Complicity in Heels (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
ony pointed to an empty parking lot where a wiry man in a navy-blue suit stood next to an idling police cruiser in the distance. Nikki slowed down, turned into the space, and came to a complete stop. “Who is this again and why are we meeting with him?”

Tony shook his head. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Wouldn’t
you
? My associate is dead. My crew has been ripped off, and—”

“
We
,” Tony corrected. “
We’ve
been ripped off.”

Nikki blinked in surprise. “And to top it all off, I’m on parole. So yes, my risk meter is on sensory overload.” Tony laughed. “Some answers would be nice, you know?”

Tony motioned for her to drive forward. She felt a tinge of apprehension in her gut but eased off the brake and steered the Buick into the slot next to the police cruiser.
Now
what?

“Don’t look so worried,” Tony said, observing her body language. “He’s on the payroll.”

Nikki’s mouth fell open.

Tony chuckled. “Things run a helluva lot smoother when you’ve got an inside man.”

The pair got out of the Regal and approached the cruiser. Nikki scanned the area for suspicious activity, while Tony headed for the officer. The cop recognized Tony instantly. “Who’s the chick? And what’s up with the fucked-up ride?”

“For now, she’s my partner,” Tony answered. “At least until the boss says otherwise. I can’t speak to the car.”

The officer gave Nikki a good up-and-down glance, followed by a favorable nod.

“I’m glad I meet with your approval,” Nikki quipped.
Creep.

The officer frowned at the remark.

“She can be a handful at times,” Tony added. “Just ignore it.”

Nikki rolled her eyes.

Tony chuckled. “So what you got for me, Bosky?”

The lieutenant scratched his head. “Not much. Quinn called, wanted me to check into whether the Feds had any live operations going on in the area and told me to assist you as much as possible.”

“And?”

Bosky shrugged. “Nothing so far. What’s exactly going on here?”

Tony tensed up. “Patrone and two and a half million dollars.”

Bosky shook his head and sighed.

“Both are missing.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Bastard was blackmailing me for twenty percent of my kickback with compromising photos of my daughter.”

That seemed to get Tony’s attention. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Now there’s a class act,” Nikki said with a hint of sarcasm.

Tony motioned for Bosky to continue.

“Apparently my daughter got caught up with some unsavory characters on campus who were operating an amateur—”

The sound of two emergency alert tones from the squad car interrupted Bosky.

“Vehicle fire with explosions,” the dispatcher announced. “Warwick and Thirty-Fifth Street. Dark-blue van, government tag G772361.”

The radio crackled with some brief static.

“Two eighteen en route,” a unit replied instantly.

“Two twenty-nine trailing,” broadcast another.

The radio crackled once again.

“Forty-two Direct,” the dispatcher called out. “Come in. Over.”

Bosky sighed. “Hold on. I need to take this.”

Tony nodded.

The lieutenant reached inside the cruiser and grabbed the handheld mike. “Forty-two Direct, copy. Units two eighteen and two twenty-nine rolling.”

“Affirmative. Fire is already on the scene.”

“Ten-four.”

Nikki’s cell phone rang. “Frank,” she answered.

“Touch of Style Salon. Please stand by for an account representative.”

Nikki recognized Janice’s voice and waited for Harlan to be patched through.

“Nicole,” he said.

“Yes?”

“No luck on any large monetary seizures in the area, federal or local.”

Nikki hung her head. “I see.”

“Whatever’s going on, it’s playing down at your level.”

“I understand.”

“Be careful,” Harlan warned.

Nikki hung up and lifted her head.

Tony locked eyes with her. “Who was that?”

A sour look spread across Nikki’s face. “My hair stylist. Why?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Maybe.”

“Look, I need you one hundred percent focused on what we’re doing,” he said, gesturing back and forth between Nikki and himself. “Got it?”

“You mean, like picking up from the radio traffic that a government van was recently torched and concluding that it could quite possibly have something to do with our situation.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Exactly.”

“Lesson learned. Now let’s get to Warwick and Thirty-Fifth ASAP.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
he van was on its side, in the middle of a back alley, five blocks from the central business district. Smoke and flames burst out of it, billowing up into the sky. One of the first responders pulled a fire extinguisher from his cruiser and attempted to gain control of the blaze. When the extinguisher ran dry, the vehicle fire reignited. Several ominous pops went off in quick succession, followed by a shower of sparks.

The wail of sirens intensified. Additional responders arrived. Nikki and Tony stood about a hundred feet away, watching. The firefighters went to work dousing the flames with sprayable foam.

