The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame Page 5

  “Kane’s a businessman. Not as hungry as Tommy was. He’ll play the cards he has and won’t take any serious risks. Things will settle down with him in the driver’s seat.”

  I downed the rest of the bourbon and tapped the bar for a reload. “What about the Gaiden? He inherit that, too?”

  Fats’ laugh was more like a contented purr. “Now that’s an interesting situation. Kane didn’t like the conspicuousness of the Gaiden. Put it up for sale.”

  “Not a bad joint. A bit stuffy, but I didn’t hate the atmosphere. Plus you were there, Fats. That’s an automatic upgrade. Any buyers?”

  Fats just tapped his finger on the trumpet valves and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Congrats, Ace. The joint couldn’t have gotten a better owner.” I caught the drink that slid my direction and raised it. “To new beginnings.”

  Fats downed his tonic with a pleased grin. He gave me a keen glance as he set the glass on the bar counter. “Seeing how it’s Downtown instead of the Uppers, it’s a bit of a financial gamble. Figure it might pay off, though.”

  “Pay off?” I barked a laugh. “Folks come all the way from the Heights to hear your sound, man. You got nothing to worry about.”

  Fats shrugged his rounded shoulders. “Still, there’s a lot to it. I’m a music man, not a businessman. A lot I still gotta get a handle on.”

  “Get yourself a mandroid accountant to tow the business side, Fats. Most folks do that nowadays. I did the same for Natasha when her folks died. She doesn’t have to worry about folks ripping her off or getting in some shady deal. Hell, a synoid will work better, even though I don’t trust those creepy things.”

  Fats gave me an impatient look. “I got all that down pat, my man. Look, if you wanna make me come out and say it, I’ll say it. I’m looking for a partner, brother.”

  I paused with my drink half-raised. “A partner? You mean…me?”

  “Why not? A cat like you is good for business. You pulled in similar work for Luzzatti. Every good joint needs someone to keep an eye on things. Handle the stuff that happens outside the lines, you know?”

  “I know all too well. Look how Luzzatti ended up.”

  Fats placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Not your fault, brother. You know that as well as I do. And besides, you might wanna consider laying low a bit. I keep my ear to the wire, and I’ve been hearing your name come up more often than I’m comfortable with.”

  My mouth twisted. “Can’t be helped. Comes with the line of work.”

  “Maybe it’s time you thought about switching careers.” Fat’s face turned solemn. “I’m serious, man. You can poke a hornet’s nest only so often before you get stung to death. And you’ve been poking awful hard lately.”

  I hesitated. A share in a joint like the Gaiden was a tempting offer. And Fats was right–I did like the work I did for Luzzatti before everything went to hell. It fit my temperament like a glove, gave me a sense of purpose. I felt like I belonged somewhere. Like what I did meant something.

  “I’ll think it over, Fats. I’ve been sitting on some case dough anyhow, thinking of what to do besides drink it away. Lemme get back with you.”

  Fats’ wide, easy grin spread across his face. “Now that’s what I’m talking ‘bout. I’ll save a seat for you at the bar in the meantime.” His expression darkened as he looked up. “Guess this is my cue to blow. Stay outta trouble, Mick.”

  Fats abruptly stood and strode away. I almost groaned out loud when Scars took his vacated seat. With his angular face and shadowy stare he looked more like a zombie than a man. The skin stretched tight across his protruding cheekbones and his cheeks were hollow, as if he ate the bare minimum required to stay alive. Sitting there with his black-on-black suit he might as well have called himself Death and gotten it over with.

  I gave him my most infuriating smirk. “How’s it hanging, Scars? Anything I can do you for? Howzabout a hot meal? You look like you can use one.”

  Scars didn’t even bother to blink. “What are you doing here, Mick?”

  I gestured to the crowded ballroom. “Look at all these carrion eaters in their finest blacks, come to lurk over the dead like a bunch of crows. Know they called a flock of crows back in the day? A murder. How’s that for irony?”

  Scars’ expression never changed. “What are you doing here, Mick?”

