Gamma Blade (11 page)

A slight frown creased O’Reilly’s tanned brow. “Sorry, Detective, but I might be missing something here. People look at my boat all the time. She’s a beauty.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you mean these men might have been planning on boarding the boat?
Invading
it?”

“Possibly,” Venn said.

Estrada said, “Do you have any enemies, Mr O’Reilly?”

O’Reilly gave a half-smile. “Who doesn’t, these days? But these men could have been strangers. Criminals looking to steal my boat. There’s always a risk of that.”

“There were people on board the boat last night,” said Venn.

“Yes. My two assistants. I leave them here whenever I’m away. Security, for just such an event as apparently played out last night.” He shrugged. “Or
didn’t
, as it turned out. Thankfully.”

Estrada said: “Those two assistants. Were they the guys who were in here just now?”

“Yes. I’ll call them for you, if you like.” He started to get up.

Estrada held up a hand. “We’ll talk to them separately in a minute.”

O’Reilly studied her for a moment. “Mind if I ask you a question, Detective?”

Estrada waited.

“Do you have any idea who these men might be? You seem unusually interested in a crime that didn’t happen.”

Venn said, “We believe the men may have been connected to a local gangster.”

O’Reilly looked at him curiously. “Gangster?”

“Ernesto Justice Brull,” said Estrada. “Ever heard of him?”

O’Reilly paused for a second, as if considering. “No,” he said. “But if you’re right, if gangs are involved in this, then I need police protection.”

“Why?” asked Venn. “What have you done that would make gangsters want to target you, or your boat?”

If O’Reilly was rattled, he didn’t show it. “Pardon me, Detective, but that’s just another version of the question:
how long is it since you stopped beating your wife?
I haven’t ‘done’ anything.” He transferred his gaze to Estrada once more, as if recognizing she was the leader of the pair. “To go back to my last point. If I’m at risk from these people, then I don’t want to take any chances. I have private security, as I’ve said. But I have a right to police protection, if you’ve identified a threat.”

“But we haven’t identified a threat,” said Estrada. “We’ve just noted that the men watching your boat may have had links to organized crime.”

“Like you said, Mr O’Reilly,” said Venn. “Maybe those men were just admiring your beautiful boat.”

O’Reilly locked eyes with Venn. There was a slight irritation there, but it was far less intense than Venn expected, considering how they were baiting the guy. Venn got the impression of a man capable of supreme control.

“If that’s all, Detectives?” he said. “I came all the way down from Orlando for this interview. I must say, it’s proven to be less than edifying. And I have things to do.”

He stood up.

Estrada and Venn remained seated.

Estrada said, “It’s probably best that you don’t venture too far, Mr O’Reilly. Stay within traveling distance of Miami. We may need to speak to you again.”

O’Reilly actually laughed. “Spoken like a TV cop.”

Venn stood. He towered over O’Reilly, and although he didn’t step toward the man, the discrepancy was obvious.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Venn said. “Not always such a good idea, when you’re talking to police officers.”

O’Reilly grinned at him. He had the bearing of a man confident and secure in his own environment.

“You’re reading me all wrong,” he said easily. “I fully support the law, and I’m eager to do whatever is necessary to assist you fine people in the execution of your duties.”

He walked past Venn to the door of the cabin and opened it, standing aside.

Venn went up first, followed by Estrada. On the deck, the two men from down below turned immediately. One was Hispanic, one white. The first man was small and tight and hard-looking, the second burly and with an odd blankness in his eyes.

Estrada said, “We’d like to ask you gentlemen a couple of questions.”

They looked past her to O’Reilly. Venn said: “You don’t need to wait for his permission.” He nodded toward the stern of the deck. “How about over there?”

Estrada turned toward O’Reilly. “Thank you.”

He gave her another mirthless smile. Then he signaled something to the two men, and began walking down the gangplank to the pier.

Venn and Estrada faced the two men. The detectives had positioned themselves so that their two interviewees were facing the sun, forcing them to squint a little.

“What are your names?” asked Estrada.

The Hispanic man spoke first. “Julio Jiminez.”

“Bart Forrest,” said the other guy. He barely moved his lips when he spoke.

“What’s your association with Mr O’Reilly?”

Jiminez said: “Personal security.”

“You work through an agency?” said Venn.