The stench of burning rubber and gasoline saturated the air. Nikki gagged. Tony grabbed her by the arm and pulled her past the police barricade. An officer cut them off. Tony stopped.

“Exactly where are you two going?” Officer Hardy asked.

Nikki pointed straight ahead. “Over there.”

“Not today, you aren’t. For your safety, you’ll have to remain behind the barricade.”

Tony let out an audible sigh.

Officer Hardy motioned toward his holster. “Problem?”

The two locked eyes for a moment.

“Not at all,” Tony said, breaking eye contact. “Not at all.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Nikki grabbed Tony and quickly ushered him back to the car.

“Fucking cops,” he complained. “I hate ’em.”

Nikki empathized with a nod.
What a cheap power play
, she thought,
threatening the use of deadly force to gain compliance.

“Take a deep breath,” she told Tony. “Relax.”

Tony inhaled than exhaled.

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Better?”

“For now.”

“Cool.” She pointed to the smoldering vehicle. “Chen, I’m almost certain this was the van that busted us. Look at the agency lettering on the side.”

Tony glanced at the logo. It read “DEA” in bright-yellow letters.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s a start, but where do we go from here?”

Nikki shrugged.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Tony.

Several hundred feet away, a homeless man was pushing a shopping cart down the street.

Nikki spotted him instantly. “Over there,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction of the wreckage. “The bum with the buggy.”

Tony nodded and smiled. “Wearing the DEA jacket?”

“Yeah, that’s our lead.”

“Good eye, Frank. Let’s get over there before the cops notice him.”

The two rushed over to the man. He wore desert camouflage pants and loud purple tennis shoes and reeked of alcohol and body odor. Nikki held her breath, which did little more than make her blue in the face.

“Hey, where’d you get that jacket?” Tony asked.

The haggard man glanced down at the windbreaker he was wearing, looked up, and stared past him in a daze. “Yo, man, you got some spare change so I can get somethin’ to eat?”

Tony shook his head.

“Come on, Miyagi. I know you got somethin’.”

Tony sneered at the epithet. “Hospitality is contingent on information,” he replied.

The vagrant scratched his head. “Huh?”

“You want money,” Nikki clarified, cutting in, “answer the question.”

The man ran a hand across his grimy beard. “Oh…okay.”

“Where’d you get the jacket?” Tony repeated.

“Dumpster.”

“Which dumpster?”

“By them hotels,” the man said, pointing left.

Nikki turned and looked in that direction. She spotted two towering pole signs in the distance, on opposite sides of the road. One read, grand hyatt hotel; the other, chateau regency.

“Pay him,” Nikki said.

Tony reached inside his jacket, took out his billfold, and removed a crisp twenty-dollar bill. He smirked and held it up high. The homeless man smiled, revealing several missing teeth and a few remaining brown ones. Tony shook his head and dropped the note on the ground. The man scrambled for the money as Tony stepped aside and laughed.

Nikki shot him a scornful look. “Really, Chen? Did you have to do that?”

Tony looked at her in disbelief. “What? You thought I was gonna hand it to him?”

Nikki shook her head.

“Next time you pay, Ms. Touchy-Feely.”

Nikki clenched her jaw. “You know, you’re a real piece of work.”

Tony cracked a smile. “Yeah, my mother seems to think so too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

N
ikki and Tony walked a quarter mile, located several dumpsters, and combed through each of them. Nothing. Filthy and exhausted, they sat down on the curb in front of the last remaining one. Nikki’s body ached. She glanced down at herself for the first time and realized that the cranberry scoop-neck tee and blue jeans she was wearing were ruined.

“Flip you for it,” Tony said, removing a double-tailed quarter from his pocket. Before Nikki could protest, he threw the coin up in the air and caught it. “Call it?”

“Heads,” Nikki replied.

Tony slid his covering hand back; it was tails. “Looks like the honor is all yours, Frank.”

Nikki stood up. “Freaking splendid.”

Tony chuckled.

“This isn’t funny,” she said, walking over toward the dumpster.

Tony leaned back on a patch of grass and placed his hands behind his head. “No, sweetheart, but it is fair.”

Nikki slowly slid the hatch open. The ripe stench of days’ old trash shoved its way into her nostrils.

“Woo-hoo!” Tony cheered. “Smells like a doozy.”

Nikki shook her head. The nauseating odor reminded her of the bum they’d talked to earlier. She gagged, feeling the contents of her stomach shift.
I’m a go-getter
, she thought.
Rotting refuse is my perfume.