  “I’m a friend of the family.”

  His gaze turned feverish.

  I held up my hands. “Ok, I’m a friend of the deceased. Wanted to show my respects, is all.”

  “You showed your respects to my boss the last time I saw you. Put me out of a job.”

  “And got you and upgrade at the same time.” I jabbed a finger his direction. “You wouldn’t be working for Flacco if it weren’t for me, remember?”

  He continued to stare at me with his serial killer eyes. “I remember. But I don’t owe you nothing, Mick. And I don’t like you sniffing around, either. You’re a loose cannon. Things are good working for Flacco. I’d be awfully upset if anything happened to change that.”

  It was my turn to stare. “You think I’m gonzo enough to make a move against Flacco? What kind of a rube do you take me for?”

  “Tell that to Pike. Or the Red-Eyed Killer. Or Tommy Tsunami. You’ve been moving up the ladder on takedowns, Mick. A lotta people get nervous when your name is brought up.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I didn’t knock Pike off, Scars. Flacco did. And I didn’t lay a finger on Tommy, either. He died of a broken heart.”

  “A broken heart.” Scars had the kind of cackling laugh made specifically for giving folks the creeps. “You’re a real comedian, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter how they went down, Mick. Everyone knows you had a hand in it. Better watch your step.”

  “Yeah, I keep hearing that. You want something, or you just drop by to bask in my charm?”

  Scars grimaced, turning his face even more skeletal. “Mr. Flacco would like to speak with you in private. Let’s go.”

  “Flacco wants to bump gums with little ol’ me? What an unexpected surprise. Lead the way, Ace.”

  I put a little swagger in my walk as we strode across the crowded dining room, since a lot of folks were staring as discreetly as possible. I clapped eyes on the Black Widow as she glided across the other side of the room, coincidentally matching our pace and heading the same direction we did. Then No-Nose Nate excused himself from his table right about when we passed. Not exactly a good sign, but I wasn’t nervous or anything. Just taking note of the situation, was all.

  I kept a reassured smile and a casual step as Scars led me down one of the private hallways. But with no heater and no backup I was pretty much as vulnerable as I’d ever been since I was hauled out the river with no memory. And things didn’t look like they were gonna get brighter anytime soon.

  Chapter 5: The Godfather

  Moe Flacco’s office was an architectural dream of polished wood from his massive desk to the floor, walls, and cornered pillars. There were only a couple of chairs other than the luxuriously padded leather one he sat in, because folks weren’t meant to be comfortable when standing before the Don. Real books lined the shelves behind him, each worth an individual fortune. His desk was spotlighted by a glass-stained aperture in the ceiling, and an entire wall section displayed a scenic view of New Haven from the ceiling-length windows. From that far up the lights looked like an ocean full of iridescent glimmers.

  Moe stared out the window like a lord at his kingdom. He wasn’t a tall man. He wasn’t exactly a good-looking mug, either. His slightly oversized face resembled a bulldog more than anything else, but his tailoring made up for what he lacked in looks. He was clean-shaven and his white-capped coif was carefully cropped, severely combed back with every strand in place. He leaned back in his luxury armchair with his fingers steepled as his large, deep-set eyes stared into the void.

  Ben the Bear was a hulking beast that stood behind Moe, civilized
only by the suit he wore. Even that strained against his bulk. He had a wide head connected with a neck just as thick, so you didn’t know where his face started and his neck ended. The rest of his face kinda sank into that slab of tough meat, giving him a permanent squint and a complimentary sneer. His long jet-black hair was neatly pulled back from his face and he wore no tie, leaving his shirt unlaced enough to show off the silver chains that hung from his neck. Two fat rings glittered on his left hand. He glowered as if daring me to talk smack so that he could play piñata with my face.

