Die Smiling (28 page)

The shocked expression that overtook his face could not be faked. “Oh, Dios, my God in heaven, who would do such a thing to her?”

“That's what I want to know. And yeah, it was a pretty bad scene, believe me. Where were you last Wednesday and Thursday, Carlos?”

“You think it's me? That I could do such a terrible thing to her? No, never, we loved each other, we were getting back together. I told her I'd do anything she wanted, be anything she wanted.” His sobbing crescendoed into inconsolable blubbering, and I resisted the urge to pat his shoulder and tell him everything was going to be all right. It wasn't and never would be, not for him, apparently, or Brianna, and certainly not for Hilde. I gave him time to regain control. When he began to dab his tears with the bloody washcloth, I began again.

“Can you alibi yourself on those two days, or not?”

“Yeah, I worked at my gym both days, all day, and some of Wednesday night, all this week. My whole client list can verify my whereabouts.”

“How deeply are you affiliated with Mr. Rangos?”

I wasn't specific and I couldn't be. I knew he was a police informant, but he didn't know I knew. He looked fearfully at the door. “I'm small potatoes. I launder some money for them, deal some coke in the clubs, but nothing else, I swear it. You can ask them. They had no beef with me, no hit out, or I'd already be dead. They probably wouldn't have roughed me up like this, if I hadn't jumped you today.”

“Why did you jump me?”

“I panicked. Word was out that somebody wanted me dead. I thought then that somebody'd sent you to get me.”

That somebody being Rangos. And that word wasn't from the street but straight from the Miami PD, Ortega, to be precise. He might be thinking everything was gonna be all hunky dory and coming up roses now with Rangos and his goons because he wasn't dead yet, but I wasn't so sure. If they ever found out he'd been talking to the police, much less snitching, he'd be wearing concrete buckets in his shoe size before he could blink.

“You're playing a dangerous game here, Carlos,” I said, very low. “You're gonna get yourself killed.”

He swabbed off more blood and nodded, but his eyes were wary and guarded. “They asked me a lot of questions about why you're down here snooping around at Hilde's. You know, where she was, what happened to her. They wanted to know what I knew about your case and what Hilde had to do with it. But I didn't know anything. I didn't even know she was dead.” Carlos buried his face in the washcloth and wept like a baby.

But this little tidbit of news caught my attention big time. Maybe the Rangos shared our theory that Hilde's death was connected to Esteban Rangos's murder, but how would they know Hilde was dead, much less the victim of a gruesome mutilation? Ortega was the only one I'd told and he'd no doubt filled in his chief, but rumors ripped like wildfire through the corridors in police departments. The Rangos could have a dirty MPD cop on the payroll. Or maybe their sleazebag lawyer got them the information somehow? Or maybe it was Black who spilled the beans; I'd told him everything. Nuh-uh, no way. I discounted that right off as ridiculous. He might insist on my paying a social call on his favorite godfather now and again, but he'd never, ever give up the particulars of my case. No way. I'd bet my life on it. But I'd ask him anyway.

“Okay, we're gonna go down to the Ocean Club and check out the people you say can alibi you. Have any problem with that?”

He shook his head, and I knew he was just glad somebody was getting him out of this combination garage/torture chamber. “Is there anyone else you think might want to murder Hilde?”

He wept again, and I almost felt sorry for him until I remembered that Brianna had witnessed him pushing Hilde around. Psychopathic killers were good criers, too, when they needed to be.

“Lots of the other girls were jealous of her, and lots of guys wanted her, that's what made me so crazy. Everywhere she went, they hung around us and tried to get her to notice them. Some of them were freaks, too, perverts. Especially one of them.”

“Who was that?”

“I don't know his name. I just caught her with him once, and she said he was a relative.”

“Is your jealousy the reason you broke up?”

“Yeah. She moved out, way up there on the coast where she wouldn't have to run into me.”

“And started dating other men?”

