Dirty Money (13 page)

“The fuckers shot at my guys.” I shrugged my left shoulder. They could sort out my motivation from there if they wanted. “How’s Gabriel? And Frank?”

They all stopped smiling.

“Gabriel’s dead,” Marco informed me. “Frank’ll live.”

I didn’t have anything to say.

One of the men on the far side of the table got up and came around the table. After handing me a glass of tequila, he poured more into everyone else’s cup. Silently, we raised them and drank.

“So what now?” I asked.

The guys all glanced at Marco. He twitched his head toward the door and they all filed out. I waited.

“I’m sending more men back out. Doubling enforcement,” Marco said. “You’re going back to the States. Vito’s in Los Angeles. He wants to see you.”

“Why?” I thought Vito wanted me to stay in Mexico.

“He was very impressed with your…work. He said he’s got something new for you.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like you to stay here with me for a couple weeks.” For the first time since I’d come in, he met my eyes fully. “You need to heal.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Leave it alone, Marco.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” He had no idea how much I had to do this.

“You finished your job. You got paid.” His dark eyes bored into me. “Leave. Go south. You’ll like Argentina.”

“Fuck off.”

“No. You don’t owe them anything. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Actually, I do.”

“You’re not like them.”

“Don’t tell me who I am.” Now I was getting pissed.

“You’re me.” Marco stood and came closer. “We don’t belong in this world.” He was right. I belonged to the world I’d left behind. With people who loved me, who knew me. But that place was gone now.

“Then why the fuck are you still here?”

“Because there’s nowhere else for me.”

“You don’t know where I came from and you don’t know why I’m here.” I felt my voice go cold as I said it, but I didn’t care. He would never know what I’d lost.

“We’re alone. We’re born that way,” he insisted. Except he was wrong. I wasn’t alone. I’d never been. Until now. “This isn’t family. Go find yours, ’cause it ain’t here.”

That he was right about. He just didn’t know I had to be here to find mine. Vito was a slim shot at getting the twins back, but it was the only one I had.

“I’ll be in Los Angeles,” I told him, then turned and left.

I’d been in my room a grand total of two minutes before there was a knock at the door. I opened the door the width of the security latch. Securing it was a joke. Most of Vito’s guys probably could have broken it by sneezing.

“Cooper?” It was a beefy dude in a suit. Not at all ambiguous.

“Yeah?”

“Vito sent this for you.” He held up a shopping bag.

“What is it?” I wanted a shower. I wanted to brush my teeth for a solid twenty minutes. I wanted to sleep in a bed. With sheets. I didn’t want a present from Vito.

No-neck looked in the bag. “Clothes.” Maybe I was wrong.

I shut the door, fumbled the latch off, and opened it back up. He handed the bag over then turned and walked away.

“Thanks,” I called to his retreating back.

These guys seriously lacked personality.

I upended the bag on the bed. Anything bad I’d ever thought about Vito I took back. Levi’s, 511s, 32s. I was slightly disturbed that Vito knew my style and size of jeans, but I was too happy to care. A package of white T-shirts. Couldn’t go wrong there. And, oh, I loved the man, boxer briefs. That was it. No menacing notes. No weapons or cell phones. Maybe Vito wasn’t such a bad guy.

I kicked off my boots. Peeled off the sad excuse for socks I’d been wearing for a month. They were crunchy. Same with my shirt and undershirt. The jeans were stiff with dirt and grime and, not surprisingly, blood. Underwear topped it all off. I threw everything except the boots in the trash.

I dumped out the contents of my duffle bag. The stiff liner fell out on top of my clothes. Instinctively, I checked the slit cut into the seam, felt the smooth surface until I found the slight rise where my Canadian passport was. Vito didn’t know about it. I wanted to keep it that way. I shoved the liner back into the bag. Tossed all clothes in the trash.

Carefully, I removed my St. Christopher and set it on the empty dresser.

Damn, it felt good to be naked and not in fear.

Except I freaked out when I turned from flicking on the shower. I didn’t know the haunted figure in the mirror staring back at me. It wasn’t me. It couldn’t be.