  No-Nose Nate leaned casually by the door, rubbing a finger alongside his gold-plated sniffer. He was a tall, whip-slender mug with a flair for style. Maybe it was to compensate for his face–a scarred, pock-marked mess only a mother could love. Even in funeral garb he couldn’t resist tipping his gleaming shoes with gold plate, matching the same gleam on his belt buckle and tie pin. He smiled lazily, but one hand was in his pocket. If he didn’t have a tight grip on a gold-plated snub-nose, I’m a flamingo dancer. We’d spoken on good terms a few times at the Gaiden but everyone knows that blood is thicker than water, especially when that blood has been spilled across the ground.

  Then there was Electra Flacco, aka the Black Widow. Between her and her brother Nate it was obvious who got the looks in the family. Something about her sharp red hair color brought out an ethereal sheen to her skin tone, highlighting her delicate cheekbones and rosebud lips. Her long, slinky black dress was embroidered with ebony roses and decorative whorls. The clinging fabric covered her from neck to toe save for a diamond cut right above her modest bosom. She sat in one of the two leather-padded chairs, exposing a sinuous view of the shapely gam that slid from the long slit in her dress. The snakeskin patterns on the ebony hose gave her leg the appearance of an onyx serpent slithering up her gown.

  She graced me with a demure smile, the type you have to worry about if you’re a step brighter than the average bulb. A smile like that can either pull you in between silk sheets or bury you six feet under. With Electra the outcome was more than likely both. Many a man would consider that a fair trade, given her drop-dead gorgeous looks.

  I wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Trubble.” She peered through the shadowy veil of her elaborate fascinator. A long silver-trimmed cigarette holder dangled lazily from her fingers, casting spirals of smoke my direction. “But it saves us the nuisance of looking for you.”

  “Came to pay my respects.” I tipped my Bogart. “Scarlett was a special kind of lady.”

  “Scarlett was a name I hated.” Moe Flacco’s eyes smoldered as he slowly turned in his chair. “Sophia called herself a dancer, did you know that? Lifting her skirts in men’s faces for dibs. Scarlett was the name she chose for that...occupation.”

  “I didn’t know that, Mr. Flacco. When I met her, she was a hotel clerk.”

  “She had many professions.” Flacco studied me with a severe scowl on his face. “None of which matter now. She’s dead, as you well know. And you know that I know you were the last person seen with her.”

  To be in a room full of Borgata top dogs glaring at you is an experience you don’t easily forget. The room seemed to increase in temperature and my parched throat was a desert crying out for a drop of rain. Or a glass of hard liquor, in my case.

  I swallowed hard. “I might have been the last person seen with her, but I wasn’t the last person to see her. That would be the dropper that put her on ice. Or the dead man, as I like to call him. Because when I find whoever did the deed, I won’t be bringing him in to the clubhouse in bracelets. I’ll be too busy fitting him for a New Haven trench coat.”

  Moe gestured. “Sit down, Mick.”

  I sat next to Electra, who gently patted my hand with a comforting smile. I checked for poison needle stabs as soon as her head turned. I didn’t find any, but I was pretty shook up, regardless. The Black Widow had many rumored ways to take out her prey, and not a single one of them was pretty.

  “Did you see what they did to her?” Moe’s voice was raw, his words choked. “What they did to my little girl?”

  My eyes burned as the forensics photos resurfaced in my head. I nodded.

  “They cut up her face. Like they were sending a message. Who would do something like that to one of mine?” He gritted his teeth and slammed a heavy fist against his chest. “To one of mine?”

  No one said a word. We sat in our misery, giving Sophia her well-deserved moment of silence.

  Moe finally lifted his head. “You could have laid low, but you showed up here. A lot of cowards in your position wouldn’t have bothered. I respect that.” He opened a mahogany box on his desk. “Cigar?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Since it was obvious I wasn’t about to feed the fishes, I figured I might as well enjoy the overpriced smoke. Nothing like the darb, full-bodied flavor of a Cuban when barbering with the Borgata.

  After Ben the Bear lit our stogies, Moe continued. “Tell me about your relationship with Sophia, Mick. Leave out the sexual details.”

  “Met her on the fly while scoping the zones on a gig. We connected, saw each other for a while until things went south.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not the type that settles down. You stop moving, you kiss the concrete in my line of work.”

