Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (37 page)

~~~~

At 8:40, I returned to my room and grabbed my pack. My intention was to throw it in my Jeep so that all my stuff would be in one place. I walked over to the garage at 8:45 just in time to hear Frankie assemble his “boys.”

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “Philly and Mike, you two are going to stay here at the house. House guard. Stay at the gate, both of you. Got it?” The two men nodded.

“Berto, you’re inside the house. Don’t leave.”

“Francesco, you’re the roamer. You’re the boss in charge of the house.” Francesco nodded.

“Steve, Johnnie, Carmen, Salvador—you’re all going with us to the hangar. You’ll all be outside, playing footsies with the spics, got it?”

“Yeah,” they said.

“You’re armed with AKs, and they’re armed with AKs; but they’re all hidden in the car. I’m thinking anything goes down inside, or outside for that matter, you fuckers open up with your handguns and hose those motherfuckers. Then work your way to the car for the heavy iron. Beat ’em to the draw. Got it?”

They nodded.

“You’re Americans,” Frankie added. “You gotta’ be better than they are.”

“You gonna be inside, boss?” one of the four asked.

“You bet. John and Peter will do the meeting. Gina’s gonna be the MC. I’m gonna be inside with numbnuts, here.” He pointed. I was numbnuts.

“They got the same numbers, boss?”

“Yeah. Exact same numbers. Four outside guards—that’s you guys, plus two inside. That’s me and him,” he said, again pointing to me. “Two principals and one assistant each. Gina’s our assistant, even though she’s the one really puttin’ this thing together. They got that kid who Gina met with last week as their assistant. Bottom line—there’ll be five people inside and four outside from each party.”

“I’m thinking there shouldn’t be any trouble,” Frankie said. “Gina and the Mexican already worked out all the details. This here’s supposed to be just a meet and greet, shaky-shaky, and seal the deal. There ain’t no money here, and there ain’t no drugs, so there’s no reason for anybody to get all twitchy. Except that this is a high-level meeting between the highest-level bosses you’re ever gonna see. So stay the fuck awake! I don’t want no chitchat outside.”

“No problem, boss,” someone said. “We don’t speak Spanish.” Everyone laughed.

“Laugh it up now,” Frankie said. “When we get there, we’re all fucking business. Remember, you’re representing the USA. You damn well better make us proud, or I’ll personally put a cap in your fucking ears. Got it?”

“Yeah,” they said in unison. One joker started chanting, “U-S-A!, U-S-A!, U-S-A!” and the rest started laughing.

Gina walked around the corner into the garage at that moment. She looked spectacular. She wore dark blue jeans, creased. She had on a simple white long-sleeved blouse over which she wore a lightweight navy blue jacket. She wore a single strand of pearls around her neck along with pearl earrings. Her lipstick was a deep red.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

“We’re ready to go,” Frankie said.

“Good. Let’s not be late,” she said.

~~~~

I rode with Gina in the Lexus SUV to the airport, while Frankie and the boys followed us in a gray van. Once we turned onto the paved road past the edge of the property, Gina picked up speed and headed east on Hastings Avenue.

“You look really pretty this morning,” I said.

“Thank you,” she answered. “You look pretty dapper yourself, in an island-casual sort of way. Let me guess—you’re getting a jump-start on our vacation.”

I laughed. “I’m not completely certain that was a compliment, but I’ll take it that way. Actually, when I left home yesterday, I didn’t know I’d need my dress-ups.”

She laughed. “You look fine,” she said. Then she added, “Did you sleep well?”

“Tossed and turned all night long,” I said.

“Me, too,” she said. “Must be nerves.”

“Probably.”

“You know, I half expected you to come to my room last night,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “I didn’t think the time was right, for a lot of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“You said you needed to get ready for this morning. I figured you’d be nervous and preoccupied. Hell, I was nervous and preoccupied.”

“It will be good to get past this, won’t it?” she asked.

“True,” I said.

We drove in silence for a moment, past houses and small farms. She said, “You’re not at all comfortable with this, are you?”

