Complicity in Heels (12 page)

“But you have to promise me something.”

Marty’s eyes lit up. “What?”

Nikki leaned forward and caressed his cheek. “That you won’t tell anyone you saw me…not Ms. Daniels, not Mrs. Ruiz, not any of your friends.”

Marty smiled an “okay” and followed it up with a nod.

“Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

Nikki held up her right hand in a fist and extended her little finger. “Pinky swear.”

Marty mirrored her gesture then wrapped his finger around hers. “I swear.”

“I love you,” Nikki said, hugging him again.

“Love you too, Neeka. Mean it.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

V
ictor paced the floor in his suite at the Chateau Regency. His mind was preoccupied with several thoughts: Quinn’s random request for him to make a cash donation on his behalf to Paris Oaks, Bosky’s use of excessive force as payback, and the excruciating pain he still felt as he moved.

The living room was occupied by three associates he’d done business with in the past: independent contractors, discreet, reliable, all “visiting” from out of town. They were far from the brawny, well-dressed, gun-toting Italian guys the term “hired muscle” often brought to mind, the obvious distinction being that the group was multiethnic.

From the Windy City, the trio often took jobs together and only referred to one another by gemstone monikers. The black gentleman was called Onyx; his Latino colleague was Topaz; and the Caucasian went by Jasper.

Victor stopped in midstep in front of the sofa and stared at the men before him. They were seated in lounge chairs around a square mahogany coffee table.

Topaz fumbled with his fingers, twisting them. “You gotta go to the bathroom or something,
esé
?”

“Bathroom, hell,” Onyx cut in. “He needs a muthafucking doctor. Who fucked your face up like that, Patrone?”

“Yeah,
esé
, we here fo’ that retribution?”

Victor ignored the barrage of questions. Instead, he patted himself down and checked the pockets of the new suit the concierge had delivered to him.

“Gentlemen,” Jasper said, raising his voice, “enough.”

Victor reached inside his jacket and pulled out the torn newspaper announcement. “There’s a government auction,” he began, placing the advertisement on the coffee table, “open to the general public for the next seventy-two hours.”

Jasper looked at Topaz and Onyx. “And you want us…to do what?”

“Go shopping, of course.”

“For what,
esé
?”

Victor smirked at Topaz, aggravating his facial injuries. “Toys for our little surprise party.”

Onyx shook his head. “Who’s picking up the tab for this, Patrone?”

“Don’t worry—I got it covered.”

“You’d better,” Onyx scoffed.

Victor tossed the second five-thousand-dollar stack of cash he had in his possession onto the table.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Onyx scooped up the bundle and ran his fingers through the bills. “Woo-hoo!”

“And the shopping list?” Jasper asked.

“Written on the currency band.”

Jasper motioned for Onyx to toss him the stack of cash.

“There are three items and only three items we need,” Victor said.

Jasper glanced at the plain white strap securing the bills. A numbered list written in pencil was scribbled across the band.

“Also, don’t forget to pick up our package from FedEx,” Victor reminded them.

Topaz held up the purple-and-orange pickup notice. “Roger,
esé
.”

Victor rolled his shoulders to alleviate some of his soreness.
Pigs worked me over real good
, he thought bitterly.

Onyx stared at him for a moment, shook his head, and frowned. “Any muthafucking thing else?”

Victor reached back into his jacket, removed the remaining bills he had left, peeled off another grand, and handed it to Jasper, along with a pair of spare key cards to the suite. “Rendezvous back here when everything’s completed.”

The men nodded, stood up, and left. Victor went into the bathroom and freshened up.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Victor peered through the peephole. It was Lacey, dressed in a leopard-print dress. He eased the door open and welcomed her in.

“Got your message,” she said, entering the room.

“Good.” Victor looked her over. Her body-flaunting garment exposed a generous portion of her bronzed skin while encasing her sultry curves.

Lacey spun around and adjusted her cleavage.

“Well,” Victor prodded, wanting to address the obvious.

She stared at him blankly.

“The face,” he finally said. “Aren’t you gonna ask about it?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my place to do so.” Lacey shifted her eyes to the left and glanced down the hallway leading toward the bedroom. “Besides, I’m here to fuck. Where’s the cash?”

Victor laughed. “My, my, my, you are curt.”

Lacey flashed him a halfhearted smile and held her hand out to be paid.

Victor reached into his jacket again, removed a grand, and handed it to her. “Here.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, warming up to him instantly.

Victor frowned.
Just like four quarters—always changing for a
dollar.

“You were saying something about your face?”

“Never mind,” he said, straightening his jacket.

“Well, don’t be such a sourpuss,” she said. “It’s the cost of doing business. What else is new?”

Victor gave Lacey a sly smile. “I’m onto something big here, cupcake.”

