Читать книгу Bulletproof Bodyguard - Kay Sidey Thomas - Страница 9

As Gregor Williams pulled his rented Suburban into the drive of River Trace, the weight of the week pressed down on him. If his lawyers were to be believed, a hearing and indictments were in his future. But he shook off their dire predictions and took in the view before him. Starting now, Gregor had other plans.

The bed-and-breakfast was beautiful, although not to his taste. Surrounded by empty cotton fields, it looked like something out of Gone with the Wind—with three stories, red brick, white columns, black shutters and wrought-iron balconies. But what really interested him was how the house backed up to a lake. A setting sun bled along a drive lined with thirty-foot magnolia trees and live oaks that were closer to fifty feet. The secluded plantation home was absolutely perfect for his “project.”

“Let’s get inside. I’ve had all the fun I can stand today.” His tone invited no argument.

He glanced over his shoulder at the men he’d brought with him. Peter Sams, his second-in-command, was tall, rawboned, in his late forties and completely bald with a goatee. A bodybuilder and frighteningly strong, Peter had worked with him in some type of capacity for twenty years. First in the military, now for their private security company. Gregor knew Peter Sams almost as well as he knew himself.

A smaller but equally lethal black man was sitting beside Sams. Rob Johnson had joined their security team in Iraq right before the ill-fated mission that had landed them in their present legal troubles. But he’d proven his worth in that firefight. Gregor could trust his life to both of these men.

Gregor’s gaze fell on Frank Boggs next. Sams had found Boggs or rather, relocated his old military buddy. Boggs would be supplying them with everything they would need for the weekend.

He shifted uneasily in his seat. Johnson and Sams had both told him that they were afraid the man couldn’t cut it in the clinch. But Gregor felt Boggs could handle his end. The job wasn’t going to be that complicated. Besides, the payoff was irresistible. And in their present legal circumstances, absolutely necessary. Gregor had a strategy for making everything work.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror as he swung open the door and nodded. With iron-gray hair and cold blue eyes, he knew he looked formidable. The look was one he had cultivated over the years. He was fifty-two, but his six-foot frame looked like that of a much younger man.

This was his last mission, so to speak. Afterward, he would be retiring to some place tropical and out of the country—where the women wore thong bikinis and were more than willing to accommodate his…unique preferences. He could practically taste the piña coladas as he strode up the paved brick sidewalk.

“All right. Let’s do this,” he called over his shoulder.

The three men didn’t answer. Accustomed to taking orders, they simply swung open their car doors with military precision. Moments later they stood on the tremendous porch at the front of the bed-and-breakfast along with their boss.

Gregor growled, “Smile, damn it. You look like you’re about to face a firing squad. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

Tension rose along the back of his neck. The taste in his mouth no longer reminded him of the tropics. He focused on the large rush welcome mat as he rang the bell.

A stout-looking black woman in a maid’s uniform opened the massive paneled door with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Williams. It’s good to have you back again. Y’all come on in. Welcome to River Trace.”

Gregor dismissed his second thoughts and turned on the charm. “Hello, Luella. It’s good to be here. I’ve been dreaming about your collard greens and buttermilk biscuits for a month.”

“You’re puttin’ me on, sir.” Luella’s smile grew wider as she shooed them all inside like a mother hen. “Let me get you gentlemen checked in. You have perfect timing. I just got back from dinner. Did you have a pleasant drive?”

Gregor spoke for all of them. “Yes, we did. I’m looking forward to showing my friends the casino. We’re hoping to have a profitable weekend.”

Luella bustled her way over to the large antique secretary and proceeded with the paperwork and showing them to their rooms on the second floor. Gregor’s was the master bedroom with a fireplace and large sitting area. Luella was turning to go downstairs when he asked, “Is Mrs. Burnett home this evening?”

The big woman nodded. “Cally’s here. I believe she’s checking another guest in. She cooked up some hors d’oeuvres for you and the other gentlemen earlier if you’d like a late cocktail hour. Y’all come on down whenever you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

“None of your fried okra?” he teased. “I was really looking forward to that.”

“No sir, we haven’t picked any okra out of our garden this week. But if you like, I’ll have Bay do it in the morning and fix you up a mess of collards and some okra for dinner tomorrow night.”

Gregor nodded and laughed out loud, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Oh, it really is good to be back at River Trace.” He was surprised to realize he truly meant that. “I’m looking forward to my time here.”

MARCUS CLIMBED into the steaming enclosure and let the hot water pelt his face. He wanted to wash off the stink of the dive he had been in earlier. His contact had never shown, but he’d met with the people he came to see. Now he reeked of cheap liquor, cigarettes and God only knew what else. He was surprised Mrs. Burnett hadn’t noticed, but she’d been distracted by the kid.

