Strip Poker Read online

  No one tried to speak. Lavotini motioned to his men, then gestured us out through the kitchen to the waiting limo. We stepped over three bodies on our way out, one of which was the man in the apron who’d locked us in. I looked at them as we went by and figured they weren’t dead, but whatever Moose and his men had done, it had rendered these three very deeply unconscious.

  When we got out to the parking lot, Moose turned to Frankie.

  “You got a weapon?”

  Frankie was still scared. I could tell on account of his face was closed and his eyes glittery-hard with anger and fear. All he did was nod at Moose. He couldn’t even get words out.

  “Good,” Moose said. “Cover the lot until them guys get out here, then they’ll take you where you want to go.”

  Frankie looked at me for a brief instant, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun. This apparently satisfied Moose, who turned his back on Frankie and led me and Raydean to the limo. I looked over my shoulder at Frankie and tried to smile, but all I could do was stare into his eyes and hope he got the message that I was sorry. I barely saw his head move in an acknowledgment as he turned his attention to the back entrance. It was going to be a tricky leave-taking for the men inside. Frankie was ready.

  The yelling didn’t commence until the limousine door was closed and we were pulling away from the back entrance of the Oyster Bar.

  “What were you thinking?” Moose yelled. “Were you thinking ‘let me get my ass killed and take out some other innocent victims while I’m at it’? Because you had to know he was going to try and kill you. I mean, even a child would’ve known that!”

  I wouldn’t look away from him. I just sat there, aware that I was blinking and suddenly feeling like a kid getting yelled at by Pa. Being yelled at by Pa was different than being yelled at by a nun. When Pa yelled it was because he was right and because he was scared, scared for his kids or his wife. Moose was yelling just like Pa and I felt myself starting to feel really, really bad. I hadn’t thought about endangering myself or others when I set it up to meet with Dimitri. I’d just been thinking about Vincent.

  Raydean had started rocking, back and forth, trying to pull herself away from us and into some alternate reality where there was harmony. I looked at Moose, hearing the words come out of his mouth, not even listening. I was pulling a Raydean, taking myself out of the picture and running far, far away. This was made worse by me starting to cry. I really hate it when I do that.

  “What are you crying for?” Moose asked. He stopped yelling and leaned forward, genuinely puzzled. “What’s with the crying? I’m pointing something out to you and you’re crying? Stop that!”

  Believe me, I was trying, but the tears just came faster and Raydean’s rocking grew more frenzied.

  “I could’ve handled it,” I said, but my voice wouldn’t squeak out any louder than a whisper. “I didn’t know they were going to make a mess. I thought …”

  “No,” Moose said, his voice dead even, “you didn’t think.” He smiled gently and leaned back in his seat. “That’s why I’m here, to help you think.”

  I wasn’t thinking anything except that Moose was a complication. He was a complication that needed to go. He was large and handsome and dangerous—very, very dangerous. I didn’t need a complication like that in my life. I closed my eyes and envisioned Dimitri’s shoulder exploding. I shivered. If Moose hadn’t intervened, Frankie and I would’ve been out at the landfill, fertilizing trash. But did he have to shoot Dimitri?

  The answer was probably yes. Pure force had been necessary in order to take us out. Dimitri had been holding a gun in his hand, pointing at me. Moose really had had no other option, but he hadn’t even hesitated. His facial expression had never changed. He’d fired his gun as if it were an extension of his arm, without conscious thought, it seemed. He had saved us, but all I wanted was to be away from him. His force was now directed at me and I didn’t like that. He was scaring me.

  “Okay,” Moose said, breaking into a broader smile, “that’s that. What happened is now in the past. We’ve all learned something here.”

  Yeah, right. I’d learned something all right. I looked at Moose and smiled, but inside I was a hundred-thousand miles away. I’d ease him off of us and send him back to Jersey. This was one volatile man.