She closed the distance between them and placed her hand on his chest, then slid it down slowly. Victor closed his eyes as her hand descended lower.

“I suspect in a few minutes I’ll be onto something big too,” she said, fondling him through his slacks.

Victor stiffened. “Seriously, this thing could solve all my problems.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lacey said, ignoring him as he went on and on about the brilliance of his idea. Working her way back up toward his torso, she leaned in close and whispered for him to be quiet. “Now how about a little taste of sin?”

Victor nodded vigorously.

Lacey smiled then gently eased her hand around the Beretta protruding from his shoulder holster. This time Victor didn’t flinch; instead, he relinquished control, allowing himself to surrender to being vulnerable. “It’s such a rush, just being with you,” he confessed.

Lacey disengaged the holster’s strap, freeing the weapon.

“Go away with me, cupcake.”

Lacey stopped what she was doing and stared at Victor, stunned.

“Me and you,” he emphasized. “Just poof, disappear.”

“What?”

“We’ll put all this behind us. Start fresh, no worries about tomorrow.”

Lacey was caught off guard by the strange nature of Victor’s ramblings. Her voice snagged in her throat. “That’s crazy talk,” she said, backing away from him. “Besides, I have a life here, a good one. Don’t see much profit in running away.”

Victor snapped and shoved her to the floor; Lacey screamed.

“Money-grubbing bitch,” he said, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to the door. “Get out!”

Lacey scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the suite.

Victor followed, throwing several hundred dollars at her. “Fucking whore.”

Lacey scooped up the cash then rushed to the elevator.

“And don’t come back!” he yelled, slamming the door closed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
nother night had passed at the Compound. Nikki and Spence still hadn’t made any substantial progress toward completing a working prototype of the money-laundering program. Spence, exhausted from his effort, stood first and dragged himself from the lounge to the elevators in the lobby. Nikki followed. Both were thinking the same thing:
Time to unwind
. The endless hours of keyboard pounding, analyzing code, and reconfiguring data had taken a toll on them.

When they arrived on the second floor, the two separated and headed in opposite directions. Nikki arrived at her suite first and quickly disappeared behind the door. She went straight into the bathroom, turned on the tub faucet, and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath. The room filled with steam. Moments later, the mirror had fogged, and the scent of cherry blossoms saturated the air.

Nikki undressed then stepped into the bathtub. She slid into the warm water until the suds covered her shoulders. While soaking, she grabbed the dog-tag pendant hanging from her necklace and ran her thumb and forefinger over it. An image rose in her mind of her mother chasing her naked brother around the house while he yelled, “Nature boy!” She was eight and mortified in front of a house full of guests. He was eleven. It was her first slumber party, and he was making a spectacle of himself. Her mother had promised Marty would behave, but as Nikki knew, his behavior was often unpredictable.

She giggled to herself.
Nature boy. Good one, Martini.
She rested her head against the edge of the tub and closed her eyes, dozing off. When she woke up several minutes later, the water was lukewarm. Nikki got out of the tub and dried herself off. She walked over to the dresser, slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and a scoop-neck tank top, then crawled into bed to take a nap.

Four hours later, a knock on the door woke her up.

“Just a minute,” she answered. Groggy and disoriented, she eased herself out of bed and slowly made her way to the door.

A second knock followed, much louder than the first.

Nikki frowned. “Hold on, damn it.”

She opened the door just a crack and peered out. It was Spence, smiling. He was casually dressed in jeans, an oxford shirt, and a cream sport coat.

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” he said.

Nikki opened the door fully. “You gotta be kidding, right? Seems like I just laid down.”

“Unfortunately, no. The boss wants to see us now.”

“Great,” she huffed. “You know what this is about?”

Spence shrugged. “No clue.”

Nikki stepped into hallway and shut the door behind her.

Spence gave her a strange look, one she couldn’t quite place.

“What?”

“There’s something I want to show you.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic pistol from underneath his jacket. “Check it out.”

Nikki’s eyes widened. “Whoa!”

Spence flashed a self-approving grin. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing with that?” Nikki asked, shifting to move outside the line of fire.

“Personal protection. Figure if we get this deal with Francisco, I might need it—just in case things get hairy. Know what I mean?”

She shook her head. “This is a bad idea.” Spence frowned. “We’re brokers who specialize in white-collar crime, not lawless thugs running the streets.”

Spence rolled his eyes.

“We’re better than that shi—” Nikki cut herself off. “Put that thing away, and let’s go see what Gem wants.”

He tucked the gun back into his waistband holster, and the two proceeded toward the elevators. When the next available car heading down arrived, Spence held the door open until Nikki entered.

“Thank you,” she said.

