Dirty Money (8 page)

I tipped back the shot, relieved to taste anything but scotch, and followed it with water. With my hands shaking once again, I pulled the photo out of my duffle bag.

It was me. And Joan. Kissing. Topless. The night before in her fucking hotel room. The bruises on my face and my buzzed head dated the photo as post Reese. Joan’d had a camera waiting for my submission. It was like watching a wave slowly gather to crash when you’re shoulder deep in the ocean. Slowly, it builds and builds, and even though you see it coming, you know you’re fucked and you can’t do shit about it. I was well and truly fucked. We’d been played, I’d been played, by a master. If I didn’t have the overwhelming urge to find Vito and slowly remove his scrotum with a dull knife, I would have been impressed. As it was, I did have that overwhelming urge, so awe was the last thing on my mind.

I struggled for breath, fought that wave for the surface, and when the kid behind the counter pushed another shot at me, the clink of the glass brought me crashing back. Air rushed into my lungs, harsh with the tinge of vomit and booze. And entirely unwelcome. Suffocation was preferable.

I tossed back the shot.

“Can you…” I coughed. “Call me a cab?”

With a little too much enthusiasm, the kid nodded and reached for the phone.

*

Armed with the photo, tastefully folded to show only faces, I spent the day canvassing every single possible hotel in San Felipe. None of them remembered her. None of the places had seen Vito either. Or the twins, though I knew that was an even longer shot than Vito or the Bitch.

Exhausted, I found a seedy motel, checked the bed for anything living, and fell into it. Twelve hours later, I returned to semi-consciousness and was back out, slightly more rested, and a lot cleaner. The twins had included my toothbrush in the going away bag. How sweet.

By late afternoon, I’d been to every restaurant in town. Nothing. So I kept looking. Not looking only led to thinking, and that left me, at inopportune moments of the day, standing on street corners paralyzed and fighting to breathe. People stared. The fourth time this happened, a kind woman stopped and asked if I was okay. It almost made me cry.

The bars were a different story. They at least had something to offer. A drink. Which was good because I was ready to shoot anyone who looked at me funny. Vito was my first choice, but I’d take any fight.

Three bars in, I shouldered my way into the cantina where Vito had found me. There were two guys working even though it wasn’t that busy yet. One, I recognized. He’d served Vito and me. The other one came over to serve me.

“Could I talk to him?” I asked pointing at the guy I knew.

The kid hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. “
Sí, señor.
” Neat. Couldn’t hear that enough. He rattled off something else to his buddy in Spanish that I didn’t understand. The other bartender switched places with him.

He said something in Spanish that made absolutely no sense to me. At my blank look, he tried again. It sounded like a question, but I really didn’t know the answer.

“Do you remember me?” I leaned close over the counter so I wouldn’t be overheard.

He replied in Spanish with an innocent shrug.

“Come on, you spoke perfect English last time I was in here.” I so did not need this shit.

He shrugged again.

“Fine.” I dug out some cash and slid a folded bill across the bar. “Now do you speak English?”

“
Cerveza
followed by a scotch,” he replied with a smile. “That’s you, right?”

That was me all right. “Do you remember the guy who was with me?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Big dude. Linen suit.” All I got was a blank look. “He showed me some photos.”

“I’m sorry. You know, I’m not even sure it is you I remember.” Another shrug.

“You just named what I ordered.”

“Popular order, I guess.”

I’d been searching all day. I wasn’t drunk enough yet. I was tired. I was hungry. And this little douche bag had the gall to lie to me? Even after I’d bribed him. That really pissed me off.

I grabbed his shirt and hauled him up onto the bar before he could even blink. His feet flailed in the air ineffectually.

“You stupid fuck,” I snarled into his face. “I know you remember me.”

“Hey, let me go,” he screamed. Then he called to his friend in Spanish. As if the other kid hadn’t noticed.

I slammed him down so his head hit the hard surface of the bar. “Just answer the fucking question. Do you remember the guy?”

“No, I swear. I’m sorry,” he lied.

I was about to slam him down again when two assholes pulled me off the kid.

