McKuen’s Revenge (4 page)

5

“Down, Duke!” Duke sat, then lay on his back, tail wagging, waiting for a belly-scratch and a word of approval.

BeBe Dias grinned. She squatted as best she could in her tight skirt. The big Lab’s tail whacked a chair leg as he anticipated praise from his mistress. She gave him a healthy rub and scratch with her nails, a “Good boy,” and stood. He flipped on his side and scrambled to his feet, then raced to the kitchen, chomped a tennis ball and dropped it in front of her. She put up her hand.

“Wait Duke, gotta wait ‘til I change.” He huffed with anticipation as he followed her to the bedroom.

She slipped into grubbies, looked through the mail and checked her messages. Three sales calls, two hang-ups and a voicemail from her twin sister, CeCe.

“Need a favor. Call my office.” BeBe rolled her eyes. When did Cee call her that she didn’t need a favor? And her hints about the IRS?

She took her impatient friend outside and warmed up with an easy toss at the back wall. A block from Whittier Boulevard in Montebello, she rented the neat little bungalow with its neat little lawn from her aunt for a song—a family discount.

Everything changed the summer before senior year. Papa hired CeCe and BeBe went to basketball camp. She smiled. Six feet one at seventeen years old, she’d dominated most sports.

She threw the ball harder. It hit shy of the wall and bounced high. Duke caught air and snagged it.

“Whoa! Good catch, buddy!”

She grinned again. An image of Cee and her, sixteen, strutting down the sidewalk, tank tops and short shorts, six feet five on platforms, too much makeup; Latina, with blond-streaked hair from their Swedish grandmother, full lips, high cheekbones and slender legs from their father’s side.

Traffic stopped, boys hanging out of cars, catcalling, whistling, hooting their names.
“Bonita Bella! Carmelita Clarinda!”
Like they were rock stars or something.

She blazed a fastball at a strike zone she’d chalked on the wall. Low and away. Try and hit that.

Her face clouded. Shrewdly judging the girls’ personalities, their father had groomed CeCe to run the family business. They were developing a bond she could never have. Back then it was heartbreak, her other half being taken away, but she talked it over with Mama and set her sights on law school.

The ball got past Duke and he almost fell down, scrambling. She chuckled and slung a lazy, looping curveball. Oops, if the batter was right-handed, woulda beaned him.

Then Papa died and Cee took over. She didn’t want to think about the rest. No home for darkness in her heart. More fun to remember family jibes about their height, and teenage boys.

She tried a screwball. It got away, Duke tore ass across the yard and almost slammed into a tree. Fifty tosses later she told him to do his business and went back in the house.

One thing was certain. Whatever happened, wherever life took them, she loved Cee.

_____

CeCe Dias adjusted her headset. She lifted a handful of wavy, golden tresses with her thumb, smoothed them back over the earpiece and tapped the blinking button for line two. Her voice was honeyed and warm.

“Vincente, old friend.”

“Carmelita,
mi querida
.”

“Here’s what we should do,
tío
. You make the final decision ‘cause you’re there, but if possible, let’s shoot for August.”

“Then August it will be.” CeCe paced, gazing down Wilshire Boulevard’s Miracle Mile district, traffic snarled as far as she could see.

“It would be best but it’s your decision,” she said. He began a lengthy response. She cut in.

“Just tell me if you need anything. We still have about four hundred thousand in the budget.” At the desk, she lifted a tiny Lenox cup and took a sip.

“This is good,” Vincente said. “My numbers match. Just to make sure, my share—”

“Of course. Your bonus is half of the remaining budget as we agreed. But do not skimp on nutrients, this crop has to be primo.”

“It will be so.”

She smiled sweetly. “
Gracias, amigo
.” She tapped the line off, removed the headset and slipped it into the charging holster.

CeCe closed her eyes, thankful for her father’s vision. Under cover of a licensed Colorado marijuana growing operation, Vincente was cultivating a richer crop, coca.

He was convinced that this year the ranch would yield a stock rivaling the finest Bolivian, Peruvian or Colombian product. Becoming a source instead of a distributor would be highly profitable and cut down on risk. She looked at a dark-haired man.

“Anything from the IRS attorney?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, just you,” he said. She stood tall at the penthouse window, commanding herself to be calm. Her mind followed her gaze over rooftops.

In a few short years, she’d built an empire. When her father and four other men—The Five—were assassinated, she seized power. Hesitation meant death. Their rivals would have wiped out the cartel had someone not taken control.

“Tomorrow, Ernie.”

“You sure?”

“Seven a.m., but yeah. Goin’ to
mamacita’s
, then back here. It’s all crap I gotta do, we’re done. Seven, OK?”

“You got it, Ceece.” His eyes lingered but she ignored him.

Business first, then family, then fun, in that order. It took a guy at least six four to handle her, anyway. Ernie Soto shut down his computer and left.

CeCe scrolled through messages. Jen, call her on the way to Mama’s. Who’s this? A Pasadena exchange, that IRS lawyer, Shapiro, again? She grabbed her briefcase and phone, punched the security code and slammed the door, late as usual and Mama would love her anyway, as usual.

In her Land Rover she tapped Recent Calls, ignoring the attorney. Touch base with Jen, call him later. She pressed a headset and picked up a disposable cell phone.

“Hi, babe.”

“You’re such a sultry bitch.” She smiled at Jen’s reply. The girl loved her, for sure.

“Heard you’re investigating something,” CeCe said.

“Checking up on me?”

“You know the game.”

“I’m nervous, Ceece.”

“It’s OK, nothing’s gonna go wrong. You’re the smart one, you’ll do fine.”

