“Yes, you should, Leo.”
“Well, you don’t scare me, you little prick. Why don’t you come over to my house right now and talk to me face to face? You won’t, because you know you won’t walk out of here alive.”
“I just want to know if it was you,” Blake said. He accelerated, closing the distance to the convertible. He passed a limousine and slid back into the right lane. The convertible with the fat man and the blonde was on his left.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“You were Boni’s right-hand man in the Sheherezade. I want to know if you were the one who actually killed Amira.”
Rucci laughed. “Some dipstick fan bashed her skull in. Let it go”
“We both know that isn’t what happened,” Blake said.
“Yeah? How do you know that? You were shitting your diapers when it went down,”
“Just tell me if it was you, Leo. If it was you, then this is between us. You and me. No one else.”
“I don’t owe you nothing, fuckhead.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it” Blake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m driving beside a white convertible,” he added, eyeing the car next to him. “License plate YA8 371. That’s what your son Gino drives, isn’t it?”
There was silence again, longer and more deadly.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Leo whispered.
The convertible with the fat man and the blonde stopped at a red light just ahead. Blake pulled next to it in the right lane and rolled down his driver’s side window. “Pay attention, Leo,” Blake said into the phone.
Leo’s voice screamed in his ear. “You fucker! Don’t you do this, you fucker!”
The blonde was cuddling up against Gino Rucci’s side. Blake figured her hand was in his lap. In his sideview mirror, he saw the bodyguard in the car behind, lazy and unconcerned.
“Hey, baby,” Blake called out to the blonde. “How much?”
She wheeled around. “Shut up, you creep!”
“Come on, baby, I said, How much?” Blake repeated. “How much is fatso paying you for a hand job? Can’t be worth more than five bucks.”
Sideview mirror. The bodyguard was paying attention now. He was opening the driver’s side door. Blake saw Gino’s beefy arm push the blonde back into the seat. Gino leaned forward, his face black with rage.
“That’s a pretty sorry excuse for a hooker,” Blake told him. “Is she the best you can do, you loser?”
Gino’s cheeks pulsed red. Blood vessels popped like fireworks. “I hope you enjoyed your last walk, creep,” he hissed. “’Cause you ain’t ever going to walk again.”
“You listening, Leo?” Blake murmured into the phone.
Leo screamed, “Amira was a whore! She was a fucking cunt!”
The bodyguard shouldered his way out of his car. Gino was getting up, too, his huge torso lifting off the seat like a hot air balloon. The blonde cowered with her head buried in the leather cushion.
“Want to say good-bye, Leo?” Blake said.
“I will fucking destroy you!”
A cell phone began ringing in Gino’s convertible. Blake knew it was Leo on another line, trying to reach his son. He casually picked up the SIG-Sauer from between his legs and pointed it out the window. “Listen up, Leo,” he said.
The bodyguard’s hand began diving into his jacket. Gino got the same stupid look on his face that MJ had when he opened his eyes. Blake pulled the trigger twice, firing two neat rounds into Gino’s skull. Flicking his arm back, he fired again, catching the bodyguard in the throat. Both men collapsed. Through the earpiece, Leo let fly with a guttural scream. The blonde joined in.
“Say hi to Boni for me,” Blake said, as he accelerated calmly through the green light. “Tell him he’s next.”
THIRTY-TWO
Sara Evans again. Restless.
When Stride fished his cell phone out of his pocket, he saw a 218 area code on the caller ID. He had spent his whole life in that area code, which included most of northern Minnesota. He answered the phone and heard a familiar voice say, “How’s it going, boss?”
“Mags!” Stride exclaimed. “God, it’s good to hear your voice. I miss you.”
“Same here.”
Maggie Bei had been his partner for more than a decade. She was a Chinese girl the size of a Kewpie doll, but with the best brain he had ever encountered on the force. Shortly before Stride left for Las Vegas, Maggie had announced that she was pregnant and was giving up her shield. It helped make it easier for Stride to leave.
“What’s the weather like up there?” Stride asked. Only a Minnesotan could appreciate that every conversation had to begin with a review of the weather.
“Sucks. Rain. Cold. How about there?”
“Heat wave,” Stride said. “We had a couple weeks in the seventies, and now it’s in the upper nineties again. I thought we were done with that after August.”
“You gone Vegas on me yet, boss?” Maggie asked. “Silk shirts? Shades? Bubbly drinks with little umbrellas?”
“Yeah. I’m coloring my hair, too. Got it slicked back.”
“Right, and I’m blond now. Got implants.”
Stride had to pull his Bronco over to the curb and park. He was laughing too hard. “I really do miss you, Mags.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Maggie paused, then added, “Listen, I’ve got some news. Not good, I’m afraid.”
Stride sobered up immediately. “What is it?”
“I lost the baby.”
He heard the crack in her voice. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It was actually like three weeks ago, but I didn’t have the guts to call and tell you.”
“Shit, Mags, you should have told me right away.”
Maggie sighed. “Nothing you could have done.”
“Are you okay?” He shook his head in disgust. That was the kind of stupid question reporters asked victims on the evening news.
“So-so. Doc says it’s real common, we can try again, blah blah blah. That doesn’t make it any easier. Eric’s taking it hard. He says he’s not so sure he wants kids now. Like God’s trying to tell us something.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “I’m wondering about going back on the force. I didn’t really want to leave, you know. It was Eric’s idea.”
“Is that what you want?” Stride asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not the same without you.”
Stride didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. He didn’t know where Maggie was going. Once upon a time, there had been history between them. Maggie had been in love with him for several years, and she had made a play for him shortly after Cindy died. It didn’t work out. She didn’t hold a grudge, not even when Serena entered the picture, but Stride always wondered if the emotions were entirely dead. Even after Maggie married Eric, there were hints sometimes that she would have gone over the edge if Stride had ever given her a reason.
“But I suppose you’re happy in Sin City,” Maggie continued.
“Oh, yeah. I fit right in here. You’d expect that.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “What’s it like being a working stiff again and not the big boss?”
“I just do what you always did. Complain about the lieutenant.”
“Nice. Good one. How’s Serena?”
“Okay.” He knew his voice sounded like lead.
Maggie took a long time to reply. He could never fool her. “You guys having problems?”
“I don’t know what we’re having,” he admitted.
“Serena’s got ghosts, boss. You knew that going in.”
“This isn’t a ghost.” He took a deep breath and told her about Serena and Claire-and about his secret fear, which he had barely expressed to himself, that this would all end in him losing her.
“She says she still loves you?” Maggie asked.