Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (13 page)

“Ivan is ruthless and powerful. His followers are loyal, many of them new to this country. Ivan’s only been in Miami for about five years. Threats, torture, tyranny are his tools. And he has used them to get to the top.”

“The girls?”

“He moves them around the different clubs and then out of the city. That way they can’t form any relationships. Even johns have sympathy.”

“Do you think he has access to drugs? Something that wouldn’t show up on a tox screen but could make a person black out and…” I paused trying to find the right words, “do something against their nature?”

The tinkle of ice again. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Yes?” I said, urging him to go on.

“Men blacking out after visiting their clubs. It’s never the last place they were seen, often that’s at an ATM, but they all forget and they all get robbed.”

“What is it?”

“Possibly datura, they use it in Colombia mostly. It’s rare here. I think it attracts attention from law enforcement and scares away customers.”

“More than just your run of the mill sex slavery ring?”

“Exactly.”

“Where does he get it from?”

“I don’t know, like I said, it’s just a rumor.” I heard a voice behind him and his voice, away from the phone, respond in a foreign language. “I must go,” he said. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

“No, thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

“It was a pleasure talking to you. Call anytime.”

#

W
hen Mulberry and I arrived at Hugh’s place the next day, Santiago opened the door and the smell of coconut oil and fresh baked bread wafted out of the apartment.

“Sydney!” Santiago said and gave me a generous hug. I discovered that he was the source of the coconut oil smell. Blue received a “Mi Amor” and a pet on the head. I introduced Santiago to Mulberry, who smiled a slightly confused smile.

Inside Hugh was at the stove stirring a pot. The smell of fresh herbs filled the kitchen. “I know it’s not really Miami,” Hugh said “but when I get depressed, I just like a good Soupe au Pistou with a hunk of homemade bread.” Santiago slipped back into the kitchen at Hugh’s side and I watched them work silently together, cutting bread, filling bowls, dolloping the paste of fresh herbs on top and then placing them on the dining table by the window. “I’m opening a bottle of rosé,” Hugh announced. “Since, obviously, I’m not driving,” he held out the monitor on his ankle as proof.

The rosé open, the bowls steaming, we sat down to an early lunch, passing around a bowl filled with crusty, just-out-of-the-oven bread. “So,” Santiago said once we’d all had a moment to taste the food and wine and compliment the chefs. “I think I figured it out.”

“What?” Mulberry asked.

“What happened to Hugh. I’m telling you, this happens all the time in Colombia, I just never heard of it used for murder before but,” he shrugged, “the evil are always coming up with a new use for the Devil’s Breath.”

“It’s also called scopolamine and datura, it has a lot of names,” Hugh added.

I sipped my wine and stayed quiet.

“Sorry guys, you lost me,” Mulberry said.

“In Colombia, where I am from,” Santiago said, laying an elegant hand across his chest, “it is used to rob people. You blow it in their face, you know a poof,” he placed his right hand, palm to chin, fingers extended straight out and blew a puff of air. “Or you put it under your nose,” he wiped across his upper lip. “And then when you kiss someone they just, they lose their will and you can control them,” he finished.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes, it is quite common in Colombia.”

Mulberry was nodding his head. “Yes, you’re right. I saw a documentary about it a couple of years ago.” He looked up at Santiago. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve got to make a call.” He stood up from the table abandoning half a glass of wine and an almost empty bowl of soup.

Santiago beamed. “You think I’m right?” he asked me.

“Tell me more.”

Santiago picked up his glass and held it as he spoke. “The criminals, they blow it in someone’s face and then they take them to the ATM. They take them to their houses and make them show where all their valuables are hidden.”

I thought of the blood spatter Edwards had pointed to, the evidence of someone else in the room. “So they go with them, to the ATM, to their houses.”

“Yes, they go with you, to control you. My friend’s grandmother, she had it done to her. She dropped on the floor. They gave her too much and she had a heart attack. It is very easy to kill accidentally with scopolamine.”

Mulberry came back to the table “They’re going to check Hugh’s blood sample,” he said.

“This could be good, very good,” Santiago said. “If they can prove you were drugged and ordered to commit the crime, then how can they send you to jail?”

