Assassin P.I. (5 page)

Chapter 5

Back in the day, Jack had been in his fair share of scrapes. Gave more beatings than he took, though it had been a long time since he’d had to fend off multiple opponents, so his moves were a bit rusty. At least he still had a wicked right hook. Unfortunately for him, he had lousy aim and he’d hit the wall, sending a shockwave of pain through his hand.

Still, he’d gotten in a few punches of his own and wouldn’t be the only one nursing a sore face.

After stopping off at a local liquor store for a box of bandages and a bag of ice for his hand, Jack hit the streets again. The day was young and quitting time was hours away. With two cases to solve, there was no time to waste, and the bad guys wouldn’t take a vacation just because Jack had a rough start to his day.

Instead, he headed for the home of Benicio Acevedo, the drug dealer who dealt bad dope that killed.

Surveilling a perp was never as glamorous as the movies made it out to be. By midafternoon, Jack was thoroughly bored watching Benny bang his wife, and later his mistress. Jack shifted. His legs hurt and he was getting a stiff neck from twisting into unnatural positions to keep an eye trained on his suspect while still staying undercover and undetected. His eye had begun to swell, blurring his vision slightly. The throbbing hand didn’t help the situation, either.

Mr. Acevedo was definitely a two-timing scumbag, but until he had proof of criminal activity, Jack wasn’t about to pull the trigger, despite Deluca’s fervent urging. He’d have to catch him in the act, find definitive proof.

Jack put down his binoculars and revved his car. The car itself was nondescript and blended in to the shadier sides of town while his 1963 Silver Stingray Corvette languished in the garage, too flashy to drive when he was on the job. It was a damn shame, too. She was a beaut.

Jack eased into the basement parking structure of the courthouse. With any luck, he’d catch the District Attorney between appointments and score an interview. No doubt he would remember the man who’d worked side by side with him, and even ran against him before meeting an untimely demise.

Clearing security and the metal detectors, Jack squeezed himself in the tiny elevator and shot up to the fifth floor. The D.A.’s office was the last door on the right. Ushered in by an annoyed secretary, he found Mr. District Attorney hunched over an impressively large desk.

Dispensing with the niceties, Jack got right to the point. “Mr. Hernandez, talk to me about Trevor Santino.”

The man quirked an eyebrow and took the files from the secretary. He dropped the files on his desk and began signing his John Hancock wherever the woman pointed.

“What about him? He’s dead.”

Smart ass.

“Tell me about him.”

The man sighed and dropped his pen. “Yes, I remember Trevor. Quite well. His death was a real shame and came as such a shock. He had a bright future ahead of him.” He smiled and blinked.

There it was. The perfect politician spin on the situation. Always positive, always vague enough to be denied later.

The District Attorney dismissed his secretary with a curt nod.

Jack waited until the door was closed before he continued. “So you didn’t mind that he was running against you in the election that year?”

Jack squinted watching the man’s face for any crack in his polished facade.

Mr. Hernandez chuckled and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Oh, I minded, all right. But I figured Trevor was just sowing his oats. You know, trying to flex his political muscles. No way would he have won. My constituents love me, what can I say?”

Cocky son of a bitch, wasn’t he? Given the chiseled cleft chin and strong cheekbones, Mr. District Attorney had allure and carefully honed charm, which no doubt helped him score big with his female constituents during election time. With the right lighting, Jack bet the personable attorney’s eyes would twinkle and his pearly whites would dazzle even the most cynical of voters.

“Any idea who killed him?”

“Who cares? Trevor wasn’t the golden boy his big-shot daddy wanted him to be. He might have managed to get him a job in this office, but Trevor was no saint. Long after his death, I was left cleaning up the mess he made.”

Interesting. “Care to elaborate? Off the record, of course.”

Leaning forward, Mr. Hernandez clasped his hands together. “He cut deals with drug dealers and only God knows who else. Trevor only cared about one thing. Snorting his paycheck. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a photo shoot I’m late for.” He stood and ushered Jack out. Adjusting his tie and coat, he smiled broadly and headed into the hallway.

