The Night Cafe (16 page)

D
onald Ackerman was at his desk in the back office, a wad of cash in each hand. He froze as she came through the door, gun drawn, and shock flickered over his face. Surprised to see her at that late hour? Or surprised to see her alive? Whichever it was, his features settled right back into the usual world-weary boredom. What a pro.

“Be right with you,” he said, going back to his counting.

Keeping the gun steady, Hannah pulled the spare chair over with the toe of her boot. She settled where she could watch both him and the door.

Finishing his count of the day’s take, Ackerman folded a half-inch pile of dollars and pesos and tucked them into a pocket, then slipped the rest into a cash box. He closed the lid, locked it and put in a desk drawer.

“That’s your security system?” Hannah asked.

“All I need. People know better than to mess with me.”

“Tough guy.”

“Nah, I’m a pussycat.” He nodded at her gun. “Nice Beretta. You know how to use it? ’Cause if you do, that’s okay, but if you don’t, I’d just as soon you didn’t point it at me.”

“I can use it just fine, and I will if you don’t hand over your piece right now.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Nothing up my sleeve.”

“Hand it over, Ackerman. There’s one at the small of your back. I spotted it when I was in earlier.”

“Jeez, and she calls me the tough guy.” Ackerman reached behind his back.

“Take it out easy, two fingers only, put it on the desk and slide it toward me.” He did as he was told and she tucked his Glock in the waistband of her pants.

“Now, open the desk drawers, one by one, all the way out.”

“There’s no gun in there.”

“Just the same…”

There were only two drawers, one per side. He pulled them wide, then pushed his chair back against the wall. It creaked as he leaned back and interlaced his fingers over his stomach. Hannah shuffled the contents of one of the drawers. Nothing but paperwork. The other held office supplies, including a ten-yard roll of Velcro tape. She pulled it out of the drawer and set it aside along with a pair of scissors. Very useful stuff, Velcro. Then, she ducked her head to glance at the underside of the desk. Sure enough…

She backed away. “Now, give me the other piece you’ve stuck under there. With your right hand,” she added. She’d already noticed that he was a southpaw. She just hoped to hell he wasn’t ambidextrous.

Ackerman rolled his eyes and slid back to the desk. She heard the crackle of the hook-and-loop tape ripping as he pulled another semiautomatic off the underside, his right forefinger hooked in the trigger guard. He slid that one across the desk, too, then leaned back once more, hands up. “Okay.
No mas
, boss, I swear.”

“Terrific. Now we can talk in peace.”

“Oh, goody, a social call.”

“Not hardly. You want to tell me what went down at your buddy Moises’s place today?”

“I don’t know. You talk to him?”

“Nope. Did you set me up?”

“Why would I do that? I didn’t even know you were coming, remember?”

“And yet you jumped on the phone the second I walked out the door.”

“Just checking you out.”

“Did you set up Gladding?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He’d clean up in Vegas, Hannah decided. He had the perfect poker face.

“You seem to be real plugged in here, Don, so I’m finding it hard to believe this is all coming as a complete surprise.”

“I told you before, I’m just a barkeep. I—”

“Don’t!” she snapped. “Don’t give me that patronizing, good ol’ boy crap. I’m tired and I’m pissed off. I nearly walked into a trap out there, and I really, really don’t like traps. Tell me what’s going on or I swear to God, I’m going to take out your kneecaps.”

Startled by the outburst, he reached a finger into his breast pocket, but it came away empty—the habitual stall of the smoker. His momentary puzzlement told her he’d recently quit. He’d chosen a bad time to change his evil ways. “Jeez, lady, take a Valium, or something, would you? Remember me? I’m the guy the feds told you to turn to for help.”

“Listen, one thing I’ve learned about the feds is that they do a lousy job of keeping tabs on the cowboys they run in the field. I wonder if they have any idea the half of what you’re into down here.”

“So, I take it your business with Moises didn’t go well.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The hour. The gun. That peevish look on your face.”

“Why don’t you tell
me
what happened today?”

