Mob Boss Eleven- The Wrong One (The Mob Boss Series Book 11) (22 page)

Reno
quickly phoned his security chief, asked him to find out who owned the Bed and
Breakfast across the street from the property he was planning to purchase in
Georgia.

“I’m
on it, boss,” his chief said, and Reno ended the call.
 
Then he looked at Tommy and Sal.

“I
want to be sure first,” he said.

“Another
long shot like Faye Greenwood?” Sal asked doubtfully.

“Depends,”
Reno said.

“What
the fuck you mean it depends?” Sal asked angrily.
 
“Is it a long shot or not, Reno?
 
We can’t keep going on these wild goose
chases like this.
 
I feel like I’m
chasing my tail!”

Reno
pulled up the photo in question again, and handed his phone to Tommy.
 
Sal looked over Tommy’s shoulder as they
reviewed the photo.
 
All they saw was a
shot of Reno standing in the middle of the property in Georgia he planned to
purchase.
 
And the busy street behind
him.
 
They looked at Reno.

“We
don’t get it,” Tommy said.

“It’s
a picture of you standing in the middle of a pile of dirt,” Sal said.
 
“So what?”

“Look
behind me,” Reno said, and Tommy and Sal looked again at the photo.
 
“See that guy?” Reno asked.

“What
guy?” Sal asked, and then he squinted and saw him on the photo.
 
Tommy did too.
 
The guy was across the street, at the Bed and
Breakfast, standing in the doorway.

“Wait
a minute,” Sal said, looking closer.
 
“Is
that . . . I’ll be
got
damn!
 
Is that Joe motherfucking Nathan?”

“That’s
him,” Tommy said, nodding his head.
 
“That’s him.”

Then
Reno’s cell phone rang.
 
He took it from
Tommy and answered it.
 
Tommy and Sal
waited.
 
When Reno ended the call, they
were staring at him.

“The
owners of that B & B across the street from the future site of the PaLargio
South are Joseph and Sylvia Nathan.”
 
Reno looked at them.
 
“Joe
Nathan,” he said.
 
“The night I saw Faye
again, Trina had said that the B & B was going to be my competition.
 
But I didn’t give it a second thought.
 
I had my sights on what I thought were my
real competitors for that middle class market: Courtyard Marriott and Hilton
Garden Inn.”

“So
he was afraid that you would run him out of business?”
 

“Maybe.
 
We’ll just have to see.”

“We’ll
see?
 
What does that mean?”

“We’re
going back to Vegas.
 
By way of Georgia.”

Sal
shook his head.
 
“Georgia,” he said.
 
“I can hardly wait.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The
rental car stopped in front of the Hickok Road Bed and Breakfast in Valdosta, Georgia.
 
Sal, the driver, looked across the street at
the empty field.
 
Future Site of The PaLargio South
was written on a freestanding
billboard.
 
Then he looked at the B &
B.
 
He shook his head.
 
“We’re dealing with fools,” he said.

Reno,
in the backseat, and Tommy, on the passenger seat, looked at him.
 
“What do you mean?” Tommy asked.

“Look
at this rathole.
 
How could they ever
think they could compete against a high-class brand like the PaLargio?
 
Only a fool would think that.”

“A
fool,” Reno said, “or a psychopath.
 
My
money’s on the psychopath.
 
So stay on
your guard.”

They
all got out of the rental car in their business suits and business shoes,
looking all business as they walked across the graveled parking lot, and then
entered the front door.

The
stench, of what smelled like wet carpet and dog odor, met their nostrils as
soon as they entered.
 
The walls were
dingy.
 
The front desk counter had
peeling paint.
 
It was a dump
 
in the first degree.
 

Sal
and Reno looked at each other.
 
“Psychopath my ass,” Sal said.
 
“My money’s still on fool.”

The
lady behind the counter, a silver haired old lady with a big smile, stared at
them as they approached.
 
Reno and Sal
placed Tommy in front.
 
He knew how to
finesse it.
 
He knew how to get good
intel without offending old ladies and children.
  
Reno and Sal did not.

“Welcome
to the Hickok,” the woman said as the men approached.
 
“Do you have a reservation, sirs?”

“No,
ma’am,” Tommy said with a smile of his own.
 
“We’re actually looking for someone.
 
We’re looking for a Miss Sylvia Nathan.”