“Yeah, and that nearly killed me. I love her, I swear.”

“Maybe if you couldn't have her, nobody could. Is that what you were thinking?”

“No, Dios, please believe me. I missed her. I fucked up, hurt her a couple of times when I was drunk, pushed her around a little, but I wasn't going to do it anymore. I just wanted things back the way they were.”

I wasn't sure I believed much of what he was saying. He slugged me pretty hard out at the beach. The little thuds and Excedrin-resistant vibrations inside my skull vouched for it. He wasn't exactly trustworthy, either. Even thuggish gangster types had their doubts about him.

“One more thing, Hilde's sister said Hilde had a stalker for a while. Said it went on just before the two of you hooked up. Know anything about that?”

His gaze darted away. Oh, yeah, he knew something about that. I waited to see if he'd lie to me.

“Okay, it was me. I just wanted to go out with her, is all. I thought I'd give her some neat gifts and stuff, and then invite her out and tell her it was me all along.”

“Not such a good idea, Vasquez. You scared her.”

“I know. That's when I stopped it. I just asked her out then and she said yes.” He put his hands over his face and wept a boatload of genuine tears. Could be for love of Hilde like he wanted me to think, or maybe because Rangos's henchmen had beaten him to a pulp. I'd just have to figure out which was the case.

“Okay, Carlos, now all I have to do is get you out of here alive. Just come with me, do exactly what I say, and don't try anything stupid, you got that?”

I found Black and Jose still having drinks on the terrace. All very civilized and sophisticated. They both stood up, polite to the bone, when I dragged bleeding Carlos up to them. Such gentlemen, why, I never.

“We're going down to the Ocean Club and check out Vasquez's alibis, then I'm taking him to the Miami PD and finish questioning him there.”

Silence. I hesitate to describe it as dead, but it was. Goons stood straighter everywhere, fingers tightened on tommy guns, shovels were thrown into the trunks of sedans, hellfire and consternation was afoot.

Black, ever the serene one, said, “We would consider it a great favor if you would give him over to us, Jose.”

Favor, huh? But I did have enough sense to keep my mouth shut. Black was better at tiptoeing around the injured feelings of deadly and touchy crime lords than I. Oh, yeah.

“Of course, Nicky. Whatever you and Claire think is best.”

Carlos sagged in relief. I think he'd been holding his breath.

Jose said, “Felipe will stay with you, of course, but would you like a couple of my men to tag along, just to make sure he doesn't cause you trouble?”

Yeah, like I'd like two holes in my head. “No, sir, Mr. Rangos, I can handle him. I've been trained to bring in bad guys.” Once again, I smiled engagingly. Yes, I can do that, on occasion, rarely, of course, but it is possible. “I think he's learned his lesson about attacking out-of-state law enforcement officers.”

Jose Rangos laughed merrily, mightily tickled by me, I guess. “I hope you will visit again soon with Nicky and do me the honor of being my guest here at my compound. It would be my great privilege.”

Just what I always wanted, to go on holiday in a house with a handy Inquisition-equipped torture chamber in the garage. “That sounds lovely.” I lie sometimes, too.

We took our leave. Needless to say, conversation was stilted on the way to the Ocean Club. The three of us found we had little to chat about. Apparently, Foxy Felipe wasn't much for casual verbiage, either, though purportedly adequate with wire garrotes and weighted saps. As it turned out, Carlos's alibi was pretty rock solid. He could not have gotten to Missouri and back, not with twenty witnesses saying otherwise, their abs still sore from the crunches and lunges he forced them to do. I decided not to take him down to the Miami PD since most undercover snitches don't like to hang around with the cops employing them, so we cut him loose back at the Ocean Club and left him to lick his wounds, and I do mean that literally.

