SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (14 page)

“Please
call me Carlos. After all, we will be sending quite a bit of time together. May I call you Bev?” He escorted us to a dark paneled office. The room stunk of hundred dollar Cuban cigars and cologne. I tried not to sneer.

She patted his arm.
“If you must.” I rolled my eyes in disgust. She was flirting with this jackass. She gave me a wink before continuing, “Jack spoke highly of you and your institution. He felt his investment was well protected.”

Carlos tugged at his handspun silk tie.
“Your husband was a very wise investor.” Code for your husband was a drug dealing dirt bag, smart enough to laundry the dough via Carlos’ bank.

Frankie shrugged. “In the end
money isn’t important. Jack learned that lesson before he passed.”

I
glared at her. “Keep to the fucking script,” I mouthed.

She
smiled and winked. “That’s why I’ve decided to donate the money to finding a cure.”

“I thought
Mr. Clark was shot.” His eyes widened in confusion.

“He was.
” She tilted her head and smiled vaguely in a perfect imitation of a dumb blonde. “I’m donating the money to finding a cure against gun violence.”

Carlos’
s smile was unsure. “I see. There are some papers you need to sign and I’ll need your passport.”

W
ithout hesitation she passed him the requested documents. “How long will all this take?” She glanced at her watch, gently tapping her foot.

“A
couple of hours at the most.” His hand brushed her arm. “You’re welcome to relax in my office while you wait. We could order in some lunch.”

What an asshole.
I had to give him credit though. He had damn good taste. Frankie looked good enough to eat, but in a don’t touch me way. “Ms. Clark has another appointment.” My tone was artic cold, meant to chill his budding interest. He looked down his nose at me, dismissing me like the hired help. Didn’t he realize I knew one hundred and seventy-two ways to kill a man with my bare hands? If he didn’t my smile made it clear. He flinched, and I felt better.

“
Perhaps another time.” Frankie crossed her legs. The soft sound of silk against skin broke the rising tension.

“Of course.”
Carlos opened her passport. His eyes stayed fixed on the document. Seconds ticked off the clock. My fingers itched as my hand slid into the pocket of my suit and I caressed the .50 caliber Desert Eagle hidden in its folds. Big, heavy gun. I hoped I wouldn’t need it, but I wasn’t about to take the chance.

A few seconds later Carlos smiled.
“The photograph doesn’t do you justice.”

“Why thank you.”
Frankie giggled like a schoolgirl. It made me want to shoot him anyway.

He
handed her some papers, explaining each page in mind numbing detail. I stifled a yawn and Frankie winked. Thirty minutes later I understood why he’d become a banker. It was the only way a guy that boring could get laid. Carlos wound down, gesturing to the stack of papers on his desk. In a bold, womanly script, Frankie signed each page, a perfect replication of Bev Clark’s arrogant signature. As she signed the last page Carlos’s phone rang. The blare caused her to jump and drop the pen. Guess she was nervous after all.

Carlos
picked up the phone. “I said hold my calls.” He listened for a few seconds. “Fine, put him through.” To us he said with a wave to the doors, “I’m sorry I have to take this.” Frankie rose from the chair, pulling at the hem of her skirt. We stepped out of his office, and he gently closed the door behind us.

“So what do you think?”
She stood inches from me. The strawberry scent of her shampoo made my stomach clench.

“
I think if he touches you again I’ll twist him into a pretzel.”

Frankie
chuckled. “I meant, how do you think it’s going?”

“Good, I guess.” I shrugged, comforted by the weight of the Desert Eagle. “I wish he’d just transfer the cash
so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Me too.”
She pointed to her feet and the six-inch pink sandals. “These shoes are killing me.” The ‘Bev’ wardrobe Neil picked ranged in color from pale pink to florescent pink. Even though our fake Bev looked amazing in it, I hated the color. Bet damn those shoes got me hot.

Carlos stuck his
head out of his office door. “Come back inside.”

Frankie resumed her seat and asked,
“When will the funds be transferred?”