  Moe nodded, blowing a casual stream of smoke across the room. “I understand the notion. And the other night, when you were seen with her…?”

  “First time I clapped eyes on her since we split. She said she was looking for me. Wanted to thank me.”

  “For what?”

  I shifted in my seat. “Said I was the only honest man she’d known.”

  No-Nose Nate snickered. “Honest man. Yeah, I bet you were.”

  I resisted the urge to kick his teeth in. Fortunately Moe cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Enough, Nate. Show some respect.” As Nate looked properly chastened, Moe turned back to me. “Was there anything she said that might indicate she was in some sort of danger?”

  I shook my head. “I’m pretty good at reading folks, but I didn’t get any telltale signs she was in any trouble. I’ve thought about that night long and hard–”

  No-Nose disguised his snigger as a cough, smirking behind his hand.

  I glared at him. “I’ve thought about that night a great deal, but I still can’t recall anything that might pinpoint her running from someone or involved in anything dangerous.” I winced as the memory of the crime scene photos resurfaced. “I wish I could tell you something, but the truth is I was just as shocked as anyone when I got the news.”

  “Which was this morning, when you got your elbows checked on suspicion of murder.” Flacco raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look so surprised. I got crumbs in all corners of this city. The only reason why we’re having a civilized conversation is because the brass has nothing on you. Surveillance footage shows Sophia leaving the hotel. You were still in your room at the time. That means she was taken somewhere between there and wherever she hung her purse.”

  I took a drag on the stogie while considering the info. “I was told at the precinct that surveillance didn’t spot her leaving.”

  “You were lied to.”

  I casually exhaled a couple of smoke rings. “Why would the good detective lie?”

  “To get you to do what he wanted. You know how the brass operates.”

  I gazed at Moe through the spicy haze of cigar smoke. “Yes, I do. You say she was taken before she made it home. Do you know where she was staying?”

  Moe hesitated for a brief second. “My daughter and I were…estranged. Dates back to an ambitious boyfriend of hers that met with an unfortunate accident. Turned out he was the nephew of a rival of mine, using his seductive skills to get inside the family. Needless to say the matter was handled, but Sophia never forgave me. Her attitude became willful and headstrong. She wanted a life outside the family, away from those who persecuted her so terribly. So I allowed her to strike out on her own, convinced s
he would return all the wiser once she saw the true face of the city, free from all the trappings and privilege she was accustomed to.”

  I recalled some of the conversations between me and Scarlett. A stern, overbearing father. A first love shattered by a car accident. The determination to live life by her own rules. “Only she never did come back, did she?”

  “No.” Flacco stared out the window. “I kept tabs on her as I could, took care of debts and small troubles when they were brought to my attention. She moved around a lot from one man to the next. I took care of some of those as well.” The glower that shadowed his eyes spoke of just how those poor bastards were taken ‘care of.’

  He glanced at me. “I even knew when she became involved with you, Mick. At the time no one knew anything about you, and when it became clear you weren’t a threat, I let it be. She seemed…happy. I thought perhaps she would settle down into a modest but respectable lifestyle.”

  I felt the ghost of guilt hover just out of my line of sight. “I…wish I could’ve have been the one to make her happy.”

  Flacco waved away the apology. “Relationships are fragile things. We’ve all been there. I’m not faulting you for what happened. I’m trying to nail the bastard who would dare to lay a finger on my own flesh and blood.” For just a second Flacco’s eyes revealed a red-rimmed view of anguish. When he blinked, the predictable fires of anger and revenge replaced that fleeting window of vulnerability.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mick. I hear you’re the wrong man to cross, but the right man to have in your corner. You and me are a lot alike in that way.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

  Flacco stabbed his cigar my direction. “Don’t think I don’t know how that Pike situation went down. Nobody could really explain how my main crew got taken out, so Pike was blamed for the hit. I knew Pike didn’t have the stones to even whisper my name without looking over his shoulder, but I had to give him the New Haven Blues regardless. I would have looked weak and inefficient if I didn’t rub him out.”