“Houston, do we have a problem?” Tony taunted.

Nikki smacked the side of the dumpster several times to scare off any vermin that might be inside. She took a deep breath, cinched her lips tightly, and climbed inside the bin. The smell intensified. She gagged once more, barely suppressing the urge to vomit.
Think fresh-baked cookies
, Nikki told herself.
Fresh-baked cookies, just out of the oven.

The bottom of the dumpster was covered in slime and food scraps. Several shiny, black, knotted garbage bags were piled in heaps against the far wall. Next to them was a well-worn tire, three bags of wilting arugula, and a Pampers box filled with used diapers.

“Find anything?” Tony called out.

“Nothing yet,” she shouted back.

She panned to her right, scrutinizing every silhouette. Immediately her eyes were drawn to several cases of expired Tropicana orange juice stacked in the corner. There, lying across the top box, were two jackets.

“Hot damn,” Nikki yelled, picking them up.

Tony sprang to his feet and rushed over. “Whaddya got?”

“The jackpot.” She tossed him the jackets then climbed out of the dumpster.

Together they spread the nylon windbreakers out on the ground. “DEA” was silkscreened in yellow block letters across the backs of the jackets.

Tony quickly rummaged through the pockets. “Bingo!” He held up a royal-blue key card with gold writing on it. “Says ‘Chateau Regency.’”

Nikki grinned.

Tony handed her the card.

She examined it. “Guess this is our next stop.” Nikki passed the card back to him then took a whiff of her shirt. She quickly pulled away, scrunching up her nose. “Showers first.”

“Sure thing.”

The two headed back to the car then stopped at Target to purchase clothing before freshening up at a twenty-four-hour gym.

Once they were inside the lobby of the Chateau Regency, Nikki and Tony exchanged a few words before she casually strolled up to the front desk with the key card in hand. Tony waited on a sofa near the entrance.

The clerk smiled. “Welcome to the Chateau Regency. How can I help you?”

Nikki glanced at the clerk’s name tag. “Yes, Julian,” she said, responding warmly. “I’ve forgotten my room number. I was wondering if you could look it up for me?”

“Sure, no problem. Please let me see your card.”

Nikki handed Julian the card. He took it and slid it through the key reader linked to his desktop. “May I see a photo ID, please?”

Nikki dipped her chin to her chest. “Look, can I be candid here?”

“Go ahead,” Julian said, glancing up from the screen to make eye contact.

“I’m here to see Victor Patrone.”

Julian’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you now? You a working girl?”

Nikki scowled. “No.”

Julian pointed in Tony’s direction. “I suppose that’s your pimp lingering over there in the background.”

Nikki glanced over her shoulder in time to catch Tony in midwave. “Absolutely not. He’s an associate.”

“Associate? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but—”

“Mr. Patrone assured me that this activity would no longer continue on our premises.”

“I’m not a call girl,” Nikki insisted.

Julian picked up the desk phone.

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “What are you doing?”

“Calling someone to remove the trash, honey. This is a respectable establishment.”

A scream interrupted the conversation. Julian dropped the phone. A housekeeping attendant, bursting from the emergency-exit stairwell, was running toward him.

“Jules, call 911,” she said, out of breath.

He froze. “What?”

Nikki stepped aside, yielding her space in front of the reception desk to the distressed woman.

“Dead bodies,” the housekeeper continued. “Three of them, blood all over the place.”

It took a moment for Julian to register what she had said. “Where?”

The woman took a few more raspy breaths. “Top floor, room 1007.”

Julian punched the information into the computer. The registration data appeared moments later. “The room is booked to…Victor Patrone.”

Nikki signaled Tony to head to the elevators.

Julian quickly picked the dangling phone receiver up from the floor and dialed 911. “Don’t you leave,” he warned Nikki. “I’m sure the authorities will have some questions for both of you.”

Nikki took a step back from the counter. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” she said, holding her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “So if you’ll excuse me, I need to be going.”

Julian made a beckoning motion with his finger. “Get the hell over here.”

Nikki ignored him and bolted for the elevators. Tony held one of the ascending cars open for her. “Which floor?” he asked.

“Ten.”

Tony punched the button, and the door shut.

Nikki closed her eyes, took in a slow breath, and exhaled.
Three bodies, Patrone’s room—this keeps getting better and
better
.

“We got maybe five to ten minutes, tops,” Tony announced, “before law enforcement shuts this whole place down.”