Cally Burnett was unexpected. Curvy in all the right places, she intrigued him with that mane of auburn curls and big blue eyes, not to mention those lips that made him think of ice cream and X-rated movies. He shook his head. No more than five foot five, what there was of her was extraordinarily well packaged.

When she’d answered the door, he’d been almost embarrassed by his response. She looked more like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest than a mother and widow. But she certainly wasn’t his type. Forget about sex. It had been so long since he’d had an extended conversation with a woman who wasn’t a cop, a snitch or a victim—he wasn’t exactly sure what his type was anymore.

Not that his body’s response was any indication; it had no real discernment in these matters, especially given the timing. Celibacy was a bitch. Doing without wasn’t his first choice and had more to do with the fact that his love life had been nonexistent lately.

Marcus consciously pushed thoughts of the lovely Mrs. Burnett out of his mind. He had little time to himself to socialize outside of work, and he no longer got involved with the women from this side of his life. It was entirely too complicated and dangerous. Tessa had taught him that lesson the hard way.

He wished Gregor had picked different lodgings. This wasn’t going to be as clean as the man claimed. That worried Marcus for the widow’s sake as well as his own.

Gregor Williams was a dangerous man. Marcus suspected some mental instability. Boggs had confirmed those suspicions last week when he told a story about Williams “roughing up” a hooker in New Orleans. Later Asa did some checking and found the woman had been hospitalized. It should have caused quite a stir. But for some reason the woman didn’t press charges. With the high-profile job Gregor had in Iraq as a private security contractor, a significant amount of money must have changed hands to keep that incident quiet.

Marcus had met Gregor and his mercenaries for the first time a little over a month ago. Things had progressed rapidly from there, once they found out about his position at the casino. And tonight, he’d been at the Tonk where Gregor had spelled out his entire plan.

The bar sat on a gravel back road between two cotton fields. During the day it was hardly more than a shack. At night, with half-burned-out Christmas lights strung around the door, the Tonk looked like an old whore on Bourbon Street determined to sell her worn wares and show the world she still had what it took.

Marcus heard music blaring as he pulled into the potholed dirt parking lot. Three motorcycles and a half dozen trucks were haphazardly parked out front. A light crowd for a Saturday night, but it was early yet. Things didn’t start rocking here until after midnight.

The scent of spilled beer, stale sweat and cigarette smoke assaulted him as he cruised inside. The bikers were at the bar with a couple of women Marcus recognized from previous visits. The hookers working here on weekends were a sad lot. The Tonk was the last stop on the food chain. Marcus could never imagine being so desperate to get laid that he’d take up with one of these “ladies.” An STD or worse was in a john’s future. But, apparently, the women did a booming business—especially on a holiday weekend.

Manny, the owner—a massive black man with two gold front teeth and an attitude—was tending bar. Marcus gave him a nod.

Manny didn’t need bouncers in his place. Instead, he kept a sawed-off shotgun behind the counter and a snub-nosed revolver in his belt. Oh, fights might break out. But when Manny told you to leave—you left. The cops were never called.

Heavy metal blasted from the jukebox at the far end of the room. A few tables were scattered around a pool table on the opposite side of the bar, and a game was just starting. Marcus nodded to one of the players as he walked toward the far corner.

Four men sat at a scarred wooden table. Even in the darkened room, their buzz haircuts and perfect posture stood out. There was just no hiding that kind of discipline in a place like this.

“Hello, Gregor. Boggs.” Marcus sat without being invited.

The older man in the group spoke in a growl, “North, it’s about damn time.”

“Here I am, as we discussed.”

“Have you checked in yet?”

“No, I’m going over to the bed-and-breakfast after this.”

Manny sauntered over with a beer and set it in front of Marcus and nodded a greeting to Frank Boggs.

“Evening, Manny. Where’s Earleen tonight?” asked Marcus.

“That girl has done gone and got the flu. Said she might be in later. But she looks worse ‘n she usually does.” He paused a moment, his gold teeth disappeared, then winked again in the dim light. “She sure hates to miss the weekend tricks.”

Marcus laughed out loud. “Yeah, like you’d let that happen. Sure hope she feels better.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

Gregor waited until the man ambled back toward the bar.

“Who’s Earleen?” he asked.

“Manny’s daughter,” said Marcus.

“Her father pimps for her?” Gregor asked. His growl had changed to a rumble.

Apparently, his few puritanical tendencies were highly offended at their conversation. He didn’t get it and Marcus decided not to enlighten him.

There were plenty of tricks turned in Manny’s Tonk but his daughter, Earleen, was not involved in that lifestyle. Manny probably didn’t know she’d ever even considered it and would kill the man who laid a finger or anything else on his daughter.

“Yeah, he’s a real prince. Giving her all the advantages,” said Marcus.

