The Seraphina Donavan Collection: Contemporary (9 page)

Frankie just rolled her eyes. “When you’ve spent as much time at Area 51 as I did—”

“Frankie! Focus!” Irma said. “No aliens. Not now.”

“Stop shushing me!”

Dixie prayed for strength. “Okay, so you pegged Nick as a Fed. What does that have to do with you climbing into Sleazo’s pants?”

“I’m not climbing into his pants,” Frankie shot back in an offended tone. “But I’m sure as hell making him work to get in mine, or so he thinks. If I can get into his suite, I can get what your boy needs and get us all the hell out of here.”

Dixie ignored the ‘your boy’ stuff. It wasn’t the time or the place to address that. For once, Frankie was on track. Well, close to the tracks, at least. She was still UFO watching. “Please be careful. Do not take unnecessary risks and if it all goes south, get out.”

Frankie smiled. “It’s fine, honey. Mahoney thinks we’re money, and as long as we keep him thinking that, he’ll keep the charm going.”

“Why would he think that?”

It was Irma who answered her, “Because my bat shit crazy sister told him we were the only surviving heirs to the Claiborne Appliance Stores.”

It just got more complicated all the time. “You do know how easy that is to check, right? Facebook. Credit cheeks, and since this is a casino, he can do that. Background checks, which they do for employees…Frankie it won’t take him two minutes to find the truth.”

Frankie shook her head, as if saddened by the simpleness of everyone else. “Well, I might have created a false trail. I’ve got enough money tucked away that if he goes looking, he’ll find enough to support my claims.”

“What do you mean? You’re on disability!”

“Well, yes, but it isn’t my only source of income! I live very frugally. I was couponing before it was a thing, Dixie Ann, and I don’t just drive Gladys because of the sentimental value. I’ve also written a few books about my experiences…the ones you and your narrow minded grandmother won’t let me talk about. But I will say this, ET is not cuddly. Spielberg is either full of shit or he’s in on their plan.”

It would have been nasty to point out that she didn’t drive Gladys at all and hadn’t for about fifteen years. Sometimes, Frankie could sound almost sane and other times, Abe Lincoln was staring back at her from that penny like he knew what she was thinking. Just keeping up with her sometimes made Dixie’s head hurt.

“Okay, but promise me, you bail at the first sign of trouble.”

“There won’t be any trouble. I’ve not exactly been taking my meds as prescribed, so I have enough haldol to fell a bull elephant.”

“I knew it!” Irma said. “You’ve been cagey as hell about your meds for the last month!”

Frankie just shrugged, “A point in our favor tonight. I can drug the whole bottle of wine and he’ll never know the difference. I’m practically immune to the stuff anymore.”

Dixie felt a flare of hope. “I assume you have a plan for the goons?”

“He’ll send them away. I’ll be too embarrassed to do all the things he wants to do if we have them parked right outside the door…And no, I don’t think he’s that into me. I think he’s that into the money he believes I have. He’s in deep.”

Dixie relayed what she’d heard in the hallway about the skimming, and about Danova, whoever the heck that was.

“Tony Danova. He got in some trouble down in Gresham County. He’s in prison, but it ain’t stopping him,” Irma said.

Frankie grinned. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day! If I can get a message to Tony Danova, tell him what’s going on with Mahoney, we’re home free.”

“He’s a criminal, Frankie. Do you really expect a thank you card and a pat on the back from him?” Dixie demanded.

“You all just don’t understand. There’s a code. If we give Danova what he wants, info on Mahoney’s skimming, then Danova will protect us…from Mahoney anyway.”

“And you learned this at Area 51, did you?” Irma asked angrily. “Or was it while you were communing with the spirit of Jimmy Hoffa?”

“First off, Jimmy Hoffa’s hardly a spirit. He’s working at a junkyard in Tucson. Secondly, sister, I don’t like your tone!”

Dixie had hit her limit. “I’m done with your bickering. Done. No more. I’m gonna sneak down to the pool, hopefully without running into Mahoney or any of his goons.”

“Have that boy send me some sort of message while I’m at his show this afternoon…I need to know what he needs from Mahoney’s suite,” Frankie reminded her. “And be careful!”

“I’m being very careful. Mahoney scares the hell out of me!”