Deep shadows hung below my eyes, they were still vibrant green, but now framed by the kind of darkness I’d only seen in vampire movies. My face was streaked with dirt. No surprise. Neither was the dark tan on my face and pale skin where my clothes had been. But it looked like someone had pared away my flesh and left only bone and muscle behind. The muscle was new. I didn’t know where had it come from. The bone was scary. I started counting my ribs, but stopped when I realized way more were visible than should have been. My hipbones jutted out at seemingly unnatural angles. Same with my collarbones. I looked like some sad refugee. Maybe I was.

I doubted my mother would even recognize me.

Disgusted, I got in the shower, twisted it high enough to burn away the last few months, stood there, and waited to feel whole again. As I ran the soap over my body and watched the black water run down the drain, I took stock of the new scars, counted them. My knuckles were white with little nicks from split skin. Scabs on my elbows were fading to shiny pink. The bruised bullet wound in my side would join their ranks soon enough.

This was not my body. This wasn’t me.

I swallowed hard and tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. Tears mingled with the water coursing down my face as I sank to the ground and began to sob. I choked and gasped, spit the taste of fear from my mouth, but it remained.

If I ever found Reese, would she even want me?

*

I slept for fifteen hours. I was planning on a solid twenty-four, but Vito called. Really, I was surprised at his restraint. He was waiting for me in a suite a couple floors up. Wanted me to meet someone. Super.

When he opened the door, he gave me a once-over and seemed a little disgusted at the package. Maybe he didn’t consider unlaced boots with jeans half tucked in professional. Maybe it was the pants hanging off my ass. I’d lost weight so they were too big. Maybe it was the long hair hanging down over my ears and onto my collar. Well, maybe he should have given me warning. I would have gotten a haircut and a belt. He could just deal.

“There’s coffee.” He pointed at a room service cart.

I grunted and poured myself some. I didn’t offer him any.

“What do you want?”

“This is Esau.” Vito indicated a hairy-looking dude sitting in an armchair behind him.

“Oh.” I didn’t realize we weren’t alone. “Cooper.” I stuck out my hand to Esau.

“It’s a pleasure.” He smiled. His canines were sharper than normal, predatory.

“You will be working together,” Vito informed us.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Vito cut me off before I could speak.

“I remembered your rules.” He grinned like it was funny. “You won’t kill people, you won’t run girls, and you won’t do anything involving drugs other than marijuana.”

“You have rules?” Esau asked. His voice was soft, dark, but melodic.

I nodded and drank my coffee. “Got a problem with that?”

“No.” He flashed the canines again. “You have a code. It means you know yourself and your limitations. I like that.”

Did he think he was Yoda or something?

“They aren’t limitations. I’m perfectly capable.” I didn’t want this dude to think I had a weak stomach.

“Poor word choice. I only meant…” He glanced at Vito. “Most of Vito’s guys will do anything for a scrap. They want respect; they want money. They don’t ask questions, and they don’t care who dies as long as it isn’t them. They lack creativity.”

Vito started to laugh.

“Creativity?” As soon as I asked, I knew I shouldn’t have.

“Romance,” Esau elaborated. “The beauty of pain. If Vito wants to know what a man’s insides look like, the man needn’t die for it. There are other ways of accomplishing our goals.”

“You are a creepy motherfucker.” I set down my empty mug and went for the door. “Let me know when you find someone sane for me to work with.”

“Cooper.” Vito’s voice stopped me. Like Dad when he was pissed.

“It’s fine, sir.” Esau stood and crossed the room to stand next to me. He was a few inches shorter than I was. “I’m not insane. Or if I am then I am nothing like Vito’s usual taste. Did you ever meet Tommy?”

Interesting. Vito hadn’t told him I’d killed Tommy.

“Yes.”

“He was a sick boy. Too focused on his own disgusting needs.” For the first time, something other than serenity crossed Esau’s face. It was pure revulsion. “I don’t work the same way he did.”

“That doesn’t make you any better.”

“I can teach you how I work.” He actually seemed to want me. As if I’d been the one he’d been looking for. What did that say about me? “Come with me on a job. If you don’t like what I do then we will leave it at that.”

“Fine.”