“A girlfriend of yours?”

Marcus smiled, but his stomach turned. He’d met Earleen several years ago when she was a runaway and contemplating turning her first trick on Farish Street in Jackson. Working Vice at the time, he’d almost arrested her. Instead, after hearing her story, he’d put her on a bus back home to South Mississippi.

Unfortunately, this audience wasn’t interested in the only “happily ever after” Marcus had ever seen while working that side of the street in Jackson, so he spun it a bit.

“I never kiss and tell, Gregor. Do you?”

Boggs snorted. The other two men smiled uneasily.

“You know the nicest people,” snarled Gregor, ignoring the question.

Marcus realized he was antagonizing his mark more than he should. He slid a manila envelope across the table. “Here’s the blueprint you wanted.”

“Have any trouble?” Gregor pulled out a small loose-leaf notebook and tucked the envelope inside.

“No trouble. The security personnel have access to all the wiring schematics in case there’s a problem with the generators or security system. Since I’m a bodyguard, I have access, as well.”

“I want to double-check these camera locations against the ones I already have.”

“No problem,” Marcus said. “What else?”

“What time will you finish work tomorrow?”

“Should be done around five-thirty or six. None of my whales are here till the weekend.”

“Good. We’ll make the final preparations then.”

Marcus nodded and made a conscious effort to ignore the beer in front of him. “Why the bed-and-breakfast? Wouldn’t a hotel have worked just as well?”

“Oh, you’ll like River Trace—fabulous location, beautiful setting, soothing water.” Gregor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. The other men stared at their drinks.

Marcus didn’t trust the answer but knew it was all he would get tonight. He pushed the bottle away. “All right. See you later.”

MARCUS SHIVERED. The water was turning cold. He stepped out of the shower, wincing when he grabbed too quickly for the thick white towel on the counter.

He looked down at the ugly red scar that ran along his collarbone. It’d been three months since he’d finished rehab, and the pain could still take his breath away. He’d better take a handful of ibuprofen before he went to bed, or it would hurt like hell tomorrow.

He wiped down the foggy mirror; chocolate-brown eyes stared back at him. Dark circles accented the lines underneath them. His wet black hair needed a trim. He had more gray there than he remembered.

His nose canted slightly to the left—the result of a bar fight when he was twenty. He certainly wasn’t twenty anymore. Tonight he looked every one of his thirty-nine years, or as Manny would say, “worse ‘n usual.”

Marcus dug around in his Dopp kit for the medicine, thinking about the Tonk’s owner and his daughter. Apparently, Manny had never delved too deeply into Earleen’s “walk on the wild side,” he was so glad to have his daughter home.

She’d recognized Marcus as soon as he’d walked into the Tonk—several weeks ago. By her account, she’d never told Manny how she got home from Jackson, or that Marcus was really a cop.

Marcus wasn’t sure if that was true, but she had been his best informant since he’d been in McCay County, and Manny hadn’t kicked him out of the bar yet. So that was probably a fair sign.

While Manny himself didn’t deal, drugs were sold in his place with surprising regularity. The Tonk was a hot spot for all kinds of sin in South Mississippi. Every undesirable, hood and petty crook within a three-hundred-mile radius eventually made their way through his bar.

Earleen had introduced Marcus to lots of people there, including Frank Boggs. Frank dated Carlotta, a friend of Earleen’s. That’s how this investigation had all started: one interesting conversation at the Tonk with Marcus doing what he did best—listening, blending in, talking when necessary.

When Boggs found out Marcus was a bodyguard at the Paddlewheel, he was anxious to talk about McCay County’s sole casino and what it was like to work there. The hell of it was Marcus had been at the Tonk that night strictly to hang before he went to work.

He’d needed to see for himself that Earleen was okay. That she was happy. Every once in a while he needed to see that he’d done something right when the cover was starting to get to him, even if he had to stay under to do it. So technically he wasn’t even “working” the job when the initial contact happened.

He ignored the fact that it said something dark about where he chose to spend his time these days. Even working undercover, he recognized he was not in a good place. But then he’d met Boggs and it only reinforced Marcus’s self-destructive behavior.

Stupid blind luck.

“So you like working at the casino?” Boggs leaned over the table with his pool cue to take his shot.

“Yeah. Just wish I could make more money at it.”

“Don’t we all. Lots of money there at the ‘Wheel.” Boggs sunk a ball in the right corner pocket.

“At the Paddlewheel?” Carlotta plopped down on the round serving table directly across from Frank, seemingly too drunk to care that others could see straight up her micro mini to a Brazilian wax.

Marcus nodded. “Most casinos make ten to twelve percent. The ‘Wheel makes about thirty.”

“Good God, what does that much money look like?” Boggs stood up straight, the pool game and Carlotta’s peep show forgotten.

