The 24th Letter

FORTY-FOUR

The man unlocked the door and opened it. “Yeah, my fuckin’ set went off right in the middle of them opening an Egyptian tomb on the Discovery Channel.” Sergio Conti stood there. Bald, shirtless, three days growth of white beard on his fat jowls, gut hanging over boxer shorts.

O’Brien pressed the gun barrel into Conti’s wide nose and entered the room. He closed the door. “If you don’t tell me want I want, they’ll be closing your tomb.”

Conti raised both hands and backed up. O’Brien said, “Let me get something straight real fast. Don’t think about lying to me or they’ll find your body seventeen floors below on the sand with crabs chewing your ears. As I remember, you like stone crabs anyway.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I might be the last human you’ll see in this world.”

“I remember you…the fuckin’ detective. I ain’t sayin’ shit ‘till I call my lawyer.”

“Oh, you will say ‘shit’ and a lot more. I’m not a detective. This mission is for someone else. He couldn’t be here personally because he’s locked up.”

“Who sent you? Whatever you’re getting, I’ll double it.”

“It’s a long way down. And they won’t find a bullet because you got so drunk, so damn depressed that you jumped. The good thing is it’ll open up another condo for sale. I hear there’s a still a demand for high-priced cages like this.”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

O’Brien said nothing.

“What do you want?” Blood trickled out of Conti’s left nostril and ran into the corner of his mouth.

“In questioning, you told me that Jonathan Russo had dinner with you, on your balcony, the night Alexandria Cole’s murder.”

“That’s been a long damn time ago, so what?”

“Did he?”

“If I said it, sure.” Conti shrugged his shoulders.

“Russo’s never had dinner on your balcony.”

“What difference does it make, huh? You got the boyfriend. He killed her.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Sounds like your beef’s with Russo. Not me, pal.”

“Where was Russo the night Alexandria was killed? Was he with her?”

“Why don’t you go ask him?”

“He used you as an alibi, but he didn’t come here. You lied to me during the initial investigation. That means you’re an accomplice to murder.”

“Fuck you! I’m callin’ my lawyer and then the real cops.”

O’Brien slowly pulled the barrel of the Glock away from Conti’s face. Conti smiled, wiped the blood with the back of a thick hand. “Now you’re comin’ to your senses.”

“Walk out to the balcony.”

“What? I’m not sailing off the fuckin’ balcony!”

“I said walk!”

“What’s this really about, huh, bitch is long dead anyway?”

O’Brien backhanded Conti and shoved the pistol barrel under his blubbery chin. “Did you have dinner with Russo on your balcony the night Alexandria Cole was killed? Tell me, you sick son of a bitch!”

“No! He wasn’t here!”

“Where was he that night?”

“I don’t know!”

“Was he with Alexandria when she was killed?”

“Honest to God, I don’t know. He liked the younger girls, you know, the ones who wanted to get into the modeling biz-the younger teens. He paid me to find ‘em for him. Still does. His wife, ex-wife now, found him with one of them and she threatened to file for divorce. Russo was scared shitless she’d wipe him out. So he used me for an alibi…lots of times.” “Did Russo kill Alexandria?”

“I don’t know! God as my witness, that’s the fuckin’ truth!”

O’Brien lowered the gun and pulled out his knife.

“What are you gonna do?” asked Conti, trying to crawl backwards.

O’Brien opened the toolbox, cut a piece of rope and pushed a high-back chair toward Conti. “Sit down and put your hands behind your back. Do it!” Conti exhaled like a bull and did as ordered. O’Brien tied Conti’s hands to the back of the chair and then he cut the phone cord, dropped a cell phone to the marble floor and smashed it with his heel.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” yelled Conti. “I could die, my ass tied up here before anybody finds me. The maid doesn’t come until Saturday.”

O’Brien leaned down in front of Conti and said in a voice above a whisper, “If you somehow manage to free yourself, if you call Russo and warn him, I’ll come back here. If I do, they’ll find you lying on the sand in the morning with the gulls picking food out of your nasty teeth. Now you stay real quiet, like a good boy, and I’ll call maintenance in the morning and tell them I heard noises coming from 1795. They’ll run up, find you and cut you loose. Otherwise it’s waiting for the maid. You could be stinking by then.”

“I’ll hunt you down for this, motherfucker. I swear to God I will!”

“No you won’t.” O’Brien ripped off a piece of duct tape from a roll in the tool box, pressed it to Conti’s mouth and said, “I’ll lock the door on my way out.”