Esau smiled again. “I’ll have something later tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “You should have another few hours. I’ll pick you up out front.”

“Okay. Call me when you’re ready.”

“Cooper?” Vito spoke again.

“What?”

He tossed me a cell phone.

“Oh, right.”

“And get a haircut. You look like a girl.”

“Fuck you. I am a girl.”

He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

*

I did get a haircut. Not for Vito. For me. My hair was too long. It kept tickling my ears and felt really heavy. Once my neck was buzzed, I just felt cleaner. I left the top long though. If Vito thought it looked girly, he could suck it.

I also bought a suit. Not as high end as Reese would have gone for, but she still would have liked my choices. Sure, maybe it was pathetic to wear what Reese would have liked, but pride was out the window months ago.

The shoes were my only real indulgence. Gucci loafers. It seemed like what Ash Evans would have done.

Esau picked me up at nine in front of the hotel. The second I got in, he tossed a small revolver in an ankle holster on my lap.

“Put that on.”

“I can’t.” The suit was slim, as in no room for an ankle holster. Besides, it would have totally ruined the lines. “It won’t fit.”

Esau looked me over. “You need to be armed.”

I took out the gun and slid it into the back of my waistband. My jacket would cover it.

“Can you get it quickly?”

“Faster than with it strapped to my leg.”

“Next time you get something tailored, wear a holster.” All business, this guy.

“Where are we going?”

“To pick up a package. Look in the glove box.”

I did and was rewarded with a handful of glossies of some dude. Greasy ponytail, shiny suit, looked super charming.

“He’s got our package?”

“He is the package.”

“How about some details? I mean, if you’re so eager to teach me how you work.” I was bored of being in the dark.

Esau’s grin caught the ambient city light. “His name is Ray Caruso. He was a contractor for us.”

“Doing what?”

“Border runs between Mexico and San Diego. He would pick up drugs, get them wherever they needed to go, then pass the merchandise on to smaller boats to take ashore. Sometimes, he would act as a go-between and shuttle girls or guns. For some associates.” By now, we were getting on a freeway. I didn’t know which freeway. Good job me.

“So pretty much everything I want nothing to do with.”

“Just listen. His cargo started getting lost. He’d have to dump because of patrol boats. Or a handful of kilos wouldn’t make it.” Esau shrugged. “Maybe a case or two of AK-47s. Eight girls left Mexico and never arrived.” He looked away from the road to meet my eyes.

“Skimming?”

“Probably. We’ll find out. Our associates are very unhappy.”

“When you say associates?” Why the fuck did I ask that?

“Someone the DiGiovannis do business with.”

“Why’d they send you?”

“Because I can find people who don’t want to be found. Caruso disappeared. I’ve been hunting him down.”

“Then why do you need me? What are we doing?”

Esau explained my role as we left the freeway and drove through city streets toward the ocean. It didn’t sound too hard. Even a little James Bond like.

If only I could keep from puking.

*

I climbed the gangplank onto a yacht and handed my invitation to a bouncer-looking dude. It didn’t take me long to find Caruso talking to a group of men on the edge of the party. I watched him from a dark corner sipping a scotch. Once he was nearly alone, I made my way through the crowd swaying a little with each step. A few people got out of my way; most didn’t pay any attention to me.

Caruso was telling some story, waving his arms about, when I stumbled into him spilling his drink.

“What the fuck?” He punched me back a step.

“Oh, man. Sorry. I’m so sorry,” I slurred convincingly.

He went to push me again, but paused when he realized I was a chick dressed in boys’ clothing, not just a pretty boy.

“Serious, like, so sorry.” I put a hand out to placate him and steady myself. “Can I get you another drink?”

“What’s wrong with you? You blind or something?” Caruso stared at me all pissed off and shit and brushed at his suit.

“Real sorry, man. You want me to cover the dry-cleaning? Or get you another drink?” I asked like it was a new idea.

He glared. “Yeah, sure.” He set down his sticky glass. “Rum and Coke.” What kind of grown man drank rum and Coke? I hadn’t had one since I was sixteen.

“Right. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Still swaying, I made for the bar.

When I returned, I handed Caruso a fresh drink and sipped from the scotch I’d gotten myself.