“Oh,”
the older woman said, surprised.
 
“Why
that would be me, young man.
 
How may I
help you?”

Reno
moved up beside Tommy.
 
Sal started
looking around in case she was lying.
 
“You’re Sylvia Nathan?” Reno asked her.

“That
is correct.
 
May I help you?”

Reno
had expected Sylvia Nathan to be the wife, and possible accomplice.
 
“So you’re Joe Nathan’s . .
 
. what’s it?
 
His mother?”

“That
is also correct.”
 
Then she exhaled.
 
“Oh, dear.
 
What has he done now?”

Reno
and Tommy glanced at each other.
 
“What
do you mean?” Tommy asked.

“Well
dressed gentlemen like yourselves would not be interested in finding my son
unless my son owe you money, fooled around with your wives, or did something
else equally disgusting.”

Tommy
smiled.
 
“You may have a point.
 
Do you know where he is?”

“I
haven’t heard from that boy since he left here nearly three weeks ago.”

“He’s
a truck driver, right?”

“Yes.
 
A truck driver with big dreams.
 
He plans to retire from the road and turn
this place into a truck stop hotel and café.
 
That’s why, if I had to guess, I’m guessing he owes you money.”

“He’s
a dreamer, is he?” Tommy asked.

“A
delusional dreamer,” she said.
 
“He gets
ahead of his station.
 
He doesn’t want to
be a trucker for the rest
 
of his life.
 
It’s a comfortable living, isn’t
 
it?
 
But he doesn’t want that.
 
He
wants to be a millionaire.
 
And only this
place, he believes, can make him rich.”

“By
turning it into a truck stop hotel and café?” Tommy asked.

“Right,”
Sylvia said.
 
“And it wasn’t just a pipedream.
 
He was on his way to getting approved for a
bank loan and everything.”

“Oh,
yeah?” Reno asked.
 
“What changed?”

“The
PaLargio South,” she said and all three men looked at her.
 
“Once the bank found out that the PaLargio
was coming to town, and it was going to be located right across the street from
us, they pulled the loan.
 
The PaLargio
was out death nail, they told my son.”

Reno
exhaled.
 
Now he understood.
 
“So where is he now?” Sal asked.
 
He knew where.
 
He wanted to see if she knew where.

“Last
I heard from him he said he was heading to Seattle for some job there.
 
He said he was going to work for some
trucking company for the time being.
 
Until he could regroup, I guess, and reconfigure his dream.
 
I guess that’s why he wanted to go so far
away.”

“You
didn’t ask him why?” Tommy asked her.

“I
asked him, but he told me to mind my own business.
 
Same thing he always says.”

“So
you don’t know where he is right now?” Reno asked.

“I
haven’t a clue,” she said.
 

Good,
Reno thought.
 
That meant his men had
disposed of the body exactly right.
 
He’d
be discovered, they weren’t completely heartless, but they didn’t want the
bodies to pile up and the police to start asking too many questions before
their mission was accomplished.
 
And
until they caught those two shooters, in Reno’s eyes they hadn’t accomplished a
damn thing.

He
pulled out two photographs of the two shooters and handed both pictures to
Sylvia.
 
“Do you know these guys?” he
asked her.
 
“We think they’re friends of
Joe’s.”

The
pictures were cropped to avoid showing the guns the two men were firing, but
Sylvia didn’t notice any cropping.
 
“This
one I don’t know,” she said, handing back one of the photos.
 
“But this one I do indeed know.”

Sal
stood erect.
 
Reno and Tommy looked at
each other.
 
It was music to their
ears.
 
“Who is he?” Reno asked.

“His
name is Owen,” Sylvia said.
 
“I’m afraid
I don’t know his last name, but he’s Joe’s ex-wife’s cousin.
 
He used to be a police officer here in town
before they kicked him off the force.
 
Now he runs that Laundromat over on Lowly Street.
 
And you’re right, he and Joe are
friendly.
 
They were really close once
upon a time.
 
They were always getting
into some kind of unsavory dealings together.”

Reno
could have kissed that old lady. Finally they were taking this baby home.

Reno
stepped out of the rental car and headed inside the Laundromat.
 
Sal stepped out and headed for the back of
the building, while Tommy got out and followed Reno.
 
They could see through the blinds that the
only person in the facility was sweeping up in the far back.
 
