Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (14 page)

Mulberry glanced at me and raised his brows in a
this is your show
look. “Yes,” I answered him. “I want to see Ivan. I need to speak with him about an urgent matter and that woman,” I pointed at her, “was making it difficult. I’m sure you can understand my frustration. Don’t tell me you’ve never threatened anyone who stood in your way.”

He raised his lip again, showing me the gold tooth and the twisted incisor next to it. “Vait.”

The woman’s face dropped as he pushed by her. She followed after giving me her best glare. It wasn’t bad if you were trying to scare a kitten.

Moments later a giant of a man came out from the back but didn’t approach us. His hair was short and blonde. He wore a shiny gray suit that didn’t fit him nearly as well as his companion’s velour matching set. The big man trained bright blue eyes on me. “You ask for me?” he said, not coming closer.

“Yes.” I walked down the bar, approaching him. “I’m Sydney Rye and this is my partner Mulberry.” I pointed toward Mulberry who followed close behind. “We are looking into Lawrence Taggert’s murder and were hoping you’d be willing to speak with us.”

He watched my approach, expressionless. “Looking into it for who?” Ivan’s accent was slight only in comparison to the tattooed man’s. It was obvious he came from somewhere cold, dark, with a Cyrillic alphabet. Some part of the Soviet empire where men grew up hungry and rough. A place where generations bred the biggest, strongest, toughest people. The type that could survive every kind of torture Mother Nature threw at them from the frozen winters to muddy summers to the abject cruelty of man.

“We’re not cops,” I said.

He smiled. “So?”

“We know things about you.”

He cocked his head. “So?”

“We might be able to help you.”

“Help me?” he asked, his eyebrows raising. He frowned and shook his head.

“We know you had a relationship with Lawrence Taggert.” I said.

He shrugged, his large shoulders rising against his thick neck, and frowned. “We were friends. This is known.”

“I think we both know you were more than that.”

The man smiled slowly. “What business is this of yours, little girl?”

Out of my peripheral vision I saw Mulberry’s head turn to look at me, but I couldn’t make out his expression. However, I could guess it was worried. Worried that I’d take a running leap at this mountain-size man, spring off the bar, and, placing one hand on his chin and the other at the top of his head, use my momentum to snap that tree trunk-size neck. But instead I smiled at him. “You’re right Ivan, it is none of my business what you do or who you do it with.”

I paused for a moment and looked around the dark bar, took a deep breath inhaling the stench of beer and sex. “But,” I held up a finger and shook my hand gently, “I do have a very strong interest in who killed Lawrence Taggert and since you’re clearly the absolute worst kind of scum on the earth, I’d say you’re suspect #1.” I held the hand still, my finger extended up.

Ivan stared at it for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You are very brave, little girl.”

I smiled. “That’s because I’m very strong.”

“Come, we have a drink, we talk.” He turned and headed toward the back of the bar.

“You are seriously lucky that worked,” Mulberry whispered to me as we followed Ivan into the back room.

#

I
van led us into a small private office that smelled of cigar smoke and money. He offered us two chairs and took a third. His sweat-suited soldier stood behind him looking indestructible. A slight, blonde woman with pale skin wearing a short black mini dress came in and Ivan spoke to her in his native tongue. She listened, nodded, and left toward the bar.

“You drink,” Ivan said. It wasn’t a question. We nodded. “Smoke?” This time he was asking.

“No thanks,” Mulberry said. Ivan’s eyes fell on me. They were small for his face but bright blue. They looked like thick ice, cold and hard.

I shook my head. “Tell me about Taggert,” I said.

Ivan turned to the man behind him and said something. The henchman nodded and then opened a cabinet, removing a dark wood humidor. He held it open in front of Ivan who looked at me. “Are you sure? They are the best.”

I smiled. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Ivan shrugged and waved the box away. “I thought it was clear who killed Lawrence Taggert. Hugh Defry.”

“You know him?”

“Of course,” Ivan said. “I love his food, I will miss
Defry’s.”

“You think Hugh was capable of something like this?”

Ivan held my gaze. “You must know what men are capable of.”

“Why should I believe you didn’t have him killed?”

