Stealing the Golden Dream Page 12

  She nodded.

  He finally followed her advice and sat on the sofa, hard. The list fluttered from his hand. When he looked up at her, it nearly broke her heart.

  “LaSalle,” he said. “Tony LaSalle.” He dropped his head into his hands.

  She sat beside him.

  He didn’t look up. His words were muffled, but she heard every one. “It’s personal. It was a personal attack against me. And Muggs. Poor Muggs, he got caught in the crossfire.”

  “Looks like Mama Rose was mostly right,” Jordan said. “It was the mob, or at least someone connected.”

  “No,” Eddie said, “not Vercelli, not his organization. With something like this, Tony had to be acting on his own.”

  “But why?” Jordan asked.

  He didn’t answer at first, but when he did, she could see he was as puzzled as she. “Revenge. You know he’s never gotten past those years he served in prison. He still blames it on me.”

  “But, Eddie, this is so—”

  “Yeah. It is, isn’t it? It does seem excessive. All that trouble, just to get back at me. Why not just come after me? Why plan this whole elaborate scheme?”

  Neither of them spoke again for a few minutes, each dealing with the conundrum in their own way.

  The dead silence was broken by a knock on the door.

  Jordan opened the door and looked up, which was something she seldom had to do. She nearly choked on her surprise.

  “Sorry about the bother. I heard your voices, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else about.” Palmer Jacoby stood, cap in hand, at Eddie’s office door.

  Jordan looked around him. Rose and Gina had already left for their lunch date. Tank and Coop had disappeared.

  Manners, Jordan. “Palmer. Won’t you come in?”

  His long legs carried him into the room. For a guy so tall, he moved with a kind of grace and economy.

  His gaze found Eddie still sitting on the sofa. “Marino,” he said. “Have I come at a bad time?”

  Eddie stood and seemed to shake off the despair sitting on him just moments before. “Palmer, my man.” He shook hands with the lanky thief. “Good to see you again. What can I do ya for? Have a seat.”

  Palmer shook his head. “No, thank you. Won’t take more than a minute of your time. I have a plane to catch. There’s an opportunity in Shanghai I believe I’d like to look into. After I tell you what I’ve come to say, I think it’s wise for me to make myself scarce a while.”

  Eddie leaned back against the edge of his desk. Jordan went to stand beside him.

  Palmer began. “I’ve been at my craft for nigh onto thirty years, and was ever so careful no one was ever hurt in any of my endeavors. That our mutual friend was killed at the museum is eating at my very core. My conscience won’t abide my silence any longer. I’ll give you the name of the man who first contacted then hired me to disable the museum system.”

  He waited a long beat then said, “It was Tony LaSalle.”

  Eddie stood away from the desk, went to Jacoby, took his hand and shook it gratefully. “Thank you, Palmer. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”

  Palmer nodded and turned his cap around in his hands. He wouldn’t look at either of them. “No. Not easy at all. Mr. LaSalle’s reputation for violence is well known. I thought a good while before deciding to come to you.” He turned away. “Best be on my way.”

  Jordan walked out with him and opened the lobby door. Before he went out, she laid her hand on his arm. “Eddie told me the code of silence is paramount in your line of work. What you’ve done today is a good thing. We’ll find LaSalle and take care of him.”

  He looked down at her. Not all men could. “I hope so. I enjoy living here.”

  Chapter 22

  Mary Welsh would curl up and die if she knew Anthony Vercelli, crime lord—for want of a better title—lived less than a mile from her in the opulent community of Troon in North Scottsdale. Vercelli wasn’t exactly the friendly neighbor you’d borrow a cup of sugar from.

  Jordan had only been to Vercelli’s place once about six months earlier, when she and Eddie were investigating the embezzlement of funds from the Moon & Stars Foundation. That was where and when she’d first encountered Tony LaSalle.