“Oh, it’s quite a sight. There’s a special counting room, of course. A few times there’s been so much money they haven’t been able to count it fast enough.”

“So what did they do?”

“Put the money in plastic garbage bags until they get it counted.”

“You’re kidding me. Garbage sacks full of money?”

Marcus nodded. “Hell, an armored truck got stuck clear up to the axles once.”

“I don’t get it,” said Boggs.

“The weight. It wasn’t a muddy road. It just sank into the gravel because of the weight of the coins. They had to get a damn crane to haul it out of there.”

Boggs listened with rapt attention.

“Those two armored security guys were sweating bullets,” continued Marcus.

“How come? They got guns, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but most of the casino guys don’t,” said Marcus.

Earleen brought him his extremely watered-down drink, their little secret, and raised an eyebrow when he asked her to keep ‘em coming. She handed Carlotta a beer and whispered something to her, but Carlotta didn’t respond.

“All that money and no guns,” mused Boggs. “Sounds like they’re just asking for it.”

“The casino is too afraid of bad publicity, like if there was to be an incident, shooting a patron or something. The money’s insured against theft once it leaves the casino in the armored trucks.”

“Still…seems nuts to me,” said Boggs.

“Yeah, but you gotta understand. The Paddlewheel isn’t run by the ‘casino people’ from Biloxi, Tunica or Vegas. It’s been an experiment with unbelievable timing. Goes back to the storm. Some good old boys made an investment, along comes Katrina, and suddenly the Paddlewheel’s the only casino still online and their little gamble’s paying off an incredible return. They had no idea they’d ever be able to compete with the coast or Tunica—they weren’t even going to try. They just wanted to cash in on some of the local gambling dollars that were going out of town.”

Marcus leaned on his pool cue as he explained. Boggs hung on every word.

“Katrina took those big casinos out just as the Paddlewheel was getting started and people had nowhere else to go to gamble. The ‘Wheel earned itself a nice little reputation in the process. A boutique casino if you will. Some folks don’t like all the glitz and glam of the big casinos along the coast so they come up here, particularly some of the bigger spenders who like their privacy.”

“An awful lot of money to have so little security,” Boggs sat directly in front of Carlotta and took her beer. Marcus carefully chose his seat on her other side, to avoid getting an eyeful of her “attributes.”

“Oh, they have security. Metal detectors before you go inside and some of the finest manpower available.” Marcus thumped his own chest and grinned. “It just doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of the big boys’ systems.”

Marcus hadn’t told him anything that wasn’t common knowledge. Even the part about garbage sacks of money was already the stuff of urban legend.

Everyone knew the guards didn’t carry guns. It’s why the casino had to have those private bodyguards, especially on the big weekends. That was the casino’s legal loophole on who could have weapons on the job.

Frank continued to quiz him about his work, specifically security. Marcus answered carefully as the questions became rather pointed.

“You sound like you’re planning a robbery,” said Marcus.

Boggs laughed and shrugged. “Oh, you never know. I might have some ideas.”

Since then, there had been several meetings like the one tonight. He’d met Gregor soon afterward. Asa had been with him for that, but he’d been called back to Jackson last week. The aftermath of that damned Simmons case was still burning them both. Marcus felt it every time he thought of Tessa, while Asa was being put through the wringer by IA about money that had supposedly gone missing from the scene. Marcus wasn’t implicated directly—he’d been too busy bleeding out to lift evidence, but the higher-ups were definitely angling to make him guilty by association.

Marcus didn’t plan on testifying against his partner, no matter what they threatened. Asa had saved his ass more times than Marcus could count. But they had some issues to deal with when this was all over, starting with Marcus’s own confession about Tessa.

He was wiped—mentally and physically. And it was more than just the rigors of the past few weeks. He rummaged in his Dopp kit for a toothbrush as he stubbornly refused to face the obvious. He was on the edge of a burn-out. Maybe things would look better tomorrow.

“Me and Scarlett,” he murmured.

His shoulder ached like a bitch. The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. He wanted a Scotch, but knew he wouldn’t want to stop with just one.

Cally had forgotten the homemade brandy she’d told him about when she brought up the sandwich. He was grateful for that. At this moment he might not be able to handle the temptation.

Instead, he brushed his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and dropped the towel before crawling between the cool, soft-as-cloud sheets. He stared at the ceiling fan. Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, throwing odd shadows on the far wall. The bowl of dried flowers and spices perfumed the air along with the faint hint of fresh paint.

It wouldn’t be much longer. Gregor’s plan was already unfolding. His strategy was disturbingly simple and that made it brilliant. In three days the Paddlewheel, the newest casino in Mississippi, would be robbed. And there wasn’t a damn thing Marcus could do, unless he helped with the crime.