“I wasn’t talking about Mahoney, Dixie! That man is in your head and he tells lies for a living. You can never trust a Fed,” Frankie warned.

Wisdom from an unlikely source.
Dixie didn’t tell her it was already too late, but she didn’t doubt for a second that Frankie’s eagle eyes caught the bite mark on her neck. With a nod, she turned to leave. Opening the door, she felt her heart sink. Goon One stood there, a gun in his hand. “You need to pick better hiding places,” he said.

“Fuck.”

“Unlikely, and I’d still have to kill you afterward.”

“Why haven’t you done that already?” Dixie demanded.

He gestured with the gun, indicating she should move back into the room. Not seeing any other choice, Dixie cooperated.

“I’m not totally sold on the idea of killing you…but if I don’t, there’s gotta be something in it for me,” he said.

“Like what?” Dixie asked. Not that it mattered. She had no money, she had no authority. The only thing she did have that he might want, she shuddered at the thought.

The goon grinned at her. “Get your mind out of the gutter, ‘Cilla. Elvis is more my type than you.”

Well, that was unexpected. While she was pretty sure Nick didn’t want to see her die, she doubted he’d be willing to take one for the team. “So what then?”

“Mahoney is an asshole. A total fucking asshole, and I’m sick to death of taking orders from him…I’ll get you everything. All his files. Every secret he’s sitting on, every dollar he’s embezzled and every dollar he’s laundered.”

Dixie knew when something sounded too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

He pulled a burner phone from his pocket and tossed it to her. “I’ll call you on that in one hour. In that time, your boyfriend is going to broker a deal for me with his boss. No prison time. Clean slate and witness protection.”

“And what will you be doing during that hour?”

“I’ll be hanging out with the Golden Girls, here…Remember, I’m not killing you because you serve a purpose for me right now.” He settled himself on the bed and pulled a bullet from his jacket pocket. “You screw me on this, then Dorothy and Rose here will be 130 grains heavier.”

“Grains?” Frankie asked.

He shook his head. “It’s a unit of measure for bullets. It’s no damn wonder I prefer men!”

“There are lots of men who wouldn’t know that,” Frankie pointed out.

Dixie clenched her fists as she addressed Frankie. “For someone who has been diagnosed with anxiety disorder, antagonizing the man with the gun seems a little bold!”

“Don’t bring my mental health into this!” Frankie shouted. “Every time I open my mouth you and Irma have to start.
Don’t talk about UFO’s. Elvis is really dead. Kennedy was killed by a lone gunman!
There are lots of people out there who think just like I do!”

In the length of time it took for Frankie to have her meltdown, Irma had slipped closer to the bed. Swinging her cane like a bat, she struck the goon just above his temple with the heavy pewter handle. It didn’t knock him out, but it stunned the hell out of him. “Oh, dear,” Irma said. “I should have hit him harder.”

“Well, hit him again!” Frankie yelled.

Irma raised the cane and brought it crashing down again, this time, he slumped over, moaning groggily. Rushing into action, Dixie grabbed the ties from the hotel bathrobes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. As quickly as possible, she grabbed his beefy wrists and tied them, one to either of the heavy posts of the headboard.

Frankie used one of the heavy water glasses to crush several pills. Scraping the powder into the glass, she added water and then forced it down the man’s throat. “That should keep him out for a while. But Mahoney will be looking for him soon.”

Dixie gazed around and realized just how far down the rabbit hole she’d fallen. “I just helped my grandmother and great aunt beat and drug a hired a thug in a hotel room. This is it. This is the moment where my whole life becomes an out of control, too hot for TV Jerry Springer episode.”

The goon opened his eyes and glared at Dixie. “Where’d you learn to tie knots, ‘Cilla?”

Nick had taught her, but that wasn’t a conversation she was about to have in front of her grandmother. “Frankie, how long will it take for those pills to kick in?”

Frankie shrugged. “Half an hour maybe?”

Turning back to the goon, Dixie said, “Shut the hell up or I’ll have my Nana hit you again.”

He laughed. “You are all so fucking dead. You don’t even know the shit storm you’re bringing down on you.”

“Where’s the laptop?” Frankie demanded.

“I’m not telling you crazy bitches anything.”

