Hot Rocks (26 page)

sixty-seven

Sirens sounded in the
night air, coming closer with each wail. I listened and recognized them as police cars. That didn’t surprise me. If I were an EMT, I wouldn’t want to be the first on scene in that neighborhood.

“Now, Dot, now. You have to leave—
now
.” I tugged at her arm. “Let Bridge rest. You know he’d agree with me. If the police find you, they’ll clamp you in a cell faster than you can say Rumpelstiltskin. With your record, they’ll be all over you. Quick. Out the back door.” I rested my hand on hers and squeezed.

“I’ll go if you want me to. But if the police arrest you, I’ll be back. One of the things Bridge taught me was I have to be responsible for myself. I spent too many years letting others take care of me.” She looked away, then returned to me, a new openness on her face. “You’d be surprised how many men I was a mistress to. They took care of me, and I gave them what they wanted until I got too old. Then the last one used me to support his business deals.”

In spite of the urgency of the situation, her words stopped me. “How,” I said, staring at her, really seeing her for the first time. Underneath the rough exterior, I saw remnants of beauty. Dot might have been a beautiful woman at one time.

Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I guess the short version is I entertained his clients, gave them what they wanted. They came in, and my job was to make sure they left satisfied. Most of the men just wanted sex. But there were others … Let’s just say it was nasty. And it wasn’t all men. There were women, too. Hard to say who hurt me the most, the males or the females. Women can be awful. And in between, the asshole I lived with used me as a punching bag. One night, I got tired of it and stuffed his balls down his throat.”

She sighed. “When I got out of jail, I only knew how to do one thing, and I was too old for anybody to want it. I couldn’t sell it, couldn’t even give it away. That’s when I hit the streets. I spent every day feeling sorry for myself, blaming society for my own weaknesses. Then I met Bridge.” She stroked his forehead. “He said I was beautiful. He made me feel good about myself.” She looked up at me. “I don’t know what love is. I never had none when I was young, but I think Bridge loved me. And I think I love him.”

A police car stopped in front, its siren dying with a last whoop.

“You have to leave now,” I said. “I’ll see you at the bar this afternoon. I’ll take care of Bridge. I promise.”

She squeezed my arm, then stood and moved toward the rear of the house. “Thank you, Beth. You’re ’bout the best girlfriend I ever had.” She started toward the kitchen, then turned back. “You’d better do something about your clothes. You don’t want them cops to haul you in as a prostitute.”

In all the excitement, I’d forgotten how I was dressed. I wondered if David or Bob had noticed. Hopefully, they were too busy with Bruce. It didn’t matter. After earlier unrolling the waistband of my skirt and pulling the peasant blouse up on my shoulders, there was nothing more I could do. The push-up bra was what it was—an advertisement in any language. So be it.

When I heard the back door close behind Dot, I picked up the pistol she’d used on Tomasco and wiped it with my skirt. I needed to erase or at least smudge Dot’s fingerprints. Once I felt pretty sure they were gone—or as sure as I could be—I fumbled in my purse for a tissue. Holding the pistol by the barrel with the tissue, I placed it in Santos’ hand and closed his fingers firmly around it. Then I let the hand fall back to the floor. His fingers relaxed and the gun lay on the palm of his outstretched hand. Hopefully, the only prints the police would find would be Santos’.

I stood and looked around the room, studying the crime scene like I did when I was a cop in Dallas. James, Jamison, Tomasco, and Bridge, no problem. They were killed with Santos’ gun, which now bore only his prints—I hoped. The thug who had crashed through the door shot with my pistol? That could be a problem since it was a street gun. Nothing I could do about it though. After all, he was armed, and I suspected bullets from his gun would match some the authorities would find outside. The most they could nail me with was having an unregistered weapon. Santos was shot with Tomasco’s pistol, which also carried my prints. Another case of self-defense. I took a deep breath. It was as good as I could make it with such short notice.

Show time with the cops. I walked into the front yard and waited beside David.

The first police on scene were uniforms, and they were not thrilled with what they found. They seemed to think eight bodies and one seriously injured man was a bit much. Their initial actions toward Bob and me were aggressive, having us drop and spread, doing the whole ten yards.

