The Secret Brokers (30 page)

Gwen sighed as she placed her hands on the counter before her. “When Rennie found out Carl had brought you into the scenario, she asked me if I had any secrets you might be after. She said you would not let up until you had what you needed. That’s when I remembered about Earl Yeager and the safety deposit key he had given me. I had hidden the key in the house before I left. I told Rennie where to find it so she could get rid of you.”

“At least that part of this nightmare was true,” Dallas reasoned, rubbing his face in his hands. “If Carl Bordonaro ever finds out what you and your father pulled…
.
”

Gwen smiled, knowingly. “But you won’t tell him, will you Dallas?”

“No, he got what he wanted. He need never know the truth.”

Gwen stood from her stool. “And now that you know the truth
, what
are you going to do?”

Dallas stood up next to her. “Learn from my mistakes and walk away. It was a job, and she did it extremely well.”

He felt the bitter taste of betrayal rise in the back of his throat. He had been conned and now he had to live with the after effects. It felt more than a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of what he had been doing to others for the past several years.

Gwen started for the kitchen door. “Are you heading back to New York?”

Dallas fell in step behind her. “Yes, I’ll try and get a plane out in the morning.”

Gwen stopped at the kitchen door. “You’re welcome to stay here. I think I kind of owe you
,
considering everything that occurred.”

“You don’t owe me, Gwen.” A very round, gray tomcat trotted into the kitchen and passed right by Dallas’s feet. He smiled as he looked down on Lawrence. “Besides, Lawrence snores,” he asserted with a grin.

Gwen laughed, a deep bellow of a laugh. Dallas missed the light tinkling sound of his Gwen’s laugh at that moment.

“I should go,” he abruptly stated as he headed for the front door.

“I hope one day we can meet again under better circumstances,” Gwen declared as she came up to the door behind him.

Dallas turned to her. “I doubt we will see each other again, Gwen Marsh.” He held out his hand to her. “You have a good life,” he warmly added.

She took his hand in hers. “You do the same, Dallas August.”

He walked out the door and made his way back to his Maxima as the large dogs trotted alongside of him. When he reached the gate, he took one last look around the facility. Suddenly, it was not the same place he remembered. It appeared to be the same to him, but it did not feel the same, because she was not there. He angrily flipped the latch on the gate and went to his car. He had to stop thinking about her. The job was done. The bitch had taken him for a ride and dented his ego. He had to stop thinking of her as a woman, and start thinking of her as a threat that, one day, needed to be taken care of.

The Hilton by the New Orleans International Airport was booked with conventioneers, but had one suite available for Dallas when he called on his way back to the airport from Gwen’s farm. As he stood inside his two-bedroom suite and surveyed the eighth floor view of the pool, he thought of his Gwen. Dallas had tried to harden his heart against her on the drive across Lake Pontchartrain. He had even made a few phone calls to his contacts in Caston’s organization to locate her. But what would he do with her once he did find her? Kill her, or take her back to bed? His mind flipped back and forth between each possibility as he looked down on the pool. Both felt satisfying, but neither seemed very wise.

Popping the seal on the minibar, Dallas grabbed four miniature bottles of vodka and a clean glass that was sitting on top of the small refrigerator. He took a seat on the ugly orange couch in his small sitting area and began opening the bottles of vodka.

“Rennie,” he whispered to the room. “What kind of stupid name is that?”

While he was pouring the contents of one of the bottles into his glass, he heard a knock on the hotel door. When Dallas opened the door, he found a short, round man with a pasty complexion staring up at him.

“Well, well, a little bird told me I could find you here.” Carl Bordonaro gave Dallas a going over with his brown eyes.

“Carl? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” Carl asked as he motioned to the suite.

Dallas waved him inside.

Carl Bordonaro was dressed in a perfectly tailored blue silk suit and gray tie that clashed with his thick rimmed, black glasses.

Carl gazed about the suite and then his eyes found the open minibar. “They got any nuts in there?” He pointed to the minibar.

Dallas went to the minibar and found a package of salted pecans. He tossed it to Carl.

Carl pulled the tab on the foil bag as he nodded at Dallas. “Did you get my fruit basket?”

“It was very nice, thank you, Carl. I got your card as well,” Dallas told him as he walked back the vodka he had left on the coffee table. “Are you the one who made sure Gwen and her father were safe at last, or was that someone else’s doing?”

Carl just grinned. “Prison is a nasty place, filled with angry and violent people. All kinds of things can happen to all kinds of men there.” His round face became very serious as he made his way to the coffee table. “I heard that you were in town doin’ business for the feds. Is this true?”

“Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me,” Dallas said as he took a seat on the orange couch.

“You think Darryl Robertson was the only guy with his fingers in FBI pie? Anyone can be bought for a price, Dallas. You know that.” Carl reached into the bag of pecans and tossed a few of the nuts into his mouth.

Dallas shook his head as he poured the vodka bottles one by one into his glass. “I should have known better. And did your informant tell you why I came back?”

Carl went to the minibar and started rummaging through it. He pulled out a can of ginger ale. “Apparently, the Gwen Marsh you were protectin’ wasn’t the real Gwen Marsh.” He popped open the can of ginger ale.

“And you didn’t know she wasn’t the real Gwen, I take it,” Dallas commented, picking up his glass of vodka.

Carl walked over to the couch with his ginger ale and pecans in his hands. “I found out when you brought her to my house on Esplanade Avenue. When I saw the surveillance videos, I realized it wasn’t Gwen.”

Dallas nervously rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Surveillance videos?”

Carl made himself comfortable on the couch next to Dallas. “Got the whole house wired, everythin’ except the bathrooms. You can learn a lot about people that way.”

