Page 31 of Deadly Target
8
This bitch might be more trouble than she’s worth.
The man leaned against the wall of the nightclub, deep bass music filtering through the back door and blacked out windows. The spring night was heavy with the threat of rain, and he itched to get this deal over with before it started to downpour.
Not surprisingly, the woman he was meeting was late. He made sure to clear the alley of a few vagrants as well as a couple who had slipped outside to bang each other. They were so high, they wouldn’t remember him come morning, but he kept his baseball cap and sunglasses on anyway.
He heard the click of heels as the woman came running toward him. “I got here as fast as I could. Traffic was a bitch.”
Traffic had been thick for him too, and he’d had farther to drive, yet he’d still made it in plenty of time. “What’s your plan to get close to our guy?”
She had the hood of a jacket up over her head, her facial features tight under the yellowy alley light, her eyes jumping around. Typical junkie. “What do you mean?”
God, she wasn’t that much of an airhead, was she? “Don’t play dumb. You blew it today. What. Is. Your. Plan?”
“I, uh…” Another darting glance down to the end of the alleyway where she’d emerged from. “I don’t know what you want me to do. He has a new girlfriend.”
“You know, I kind of thought that training you went through, and all those movies you acted in, would’ve taught you something about seducing a man. Men cheat on their girlfriends all the time, in case that’s news. You know what he likes. Use it to get to him.”
He saw her throat work as she swallowed, her eyes now scanning his midsection, searching for his hands, probably. She’d contacted him before she even left rehab, wanting to line up drug deliveries. He didn’t need her money, and her fame brought a few challenges, like dodging the eyes always on her. Normally, he stayed far away from face-to-face deals, using random carriers for the dirty work, but with her, he realized she also offered the opportunity to find another way to his mark. If Fiorelli didn’t work out in his quest to bring down Frankie B and Gino, the beautiful actress needing her fix in front of him could help him take out Victor Dupé.
She shifted from one high-heeled foot to the other. “Please, I need those drugs.”
He brought the bag of cocaine from his pocket and dangled it between them. “You did what I told you to earlier, so you’re going to get this, but I expect you to try again, and this time, I want more effective output. I want you to get that Fed back in your bed, make him vulnerable, understand? Wrap him around your goddamn little finger.”
Her lips pursed into a pout. “How? He broke up with me because I can’t be the woman he needs.”
Jesus, did he have to do everything for her? “He’s a hero, right? So play up to that. Tell him someone is watching you, following you around. Use those acting chops and pretend you’re scared.”
“People follow me around all the time. I’m famous. He knows I have bodyguards.”
“Tell him it’s not the paparazzi. Make out like it’s some crazy, homicidal fan. A sneaky fan. No one believes you, but you know he’s out there. He shows up everywhere you go. Pretend it’s me, and I’m watching your every move. That should give you some motivation.”
“But the girlfriend—” she whined.
“The new girlfriend is not a roadblock. Don’t worry about her. You focus on your job and let me handle the rest. Otherwise, no more rewards.”
She reached out to snatch the bag, and he raised it out of her reach. “And if you don’t do what I tell you to,”—he withdrew the gun from his waistband and showed it to her—“It’s not the lack of drugs that will kill you,capisce?”
The gun didn’t even seem to faze her. Once again, she reached for the baggie. This time he let her have it, but he smacked her arm with the gun for good measure. “You know what I do for living, right?”
She tucked it away, her eyes wary. “You sell drugs, duh.”
He grabbed her and pulled her close, jamming the butt of the gun under her chin and making her cry out. “I kill people, doll, and I’m damn good at it. You don’t want to piss me off.”
He shoved her away and she twisted an ankle, unable to stay balanced on the ridiculous heels. Pushing off the wall, she gained her balance once more and took off limping down the alley, throwing a hateful glance over her shoulder at him.
“I’ll be in touch,” he yelled after her, smiling to himself. “And you damn well better take my call.”
He hung around a few more minutes, waiting to be sure she was gone, and no one would see him following her out. A soft drizzle began to fall. The night was still young, and while it had not gone the way he’d expected, he had a good feeling about things. He was going to take over the West Coast Fifty-seven Gang, one way or the other. And then he’d change the name.
To complete the picture, all he had to do was convince Olivia Fiorelli to join him as his partner.
* * *
Witnessesfrom the park shooting could not confirm the Suarez gang member had been around, although one mother who’d been recording her twin daughters getting ready for the Easter egg hunt caught the car Cooper had seen in a couple frames. The SCVC Taskforce computer guru, Bobby Dyer, had been able to extract a photo showing the backend of the car but they only had a partial plate. At the safe house, Ronni worked with the DMV to track down the owner.
Also at the safe house with Victor, Roman had put his team on searching for Suarez gang members with bomb-making skills and/or past offenses involving explosives. So far, they had four possible perps. None were strong leads, and they were scattered among different localities up-and-down the coast—San Francisco, Los Angeles, Sacramento, and Bakersfield. Since they had nothing to connect them directly to the San Diego bombing, they’d have to pull strings in order to get the local law enforcement agencies to bring them in for questioning.