  Eddie’s history with Anthony Vercelli was long, dark, and complicated. Vercelli took Eddie off the streets when he was a young boy and employed him. Eddie ran errands for Vercelli and his businesses, most of which were illegal in one way or another. After Eddie came back from a stint in the Army where he learned hi-tech security and encoding techniques, Vercelli hired him once again. A move of Vercelli’s main operations to Arizona brought Eddie Marino to the southwest. The two came to a parting of the ways, and Eddie went out on his own. To the best of Jordan’s knowledge, he never looked back. She’d been scared and insecure when Eddie had told her about his past, and she had to admit that at times it affected the way she looked at him.

  Tony LaSalle was basically a henchman for Vercelli. From the first, it had been obvious LaSalle hated even the thought of Eddie Marino, a sentiment he evidently had acted on when he robbed the museum and killed Muggs. Why he chose this moment and method to exact his revenge was still a mystery.

  Vercelli was out back, improving his short game on his private putting green. The view from his patio took Jordan’s breath away. His Tuscan-style estate sat high enough on the side of a hill to offer a vista of the entire Valley of the Sun. His vanishing edge pool disappeared over the side of the yard and dropped off straight into a lush landscape of saguaro cacti and sage.

  Dressed in Bermuda shorts and a Ralph Lauren golf shirt, Vercelli didn’t look like a man who could terminate someone’s very existence with a snap of his fingers. But Jordan knew that close up, his black eyes revealed the soul of a vicious, cunning predator.

  He looked up as the two descended the flagstone steps. “Eduardo. Jordan. I was just thinking about you two the other day. What would you say if I told you I might hire your firm to investigate this problem I seem to be having with the Mexican drug cartel?”

  Cartel? Jordan caught her breath. This couldn’t be a coincidence. She looked at Eddie, who at least made a pretense of taking it all in stride. “Since when do you have business with the Mexican cartel?” he asked.

  “Since never,” Vercelli said. “They seem to want a piece of my ass lately. I have no idea why. Anyway, this is a pleasant surprise. I don’t see you nearly often enough.”

  Eddie’s tone grew serious. “You won’t think it’s so pleasant when I tell you why we’re here.”

  Vercelli motioned to his Man Friday, who took his putter. The three of them moved to a spacious terrace, where they seated themselves on a rattan sectional around a copper-based table.

  “Leon, rustle us up some refreshment.”

  Leon, the Man Friday du jour, didn’t meet Mary Welsh’s standards of a prim and proper butler. He was about six feet six, with arms the size of telephone poles. The butt of his handgun stuck out of the shoulder holster he wore over his Gold’s Gym tank. “Right away, Mr. V.”

  Jordan watched him leave, his muscular buttocks rolling in his gym shorts like two bowling balls.

  Vercelli laid his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I was truly sorry to hear about what happened to Muggs. He was a good boy.”

  “Muggs is why I’m here.”

  Vercelli crossed his ankle over his knee, leaned back and waited.

  Eddie took a deep breath. “I came for Tony.”

  “Tony?” Vercelli asked.

  Jordan’s heartbeat kicked up, for a very specific reason. Anthony Vercelli frowned. Not a good sign.

  “It was LaSalle who hit the Arizona Heritage Museum,” Eddie said. “He killed my friend. He killed Muggs.”

  Vercelli didn’t say anything at first. He just sat quietly while Leon set a silver tray on the table with a pitcher of Mojitos, three Tom Collins glasses, and a platter of fully loaded nachos. He was as bad as the Abromowitz sisters.

  Vercelli leaned
over, filled one of the glasses, and offered it to her.

  She shook her head and pointed to her watch. “Thank you. Not now. It’s a little early for me.” Jordan could not see herself sharing a drink with this man, regardless of the fact that he had helped Eddie and his family out.

  “So, Eduardo, I know you’re not the kind of man to make empty accusations. I’m assuming you have proof of this transgression.”

  Eddie nodded. “You’re right. I don’t make empty accusations.”

  “So you’ve come to me why?” Vercelli asked. The keen look in his eye said he knew exactly why.

  “Permission, sir,” Eddie said. “Out of respect, to ask your permission to go after LaSalle.”

  Vercelli’s voice was considerate, even benign. “As far as I know, after you left and he took over your position, Tony’s been a true and loyal employee.” Vercelli went on. “I know there’s bad blood between you two, but bad blood can be overcome.”