The elevator came to a gentle stop, and the door slid open. Tony scanned the hallway then glanced at Nikki. “Room?”

“1007.”

The two raced to the suite. The television was blaring, and the door was wide open. Tony stepped inside the room first. Nikki followed. As someone who’d never even watched her own blood being drawn, chances were good, she thought, that she might vomit. Nikki clenched her teeth to stifle the impulse. Inside, three male bodies littered the living-room floor. A mural of blood was splattered across the walls and carpet.

Nikki shook her head as she looked around the crimson-saturated scene. “What the hell happened here?” she asked, raising her voice.

Tony shot her an uneasy look.

Nikki grabbed the remote control and adjusted the television volume. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What is it, Chen?”

He still didn’t respond.

Nikki watched his facial expression closely, searching for further clues. “You know these men, don’t you?” she guessed.

Tony nodded. “Gemstone crew.”

Nikki waited for a further explanation. When he didn’t provide it, she circled her hand in a “continue” gesture. “And they are…”

“Hired muscle from Chicago,” Tony finally said. “Independent contractors our crew uses from time to time.”

“Their connection to Patrone?”

“My guess is he either hired them to pull the DEA stunt or someone else did.”

Nikki placed her hand on her forehead. “Leading us to one of two possibilities: either they turned on each other or Patrone took them out.”

Tony glanced up at the wall clock. “We need to hurry up and toss this place before the five-oh arrives.”

Nikki stepped over two of the bodies and moved past the flat-screen TV to the far side of the room. She searched through a cabinet but found nothing of importance.

Tony disappeared down the hall and came back with a towel. “Use this,” he said, tossing it to her. “Wipe down the area after you search it.”

Nikki held up the towel. “Are you serious, in this day of modern forensics?”

“Yes,” Tony replied, irritated. “The idea here is to make the cops work to establish a connection, not hand over the winning lotto ticket by making things easy for them.”

A sly smile slipped across Nikki’s face. “I hear you,” she said. Tony vanished back down the hall into the master bedroom, while Nikki wiped down the cabinet she’d just searched and continued the shakedown. After sweeping across a work desk and bulldozing through a pair of end-table drawers and a chest, she found herself standing back over the bodies, rummaging through the TV credenza.

A news alert flashed across the screen: “Thirty-four-year-old man with Down syndrome missing from Paris Oaks Assisted Living Facility.” Nikki stopped and continued to read the news ticker to herself: “Mr. Frank is five foot seven, has black hair and brown eyes and a slim to medium build. He was last seen wearing a Carolina Panthers windbreaker and black jeans. Anyone with any information about his whereabouts is asked to contact the Parkbridge Police Department.” The scrolling news alert remained for a few more seconds then disappeared.

Marty, where are
you?

Nikki pushed the thought to the back of her mind and went back to searching the console drawers. Something grabbed her ankle. She jumped. It was a hand, covered in blood. The grip grew tighter. One of the bodies had sparked back to life. Nikki dropped to her knees next to the man. His grip loosened, and his hand soon fell away. She instinctively checked his pulse. It was faint.

“Chen,” Nikki called out.

Tony raced around the corner. “What is it?”

“This guy’s alive, barely.”

Tony rushed to the man’s side. “Jasper, who did this to you?”

Jasper’s eyes fluttered open.

“Jasper,” Tony said again, this time louder.

Jasper’s mouth trembled in an attempt to form words.

Nikki leaned in closer. “Talk to me, Jasper,” she urged.

He mumbled a faint syllable. She lowered her ear further.

“Pa…trone”

“Patrone,” Nikki repeated.

“Uh-huh.” Jasper confirmed with a slight nod.

Nikki looked up at Tony. A cell phone went off. They both jumped.

“What the…?” Nikki said, startled.

Tony clenched his jaw. “Cell phone, Frank.”

The phone continued to ring.

“Where?”

Tony moved back around the corner down the hall. “Sounds like the guest bathroom.” He stepped inside and took a look around. There, on the marble counter top, was a Samsung. It continued to ring. Tony snatched it up. “Hello.”

“Patrone?” a familiar voice said.

“Nah, boss, Tony.”

“What?”

Tony leaned against the counter. “Yeah, I just found Patrone’s phone in the guest bathroom of his suite at the Chateau Regency. Looks like he left it here to prevent anyone from tracking him.”

“Find him,” Quinn ordered.

“I’m—”

The click of the dead line cut Tony off. He shook his head, placed the phone inside his brand-new jacket, and rejoined Nikki out in the living room.