Legally Dead (29 page)

Venturi followed Danny down the hall.

“She's back there checking the freezer, and the big oven,” Venturi said. “He isn't here somewhere, is he?”

“Of course not.” He looked offended at the suggestion. “Think I'd do that to her?”

“So, where is he?”

“A storage warehouse, three doors down. In a locked unit that looks like it hasn't been opened in years.”

“Will he be talking to anybody?”

“Not anymore.”

“Did he tell you everything?”

“Everything he knew, which wasn't much.

“He took orders from Vasily, the big boss in New York. They're into extortion, drugs, white slavery, prostitution, stolen auto parts, weapons, money laundering, and gambling between New York and Florida. Our situation stems from another phase of the business he didn't know much about. He was just following orders.

“Once they had Claire Waterson, he waited in the car while two of the guys in the Mercedes dragged her inside. He said they weren't happy. Apparently she didn't cooperate, kept insisting she was who she was, and had no idea what they were talking about.

“She was a brave woman,” Venturi said sadly.

“A stand-up broad,” Danny said.

“We have the driver's cell phone,” Venturi said. “Let's use it.”

“Okay. Soon as I mop up.”

They sat in the darkened shop watching reports of the parking garage shooting on a small TV in the office, while Micheline made coffee and sandwiches.

One motorist had suffered a heart attack and there were a number of minor injuries, but no one was dead except the BMW driver on the roof and one of the men in the Mercedes, killed in an exchange of gunfire with police.

The police were asking that the driver who abandoned his rental car on the exit ramp contact them. The car had been rented to a Canadian named Raoul Truffant. They assumed he fled on foot after being caught in the line of fire.

Danny shrugged in response to Venturi's questioning glance. “Just call me Raoul.”

Police suspected that the occupants of the Mercedes murdered the BMW driver, then panicked when trapped in traffic as they tried to flee. A small arsenal of weapons had been seized from their car. The investigation was still in its preliminary stage. All the witnesses had not yet given statements, and no ballistics tests had been completed.

Another passenger in the Mercedes suffered head injuries during his capture.

The other two carjacked another driver and crashed through the wooden gate at the garage entrance. They narrowly missed a head-on collision with arriving police but escaped after a brief chase.

“Damn. Can't believe they let them get away,” Danny said. “Time to relocate. Now.”

Micheline ran for the keys to lock the shop as Venturi hit redial to the last number the dead driver had called. He had probably called to tell his boss that they had Micheline.

A man answered in Russian.

“Speak English,” Venturi said sharply. “I have a message for Vasily, your boss, the man in New York.”

The Russian demanded to know who he was.

“I'm the man with Sergey's phone and your friend Viktor. Call New York and tell your boss to call this number. Now. Before it's too late.”

Half an hour later as they drove toward the City of Light in the dark before dawn, the dead man's cell phone rang. Danny stopped the car as Venturi answered.

“You wish to speak to me?” a gruff voice said.

“Yes. Call off your people, now,” Venturi said.

“Some things cannot be called off, Michael Venturi.”

“What do you want, Vasily? Who do you want?”

The man did not answer but Venturi could hear him breathing. “Let's meet,” he said, “talk man-to-man, and negotiate.”

“I will consider it,” the caller said, and hung up.

“He didn't call anything off,” Venturi tersely told the others.

“If I die here,” Micheline said softly as Danny swung back into traffic, “I want to go home. I want to lie next to my children, my husband, and my mother. My name is already on the monument. Only the date of death is blank. I want to go there.”

“You can't,” Venturi said. “The date of Solange Dupree's death isn't blank anymore. The day of her sailboat accident is engraved there. Solange died, remember? She and her family are together.”

“And Micheline Lacroix is alive and well,” Danny said, “except for an extremely sexy black eye. Micheline will live a long, long time, if we have anything to say about it. Her name won't appear on that Big Blackboard in the Sky for fifty years. So don't talk like a loser. You won't win if you don't believe you will.”

She nodded slowly.

Venturi called Richard Lynch, relieved to hear his sleepy voice. “You okay, buddy?”

“So far. Can I go home and back to work?”

“Not yet, but we're working on it. Danny and I are outside Paris right now. Just wanted to check in. Are you all right?”

“Having the time of my life,” he said drolly. “On a tourist bus trip. We're visiting ancient castles along the coast of Ireland.”

“Good idea. Get lost in the crowd and enjoy the tour. But if you see anything, or anybody, suspicious, follow your gut. Do whatever you have to do to protect yourself, then get the hell out. Hopefully this will be over soon.”

“Yes, sir,” he said without humor. “I'll enlist the little people and we'll take our shillelaghs to 'em.”

“Atta boy. How'd it go with your boss?”

“I couldn't believe it.” He sounded amazed. “Said to take as much time as I need. Made me swear to come back. They like my work, Michael.”

“They ain't seen nothing yet. Stay safe. We may see you soon.”

Danny turned down a winding country road. “Here we are,” he muttered.

The sign at the wrought-iron gate said Les Soeurs de la Charité.

“What's this?” Micheline asked.

“Cherie.”
Danny gently touched her cheek. “This is where you'll stay for a while. Until this blows over.”

He glanced back at Venturi. “She'll be safe here.”

“Oh, no.” Micheline looked alarmed. “A convent! You are not leaving me here. No. No,” she said firmly.

“It's the perfect place for you,” Danny said seriously.

“What about my car?”

“We have to borrow it for a while,
cherie
.”

