V Is for Vengeance

  I drove into the underground parking garage that ran the length of the shopping center. Stores weren’t yet open, so all of the parking spaces were available. I chose one at the far end of the lot, close to the elevators. I ran an eye down the wall-mounted directory, which listed the companies with offices on the second and third floors, above the retail establishments. Dante Enterprises occupied the penthouse suite. I took the elevator up. I don’t know what I expected from the digs of a loan shark, but the complex was elegant and beautifully furnished, with pale gray short-cut pile carpeting and interior walls of glass and high-gloss teak. The reception desk was empty, and I waited, not quite sure what to do with myself. I took a seat on a lush gray leather chair and leafed through a magazine with one eye on the elevator. Finally, the doors opened and a tall, balding man wearing glasses emerged and crossed to the inner door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Is someone helping you?”

  I set the magazine aside and stood up. “I’m looking for Lorenzo Dante, the younger one. I understand there are two.”

  “You have an appointment?”

  I shook my head. “I was hoping he could see me. I just took a chance he’d be in.”

  “He’s usually here by now, but I didn’t see his car in the garage. Is this something I can help you with?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s a private matter. Do you have any idea what time he’ll be in?”

  The man checked his watch. “Should be soon. If you take a seat, I can have the receptionist bring you a cup of coffee while you wait.”

  By then I was feeling anxious, suddenly uncertain what I was doing there and what I hoped to accomplish. I can tattle with the best of them, but I prefer to do so when I know my audience. Here, I had no idea what sort of reception to expect. “You know what? I think I’ll run a couple of errands and come back in a bit.”

  “If you change your mind about the coffee, let the receptionist know,” he said. He disappeared into the inner corridor just as the receptionist came out and returned to her desk. I had already moved to the elevator, where I pressed the down button. I was intent on exiting before Dante showed up, so it was only by chance that I glanced back at her as she took her seat. She noticed I was staring at her and she gave me the blank look of someone who hasn’t yet registered what’s going on.

  I said, “Aren’t you Abbie Upshaw?”

  Still the blank look. “Yes.”

  “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I met you the other day at lunch. You’re Len Priddy’s girlfriend.”

  Her gaze locked on mine, and I could see her formulate the recollection of who I was and where we’d met. It dawned on her that I was a friend of Cheney Phillips’s and someone who now knew more about her than I should. I was still putting the pieces together but I’d already gotten the picture. It was her house Pinky had broken into when he stole Len’s packet of pictures. She’d probably taken the photographs herself, documenting the link between the vice detective and Dante’s brother. What I knew without even asking was that she’d been planted in Dante’s office to pick up the same sort of inside dope that Cappi was spilling to the cops.

  I heard a soft ping. The elevator doors opened and I stepped in. She watched, transfixed, as the doors slid shut. She was pale and her expression had turned from fear to dread.

  It was a moment I enjoyed perhaps more than I should have.

  29

  DANTE

  In the rear of the limousine, Dante donned his reading glasses while he studied the spreadsheet Saul had sent to the house by messenger the night before. This was a comprehensive view of his finances, pages he’d shred when he’d absorbed the content. He’d meant to go over the report when it first arrived, but he was distracted by the revelation from Nora’s offhand remark at the beach house that day. He wondered if there was any way he could have known she’d been married to Tripp Lanahan, of all people. Dante could count on the fingers of one hand men who’d come to his defense. Tripp had seen value in him, had successfully challenged bank policy for him, an unprecedented gesture of trust and confidence. Tripp had also taken a raft of shit from the bank for approving the loan, but he’d shrugged off the criticism and stuck to his guns. Dante was never sure why he’d done it, but it meant the world to him. In his mind, buying the big old house made him almost respectable, and he’d never missed a payment. In fact, he’d paid it off six years early and now owned it free and clear. Since then he’d worked hard to erase the taint of gangsterdom that dogged his days. It was a reputation he couldn’t seem to shake. He was tired of the burden and tired of trying to free himself from the power struggles and the necessity for domination. Until recently when he’d pictured his escape, it was always in the vague and cloudy future. It had helped immensely to know he had a way out, but now that the reality loomed before him, he was reluctant to act. It would make all the difference if Nora agreed to go with him, but what were the chances once she knew the part he’d played in Phillip’s death? He was doomed if he stayed and doomed if he left without her. Uncle Alfredo was another loss he wasn’t ready to face. Alfredo loved him as his father never had, and even with his life slipping away, he was Dante’s anchor. Dante couldn’t imagine leaving while the man could still draw breath.

  Then there was the end of his relationship with Lola, and that depressed him as much as anything. That morning, when he’d finished showering and getting dressed, he’d come into the bedroom to find her already up and in her travel clothes. She had a suitcase open on the bed and a garment bag hooked over the open closet door, with the inner flap unzipped. She’d already moved a number of dresses, skirts, and suits still on hangers into its interior.

  “What’s this about?”

  “What’s it look like? I’m packing my things.”

  “You don’t have to leave so soon.”