“I’m gonna drop you like a bad habit,” I screamed as I tried to pull away from the hands gripping my arms. They lifted me so my feet were off the ground and threw me, fuming, out the door.

That went well.

I walked half a block up then turned back, trying to think of ways to get back in. Vito was paying that little fucker off. He was probably paying everybody off. That was why I couldn’t get a damn break.

As I approached the cantina again, a guy exited. Thin, wearing a suit, slicked back hair. Something about him bothered me. I just didn’t know what. After stopping to glance up and down the street, he leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. He was familiar. Like the last two bars I’d been in familiar. The fucker was following me. And he had lackey stamped all over him. That’s what it was. He was one of Vito’s goons from Vegas. The one Reese had nailed in the head with a bottle of scotch.

“Hey, you,” I called out before I even thought about it.

He looked up, then casually pushed off the wall and started in the opposite direction.

“Hey, asshole. I’m talking to you,” I said when I caught up to him. No response. “Hey.” I grabbed his shoulder and tried to spin him around. “You’re following me. Why?”

“I ain’t following you, kid.”

“Did Vito send you?”

The look on his face gave him away. Just a split second of recognition. So I punched him in the face.

“What the fuck?” he yelled as he fell back against the empty storefront behind him. “I’m just doing my job, kid.” His hand went to his cheek, cupping it like that would make it stop hurting.

“Tell me why he wants me followed.”

“I dunno.”

So I hit him again. This time he hit back. In the face. Maybe I had that coming, but I didn’t care. Without thinking, I hauled the H&K out of my waistband and shoved it under his chin.

“Why did he send you to follow me?”

“He didn’t.” The guy didn’t even look scared.

“Then why the fuck are you here?” I pushed the barrel against his windpipe. It made him cough.

“I’m supposed to give you a message.” He wheezed.

“Then what’s the message?”

“He wants to know if it feels good?” A small grin accompanied his question.

“Does what feel good?” This dude was irritating.

“To hold someone’s life in your hand.” The grin got bigger.

“Motherfucker,” I said more to myself than him. Vito had played me again. Having me followed to see how long it would take me to notice, then testing me. “Give him a message for me.”

“What?”

I spat in his face. Then I realized what I’d just done. Reacted just like he wanted me to. Disgusted, I stepped back, the horror slowly dawning on me. He laughed as I ran away.

I turned into the nearest liquor store, bought enough tequila to make me stop thinking, and returned to my motel room.

Vito and his guys were probably still watching me. They could knock themselves out. Yes, they’d gotten to me. Yes, they’d won. If they wanted to watch the aftermath they could waste all the time they wanted. I didn’t give a fuck anymore.

When I shut the door of my motel room, I didn’t give much thought to leaving it again. At that point, I didn’t care if I never came out. The new plan was to drink until I ran out or died.

*

There was pounding. At first, I thought it was coming from my head. It was, but the door was shaking too. Sparse light shone through the cracks in the curtains over the window. Dawn.

I rolled off the bed soaked in sweat and shivering. One hand groped for the half-empty bottle on the floor. With the other, I shrugged into my shoulder holster. It was twisted and the leather dug into my bare skin. Armed for anything, I answered the door.

It was Ryan.

“Bro,” was all I could manage to squeeze past my lungs.

“Don’t call me that.” His gray eyes looked damp. “I’m not your bro.”

That fucking hurt. “Oh, yeah.” I attempted a smile. It didn’t work. “How could I forget?” Slowly, deliberately, I drew the gun Reese had given me and pressed the barrel against his chest. “Bang. You happy now?”

“No.” His tears threatened to fall, hovering on long, pretty eyelashes.

“That’s what you wanted me to do.” I shrugged and prayed I could keep myself from crying. Or throwing myself into his arms. I took a swig of booze.

“No, Coop. I never wanted this.” He looked like he was about a teardrop away from throwing himself into my arms too.

“Okay, enough bullshit, you two.” A slender hand shot out from the hallway, just out of my line of sight. Reese grabbed my gun, shoved Ryan into the room, and followed, slamming the door behind her. She tossed the gun onto the bed and stood with her arms crossed.

Damn, she looked good.