“No,” said Jiminez. “Freelance.”

Estrada: “Were you on this boat last night?”

“Yeah,” said Jiminez. “Looking after it while Mr O’Reilly was in Orlando.”

“You see those men lined up on the pier?” asked Venn. “Around eleven pm?”

“No.”

Venn glanced at the other man, Forrest. “How about you?”

Forrest gave his head the minutest shake.

“Not particularly effective guards, are you?” said Estrada. “Five guys, possibly gangbangers, right outside the boat, and you didn’t spot them?”

The two men stared at her in silence. They didn’t shuffle awkwardly, or look embarrassed in any other way.

“You hear the disturbance here on the marina last night?” asked Venn.

Jiminez said, “Yeah. A little shouting, but when we looked, we didn’t see a lot. Then an ambulance arrived, and the cops. Looked like someone had collapsed, or been rolled by a mugger. Wasn’t our concern.”

“How long have you been working for O’Reilly?” said Estrada.

Jiminez shrugged. “Two years.” He looked at Forrest. “Bart here a little longer.”

“You need to get rough with anybody, ever? Anybody who was a threat to O’Reilly?”

“Sometimes.” Jiminez didn’t smirk. His tone was flat. “All kinds of scumbags try to get a piece of a businessman like Mr O’Reilly. We caught a couple of them trying to burglarize his office once. Another time, an asshole in a bar started hassling him. Son of a bitch won’t be doing that again in a hurry.”

Venn looked at Forrest. “You don’t say much, do you?”

The man said nothing.

Estrada and Venn watched the two men for ten seconds more. They didn’t give an inch.

“All right,” said Estrada. “Let’s go.”

They turned their backs ostentatiously on the men and walked toward the gangplank.

“Damn,” said Venn, as they stepped off onto the pier and began making their way back to the car.. “What I wouldn’t give to toss this boat, from top to bottom.”

Estrada shook her head. “Even if we got a warrant, which there’s no chance of... O’Reilly wouldn’t keep anything incriminating on board. He strikes me as too smart for that.”

“You think drugs?” said Venn.

“Maybe. Or contraband of some other kind. Cuban cigars are an obvious possibility, but it could be stolen jewelry. Or fine art. Or boosted spare parts from a car factory, for all I know. Miami’s like the illegal eBay of America.”

They got into the station wagon. Venn said, “What you got on O’Reilly so far?”

“Not a lot yet.” Estrada started the engine. “He’s from Ireland, like I said, but he has US citizenship. Been living in Miami a couple of years. He has an apartment here. No rap sheet. Not even any minor transgressions, like tax stuff.”

“Okay.” Venn took out is phone. “I’ve got a guy up in New York who’s great at research. Let me give him a call.”

He thought Estrada might object to bringing somebody else in, but she said nothing as she pulled out into the traffic.

*

Venn caught Filiberto Vidal on his personal cell phone. Sometimes the guy came into the Division of Special Projects office on a Saturday, but today he was home.

“Hey, boss.” Fil sounded cheerful. “How’s Miami?”

“Sunny,” said Venn. “Fil, could you do a little digging for me? Guy named Mark O’Reilly. I’ll text you his address in a minute. He’s based here in Florida.”

“No problem,” said Fil. “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

“Connections to organized crime,” said Venn. “Or any other suspicious dealings that might have been covered up.”

“I’ll call you later,” said Fil. “But... you’re working, boss? I thought this was supposed to be like a vacation for you.”

“The best-laid plans, Fil,” said Venn.

He hung up.

To Estrada, he said, “You got any ideas what to do next?”

“Drive around a little,” she said. “I can think best when I’m driving.”

She appeared restless, edgy. Venn knew the feeling. You wanted to take action,
any
action, but the lack of obvious leads made it difficult to know what to do.

After a while, Estrada said, “You know, part of me just wants to go and shake Brull himself down. Confront him. It won’t get me anywhere, but he’ll know I’m on his back.”

“You know where to find him?” said Venn, mildly surprised.

Estrada glanced at him. “Oh yeah. He runs an office down in . An employment agency. It’s a front, of course, but he keeps it clean as a whistle. Here’s there a lot during the day.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A few times. I’ve interviewed him there. So he knows me.”

Venn thought for moment. Then he said: “Let me go there.”