Frankie walked over to him, ripped open his shirt and tore out a handful of his chest hair. He screamed and thrashed, but the luckily the bed was sturdy enough to hold him. “Don’t test me, son. When I got picked up by that UFO—“

“Frankie!” The admonishment came in unison from both Dixie and her grandmother.

Taking a breath, Dixie went on, “Frankie, no UFO talk. Not now.”

Frankie shrugged again. “Fine. But just so you know, asshole, I’m not unfamiliar with torture.”

The goon was peering up at Frankie with wide eyes. “You’re crazy as hell.”

“Yes. I am. And I’ve got you tied to a bed and no one knows where you are.”

“Mahoney knows,” he shot back.

Dixie was troubled by the coy smile that curved Frankie’s lips. It was a sure sign of trouble, but when Frankie spoke, Dixie had to wonder again, if her aunt’s eccentricities were masking a criminal mastermind.

“Now, don’t lie…You’re not very good at it,” Frankie cooed, her voice tinged with mild amusement. “You came here to make a deal with us, selling out your boss to save your own ass. You wouldn’t tell him where you were going. My guess is the other goon was set to watch us, but he’s such a simple creature you just told him to go elsewhere and he did so without ever checking to see if those were his actual orders.”

The goon didn’t say anything, but his lips compressed into a thin line.

Dixie knew then that Frankie was on the right track. “I’m going to get Nick. He can help us keep an eye on this guy…and no more pills, Frankie. We need him awake but cooperative. As for torture…do whatever you want, just make sure he can still talk.”

CHAPTER FIVE

D
ixie appeared, dropping onto the chaise lounge next to him.

It’d only been ten minutes since he got to the pool and realized she was nowhere in sight, but it had been the longest ten minutes of his life. “Where the heck did you go?”

“I forgot my sunscreen,” she said. “Can we talk?”

He lowered his sunglasses and stared at her suspiciously. “I really hope you’re asking if we can talk safely here and you’re not just dumping me.”

“I can’t dump you if we’re not together,” she replied. “But yes, I was asking about how freely we can speak here.”

He sat up, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. “Talk to me, Dixie. Tell me what the hell is going on. Where were you and what did you find out?”

“Mahoney is skimming money from the hotel and a man named Tony Danova, who is in prison for something that happened in Gresham County. Also, Mahoney’s goons hate him and would be willing to turn on him for witness protection.”

In ten minutes, she’d gotten more info than he had in two weeks. “How the hell did you find all that out?”

“Boobs.”

“What? Did you—Mahoney?”

She huffed out a breath. “Not my boobs, you jackass! Frankie’s”

That was a place he never wanted to go. Shuddering, he said, “How is she—Never mind. I don’t really want to know. So, Danova is in charge of the money laundering through the casino, but Mahoney has been skimming…Danova isn’t getting out of prison any time soon, which means he must be sending someone to check in on Mahoney.”

“He’s looking for a source of cash, some way to cover up whatever he’s done.”

Nick knew from the expression on Dixie’s face that there was more. She looked, for lack of a better word, guilty. “What else, Dixie?”

“Mahoney’s main goon is tied to the bed in Frankie and Irma’s suite, drugged with haldol and sporting a concussion. Frankie plans to use that same haldol to drug Mahoney and get access to his safe and his records.”

She could have told him she had two heads and it would have made more sense that what she just said. “Back up to the part where you and two old ladies took out a two hundred and thirty pound bodyguard who moonlights as a hitman?”

“That was mostly Frankie and Irma. Well, Nana really. She hit him with her cane a couple of times while Frankie distracted him by talking about alien abductions.”

The words were pouring out of Dixie at such a speed, it took all of his concentration to keep up.

“I just tied him up, but then he was asking where I learned to tie knots and I’m certainly not having that conversation with my grandmother standing by, so I told her to hit him again. I wanted Frankie to back off the haldol. You’ll need to question him right?”

Nick was shaking his head, wondering how the hell a reasonably organized but probably doomed undercover operation had gone to hell in a vaguely S & M hand-basket within twenty-four hours of the three crazy ass Claiborne women showing up. “I’m not exactly sure of the validity of an interrogation that takes place with the questioned tied to a hotel bed.”

Dixie shrugged. “Apparently, he’s got the hots for you. Maybe you could just call it a first date?”

