"V" is for Vengeance (54 page)

He took the elevator up. When the doors opened, he crossed the reception area and paused at Abbie's desk. Beautiful girl, no doubt about it, with that long dark hair. Sometimes she wore it up, caught in an oversize tortoiseshell clip that looked like a set of spring-loaded teeth. Steady, responsible, a valuable employee. She was watching him carefully, trying to read his mood. Maybe it had occurred to her that he and the private eye might have crossed paths downstairs.

“I have a job for you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“For me?”

Her warm olive complexion had taken on a gray cast, and he knew if he reached out and touched her hand, her fingers would be cold. “I need two first-class seats on a flight from LAX to Manila. I'll need a limousine to take us down to the airport.”

Her face went blank as the request sank in. A frown created two parallel creases between her eyes. If she did that often, they'd be permanent.

“Is this a problem?” he asked.

“I was wondering why you chose Manila.”

“I like the Philippines, okay?”

She licked her lips as though her mouth had gone dry. “When did you want to leave?”

“Thursday. Make it late so I can get in a full day's work. I'll be at the warehouse first thing. Have a limo pick us up at the house for the trip down to the airport.”

“You don't want your driver to take you?”

“He's entitled to three weeks' paid vacation. I'm giving him the time off. Same with my bodyguard.”

She hesitated. “Lou Elle usually handles travel.”

“And now you do. Think you can manage it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned down and pulled over the notepad where she recorded phone calls. He preferred a different system, one with automatic carbons so the top slip could be torn off and left on his desk. He jotted two names and a series of numbers on the lined page and pushed it back to her.

She glanced down. “Mrs. Vogelsang?”

“You have an opinion, you can keep it to yourself.”

“Won't I need her birth date and passport number?”

He pointed. “What do you think that is?”

“Oh, sorry. What airline?”

“Surprise me. I want the itinerary in hand by the end of the day. Also, call the police department and ask to speak to Sergeant Detective Priddy. That's
P-R-I-D-D-Y.
Set up a meeting here as soon as possible. Within the hour if he can make it.”

He crossed to the door and pushed into the inner corridor without looking back, but he could picture her dismay. What would she do with Len Priddy in the office? Admit she was in bed with a vice cop? Pretend she didn't know the guy?

He stopped in Lou Elle's office and found her tapping on her computer keys, her glasses low on her nose.

“Sorry to interrupt. I've asked Abbie to book some airline tickets. I don't want you to think she's treading on your turf.”

“Appreciate the information. Anything else?”

“That's what I like about you. All business.”

“That's what you pay me for.”

“Who do we know at St. Terry's?”

“Medical records or administration?”

“You tell me. I need everything they got on these two.” Again, he jotted information on a scratch pad, tore off the leaf, and passed it to her. He continued writing while Lou Elle read the note he'd given her. “Pierpont? That's a good one.”

“I didn't name the guy. His mother did. Set up an account in his name. A hundred grand for starters. We'll see how it goes from there. You make sure he's taken care of regardless.”

Her gaze came up to his. “Regardless of what?”

“Life's a crapshoot. You never know what's coming down the pike.”

“Is this deductible?”

He smiled. “Good question. Talk to Saul and see if he can make it work,” he said. “As long as you're at it, there's something else you need to set up. A little switcheroo.” He handed her the second piece of scratch paper.

She glanced at it. “Ooo, for me?”

“I thought you and your hubby could use the time away.”

She folded the note in half and slipped it under her desk calendar. “Thanks. Very sporting of you. I'll let Saul know about the rest of it since it's his department.”

He said, “Everything is Saul's department.”

“Understood.”

He spent the rest of the morning taking care of odds and ends. When Abbie buzzed him at noon, he'd almost forgotten what he wanted until she told him Sergeant Priddy was in the lobby. “Give me a few minutes and then bring him in. It won't hurt him to cool his heels.”

“Would you like coffee?”

“Why not? Make the guy feel welcome.”

He took his finger off the intercom. No reason to chafe about Abbie's deception. People did you in. People turned on you in a heartbeat. Pop always told him it was like that. His advice was to play the hand you're dealt. No point wishing things were different just because the truth cut you as clean as a razor blade.

He got up from his desk and crossed to the wall safe, ran the combination, and opened it. He put his Sig Sauer in the inner pocket of his sport coat. When he sat down again, he buzzed Abbie and told her she could bring Priddy in. A few minutes passed before the two arrived. If he'd had a surveillance camera in the lobby, he might have been entertained by their shenanigans.

She tapped on his door and as she opened it, he reached forward and pressed a button on the answering machine. She and Priddy had apparently decided to play it cool. She kept her expression bland and indifferent, and Len made a point of ignoring her. Dante got up and shook Len's hand, inviting him to take a seat. He'd never liked the guy's looks. Something smarmy going on. His hair was a slick gray, combed back from his face, which was big and square. His skin was crepey, with an unbecoming puffiness along his jaw. He had bags under his eyes and his upper lids sagged until it was a marvel he could see. He couldn't imagine what a gorgeous girl like Abbie was doing with a guy like him. Maybe she needed a sugar daddy and he got off being sexually serviced by someone half his age.

Dante said, “Sergeant Detective Priddy, it's nice to see you again. It's been a while.”

“You seem to be holding your own,” Len said.

“I was until recently.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, ‘Oh.' Let's cut to the chase here. My brother's been seen in conversation with you. I've heard it from more than one source and it doesn't sit well.”

Len continued to look at him. Dante could see that he was reluctant to confirm the claim and too smart to deny it. Len said, “I'm not sure this is a conversation we should be having.”