From the doorjamb, Jack watched Suspect Number Two waltz past him and disappear into the elevator. Just how close would that election have been if Trevor had survived the campaign? Could Mr. District Attorney have offed Trevor Santino to eliminate his only competition? And who had Trevor cut deals with? Had one of those deals soured?

The memory card from
the now-broken camera slid around in his shoe with each step he took. As soon as he passed the threshold of his office, Jack deposited his coat and hat on the coat rack, kicked off his shoes, and retrieved the card.

Shamus flew down from his perch to greet him, nuzzling against Jack’s leg. “Jack’s back. Jack’s back.”

Absently, Jack reached down to pet the bird. Shamus was one of the few who’d unconditionally loved him, standing by his side, despite the lies that had cost him his job. Might be the only true friend he had anymore.

Appeased for the moment, Shamus wandered off, leaving him to turn his attention back to the case at hand. Jack turned the memory card over in his hand. The camera might be in bits and pieces, but the intel he’d gathered hopefully survived. If there was ever a time to be thankful for modern technology, it was now. In his father’s day, cops didn’t have computers to do their thinking for them. Didn’t need them to, either. Any good detective worth his salt kept meticulous notes and had a keen sense of intuition. Could smell a rat a mile away and did whatever it took to get them off the street.

But in a pinch, when the walls were closing in, he’d take whatever he could get to work in his favor, even a heartless machine. Jack took a seat behind his desk, plugged the memory card into the slot on the computer, and crossed his fingers that the temperamental PC would feel like cooperating with him.

He was in luck. Good thing too, because a machine’s a whole hell of a lot harder to schmooze than a dame and he’d get nowhere fast.

Jack called up a photograph and enlarged the image until he could read the document. Victim: Trevor Santino, age 34, residing at 38701 Oakhurst Lane. His father, a retired senator, and mother, a socialite known for her humanitarian efforts, were listed as the next of kin.

Jack let out a whistle. After giving Trevor’s financial statements the once over, it was obvious that Angie’s main squeeze came from money, and lots of it. Besides having rich and famous parents, Trevor had amassed quite an impressive bankroll on his own. Maybe he flashed his cash in the wrong hood and it got him killed?

He pushed print and scrolled on to the next. The rest of the documents were all pretty standard fare in the law enforcement world. Each form listed the vic’s name and case number along with photographs and hand-drawn maps detailing the exact whereabouts of the murder. Where the hit took place mattered far less than how. And from the looks of it, hapless Trevor took two to the forehead, gang-style, while in his flashy black Mercedes. Guess that fancy silver spoon wasn’t very useful after all.

No autopsy report. Given the obvious nature of how Trevor died, and a bit of pressure from a high-power family member, it would have been easy to skip that step.

Jack stood up and stretched. After the day he’d had, he was entitled to indulge in a stiff drink or two. Anything to dull the pain of a broken rib. Walking into the bathroom, he grabbed a bottle of pain pills before heading back to raid the desk drawer where he always kept an extra bottle of the good stuff. He chased down two pills with a shot and sat back down.

Based on the impersonal nature of the murder, detectives speculated that the hit was gang related and a case of wrong place, lousy timing. The gun and shell casings led back to a known gang member. Only one witness, either an incredibly brave or insanely stupid man, gave a statement corroborating the theory.

In a city with a crime rate that had skyrocketed as of late, it was not unusual to close a high-profile case as quickly as possible, even if it meant arresting the wrong man.

The final page of the case file reported that the prime suspect, a young kid being initiated into the crew that terrorized the west side of town, was found by detectives, shot in an apparent suicide. Case closed.

To Jack’s cynical eyes, the case was anything but. The police work was shoddy at best, the theories flimsy. Maybe it was time to do his own special brand of investigation, starting with that witness, the dockworker by the name of Edwin Doheny. With the right touch, Jack was willing to bet he could squeeze more details out of Mr. Doheny. He had a feeling Angie was right. Something had gotten Trevor killed, and it wasn’t no lousy gang initiation.

Jack tucked the file note inside the desk drawer and took a swig of his drink.

Suddenly the office door swung open and slammed into the wall, jostling picture frames from their hooks causing them to tilt helter skelter. Shamus took to the sky, squawking in protest. Startled, Jack sat up, his drink sloshing precariously close to the edge as he reached for the .22 hidden in his desk drawer. A cup of pens tipped and spilled onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Deluca stormed into the office. “What the hell has gotten into you recently?”