He shrugged. “How the hell should I know? You’re the one who was there.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. They were getting nowhere. She told him briefly what she’d found at Gladding’s villa. “So you can see I’ve got good reason to look a little peevish. Walking into a bloodbath is not my idea of a fun day in paradise.”

“A bloodbath? That bad, huh? Did they get Gladding?”

“So he’s not ‘Moises’ anymore?”

He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry you ran into trouble, but I really didn’t have a clue. Whoever pulled off this op, I don’t think it was our guys.”

“Our guys? So much for being retired.”

“Well, semiretired. You know what it’s like. You keep your hand in.”

“Maybe it
was
our side,” she said. “They seemed pretty antsy about Gladding’s activities. Maybe you’re just out of the loop.”

“I don’t think so. That guy has so many irons in the fire, could’ve been any one of a dozen bad actors looking for payback for some past deal gone sour. Or maybe unhappy with the terms of payment on a current contract.”

“What’s he dealing in these days?”

“Last deal I heard about was with some rebel faction in Sierra Leone. Gladding was moving grenades, rifles, rocket launchers.”

“In exchange for blood diamonds, I suppose, the usual currency in West Africa.”

Ackerman nodded. “You said you were making a delivery to him. What were you delivering?”

“A painting.”

“Aha, the plot thickens. Smart lady like you, you’ve gotta know that stolen art and jewels finance arms trades.”

“The term
art
is a stretch where this piece is concerned. It’s just a piece of modernist crap that even the dealer thought was overpriced.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Gladding paid a quarter mil, plus commissions and my fees.”

Ackerman frowned. “A quarter mil doesn’t buy much these days. Gladding’s deals usually run into the tens of millions. You sure what you had there?”

“Yup. I was with the dealer when she picked it up. I even met the artist.”

“And yet they hit Moises’s place the same day you’re supposed to show up with this piece of dreck. A little coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it occurred to me, too. That’s why I’d like to get out of Dodge. I’m scheduled to fly back to L.A. at noon tomorrow, but he made the flight arrangements. I’m worried that if it did have something to do with the painting, somebody might be watching for me.”

“You taking it back with you?”

“Nope.”

“You left it at the villa?”

“Nope.”

“So where is it?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Pretty risky. If I know Moises, he’s not going to be happy that property he’s paid for isn’t delivered. And on the off chance this painting isn’t just a piece of junk but something he needed to do a deal, the man will be livid. Take my word for it, Hannah, if the guy’s still alive, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.”

“Not the first bad apple I’ve run into.”

Ackerman shook his head. “Not like Gladding. And he’s got a guy working for him these days who’s a complete sociopath.
Torture
is too pleasant a word for what he’s capable of. You should tell me where the painting is. If Moises isn’t dead, I’ll see that it gets to him.”

“Aw, Donny, you’re worried about me. That’s so sweet.”

“I’m really not kidding.”

“We’ll see. Meantime, you got an Internet hookup there?” She cocked a thumb toward the computer on his desk.

He nodded. Hannah picked up the roll of Velcro, got to her feet and pushed the plastic chair up against the filing cabinet. When she pulled on the drawers, they were locked. Perfect. She attached one of the chair arms to the drawer handle with a couple of pieces of the Velcro.

“Now, my friend, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to sit here.”

“Come on, don’t do this. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”

“That remains to be seen. Meantime, I need my hands and eyes to see about changing my flight, and that means I can’t be watching you.” She got to her feet and pointed to the plastic chair.

With a long, aggrieved sigh, Ackerman switched chairs. She tossed him a couple of strips of Velcro and had him tape his feet to the legs, and then one wrist to an arm of the chair. Only then did she feel safe enough to approach him to fasten the other hand. If he tried to make a move now, he’d be hampered enough to ensure she kept the upper hand.

Once he was tied down, she logged on to the Alaska Air Web site. There was a 7:00 a.m. flight to Los Angeles and first class was wide open. She switched her reservation and prayed Gladding didn’t have a source at the airline. She had no such confidence about the Mexican authorities at the airport, but she had the international air marshal’s pass from Towle allowing her to bypass airport security. With no bags to check, if she timed a tight arrival at the airport, she might be able to whip in, board the flight and be gone before anyone was the wiser.