“What?”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll show up at his office and try get an audience with him. If he was the man in the alley last night, he’ll recognize me. It might rattle him. At the very least, I’ll get to hear his voice again, and be one hundred per cent sure he’s our guy.”

Estrada gazed through the windshield, her expression doubtful.

“I don’t know, Venn.”

“Come on. It’s worth a shot.”

After a few moments’ pause, she said, “What the hell. Okay.”

Chapter 15

Once again, just like yesterday, Carlos Fuentes stood before Brull in his office.

This time, the man wasn’t pissing his pants. He even looked a little composed, though his underlying nervousness was impossible to conceal. He’d called Brull’s guy, Elon, and asked for a meeting with the boss. Elon had been all set to kick the grocer’s ass for him, but he’d checked with Brull anyhow.

And Brull had said yes.

He was curious as to what Fuentes had to say. He expected the guy to plead for an extension, to argue pathetically that the deadline for his payment was unrealistic. In which case, Brull had a new video clip to show Fuentes. Once which, again, starred his son.

During his meditative moments, when he was practicing his yoga or simply gazing at a clear blue sky, emptying his mind of business concerns, Brull sometimes wondered if there was something clinically wrong with him. Wrong with the thrill he got in seeing another person suffer. He decided that it didn’t matter. Let society, with its know-it-all psychiatrists and its pious, hypocritical rules of morality pass judgement on him.

He was outside all of that. Above it.

So he waited in his office for the call from the reception desk downstairs, to tell him that Carlos Fuentes was here to see him. It was possible, he thought, that the little man would try to threaten him. Would say he’d gone to the cops or something.

Brull would enjoy that even more.

Now, Fuentes stood on the rug with his hat in his hands before him, and his head slightly bowed. He didn’t look defiant. More like a supplicant.

“Hey, Carlos,” said Brull. “Long time no see.” He frowned, peering all around Fuentes as if looking for something. “I can’t see it.”

Fuentes raised his head a fraction, glanced about himself. “I’m sorry... Mr Brull, you cannot see
what
?”

“The suitcase with my six thousand dollars,” said Brull cheerfully. “I got to say, Carlos, I’m impressed. Never thought you’d pull all that cash together so quickly. Still, I guess you had a pretty strong incentive, didn’t you? And where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Fuentes met Brull’s gaze once again. His face was lined in anguish, his eyes haunted.

“Mr Brull, I do not have the money for you yet.”

Brull pulled a comically exaggerated face of disappointment. “Ah, jeez. And here I was, hoping for a little extra to be able to spend on a Saturday night. Oh, well.” He shrugged. “No harm done. My bad.” He folded his hands on the desk again and smiled at Fuentes. “So. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

“Mr Brull.” Fuentes’ mouth worked. His throat sounded dry, so that there was an audible click as he swallowed. “I cannot possibly obtain six thousand dollars for you by Monday morning. So I am here to offer myself to you.”

Brull let the silence stretch out. It was so acute that he thought he could her drops of sweat from the man’s face hitting the carpet.

Very quietly, Brull said, “Come again?”

Fuentes cleared his throat. He drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. A little more boldly, he said: “I offer myself, Mr Brull. My life. Kill me. Torture me. Enslave me for as long as you wish. But release Hector. Let my boy go. I beg you.”

He looked ready to drop to his knees, if Brull told him to beg properly.

Brull stared at him in genuine amazement.

“Your life?” he said. He was too shocked even to laugh. “Carlos, what makes you think
your life
is worth anything to me?”

What composure Fuentes had been clinging onto was starting to slip. The muscles in his cheeks began jumping.

“Mr Brull,
please
-”

“Your life,” Brull went on, as if the other man hadn’t spoken, “is mine anyhow, whether you offer it to me or not. I could have killed you, or tortured you, or enslaved you, whatever that means, whenever I liked. I can still do so now. Your agreement to it is beside the point.”

He leaned a little further across the desk.

“But here’s the thing, Carlos. I’m owed six thousand dollars. That’s worth a whole lot more to me than your useless, insignificant
life
. And I know I’m going to get my money. You’re pathetic, but you’re also resourceful. You run that grocery store of yours with a shrewd head. How you’re going to get the money, I have no idea. And I don’t really care, either. But I know you’ll come through, Carlos. I know, because you’re not in a position to fail.”