Tail Spin
Page 92
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“Shut your trap, you suck-up—”
Stefanos laughed. “Is that envy I hear?”
Quincy shouted, “Envy of what? That the old man invented your image to suit himself and his own purposes, and you let him?”
Stefanos said, “I always thought it was one of your father’s better ideas.”
Sherlock was working the knots at her wrists. Please, let them keep talking, let them thrash it all out, go for each other’s throats, for all I care. Three more minutes, that should do it. She worked until her wrists were raw and she felt the sting and wet of her own blood but it didn’t matter. They’d found her ankle holster and taken her Lady Colt, but they hadn’t searched her inner jacket pocket with its single Kleenex and her Swiss Army knife.
Quincy said, “Yeah, right, making a fool of Laurel for fifteen years! I never liked it. I knew what people were saying about you behind their hands. But Father used to laugh when he’d hear gossip about your mistresses, about your barhop ping, your partying with hookers in this little bungalow, not even five minutes from where you lived with my sister. Did you laugh with him, Laurel?”
She said, her voice light, “I’ve always loved the theater.”
Sherlock felt her cell vibrate again. Dillon, it had to be Dillon. He’d come, she knew he’d come.
Stefanos turned to Rachael, smiled down at her. “You have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?”
“I only know you’re a philandering jerk.”
Laurel said, “But that’s only what everyone was supposed to believe. Stefanos’s reputation as a womanizer—that was my father’s idea. He got a real kick out of building that reputation for my dear Stef.”
Stefanos picked it up. “It worked to our advantage, what with business associates believing I was nothing more than a simple-minded playboy he’d bought for Laurel. I got so many of those old jackasses to invite me to their weekend retreats where they paraded their mistresses about, talked openly about the women they were screwing, about this business expansion or that merger. They couldn’t imagine I was a threat to them. All the booze, the sex, the stupid schemes. I recorded all of it, even managed to videotape some of it when those old codgers came over to my own little place here. They loved all the red velvet. They never saw the cameras. The old man was very pleased. He enjoyed watching the films I made.”
Laurel said with a smirk. “Business took a marked upswing.”
“I haven’t done so much of that now that the old man’s dead,” Stefanos said. “And I’ll admit it was getting tiresome.”
Laurel said, “Before Daddy became really ill that last time, he told me what Jimmy had done. He asked me to promise I would never allow anyone to find out. He was worried because he said Jimmy had this tender girl’s conscience, he hated to say it out loud since Jimmy was his oldest son, but the truth was the truth. He’d bred a weakling. Jimmy had all our mother’s flaws. It shamed him.”
“Dammit, Laurel, our old man was nuts. You know what else? I think he turned on Jimmy when he broke away to run for the Senate. You know why—it was Jimmy’s idea, not his. He hated that he couldn’t control Jimmy, hated that Jimmy wouldn’t do what he told him to.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Laurel said. “Not now. When he was dying, he asked me again to promise, to accept it as my responsibility. And so I did.”
Quincy said, “And look where that’s led. Jimmy’s dead. Greg Nichols is dead. These two bitches will shortly be dead, and we’re fighting for our lives here.”
A lot of bodies piling up around you, aren’t there, Laurel? Rachael held very, very still.
Stefanos looked at his wife’s white face. “The promise you made to your father was honorable, Laurel. As to what he really was, it no longer matters, just as you said. It’s only us now, and we will do what we must to survive. To win.”
Laurel said, passion thick in her voice, “Daddy mattered. He mattered more than anyone.” She walked over to Rachael and went down on her knees beside her. “After Daddy died, your mother thought she could cash in at last, make her move, and so she sent you to the senator, and that ridiculous fool decided you were a gift from the gods.”
“He adopted the bitch,” Quincy said. “I couldn’t believe he did that, and so fast.”
“Yes, well, Jimmy never cared about money, now did he?” She looked up at her brother. “In the end, he didn’t care about the family, either. He became a threat to us.” She touched her fingers to Rachael’s cheek. “And now you will die in a car accident, just like he did, and we will survive.”
Laurel got slowly to her feet, strode over to where Stefanos was standing next to the fireplace. Without her shoes, she looked smaller, a frumpy, heavyset matron. She looked tired, old, a spiky band of coarse hair hanging along her cheek.
Stefanos took her hand, kissed it, then smoothed his thumbs over her eyebrows. “All will be well now, matia mou. Quincy and I will take the ladies to the agent’s car and send them on their final journey. The FBI will howl and bitch, but what can they do? They have no proof against us. They have suppositions, they have a wish list, but nothing our lawyers can’t handle.”
Stefanos turned to look at Rachael and Sherlock. A dark brow went up. “Time to see if there’s an afterlife, ladies,” he said, and raised his .38.
SIXTY-TWO
Savich saw the woman’s deathly white face the instant before he would have slammed into the driver’s side of her Chrysler. He turned the Porsche’s steering wheel hard to the left, pumped the brake, fed in a bit of gas, and that magnificent machine responded perfectly, but the road simply wasn’t wide enough.
The Porsche came to a stop, the front wheels dangling over a ditch.
The ancient Chrysler slowly moved forward again. Savich looked up to see the woman give him the finger. He laughed, couldn’t help it.
Jack was cursing as he opened his door and looked out. “Well, the damned ditch is only six feet deep. We’ve got to get the Porsche out of here fast, Savich.”
Savich carefully opened the driver’s door and eased out. “Stay put, Jack, we’re a bit wobbly.” He dialed 9ll, asked for immediate assistance. He punched off, punched in Sherlock’s cell. She didn’t answer. He looked around, watched at least six cars roll by, people looking, but nobody stopped. Savich raised his face. “Where’s a cop when you need one?”