  I thought about it a little more. I’d learned some useful information, or rather, confirmed what Frankie had told me. The bikers hadn’t killed Denny. There was no real payoff in them lying. There were a lot of other stories they could’ve told to make themselves look better or come out cleaner. Having an eyewitness biker wasn’t one of them.

  So Denny had been killed by someone at the table, someone who wanted Vincent to look like a killer or wanted Denny out of the picture. If Vincent went down on Murder One, he wouldn’t be able to return and pay off his debt or take his club back. I thought about what Nailor taught me about homicide.

  “People kill for three reasons,” he’d said, “greed, revenge, or lust.” I could not imagine anyone killing Denny to frame Vincent out of a lust motive, so it had to be greed or revenge. A lot of people thought Vincent was an asshole, but I didn’t think anyone took him seriously enough to want him locked up for life in a Florida penitentiary.

  That left greed. Someone had killed Denny with Vincent’s gun in order to frame Vincent for murder and effectively get rid of him so they’d have a clear shot at Vincent’s club. After all, the Tiffany was the only thing Vincent had that anyone else could possibly covet. It was, without a doubt, the best exotic dance club in Northwest Florida, perhaps even in the whole Southeast.

  “All right,” Moose said, “you’re home, ladies.”

  We had pulled into my driveway and I hadn’t even noticed. I looked at Moose Lavotini. He was staring at me, his face still and thoughtful. He was reading me, and whatever he saw in my face, it didn’t make him happy. His eyes were pure black pools, and the smile that always seemed to change his face into something human and kind was gone.

  “Sierra,” he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just want you to understand that those people are dangerous. You can’t go busting in on them with bravado and think that’s enough to carry the day. You’re in the big leagues now, honey. It don’t work on bluster.”

  I nodded, hoping I could find my voice and realizing I didn’t have a comeback for what was probably the truth.

  “I’m leaving a couple of guys here,” he said. “Outside.” He raised his hands, palms outward in mock surrender. “I won’t put a man inside again, I promise. You two are dangerous.” He seemed to notice Raydean rocking for the first time. “She all right?”

  “No, she is not all right,” I said, frowning. “You scared her, yelling like that. Don’t you have any self-control? You know, anger can rule you if you don’t rule it.”

  I took Raydean by the hand and tugged her out of the limo. I walked her over to my steps, sat her down, and returned to speak to Moose. I leaned down, ducked my head inside the car and looked right at him, aware that he was getting a clear shot at the cleavage that made the Tiffany famous.

  “I’m grateful to you for pulling my ass out of the fire,” I said softly, “but I want you to go away.”

  Moose frowned slightly and looked like he was about to say something but I wasn’t giving him another shot.

  “Thanks, but I can handle it from here on out.”

  “I frightened you,” he said.

  That was perhaps true, but there was a swirl of other emotions buzzing around my head like flies and I couldn’t tell him what I hadn’t yet worked out into words, so I shrugged.

  “I run my own show,” I said. “Thus far, I have kept myself alive. Today it might’ve gone down differently, but who’s to say? I am grateful, but I like to work alone.”

  Moose smiled. “I can understand that,” he said. “I work alone most of the time, too. But I’m thinking you and me do good partnered up. So thanks for the brush-off, but I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.�
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  “No, thank you,” I said, taking my time with each word and looking him in the eye.

  “You’re afraid, Sierra,” he said.

  “Bikers don’t scare me.”

  “No,” he said, “but I do. It’s not that I shot Dimitri, or that I took charge of a bad situation. It’s what’s between us that you can’t deal with, that something deep in the pit of your stomach that reacts whenever you look at me. I make you feel, and you don’t like that. You like to run the show, but you can’t run me, can you?”

  I was out of the car doorway and up the stairs with Raydean before I could even allow myself to think about what he’d said.

  Twenty-four

  I started to make tea for Raydean and tried to take stock of the situation. I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the window, lost in thought, barely tracking the black sedan that sat like an armored tank at the end of my street. Thomas was gone, but Moose had us covered. I had to wonder how a syndicate boss from Jersey was so well connected in Panama City, but I knew he wouldn’t have picked me up at the Philly airport without a complete plan and the manpower to back it.

