BLACK to Reality (28 page)

Three minutes later Black had the address. He went in search of Stan and found him sitting in one of the unused dressing rooms with Alex.

“Can I see you for a minute?” Black asked.

Stan glared at him. “Kinda busy right now.”

“It’s important.”

Stan sighed and stood. “Will you give me a second?”

Alex nodded. “Sure.”

Stan joined Black at the door. “Better be good.”

“It’s Simon. The producer. Has to be. He’s got money, clout…he’s the only one that makes sense now.”

“Uh-huh. And you know this…how?”

“He gave Alex the restaurant recommendation in Mexico.”

“That’s it?”

“It means he knew she’d be there. He could have asked Sarah how everything worked out in arranging things and found out when she’d arrive.”

“He could have. But I’ll need to question Sarah again to connect those dots. You’re dead in the water if she says she never discussed it with him.”

“Stan, he’s gone. If he suspects we’re onto him, he could be a flight risk. Kidnapping’s serious shit. And we don’t know what else he’s into if he was trying to rig the show.”

“Whoa. Just slow down. Even if it’s true, I can’t just go barging in with no–” Stan glanced at Alex “–real investigative authority. A producer’s likely to get all lawyered up before he answers the door.”

“And if he gets away?”

“That’s a hypothetical built on a guess, my friend. I think you need some rest. Besides, if you’re right and he didn’t want your band to win, he’s pretty screwed right now.”

“Maybe he was trying to rig it for betting or something.”

“Lot of maybes in all this. Seriously. Take a breather. It might look different after a good night’s sleep.”

Seeing he was getting nowhere, Black nodded, pulled the door closed after him, and returned to where Sylvia and Roxie were standing.

“Sylvia, did you drive my car tonight?”

“Yes. You wanted me to, remember?”

“I do. Roxie, could you give Sylvia a ride home if I’m not back in half an hour?”

“Where are you going?” Roxie asked.

“I need to check on something.”

“Now?”

“Yup. No choice. Related to the kidnapping.”

Roxie pursed her lips. “Fine. I can give her a lift.”

Black kissed Sylvia. “Where’s it parked?”

“In the main lot across the street from the Staples. Row B, about halfway down, under a light post,” she said, handing him his keys.

“I’ll be back, or I’ll call you if I run into something unexpected,” Black said to Sylvia, then glanced at Roxie. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You still have a credit from saving my life.”

Simon’s house was on the edge of Beverly Hills, in a good but not luxurious neighborhood. It took Black fifteen minutes to make it there, and when he pulled up a few homes down, he saw a car in the driveway – a late-model Mercedes. Black got out of the Cadillac and walked toward it. He was surprised to find the engine running. Senses alert, he moved to the home’s front door, and after a moment’s hesitation, pulled his Glock from the belt holster and chambered a round before trying the doorknob. It was unlocked.

The door creaked when he pushed it open, and he winced, cursing the old hinges. He stood, frozen at the threshold, weapon pointed down by his side. He debated going further into the house, but his instinct told him that would be a justifiable shooting if Simon felt like emptying a shotgun at him.

“Simon? It’s Black. Are you here?” he called out. He heard a scrape from the rear of the house. “Simon? Your door’s open. I’m worried. Are you all right?”

Having established what in his mind was a justifiable reason for entering, he called out one final time. “I’m coming in.”

Another rustle and a creak from the recesses of the home. Black stepped across the threshold and took soft steps down the wooden hallway, ears straining as he made his way to the living room. It was nicely appointed, expensive furniture, obviously a bachelor pad. He moved into the formal dining room and then down the hall to the first of the ground-floor doors. He swung the nearest one open to find himself looking into a closet. The next was a small guest bedroom. Past the stairway, he arrived at the final door – at the back of the house.

Black twisted the knob, weapon at the ready, and abruptly pushed it open while standing to the side in case gunfire exploded from within.

Nothing. Just a breeze.

From the open window of the small office.

“Damn,” Black cursed as he swung around and ran back to the front door.

By the time he reached it, Simon’s car was gone. Black’s gaze swung down the street, but it was too late.

Simon had disappeared.