Stefanos laughed. “Is that envy I hear?”
Quincy shouted, “Envy of what? That the old man invented your image to suit himself and his own purposes, and you let him?”
Stefanos said, “I always thought it was one of your father’s better ideas.”
Sherlock was working the knots at her wrists. Please, let them keep talking, let them thrash it all out, go for each other’s throats, for all I care. Three more minutes, that should do it. She worked until her wrists were raw and she felt the sting and wet of her own blood but it didn’t matter. They’d found her ankle holster and taken her Lady Colt, but they hadn’t searched her inner jacket pocket with its single Kleenex and her Swiss Army knife.
Quincy said, “Yeah, right, making a fool of Laurel for fifteen years! I never liked it. I knew what people were saying about you behind their hands. But Father used to laugh when he’d hear gossip about your mistresses, about your barhop ping, your partying with hookers in this little bungalow, not even five minutes from where you lived with my sister. Did you laugh with him, Laurel?”
She said, her voice light, “I’ve always loved the theater.”
Sherlock felt her cell vibrate again. Dillon, it had to be Dillon. He’d come, she knew he’d come.
Stefanos turned to Rachael, smiled down at her. “You have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?”
“I only know you’re a philandering jerk.”
Laurel said, “But that’s only what everyone was supposed to believe. Stefanos’s reputation as a womanizer—that was my father’s idea. He got a real kick out of building that reputation for my dear Stef.”
Stefanos picked it up. “It worked to our advantage, what with business associates believing I was nothing more than a simple-minded playboy he’d bought for Laurel. I got so many of those old jackasses to invite me to their weekend retreats where they paraded their mistresses about, talked openly about the women they were screwing, about this business expansion or that merger. They couldn’t imagine I was a threat to them. All the booze, the sex, the stupid schemes. I recorded all of it, even managed to videotape some of it when those old codgers came over to my own little place here. They loved all the red velvet. They never saw the cameras. The old man was very pleased. He enjoyed watching the films I made.”
Laurel said with a smirk. “Business took a marked upswing.”
“I haven’t done so much of that now that the old man’s dead,” Stefanos said. “And I’ll admit it was getting tiresome.”
Laurel said, “Before Daddy became really ill that last time, he told me what Jimmy had done. He asked me to promise I would never allow anyone to find out. He was worried because he said Jimmy had this tender girl’s conscience, he hated to say it out loud since Jimmy was his oldest son, but the truth was the truth. He’d bred a weakling. Jimmy had all our mother’s flaws. It shamed him.”
“Dammit, Laurel, our old man was nuts. You know what else? I think he turned on Jimmy when he broke away to run for the Senate. You know why—it was Jimmy’s idea, not his. He hated that he couldn’t control Jimmy, hated that Jimmy wouldn’t do what he told him to.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Laurel said. “Not now. When he was dying, he asked me again to promise, to accept it as my responsibility. And so I did.”
Quincy said, “And look where that’s led. Jimmy’s dead. Greg Nichols is dead. These two bitches will shortly be dead, and we’re fighting for our lives here.”
A lot of bodies piling up around you, aren’t there, Laurel? Rachael held very, very still.
Stefanos looked at his wife’s white face. “The promise you made to your father was honorable, Laurel. As to what he really was, it no longer matters, just as you said. It’s only us now, and we will do what we must to survive. To win.”
Laurel said, passion thick in her voice, “Daddy mattered. He mattered more than anyone.” She walked over to Rachael and went down on her knees beside her. “After Daddy died, your mother thought she could cash in at last, make her move, and so she sent you to the senator, and that ridiculous fool decided you were a gift from the gods.”
“He adopted the bitch,” Quincy said. “I couldn’t believe he did that, and so fast.”
“Yes, well, Jimmy never cared about money, now did he?” She looked up at her brother. “In the end, he didn’t care about the family, either. He became a threat to us.” She touched her fingers to Rachael’s cheek. “And now you will die in a car accident, just like he did, and we will survive.”
Laurel got slowly to her feet, strode over to where Stefanos was standing next to the fireplace. Without her shoes, she looked smaller, a frumpy, heavyset matron. She looked tired, old, a spiky band of coarse hair hanging along her cheek.
Stefanos took her hand, kissed it, then smoothed his thumbs over her eyebrows. “All will be well now, matia mou. Quincy and I will take the ladies to the agent’s car and send them on their final journey. The FBI will howl and bitch, but what can they do? They have no proof against us. They have suppositions, they have a wish list, but nothing our lawyers can’t handle.”
Stefanos turned to look at Rachael and Sherlock. A dark brow went up. “Time to see if there’s an afterlife, ladies,” he said, and raised his .38.
SIXTY-TWO
Savich saw the woman’s deathly white face the instant before he would have slammed into the driver’s side of her Chrysler. He turned the Porsche’s steering wheel hard to the left, pumped the brake, fed in a bit of gas, and that magnificent machine responded perfectly, but the road simply wasn’t wide enough.
The Porsche came to a stop, the front wheels dangling over a ditch.
The ancient Chrysler slowly moved forward again. Savich looked up to see the woman give him the finger. He laughed, couldn’t help it.
Jack was cursing as he opened his door and looked out. “Well, the damned ditch is only six feet deep. We’ve got to get the Porsche out of here fast, Savich.”
Savich carefully opened the driver’s door and eased out. “Stay put, Jack, we’re a bit wobbly.” He dialed 9ll, asked for immediate assistance. He punched off, punched in Sherlock’s cell. She didn’t answer. He looked around, watched at least six cars roll by, people looking, but nobody stopped. Savich raised his face. “Where’s a cop when you need one?”