Nick shook his head. “You all are besties, now? Did you braid each other’s hair while you talked about your man troubles?”

“He doesn’t have any hair to braid! I’m only suggesting that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar…and since we’re already in the bad cop role, you can play the good cop. He wants a deal.”

Nick shook his head. “His testimony would be the nail in Mahoney’s coffin, but we need more. If Frankie can get in there and get the laptop, we could make it stick.”

“Let’s go,” Dixie urged. “You and Romeo can work out the terms of your agreement.”

He frowned at her. “You’re enjoying that a little too much.”

Dixie rose then, walking away from him, but she threw him an amused glance over her shoulder. “You all would make such a cute couple…Snuggled in bed together, comparing your guns and ammo.”

Nick followed her, stepping close enough to seize her arms and pull her back against him. “The only person I want in my bed is you…But we need to adjust your attitude, Dixie. That smart mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

She shivered against him. “What’s my punishment?”

He did smile at the tempting line. “Later. We’ll talk about that later…When we have time to explore any option that arises.”

Dixie pulled away from him then, heading to the entrance and the elevators beyond. He watched her walk away, enjoying the sway of her hips and the stride of her long legs for a moment, before jogging to catch up and falling in step beside her.

Neither of them spoke as they rode the elevator up and headed for Irma and Frankie’s room. He needed to talk to his boss and see if he could make the deal, but he also needed to make sure he had enough info to make it worthwhile.

When they entered the room, Frankie was dressed in a slinky black number that made Nick do a double take. How the hell had he missed the fact that she was a total Mrs. Robinson? Given that she had a man tied to the bed, it was a more than apt description.

“At this rate,” Frankie said, “We’ll have solved your case by midnight, and we can still make Graceland in time!”

“It’s not a Scooby Doo episode, Frankie. We’re not here to solve anything. We just need to gather evidence,” he retorted. “Do you know where the laptop is?”

Frankie grinned. “Yes. I do. Baldie, there, was very cooperative once I broke out the manicure kit. Torture doesn’t have to be elaborate to be effective. I learned that—”

“At Area 51! I know,” Dixie cut in.

“No. I learned that from watching CNN,” Frankie shot back. “Not everything is about extra terrestrials, Dixie Ann. I swear you’re obsessed!”

Dixie’s head drooped. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and Nick empathized. Dealing with Frankie could be maddening and he only had to do it a handful of times. Turning his attention toward the bed, where Goon One sat with a bleeding head and an ice pack on one of his feet, he winced in sympathy. Remembering just how pissed Dixie had been at him, he counted himself lucky to still have all his parts. “He’s not missing a toe or anything, is he?” Nick asked worriedly.

Irma shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t let her go that far. But he doesn’t have an ingrown toenail anymore. Technically, we were offering medical assistance and not torture.”

“If they’re tied up and can’t say yay or nay, Irma, I don’t think you can use that distinction.”

Irma crossed her arms over her chest. “You really want to question my version of events given your behavior over the last few weeks?”

Not a wise move. Nick held up his hands in surrender. “No. You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Turning his attention back to the Goon, he asked, “Okay, so what can you give me? If you want me to make this deal for you, I need something solid.”

“Once that crazy old bat gets the laptop, I can show you how he works his accounting system,” the goon said, “How he shuffles the money. I can also give you access to the offshore account he’s siphoning it to.”

“And you’ll testify?”

The Goon hesitated. “New identity. New name, new city, enough money to live comfortably until I get a job.”

“What kind of job? It’s gotta be legit.”

“I want to study interior design. I’ve spent enough time in shitty, over done hotels. I want to design ones that have real class.”

Looking at him, with his shaved head, linebacker shoulders and hands that looked like they could, and probably had, choked the life out of someone, Nick just nodded. “Sure. Sounds good. Interior design. I’ll make the call.”

Using the burner phone that Dixie handed him, Nick called his superior. Retreating to the bathroom, he relayed the bizarre sequence of events to his SAC.

“You’re telling me that two old women tied Mahoney’s bodyguard to a bed and pried out an ingrown toenail to break this case wide open?”

Nick sighed. “Yes, sir. Now, we just need to retrieve Mahoney’s laptop.”

“And are these two old women going to drop down from the ceiling dressed in black, all Mission Impossible like, and steal it from him?”