  Eddie said, “Up until now there was no bad blood on my part. But Tony, he holds a grudge. You know he does.”

  Vercelli nodded. “He did you a large favor, son. Spent three years in lock-up on your behalf.”

  “With respect. He spent three years in lock-up on your behalf.”

  Vercelli’s jaw tightened.

  Jordan didn’t know all the details, but she knew enough. When Eddie worked for Vercelli he was asked to do something so dark Eddie not only refused to do the job, he left the organization. Tony LaSalle had no such qualms. He did the job and took the fall. In her eyes, LaSalle was worse than Vercelli. He was a coiled viper ready to strike. The only time she’d seen LaSalle, she’d noted the hatred that spewed from him when he looked at Eddie Marino.

  Had he robbed the museum for monetary gain, revenge, or something else? Even Eddie admitted he didn’t have a clue. One thing was certain. It was Eddie who LaSalle targeted that night. Muggs took Eddie’s place at the last minute and paid for it with his life.

  “I can’t give you my permission.” Vercelli’s voice was low and even. “My employees’ actions are my responsibility. I’ll bring him in.”

  “It’s personal,” Eddie said.

  “I know. I don’t care. Don’t go against me on this, Eduardo. If you find him before we do, bring him to me. Let me weigh the evidence; then I’ll be the one to decide what to do.”

  “We have enough history for you to know I can’t do that. Won’t.”

  Vercelli stood. His eyes went flat. He clamped down so hard a muscle jerked in his jaw.

  Jordan could barely breathe.

  “There will be consequences.” Vercelli’s eyes shifted to Jordan.

  Eddie stood, blocking Vercelli’s line of sight. “What I do, I own. Me. Nobody else.”

  Eddie was so mad when he walked out the front door he was shaking.

  Jordan was thinking now would be a good time for one of those Mojitos.

  She couldn’t believe Eddie had just stood nose to nose with Anthony Vercelli and defied his will. She didn’t even want to think what that might mean. The theme song to The Godfather ran through her head, and she worried about receiving an offer they couldn’t refuse.

  “LaSalle! You piece of shit!” Eddie shouted and broke into a run.

  Her head jerked up.

  Tony LaSalle ran down the cobbled driveway toward a silver Lexus sedan.

  Jordan’s thought echoed Eddie’s. Piece of shit!

  Eddie cut across the yard, hurdling a row of low oleander bushes. LaSalle made it to the car and jumped in.

  Jordan grabbed Eddie’s spare keys from her bag and ran for Eddie’s truck, hitting the remote starter on the fly. She got in behind the wheel and threw it in gear.

  The Lexus’s tires squealed and smoked as LaSalle careened down the driveway. Eddie ran out in front of it.

  Eddie, you’ll get yourself killed. She stomped on the accelerator in a move to block LaSalle’s escape.

  A grocery delivery truck pulled into the driveway square in front of Eddie’s Ford Ranger. The startled deliveryman looked through his windshield and threw up his hands. She slammed into reverse and screamed backward into the street.

  The Lexus jerked to a stop before lurching straight at Eddie.

  LaSalle was trying to kill him.

  Eddie spun to the side, but LaSalle clipped him with the right front fender as he swung the Lexus around.

  Jordan gripped the wheel. “Oh, Jesus. Eddie!”

  Eddie hit the pavement and tumbled all the way down the incline.

  As the Lexus pulled onto the street, Jordan headed straight for him. “Wanna play chicken?”

  The Lexus skidded around Eddie’s truck and sped away. Jordan stomped on the brakes.

  Eddie sprang to his feet, ran to the truck, threw open the door, and jumped in.

  “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  Eddie pounded the seat beside him. “Go. Just go.”

  Jordan spun the wheel, floored it, and took out a creosote bush as she hopped the curb then straightened out and fishtailed down the street.

  The Lexus was already out of sight when they made the turn for the entry gates. The gate was on its way back down. Jordan never let up, but turned her head and looked away as she sped through. The gate came down, missing the truck by inches.

  They slammed to a stop at the main turn-off onto Dynamite Road.

  The Lexus was disappearing fast.

  “Right!” Eddie yelled. “Go right!”

