In Your Name, page 19
Mills slung the car into a parking space and Moran got out of the car first ducking under the yellow tape strung across the ground-floor room. She wanted to get there ahead of Mills before he started telling her what she was looking at. She showed her badge to the officer and pushed open the door.
Moran flicked on her flashlight and surveyed the all too familiar scene. A man and woman lay naked in a king-size bed shot through the head. The white bed linen and beige carpet shone dark red under the cone of white light. Unlike the other two crime scenes, this one reeked. Moran shook a handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her nose and mouth. The unmistakeable smell of corroded copper filled the room. Moran noticed the air-conditioning unit was switched off, which explained the overwhelming stench of blood.
On the side table lay two chunks of purple flesh. She didn’t bother poking them with a pen this time, it was evident what they were.
A plaque hung above the bed saying ‘Welcome to the Bossanova’. Written below it in dripping block capitals was daubed:
PAY THE PENANCE
47
The morning sun poured into the ice-cream parlour making the interior even brighter than before. Families lined up at the counter with screaming kids demanding an unhealthy breakfast. Lucas sipped his coffee.
Moran careered through the door making straight for Lucas.
‘How did you get on with the number?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Nowhere. We got a problem.’
‘Nowhere? Then what have you been doing?’
Moran removed a set of photographs from her bag and spread them on the table.
‘This.’
‘Oh my God.’ Lucas looked at the images lying stark against the red tabletop.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last night, I got a call at 4am.’
‘Could it be a copycat?’
‘That’s unlikely. There are details which we haven’t released. It’s her all right. Mechanic did this.’
‘But why would she continue killing? She’s got Jo back. I don’t get it.’
‘That’s what we need to work out.’ Moran stuffed the photos in her bag.
‘What the hell does ‘penance’ mean? Isn’t it something to do with the church?’
‘Yes it is. Penance means a punishment you have to endure after you’ve repented your sins – you know the way it works: first you confess your sins to the priest, then he gives you a punishment and that’s it, you’re forgiven.’
‘But how does that apply to Mechanic?’
‘Not sure, however I found another definition. An act of penance is also a voluntary self-punishment to atone for a sin.’
‘So it’s like you hurt yourself to say sorry?’
‘Yeah. It’s a punishment which you inflict on yourself to show how sorry you are for something you’ve done wrong. The important thing is it has to be done willingly. It can’t be forced on you by someone else.’
‘I still don’t get it. What does that have to do with Mechanic? We returned Jo to the Huxtons, that’s what she wanted.’
‘Yes but Mechanic made you do it, she forced you to put her back.’
‘So this is directed at us?’
‘No. I think it’s directed at you.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because the other messages were for you and I think this one is as well.’
‘How do I pay a penance? And why kill two more people?’
‘I don’t know. But what I do know is she’s sending you a message.’
Lucas looked up at the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.
‘I’ll run the telephone number when I get back to the station.’ Moran slid from the bench seat to leave.
‘We need to work this out fast,’ Lucas said. ‘She’s going to kill again.’
‘I want heads on spikes.’ Silverton was letting his impatience show.
Mechanic drove the limo away from the Hacienda and headed for Fremont Street. She’d been expecting this.
‘I want those shits to pay for what they did to my guys. We had an agreement and I don’t see any results.’
Mechanic looked in the rear-view mirror. Her boss was changing colour.
‘I can’t rush this, sir. These people are professionals – if they get one sniff that we’re onto them, they’ll be gone.’
‘We could have taken them out days ago, but you said to hold fire. I don’t understand why we don’t waste them now.’
‘If I take out one, the other two will bolt and I thought you wanted all three to meet Ramirez.’
Silverton considered the comment. ‘I do, but I want it done.’
‘Then that will take time. You want all three and that takes planning. Don’t worry, Mr Silverton, I’m onto it. Anyway, we are seeing results, this meeting at Fremont Street is a direct result of what we’ve achieved. Don’t you think, sir?’
