Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (35 page)

“Would you like me to show you your room?” she asked.

“That’d be great,” I said, wondering exactly what she had in mind.

“I’d be happy to,” she said. She laced her hand through my arm and led me inside, through two of the largest doors I’d ever seen. Each must have been six feet wide and fifteen feet tall. The doors were carefully counterbalanced so that they swung open and closed at the lightest touch. Which was good, since they probably weighed four hundred pounds each.

“Is your uncle a really big guy?” I asked, peering at the giant doors as we passed through.

She laughed. “Actually, he is. Not this big, but big. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”
Really?

“He had this built?”

“No, he bought it already built about three years ago from a techie billionaire who was having money problems. He fixed it up the way you see it now. Like I said, Uncle Peter doesn’t come here often, but he definitely likes it up here. He said he always wanted a place in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Nothing like starting at the top and working your way up,” I said, as I took in the grand scale of the home.

We entered what would normally be called a foyer in most homes, but in this case that term was wholly inadequate. Here, the entry had to be called a lobby. Directly in front of us was a large living room and behind it, an enormous plate-glass wall spanning the entire length of the room. Through the windows was the Strait of Juan de Fuca, framed by large cedars. On the far distant horizon, the Canadian city of Victoria was visible on the edge of Vancouver Island.

“Wow. I may have made a serious mistake with my career choice,” I said, blown away by the view.

Gina laughed. “There’s more, trust me. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

I followed her down a hallway with doors lining both sides, like you’d find in a hotel.

“I don’t see any room numbers,” I joked.

“You’re down here at the end,” she said. She opened the door to what looked like a hotel room inside—clearly a guest room.

“Very nice,” I said, entering and looking around. “Even has its own bathroom.” I pretended to be confused. “Where’s the minibar?”

Gina laughed. “You’re a regular comedian, aren’t you, Danny Logan? I don’t remember that about you.”

I looked out the window and watched a large freighter inbound for Admiralty Inlet. “I’m actually just blown away by your Uncle’s little vacation home here. I think I’ve landed in Never Never Land.”

“It’s real,” she said.

I turned to her. She walked up to me and put her arms around my neck.

“It’s real,” she said again. She reached up and kissed me lightly. “Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up? We’ll have dinner around six. Come down to the family room anytime. It’s right back up the hallway on the other side of the entry. You can’t miss it.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I forgot to bring my GPS.”