Chapter 40

Mugsy rolled over so Ed could rub his distended belly while Black finished packing his things. It was Sunday, the cameramen were gone, and everyone had to be out by midday so the cleaning crew could ready it for return to the owner. Mugsy’s purring sounded like a lawn mower, and Black smiled as he zipped his bag closed.

“I’m gonna miss the little guy,” Ed said.

“He seems to like you. That’s rare.”

Ed nodded. “You talk to Christina?”

“Yeah. She’s not thrilled, but hey. It is what it is.”

“I don’t get it, man. Don’t you want to go on the road, at least for a while?”

“Twenty years ago I would have killed to. Ten ago I would have probably given everything I had to do it. Now? I don’t know. This was more than enough for me. Although I think you guys are going to be mega, and you totally deserve it.”

“You got us there.”

“Nah. You can have your pick of the litter now. Serious guitar players who can take you to the next level. They’ll be lining up around the block.”

Ed grinned at Mugsy. “You’re probably right. Still, it kind of sucks. We had something, you know?”

Black nodded. “That we did.” He moved to the cat carrier and opened the door. “Want to put him in this thing?”

“Sure.” Ed hoisted Mugsy and carried him to the crate. Mugsy didn’t struggle, which amazed Black.

“You’ve really got a way with him. You should be a vet. Or a lion tamer,” Black said.

“For now I’ll stick to drumming.”

Peter and Christina were sitting on the couch when Black and Ed came downstairs. They rose when they saw Black, and Peter extended his hand. Black shook it wordlessly and then faced Christina, who was filling out her official salmon Mugsy tank top admirably.

“There you are. You got a minute, Black?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go out by the pool. Might as well enjoy the last of it before we leave.”

Black set his bag and guitar down by the wall. “Lead the way.”

They settled in on the lounge chairs in the warm sun. The mild breeze carried with it the smell of the sand and sea from the nearby beach. Christina sighed contentedly and closed her eyes.

“You sure you won’t reconsider?” she asked softly.

“It wasn’t meant to be. My part’s over. Time to find fresh meat that can go the distance.”

“You were pretty fresh last night.”

“Maybe so, but I couldn’t do that two hundred nights a year, and that’s what it’ll take. Year after year. It’s exciting, but it’s also a grind, and I don’t have it in me. I’m old enough to know that.”

“Have you thought about what we discussed?” Christina and Peter had floated the idea of Black doing some songwriting with them.

“Yeah. That actually sounds great. I like playing with you guys, so that could work. And it’ll force me to keep on the guitar, which is never a bad thing. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until now, so that was an unexpected bonus to all this.”

She turned her face toward him. “I guess our unfinished business is going to stay unfinished, though, huh? With your girlfriend back in the mix?”

“Some things were never meant to be. I’m sorry, Christina.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushion.

“So am I.”

Chapter 41

The exotic car dealership “Little” Sal Capelloni used as his business office was empty except for six bodyguards posing as help and one genuine salesman, who was sitting, bored, reading a magazine at his desk, the glittering Ferraris and Lamborghinis on the floor attracting no buyers at ten o’clock on a Monday morning.

The front door chimed as Stan pushed through and walked casually to the rear office. Two of the bodyguards moved to block his way. He stopped and held up his badge.

“I need to speak to your boss.”

The heavier-set of the pair fixed Stan with an impassive stare. “What for?”

“What for is that a homicide detective wants to talk to him and doesn’t have to tell you squat.”

The office door behind them opened, and Sal’s head popped out. “Boys. No problem. What can I help you with, Detective…?”

“Colt. Stan Colt. I think this would be better in private.”

Sal nodded. “Suit yourself. You packing?”

“Of course.”

“Leave the heat with one of them.”

“Not a chance. You want to have this conversation here or down at the station?”

Sal sighed. “Fine. Come in. Have a seat.”

Stan entered the office and closed the door behind him. Sal sat behind his desk and waited for Stan to make the first move. Sal’s face resembled nothing to Stan so much as a ham with two olives for eyes. He pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it.

“I had a run-in with some fellas down Mexico way on Saturday. In Ensenada,” Stan began, watching Sal’s expression for any hint of reaction.