“You think you could put some clothes on?” Reese spat at me.

I glanced down at myself. “No.” She was in my goddamn room; she could just deal with it.

“Fine. We’ll make this quick. Where is it?” Reese started ransacking the room. Under the bed, in what passed for a shower, pulling out drawers and tossing their meager contents to the floor.

“Where is what?” Nonchalantly, I leaned against the wall, my bottle hanging between my thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t fuck with me, Vivian.”

I never wanted to hit a woman as bad as I did right then. Instead, I drank some more tequila.

“It’s kind of hard to fuck with someone who won’t let you touch them.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Lifting both was too much effort.

“You got plenty of touching.” She stopped searching long enough to stare at me good and hard. “This is what happens when you blow it.”

“Babe, you never let me in.” Another half-assed shrug. “Your commitment issues wouldn’t even let me through the door.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys,” Ryan said.

“It’s true,” I told him. “She just can’t commit.”

“That’s adorable coming from you,” Reese shot back.

I took a step toward her. In that room it meant we were practically touching. “Maybe it’s a family thing you’ve got going on. Abandonment issues, buttercup?” I cocked my head to the side.

“You lying whore.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Actually, you lie.” She glared. “And you’re a whore. Sounds accurate to me.”

“Doesn’t a whore sell her services to the highest bidder?” I asked. “So wouldn’t that make you the whore?” I took another step closer. Reese’s eyes narrowed. Probably wondering if I was being a bitch or if I knew about her employment history with Vito.

“Why don’t I ever know what you two are talking about?” Ryan asked.

I ignored his question and plowed on. “And when did I lie to you?”

“Thirty seconds ago,” Reese said.

“What could I have possibly lied about?” I was totally in the dark on this one.

“I asked you where it was.”

“Where what was?” I yelled. This bitch drove me crazy.

Without hesitation, she slammed me back into the wall and followed, pressing against the length of my body to keep me still while she shoved her gun against my skull.

“The fucking gold, Cooper.” Reese was breathing hard, making her tits rub against mine.

“What are you talking about?” I tried to make sense of what she was saying, but it was hard to concentrate. Yeah, there was a gun to my head, but that was nothing compared to her. Warm thighs and soft hair and the smell of Reese. My head was spinning and she was making me wet.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

No, I really didn’t.

“It’s kind of hard to think with that girly little gun pressed to my head,” I said.

“Just give me what I want,” Reese said.

“I’ll give you what you want.” I grabbed her hips and twisted so her back was to the wall. My thigh pushed between her legs until she gasped and dropped her head back, eyes shut. With my lips to her ear, I whispered, “This is what you gave up, babe.”

For my trouble, I was pistol-whipped.

“You bitch,” I screamed. Automatically, my hand went to my face. She hadn’t hit me that hard, but she still hit me. With a gun. Ryan took a step forward.

“Fuck you.” Reese still had her back to the wall, gun gripped tightly, eyes closed.

“I’d rather not,” I lied, mimicking the phrase she’d so often said to me. Just because she made me feel the worst pain of my life didn’t mean I didn’t want her. Fuck, I wished I didn’t still want her.

Her eyes snapped open. Ryan took a step back.

“Just tell me where the gold is,” Reese hissed.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said it real slow this time, making sure she heard me.

In a second, she had me pinned against the wall again with that gun kissing my head. “The gold. The fucking gold. The seventeen million we carted from El Dorado Hills to Vegas to Mexico that until two days ago was sitting safely in a storage unit. Where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t have it,” I growled at her. “Why the hell would I have it?”

“Because it’s gone.” She pushed the gun against my head a little harder. “And you’re the only other person with access.”

“The last time I saw it was when I got the bar to get Ryan out.”

“Stop lying.” The way she was shoving that gun into my head was really starting to hurt.

“Hold on,” Ryan cut in. “You really don’t have it?”

“No.”

“Reese, back off a little.” He grabbed her and pulled her off me. “You’re hurting her.”

“I don’t care. She’s already taken enough. She can’t have that too.” Tears started to gather in those beautiful eyes. Great, we were all a bunch of sissies.