“The only way you leave me in a convent and drive away in my car is over my dead body.” She turned to Venturi, eyes pleading. “Without you two I would be dead. Until this is finished I'm only safe with you. What if they find me here? Do you think nuns can protect me?”

“They have friends in high places.” Danny raised a meaningful eyebrow toward the heavens.

Her look was scathing. “You will not abandon me here. I won't let you. You'll have to drag me in there kicking and screaming and I'll call the police before you're out the gate.”

She refused to listen or relent.

“You can't travel with us. We're leaving the country. You have no papers, no passport, no ID,” Venturi pointed out.

“Are you crazy?” She reached for a leather folder in the glove box. “Of course I do. You think I learned nothing from Danny?”

“She
would
be safer with us,” Danny conceded.

Despite his misgivings about how they looked at each other, Venturi shrugged and left the decision to them. He thought of Keri. Was she protecting Maheen? Would she ever look at him again with anything but contempt? He wished he'd known she was as badly scarred as that girl. The only difference was that her scars didn't show.

On the way to the airport, Micheline bought a hat and makeup to mask her bruises. She frequently examined her spectacular black eye in the car's mirror.

“If I'd put ice on it at the start, it wouldn't look this bad,” she said woefully.

“It's hardly noticeable,” Venturi lied. “This your first shiner?”

“Of course not.” She shrugged. “I think my first was when I was five and jumped out a window. I blackened both eyes waterskiing when I was eleven. I had another one when the boom knocked me off a sailboat. When I was sixteen, my horse stumbled during a jump and I fell over his head into a fence. That, of course, was all before I totaled my first Porsche.”

Danny listened, his expression lovesick.

She left a phone message at the shop that she had been called away due to a sudden family emergency.

“Lots of that going around lately,” Danny said.

He and Micheline flew together.

Venturi traveled solo on the same flight after tangling with airport security, who clearly considered him suspicious.

Eventually they arrived in Scotland and drove a rented car along narrow roads to the quaint coastal fishing village they sought.

“How do we find him?” Danny asked as they passed a stone windmill and rows of whitewashed cottages.

“We don't even know he's here. He's supposed to be, but who knows? We'll give it our best shot, then move on.”

“He who?” Micheline demanded.

“Nobody you know,” Danny said.

It was late afternoon. The boats had returned with their catch. A few fishermen nodded when they heard Andrew McCallum's name, but were less than forthcoming.

As Danny drove slowly along the windy docks, Venturi thought he saw a familiar face. “Wait! There! Hold on. Slow down.”

Out of the car before it came to a complete stop, he overtook a man walking along the side of the road.

“Andrew?” Close-up, he still wasn't sure.

“What the hell?” The grizzled, bearded fisherman glanced about to be sure no one was watching. “How do you happen to be in this part of the world?”

“Trying to find you, buddy. Warn you. Something's happened.”

The fisherman's expression turned grave.

Danny left Micheline standing near the car and joined them. He pumped Andrew's hand, then caught him in a bear hug.

“Never thought I'd see your faces again in this life,” the fisherman said.

“Why the hell don't you have a telephone?” Venturi demanded. “It would have saved us time and trouble.”

“Telephone?” Andrew looked startled, then offended. “Why would a simple fisherman without a family need a telephone? Who would I call? I don't know anybody. Remember? Every moron on the street is using a cell phone, even here. They only lead to trouble.

“I said I wanted a simple life. Uncomplicated. Battling the elements. The sea. The camaraderie of teamwork. Things that mean something. That's what I found here. Only one comfort missing.” He sneaked a glance at Micheline, inhaling the salt breeze, looking out over the North Sea.

“Now, there's a very attractive woman. The black eye is exciting. Enhances her appeal. Works for me. One of you two boys into rough sex?” His eyes sparked and lit up. “Or is it both of you?”

He grinned slyly at Venturi. “How's Vicki and the redheaded doctor?”

“They send their regards,” he lied, aware that he was lying a lot lately. “We needed to be sure you're all right.”

“Couldn't be better.”

They filled him in on what had happened.

“You should get lost for a while until we straighten it all out,” Venturi concluded.

He nodded. “I'm about to do that. I'm off in a few hours for three weeks of fishing up toward Iceland. We stay at sea until early next month.”

“Check before you sail that no new strangers have joined the crew, especially Russians.”

“I'm the new man on board. The rest grew up here.”

“How do we contact you if we need to?”

He scribbled the name and number of the boat's owner.

“Have you seen any unfamiliar faces, maybe Russian, asking questions?”

He shook his head.

“Didn't want to alarm you but we had to give you a heads-up. Be careful,” Venturi said. “Sorry to intrude.”

“No intrusion. It gives me a chance to thank you. Again. Occasionally I see a newspaper. But not too often. Don't want it to become a habit.” His blue eyes crinkled in a face already weathered by cold sea winds and salt air. “Errol Flagg became a legend in his own time. That's the way to leave the world. Still young and strong. You're never a has-been. They never see you grow old. But they don't ever forget you. I must say, I've become a fan of the man, the myth, and the legend myself. Good-bye.” He smiled again, flashed an approving glance at Micheline and winked at her, then turned and walked away. He did not look back.

“Who was he?” Micheline asked, when they rejoined her. “How strange. I'm sure I don't know him but somehow I think I did. I think I knew him.”

“You never met him,” Danny said. “He's nobody.”

“That's right,” Venturi added. “Most of the fishermen who grew up here are related and look alike.”

Inside the car, a cell phone rang. Sergey's phone.