Silverton had to admit she was right.
Despite his flare of frustration Harry was in a buoyant mood. The meeting was a gathering of the Vegas drug barons in response to the recent spate of killings. Two of the gangs were significantly weakened by the hits and the objective was to call a truce. However, in Silverton’s mind it was an opportunity to negotiate a wider turf. He was looking forward to it immensely.
The meeting was called by Enzo Bonelli, head of the Camorra firm which worked downtown Las Vegas. He was suave, sophisticated and totally ruthless, with a passion for oysters and champagne. There were two strict stipulations for the meet – hand over all weapons on entry and only one minder per delegate. This was perfectly acceptable to Silverton who was eager to get down to business. Mechanic was less certain this was a good idea.
Mechanic swept the car into the half-moon drop-off zone outside the Park Piazza hotel and casino. The overhead canopy was ablaze with thousands of tiny lights which reflected off the polished paintwork of the limo. A bellhop opened her door and she climbed out. Silverton did the same and straightened his Stetson.
Inside, the casino hall was much less grand. It was dark and smoky with a tired, shabby décor, much like the clientele, who were definitely more motor home trailer park than Park Piazza. To the left was a staircase leading to the upper floor. A thick red rope hung across the entrance with a sign saying Private Function. The rope and sign would not normally prevent the marauding punters from the trailer park marching up the stairs but the two men the size of fridges standing at the bottom certainly did.
They acknowledged Silverton, unhooked the rope and allowed them to pass. At the top were two more guys bursting out of their tuxedos.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Silverton,’ said one of them. ‘Your weapons please.’ The second guy held out a tray and Mechanic removed her gun and handed it over. The first guy then ran a wand over them both and gestured for them to enter. Mechanic watched as the man with the tray deposited her weapon behind the counter.
Mechanic looked around, it was a total contrast to the casino below. A row of high stools lined the marble bar, their cream push-button leather upholstery matching the semi-circular booths cut into the walls. Behind the bar was a bewildering array of spirits with crystal glasses sitting on polished chrome shelves, and the spotlights above sent shards of reflected light cascading across the room. A middle-aged man in a white suit and trilby hat sat at a baby grand piano playing old time jazz. This was an oasis of sheer opulence.
A tall man in a charcoal grey suit came over and shook Silverton’s hand.
‘Please come and join us.’ He spoke with a soft Italian accent. He was in his mid-fifties with slicked-back hair and a tanned complexion, Mechanic recognised him from Silverton’s description, it was Enzo Bonelli. He showed them to a large oval table.
Four gangland heads turned to face them as they approached, each one flanked by his minder. Silverton nodded and took his place at the table. Mechanic took up her position behind him and studied the faces of the other guests. The personal traits were easy to recognise: there was the ambitious one, the one who had seen all this before, the bored one, and the one that nobody trusted. She allowed herself a little smile, it was much like any other corporate board meeting.
Bonelli opened the session. ‘Well now this is an unprecedented gathering indeed.’ The men nodded at each other. ‘Welcome to the Park Piazza.’ He clicked his fingers and two waiters appeared with trays of glasses and bottles of Dom Perignon champagne. The corks popped loudly and the glasses overflowed with the bubbling liquid.
‘To a successful meeting, gentlemen.’ Bonelli raised his glass and the others followed suit. ‘For the next hour we need to put aside our differences and resolve an issue which is hurting all of us, some more than others.’ He downed half his glass.
‘Harry, your crew were hit first, closely followed by the Crips and then the Turks. All of them were taken out with a distinct calling card, a metal spike rammed down the throat. The strange thing is, no one knows a thing, which I’m sure you will agree with me, gentlemen, is a little odd.’
A short, stocky man with piggy eyes and a stubbled chin interjected, ‘I think it’s an outside crew, Enzo. There’s not a single word on the street. It’s like whoever did this don’t exist.’