Ivan held a hand to his chest as though I’d wounded him. “Why would I kill him?”

“Maybe he messed up?”

“How?”

I shrugged. The woman returned with three shots of clear liquid on a round tray. As she bent to offer me one I noticed fading bruises on her wrists. I took the drink and thanked her. She moved onto Mulberry who also took a glass. I checked her ankles and saw more marks. “I bet there are a lot of ways to mess up around here,” I answered.

Ivan took a glass from the woman. “What makes you think it wasn’t Hugh?” Ivan asked, holding his drink lightly in one hand.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Mulberry answered.

Ivan smiled and looked at me. “You ask for information but you do not want to give any.” I didn’t answer. “If it was not Hugh, I would like to know who killed Lawrence.  He was a valued business associate. There were things that he provided that no one else has. Maybe you can help me with this.”

“In what way?” I asked. 

Ivan shrugged again. “Maybe you can’t. Salut,” Ivan said, holding up the glass. Mulberry and I mimicked his movement and then we all took the shot. Strong, gasoline-like vodka hit the back of my throat but I kept my face still. Ivan watched me and smiled when I didn’t cough or tear up.

“I tell you the truth. I did not kill Lawrence. You find out who did. I would very much like to know.”

#

A
s we got back in the car I paused for a moment and looked up at the strip club. The cinderblock building was painted with advertisements for the pleasures found inside. It looked grotesque in the bright mid-day sun. I thought about the bruises on that girl. She was probably undocumented, brought here for the express purpose of turning her into a prostitute. I wondered what her dreams had been, if she had any left.

My fingers tightened around the door handle as I thought about Ivan and his sweat-suited comrade. Men like that did not deserve to rule the world. Maybe Malina was right. Maybe we needed to do something. Then again, maybe that was just the lunch-hour drinking talking.

“You okay?” Mulberry asked.

I turned to him. “Yeah, just thinking.” I took one last glance up at the building and then climbed into the car.

“Want to go back to the office and watch some surveillance video?” Mulberry asked.

“Sounds like a scream.” Mulberry pulled onto the highway and we cruised along in silence for awhile. “What do you think Lawrence was doing for Ivan?” I asked. “I’d been thinking money laundering but I’m not sure. Didn’t it sound like it wasn’t that simple?” I asked Mulberry.

He changed lanes and exited. “Yeah,” Mulberry said. “He seemed willing to do business until he realized we had no idea what he was talking about.”

“Yeah.”

“At least he didn’t figure out you were the group of guys and pit bulls who just beat the shit out of his men.”

“That’s good,” I agreed.

“H
ey,” said Ashley, as we entered the viewing room, which was a floor beneath the conference room we’d been using.  She swiveled in a black office chair, turning away from several screens that all showed the front entrance of
Defry
. 

“How’s it going?” Mulberry asked, taking a seat to her left. I sat in a matching chair on her right and Blue maneuvered himself under the desk with his snout resting on my foot. The room itself was small and dark. Four screens were set into the desk that Ashley worked at. Within arm’s reach were a variety of dials and a keyboard color-coded for something I did not understand.

“I’m just going through the outdoor feed from the front of the restaurant for the day leading up to the fire.”

“How far back have you watched?” I asked.

“So far,” she leaned back in her chair and it seemed to sigh, “I’ve done the kitchen footage for three days prior to the fire. Nothing on that.”

I smiled. “No evidence of someone sneaking in and sabotaging the oven?”

“Not as of yet,” she smiled. “But, I’ll go back further once I’ve gotten through this.”

“Sydney, do you want me to set you up in a room to watch those gas station feeds?” Mulberry asked. I looked at the array of instruments in front of Ashley. Seeing my glance, Mulberry continued, “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the basics.”

Mulberry took me to a room that was almost identical to the one where we’d found Ashley. He sat down in one of the dark leather chairs and pointed to another. I took my place and Blue curled up under the desk, happy to have a dark, quiet place to nap. Mulberry grabbed the armrest of my chair and pulled me close to his, right up in front of all the gadgetry. Knobs and keyboards, not my friends.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said with a smile. “You’re gonna get this fine.”

