Vengeance (24 page)

Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky

BOOK: Vengeance

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“You didn’t have to. You just pulled the trigger. I’ve got the gun in my car. It has your fingerprints on it. When I leave here, Sally will stay so you can remain in this room. You walk to the window, look down. I’ll be parked right in front of the Dumpsters. I’ll hold up the gun.”

“I didn’t shoot him,” she said weakly.

“Your story was terrible,” I said. “You’re a smart girl. You could have done better. You could have done all kinds of things. You could have wiped your prints off the gun.”

“You think I wanted to get caught?” she said, turning to me with a look, a typical teen look, that said, Are you nuts?

“I think so. I can make up a story to fit, but it would be faster if you just told me what happened. I’m not out to get you, Adele. I’m out to help you.”

“No,” she said, back to the wall again, arms folded, eyes looking up at the ceiling.

“Okay. Pirannes wasn’t in the apartment with you. Spiltz was. Just you and Spiltz. He was there to keep an eye on you. You weren’t exactly a volunteer. Spiltz went after you. You got his gun, shot him, panicked and didn’t know what to do. You threw the gun over the balcony, managed to get Spiltz’s body into the chair and then you cleaned up the blood where you shot him.”

“No,” she said.

Tears were coming. She fought them back.

“I’ve got the gun. It has your prints. The police, if they know the story, can find the spot you killed him. There’ll be blood traces.”

“I shot him in bed,” she said, her eyes closed. “I wrapped him in the sheets and blankets and dragged him into the living room so there’d be no blood and so it’d be easier to move him. There’s a washer and dryer down four, five doors down. I washed the sheets and blankets, dried ‘em and put ’em back in the cabinet. Then I put new sheets and a new blanket on.”

“He had to have a holster,” I said. “Ames and I didn’t find one.”

“I figured a holster would be too easy to find. Reason I took it off him was I … I thought if he was wearing one when he was found dead, the cops might wonder where the gun was that went in it. I figured if he didn’t have a gun or holster, the cops would figure whoever shot him came and went with his own gun. I rolled the holster up neat and put it in one of Mr. Pirannes’s drawers.”

“That was smart,” I said. “No gun. No connection. Police would think the holster was Pirannes’s. Holsters aren’t registered and they’re not illegal. It might even suggest that a gun might have been in it and it might
have been the gun Pirannes used on Spiltz. You really think it out that far?”

“No,” she said, eyes still closed. “I just …”

“It’s full of little holes, but it’s pretty good.”

“I was gonna go back when it was safe, find the gun, bury it fast, but I’m here and you got there first. What’s gonna happen to me?”

“I’m working that out,” I said.

“He was gonna rape me,” she said so softly I could hardly hear. “No one ever did it to me without saying I was willing. Nobody, not my dad, not Tilly, not any man. You won’t understand the difference. A man wouldn’t. Most women wouldn’t.”

“Maybe I’m the exception,” I said.

She looked at me.

“Our five minutes are just about up,” I went on as I checked my watch. “The gun disappears. You stick to your story. The only one who knows it’s not true is Pirannes. The police won’t believe him if they catch him. The problem is that Pirannes has probably figured out that you killed Spiltz.”

“He’ll come for me,” she said. “He’ll kill me.”

“No. I’ll get Sally to keep you in here a couple of more days. I’ll find Pirannes and convince him you didn’t kill Spiltz.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“You’re not the only one who can tell stories,” I said.

“And me?” she asked, turning to me again and pointing to herself. The question came out in a thin, plaintive whine like the air escaping from a balloon.

“You? You get out, go live with Flo Zink and live happily ever after,” I said.

“I’ll give it a try,” she said. “I’ll try. I really will.”

“You’ll make it,” I said with a certainty I didn’t feel.

“You don’t have to show me the gun,” she said. “I believe you.”

The door opened and Sally came in. She looked at
Adele, who was looking down at the floor, her arms folded. Then she looked at me.

“You all right, Adele?” Sally asked.

“I’ll be fine. Sally, can I stay here a few days, just a few days? I’ve got some thinking to do, things to work out about my dad, stuff. I gotta get used to going to live with that lady.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Sally said.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

Sally looked at me with questions in her eyes, questions I might never answer. Then she turned and moved to comfort Adele.

THE AFTERNOON WAS GONE.
I headed down Fruitville, driving into the setting sun. I flipped down my visor till I hit Tamiami Trail and turned right. The sun was big, low and bright over my left shoulder.

I thought about what I was going to do with Tony Spiltz’s gun. I thought about how many laws I was breaking, started counting them and gave up at six. I’d worry about that, if I had to, when and if there was peace for me here in Paradise.

People in business usually arrive early to prepare for the day or the night. They make sure the furniture or stock is in place, the cash register is still working, the pictures on the wall and the merchandise are straight. Lots of things.

Pimps are no different. Tilly was no different. I pulled into the parking lot of the Linger Longer Motel, parked, locked the doors and moved quickly to Tilly’s home away from home.

I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. No answer.