It was well after midnight when we drove back to the Hotel Imperial and our superluxurious penthouse, and I tried not to notice just how buddy-buddy Black was with Felipe, our bodyguard/assassin/chauffeur. I was not in a good mood. Actually, it was as black as it could get. I'm talking India ink and road tar, here. I did not like Black's underworld friends or being dragged into their houses to rescue police informants. Once in the penthouse, Black surprised me with a fancy midnight dinner with candles and champagne and lobster and caviar and roses, you know, the ultimate romantic works.

Smiling, he said, “I thought we'd get back earlier, but they've kept the food nice and warm for us.”

“I'm not very hungry.” My remark sounded more like I was allergic to foodstuffs for the rest of eternity.

Black ignored my less-than-friendly tone. “You should probably try to eat something. I suspect you haven't had a bite all day.”

I hadn't, but so what? I was pissed. But he had gone to a lot of trouble, and I tried to soothe my ruffled feathers enough to pretend to enjoy his surprise. Surprise, surprise, I hated surprises, and he knew it. The table was set out on the terrace, facing the ocean with vanilla candles everywhere, all sensual and dreamy. I sure as hell wasn't in the mood for casual chatter or a leap into the big bed just behind the white linen curtains wafting around all over the place in the cool ocean breeze.

I picked at my food. Black ate like there was no tomorrow. He was not upset by my silence, and that upset me further.

“You feel all right?” he asked after about fifteen minutes of stilted silence.

“I'm fine.“

Ten more minutes passed, and then I'd had enough sitting around doing nothing.

“I've gotta go over a file. Thanks for dinner.”

I stood up and moved into the living room. I got the Esteban Rangos murder file and sat down in a chair in front of the cocktail table. Black followed, poured himself a drink at the bar, chose a novel from the bookcase, relaxed down into a brown leather chair nearby, and began to read. Probably
The Godfather
or the true life story of
Donnie Brasco
. He didn't seem too perturbed by my cold shoulder. Frigid shoulder, actually. The same thing had happened before when I was forced to clink goblets with his underworld buds, and I did remind myself that I
had
gotten the Vasquez interview because of Black's unsavory connection with Rangos. But I was still ticked and didn't feel up to hiding it.

More time passed in sullen silence. The interior of the room soon frosted up to about the same centigrade of a Siberian Christmas Eve. Frostier and frostier, I checked my nose for icicles as Black sat unperturbed and absorbed in his book. I tried to see what he was reading. It was a Michael Connelly, but I couldn't see the title. I was not happy, and the more I thought about Black dragging me out to visit Mr. Miami Scarface, the more resentful I became.

I stared at the report that laid out the circumstances of finding Esteban Rangos's body. Some guy going fishing one morning saw the cadaver floating faceup, snagged in some underwater reeds. I tried to think about the words I was reading, considered asking Black what he knew about this kid's gory death, but didn't. For some reason the angry bonfire blazing inside my head acted to impede my concentration, but I finally pinned down what was bugging me the most. I felt betrayed.

Black should have told me about his shady associations in Miami before I accepted the flight down with him. I had made it clear I could have no part in his brother's trade. I had overlooked those kind of connections once when we'd first met, but now here we were stuck again with a bunch of smiling, helpful goodfellas smack dab in the middle of my investigation.

“Want to tell me what's eating you?”

I looked up. Black studied me calmly, then took a sip of his Chivas. I guess he'd gotten to a boring part of the book. Now he sat, looking relaxed and confident, propping the short glass of whiskey atop his crossed knee, a habit of his. He stared straight at me and smiled, all dimpled up and sexy. I tried hard not to jump up and throttle him. This was a serious matter, one I couldn't tolerate, and something for a change that we couldn't solve by jumping into the sack.

“I don't like being blindsided like this. I told you I cannot have any perceived association with your brother's business or any other criminals. I thought I made that clear.”

Black locked gazes with me, calm as a tranquilized cat. “I understand that, and I'm sorry this happened. But these people are like family to me, especially Jose. You knew about my brother's dealings almost from the beginning. It's never been a secret between us.”