“Why not? The place isn't bugged. I have it swept every other day,” Dante said, and went on: “I imagine you've come into all manner of information about how I run my business. Not that Cappi's a reliable source.”

“I don't think that warrants comment. You know your brother better than I do.”

“Here's something he hasn't been told and therefore hasn't had the opportunity to pass along. I'm closing up shop. I've been meaning to get out for years, but it was never the right time.”

Len smiled. “You're closing up shop because you're under indictment and you know you're going to jail.”

“I wasn't aware we were discussing my motivation,” Dante said. “I admit my retirement is self-serving, but keep this in mind: I'm a good businessman. I believe in sound financial practices, the same as a bank. I've also kept the violence to a minimum and what there was of it was Cappi's doing.”

“You've never ordered a hit,” Len said facetiously.

“No, I have not. Killing makes for bad public relations. Not that Cappi would agree. He can hardly wait to step into my shoes. Once that happens, you got a real problem on your hands.”

“I think I can deal with it.”

“The deal is the issue we're here to discuss. He might be willing to slip you your share, but he won't be as generous as I've been. You'd be wise to broker an agreement up front and make sure it's on your terms, not his.”

“Is that what this meeting's about? Unsolicited advice from a fucking gangster?”

“I don't think of myself as a gangster. The term offends me. I've never been convicted of a crime.”

“You will be.”

“You're entitled to feel smug because you win either way. I'm out, he's in, it's all the same to you. You think you've got your hands full with me, wait until Cappi's in the driver's seat. He'll turn this town on its ear.”

“So why don't you do us all a favor and get rid of him?” Len said.

Dante smiled. “Why don't you? I've got enough problems as it is without adding murder to the list.”

“You only have one problem, buddy. We are taking you down.”

“Oh, please. How long has this investigation been going on? Two years, three? You're playing patty-cake with the FBI and who else? DEA? ATF? All government grunts, a bunch of jack-offs. I already told you I'm out of here. Cappi's the one you should worry about. Take him out and the business is all yours.”

Len got up. “Meeting's over. Good-bye and good luck.”

“Think about it. That's all I'm saying. Retire from the PD and live in style for a change. You could do a lot worse.”

“I'll take it under advisement,” he said. “What's the time frame for this departure of yours?”

“That's no concern of yours. I'm telling you this much because I want to be fair since you've been such a help to me.”

 

 

Dante left the office early. He was restless, obsessing about Nora, trying to decide what to do. He wanted to tell her what happened to Phillip, but he knew it would be the end of their relationship. On the other hand, what was love about if not honesty and openness? He had Tomasso drop him at the house, where he picked up his car. He drove to the Vogelsangs' in Montebello and swung the Maserati into the courtyard, then parked it next to Nora's Thunderbird. It was Wednesday and he assumed Channing was back in Los Angeles. Dante was heavy-hearted, a phrase he'd never understood before.

He crossed to the front door, aware of how ordinary all of his actions felt. He was playing the part of Lorenzo Dante, not fully inhabiting his body, but removed as though watching from outside himself. She must have heard his car pull in because when he rang the bell, she opened the door. Her face was stone. She held on to the door, forcing him to remain outside.

Someone had spilled the beans. “Who told you?”

“Two FBI agents came to the house in Malibu. I can't believe you didn't tell me yourself. How long were you going to let this go on?”

“I had no idea you were married to Tripp until yesterday at the beach house.”

“Yes, you did. I saw it in your face. Why didn't you speak up?”

“I couldn't. When it finally dawned on me, all I could think was I didn't want to lose you. I knew if I owned up, it was over.”

Nora said, “You're despicable.”

“I didn't mean to deceive you. I came here because I want to be straight with you whatever the cost.”

“Well, aren't you the noble one?”

“Nora. God's truth. I never laid a hand on your boy. I'm not excusing myself. He died because of me. I'm responsible, but not through any intention on my part. I made an offhand remark and Cappi took it for something else. He's vicious and he has no impulse control. He's been that way since he was a kid. I should have had him taken out. I couldn't bring myself to do it, but I should have done it anyway. I didn't understand how dangerous he was.”

“Yes, you did. You knew perfectly well, but you looked the other way.”

“I don't want to argue with you. That's not why I'm here. You're right. Whatever you say, I accept. I should have turned him in two years ago when I found out he threw Phillip off that roof. I thought his being my brother mattered more than justice. I was wrong.”

“You could have turned him in yesterday. I might have believed in your sincerity if you'd done that.”

“I'll make it right. I'll talk to the DA and tell him everything.”

“Who gives a shit what you do now? He's still your brother. I don't see why you should suddenly see your way clear to doing what you should have done long before now.”

“Listen to me. Listen. All bets are off. Cappi sold me out to the cops and that's the end of anything I owe him.”

“Are you hearing yourself? You're saying if he'd been loyal, you'd have gone on protecting him. So what if he killed a few people, you'd have shielded him as long as there was some benefit to you.”

“I carried him because Pop would've died if anything happened to him. I thought if I looked after him, my old man would eventually bring me in out of the cold.”

“Oh, you're out in the cold, all right.”

“Fine. I'm out. I won't fight you on this. As long as we're putting our cards on the table, there's something else. You do whatever you have to do, but fold this into the equation while you're at it. Phillip was a good kid, but he was off track. He told me he gambled all through college. He bragged he made money at it, but that was bullshit. All poker players say that. It's a distortion . . . filtering out the losses and exaggerating the wins. Did you ever stop and calculate how much you and Channing paid out to cover his debts? You'd be paying to this day because he would never have given it up. He couldn't. That was his fix . . . how he took care of whatever pain and anxiety he felt.”