I shy away from technology. It is overwhelming and powerful. Without emotions there seems no angle at which to approach it.

Mulberry typed quickly onto the keyboard and a menu came up on one of the screens. He navigated to a file and clicked it, which caused it to open onto a different screen. A still, blurry image of the gas pumps at the Everglades station. He clicked another file and the next screen glowed to life, displaying an angle from inside the store, facing the cash register. Sharif was leaning on his counter, looking out the door. Mulberry filled the next two screens with angles from different cameras. I could see the pumps, the register, the fridges filled with drinks that promised power, relief, and just plain sugar, as well as the bathroom door and aisle leading to it.

At the bottom of each screen a time clock paused at 9 pm, six months before the murder. “You want to start all the way back here?” Mulberry asked.

I laughed. “Can I start with the night of the murder and go backwards?”

“You can do anything you want with this thing,” he said with a smile. He looked like a kid with a new video game as he turned back to the screen in the center of the console. He typed and explained what he was doing, but I wasn’t listening. My eye had caught the way his lips and the whiskers of his stubble glowed in the computer’s screen light and I was suddenly entranced, watching his mouth move as he spoke.

“Sydney,” I realized he said my name.

“Hmm, yeah,” I said, looking up at his eyes.

A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just um,” I looked over at the screens. “How do I do it again?”

Mulberry laughed and turned back to the computer. “Here,” he said. “See these knobs?” I nodded seeing the dials built into the desk. “They control the time on the four different monitors which you can see, obviously, from the clock on the bottom of the screen.” He reached out and pointed at the time stamp. I nodded again. “If you want to go back or forward you just turn the corresponding knob.”

He took one between his fingers and twisted it slowly. Action began to happen in the top left screen. Sanjit stood up from the counter and began to turn. When Mulberry stopped moving his fingers, so did Sanjit. “To jump faster you can go into your controls here,” Mulberry brought up a window on the center screen, “and just type it in here.” He showed me how each film was labeled and how to change the times. He turned to me. “Got it?”

I smiled but it was clear I had not got it. “Why don’t you just watch with me?” I asked.

He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, examining me. “Did you just ask for my help?”

“What?” I said with faux dismay.

“Sydney Rye asking for help.” He folded his arms and looked smug.

“I don’t like computers.”

He laughed. “You know there is quite a bit of irony in that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because your legacy is being made on them.”

I felt a chill run down my spine and land in my gut as a golf ball-size nut of anxiety. “What do you know about it?”

He leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. “I know about Joyful Justice,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” I asked, holding my breath, not sure I was ready to hear his answer. Scared of how deeply it might affect me.

Before he could respond the door opened. Ashley walked in and, seeing our intimate pose, flustered, apologized, and left quickly. Mulberry and I both couldn’t help but giggle. “I should probably go,” Mulberry said as he stood. “Don’t want the troops talking.”

I furrowed my brow. “Who cares what she thinks?”

Mulberry looked down at me. “You would be wise not to ignore what other people say about you, Sydney. It can be dangerous to stay misinformed.”

And with that he left, leaving me alone with the big bad computer.

#

I
figured out how to use the system easily enough. I started just turning the knobs and soon I was off, watching the daily life at the Everglades Quick n’ Go. There was not much to see and plenty at the same time. I learned the schedule for the employees, who was late, who ate a lot of chocolate. I felt a bit like I was watching that Kevin Smith movie
Clerks,
but without any of the witty banter or cruel irony.

I watched the day that Hugh came from morning until night. The moment of truth, when Hugh’s car pulled into view and stopped in front of pump #4, was a letdown after watching ten hours of the same thing happen in fast forward. I slowed down the tape, inching it along, making Hugh pump gas in a herky-jerky painfully slow way. I’d watched cars and drivers do the same thing all day.

On those hours of tape a car arrived, its driver climbed out, sometimes there were kids in the back, often at least a passenger. But at pump 4 it was hard to tell if there was anyone in the passenger seat unless they propped an elbow out the window, or decided to get out and take a stretch, pulling up shirts and exposing bellies to the camera they didn’t realize was there.