The Ethical Assassin: A Novel (6 page)

“Hello, young man,” Rose said to Chuck. His West Indian accent came out thick and chunky, full of island hospitality and humor, the way it always did when he cranked up the charm. He set his hand on the bottle of Bordeaux. “Can I pour you some more wine, or has Mr. Gunn been taking care of you?”

Chuck held on to his breadstick and looked up at Rose, not quite making eye contact, but he didn’t say anything. B.B. expected as much. South Florida might be diverse—there were Cubans and Jews and regular white people and Haitians and West Indians and regular black people and all sorts of South Americans and Orientals and who the hell knew what else—but the fact was none of them wanted anything to do with any of the others. White kids clammed up around black people. Black kids clammed up around white people. B.B. had seen it a million times when mentoring, and if you were going to mentor, you had to understand these things.

Rose, however, was undeterred. “I am Otto Rose. What is your name, young sir?” He stuck out his hand for shaking.

Chuck appeared to know he was trapped, and being trapped, he chose to forge ahead. “I’m Chuck,” he said in a steady voice. The handshake looked firm and unafraid.

“And Mr. Gunn is your friend? He is a fine man to have for a friend.”

“He’s my mentor,” Chuck said. “He’s been very nice to me.”

“And this is a fine restaurant for mentoring,” Rose said, the humor percolating just under the surface of his voice. “And nothing goes with mentoring like a glass of wine.” He picked up Chuck’s glass and gave it a good sniff with his eyes closed. “A Saint-Estèphe?” he asked as he put down the glass.

“Wow.” Chuck’s eyes went wide. “You can tell that from the smell?”

“I read it on the bottle.”

B.B. saw that the retirees in the restaurant were looking over at them. They didn’t like the big, bald black man standing around. The waiters were eyeing them as well, and it would only be a moment until one of them came by to ask if the gentleman wished to join their table. B.B. would be fucked if Rose said he would, so it was time to snip this one in the bud.

B.B. pushed himself out of the chair and away from the table, rising with
Miami Vice
poise. He might be half a foot shorter than Rose, but he held his own next to the guy. B.B. knew who he was, knew what he commanded, knew that there were people all over the state who would shit in their pants if they heard B. B. Gunn was pissed off. It was time to make sure Otto knew enough to shit in his pants.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said to Chuck. “I’ll be back as soon as I take care of some grown-up business.”

“Okay,” Chuck said. There was something forlorn in his voice.

B.B. knew instantly that Chuck might be a mature kid, he might be a spunky kid with a good sense of humor and the will to rise above the misery of his life, but he didn’t want to be left alone. He wanted, maybe above all things, companionship, and that was but one more reason to be pissed off at Otto Rose for showing up like this and fucking up his dinner.

“Follow me,” B.B. said to Rose. It was time to establish the pecking order in his barnyard. Rose thought he was clever, finding out where B.B. was eating, making sly little insinuations about Chuck. But now it was Rose following while the alpha male led.

They stepped outside, and the temperature rose by nearly thirty degrees in an instant. It was humid and sticky, and the sounds of cars off I-95 hissed past.

Desiree was out there, leaning against B.B.’s convertible Mercedes, arms folded over her breasts. She wore moderately, though not obscenely, tight Guess jeans and a lavender bikini top. The pink of the massive scar along her side glistened in the neon light of the restaurant.

Rose broke out into a gregarious grin. “Desiree, my darling. How are you, lovely?” He leaned over and rested a hand on her scar, as he always did, just to show that it didn’t trouble him, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t see you on the way in.”

Desiree allowed herself to be kissed, but her lips were pressed tight into a cynical little smile. “Sure you did, though you made a pretty good show of acting like you didn’t.”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “You hurt me when you say such things.”

B.B. couldn’t be bothered to let this play out. “If you saw him coming in, why the hell didn’t you stop him?”

She shrugged. “What for? You’d have come out, and we’d be right where we are now.”

What for?
Jesus, did he have to spell it out for her? It was mentoring time. She knew perfectly well he didn’t want to be bothered while mentoring. She knew, and she’d let Rose in because she was still angry with him. It had been a month, and she was still angry, and it was starting to make B.B. crazy. She was his assistant, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to think about what life would be like without her, but life with her was starting to be a problem.