‘Yes, it’s a mystery. What do you think, Harry?’ asked Bonelli.
‘As you said, Enzo, we were hit first, and we still can’t find jack shit on who did it.’
‘It is a mystery, that’s for sure.’ Enzo nodded, finally joining his guests at the table. ‘Only I don’t truly believe in mysteries. There is usually an answer to everything if you look in the right place.’
Mechanic shifted uncomfortably behind Silverton.
Harry chipped in, ‘Is this a good opportunity to look at the boundaries? I mean some of you, like me, have territories which have died off. When a team gets hit the people look elsewhere for gear so it makes sense if we rejig things.’ This was Harry’s play.
Mechanic’s senses were in overdrive. She looked at the faces of the men around the table and something wasn’t right. The two sitting opposite were staring into the middle distance as though they were bored with the proceedings.
Silverton was in full flow. He was playing the statesman role, describing the mutual benefits of shifting the boundary lines and supporting each other until whoever did this was caught.
Bonelli let him finish. ‘Harry, that sounds a sensible way forward but I’m still hung up on the mystery.’
You could hear a pin drop.
Bonelli continued, ‘You see, a tried and tested method for resolving a difficult problem is to look for inconsistencies, identify what’s changed. And when I look at what’s different I find the majority of things have stayed the same. That is except for you, Harry.’
Silverton gave his best attempt at looking confused.
Mechanic tensed. Then it struck her, the two guys opposite weren’t bored, they were waiting.
‘You get hit first. Then you hire your new girl here, who blows away a couple of carjackers in spectacular fashion, and Walker disappears.’
Sweat was seeping through Silverton’s shirt.
Mechanic scanned the room looking for possible exits. The two men opposite weren’t looking at Bonelli they were staring at Silverton.
Bonelli continued, ‘that’s heavy shit, my friend. So I think to myself, who does Harry Silverton call upon when things go wrong?’ He snapped his fingers again, but instead of more champagne, the two gorillas in tuxedos dragged Ramirez into the room and dropped him on the floor. The men opposite pulled guns from beneath the table and levelled them at Harry and Mechanic.
Ramirez was tightly shackled with chains around his naked torso, his hands behind his back. His left eye was closed and his right cheek protruded about two inches from his face. His hair was matted with blood and his body was covered in angry purple stripes which stood out from his flesh. Mechanic recognised the biting wounds of armoured electrical cable.
‘What the fuck!’ Silverton exploded and went to get up but Mechanic put her hands on his shoulders.
They were seriously screwed.
‘You will be pleased to know that no matter how hard we beat him he remained silent. But he sang like a bird when we played this.’ Bonelli slid a camcorder across the table towards Silverton. ‘Press play.’
Silverton fumbled with the buttons and the small screen flickered into life. It showed a woman with her arms wrapped around three children shouting in Spanish at whoever was taking the video.
‘Mi marido va a matar a todos ustedes,’ she screamed, as the kids burrowed into her, crying.
‘Ramirez has a family, which proved much more persuasive than we could ever be and now the mystery is solved.’
Bonelli made a slight hand gesture and one of the men in tuxedos made a grab for Mechanic. She twisted sharply and elbowed him full in the face, then kicked his legs from under him. The second tuxedo man came in low and hard. Mechanic stepped to one side and cracked his head on the table. Silverton slid from his chair onto the floor.
The place erupted with people shouting and guns being waved in the air. Mechanic knew she had to get a weapon if they were to survive this, and ran to the bar, hurling bottles of champagne from the table as she went. She could see the guns on a shelf.
A metal stool cracked into the back of her head and she slumped down.
It would appear that the bartender was capable of delivering more than a tray of expensive drinks.
48
Moran was parked in a side street a block away from Lucas’s hotel. She was staring ahead, deep in thought. Lucas opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, he was clutching a newspaper and was clearly agitated.
‘I don’t like you calling the office,’ Moran said angrily. ‘It’s too risky.’
