Loose And Easy

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“That goddamn Cyclone sleeper, you mean?” Bleak said into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, Dovey, I’ve seen it running through Commerce City. Hell, it’s been in this town longer than I have. I’ve seen it parked at that damn garage over on Vine and Hoover. What the hell is Esme Alden doing in a big old Merc like that? Who’s this guy with the car?”

“His name is Johnny Ramos, Mr. Bleak,” Dovey said. “He’s one of the Locos. His brother, Dom, used to run the gang.”

Not what Franklin wanted to hear.

He swiveled around in his chair, taking his feet off the desk and planting them firmly on the carpet.

“Is she fucking him, Dovey? Is that what you’re telling me?” That some-fucking-how, this little bit of information about Burt-fucking-Alden’s daughter being the girlfriend of one of Baby Duce’s boys had not been unearthed some-fucking-where along the line?

This was not good. Crossing Baby Duce was out of the question. That was how guys got whacked.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bleak. I didn’t get a clear look at him until they got to his car, and then I recognized him, and yes, sir, maybe they’re dating or something. They used to have a thing going in high school, and he sure grabbed hold of her and started hauling her around like she belonged to him.”

Not what Franklin wanted to hear.

He sliced his gaze to the photograph of Katherine Gray on his desk. She was a first-class looker. There wasn’t a man on earth who wouldn’t recognize her for what she was-a grade-A, first-class looker. But maybe a piece of late-night cable TV ass was going to be pricier than Bleak was willing to pay.

Not that it mattered now. Goddammit. He was already into this deal up to his neck, whether he got to have lunch with Katherine Gray or not. The Chicago boys were going to be pulling up in front of his damn warehouse at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and Franklin needed to be waiting for them with cash in hand.

Which he had, except for Burt Alden’s eighty-two thousand dollars.

Goddammit.

“Mitch and Leroy are on this car now?”

“Yes, sir. They caught a look at it on Market, then lost it, so I told ’em to head over to Delgany, to Duce’s, and just see if that’s where Ramos had gone. He’d sure been heading in that direction, and it’s Friday night, still early, time for the homeboys to check in.”

Franklin pushed out of his chair and walked over to the windows overlooking his betting room.

“The car was there, in the alley, but I told them not to take her at Duce’s,” Dovey said.

No shit, Franklin thought. The last damn thing he needed was a confrontation with Baby Duce and his damn Locos, especially on their own territory. But he needed that damn girl.

“And now it’s parked a couple of blocks from there,” Dovey continued. “They’ve still got eyes on it, but I told them to hold off, until I talked to you.”

Dovey with a brain, it was a miracle.

“Good, Smollett. That’s good thinking.” Mitch and Leroy were driving one of the Bleak Enterprises vans, and that’s how guys got whacked. A couple of wiseguys tumble out of a van with your goddamn name written all over it and rough up one of Duce’s boys and steal his girl.

Deader’n a doornail by dawn. Oh, yeah, Franklin could see that happening. He wouldn’t have to worry about the damn eighty-two thousand dollars then.

But Franklin Camilo Bleak didn’t go down that easy.

“You follow them, Smollett. You still got Bremerton with you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a big guy.” From out of town. “Use him. You follow that damn sleeper until you can get it pulled over someplace outside Duce’s territory, then send in the Chicago boy to get the girl. He’s packing a damn.45. Tell him to use it.” The last thing Denver would ever miss was another damn gangster. The city was crawling with them, all of them swinging pistols around and killing people.

Yeah, that was a great idea-to let the Chicago guy kill Duce’s boy and just keep the name Bleak out of the whole damn mess.

Esme Alden dating a member of the Locos, somebody should have known that. Somebody should have figured that into the night’s plan.

Well, it was figured now.

“You do this right, Smollett, and it’ll look real good to me. Real good.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bleak.”

“You bring me that girl, Dovey, and there’ll be something in it for you.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bleak.”

“Just bring me the girl, Dovey.” He ended the call, and speed-dialed Mitch.

The guy picked up on the first ring.

“Yes, boss?”

“Dovey’s on his way to pick up the tail on the Cyclone. When he gets there, you get the hell out of there. I don’t want Baby Duce seeing my van crisscrossing his goddamn neighborhood all night.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll head back and get another car.”

“Damn straight, you will, and then get right back on this Cyclone’s ass. I want the damn girl, Mitch, but I want Bremerton ’s face on the deed. Back him up, if he needs it. All I want is the girl, but I want her to just ‘poof ’ off the planet, plain disappear. I don’t want no hearing about Duce looking for the guys who stole one of his boys’ little putas. I don’t want him looking for Franklin Bleak.”

“No, boss.”

“Don’t fuck this up, Mitch.”

“No, boss.”

Franklin ended the call, but didn’t go back to his desk.

The woman down there in the betting room, Beth Alden, the one his guys had bound and gagged, and cuffed and taped to the chair, she wasn’t crying. She should have been a blubbering mess by now, but there hadn’t been so much as a sob out of her.

She was bleeding. Eliot had been a little rough, but that was what Eliot did-get rough with women. It was his specialty.

Franklin let his gaze drop to the woman’s shoes. That damn shoelace thing still made him grin. He didn’t know how in the hell she’d lost a shoelace. She must have struggled like hell to do it, and to get the bruises starting to show on her face. Eliot must have loved that. He liked struggling women.

Personally, Franklin didn’t go in for the rough stuff. He liked a woman to spoil him. Tying them up and knocking them around didn’t make any sense to him. Plus, it was just too damn much work-except when it was business. Taking some bitch apart to get her old man to pony up his money-now that made perfect sense to him, and he couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed it a few times, even more than a few times.

The daughter, Esme, was a smaller, younger, cuter version of the woman in the chair, and Franklin had the idea that between him and Eliot and the two women, things could get damned interesting before dawn. Not interesting enough to make up for the eighty-two thousand if Burt didn’t come through, but interesting nonetheless.

Yes, he could see it, him and Eliot tag-teaming a mother-daughter combo. More importantly, he’d make damn sure Burt Alden saw it, that the damn stupid bastard saw what he’d done to his women.