He pressed the “L” button, and the elevator gradually descended to the ground floor. Once the doors opened, he led the way toward the lounge just outside the main dining area. Cordoza and Lacey were already present, waiting on them. Lacey wore a beautiful geranium-colored, short-sleeve dress with diamond laser-cut trim. The dress hugged her figure through the bodice, right past the hips, then flared away from her body. To complete the look, she had added an antiqued-gold necklace with multicolor flower stations and a matching pair of pearly-enamel flower earrings. Cordoza stood while Lacey sat on a sectional sofa.

“If you’re gonna be late, at least be properly dressed,” Lacey said, commenting on Nikki’s pajama bottoms and tank top.

Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Don’t start with me!”

“Apparently somebody needs to. For someone who’s just been released from prison, uniformity doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.”

Spence lowered his head and chuckled.

“Gem, does she have to be here?” Nikki asked.

Lacey’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“Ladies…” Cordoza, said, raising his voice.

The women stopped their bickering and looked over at him.

“Let’s get down business. Seats, please.”

Spence and Nikki joined Lacey on the sectional. Spence sat between them to act as a buffer.

Cordoza glanced at Nikki. “Late night?”

“Extremely late.”

“Progress report?”

Nikki sunk deeper into the sofa’s pillows. “Spence and I tweaked the program’s sniffer, adding a keylogger with stealth and remote-access components. The only problem now is expanding the amount of data the keylogger can store without collapsing the entire program matrix.”

A puzzled look washed over Cordoza’s face.

Spence leaned forward. “Basically, we made some moderate corrections and added an enormous amount of new source statements to the program, boss.”

“Thank you. And the estimated timetable?”

“A week and a half,” Nikki answered, “give or take a few days.”

Cordoza stepped in front of her. “That long?”

“Pretty much, Gem.”

He let out a long breath. “You know that puts us in an awkward position. Thanks to you, we have potential clients under the impression that we have a workable prototype. When they find out we don’t, what will that do for business?”

Lacey looked at Nikki and shook her head. “Ruin it—that’s what it’ll do…ruin it.”

Nikki folded her arms across her chest.
Fucking bitch.

“It won’t come to that,” Spence interjected.

Cordoza stepped away from the sectional. “Let’s hope not, or we’re all screwed.”

The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a waiter holding a serving tray covered by a silver cloche. “As you requested,” he announced, handing the platter to Cordoza.

Cordoza took the tray and placed it on top of the bar. “Thanks, Max.”

The waiter slipped out of the room.

Cordoza lifted the silver dome off the platter, revealing a business envelope and several stacks of bound cash. “The reason I gathered you all here together—” he began.

“Payday,” Spence cut in. “Right, boss?”

“Yes.”

Everyone smiled, except Lacey, who frowned. “A bit melodramatic, wouldn’t you say, Gemini? The whole ‘waiter, covered tray’ thing?”

Cordoza gave her a mischievous grin. “Perhaps, darling, but effective nonetheless. You guys thought you were gonna eat, didn’t you?”

Nikki smiled. “I could use some breakfast.”

Cordoza grabbed a stack of cash off the platter and tossed it toward her. She caught it and leafed through the notes. She estimated there were fifty one-hundred dollar bills. She shook her head.
Almost a complete month of expenses here for Marty’s care at Paris Oaks, and Gem tosses it around like a rapper at a strip joint. Unbelievable
.

Another stack of cash flew through the air toward Spence. He snatched it in midflight then pumped his fist. “Thanks, boss.”

Cordoza picked up the last bundle and prepared to pitch it to Lacey.

She shot him a dirty look. “I’m not some dog you can play fetch with.”

Cordoza clenched his jaw. “Baby, I wasn’t suggesting you were.”

“Good. Now come to Mama.”

Cordoza walked toward her and placed the money in her hand. “Your spending allowance for the month, doll. Getcha something nice, real nice, something we both can enjoy.” He gave her a knowing look.

Lacey smiled wide.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Spence whispered to Nikki.

Nikki snickered.
You aren’t the only one.

Cordoza went back to the bar, picked up the business envelope, and handed it to Nikki. “Here you go.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “What’s this?”

“Part of the ‘stay out of jail free’ card I promised you when you came back on board with us.”

Nikki tore open the envelope. Inside was a payroll check made out to her from the Myriad Conglomerate in the amount of $1,489.75 for IT consulting.

“To show your parole officer,” Cordoza said.

Nikki looked up. “You don’t miss a beat, do you, Gem?”

A playful grin spread across his face. “Nope.”

Nikki glanced back down at the check. “You even have the signature of Carson Lancaster the third here.”

Cordoza gave a slow nod.

“Will it cash?” she asked.

“Of course. Isn’t that the point?”

