Authors: Stephen Blackmoore
City of the Lost (24 page)
I let him go, though I know I should follow him. Put a bullet in his brain outside the club. Buy me some time. But that giant dog that stuck Bruno in the hospital would be a problem.
Doubt I can kill him and get away before he sics it on me. Or before the cops show and throw me in the can. Doubt Frank would try to bail me out now. Spending a night in a cell would be a really bad idea.
I punch Frank’s number in my phone. Cocksucker’s not answering. I need to get answers. I can probably track him down, but I have to leave now.
Outside there’s no sign of Frank or Giavetti. The line to the club stretches halfway down the block. Did Frank ever give me his address? Shit. If he did I don’t remember.
My phone rings. I flip it open hoping he’s calling me back. The hinges stick a little. There’s still blood in it.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“At the hotel,” Gabriela says. “Where else would I be?”
Shit. “What is it?” I’m still looking up and down the street, hoping to spot him crossing the street or driving a car. Nothing.
“Thought you might want to know your friend’s better. And not screaming. An improvement overall, I’d say, though Darius has his own opinion on the matter. Are you all right?”
“Not really,” I say. “So, he’s up? Has he said anything useful?”
“Not yet. And ‘up’ is a relative term. He goes in and out of consciousness, but mostly he’s just resting. It’s been a long night.”
“Okay,” I say. Maybe the night won’t be a total wash. “I’ll be there in a little bit. Twenty minutes or so.”
“I’ll be here. Uh—”
“What?”
“When you said you ate Neumann, that wasn’t a joke, was it?”
“No,” I say.
“Okay. Just checking. Fucker deserved it. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Gabriela’s in her office putting pins in the oversized map on her wall. Her long black hair is pulled into a ponytail, and she’s back to wearing her camouflage shirt with YOU CAN’T SEE ME printed on the front. She looks exhausted.
“How’s the patient doing?” I ask.
“Better, all things considered,” Gabriela says. “I moved him out of Darius’ place to a room down the hall.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“When he wakes up. I gave him a buzzer to let me know when he’s up to talking.”
“But—”
“He needs rest,” she says. “So, what was that on the phone? What happened?”
“I saw Giavetti tonight,” I say. “He wants the stone, thinks I have it.”
She frowns. “We had an agreement,” she says, her tone wary.
“Hang on. It’s not like I have it. And it’s not like you can help me, either. Right?”
She looks at the floor. “I’ve been trying. But I haven’t gotten very far.”
“Figured. Thanks for being honest with me. At least somebody is. Never intended to give it to him, even if I did have it. Just wanted him off my ass. It didn’t go as planned.”
I tell her about my idea to get Giavetti locked away and Frank’s fucking it up.
“What do you think Frank wanted?” she asks.
“Haven’t been able to figure it out.” Been racking my brains going over it since I left the club. I can’t think of anything Frank would want from Giavetti. Or Giavetti would want from Frank. The only thing he’s looking for is the stone.
And then I really feel like an idiot.
“What is it?” she asks.
“What did Darius say to us before,” I say. “The stone’s where I least expect it?”
“Yeah,” she says. “And he told me it’s right where I’m looking.”
“You were following Frank, too, weren’t you?”
It hits her. “Son of a bitch.”
It makes sense now. Between the time I left him and the time I got back from seeing Neumann, Frank has had more than enough time to run through my place, pry open my safe, and walk off with the stone.
“Then let’s go get it,” Gabriela says. She starts toward the door when a loud buzzing sounds.
“Carl?” I ask.
She nods. “Hang on.” She knocks on a door couple of rooms down the hall and goes in. A moment later she comes out.
“He’s awake. More or less. You might not have much time before he passes out again.”
My mind’s buzzing. I’m itching to go grab the rock. But this is important, too. I make a choice and follow her into the room.
Carl looks better, but he’s still a ragged mess. The lines on his face are deep. The stump of his arm heavily bandaged. Looks like he’s gone three rounds with Tyson, a pit bull, and one of my ex-girlfriends. He’s barely awake. Eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Even the one on his forehead.
“Hey,” he says, recognition dawning on his face. “Hey, man. You got me out of that hotel room.” His voice is thick. Slurred around the edges. Probably pumped full of morphine.
“Yeah. How are you feeling?”
“A little . . .” His voice trails off, then he focuses on me. “I’m okay. Yeah.”
“You remembering any of that stuff you couldn’t before?”
He nods. “Couple things.”
“Okay.” I’m talking slowly, voice low. Keep him soothed. “What happened ?”
“I didn’t do much. Just looked into that place where your boss died. It’s owned by a company called Imperial Enterprises. They do a lot of import-export. Own a lot of property.”
“Like that junkyard you gave me the address for?”
“Yeah. That one was weird. Everything else made sense, you know? Office buildings, a hotel in Hawaii. But a junkyard? It just jumped out at me, you know? Stuck in my mind.”
“Imperial’s owned by an Italian guy,” I say. “Giavetti.”
He frowns. “Where’d you hear that? That’s the name, yeah, but not some guy. Woman. I called her up and met her at the hotel to ask her some questions. Just on a whim I dropped your name. I don’t know why. Thought there might be more there than you were letting on. Told her you were a friend of mine. She knows you.”