I went to the office. The kid with the big glasses who spoke a dozen languages looked at me.

“Tilly?” I asked.

“If he’s not in his room, I don’t know,” he said. “I just got here.”

I needed Tilly.

“Take a guess.”

“He usually eats at the Mel-o-dee before he begins his night. Always goes alone. He says he needs some alone time to think before things start. Girls usually start when it’s dark.”

“Thanks,” I said.

The kid didn’t answer.

The Mel-o-dee was a little farther north and on the west side of the Trail. I’d eaten there a few times. Down-home food, small but good salad bar. The place was full. It was dinnertime. People in the neighborhood, low-budget tourists, men and women just getting off of work who lived alone or didn’t want to go home yet ate at the Mel-o-dee.

A quartet of elderly people, three women and one man, was waiting to be seated. I nudged past them, looking for Tilly. He was in a booth on the left next to the window. His back was turned to me but he was easy to spot. He was the only black customer in the room. There was another room in back, but I knew I had found him.

I walked past singles, doubles, trios and quartets of people eating and talking. A pair of families, both with babies in high chairs, one with two kids in high school, were seated at booths to the right of Tilly.

I sat across from him in the booth. He had a bite-sized piece of meat loaf on his fork and a newspaper next to his plate. He was wearing glasses. He was dressed in a white turtleneck shirt with a black jacket. He looked like a car salesman or a clerk at Circuit City.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked with
exasperation, taking off his glasses and putting them in his pocket.

“You know Handford’s dead?” I asked, watching his eyes.

“No,” he said. “But as my grandmother would say, ‘Hallelu and Praise the Lord.’”

“Convince me you didn’t kill him,” I said.

He put down his fork and looked at me with even greater exasperation.

“Go away, man. I didn’t kill Handford. I wouldn’t go near him. I don’t kill people. Where’d the profit be in killing Handford? I’m a businessman.”

“Peace of mind,” I said. “With Handford gone you’d have a little peace of mind.”

“If I killed every motherfucker whose death would give me peace of mind, I’d rack up a better record than John Wayne Gacy. Now go away.”

“You convinced me,” I said.

“That makes me very happy,” he said. “Now, I want to finish my dinner and read my paper. I’ve got to get to work.”

“Adele is at the Juvenile lockup,” I said.

“She’s none of my business anymore.”

“If she ever tries to come back to you, I want you to call me.”

“You scare the shit out of me,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t take her back. Pirannes would have me disappear in a minute if he found out. Are you finished now? Can I eat now? My food is getting room temperature.”

“Where’s Pirannes?”

“Okay. I tell you, you go.”

“I’ll go.”

“Word is he’s on his big boat hiding out somewhere, probably Texas, maybe Mexico, waiting for his lawyer to clean up some stuff he’s into. I don’t know what.”

“That’s the word,” I said. “But where is he really?”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

“It helps in my business. Pirannes?”

“Tell me and I go,” I said.

“Just when I’m beginning to enjoy your company. He finds out I told you and I’m a dead man.”

“That’s what you said the last time we talked about Pirannes. He won’t know.”

“Word is he sent the boat out to make it look like he was waiting things out across the gulf. Cancun. He’s got business here. He leaves for three, four days and it all falls apart here. You know what I’m saying?”

“I know,” I said.

A waitress approached and asked if I was eating. I said no. She moved away.

“I’m not supposed to know it,” Tilly said, leaning forward, “Nobody’s supposed to, but a lot of people do. Pirannes likes to hang out at a place he owns a piece of out on Proctor, gated, town houses, big houses. Place is called New Palm Manors. Pirannes uses the name Steele. Now you know. Now you go. Looking for that man is a bad idea. I told you once. He boils over real easy.”

“I know,” I said. “He tried to kill me.”

“And you’re going to look for him again?”

“Yes.”

Tilly shrugged and put his glasses back on.

“Have a nice forever,” he said.

He looked down at the newspaper. Our conversation was over.

I drove south down the Trail past an endless line of malls small and large, gas stations, office supply stores and restaurants. Sarasota has lots of restaurants. People on vacation eat out. Retired people with money eat out. This is an eat-out town. There were no really good Chinese restaurants. I missed that. Chicago had more than a hundred first-class Chinese restaurants. My favorite Chinese restaurants in Chicago were in China
Town. My wife and I had gone there at least once a month for dim sum.

I drove warily, slowly, watching other drivers, waiting for one of them to cross the line coming at me and hit me head-on, or one of the ancient drivers to sideswipe me into another car.

I turned on the radio. G. Gordon Liddy was answering a caller’s question about morality and loyalty. G. Gordon said he had gone to jail in the Watergate case because he refused to lie under oath. He praised Susan McDougal and said something about the importance of loyalty. You give your loyalty to someone and you don’t betray it even if the person you’ve given it to abandons you. At least it was something like that.

I had given my loyalty to Beryl Tree. I hadn’t given it to Carl Sebastian, but I was still working for him. I owed him what I had promised to give. I’d promised to find Melanie. But right now I was trying to bring Beryl’s case to an end.