  “Of course I do. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you. I have needs and desires of my own.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Haven’t decided yet. I’m having a car take me down to Los Angeles. I’ll stay at the Bel-Air until I make up my mind. London for sure and after that, who knows?”

  “You need cash?”

  “No, Dante. I have a fortune in gold coins stashed under the mattress. I thought you knew.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “How much?”

  “Fifty grand should do for now.”

  He took out his money clip and counted off a number of bills that he handed to her. “That’s ten. I’ll have Lou Elle get the other forty to you at the hotel. After that, she’ll set up an account for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m charging everything to you anyway, but there’s always tips and incidentals. You might alert American Express so there’s no hassle. I hate when the assholes refuse a card. They’re always so smug about it.”

  “No problem.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, which was still unmade. The covers were thrown back and the sheets were warm with her scents: cologne, bath salts, shampoo. He felt a sharp pang of anxiety. What would he do with himself when she was gone? After eight years, he couldn’t even picture the empty place she’d leave in his life.

  She secured the elastic bands across the hanging clothes to hold them flat and then closed and zipped the inner flap. She added a few items to the big suitcase and closed that as well. “Could you haul that down for me? I don’t want to give myself a hernia.”

  He crossed to the closet door and lifted the garment bag off by its hook. He placed it on the bed and watched while she zipped it up. “This is all you’re taking? Doesn’t look like much.”

  “I gotta be prepared to tote everything myself. The bags have wheels, but there’s a limit to how many I can manage at one time.”

  “That’s what redcaps and bellboys are for.”

  “Only when I get where I’m going. In between, I got cabs and airports and who knows what. Better to travel light so I don’t end up loaded down like a pack mule,” she said. “What about you? I figured you’d be taking off with your new lady
love. What’s her name?”

  “Nora. How’d you find out about her?”

  “I know how you operate and I can get information from the same sources.”

  “She hasn’t agreed to go with me and now something else has come up.”

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not. Two years ago I loaned a kid some money on a gambling debt. He owed a casino in Vegas and he came to me for cash to cover him. We made a deal and shook hands. I ponied up and then he tried to weasel out of paying. He offered me his Porsche in lieu of payment and I told Cappi to take care of it. I meant take a look and see if the car was okay. Cappi tossed him off the parking garage.”

  “I take it Cappi didn’t get caught or he’d still be locked up,” she said.

  “That’s not the problem. Turns out the kid was Nora’s only son. I knew her husband years ago, Tripp Lanahan. Guy drops dead of a heart attack at thirty-six. She mentions his name and I put it together in a flash. I thought I’d have a heart attack myself.”

  Lola sat down beside him. “What are you going to do?”

  “What are my choices? I have to tell her.”

  “No, you don’t. Are you nuts? Keep your big mouth shut. Otherwise all you’re going to do is fuck it up.”

  “What if she hears about it from someone else? Then I’m really fucked.”

  Lola’s expression was pained. “Oh, please. You know what this is like? Having an affair and then making a full confession. Leaves the guilty party feeling just fine, thanks. You get it off your chest and your conscience is clear. Meanwhile, you put the whole load of shit on your significant other who hasn’t done a thing.”

  “I want to be honest with her. Do things right.”

  “Get serious. She’s not going to forgive and forget. You tell her and it’s over. Is that what you want?”

  “I can’t live the rest of my life wondering if she’s going to find out.”

  “How’s she going to find out? You’re taking her out of the country. It’s a big world out there. What are the chances of running into someone who—lo and behold—knows what went on? You got what, a handful of people in on the story, all of ’em on your payroll. I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you.”

  He turned and looked at her. “I live with you all these years and this is how you think?”

  “It’s called common sense. Using the old noggin. Looking before you leap.”

  “It’s a rationalization. Finding a way to save your own skin at someone else’s expense.”

  “It’s not costing her anything. How’s she going to know?”

  And that was the question she left him with, last thing out of her mouth before he helped her carry her bags down to the car and watched her disappear down the drive. End of Lola. Over and done.

  Through the tinted windows of the limousine, the quality of the light changed, and he realized Tomasso had slowed at the mouth of the parking garage and was nosing the limo down the incline. Dante returned the report to his briefcase and idly watched the concrete walls slide by, support posts, low ceiling, the exit ramp coming up on his right. Tomasso pulled to the curb near the entrance to Macy’s. The backside elevators to the office floors were located to the right, often unnoticed by shoppers as they passed the spot, intent on something else.

  Hubert got out on the passenger side and came around to the rear to open the door for him. As Dante emerged from the car, the elevator doors opened and a young woman stepped out. Dante took in the sight of her—jeans, black turtleneck, and a big slouchy shoulder bag—with a curious sense of familiarity. It was unusual to see anyone in the parking garage at so early an hour. Hubert shifted his weight, automatically, blocking her access to his boss. The woman stopped and Dante saw recognition flicker in her eyes as she looked from his big bodyguard to the limousine. Dante couldn’t remember ever seeing her, but she seemed to know him.

