver Springs antique porcelain dish. What the? I’d given that to her. Bought it for her one night at an eclectic art shop a block down on Beach Drive. And she tried to tell me I’d never purchased anything for her before. I’d have to set the record straight. I left a note, sent her a text, and locked the door behind me.

Long Sally’s Bar and Grill was hungover from the previous night; it didn’t open until 11:00 a.m. I felt dressed up with nowhere to go. I put gas in the Lexus and ran it through one of those car washes where they dry it by hand. It was a sure sign that it would rain within twenty-four hours. I felt bad for the Native Americans all those years ago. I doubt their rain dances helped much. What they should have done was wash their horses instead. It would have guaranteed precipitation and a healthy crop of corn.

I returned to Sally’s, parked a block away, and walked around the one-story building. Sun Coast Cleaners anchored one end, and a one-man insurance office, “Earl Whitney, for Your Life, Your Home, Your Family,” took the north end. A sun-faded picture of a smiling Earl faced the street. For all I knew, either or both establishments were in Dangelo’s hand but under a different name. It was doubtful, but what if he held two dozen properties under a dozen names? Second-guessing crept into my plan, and Morgan and Garrett hadn’t even cleared the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.

I didn’t see any low windows or sidewalk doors indicating a basement, nor did that surprise me. Basements in Florida are as common as skyscrapers in Montana. I went inside and had the first anything served that day. A blonde with red streaks in her hair wearing a tight black Sally’s polo shirt pushed the iced tea across the clean bar. She looked as if she might have closed the joint last night. I hit the head and ducked into the kitchen. Nothing. A wide staircase anchored the middle of the first floor. I took the steps two at a time. They led to an open area with high-top tables that overlooked the first floor. In the back was a door with an office sign on it. It was locked. Dangelo’s digs.

I returned to my stool. Streak asked me if I enjoyed my trip. I asked her when Dangelo came in. She said, “Whenever.” We chatted for a few minutes while she wiped the bar, but nothing useful emerged. She dropped her towel and headed to the lady’s room. I dropped a ten and headed to the Winking Lizard. I couldn’t recall whether it had a backroom or basement. I rehearsed my lines in my head.

I circled once to get a look at the building. Thick frosted-glass windows with bars stared out at the sidewalk. The place had a basement. So much for my powers of observation and memory. I parked Kathleen’s sparkling car a few spots down from a bus stop. I paused at the front door and momentarily shut my eyes to prepare them for the shock of entering the dungeon. I swung open the door and strode to the bar. I wanted to surprise Special. If he knew anything, he’d be the one to reveal it. Captain Tony might see through my ploy.

Special was behind the bar. I didn’t see Captain Tony or Cue Stick. Luck was on my side. I always run well with her. Special kept his eyes on me as I approached and claimed a stool across from him.

“I met with Dangelo,” I started right in. “He wants me to talk with the girl. See if I can get information from her.” I’d decided that I didn’t care if Dangelo knew I was pounding on his doors. It was time to squeeze the toothpaste. If Special camped out behind the bar every day, nothing would go down that he wouldn’t know about. The problem, of course, with squeezing the toothpaste, is that once it’s out of the tube, it’s a little hard to put it back in.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Special said.

That was close, but not the confirmation I wanted. I darted my eyes around and tapped my hand on the bar. I shifted my weight. “Look,” I said. “Is Tony in? You can check with him.”

“His name is Eugene.”

“Dangelo wants me to talk to the girl. Said to just come down here and have a few words with her.” I stopped tapping with one hand and started in with the other. “Now.”

Special gave that a moment.

“I got to talk to Eugene.” He took a step back and withdrew a phone from his pocket. His reply indicated to me that even if he didn’t know where Jenny was, he was aware that they had her.

“Give him a call,” I said. I strode away as I was still talking. “I’m hitting the head.” I passed two guys shooting pool and took a corner toward a narrow hall. The women’s lavatory was a spacious room that included a partitioned toilet with a barn-door entry, almost like a room within a room. Newer wallpaper. Not my style, but not bad. The men’s room had a bathtub to piss in and a small stall with a plunger in the corner. I left and tracked around the corner and into the kitchen. A man from south of Florida glanced up from a fryer that he was stuffing white grease into.

“Health inspector, amigo
,
” I said.

He shrugged and returned to his task. An interior door faced back into the building. It was padlocked. A closet? I doubted it. My bet was that it led to the basement. The kitchen door swung open, and Special marched in. He ducked when he passed through the door. He held a gun in his right hand; his thick paw engulfed the butt so that the barrel appeared to come out of his fleshy fingers.

“Eugene said that Mr. Dangelo gave you no such permission,” he said, the gun leveled at my chest. “And this isn’t the head.”

Barge through the basement door now?
I’d have to take Special first. I didn’t think that would be an issue, but as a rule, I don’t attack a person holding a gun on me unless I believe it’s absolutely necessary. It doesn’t take much of a shot to screw up your day. I hesitated then said, “Sorry. I’m going back to see Mr. Dangelo right now. He can’t be sending me out to talk to her without letting his minions know.”