“Honestly,” I said, “I’m torn right down the middle between ‘Holy shit—this is illegal and I have to do something’ on one hand, and ‘doesn’t matter to me—rather see you with the dough than the cartels’ on the other hand.”

“Which hand prevails?”

“For this meeting, the latter,” I said. “I guess I’m really not a cop anymore. I’m not doing anything. I’m just along for the ride. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I thought we were going to look at an airplane.”

She laughed. “No one will ask.”

Gina reached Discovery Road and turned south toward the airport.

“But you are right about one thing,” I said. “I’m definitely not comfortable with this. I suppose I should be jumping up and down for you saying congratulations on all the money you’re going to make, but I’m not. Like I said, I’m torn.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe things will be clearer to you after the meeting.”

“Maybe.” I said, though I didn’t know why that would be the case.

A few moments later, she said, “Danny, whatever happens today and beyond, I don’t want you to change, you know?”

“I don’t think I could change now if I wanted to,” I said. “Maybe evolve a little, but no wholesale changes coming. Too old. Too set in my ways.”

“Yeah, you are getting to be an old fart,” she teased. Then, seriously, “I envy your ability to see things in black and white. No hesitation, no questions, no self-doubts. That’s the opposite of me. I always liked that about you. I’m jealous.”

I laughed. “That’s funny,” I said. “I was just thinking this morning of the need for me to expand my thought process so that I can understand the vast gray area in the middle. I have trouble with that.”

“Well, don’t overthink it,” she said.

“No, but it’s important to understand the whole picture,” I said.

“You trying to rationalize what I’m doing?” Gina asked. “Trying to find a way to get on board with me?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I admitted. “Trying to figure out why I’m willing to go to this meeting with you instead of calling it in. I have to say, I was pretty goddamned baffled by the guy who looked back at me in the mirror this morning.”

“I figured that might be a problem. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to stay with me last night.”

I smiled. “You mean so you can work your charms on me?”

She smiled back. “Something like that.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m here. I didn’t try to bust out last night. I’m here because I want to be.” I paused, and then added, “Because of you.”

She smiled again. “I’m glad,” she said. “Really glad.”

“I’m not making any promises in the future—about what my conscience will allow and what it won’t,” I said.

She laughed. “Relax, Danny. I’m not asking for any commitments here. If nothing else, I can use the extra protection. I’m just glad you’re here with me this morning.”

“Glad for business reasons?” I asked. I played back in my mind what I’d just said. Oh, Jesus! Listen to me fishing for compliments like a complete jackass. There it happened again—snap! Brain just shut off.

She smiled. I was hooked, and she knew it. “Partly business,” she said, “partly personal.”

Chapter 25

IT’S FAIR TO
say that the Jefferson County International Airport looks quite a bit different in reality than it sounds to the ear. It’s so small that it has no terminal, no boarding gates, no security—not even a control tower. Amazingly, in this day of TSA body scanners, X-ray machines, and genital-groping pat-downs, the Jefferson County International Airport doesn’t even have a fence. You can drive right onto the tarmac. Technically, Jefferson County International is an international airport only because pilots can call ahead if they’re flying in from British Columbia. U.S. Customs has an office on the field—normally vacant. A customs officer will drive down from the harbor at Port Townsend and meet the flight. The fact is that Jefferson County International is a VFR–only general aviation airport—the kind where private pilots drop in for the proverbial hundred-dollar hamburger-and-pancake fly-ins. In other words, it’s sleepy quiet.

Which made it perfect for the meeting Gina had planned. An airplane lands and taxis to a remote hangar at a tiny, out-of-the-way airport without filing a flight plan and without telling anyone where they are or where they came from. Another airplane does the same thing. A high-level meeting is held, then the principals hop back on board their respective airplanes. Fifteen minutes later, they’re gone with nobody the wiser except maybe for a couple of airport bums—guys who spend all their free time hanging at the airports swapping lies. But these guys wouldn’t be paying attention to the men or the meeting. If they were interested in anything at all, it would be the airplanes themselves. Most likely, though, they wouldn’t even notice the planes unless someone flew in and landed in a 1938 Beechcraft Staggerwing biplane. Short of that, they’ve pretty much seen it all already.