David refused to move from his position hovering over Bruce. The police relaxed a bit after David showed his medical ID and told them that treating Bruce was more important than their procedures. His exact words were, “Get your hands off me. This man’s dying and if you don’t let me treat him, I’ll see that you and the city are sued into bankruptcy.” That seemed to have a soothing effect on them. After that, he vouched for Bob and me, and the cops said we could get up, but not leave the yard.

The uniforms secured the area, then started with the yellow tape. In the meantime, the EMTs arrived and assisted with Bruce’s care. A few minutes later, they loaded him into the ambulance and roared away with David still hovering over him. That left Bob and me to face the authorities.

Next on the scene were my old buddies, Bannon and Sargent. The thought crossed my mind that they might be out of their jurisdiction, but I decided not to mention it. Even if they had no authority, my shaky position said I should keep my mouth shut. With all the bodies lying around, I didn’t need them challenging me.

More plainclothes joined them, ones with local authority, and the fun really began. Since I was the only person left alive who knew what transpired inside the house, they were most interested in me. It was touch and go for a while as I stammered, stuttered, and stalled, not saying much except my attorney was en route. I believed it. Sly wouldn’t let me down.

Thirty minutes after that, a man and a woman in jeans and T-shirts with pistols on their hips arrived and introduced themselves as FDLE agents. Sounded good to me. At that point, they looked like the cavalry. They told the locals Tomasco’s crimes were statewide, then took over and walked me away from the group. I could see that Bannon and Sargent were not happy with the change and were deep in conversation on their cell phones.

I continued my stall, saying I was waiting for my lawyer and he advised me to say nothing until he arrived. They demanded to know who he was, so I gave them Sly’s card. After advising me they knew he handled civil cases, not criminal, the agents, Montee and Nichols, nodded and agreed to wait. I wanted to ask them why they were there, but decided to save it for Sly. It had to be his doing.

I glanced toward Bannon and Sargent and saw them leaning against their car, uglies all over their faces. I gathered the phone calls had not brought the results they wished.

After another ten to fifteen minutes, Sly’s Mercedes arrived, and he and a man I’d only seen on TV emerged. Salvatore Bercini was one of the top defense lawyers in South Florida. I didn’t want to guess what his hourly rate was, but I was sure thrilled to see him.

sixty-eight

Bercini took charge, which
wasn’t difficult since every cop on the scene knew him and his reputation. Part of that reputation was he never attempted to make the police look bad. Without much effort, he backed the authorities off, even the FDLE agents, saying he needed to consult with me and hear my story. He said it in such a positive way even I believed it.

We sat in Sly’s car, and I elaborated on the tale I told Dot I’d use. The first thug, Rivera, Tomasco had called him, burst through the door armed and tried to shoot me. I got off the first shot. Santos killed James and Jamison, following Tomasco’s instructions. Then Santos and Tomasco argued about the diamonds, resulting in Tomasco’s death. When Santos turned his gun on me, Bridge saved the day, only to be shot by Santos. His interruption allowed me an instant to pick up Tomasco’s pistol, and I used it on Santos, leaving me the only person still standing. I emphasized that the real hero of the evening was Bridge. If he hadn’t crashed through the door, I’d be dead, and Santos would be free and on his way to fencing a million dollars or so in diamonds. That was my story, no loose ends for anyone to pick at. I stuck to it through several iterations.

I’m not sure Bercini believed it, but he went along. People in his business always have clients who are
innocent
. I guess it helps them sleep at night.

I almost felt sorry for the police. They had dead bodies all over the place and no one alive to arrest. Bob and I went to the police station where I made a formal statement of the night’s events—under the supervision of my attorney, of course. Later I learned that Bob did the same thing with Sly beside him without mentioning Dot. He could only talk about what happened outside. The inside story was all mine. After Bruce’s condition stabilized, David joined us at the station house and corroborated Bob’s version, with Sly standing by his side.

In this situation, a little perjury did no harm. My hope was the story would stick, and the police would close the case.