Maybe.

There was a cot on the far side of the office. Ignoring Ackerman’s complaints, she went over, wedged the pillow into the corner and settled in to wait for morning.

Gladding spent the night at the apartment he kept in town for visitors he wouldn’t have at his villa and preferred not be seen at hotels. Kyle Liggett had been staying there while they awaited the delivery of the painting. Gladding now wished that he had sent Liggett to meet the courier, but Liggett had been delayed getting down here. There had been no reason to think Sergio Chavez couldn’t handle picking up a female courier sent by that second-rate gallery in Malibu. Gladding had felt confident about that—until Sergio had failed to return. Fool. A fatal mistake, as it turned out, not only for Sergio, but also for his wife and child.

Gladding wasn’t an animal. He had children and grandchildren of his own and he regretted unloosing a psychopath like Liggett on the Chavez family, but he wanted the goods he had paid for. Equally important, if word got out that he could be double-crossed with impunity—by a lowly driver and handyman, no less—then how long would he survive?

“You’re absolutely sure he didn’t have the painting?” he asked Liggett as they drove away from Via Allende. “You checked everywhere?”

“I ripped the place apart. There weren’t too many places it could be. House was the size of a closet. And no way would the guy lie to me. He knew I meant business. And that courier woman had him softened up, too. He might have thought he was pretty macho before this afternoon, but after some broad gets the drop on him and leaves him tied to a tree, he was plenty humble.”

“And he was planning to do what with the painting?”

“He said a guy in Mazatlán offered to buy it from him. I got the information on the buyer, but believe me, old Sergio was telling the truth. He had the blisters on his feet to back it up. I can take a run to Mazatlán if you want, but that contact of Sergio’s hasn’t got it. The courier does.”

“She should’ve taken Sergio down when she had the chance instead of leaving it to me.”

Liggett nodded. “Might’ve gone easier for him if she had, but it still wouldn’t have saved his family. I had to make sure the wife wasn’t in on it. As it was, seems she had no idea what he was up to.”

“Stupid fool,” Gladding muttered.

But where was the courier? Not at the resort where he’d reserved a room for her. Gladding had called, ostensibly to confirm that all was well with his guest, but his man at the hotel said she’d never checked in. He promised to call if she showed up, but there had been no news and by now, it was clear she was AWOL.

Another thought occurred to him. As Liggett drove back to the town apartment, Gladding pressed the autodial on his cell phone for an informant he kept on retainer inside the Puerto Vallarta Police. The man answered after several rings and Gladding identified himself.

“Oh,
señor
, I am very glad to learn that you are alive.”

“Were you one of the ones who went out to my place earlier tonight?” Gladding himself had placed the anonymous “shots fired” call as he and Liggett had sped away from the bloodbath unfolding at the villa.

“Yes. We have a large force still out there. The investigation is continuing. Who did this terrible thing?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” In fact, he had been, but he and Liggett had beat a hasty retreat as soon as they heard the opening shots and realized they were outgunned. “What did you find?”

The contact filled him in. Six bodies—the maid, the cook, the gardener, the security guard from the front gate, Gladding’s companion and an unidentified Asian man. Gladding knew who the Asian was but he didn’t tell the policeman. The man was one of the team working on his current deal, and he’d been caught out by the pool when the shooting started. Gladding and Liggett had had to leave him behind.

“That’s all?” Gladding said.

The policeman seemed taken aback. “All? Six people are dead.”

“I mean did you see an American woman about the place?”

“
Una gringa?
No. Why?”

“I was expecting the delivery of a package. A painting, actually, about one meter wide. A modern piece. Did you see it? Wrapped, or in a carrying case, perhaps?”

“No, we saw nothing like that.
Señor
, you must come into the station to tell what you know of these murders.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not,” he repeated. “We have not had this conversation and you have no idea where I might be. Are we clear?”