‘It’s important.’
‘So is keeping this off the grid as far as my boss and dickhead of a partner is concerned.’
Lucas accepted his scolding.
‘Do you have an address? We need to stop her fast.’
‘It’s apartment 3C, Welbourne Chase.’
‘That’s good. I’ll get Bassano and Harper and head over there now.’
‘I’ve already been to the place and it’s empty. I spoke to one of the neighbours and no one has been there for the past two days.’
‘She’s done a runner.’
‘Yeah, looks that way.’
‘Shit. That was our best lead.’ Lucas slumped back in the seat. ‘The Huxton woman must have told Mechanic she’d given her number to Bassano.’
‘That’s what I figured. At least we have a name for her now, Jessica Hudson. I got it from the rental agreement. Are we meeting so you can get an update?’
‘No, you need to see this.’ Lucas handed Moran the paper, carefully folded to show an ad in the personal column.
Moran read the advert:
PAY THE PENANCE
THE OLD MAN OR THE ONE-ARMED BANDIT
YOU CHOOSE
YOU HAVE SEVEN DAYS
‘If you’re right, then my penance is to choose,’ he said. ‘Choose between Bassano and Harper. If I fail to make a choice, presumably there will be another dead couple in seven days’ time.’
And what happens to the one you select?’ Moran asked the question but already knew the answer.
‘I think she’s going to kill him.’
Mechanic couldn’t tell how long she’d been chained to the wall. She was hungry, thirsty and cold.
The room was a concrete box with no windows. The only light came from around the badly fitting door, leaving Mechanic in semi-darkness. She had explored the confines of her cell as much as the chain would allow and had located the walls with her feet. She could reach two sides but not the back. She was shivering and her joints were seizing up.
She could hear distant voices occasionally, but the rest of the time it was silent. Her guess was she was being held underground somewhere. Despite her predicament, Mechanic remained calm and positive. After all, whoever had chained her to the wall were amateurs. They had made two fundamental mistakes.
She estimated she’d been there two days when she heard the sound of voices and footsteps getting closer. She strained to hear and could make out the conversational tones of two men. A bolt slid across the door and it swung open, a shaft of light spilled across the floor.
Mechanic was blinded. She hid her face in her forearm to protect her eyes. The men were standing close, she could make out their boots through her watery vision. Slowly she opened her eyes and tried to focus.
‘Ramirez said it was your idea to kill the other gang members using the same MO. Clever, I like it.’
Mechanic recognised the voice of Enzo Bonelli and kept her head down, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the light.
‘He also said you killed Walker because you rumbled his kidnap plan. That’s a smart move as well. And your boss, Mr Silverton, confirms everything. Actually I think he would have confirmed anything we wanted, as we were hammering roofing nails into the tops of his fingers at the time. He held out well for a pen-pusher, but then we got bored and fed him into a meat grinder.’
Mechanic looked up into Bonelli’s face for the first time. He was smiling as if he’d won on the horses. It must have been an enjoyable couple of days. A tall beefy man stood behind him.
‘Now the question is, what to do with you? I think you’re an asset and have proved yourself worth keeping alive. Under normal circumstances I would want you to work for me, but unfortunately it’s not solely my decision. You upset a lot of people and they are not happy. So with regret we’re going to kill you with a good old-fashioned public execution, because that way everyone gets the chance to enjoy it.’ He nodded his head and the other man pulled a set of keys from his pocket and reached for the lock connecting the chain to the wall.
He fiddled around and the lock snapped open.
The fundamental mistakes of Mechanic’s incarceration were twofold. First, they had secured her hands at the front rather than behind her back and second they hadn’t swept the cell before putting her in it. During her restricted walkabout Mechanic had found an empty Coke can in the corner. She’d bent it in the middle and repeatedly worked it back and forth until it split in two. The ragged aluminium edges would be put to good use when the time was right.