His eyes shifted to the door and he lowered his voice.
“We’ve developed a slight problem. I’ll need to see your passport again.” He stabbed at finger in my direction. “Yours too.”

Inside the pocket of my jacket, I palmed the Desert Eagle. Our exit strategy was simple. Force Carlos to take us to the secured back exit and use his key code. We’d walk out the door and get as far from the bank as possible. Yeah, we’d be out the money, but at least we wouldn’t be spending the next lifetime in an island prison. Freedom meant more than cash. Frankie’s eyes shot to mine. She shook her head in a barely perceptible manner, and my hand relaxed on the gun. “What seems to be the trouble?” Her tone belayed impatience, and not a hint of fear.

Carlos gestured to the phone. “
I’ve received information about a possible fraud involving this account.”

“Information from where?” Someone narced us out and I wanted to know who
.

“An unidentified s
ource.” His eyes crawled around the room, avoiding my harsh stare. “A reliable unidentified source.”

The corners of Frankie’s mouth curved into a small oval of shock. “
I knew something like this would happen…,” she trailed off, twisting her fake wedding ring. “My husband was involved with some…let’s say undesirable individuals.” At Carlos’s uncertainty she pressed the advantage. “There was one man in particular…” She tapped her nails to the edge of her chin. “Oh, what was his name…Oscar. Oscar DeAngelo. I wouldn’t put this past him.” A visible shiver raced along her body, which gave him an excellent view of the pink lace trim of her bra. “You know, he’s wanted in the States for murder.”

“Oscar DeAngelo, you say?”

Leaning
lower, she displayed even more pink lace. “You know him?”

“Six foot. L
ate thirties with black hair? Has a scar on his chin?”

“Yes.”
She shuddered in manufactured fear.

Carlos swallowed hard.
“I believe he was here earlier this morning.”

Shit.
“What did he want?” I took two angry steps toward Carlos.

“He wanted to know when we were expecting you. Of course, we
couldn’t release that information.”

Liar. He
had sold us out. I could see it in his eyes. “Exactly what did you tell him?”

“Nothing.”
His eyes flickered to his desk. One of those heavy maple jobs that bankers and lawyers hid behind protected from the evils of everyday life. I pushed past him and ripped open the top drawer. “Hey, you can’t do that,” he cried, but didn’t try to stop me.

Inside
was a stack of hundred dollar bills with a slip of paper on top. The paper held a phone number and the name Oscar scrawled across it. Damn. “How do you think this will look to the cops?” I grinned and pocketed the paper, but left the cash. “Taking bribes is illegal, even here in paradise.”

Frankie frowned
, eyes growing cold. “I suggest you transfer my funds before I summon the authorities.”

Beads of sweat formed along Carlos’s hairline
. “There’s no need for the police. I’m sure we can work something out….”

I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing.

Heavily he sat down at his desk, and started typing. “Account number?”

Frankie rattled off an account number Andy had set up. From there the cash
winged its way to seven different institutions in seven different countries under seven different names, laundered so well that by the time it hit our account at First National Bank of New York it would squeak.

Carlos typed a few more numbers and hit enter. “
All twelve million minus a small transaction fee has been transferred.” Small fee, my ass. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars would be the bank’s cut. And people called me a thief.

“Thank you.” Frankie rose to her feet. “I suggest you be careful.
People who get involved with Oscar end up dead.” He paled as I ushered Frankie through the door.

I slipped on my sunglasses over my eyes as we hit the street and stole a glance around. Nothing seemed out of place, but I could feel Oscar’s evil presence. “Stay close” I grasped Frankie’s arm and headed to the Jeep.

“Do you think he’s watching?”

I nodded, glancing in the review mirror as I pulled into traffic. “I’m sure of it.”

“W
hy hasn’t he made a move? The money’s been transferred. He can’t touch it now.” She gripped the roll bar as I swerved around a Volkswagen bus. Smoke drifted from its half-cracked windows.