Nikki flashed him a smile. “Impressive. Thank you.”

Cordoza smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

Willard entered the room and approached Cordoza. “Sir, incoming call, main line.”

Cordoza frowned. “Now?”

The driver nodded.

“Have the receptionist take a message.”

“The caller says it’s urgent.”

“It usually is,” Cordoza said with a sigh. “Patch it through then.”

Moments later, a male voice came over the wireless intercom system. “Hello?”

“Gem speaking,” Cordoza replied.

“Mr. Cordoza, my name is Victor Patrone. I’ve been asked to establish contact with you on behalf of our mutual friend in New York…Excuse me, are we on speaker?”

“Yes, we are.”

Victor said nothing further.

“Rest assured,” Cordoza continued, “that this is a secure line, and the only people listening in on this conversation are my crew.”

The soft, steady sound of the caller’s breathing was broadcast over the speaker for all to hear. Concerned, Nikki looked at Spence, who shrugged.

“Is that going to be problem?” Cordoza asked, following up.

There was no response from the caller.

“Mr. Patrone, are you there?”

Silence.

“Mr. Patrone?”

Victor coughed. “I’m here.”

“Excellent, I thought we lost you.”

“I suppose the setup you have in place is just fine. If Francisco trusts you, who am I to judge?”

“Shall we proceed then?” Cordoza asked.

“As I was saying, our mutual friend in New York has decided to award your crew a contract to handle a large financial transaction on his behalf.”

The group celebrated among themselves. “That’s good news, Mr. Patrone,” Cordoza said, motioning for the group to quiet down.

“I’m calling to discuss the particulars with you.”

“Okay, let me turn you over to my associate, Spence Taylor. He handles planning and logistics.”

Spence stood up from the sectional and walked over toward Cordoza. “Spence Taylor here,” he announced.

“How are we going conduct our business going forward, Mr. Taylor?”

“Good question, Mr. Patrone. Let’s start with packaging,” Spence said, clasping his hands. “The money you provide us will be separated and packed by denomination…none of that party-pack bullshit.”

Victor laughed. “What do you know about party packs?”

“Look, I’ve kicked it with my fair share of street dealers, and I know everybody’s skimming from the till. Part of the problem is that you’re in a cash-intensive business with little or no oversight. It’s not uncommon to have twenties, fifties, and hundreds lying around in no particular order. If Ricardo needs gas money, he grabs a twenty; Jerry wants to take his ol’ lady out, he picks up a hundred, and so forth and so on. Bottom line: don’t bring me a suitcase full of cash with a bunch of fives, tens, and twenties thrown together to make up a million. “

Nikki gave Spence a thumbs-up.

“Understood,” Victor replied.

“This will make counting and verifying the received amount less burdensome. Anything other than a bag full of cash separated by denominations, and we charge an eight-percent administrative fee for having to make the money bank-ready ourselves.”

“No party packs. Next?”

“Since we’ve never done business together,” Spence continued, “it’s only reasonable to assume everybody’s going to be a little skittish. To help alleviate the angst, I propose we agree to one vehicle from each party, with no excessive entourages.”

“Noted.”

“Finally,” Spence said, tugging on his sport coat, “there’s the matter of the cash-drop time and location.”

“Yes, there’s always that, Mr. Taylor.”

“Two p.m. today, Montrose Train Station parking lot, just beyond the passenger terminal, row seventeen.”

“Montrose,” Victor repeated.

“Yeah, large bags and suitcases won’t seem out of the ordinary there. There’s minimal security, and if things get dicey, there are two major expressways within a quarter of a mile of each other.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”

“Always.”

“Kudos, Mr. Taylor. Kudos.”

“Mr. Patrone,” Cordoza interrupted.

“Yes?”

“I believe that concludes our business together until the exchange.”

The line went dead.

Nikki jumped to her feet and spoke before anyone else could. “People,” she said, clapping to get their attention. Everyone looked in her direction. “Let’s focus on how we’re going to place this money once we receive it.”

Lacey’s face went blank.

Cordoza saw her confusion. “Baby, that’s shop talk for putting the dirty money into the financial system or retail economy.”

Lacey smiled halfheartedly. “Oh.”

“We make the eight-hour run to the Gulfport,” Spence suggested. “Hit up the casinos, and purchase a helluva a lot of chips, which we redeem for large checks by the end of the night. Take the checks, deposit them into a bank, and go from there.”

Cordoza shook his head. “Too easy to get pinched. That might have worked in the seventies, but with the advent of multimillion-dollar surveillance equipment and entire departments dedicated to watching every little thing patrons do, we’d instantly be made. Besides, a true whale conducts business via an established line of credit, backed by a bank. Anybody showing up with a suitcase full of cash is just asking for trouble.”