It was just getting weirder the more he explained it. “No sir, I think one of them means to seduce him to get it.”

The SAC was gritting his teeth so hard that Nick could hear it through the phone. “This is not protocol,” the man said. “This isn’t how we do things—”

“With all due respect, sir…” Nick was over it. Over, having his life interrupted, having to be put in danger when that wasn’t a job he’d ever signed up for. Over the fact that no one seemed to recognize just what a prize the Claiborne women had tossed into their laps. “…I’m not a field agent. I’ve never asked to be field agent. I was given no choice. Either accept this assignment or lose my job…as an IT Specialist. I fix your computer and printer when it breaks. I don’t handle weapons. I was told to use whatever means I had at my disposal to get the necessary info. That happens to be three women who’ve gotten more information in twenty-four hours than the bureau managed to lay hands on in two years. If anyone’s efficacy in this situation should be questioned, it’s ours. Not theirs.”

“Get it done, Jameson, and get the hell out of there. You can go back to your IT job and never have to step foot in the field again.”

Nick wasn’t quite done yet. “I want a team ready to move in. In the next twenty minutes it’s all going straight to hell and Mahoney needs to be in custody immediately.”

“They’re on standby.”

Nick sighed with relief. “And the deal?”

“Immunity, new identity and witness protection…for the racketeering and money laundering. That’s all. If we can pin anything else on him, we will, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

“Understood.” Nick walked back into the room where everyone waited with bated breath. “He went for it. You get a new identity and we all get the hell out of here…once we get that laptop.”

“So how do we do that?” Dixie asked.

Nick looked over at the goon. “We don’t. He does. I don’t have a warrant. And probable cause does not work the way it does on TV. So, he’s gonna get it for us.”

“No way in hell,” the goon shot back. “If Mahoney catches me trying to sneak out of his suite with that computer, I’m a dead man.”

“It’s that or no deal, and you’ve confessed to enough stuff that I can probably still get you convicted!”

“While under duress!” the goon protested.

“While in the process of committing a home invasion…well, a room invasion at any rate,” Nick reminded him. “You really think people are going to believe that two little old ladies and one young woman subdued you in a hotel room without having damn good cause?”

The goon sat in stony silence for a moment. “I fucking hate you,” he finally said, and it was as close to capitulation as anyone was going to get.

Dixie gazed over at Nick. “So, what do I do while all this is going down? I’m assuming we won’t be hanging around for long?”

Nick shook his head. “There’s an old, beat up Honda Civic parked in the back corner of the parking lot. I need you to get it, pull up out front, and keep the engine running. Frankie and Irma, you go to the lobby and wait and the minute you see Dixie pull up, you get in that car. The three of you are going to wait for us and once we’ve got the laptop, we run for it.”

~*~*~

Dixie had a very bad feeling. “So how many goons does Mahoney actually have working here? How many people could potentially be trying to kill us?”

“This is a casino, ‘Cilla.” It was the goon who answered, though his words were beginning to slur. “It might be a shitty one, but there’s still a lot of cash on hand. At any given time, there are at least twenty guards on duty, and they all have guns whether you see them or not. One word from Mahoney and they’ll put bullets in every one of us.”

With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Dixie glanced back at Nick. “Where are the keys?”

“They’re in the room. You can’t take your suitcase. Mahoney has security watching you, so it would be a big tip off…but you need to change. Jeans, shoes you can run in if need me.”

Run. With one middle aged and one elderly woman.
If it came to that, there was no hope, and Dixie didn’t doubt for a minute that the goon would sell them out as soon as look at them.
What other option is there? Stay and die for sure or run and hope you make it out.

Nick addressed Irma and Frankie, “Can you handle him on your own for a couple of minutes?”

Frankie waved off his concern. “We’ve got this. He’s not going anywhere.”

Dixie moved toward the door, Nick behind her, and they made their way to their own smaller suite. Pausing outside their door, she turned back to him. They couldn’t say anything once they were inside, so it was their last chance to talk. The room was bugged, and they didn’t know if it was Mahoney, security or someone else listening in.

Leaning down, he whispered softly against her ear, “From the time you leave the building, no more than fifteen minutes. If we’re not out in fifteen, you leave. Take Irma and Frankie and go.”