The runway is quite short, so whoever was flying in wouldn’t be doing so in a jet. Most likely, the meeting participants would fly into a nearby jet-capable field, maybe Sea-Tac or Boeing in Seattle, perhaps even Vancouver. Then, they’d change planes to a short-field aircraft capable of landing and taking off from small airports. This airplane switch-ola would have the side benefit of making them nearly impossible to follow without advance notice.

We approached the airport on Highway 19 from the north. We reached the sign announcing the airport’s entry at five minutes after nine. Gina turned west onto Airport Road and then, after driving through the main airport entrance, she turned right and continued driving west. She drove around a row of hangars to another building that was hidden from view from the airport entrance. Three large hangars had been built near the approach end of runway nine at the far western edge of the airport. The front of the middle hangar actually faced west, directly away from the entry to the airport. We were completely screened from anyone who might have wanted to look. Didn’t matter—we didn’t see a soul once we entered the airport.

“We’re here,” Gina said.

Great
, I thought.
Let the games begin
.

~~~~

Two dark blue SUVs were already parked nearby when we rolled up. Gina pulled around and parked next to them. Just as we were the advance guard for the Calabria family, apparently these fellows were the advance guard for the Tijuana-Mendez cartel. As Gina opened her door, a door opened in the closest SUV and a very well-dressed Mexican man, probably in his mid-thirties, stepped out. He wore a charcoal pinstriped suit with a white shirt and a dark lavender tie. His dark hair was slicked back, his face tanned. He approached Gina.

“Gina,” he said with a dazzling smile. “At last! The big day is here.”

Gina walked up to him and hugged him politely. It was not the full-bodied bear hug that she’d given me, and that made me feel pretty smug.

“Francisco,” she said, “so good to see you. You’re right. This is a big day for both of our families.” She looked around, and then said, “Is everything on track on your side?”

“Everything indeed. They called about fifteen minutes ago and said they’re about forty-five minutes out. No problems.”

“Wonderful. We are ready on our side. My uncle called me and said that they would also be in about twenty minutes before ten.”

“Perhaps the two aircraft will taxi in together, eh?” he said, laughing.

“Perhaps,” Gina answered. She turned to me and said, “Francisco Miranda, allow me to introduce Danny Logan. Danny is the private investigator I told you about that my family hired to look for me while I’ve been in hiding.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Logan,” Miranda said, reaching to shake hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Ms. Fiore, and I’ve taken the liberty of doing some background research myself. You have an impressive résumé.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I watched as six other well-dressed Mexican men emerged from the two SUVs. These guys looked sharp. But despite their stylish business-suit turnouts, all six men looked big and hard, like former military. No weapons were visible, but I imagined all carried sidearms beneath their neatly tailored suit jackets. They took up positions, three in front of each of the two vehicles.

On cue, Uncle Frank and his boys emerged from their van. Miranda seemed to recognize Frankie. Gina beckoned him over.

“Mr. Francesco Rossi,” Miranda said, beaming and holding out his hand, “please, allow me to introduce myself.”

“Uncle Frank,” Gina said, cutting in, “this is Francisco Miranda. Francisco, my uncle Francesco Rossi.”

“Delightful!” Miranda said, smiling broadly. “Dos Frankies!”

I thought I saw Uncle Frankie cringe, but he hid it well.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking the much smaller man’s hand.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Miranda said. “We’ve heard much about you, Frankie the Boot, if I may call you that. Your reputation is very distinguished.”

“Thanks, but I’m thinking there are three things about that,” Frankie said.

“What would they be?”

“First, everything you heard happened a very long time ago.”

Miranda laughed. “Of course. Time is the enemy of us all. And the two other things?”

Frankie stared hard at him for a moment. Then he suddenly smiled and said, “Everything you heard was a lie.”

Miranda laughed again. “I understand. We have a great many such misconceptions about our family as well. I find myself spending far too much time defending my family against such false allegations. What is the last thing you wished to mention?”

“Simple,” Frankie said. “No one calls me Frankie the Boot.”

Miranda’s face dropped—he looked mortified. “I apologize, señor. My information was bad. I’ll see that it is corrected at once.”