No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (54 page)

Fighting through the haze of smoke pouring from the hood, I glimpsed a man with overly gelled hair push open the driver’s side door of his crumpled Lincoln. Once outside, he walked behind it, and calmly past Jon. Just stepped right over him, not even caring if he was living or breathing. This man had just T-boned us. He should be groggy or as motionless as me. Maybe I’d laid here longer than I thought I had. Wearing expensive wingtip shoes, he squatted down and pushed my hair off my head with a hand so mottled it appeared he’d stuck it in a burning blast furnace. His face was hard when his lips moved, but as much as I tried, I couldn’t make out his words past the thick smell of cigar breath. My brain snapped to attention.
Weasel Bonnano
, I thought, and I saw the message in his eyes.

“Tell Lincoln, Turkey’s coming.”

BONUS CHAPTER POINT OF VIEW

(ONLY THE BRAVE SHOULD ENTER)

THE GRIZZLY BEAR

The Grizzly Bear is huge and wild

He has devoured the infant child

The infant child is not aware

He has been eaten by the bear

—A.E. Housman,
(English scholar and poet 1859-1936)

Monday night

I
SLAMMED THE DOOR ON MY
Aston Martin and took the elevator to the penthouse. I wriggled my jaw around, surprised that it still ached after being slugged four days ago.
That jackass hit me
, I remembered. Lincoln’s cocky ass son hauled off and jacked me in the jaw when I asked about Legs.
I’m sorry, it’s Darcy,
I chuckled to myself. Darcy Walker. What in God’s name was that creation that we called a female? Life didn’t dole out many like her, but when it did, she unarguably was the type you didn’t forget.

None of this would’ve even happened if not for those idiots, Turkey Cardoza and Bats Giuseppe. I owed them a favor, and in my line of business, favors aren’t repaid in cash. Favors are repaid with favors. And if I’d known that Lincoln Taylor had been the target, well, let’s just say I would’ve done that one for free. What an arrogant, sonovagun. His son? A million times worse.

Lincoln, I must admit, I’d never heard of until Bats called with the story. I thought I was familiar with every detective that was somebody in all the big markets. That fact alone told me Lincoln might be the shrewdest badge alive.

Evidently, Lincoln had been receiving information from an informant, and when Turkey not only threatened Lincoln but her, it became the biggest pissing match imaginable. Turkey, being the pompous jerk that he is, wanted to strike first. Turkey’s undeniable ego would always be his downfall. Yes, he managed to envoy for two competing families, but I had it under good authority his days were numbered when they got a clean shot. Plus, it was my experience with a man like Lincoln that you had to allow them to think they were “winning” for a while.

Their egos weren’t any different from ours.

My radar told me something bad was coming. Bats had acted sketchy since he’d arrived, which was abnormal for his cold-as-ice nature. I gave him a little job to do in my building, just to keep tabs on him, but my hackles were up wondering what that SOB was up to. Imagine my surprise when I found out at Cowboys that he’d been working a deal of his own with Lincoln.
Good luck
, I laughed to myself.
Lincoln better fly you to the moon to keep you away from Turkey
.

I’d just endured another rather boring round of questioning with Detective Monroe Battle and knew enough to act mildly interested at the appropriate moments. I didn’t give a damn what was going on in Battle’s world. It was mine that concerned me. Battle basically asked the same questions again, all in different ways, hoping to trip me up. I sighed, at his tactics. I’d been doing this too long to be ensnared in a verbal trap, and I went back for the second time—sans a lawyer—to specifically find out what I could about the Taylor family. Battle asked me again if I was in business with someone named Jester, and once again, I replied no. But the first time he asked—that evening at Cowboys when they apprehended Eleanor Talley—was when it struck me that little Miss Darcy Walker harbored quite a few secrets herself.

That was the precise moment I’d pieced it together. Battle let it slip in the interview (or maybe he’d planted it) that he’d been at the Taylors’ house in Serendipity a week or so earlier. I knew the location well. I’d dropped Willow off before, but more recently when I’d followed the mysterious Darcy Walker home—after she’d creatively left my building. I thought the association seemed odd and planned to ask Willow for clarification, but finding Willow was like trying to find that proverbial needle in a haystack. She’d eventually surface, but it would take some extreme manpower and patience to get the job done.