I drove down Proctor, past walled-in and gated developments on both sides, across the bridge over I-75. The New Palms Manor was on the right. I drove up to the gate and waited. A woman in a gray uniform came out of the gatehouse. She wasn’t wearing a hat or jacket. She was slim, dark and serious. I considered asking her if she was Italian.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Steele. We have an appointment. My name is Dwight Handford. Is there a clubhouse, community house, here?”

“Straight ahead to the right.”

“Busy in there tonight?”

“Wouldn’t know for sure, but it’s Friday night and there’s almost always people playing cards, talking, having drinks or parties.”

“Good, will you tell Mr. Steele that I’ll be waiting for him in the clubhouse.”

She nodded and went back into the gatehouse. I watched her pick up the phone, hit some buttons and start talking. She looked over at me once and then talked some more. She hung up and came out.

“Mr. Steele will meet you in the clubhouse in a few minutes,” she said.

She went back in the gatehouse, did something, and the gate went up.

The clubhouse was easy to find and there were about thirty cars in front of it. I parked the Geo as far from the entrance as I could get.

Immediately through the doors I found myself in a large room full of couches, tables and chairs. Most of the chairs and couches were full. A few dumps of people were standing. There was a small bar to the right, behind which stood a small bartender in a white shirt and a red vest. The people of the manor were dressed casually, in simple dresses, skirts and blouses, slacks and short-sleeved shirts. The people of the manor were generally not young.

I found a vacant couch to the right of the door and sat.

Pirannes came in alone five minutes later. He was wearing slacks, a shirt, a tie and a lightweight tan jacket. He was overdressed and he didn’t look happy. He found me and sat down at my side without looking at me.

“You’re dead,” he said.

“How did you know I wasn’t Dwight Handford?”

“Handford’s dead,” he said. “I knew about it by noon. Besides, Angela described you.”

“Angela, at the gate. Is she Italian?”

“Her name’s Angela Conforti. And my name is Richard Steele and your name is mud. How did you find me? Who told you?”

“Your secret is safe with me, but I’ve got to tell you, about a third of the criminal population of this
community knows about Mr. Steele’s manor retreat.”

“What the hell do you want, Fonesca?”

I looked at him.

“Did you kill Dwight Handford? Not that I care much. Just for my peace of mind. I can’t prove anything and it’s just between you and me. You can deny it later.”

“You’re wearing a wire, carrying a tape recorder,” he said.

“Get friendly. Check me out.”

“Let’s go in one of the private rooms,” he said.

“I might not walk out,” I said.

“I’m not going to kill you here. I’m not an idiot.”

I followed him through a lounge on the left, where people were playing cards at two tables. Beyond the lounge were two doors. We went through the one on the right. Pirannes turned on the lights, faced me and patted me down. He wasn’t gentle.

The room was small, had tastefully wallpapered walls, sconces with teardrop lightbulbs, furniture with the look of something old and French.

“I didn’t kill Handford,” he said. “And I didn’t kill Tony Spiltz. The kid lied about me being there. I’ll tell you something, Fonesca.”

He was starting to get worked up. That was not a good sign.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he went on, pointing a finger at me. “I think Handford set me up. I think he came back to get the kid when I wasn’t there. I think he killed Tony. I think maybe she helped him. He told her the story about me being with her. I’ll tell you that if someone hadn’t killed Handford, I would have done it myself, personally. But I didn’t.”

“Leave Adele alone,” I said.

He laughed and shook his head. He even started to choke a little. I was being very funny.

“I wouldn’t …” he managed to get out and then
paused to regain his voice and some of his anger. “I wouldn’t take her back. I wouldn’t go near her. She might kill a customer. She might kill me. But I tell you what I do want, what would keep her safe.”

“What?”

“The money I paid for her,” he said.

He ran his hand back over his hair and pulled himself completely together.

“How much?”

“She went cheap;” he said. “Eight thousand. Handford didn’t know what he could have gotten. I’ll take the eight thousand. I’ll be very nice. I won’t ask for any of the money I could have made on her.”

“You’re a man of principle,” I said.

“Sarcasm will get you killed,” he said.

“I thought I was already a dead man.”

“No. I like you. I’d offer you a job, but I don’t think you’d take it and I don’t think I could trust you. I get the eight thousand by tomorrow noon and you live and I leave the girl alone.”

“What have we got going here that tells me I should trust you?”

“Simple,” he said. “I’ve got no reason to lie. If I wanted you dead, I’d have my man waiting outside the door follow you to your little white car. He’d kill you quietly, pack you in the trunk—”

“I don’t think I’d fit. It’s a Metro.”

“Shove you on the floor in the back,” he said. “Drive you out of here smiling at Angela, and leave you somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

“How would he get back?”

“You always think like that?” Pirannes asked with a smile.

“Almost always. I can’t stop.”

“Another car would be following him, pick him up, bring my man somewhere else. Any more questions? I advise you not to get me mad.”