Mulberry frowned but didn’t respond to the question. Instead he changed the subject. “Hugh, one of the things we wanted to ask you was what you know about Ivan Zhovra?”

Hugh shrugged and dipped a crust of bread into his soup. “Not much. He was a friend of Lawrence. I really try to stay out of the front end of the business as much as possible.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Santiago said. “He may be a big celebrity, but he does not like to act like it.”

Hugh blushed. “I’m not a big celebrity. I understand that it’s part of the job but that’s one of the reasons I liked working with Lawrence. He made nice.”

“It looks like Lawrence owed Ivan a lot of money,” I said.

Hugh didn’t look surprised. “Gambling?” he asked. Mulberry nodded. Hugh sat back, abandoning his piece of bread floating in the soup, and looked out his window, the sun lighting his face, making him look a bit like a TV star. “I knew he gambled and I suspected he had a problem, but to be in debt to…”

“That’s why he always comped Ivan when he came in,” Mulberry suggested.

Hugh shrugged. “I didn’t think to ask. We had a budget for that, whoever Lawrence thought should be comped was. It was considered a business expense, I guess.”

“How closely did you watch the books?” Mulberry asked gently.

Hugh turned to him and frowned. “I really left it all to Lawrence.”

“Did he take drugs?” I asked. “Lawrence, was he on pills, coke?”

Hugh shook his head. “I don’t think he did coke anymore. Back in the day I’m sure, but he didn’t party like that anymore. It was just gambling.”

“I think he had an Ambien prescription,” Santiago said. “But who doesn’t?”

“What about selling drugs?”

“I don’t think so,” Hugh said. “But he wouldn’t tell me.”

Santiago was shaking his head. “He wasn’t selling anything. No way would he bother with small stuff, and if he was moving weight then I doubt he’d have debt problems.”

“Maybe,” I said, and finished off my wine.

“We should probably get going,” Mulberry said, standing. He picked up my empty bowl along with his. “I don’t want to be drunk when I meet Ivan.”

“He might be,” Santiago said, following Mulberry into the kitchen with his and Hugh’s bowls.

“Can I leave Blue here for a couple of hours?” I asked.

“Sure,” Hugh said. He laughed. “Though I won’t be able to walk him.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t be long.”

“What’s up?”

“I just don’t think I should take him to Ivan’s.”

“Why? You take him everywhere.”

I looked over at the kitchen where Mulberry was washing dishes while Santiago dried. “I just think it’s for the best in this situation.”

Hugh shrugged. “You’re the expert detective,” he said with a smile before standing up. We grabbed the rest of the dishes and headed to help in the kitchen.

#

O
n our way back to the car I asked, “Is there really a chance that if we find scopolamine in Hugh’s system he’ll be freed?”

Mulberry turned to look at me and shrugged. “That’s a question for Edwards but I’d say without the person who gave it to him, it’s totally useless. Even with that I think the science may be hard to prove. I’ve never heard of a case where scopolamine was used as a defense. And a new defense is a pretty hard row to hoe. ”

“Right,” I said. “Because the justice system is slow and resistant to change.”

Mulberry laughed. “Yes, I suppose.”

We climbed into the car and Mulberry started her up. “Why did you leave Blue?” he asked.

“Well,” I figured I had to tell him before we got to Ivan’s. Mulberry had a right to know that it was possible I’d be recognized and we’d be attacked. I’d waited this long in the hopes that if we were already on our way he might not refuse to go in with me.

“You know when I was supposed to be shopping?”

“When you got your hair done?”

“You noticed.”

Mulberry laughed. “I’m a detective.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“You are avoiding telling me something. Come on, spit it out, Rye.”

“Fine. I beat up two of Ivan’s men pretty bad.”

“How bad?” Mulberry asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“One got shot,” I said. Mulberry glanced my way and then returned his gaze forward. “He shot himself,” I clarified. “They were with three women and I could see what was going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ligature marks, Mulberry. Those women were slaves.”

“And where are they now?”

“Safe.”

“I guess they got a pretty good look at you and Blue.”