She laughed. “See you in a bit.”

~~~~

I took the opportunity to take a quick shower and change into the clean clothes in my RON bag. I also figured that in a place like this, I could probably find a laundry room somewhere to wash the clothes I wore today so that they’d be clean tomorrow. I’d learned in the military to take advantage of things like showers and laundry facilities when they were available. Later, I might find that I needed one, and I might not be so lucky. Even clean, and maybe even pressed, my wardrobe was almost certain to fall short of the other meeting attendees. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about that now.

I walked outside onto the private balcony. I could see other rooms—probably other guest rooms. It appeared that each guest bedroom had a similar patio-table-and-two-chairs arrangement. I sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back, the better to enjoy the sunshine and the view. Under different circumstances, this would have been a hell of a vacation spot.

Almost immediately after I sat down, I heard Gina’s voice coming from the next bedroom. Her balcony door was also open. She was inside, speaking on the telephone, unaware that anyone might be outside listening.

Out of courtesy, I started to go back inside so I wouldn’t be tempted to eavesdrop. I’d only taken a step, though, when I heard her say. “Yeah, he’s here. I brought him here just a little while ago.” She must have been talking about me. I stopped. Who was she talking to?

“Trust me, it’s better to have him here where we can keep an eye on him as opposed to letting him wander around on his own. They’ve done a better job than I expected so far. Faster, too. He’d likely come strolling right into the middle of our meeting tomorrow.” This was consistent with what she’d told me.

“Yeah, we’re set up for ten. You’ll fly in, taxi to the hangar, unload, and walk right in. Any problems, you turn right around and walk right back out. After the meeting, you hop on your plane and you’re out of here.” She must be talking to her uncle.

“Yeah, my agreement was we each get four guys outside and two guys inside, plus me and Francisco Miranda. Not counting the two of you and the two Mendez brothers, of course.” Was she referring to security arrangements?

Gina continued. “Yeah, Francisco Miranda’s the guy I already met with here. He’s a pretty high-level person on their side, about the same level I am on our side.

“I’m just going to count him as one of our security guys.” (Probably referring to me.) “We’ll be okay. Frankie will be our other guy.

“It’s all set up. They’re ready. He said everything’s a go.” The Mexican side is ready?

“I think we can count on it. He’ll talk. That’s the point.” No idea. Who’ll talk? What’s the point?

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. I really appreciate what you’re doing. Love you, bye.”

I stepped inside and quietly closed the doors in case she decided to go outside on the balcony. No sense in letting her know that I’d overheard half her conversation.

But what had I heard? Her story to her uncle was consistent with what she’d told me in the bakery. Though now it sounded like she was factoring me into the security equation. She should be careful here. I might be okay for helping her fill out her meeting quota, but she’d best not count on me for backup if the Mexican cartel and the Chicago mob got into a beef and decided to solve it with gunplay. I’d most likely be heading for the exit. I didn’t have a horse in this race, and I wasn’t about to start shooting someone if things went sideways. Unless, of course, someone started shooting at me. The whole damn thing was illegal anyway. The last thing I wanted to do was to remove the ability to claim innocence by doing something stupid like joining a side. As things stood now, I could always claim I was coerced if everything went to hell and we all ended up getting busted.

From what I could hear, it sounded like the Mexican side agreed to the terms and was ready to conclude a deal. The only thing I couldn’t even fathom a guess about was who was supposed to talk. Gina’d said, “He’ll talk.” Who will talk? What will he say? Someone must have had information that Gina wanted, and she wanted him to talk to about it. That let me out. I didn’t know anything. Certainly, I had no secrets from her anyway. Except maybe that I overheard her telephone conversation.

~~~~

I left my room at five thirty and walked down the long corridor past the entry and into the family room. A large flat-screen television was built into the opposite wall. The kitchen was to the right, separated from the family room by an eating bar that must have had ten barstools in front of it. A large stone fireplace was on the wall opposite the television. It was not lit. A wet bar was located opposite the kitchen, next to a dining table.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Logan,” said an English-accented voice from behind me. I turned and saw a middle-aged man on the other side of the bar as he polished stemware with a white linen cloth.

“Hi, there,” I said. “Very beautiful home you’ve got here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” the man said. “My name’s Randall. In addition to being a relief bartender, I’m the home’s manager.”

I was intrigued. “Glad to meet you, Randall,” I said. “I’m Danny. I’m curious, what does a home manager do, anyway?”

“Certainly, sir,” he said. “Homes of a certain size require diverse staff of different capabilities. For example, at this home we employ two gardeners full-time, two maids, a chef, a chauffeur, and myself. Seven of us, altogether. I am responsible for the overall condition and state of the home, including the management of all the staff.”

“Fabulous,” I said. “And this happens whether or not Mr. Calabria is here?”

“That is correct,” he said. “Our duties change, of course, when the family is in residence. But we’re always prepared.” He finished polishing his wine glass and set it down. “May I offer you something from the bar?” he asked.

“Do you have Mac & Jack’s?” I asked.

“African Amber on tap?” he asked.

I smiled. “Oh, we’re going to get along famously, Randall,” I said.

He smiled, and then pulled me a glorious ice-cold pint and passed it across the bar. “Please feel free to enjoy the grounds, Mr. Logan,” he said. “Ms. Fiore has let us all know who you are. We’re pleased to have you as a guest for the evening.” He turned to leave.

“Thank you,” I said. “Say, Randall, before you hurry off, would you be the one to talk to about getting some laundry done?”

“I’ll pass the word,” he said. “It will be taken care of immediately.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I turned and walked down the steps into the family room. The glass walls that separated the room from the outdoors were pushed back on tracks so that the entire outdoors became an extension of the room. Warm sea breezes floated up the cliff and into the home—mesmerizing. Looking to my left, I noticed a table in the corner of the patio, nearly invisible from inside the home. Frankie Rossi sat at the table, alone, drinking a beer, apparently enjoying the view. He noticed me and waved me over.