“Okay,” B.B. said. He took an authoritative suck of air. “Let’s make this fast.”

“Of course. You have that young man in there.”

“I’m mentoring him,” B.B. said.

“Oh, I am certain of it. I see he likes breadsticks.”

Fuck if B.B. was going to take this kind of thing from Otto Rose. “What do you want? How did you know I was here, and what is it that can’t wait until morning?”

“You’re easier to find than you think,” Rose said, “and as to why it can’t wait, I think you’ll be happy I did. Number one, I’ve just received a tip. There’s a reporter in Jacksonville.”

“They’ve got a newspaper there,” B.B. said. “And TV stations, last time I checked. Of course there are reporters.”

Rose let out his island laugh. “There’s a reporter there out to do a story on your crew.”

“Shit. From where?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if the reporter plans to observe or if there’s someone on the inside already who is a reporter undercover. I don’t know what this person thinks he knows, but there’s probably more of a story there than he realizes.”

B.B. bit his lip. “Okay, we’ll take care of it. What’s number two?”

“You know the legislature is taking up that bill in the next session to severely limit door-to-door sales. I’ve just received word that if I go against it, I am going to face severe fund-raising problems. Now, you know I want to help you out, B.B. I’ve always stood up for you, always valued our relationship. But it’s going to cost me to go against this bill, and if it’s going to cost me, I’m going to have to make up that cost somewhere.”

“He wants another donation,” Desiree said. She’d been doing a lot of that sort of thing lately, stating the obvious as though B.B. wouldn’t have understood what Rose meant without her help.

“Christ, Otto, can’t this wait?”

“I came to see you about the reporter, but since I was here, well, it seemed like as good a time as any. Of course, I know you were busy mentoring. If you would rather mentor than take care of business, that is your own concern. Still, I am not entirely certain you want the business community to learn just how important this mentoring is to you.”

Fuck if here wasn’t Rose putting on the squeeze, trying to use his charitable nature against him. A man wanted to help out the unfortunate, and he had to answer to one opportunistic cynic after another. And the thing was, Rose put all that work into crime prevention, after-school programs for the kids in Overtown, but no one could say anything about that because he was black and those kids were black, and all of that meant that Rose was a saint. So now he had to stand out here, talking bullshit with a state legislator while Chuck sat by himself at the table, his friendly mood deteriorating with each minute.

“How much are we talking about?” Desiree asked.

“Same as last time, my darling.”

Same as last time meant $25,000. These little payouts were adding up to huge money.

“Give us a moment, Otto,” Desiree said. She put a hand on B.B.’s arm and led him about twenty feet into the parking lot. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to pay him any more money.”

“Of course not, but if this bill goes through, you’re going to have a lot of problems.”

“So you’re saying we should pay?”

“Probably, but make it clear that this is the last time. You don’t want him to think he can come to you to strap on the feed bag every time he’s feeling he needs a few extra dollars. This is starting to feel like a shakedown.”

B.B. nodded. “When we get rid of him, get on the phone to the Gambler and make sure he gets the heads-up about the reporter. And his crew should be making a payment after the weekend. Make sure he can get the cash to us.”

“Okay.”

They walked back over to Rose, who was still grinning as though he were about to deliver a singing telegram.

“I’ll have the money by next week,” B.B. said, “but this is the last time.”

“Come now, my friend. You know I cannot make any guarantees.”

“We can’t make any guarantees, either. You get me, don’t you?”

“Of course, B.B.”

“I’ve got to get back inside.”

“Yes. That boy might be tempted to start mentoring himself,” Rose said.

With B.B. back inside the restaurant, Desiree remained leaning against the clean car, arms still folded as she looked at Otto. Her shoulder-length dirty-blond hair blew lightly in the wind and lifted her chin, which accentuated the sharpness of her nose. She knew that if she held her head just so, she could make herself look pointier and angrier, and she wanted to look angry now. Desiree wasn’t quite ready to confront B.B. She wasn’t quite ready to say the things she needed to say. The end had to come, and she knew it, but it didn’t need to come tonight.