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with me?”

“They were goombahs.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Two made guys, far as I can tell, kidnapped a young woman who’s a friend of mine.”

Sal’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like that was a bad idea.”

“One of the worst in history.”

Sal nodded. “We agree on that.”

“Let me tell you a story. You don’t have to comment.”

“I love stories.” Sal hesitated. “For the record, you wearing a wire?”

“No.”

“Just asking. No offense.”

“None taken. This story’s about a reality TV show an extremely close buddy of mine was on. A music show. The producer was rigging it so he could control who won. But something happened this season. My friend wouldn’t play ball. I’m thinking that producer reached out to his friends – maybe they’re business associates, maybe he owes them money – I don’t know, and I really don’t care. My guess is they decided to help him out. At first it’s just strong-arm stuff, but my buddy doesn’t buckle, and it escalates into the kidnapping of his lady friend.” Stan paused, waiting for Sal to say something. He might as well have been talking to the wall. “That’s where I get involved. I’ve got a couple of homicide cases on my desk that look to be connected. Then I get a call from my buddy, and he needs help rescuing his friend. So I help. The two guys wind up taking a fall in Mexico on gun charges. One of them’s pretty badly beaten up.”

“Is this going to be a movie, or TV? Or are you pitching me?”

“I’m here to tell you that my buddy means a lot to me, and if there’s any more trouble for him, I’ll take it personally. As in my entire department and all my colleagues will make it their life’s mission to come down hard. A nice, calm status quo will go to hell, and it’ll be the full-court press to go after everything I know about – and I know a lot. I’m talking feds, IRS, you name it. Big-time trouble.”

“Sounds like a threat.”

“I don’t threaten. I warn. But I’m also a reasonable guy. I have no need to go to war if nothing happens to my friend or those around him. I’m still going to work the homicides to the best of my abilities, but I have no real interest in a Mexican kidnapping. But I could get real interested if I hear even a peep of trouble from my buddy. At that point I’d get interested like it happened to my brother, you know?”

“If I had any idea what you were talking about, I’d advise whoever was foolish enough to get involved in this to wash his hands and let bygones be bygones. Too bad I don’t know anyone like that.”

Stan stood.

Sal cleared his throat. “What happened to the producer?”

“Dunno. He disappeared. There are warrants out for him in connection to my cases, but so far he hasn’t surfaced.”

“Sounds like a smart guy. If he was involved in anything, that is.”

“I have a long memory. If he reappears, I’ll take him down.”

“As I would expect.” Sal cracked a pained smile. “I don’t suppose you want to buy a Maserati for yourself? Or maybe for your wife? Mistress?”

“Not today.”

“That’s a shame. The car business ain’t what it used to be. Recession and all.”

“Things are tough all over.”

“That’s what I hear.”

Stan moved to the door and opened it. The two guards were hulking immediately outside, looking dangerous. Stan ignored them, his message delivered, and walked across the showroom floor, leaving Sal’s door open.

When Stan left the building, Sal sighed as he picked up the phone.

Chapter 42

A mild surf lapped at the mocha-colored beach south of Jaco, Costa Rica, on the Pacific side. The sun glinted off the surface of the azure sea as puffs of clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Across the shore road several small homes perched precariously on the bluff, tin roofs reflecting bright blue, washboard façades weathered by the ocean breeze.

Simon stirred from his position on the sand and turned to his young companion, her dark skin glowing with taut vitality, her pert breasts jutting skyward in defiance of gravity, her ebony hair spread out against her towel like an inky halo. Simon took in the afterthought of a bikini bottom that barely concealed her charms and smiled wolfishly, savoring the faint scent of coconut oil rising to meet him from her dozing form.

“Maria, go up and get us some cold
cervezas
from the house,
si
?”

The woman cracked one eye open. “
Amor
, I was sleeping.”

“I’m thirsty.”

She moaned deep in her throat and sat up. Simon had met her in the capital, San Jose, where she was earning her keep as a paid escort to visiting gentlemen in search of a walk on the wild side. Simon had waved sufficient money around to coax her into spending two weeks with him on the coast, where he was renting a bungalow.