“His what?”

I ignored his question, he hadn’t lowered the gun, and I didn’t trust my lips, slipped out the back door, and hustled around to my—Kathleen’s—car. Just as I hit the opposite curb, a city bus pulled out of the stop and left a plume of gray-black smoke that covered the Lexus like a crop duster. My phone rang; I hit the button.

“What do you got?” I asked.

“Nada,” PC said. “We went in like you told us and said we were looking for a job. You should have seen this guy’s face when he glanced up at Boyd popping his tarts.”

“What did you see?”

“The glare of condescension reserved for those who you feel—”

“The place, man.” I knew he was playing with me.

“Zippo, Jake-o. Single-story, doors open, trucks in and out. A real mercantile mart of activity. No way they’re hiding anyone there.”

I thanked him. He was disappointed when I told him I didn’t have anything else for him at the moment. Kathleen texted me and said it was fine if I wanted to take her car. I texted her a thumbs-up symbol.

I camped out at Sally’s. Dangelo exited late in the afternoon. He must have entered when I was at the Winking Lizard. I trailed him to a condo two blocks from Kathleen’s, where he disappeared into an underground parking garage. He lived a football toss from her. I didn’t see that coming. What if he or one of his cousins recognized her? Was he even related to the group that had gone after Kathleen after her husband’s death, or was I being paranoid? I thought of my earlier comment to Garrett about not creating problems for Kathleen, and here I was stirring the pot. I told myself to relax. The chances of his being tied to her deceased husband’s affairs
and
of him recognizing her were remote. But I knew I was rationalizing that fine line, the razor’s edge. I parked in the shade of a building, put the top down, and reached for my phone just as it rang.

“Where are you?” I asked Garrett.

“On the bridge. You?”

“Downtown. What did you find?”

“Organized crime is stressing the ‘organized’ part. Nice establishments. No basements. A yellowtail sandwich at one place, and a redhead waitress at another who nearly knocked Morgan out of the game. Nothing to lead us to believe that any of the buildings and businesses we saw might be holding Jenny.”

“The third?”

“Deserted. We busted in. Nothing. You?” He came at me for the second time.

I recapped my day. I told him the Winking Lizard had a basement with a locked door.

“You didn’t take it?”

“No. I considered it. Had a lock on the door. Would have been messy. That, plus Special was pointing a gun at me.” I’d considered not telling him that last part. He had no interest in pansy excuses.

He paused. “Tonight?”

“I’m thinking three a.m.” We discussed our plan.

I decided to let Rutledge in on the play. I was also eager to see whether he had talked to any of the occupants of the apartment building across from where Billy Ray’s car had been found. I wondered whether McGlashan had even passed the request on to him.

Rutledge picked up on the first ring. He said he hadn’t had time to check out the apartments. At least I knew McGlashan had passed along the request and followed through on his end.

I went after Rutledge. “I think the occupants of that apartment should—”

“What’s with you and this girl?” he interrupted me. “Give it up; she skipped off to another island. Tanning on some b—”

“I don’t think so.”

“Once they run, they always run.”

“I found the man the Colemans were doing business with. I believe he has her.” A black two-door with tinted windows cruised by, blaring a primitive beat.

“Who is he?”

I gave Rutledge a brief description of Dangelo and his operation. He was oddly quiet and noninterruptive.

“And this man…half the money belongs to him?”

“Correct. But he wants the whole two eighty-four. Doesn’t want a bad mark for letting the dough slip through his fingers in the first place. Doubling his take earns a lot of gold stars. I think he hopes to—”

“Has he talked to her?”

“If he did, he certainly wouldn’t divulge that.”

“How do you know him…this Dee-angelo?”

“Dangelo. No apostrophe.” Rutledge seemed more interested in Dangelo than Jenny. “The Colemans led us to him. I’ve got a connection at the bureau, and she identified him.”

“The FBI?”

“Pardon?”

“You said you had—”

“Yeah, the FBI. And—”

“The hell you doing talking to the FBI?”

“I used my source to—”

“Who the hell
are
you?”

“A concerned citizen,
Detective
Rutledge.”

“What did they have to say?”

“The FBI or Dan—”

“Either.”

“Rutledge?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought the only thing you gave a shit about was launching a missile and fondling the tooth fairy.”

“I—we—just need to be covered down here in case the feds get involved, you know? After all, your girl Jenny did a number on a guy, and we let her skate. Well, we didn’t
let
her, but we’re not exactly chasing her down. So you think you know where she is?”

“I do.”

“Some warehouse or something?”

“Dive called the Winking Lizard. Few blocks off downtown St. Pete. It’s open till two. We plan to reopen it around three.”

“Call me either way. The Winking Lizard—that’s really the name? Not the Forgetful Elephant?”

“You got it.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Check the apartments.” But I spoke into dead airwaves.