“Mr. Comedian,” he called, smiling. “Come have a seat.”

“Thanks,” I said. I walked over and pulled out a chair. “Pretty nice digs, here, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Terrific. I’m thinking the view here’s almost as good as from my place.”

“In Chicago?” I asked.

“Of course. I got a condo on Sheridan, just north of Lincoln Park. Looks out over the lake. ’Course, we get our sun in the morning, and here it’s in the afternoon.” He pondered this for a moment, then said, “Both are nice, I guess.”

I nodded. “This is pretty fabulous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this.”

“Yeah, the family’s been around a long time. They know how to live.” He paused for a moment. “Oh, shit. By the way. Meant to tell you, sorry about the gun in the back this afternoon. I didn’t know who you were. Got my ass chewed big time for that. Promised I’d apologize. She asks—and she sure fucking will—you tell her I said I was sorry. Got that?”

“Got it,” I said, amused. You don’t often meet hit men, and especially not the type that look like they’re afraid they’re about to be castrated. “No problem about the gun. Glad you didn’t shoot me.” I paused for a second, then added, “Do it again, though, and you and me are going to have issues.”

I smiled when I said it, but he wasn’t sure what I meant. He gave me a cold, hard stare for a moment. I returned fire. Then, he chuckled. “You’re a funny little prick,” he said. Then realizing that he might just have insulted me, he quickly added, “No offense.”

I laughed, “None taken. Here’s to your self-restraint.” We clinked glasses.

“Big day tomorrow, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, it looks like. Got the family flying in.”

“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked.

“Just that she told me she wanted to keep an eye on you,” Frankie said. “I’m thinking that you make her nervous. Besides which, I’m thinking she likes you.”

“She likes me? Why are you thinking that?”

“Way she talks. She talks like she’s impressed by you.” He shook his head like he didn’t understand.

“Well, no accounting for taste, right?”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem all that bad,” he said. “That a four- or five-inch 1911 you got on your hip there?”

I smiled. “Good eye, Frankie. It’s a four-inch.”

Thought so. “I carry a five sometime,” he said. “I shoot a tighter group with a five.”

“Me, too, but from three feet, what difference does it make?”

“Fuckin’ a,” he said, smiling and raising his glass again.

“There you are.” Gina walked into view from the family room. “I’ve been looking. I checked your room, and you were gone.”

Frankie and I both stood when she approached. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know where you were,” I lied, “which room is yours. So after I took a quick shower, I decided to walk down here and see the home. Only just got started, and I bumped into Uncle Frank.”

“Are you being nice?” she asked him.

“I am,” he said quickly. He looked at me.

“He is,” I confirmed. “He even apologized for pulling his gun on me this afternoon. He needn’t have apologized. He’s a very loyal man, and I’m certain you’re in good hands with him watching out for you. No offense whatsoever. We’re good.”

Gina looked surprised. “How about that,” she said. Then she added, “Uncle Frankie, if you’ll excuse us, I’ve arranged for a private dinner with Mr. Logan.”

“Good meeting you, Uncle Frank,” I said reaching forward to shake his giant hand. “You take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

~~~~

When the sun begins to go down in the Northwest, even in August, it gets cool—especially if you’re on the water. Or in this case, above the water, since the house sat on a cliff fifty feet or so above the ocean. The sun was just above the horizon shortly after eight thirty, and all the warmth from it was gone. Gina and I sat huddled in a blanket outside at the fire pit and watched the end of the day. A large supply of split pine was stacked nearby, and we were working our way through it. The pine logs burned brightly and quickly and smelled wonderful.

Gina had arranged to have dinner served on the patio. We polished it off along with a bottle of Silver Oak cabernet. Later, she chose coffee while I worked on a bottle of Fiji water. I had my arm around her as we stared off across the water. The lights of Victoria were visible in the twilight on the northwest horizon.