  “Sierra,” Raydean said, “that pot’s just a‘boilin’ away. You making tea, or are you trying to humidify the trailer?”

  I jumped at the sound of her voice. When Raydean went into one of her noncommunicative states, she usually stayed that way for a day or two. Raydean was tough, but violence made her fragile.

  “I forgot, I guess,” I said. “I’m making you some tea.”

  She was standing by the bay window, staring down the street and shaking her head.

  “Girl, I’m thinking you’d better opt for something stronger. We got us a situation here and I think it calls for Wild Turkey, not tea.”

  I reached for two mugs, ignoring her suggestion. The last thing Raydean needed was liquor.

  “I know,” I said, “it’s a bit of a mess, but at least we’ve narrowed the field a little. The cops’ll be looking for bikers and we’ll be looking in the right direction.”

  “The cops won’t be looking for bikers, Sierra,” Raydean said. “They’ll be looking for you. Honey, didn’t you leave your car in front of the Oyster Bar?”

  A cold chill spread over me. Stupid, stupid, stupid … again.

  “And don’t think about going to get it now, ’cause it’s too late.”

  I poured the steaming water into two mugs and attempted to put tea bags into the cups, but now my hands were shaking. So what? My car was parked in front of the Oyster Bar. There’re a thousand reasons to be on Beck Avenue. I didn’t have to be in that bar. I tried to relax, but Raydean went on.

  “You talked to that boyfriend of yours today?” she asked.

  The wave of sadness I’d been fighting swept over me. For a few short hours I’d managed to push him out of my mind, but now it was back, stronger and harder than ever.

  “I’m thinking he might not be my boyfriend much longer,” I said, my voice cracking as I spoke.

  Raydean turned from her spot by the window and looked at me, her face wrinkling with a pained expression.

  “What’re you saying, honey?” she asked.

  “I’m saying that his ex-wife is in town and she spent Christmas with him.”

  Raydean turned away, peered back out at the street and then looked back at me. “Where?” she asked.

  “At his house.”

  Raydean smiled. “Honey, that don’t mean nothin’. They were alone. It was Christmas. Maybe he was bein’ charitable.”

  What? By letting her sleep in his bed? I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t tell her what I was thinking. The hurt sealed my throat and I couldn’t speak.

  “Men are creatures,” she said. “They sniff over the traces, like dogs. It don’t mean much. I mean, face it, he buried that bone a long time ago. You don’t go sticking your treasure in a place what burned you. You move on. Honey, I seen the way he looks at you. You’re bone-hidin’ material. You’re where he wants to keep his treasure.”

  I placed the mugs of tea on the table and sat down.

  “Why don’t you quit looking out the window and come drink your tea, Raydean? We can’t do a thing about Lavotini watching us.”

  Raydean turned and smiled, her eyes twinkling.

  “No, babe, that we can’t. However, you’d best be prepared for a little bone burying, ’cause that dog of a boyfriend of yours is making his way to the door. In fact,” she said, stepping over to the door, “I’ll be letting him in on my way out!”

  Raydean picked up her mug and stepped over to the door. She opened it wide and poked her head out.

  “You ain’t got the sense God gave a dog,” she said. “Look at you! No coat, no hat, and your ears flapping in the wind. Child, it’s gotta be forty degrees out here and you’re dressed for a summer afternoon.”

  Nailor murmured something in response, something heard only by Raydean.

  “You trackin’ them hired killers we got in that sedan?” she asked.

  I stood up, hoping to intervene before Raydean blew the whole deal wide open, but Nailor was too quick.

  “Same ones as gave her a ride home from the Oyster Bar?” he asked casually.

  Raydean shook her head and smiled. Nailor was standing on the stoop, watching Raydean evade the question.

  “What oyster bar?” she asked. “Sierra, you been to an oyster bar and ain’t told me? You go last night or what?” Raydean shook her head, her frizzy gray hair never moving under the weight of all the hair spray she’d used to hold her pin curls in place.