It wasn’t fear. People who had never met B.B., who knew him only by reputation or by the size and ingenuity of his operation, feared him. Desiree, however, knew better. No, it wasn’t fear. It was obligation—and it was pity. But she felt no pity for Otto Rose.

“Oh, come, Desiree. Don’t give me that look, beautiful. You know it is business. If you work for a man like B.B., you must expect men like me to deal with him as he deserves.”

She shook her head. “Don’t back me into a corner, Otto, by saying things about B.B.”

“You’re right. You are nothing if not loyal. I am sorry I spoke so. I won’t say another word about B.B., but may I say a word about you?”

“If you must.” She let her expression slacken a little, took some of the heat off.

Otto took a step closer. “You are much too—too
good
—to work for a man like B.B. I don’t merely mean good at your job, though I do believe that. I mean you are a good person.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem doing business with B.B.”

He laughed. “I’m a politician, my dear. It is too late for me to be good. But it is not too late for you, young and talented and lovely as you are. Why don’t you leave him?”

The question needed dodging, and Desiree fought the urge to physically duck. She didn’t want to deal with his probing now. “I owe him, okay, Otto? That’s all I want to say.”

“I know you owe him. But how much can you owe? Do you owe him enough to help him do what he does? Or to help him with those boys?”

“He is just their mentor, Otto. No one can say anything about B.B. and his boys. I live in the same house with him, remember? I’m the live-in help.”

“Yes, of course. The better to make the world believe that the two of you are lovers. He may not do anything with those boys, Desiree, you must know that he
wants
to, and how long before he gives in to that?”

“I don’t want to hear it. I won’t listen.”

“I don’t mean to push. It is only that I want to help you, and I become eager. Let’s then not talk about B.B. Let’s talk about you, my dear.”

“What, do you want to ask me out on a date?” she asked, but she kept her voice playful, careful to sound anything but bitter or sarcastic.

“I would not dare to hope for such good fortune,” Otto said. “I have something a bit more formal in mind. I know you depend on B.B. for protection, so maybe you would feel you had more options if there was someone else offering you protection.”

“You?”

“I could offer you a job in my office, Desiree. I know your worth, and I can promise you it would be a high-ranking job. Of course, nothing in politics pays well, but it would be a fine opportunity for a talented young lady like yourself.”

“What kind of protection can you offer me when you might be voted out of office every election cycle?”

He laughed. “Who is there to challenge me? You must at least listen to my advice, darling.”

She nodded.

“Let’s sit in my car for a few minutes.”

“You sure you’re not asking me out on a date?” she said.

“I am almost sure,” Otto said.

He led her to his massive Oldsmobile, painted a shiny sun yellow. He opened the passenger side for her, and she slid onto the leather seats. He went around to the other side, slid the key in the ignition, and got the engine revving. In a moment he had the air-conditioning going and the low murmur of dance music from the radio.

He put a hand on top of hers. Maybe he did plan to offer her a job, but he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be willing to give him more. “Shall I tell what I have in mind?” he asked.

“First, I should tell you something,” she said. Then she lashed out, cobra fast, and had a hand on his throat. She slid over to his side and straddled him, as if they were having sex. She could feel the bulge in his pants, and she could feel it diminishing. In an instant it was both hands on his throat, and she was leaning forward, putting all of her weight—not ever above 110 pounds—straight down on him.

She liked the heat of his skin, the bulging under her palms, under her thighs. It was sexy, but not exactly sexual. It was powerful, and she liked that.

Desiree knew well that she had small hands, and they weren’t strong, even for their size. Surprise and the confines of the car worked in her favor, but Otto could escape her grip almost certainly if he tried, if he really tried; still, she had a few crucial seconds here, the advantage of his disorientation, and she planned to be well away from him before he even thought to struggle.

“Otto, we’ve done business together for a long time,” she said, “and it’s been good for everyone, but if you ever pull shit like this again, I’ll kill you. You try to humiliate B.B., try to make suggestions about him, use it as leverage, whatever—you’re going to disappear. You think you’re smarter than he is, and you think I’m cute, and maybe you are and I am. But don’t you ever forget what else we are.” She let go of his throat. “You don’t want to be his enemy.”