“Christ, Carl, I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or really pissed off.” Dallas took a long sip of his drink.

“She’s an attractive woman. I can’t say I blame you for fallin’ for her. She was real good with my fish too. And if you want my two cents, I’d be pissed with the girl, not me. She beat you to the punch on the Gwen Marsh, Earl Yeager problem. If I’d known what Gwen and her father were up to, I would never have gotten you involved.”

“And now that you know, what are you going to do?”

Carl shrugged. “Nothin’.
Ed was protectin’ his daughter and I can understand that. After all, Ed and I have been friends a long time and I owe him. So he had someone step in and be his daughter for a while. No harm done.” Carl leaned over and patted Dallas’s leg. “And I appreciate you, my friend. You held up your end of the deal and didn’t rat me out to Dan Wilbur.”

“Is there anything you don’t know, Carl?” Dallas asked as he held his glass to his lips.

“I don’t know where to find that girl you like so much, but I got a place you can start.” He pulled out a card from his suit jacket and placed it on the coffee table in front of Dallas.

Dallas picked up the card and read it. “This is Greg Caston’s gallery in New York City. Why give me this?”

“Ed Pioth told me that is who Doug Marsh contacted to find someone to protect Gwen,” Carl stood up from the couch. “He gave it to me the other day when I went to see him for lunch.” He wiped his hands on his expensive suit.

Dallas put the glass down on the table and sighed. “I feel like this has been your operation all along, Carl, not mine.”

Carl laughed, sounding like a little boy. “Now your gettin’ some smarts. It’s always my operation, Dallas.” He nodded. “I gotta go
…can’t
be in one place too long these days. See me out,” he urged.

Dallas stood from the couch and walked around the coffee table to Carl. “What was in that safety deposit box, by the way?”

“Pictures of Earl, his family, and even pictures of his grandparents. Nothing but pictures
;
and, of course, his books.”

“His books?”

“Accounts of every transaction he ever made, from his first numbers operation in the French Quarter to the days when he ran one of the biggest casinos in town. He kept records of everythin’.
Now all that’s protected, and everyone is happy. And I have assurances from all those other interested parties that there will be no more midnight excursions to Gwen’s farm.”

“Do you think those other interested parties killed the two grooms?”

Carl waved his hand in the air. “Some of these gentleman may have jumped the gun a bit, but now they’re appeased
, thanks
to the information you collected.”

“But I thought you said the girl beat me to the punch,” Dallas objected.

Carl moved toward the door. “Yeah, but you got to her. You got her to hand everythin’ over to you. If you hadn’t been there, who knows where all of that information might have ended up?” Carl stopped in front of the door. “I owe you, Dallas.”

“All right, Carl. I guess you’ll be in touch.”

Carl balked as he opened the door. “In touch, hell
—
I hope to see you at little Ellen’s christenin’.
Heard you were goin’ to be the godfather. That’s a very important role. I should know,” he added with a wink.

After Carl left, Dallas went to the coffee table and picked up his drink. When he grabbed for his glass, he spotted the card Carl had left for him. Turning the card over in his hands, Dallas walked over to a chair by the couch and retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Dallas searched through his phone until he discovered the number he needed.

“You find out anything?” Dan Wilbur asked in a menacing tone.

“Yeah, I found out something. But you might want to consider changing the prescription on your glasses, Dan. It’s the same girl.”

“You’re lying to me, August. Why?” Dan growled into the phone.

“It’s the same girl, Dan. I’ll swear to it.”

Dan Wilbur sighed on the other end of the line. “I’m real sorry to hear that. I was hoping you would help me out. You owe me, August.”

“Our slate is clean, Dan.” Dallas hung up and quickly dialed another number.

“Watcha need, boss?” Cleveland said when he picked up the call.

“Cleveland, there’s been a change of plans. After you pick me up at the airport tomorrow, I will need to go to the Chelsea Art District.”

“Sure thing.” Cleveland paused. “You’s finally gonna get rid of Simon La Roy’s things and buy some new pictures for the place?”

“No, I won’t be buying anything.” Dallas looked down at the card still in his hand. “I’m going to check out the competition.”

Cleveland parked the black Town Car in front of the Greg Caston Galleries on West 25
th
Street in the Chelsea Art District of Manhattan. The four-story, renovated red-bricked warehouse had a wide glass entrance and large windows covering the entire façade of the building. The bright lights from inside of the gallery shone out through the first three floors of the structure, but the fourth floor appeared dark and empty.

Cleveland turned to Dallas in the back seat. “You’s sure ya wanna go in there? After everythin’ that happened in Mr. Caston’s gallery in N’awlins, ya might be takin’ a big chance.”

Dallas placed his hand on the car door. “I need to find out who is running this operation, so I can get some answers.”

Cleveland shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s ya ass.”

Dallas stepped from the black Town Car and made his way to the building. He pulled his black coat closer around his body as a brisk breeze from the nearby Hudson River blew past. When he reached the glass entrance to the gallery, a slender Asian woman with long, black hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes opened the door for him.

“Welcome,” the woman said in a smooth voice.

Dallas nodded to her as he walked inside.

“My name is Nia. How can I help you?” she inquired with an alluring smile.

Dallas eyed her trim figure and perfectly smooth skin. She was wearing a fitted, black silk dress and black stilettos. He knew of Greg Caston’s reputation as a collector of attractive women, and for a moment he could not help but admire the man’s exquisite taste.

Dallas removed his black gloves as he took in the gallery. “Nia, I’m looking for your boss,” he remarked in a brisk tone.