My stomach does backflips, and it takes Gabriela’s hand on my shoulder for me to notice I’ve balled my hands into fists.
The name on the Imperial Enterprises paperwork I found at the junkyard was S. Giavetti. I assumed it stood for Sandro.
Never occurred to me it might be
Samantha
.
Samantha
.
“I’m really tired,” Carl says.
“Go back to sleep,” Gabriela says. She adjusts a dial on the IV, and he starts to drift off.
“Yeah,” I say. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”
Gabriela ushers me out of the room. I wait until we’re back in her office before I start swearing.
“That fucking bitch. I fucking fell for it. The whole fucking thing.”
“What are you talking about?” Gabriela says. “What bitch?”
The one thing I’ve kept from her is Samantha. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. But now I don’t know why. I’m such a fucking idiot.
I spill everything to Gabriela. From beginning to end. How I met Samantha, how she led me on about Giavetti.
The more I talk about it the more it all falls into place. Who knows how long she knew about the stone. How long she’s had Neumann’s book. Years, maybe. Had to be, to have set all this up.
The paperwork for Neumann’s bid and the letter rescinding it from the auction? It makes sense. Giavetti didn’t have the stone or the book that Imperial had because he isn’t Imperial.
Samantha used Imperial to set the stone’s owner up at a nice house with lots of security. When Giavetti brought the guys in to get it, the alarms were all conveniently off.
But why? Why do all that? She made it almost too easy for Giavetti to get the stone. She gave him a place to hole up and experiment. She gave him cash and the means to get what he wanted, and used Imperial as a front to hide it all.
But if she wanted to help him, why not just give him the stone? And why set up an elaborate auction just to get him a book that was a forgery, anyway?
Because he’s not stupid, and he wouldn’t have fallen for it.
“She set him up,” I say.
Gabriela looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“She set it up so that Giavetti would get the stone and the book and not think he was walking into a trap. She made him work to get them.”
“I’m not following. I thought the book was a fake. Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s still pissed off at him. It’s a four-hundred-year-old grudge. She wants him to use the stone and the book. He’ll think he’s getting immortality.”
“And instead it kills him,” Gabriela says. “Like really kills him.”
“She doesn’t care about where Giavetti is,” I say. “She cares about where the stone is. She
wants
Giavetti to get hold of it. If Giavetti figures out Frank has it, I’m fucked.”
wants
Giavetti to get hold of it. If Giavetti figures out Frank has it, I’m fucked.”
“He already knows where it is,” she says.
I start to ask what she means and stop myself. Tonight’s the night for understanding just how big a moron I am. Of course he knows.
Frank told him.
Gabriela shoves her way
into the passenger seat of my car before I can hit the lock. She makes a sour face.
into the passenger seat of my car before I can hit the lock. She makes a sour face.
“What the hell is that smell?” she asks. “Like something died in here.”
“Me,” I say. I haven’t had a chance to really clean the car out too well.
“Ugh. Need to get you an air freshener.” She pulls her seat belt on.
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Drop it,” she says. “I’ve got a stake in this, too.”
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She gets a weird look on her face for a second before it’s replaced by the hardness I’ve started to expect.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve already made a deal with Darius. If I’m not around to help you, he’ll try.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
“Just drive.” I decide it would be more of a pain in the ass to kick her out at this point. I pull the car into the road and head for the freeway.
Frank’s place is in a condo overlooking Echo Park. It’s after midnight, but traffic’s heavy. Backed up all the way to the freeway.
When we get there, we figure out why. I park a block away but close enough to see the paramedics, enough black-and-whites to make their own parade. Blue and red lights strobe off a sheet-covered gurney, dark stains soaking through.
Though I tell myself it could be something else, I know Giavetti’s already been here. “We’re too late,” I say.
“No,” she says, “we’re not. Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.” She bolts out of the car. I follow her toward the crowd of gawkers gathered at the edges.
She’s taking a bunch of fast, deep breaths. The way a swimmer does when he’s about to go under.
“I hate this part,” she says, grabbing my hand. Tight. “Don’t let go.”
The world goes the kind of flickering gray you see in silent movies. Skipping frames, stuttering lights. The crowd thins to a handful of people, all of them jerking along like bad animation.
“What just happened?”
The sounds of traffic, the chatter of the crowd, it’s all gone. There’s nothing but the sound of a wind I can’t feel.
“Don’t touch any of them,” she says, pointing at the few remaining people. “And don’t let go of me. It’ll be okay.” She grips my hand tighter for emphasis. I’m not sure which of us she’s trying to reassure.
I catch a better look at a guy in a hoodie and low slung jeans as he skitters past me. The hoodie hides his face, but his eyes burn like they’re on fire. Gun in his hand, a hole in his chest. Casting about like he’s looking for something.
“They’ve all died,” Gabriela says. “They don’t last long out here. A few hours. A couple days. If they’re around more than a week they’re here for the long haul.”
We make our way to the gurney, Gabriela shivering every few steps.
“Problem?”
“No,” she says. “All those cops? They’re still here. You can’t see them, but you can walk through them. You can’t feel it?”
I cast my hand around, searching. “Not a thing.”
We duck under the sawhorses blocking the scene. With all the cops gone, the gurney looks barren and alone. The sheet covering it is bloody, stains coming up through the fabric.
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