Willow, for some reason, had never appealed to me as anyone other than a friend I could take care of.
Me
, I laughed to myself. Walter Ivanhoe actually had a soft spot for someone that might be more lost than he was. And Willow, I frowned, might be more lost than anyone I’d ever met.

Darcy, on the other hand, she may think she’s lost, but the answer was far from it. I got the feeling she was a survivor—and had perhaps survived some horrific childhood trauma—to be able to stare death in the face and still fight.

That’s why I gifted her with new shoes—shoes that it took forever and a day to replicate from memory—and had them delivered the morning after I’d concluded she was Jester. I would’ve given my right arm to see the look on Lincoln’s face when he’d discovered they were from me.

If she even told him.

Unfortunately, playing “cab” to Willow wasn’t my only occasion to be on Serendipity Drive. Gertrude Burr lived across from Willow, and the first time I visited her home was when Marco, a long time employee of mine, wound up floating like a piece of dead driftwood in her pool. My enemies were sending me a message that Gertrude was next. I sighed heavily. Overall, I was ecstatic Gertrude was out of my life, but on nights like tonight, I wished I would’ve delayed the breakup.

Even amidst all of Gertrude’s drama—and believe me, she wrote the book—I’d never fancied being alone. But, if anything, I’m happy that chapter with Howie Cantrell was closed. Even though Gertrude and I had severed ties, it didn’t sit well with me to leave her fighting something blind. Battle let it slip (or once again, maybe he’d planted it) that Howie had been working with the Feds on the embezzlement issues at the Bank of America surrounding Eleanor Talley. The Trust for Cisco Medina evidently was only the tip of the iceberg.

Howie’s front had included gambling with her, and one evening Eleanor confessed she’d been blackmailing Lola and had her son. When Howie confronted her that she’d been stealing from Gertrude, all we can surmise is that his luck ran out. Evidently, Eleanor then found it sickly amusing to send his head back to the only woman he’d ever loved.

And I thought I was crazy.

Problem was, she sent Elmer Herschel as the deliveryman. Somehow, he’d wormed his pathetically, disgusting body through Serendipity Security but chickened out at the last minute and dumped the remains at the first site he’d found. Two problems there: Serendipity Security needed a Quality Control check, and Elmer Herschel was too much of a schizophrenic mess to pull anything off without residual chaos.

Throwing my keys on the counter, I popped open the Northland refrigerator and snagged a carton of milk and drank it down. With one hip up against the wall, I glanced around the place and wondered why I hadn’t even turned on the lights. I was standing in the dark staring into the shadows of the best amenities money could buy: six thousand square feet, spacious rooftop terrace, and a luxurious living space that had five bedrooms and 4.5 baths. Perhaps, if I turned on the lights, I’d see how all of this shit meant nothing if you were alone. I crumpled the carton in frustration and tossed it in the sink as I grabbed the portable telephone to call Edmond.

Edmond picked up on the second ring. “Evening, Boss.”

I rapped my fingers on the counter, suddenly wrought with nervous energy. “Get me everything you can on Lincoln Taylor. He’s LA vice. I want to know his wife, parents, siblings, children, likes, and dislikes. I want to know how in the world he’s remained underground.”

Edmond jotted down the particulars and started rehashing a laundry list of today’s deals-gone-wrong. Pinching the space between my nose, the boredom felt debilitating. I needed a diversion, one that would finally stick. My cell phone vibrated, and I recognized Iggy’s Cincinnati prefix. Icy dread worked its way up my legs and cinched my heart like a vice. Monday evenings weren’t our scheduled time to talk, and a deal had either gone way south or he had information on...

“I’ll call you back Edmond,” I said disconnecting. “What?” I barked, hitting the “talk” button.

“We’re in trouble,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Bonnano was in town to send Lincoln Taylor a message.”

“Bonnano from LA?” Of course, it was Bonnano from Los Angeles, but for some reason, I wanted things spelled out definitively.

“Yeah,” Iggy muttered, “and you know how Bonnano always screws things up. Well, he took out four people.”