“I don’t know
and I’d rather not find out.” I swung back into the right lane, passing a slow moving truck. With one hand on the steer wheel I dialed my cell phone. “Mickey,” I said when he answered. “We got trouble.”

Five minutes later, we rolled up the hotel’s driveway. My eyes went to Frankie. “If anything happens I want you to jump on the next plane out.”

“I’m not going to leave you or Mickey.”

“Don’t fucking argue. Just do it.”
Pulling in the valet parking drive, I tossed the keys to Jesus, a valet. Frankie hopped from the Jeep as a taxi approached. I motioned for her to wait inside. “Sir?” Jesus called and I turned to face him. “What’s up?” I asked, noting the panic in his tone. He gestured to a black metal box behind the driver’s side rear tire. Duct tape and red and blue wires hung out of it. Fuck. Jesus backed away. I bent down for a closer look. Double fuck.

“
Did you get the cash?” Andy’s voice came from the other side of the Jeep. I raised a hand to stop him. “Yes, but we have a small snag.” I took out my pocketknife and flicked it open. Peeling back the thick coating of tape, I isolated the lead red wire. My knife sliced through the plastic coating like butter and I gently pulled the box from the undercarriage. “Fake,” I yelled. The ‘bomb’ was nothing more than a cheap steel box and electrical wiring.

Shit.
I stood quickly. “Frankie?”

No answer. I scanned the street.
A block away a yellow taxicab screeched around the coroner. “Frankie?” My heart thumped in my chest. She was gone. I jumped in the Jeep. “Give me the keys.” Jesus tossed them my way, and Andy launched himself in the passenger seat. As I put it into gear my cell phone rang. I flipped it open. “Speak.” The Jeep’s tires screamed in protest as I rounded the corner at forty miles per hour. There was no sign of the cab. Static crackled through the phone.

In a distant
voice, Frankie said, “So you must be Oscar.” She had activated the cell phone in her purse so we could track her. Smart girl. Relief warred with terror at her words. She was all right, for the moment. “It’s Frankie,” I said to Andy as I flew through an intersection, car horns blared in response. “Can you GPS the call?” Andy pulled a laptop from his backpack and booted up. Seconds later the ding of Windows loading jingled. I gripped my phone tightly. It was our only link and I’d be damned if I’d lose her.

The sound of Oscar’s harsh voice increased my anxiety.
“I see you’ve heard of me. Good things I’m sure.”

“No, I heard you’re a co
ward.” She paused, and the phone cracked in my ear. “Who left his lover to fry.”

Frankie, shut the fuck up, I wanted to yell.
I winced at the smack of palm against skin, but Frankie didn’t cry out. Instead, she laughed. “Not to mention impotent.” The smack was louder this time. The sounds of a struggle ensued. My heart wedged in my throat as the fight dragged on. Grunts and cries of pain. Frankie’s cries. My gut turned to ice.

“Bitch,” Oscar yelled. “I’m gonna enjoy watching you die.”

“C’mon, Andy.” I bit my lip as she whimpered. I pounded my fist on the steering wheel. “Give me something.”

“Almost got
it…left, take the next left. They’re about a mile ahead.”

I twisted the wheel and
we cornered on two tires. “Call Mickey. Let him know what’s going on.” Andy obeyed and I concentrated on catching the cab. My focus so complete I narrowly avoided an oncoming truck. A horn blared as I swerved out of the way.

The phone cut in and out.
“Let me go and Ian might let you live,” Frankie said through the static, her voice hitching at the end. Only once before had I heard that sort of fear in her voice. The day I found Chris dead, and Frankie beaten and bloody on the kitchen floor.

Oscar
gave a comic book laugh. Evil, maniacal, and clearly insane, but I could have been projecting. “I’m not going to give your boyfriend the same courtesy. I’m going to slit his fucking throat and dance on his corpse.” His words sent a chill down my spine. Six weeks ago, I lay drowning in my own blood as he kicked me in the ribs. I promised I’d see him in hell and it looked like today would be judgment day.