  She did, barreling down Dynamite Road like a bat out of hell, but the truck was big and heavy. The Lexus was light, and its big engine nearly let it take flight.

  Pedal to the floor, but she wasn’t gaining at all.

  She slowed but didn’t stop at the red light and nearly put the truck on two wheels careening left onto Pima. She kicked it up to seventy-five in the fifty mile per hour speed zone and prayed no cops were around.

  By the time they hit Happy Valley Road, it was obvious they’d lost him. He could have turned off into any one of several residential neighborhoods and gotten lost in the maze of streets. She pulled into a parking lot at Pinnacle Peak and Pima and shut off the truck.

  She sat back and looked at Eddie.

  “Goddammit.” Eddie smashed his fist against the dash.

  Tony LaSalle was in the wind.

  Eddie looked at her, dead serious. “The Mexican cartel’s after Vercelli? This means Tony LaSalle is somehow in bed with them.”

  Chapter 23

  Tony LaSalle lived in the Arcadia area of Central Phoenix. Jordan didn’t know how Eddie came by this knowledge. She didn’t ask him about it, because in Eddie’s world it made sense to keep track of both your friends and your enemies, and besides, the poor guy had a lot on his mind. If they were going to recover the Dahlonega coins and get the goods on Tony LaSalle for killing Muggs, Eddie had to be on top of his game.

  The ’70s ranch-style house was on a side street in the Arcadia district south and east of prestigious Fashion Square. It was a long, low masonry house with a shake shingle roof. An extensive well-groomed lawn stretched out in front of it, and two huge acacia trees shaded the house. It looked like the occupant should be a geriatric Republican, not the hired gun of one of the country’s most notorious crime syndicates.

  “Not what you expected?” Eddie asked.

  She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “Then you’d probably be interested in knowing the neighbors to the north are a couple in their eighties, to the south a retired game show host in his nineties. More the standard Arcadia profile?”

  “And in the middle, a stone cold killer.” She paused. “Nice neighborhood.”

  They circled the block, looking for signs that he might have parked down the street and walked home. But they didn’t see anything.

  They parked the truck in the alley and went through the backyard gate at Tony’s place.

  The locks and alarm system didn’t even slow down Eddie Marino, whose training as security a
nd intelligence in the Army served Shea Investigations handsomely these days.

  They shut the kitchen door behind them and waited, listening. There were no sounds except the ticking of a grandfather clock down the hallway.

  The kitchen needed serious remodeling. Colorful Mexican tiles covered the countertops. Walnut cabinets and appliances with black glass fronts also dated the place. It was cleaner than clean. If any cooking had gone on in the funky kitchen, it was years ago. The only signs of human activity were a two-slot stainless-steel toaster in one corner and a high-end espresso machine. She looked around, shaking her head. Tony LaSalle was a stick of dynamite waiting to blow, yet his house was positively cozy. What was that about?

  They walked into a living room dominated by big, overstuffed furniture. Sun streamed in through a sparkling clean picture window looking out on the street.

  A photograph on the mantle shelf stopped the sweep of her gaze. A woman in her late twenties and a young girl of about four or five smiled into the sun from a swing set.

  Eddie came back up the hallway. “No sign of him here, but I found these in the trash can in the bathroom.”

  She cocked her head and waited.

  “Brochures from the Arizona Heritage Museum detailing the exhibit of the Dahlonega coin collection.”

  “Well, that validates it for me,” Jordan said. She turned back to the photo. What she didn’t know about Tony LaSalle would fill a stadium, including, “He has a little girl? Is this his wife?”

  Eddie squinted from across the room. “It’s his sister and her kid.”

  She nodded.

  He looked around. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”

  They went back outside to Eddie’s truck. He called Tank and put him on speaker. “How’s our child?”

  Tank laughed. “He’s a good little boy.”

  Jordan could just imagine him patting Coop on the head. “Maybe you can take him to the gun range tonight?” she asked.

  Tank sighed. “Guess I could. Do I get overtime, boss?”

  Jordan said, “In your dreams. He needs to be trained.”

  Eddie said, “LaSalle’s on the run. We gotta figure out who’d hide him. Think you two are up to it?”