My voice went robotic. If I even remotely thought that today was bad, this just shot the rest of my life into the oh-shit zone. Lincoln wasn’t someone to be messed with; the main reason I wanted to be one step ahead. He reminded me of my father, and my father and I never saw eye-to-eye on anything except that we despised the other. “Lincoln’s son?” I clarified, feeling a knot growing in my stomach.

Iggy blew out a breath of scared-as-hell air. “Grandson.”

Silence. Both of us standing there considering the repercussions. “You’re sure?” I murmured even more robotic.

Iggy sounded like he’d been beaten. “Boss, don’t you think I know what dead looks like?”

“Lincoln’s grandson is dead?” I verified.

“Oh, God, I don’t know,” he said frustrated. “If he’s not dead, then he’s going to wish he were. There was too much blood, and they needed three ambulances to treat everybody. It was four teenagers, boss. I just know he was a big kid.”

That could mean anything to Iggy. He was only of medium height and build, but by God, this was not the time for the man to be vague. If true, Lincoln would kill somebody, and I’d lay money he operated his life in the same fashion that I did. He’d shakedown everyone that hated him until someone was weak enough to squeal. Then he’d send his own brand of payback.

I rubbed my aching forehead. “Tell me about the other kids.”

“Two other teenaged boys, one blonde-headed girl lying on the pavement. Boss, it was horrible. We do some crazy stuff, but we don’t mess with kids.”

“Blonde-headed?” I echoed.

“Yeah, from what I could tell she was a beauty.”

My breath caught in my chest as I took my hand and swiped it across the kitchen counter. Bills, an empty glass tumbler, and my car keys took flight and pinged on the travertine tile.
Calm down, Grizzly
, I told myself. Nothing’s ever accomplished when you lose your temper. That’s how you’ve stayed alive this long, playing the games that you do. First thing was to find out who Cardoza was working for. Was Cardoza personally behind this, or did the Bonnano family have their own axe to grind? But I swear, if they’ve killed Jester, I’ll rip them all apart with my own bare hands.

I heard the familiar hum then ding of the elevator door opening, and the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. No one visited me without an invitation, and before I could locate my gun, the front door splintered with a beastly force, and two men stood in the middle of my Great Room. The larger one immediately launched at my head, thundering, “You mother—”

Fists struck so hard and fast I couldn’t even defend myself. I was thrown back onto the edge of the bar, my head striking the granite, causing it to instantly split open. Before I could take a breath, I was body-slammed to the floor where I was met with another series of punches like none I’d ever experienced. I thought my father hit hard—this felt like my father times a million and somebody on frigging bath salts.

Abruptly my assailant stopped and laughed, towering over me like the Grim Reaper. “Not fair enough for you?” he laughed evilly. “Then have at it, Walter. Come and get me.”

I knew that voice, and by God, he didn’t have to ask twice.

I lunged at him like a rattlesnake that had been pissed off. I got in four quick blows, but he absorbed them all, then turned the tables and started striking me like a nail gun on high.

He bellowed, “Could’ve been…”
pound-pound-pound
. “Better be…”
punch-punch-punch
.

My nose fractured, and my lips instantly split spilling blood into my mouth. Raising a hand to shield my face, through swollen eyes, the last memory I had was an angry left fist sending me to lights-out.

I wakened with a slap.

Pain seared the backs of my eyeballs as I attempted to focus. I shook my head twice when realization slowly dawned on me what had just happened. I’d been beaten, but I was still in my penthouse, now sitting in one of my own chairs that overlooked the terrace. A large man stood out there with his back to me, his arms crossed over his chest. In dark clothing, it was impossible to make out his features, but my body instantly tensed, alerting me that he’d been the attacker. Many nights I’d stood in his exact location and thought,
This is all mine
. His stance said the keys to the kingdom had been transferred.

He was mine.

When I made one slow movement to stand, I was met with another heavy slap out of nowhere, and the laser-beam stare of a redheaded male.

“Hawareya, Grizzly?” he laughed humorlessly. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Patrick O’Leary. The man who just saved your bollix from Lincoln Taylor. You now work for me.”

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you for reading
No Brainer
, and I hope you will follow Darcy in her next adventure,
100 Proof Stud
, due in the fall of 2013!