Finally, after what seemed days, but was only a few hours, the police released David, Bob, and me with warnings they’d want to talk with us again. We crawled into David’s car and headed for Boca Raton to deliver Bob. Dot was on her own to get back to her home turf, or wherever she chose to go to grieve.

My curiosity was at a fever pitch about how David, Bob, and the rest had made it to my rescue when I had no idea where Bruce was taking me. I’d watched Lodo scanning his rearview mirror and Bruce and Gerald checking behind us, looking for surveillance.

“Not too difficult,” David said, smirking. “We just applied our PI skills and,
voilà
, there you were. What? You think—”

I smacked him on the arm. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll … I’ll go to a different doctor the next time I bang my head.” I laughed so he’d know it was a joke. The last thing I wanted was a different doctor feeling me up.

“What do you think, Bob? Does she deserve to know?”

“I suppose,” he said. “Might teach her a whole new technique.”

“All right you,” I said. “I—”

David cut in. “After you sang me your version of
By Myself
, I—”

“What? I didn’t sing to you.”

“Sure you did,” David said, chuckling. “You know, the lyric goes something like
I’ll go my way by myself
. That’s what you said, you’d do it alone and didn’t need any help from anybody. With that reverberating in my ears, I called Bob. He agreed you’d be helpless without us. So he brought in Dot and Bridge, and I picked the three of them up. Then we hid out near your place. When you roared away with Bruce, we followed at a discreet distance.

“Bridge was behind the wheel. He said he used to drive for some
guys
, so I gave him the keys. Since I’d seen Bruce and his henchmen operate, I expected they’d be watching behind them. It was tricky because they kept doubling back and running around the thumb to get to the elbow. There were times when I doubted we would keep him in sight. Fortunately, he had that big white Mercury and traffic was light. It was easy to find you each time we got lost—until the last time.

“We’d have been there sooner, but he shook us off at the last minute. If it hadn’t been for the gunfire in the front yard, we might not have found you again. Bridge was circling in the area where we last saw you when we heard the shootout. Anyway, we rolled up to find Bruce wounded and the other two dead. You know the rest. Bridge headed inside, and Bob, Dot, and I tried to save lives. When we saw Gerald and Lodo were beyond help, Dot took off for the house. Her loyalty to you is admirable.” He smiled. “And that’s the secret of our success. Now it’s your turn. What happened inside the house?”

Before answering, I reflected on Dot. It wasn’t me she swore loyalty to, but the man she loved. And that’s how it should be. But she was tough. She’d led a life of having to be tough. She’d survive.

After a moment, I gave them the police-approved version, ending as we pulled into the parking lot of Bobby’s Bar. At that point in the investigation, I didn’t want anyone to know the full story. Even Dot only knew the last part. Everyone except Tomasco was already dead when she burst into the room. The less they knew, the less they could perjure themselves.

After saying our goodnights to Bob, David and I headed for Coral Lakes. My adrenalin flow had backed down to almost zero, and I was in full letdown mode. But I had no desire to spend the night alone. Even if there had been no David, I didn’t want to sleep with the dreams I expected to have.

“Are you okay?” he said. “Want to stop for a nightcap or something?”

“No. Alcohol is not the high I need now. The
or something
sounds much better. Are you taking me home …” I asked, hoping the answer was not yes.

“I should,” he said. “Everything my dad ever taught me says you’ll spend your life rushing from catastrophe to chaos to self-destruction until you are no more. I can see many sleepless nights in my future, wondering if you’re all right or lying somewhere bleeding out.” He squeezed my hand. “However, I feel like a moth attracted to a bright light. I don’t want to turn away. Ms. Bowman, I fear you’ve squirmed and squiggled your way behind my clown’s façade.”

He smiled and lay his hand on my thigh. “Besides, my medical training says you should have a full body examination. After what you’ve been through tonight, there may be wounds or injuries you’re not aware of. If not found, multiple problems can occur. Only an experienced doctor can spot and diagnose such things. Thus, we shall go to my place where I can properly scrutinize every inch of your gorgeous body and give you the tender loving care you deserve.”

He waggled his eyebrows.

the end