“What the hell, Deluca? I could have shot you.” Jack put his drink down and willed his heart to slow to a normal pace again. “Shamus, cut that out.”

Jack bent to collect the handful of pens that had rolled under the chair and then returned them to their rightful place on the desk. The parrot headed back to his perch, cussing the whole way. The surly bird spat out one final insult before turning his back on Jack and Deluca. “Asshole.”

“It’s that Angie girl, isn’t it? Did she put you up to this?” Deluca slumped down in a chair and grabbed the decanter off the desk, pouring himself a generous shot. “You missed one.” He picked up a lone pen that had found its way to the chair normally reserved for clients and held it out.

Jack was in no mood to explain himself to anyone, let alone Deluca. He’d screwed up, and had the shiner to prove it. “Go ahead. Say what you came here to say.” He snatched the pen from Deluca’s hand and dropped it onto the desk.

Deluca tossed a thin folder on the desk. “She’s not married. Never was. If you don’t believe me, check it out for yourself. There’s no record anywhere of a marriage license being filed under her name.”

He blinked, suddenly woozy as Deluca’s words sank in. Why would Angie lie to him? Being duped by a dame was one thing, but this felt different. Things weren’t adding up. “I didn’t ask you to do any digging.”

“And let my friend get burned by a damn female? Hell no. I’m a better friend than that and it’s a damn good thing I did.” Deluca grabbed Jack’s chin and gave him the once over. “Christ, Jack. They really worked you over. What were you thinking?”

Jack jerked free, the throbbing in his head resuming with vicious intent.

Deluca downed his shot and poured another. “Going down to the station was a stupid move. You know they could arrest you for this. I.A. is going to be all over this. They’ve already suspended Tessa. It’s just a matter of time before they bring the heat down on you.”

“Let ‘em bring it. I don’t care anymore.”

What was there to care about? The love of his life was lying to him, using him for only God-knows-what purpose, his father was dead, his mother unable to communicate even the most basic of thoughts, his best friend was pissed at him, and his freedom was being threatened. The only thing left was his pet parrot, Shamus, and even he only tolerated Jack when he wanted to be fed.

“Listen to yourself. Are you really willing to risk your freedom for some dumb girl? Risk your life? Wise up. The bitch is playing you. She hired some poor schmuck to off her boyfriend and now she’s hoping to hang this all on you.”

Jack downed the scotch, letting it sear the retort in his throat. Maybe Deluca was right. When it came to Angie, his judgment had always been a bit skewed. Was she really just pulling a fast one on him?

“You keep digging and all you’re gonna get is a mess of trouble, and for what? A girl who can’t even remember if she’s married or not? Look,” he said, leaning forward, “if it’s sex you want, go for it. Bang ‘er until you forget your own name. Want excitement and danger? Take out your frustration on some low-life gangbanger who needs to be popped.”

“I already told you. I’m out, Deluca. This is it. My last case.”

Jack could feel his dream of retiring while he was still alive slipping through his fingers and out of reach.

“See? What’d I say? She’s already got you all twisted and turned around so’s you can’t tell up from down. One minute you’re staring down at the top of a woman’s head while she’s blowing you, and the next thing you know, you’re got a ring on your finger and a leash on your Johnson. You listen to me, buddy, when it comes to women?” He snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “They’re only good for one thing. If you want my advice—”

“I don’t.”

“She’s not worth all the hassle. If you don’t back off, you just might find yourself swinging in the wind. Drop the case, Jack. I’m beggin’ you.”

“I can’t. I can’t walk away from this case.”

“You mean from her.” Disdain dripped from Deluca’s voice. He stood up. “If you want to screw yourself, that’s one thing. But I ain’t going down with you.”

Thinking straight was becoming next to impossible when all Jack could hear—all that kept screaming through his mind—was that Angie had lied to him. Jack grabbed his hat and coat. “I need air.” He paused, hand on the doorknob, and then, thinking better of it, went back to the desk and snatched the bottle of Scotch out of Deluca’s hand.