And they recognized him.
 
Reno’s heart began to race with anticipation
when he saw the shooter’s face as they entered the Laundromat.

Tommy
began to search out any cameras so that he could disable them and remove any
film, while Reno headed for Owen.
 

“We’re
closing,” Owen said.
  
“You’re have to
come back tomorrow morning.”

When
he looked up from his sweeping, he saw Reno walking fast toward him, with his
gun drawn and pointing at him.
 
He
dropped his broom and held up his hand.

“We
don’t keep any money onsite, sir.
 
Not a
dime.
 
The owner already did his
pick-up.
 
You’re robbing the wrong
place.”

“Does
it look like I need to rob this shithole?” Reno asked him.
 
“Or does it look more likely that I’m here to
rob you?”

“Who
are you?”

“He
didn’t tell you?
 
He didn’t school you on
who it was you decided to execute?”

Reno
stood toe to toe with him.
 
Owen saw
Tommy up front, knocking down the camera.
 
Tommy then headed outside, to take care of the camera out there and any
in the vicinity.
 
But Owen’s eyes didn’t
follow the man taking out any camera.
 
They stayed on the man with the gun.

“What
do you want?” Owen asked him.

“Answer
my question.
 
You don’t know who I
am?
 
Joe didn’t tell you who it was you
decided to execute?”

“You’re
her husband?” Owen asked.

“That’s
right, Owen,” Reno said, glad to see this man wasn’t going to try and bullshit
him.
 
“I’m her husband.
 
I’m that guy.
 
You tried to rob her of her life.
 
Now I’ve got to rob you of yours.”

Reno
slammed him repeatedly across the face with the butt of his gun, opening a
gash, and causing Owen to fall to his knees, yelping in pain.
 

Reno
knelt down to him.
 
“But you didn’t do
that to my wife, did you?
 
You didn’t hit
her.
 
You didn’t knock her down. You went
in for the kill.
 
You showed no mercy and
tried to murder her on the spot.”

But
Owen was shaking his head.
 
“I don’t know
what you’re talking about,” he said, as he stared at the barrel of Reno’s
gun.
 
“It’s Joe Nathan you want.”

Reno
hesitated.
 
He gave in this easily?
 
What a rat, he thought.
 

“Joe
Nathan?” Reno asked.

“He’s
the one behind everything.
 
He’s the one
you want.
 
I was just . . . I was just
doing a job.”

Reno’s
jaw tightened at the thought of this prick referring to shooting Trina as just
doing a job.
 
“Doing a job.
 
That’s what it was, officer?
 
You used to be a cop, right?
 
You used to be a law enforcement
officer?
 
Now you’re a killer.
 
A cop turned killer.
 
And you’re trying to turn me into a cop
killer.
 
But I don’t like that title.”

Owen
saw hope.
 
He was in pain, but he was
grasping at hope.
 
“You don’t?”

“No.
 
I don’t like it.
 
So here’s what I’ll do.
 
I’ll spare your life, Owen.”

More
hope.
 
“You will?”

“I
will.
 
Because you’re right.
 
I want Joe Nathan.
 
I want you to tell me everything, and I mean
everything you know about why Joe wanted you and what’s his name . . .”

Reno
waited.
 
He was playing Owen like a
fiddle, but Owen didn’t know it.

“What’s
his name?” Reno asked again.

“What’s
whose name?”

“The
other shooter,” Reno said.

“Oh!
 
Aaron Grudd,” Owen said.

Reno’s
eyes became hooded with lust.
 
Bloodlust.
 
This was the fucker
who tried to kill his wife, and he just named the other fucker.
 
“Where’s Aaron?”

“What
do you mean?”

“What
the fuck do you think I mean, Owen?
 
Where is he?”

“I
don’t know where he is!
 
He’s home, I
guess.”

“Where’s
home?
 
Here in Valdosta?”

“Tifton.”

Reno
frowned. “What the fuck is Tifton?”

“It’s
further up 75.
 
It’s a town.”

“Where
does he live in Tifton?”

“In a
trailer off Old Spice Road.
 
The only
trailer back there.”

By
giving up that intel, Owen had just signed his death warrant and didn’t even
know it.
 
“So tell me,” Reno said, “what
was Joe Nathan’s motive.
 
And if you lie
to me you will not be spared.”