Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

“All right! All right!”

“Forget Tamara!”

He nodded.

For good measure, I added, “It is the only way you get to stay alive.” He nodded again.

I put my piece back under my arm and continued.

“I want ten million bucks, in a numbered account in Belize. Make no mistake, dos Santos. I know I can get a lot more. But I want this over with. Start pushing, try to get smart, and this deal disappears off the table faster than you can say, ‘please don’t shoot.’”

“I can do that, no problem.”

I threw my card on the table. He picked it up and looked at it. I pulled out my pen like I wanted to add something and gestured for him to give it back to me. He handed it over. I took an evidence bag from my pocket and slipped the card in.

“I take it your prints are not in the system.”

He went crimson to the top of his scalp. “You are bluffing. You can’t take prints from paper…”

“On the contrary. They are one of the best surfaces for taking prints. Though banisters, cell phones, guns, garden chairs, and tables are all pretty good, too. Your prints are all over Emma’s beach house, Geronimo, and all over my phone and my other gun. And even as we speak, there is a CSI team going over that house with a fine-toothed comb.” I held up the card. “This is insurance. I am as implicated as you are. If you go down, the best I can hope for is to make a deal, but I go down too. However, my friend, if I go down, there are no deals for you. You go away for life.” I stood. “Do yourself a favor. Be at my house today at three. I want to see my money in the account, then you get your box. And then you get the hell out of my city. I will make arrangements. Anything happens to Emma or Tammy, or me, you go down.”

He sneered. “A regular Galahad.”

“Don’t bank on that, dos Santos. I’m an ugly son of a bitch. You don’t want to see the dark side.”

I left, wondering how much of what I had said was truth, and how much was an act.

Twenty-Five

I stepped out into the glare and the heat and made my way to my car. I sat for ten minutes staring at nothing, seeing only my thoughts. I replayed for the thousandth time the scene from last night. Emma, exquisite, sobbing, pleading for my life. Dos Santos, grotesque, sneering, talking about using pliers to remove my fingers. Ronaldo, his mindless face vaguely surprised as he looked at the gun. And then all hell breaking loose. I saw her scrambling to her feet, racing frantically after him, her legs straddled in the doorway, taking aim.

I fired up the Jag and headed back to the station.

I dropped into my chair and stared at Dehan, who was staring back at me across the desk. She was good to stare at right then. “You have humanity, haven’t you, Dehan?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I try to avoid it, but it’s there. What can you do?”

“Did you talk to the captain?”

“He wants to see you. He wants to see us both.”

“When?”

“As soon as you come in.”

I looked at my watch. “That would be in about five minutes.”

“You want a coffee?”

“More than anything in the world, apart from sleep.”

She went away to get me some coffee. She had humanity.

Ten minutes later, we sat in front of the captain. He was looking at my face and seemed distressed.

“You look like hell, Stone.”

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to put my makeup on this morning.”

“This is no joking matter.”

“No, sir.”

“I understand you and Detective Dehan have your own methods, but I can’t help feeling this thing has gotten a little out of hand.”

“I have to take full responsibility for that, sir. I did not anticipate that dos Santos would drug me and kidnap me. I had never encountered that before.”

His frown deepened. “It’s like something out of a Sam Spade novel.”

Dehan coughed. “Dashiell Hammett, sir. Same Spade was the character… sir…”

“Thank you, Detective Dehan. I’ll try to remember that.” His voice could have etched metal. He looked back at me. “I don’t know what to say, John. Have you got a grip on this case? Do you need time to convalesce?”

“No, sir. I am confident I can wrap it up today.”

He looked surprised. “Today?”

“Yes, sir. Detective Dehan and I discussed it at length this morning, and I have made most of the arrangements.”

He nodded and looked at Dehan. “You feel equally confident, Dehan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You need backup?”

“Just one unmarked car, Captain, outside my house. I’d like to explain my plan…”

He sat back and gave a smile that hovered between admiration and irony. It is not an easy smile to pull off.

At two fifty, I was ready in my house. I felt like I needed to lie down and die for a week, preferably on a beach in the Caribbean. I took a fortifying slug of Irish and sat down to wait. I had set myself up in my armchair, with a coffee table in front of me. I had my laptop on the breakfast bar playing Mozart softly in the background. I was ready.

The doorbell rang at three on the dot. I let him ring three times before I opened. He had an attaché case with him.

“You said at three. I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

“Then get accustomed. Sit down.”

He glanced at me resentfully, like I was being unkind, and sat on the sofa. Then he offered me an ingratiating smile. “Mozart. The number one Flute Concerto. G