  He was about to move past her when she spoke up. “Could I talk to you?”

  “About what?”

  Hubert said, “Miss . . .”

  “You’re Lorenzo Dante. I was just in your office looking for you.”

  “Who are you?”

  Hubert was saying, “Please, Miss. Could you step away from the car . . .” These were standard phrases he’d learned. Anyone hearing him would think he knew English well, but as it turned out, in his job, fluency wasn’t required unless it came to guns and hand-to-hand combat, at which he was truly gifted.

  “Hubert, would you cool it? I’m having a conversation here.”

  He said, “Sorry, boss,” but kept a watchful eye on the interchange.

  “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I’m a friend of Pinky’s.”

  “What’s that have to do with me?”

  “Last night Pinky and your brother got into a shoot-out and Pinky’s wife was hit in the crossfire. She’s in bad shape and Pinky’s worried sick about her medical bills.”

  “I’m not seeing the relevance.”

  “Pinky had a set of photographs to give you, only your brother got there first and destroyed both the prints and the negatives.”

  “Photographs of what?”

  “Cappi and Len Priddy chatting together in a parked car on six different occasions. Your brother sold you out.”

  Dante stared at her for a moment while he decided what to do and then he said, “Get in.”

  He stood aside while she slung her shoulder bag into the back of the limousine and slid in after it, shifting both herself and her bag over to the long side seat. When she was settled, he ducked in and took his usual place. To Tomasso, he said, “Take a drive. I’ll tell you when it’s time to bring us back.”

  Before Tomasso pulled away, he triggered the mechanism that closed the panel between the front seat and the rear of the car. By then, Hubert was back in the front seat. Dante was intent on the woman sitting to his left. She was somewhere in her thirties, more girl than woman as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t decide what to make of her. She was small-boned with a ragged mop of dark hair she must have chopped off herself. Hazel eyes, her nose ever so slightly crooked. He could tell she’d been banged up, but he couldn’t imagine why. He said, “How do you know Pinky? You don’t look like the lowlife type.”

  “I’m a private eye. He gave me the first set of key picks I ever owned and I owe him for that. I’m also fond of him, rascal that he is.”

  “And he hired you to do what?”

  “Not him. The man engaged to Audrey Vance.”

  He was getting it. “You’re the one took my money and gave it to the cops. You and her landlady up in San Luis Obispo. That was a bad thing you did.”

  “Hey, you sent guys to break into my studio. You violated my privacy and that’s just as bad.”

  He couldn’t believe she had the nerve to sound indignant when she was the one who’d wronged him. He nearly smiled but thought better of it. “We’re talking about a hundred grand you cost me.”

  She shrugged. “The courier service handed it over to Audrey’s landlady. Why am I to blame?”

  “Wait a minute. Now I know where I heard your name. I read about you in the paper. You blew the whistle on Audrey.”

  “What was I supposed to do? I saw her steal underwear and stuff it in her bag.”

  “You could have looked the other way. Audrey was a peach. She worked for me for years.”

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t better at her job.”

  “You’ve also been following a friend of mine and it’s upsetting her. Where do you get off pulling shit like that?”

  “Oh, right. Helping Hearts, Healing Hands. That’s a crock,” she said. “You want to talk about Cappi or go on trading recriminations? You ask me, we’re even.”

  “You got a hell of a nerve. Why’d you come to me with bullshit about Pinky? What the fuck do I care? The guy’s a punk.”

  “He needs help. I thought maybe we could work a trade.”

  “A trade?”

  “Sure. I’ll tell you what I know an
d you pay his medical bills and living expenses until Dodie’s back on her feet.”

  He stared at her with amazement. “I’m a bad man. Didn’t anybody tell you?”

  “You don’t seem bad to me.”

  “I’m not someone you come to with a deal,” he said. “That’s the point.”

  She looked at him with . . . he wouldn’t call it insolence, but maybe cockiness. “Why not?”

  “Why not? Take a look at the other players in this game. You tell me Cappi’s sold me out. You know what kind of guy he is? A claim like that can get you killed.”

  “Len Priddy’s worse.”

  “Than Cappi? How you figure?”

  “Len’s a cop, sworn to uphold the law. If he’s corrupt, then what happens to the rest of us?”

  “Oh, I see. You figure I’m corrupt to begin with so what difference does it make.”

  “Not at all. I suspect you play straight and you’re a man of your word.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Based on the fact that you have power and you’ve had it for years. You don’t need to dick around.”

  “Nice talk, but it’s not going to help. You’ve got nothing to trade. Cappi’s snitching is not exactly late-breaking news. I’ve been suspicious about him since he got out of Soledad.”

  “Well, now you know for sure. I saw the photographs.”

  “Your word against his. You said he destroyed them all, so where’s your proof?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You won’t be taking him to court, so the evidence is irrelevant.”

  “Two corrections. A, you don’t know what I’ll do with him, and B, you don’t have a clue what’s relevant. Tell me something I don’t know and maybe we’ll do business. Believe it or not, I’m fond of Pinky myself.”