“No you, well maybe a little,” Jen said, a cat being stroked. “I’m writing up the murder.”

“Good, we gotta talk about the next one.”

“Ceece, it’s too soon!”

“Listen baby, he used to be a big-time dealer. Nobody’s gonna miss him, the cops won’t care.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me, honey. Look, I’m almost to Mama’s. It’s just you writing the reports?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“Do what you can. Long as McKuen and Reneaux are nervous about cops, they won’t be thinking about anything else. Gotta go, kisses.” She made a smooching sound, gave Jen a second to reply and ended the call.

Two years of planning and still on track. The subjects appeared to suspect nothing. Six months of surveillance, and their movements were still routine. She licked her lips. Just a couple more weeks, finesse the timing. It’ll come together.

_____

Mama loved it when the girls were both there for dinner. It was nice enough for BeBe until CeCe cornered her. Eyes full of sisterly love, Cee asked if they could talk privately.

BeBe’s jaw tightened. The voicemail. Cee wanted something. They climbed the stairs.

“Sorry I didn’t call you back the other day, Cee.”

“It’s OK.” They reached their old bedroom. “In person is better.” CeCe closed the door.

“I love you, Bee.” She put her arm through BeBe’s and nuzzled her cheek. Cherishing it, BeBe couldn’t pull away.

“I love you too, Cee, but you want something.” CeCe let her arm fall and moved to the window. She looked toward the cemetery, then at BeBe.

“It’s no big deal,” she said. “If you can help, great.” BeBe sat on the bed. She tried on a hopeful expression, a half-smile.

“I know you’re with LA County,” CeCe said. “You don’t have Federal connections, but maybe you know somebody.”

She pulled one side of her mouth down. “Maybe you know a guy who knows a guy, huh?”

BeBe couldn’t help it. She cracked a grin. “You’re talking about the IRS, right?”

CeCe sighed. “Yes, our lovely Internal Revenue Service.”

She grinned back, and twirled a pirouette, but the room was too small for the big woman’s ballet maneuver. She touched the ceiling for balance, and fell on the bed next to BeBe, laughing. Then she pushed herself up, stepped back to the window and struck a dramatic pose, arms folded, legs apart.

BeBe giggled. She loved her sister but hated her dilemma. How did it happen? She was only twenty-five, a young lawyer. Her twin, her alter ego, was twice as mature. No, fifty times.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, it’s all I can do, Cee.” CeCe studied herself in the mirror, smoothed her hair then turned back.

“That’s all I want, Bee.” She held out her arms and they embraced.

They went downstairs and helped Mama. Cousins expected any minute, the house was enveloped with the smell of
ceviche
,
chile rellenos
and peach pie. BeBe cracked a window in back and one in front for a cross draft, the air warm, aromas tantalizing and love palpable. She wondered how she could reconcile her feelings with her duty.

Cee and she had a bond only twins knew. Their hearts may as well have been one, sharing tissue, muscle and blood.

The law was the highest order, to serve an honor. She hoped she never had to choose between them.

_____

Hair damp from a shower, CeCe was in the office at six a.m. She listened to a cryptic voicemail from Vincente. Would she please call him?

“
Mi amigo viejo
, how are you?” she said.

“Well, thank you, but we have a problem.”

“Really? Please explain.”

“There is a conflict over land. A corporation wants to start cultivating acreage adjoining ours. Several acres are shared between the deed for its land and ours.”

She suppressed her anger, reminding herself that good listening is eighty percent of communication.

“Last night these thugs threatened my men,” he said. “They showed some guns and said it is their land.”

The prudent approach would be to buy them out. Except she didn’t want to pay for the land twice.

“Have they threatened legal action as well?” she said.

“
Sí
, they say they will sue for it.”

“But they do not know of the coca, right?”

“No no,
jefe
. The land in dispute is the abutment zone, the buffer. I am calling you now, before this threatens our operation.”

“Why do you say they are thugs?”

“My sources tell me the main investors are from Chicago.”

“You mean the old mafia?”

“
Sí
,
la mafia
.”

Her father had said they were all legitimate now. They owned interests controlling gambling, utilities and sports teams. Some went into entertainment and were movie producers. The threat wasn’t that surprising, there was a lot of money in marijuana. No longer the majority of her operation, it was still a core asset.

It was important to make sure they didn’t get wind of the coca. If that happened, conflict might escalate.

CeCe had no fear of combat—she had killed thirteen men in three bloody days—but it was wasteful and very, very expensive in human capital. Minds were the most valuable asset of all.

“I will advise Tyler of this,” she said. “You remember him?”

“Julio’s son. He is forceful,
uno hombre cruel
.”

“Yes yes, but he can be diplomatic and discreet. He is a professional, he will only assess things.”

“If it is your wish, Carmelita. You are chief of chiefs.”

“Very good. Be safe,
amigo
, go with God.” She hung up.

Time to contact Pete Shapiro, the IRS attorney. Maybe he could help with the land deal. She tapped his number.

“It’s CeCe, sorry I didn’t get back to you.” She listened patiently. Lawyers like to hear themselves talk. She yawned.

“CeCe look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I can’t continue,” he said. “It compromises me too much.”

What’s this?

“Pete, could you be a little clearer?”

“I’m saying I’m done, I’ve made a decision.”

Not good. He knew too much.

“Thank you, Pete, I appreciate your candor. Is there any way I can change your mind? Maybe adjust our terms?”

“No, I’m sorry, I’ve decided.”

Shapiro would be no help. Next!

“Always a pleasure, Pete. Please let me know if things change.” She pretended to have a thought. “Say, we should get together for a cocktail sometime.”