  She looked back up at Nailor. “You mean to tell me that girl snuck off again and went to eating aphrodisiacs alone?” She turned her head in my direction. “You mean we’ve been sitting here the better part of all day and you ain’t told me about them oysters?”

  Smooth operator that she was, Raydean had alibied me and attempted to distract Nailor, all with one movement. Too bad Nailor wasn’t biting. He stepped past her, cool as the proverbial cucumber, and stood in the doorway. Raydean looked at me and shrugged.

  “Well, I’ll leave you kids to it,” she said slowly. “But let me tell you one damn thing, Detective.”

  Nailor turned in time to catch Raydean’s sudden change in expression. She looked angry now, ferocious even.

  “What’s that, Raydean?” he asked.

  “You hurt my girl any more than you have and I’ll come hunting you. I’ll scalp that little ass of yours and pin it to my birdbath, just so’s the others can see what we do to them what causes undue hardship.”

  To anyone who didn’t know him, Nailor looked puzzled. But I caught the sideways glance he shot in my direction, the little question of “do you know about Christmas?” I saw the flicker of doubt and the quick return to a neutral, open expression that gave nothing away. I’d learned to read him all right, only now it was too late. It didn’t matter how well you read someone if his heart belonged to someone else.

  “Well, Raydean,” he said, “I thought you knew me better.” Nailor was acting hurt. “I wouldn’t harm Sierra. The only people who get on the wrong side of me are the ones who don’t tell me the truth.”

  He was staring at Raydean like she might understand this, like she might have been tempted to lie to him. His face seemed to say he was sure she and I weren’t liars. Too bad I couldn’t say the same for him.

  Raydean walked past him, down the steps, her back stiff and her head held high. “Be careful what you ask for, Detective. You just might get more than you bargained for.” She marched on across the street, stopped at the edge of her booby-trapped front yard, and stared back at the two of us. Her eyes focused on me and she smiled. “Remember honey, the Lord loveth a cheerful giver.”

  Her attention switched to Nailor. “But let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” she said. Her voice thundered out across the silent trailer park, bouncing off the metal trailers and echoing down the narrow street. Raydean had spoken.

  Nailor turned and looked at me. Hi
s eyes darkened, his face remained neutral, but I knew we were headed for trouble and if he didn’t start it, I would.

  “I thought you were going to call me and let me know when you were flying back in,” he said. His voice was husky and controlled.

  I stood blocking the doorway, letting him shiver in the cool December air.

  “I did call you,” I said.

  “When?”

  I just looked at him and then I stepped backward, closing the door as I went. He stuck his foot out and blocked the door, and the next thing I knew we were in a full-out battle.

  I pushed the door against his foot, not caring that it had to hurt, in fact, wanting it to hurt. He stuck his hand out, gripping the frame and calmly exerting pressure until I could hold the door no longer.

  “What the hell is going on, Sierra?” he asked.

  “What the fuck do you think?” I turned away from him. “You think I don’t keep my word? You think I don’t call? I called. I called and called all day on Christmas.”

  Nailor knew. I knew he had to know, and yet he persisted in playing dumb.

  “There was no message on my machine.”

  That’s when I lost it. I whirled back around, facing him. I could feel the heat staining my face. My eyes were blurring with the kind of tears that come from anger and pain and, worse than that, betrayal.

  “There was no message because the machine wasn’t on. I didn’t figure Carla would tell you I called, so I tried over and over again,” I said. “I called until I knew for certain you weren’t going to answer. I paged you, too.”

  He reacted then. The color drained from his face and he looked as if I’d punched him right in the gut.

  “When did you call my house?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

  “Christmas morning, about seven.”

  “And Carla answered?”

  “You could say that,” I said. “She thought it was you. She wanted to know why you left. She said she woke up and you were gone.”

  Nailor sighed, an explosion of spent air whooshing out into the room. It was as if all the hope he had left in the world was leaving with that used-up air.