“Well, as you pointed out my hair is different.” Mulberry snorted. “And I don’t have Blue with me. Plus,” I held up a finger, “I’ve got it on pretty good authority that they didn’t want to admit their attacker was a woman so they said it was a group of men and several pit bulls.”

“What authority?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources.”

“Fine, let’s just hope they’re right.”

“Another thing my source told me is there are rumors that datura is being used in Ivan’s clubs.”

“That’s interesting,” Mulberry said. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

“Don’t I always?”

He laughed.

M
ulberry held the door of the strip club open for me and I stepped in. For a moment, I stood on the threshold blinking into the space. It was dark, except for the slice of sunlight that cut around me casting my shadow a few feet into the room. The air was thick and still smelling of stale beer and the salty, sweet tang of pussy. “We aren’t open yet,” a woman said from inside.

I looked toward the voice as Mulberry stepped in next to me, letting the door swing shut, leaving us in a velvety darkness. As my eyes adjusted I saw there was a long formica bar down the left side of the room behind which was a single light glowing next to a computer screen. “I said we’re not open,” came the voice again. She was standing near the front of the bar, big bosom, thick arms, arched, plucked eyebrows above large brown eyes. Her dark hair pulled back into a pony tail. She wore a tight, white T-shirt that glowed a little in the dull light.

“Sorry to bother you,” Mulberry said, starting toward her. “We are looking for Ivan Zhovra. Is he around?”

She leaned against the bar. “What’s it to you?”

I followed Mulberry. To our right, tables and chairs sat around three individual stages. Thin silver poles reached down from the ceiling reflecting back the computer’s light, appearing almost spectral. At the front of the room the main stage was shrouded in shadows. The walls were windowless and lined with booths made of a material that looked easy to clean. The floor was industrial indoor/outdoor carpeting.

Mulberry smiled at the hostile woman behind the bar and leaned toward her. I marveled at his transformation. He’d learned to use his sparkling green eyes instead of the threat of his broad shoulders. “I can see you’re busy,” Mulberry said, gesturing toward the pile of receipts next to the woman’s computer. She pursed her lips and cocked her head. “But we really need to speak with Ivan. It’s about Lawrence Taggert.”

“That guy who got killed?”

Mulberry nodded and frowned. “I’m afraid so.”

“What’s that to Ivan?”

Mulberry shrugged. “That’s what I’d like to talk to him about.”

The woman stood tall, running her hand along the edge of the bar and shook her head. “He don’t like cops.”

I stepped forward. “Look,” I said, sidling up next to Mulberry. “We’re not cops,” I smiled at her. “I mean really, do I look like a cop?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, running them from the scar under my eye, down to loose T-Shirt and tight pants. She leaned back, crossing her arms. “No,” she finally answered. “But he don’t like to be disturbed.”

“I suggest you go tell Ivan we’re here. Tell him it’s about Lawrence and see if he wants to talk to us.”

She opened her mouth to speak and I slammed my fist on the bar. She jumped slightly, her eyebrows bouncing up. “I’m not going to ask you again.” She recovered from her surprise and settled her face into a glare.

“I’ll tell him. But he ain’t gonna like your attitude.”

“Yeah, I’ll worry about that, you worry about delivering my message.”

After she slinked through a back door, twitching her ample ass at us as she went, Mulberry turned to me. “Is that your bad cop?”

“I don’t know, Mulberry, I was never a cop.”

He turned around, putting his elbows on the bar behind him and leaning against it. “You woulda made one hell of an officer.”

I laughed. “Yeah, because I’m
so
good with authority.”

“Serpico baby,” Mulberry said, and I laughed.

The sound of a door opening brought our attention back to behind the bar. A small white guy, balding, and wearing a sweatsuit that hung off his strong frame, looking comfortable and somehow slick, stepped into the room. Few men can wear sweats like that and this guy was one of them. He raised a lip in something between a snarl and a smile, showing off a gold tooth that caught the single lamp’s yellow glow. A faded tattoo curled out from under the man’s sweatshirt up his neck. More ink decorated his fingers, Cyrillic letters that meant nothing to me. “You vant to see Ivan?” he asked, his accent thick and voice gruff. “You threaten this bar? This woman?” he said, pointing to the big-breasted bartender who stood behind him, a look of satisfaction on her face.