Chapter Eight
Pilar Sanders sat in her car, staring out at the blustery day. She’d never liked this time of year for some reason. Cold weather was her enemy. Cold weather dried out her skin, which was far from supple these days. Having to wear layers of clothes just made her look fat and dumpy. Her eyes narrowed as a gold-colored leaf tinged with orange fell on the windshield. It looked dry and brittle, just the way she felt. She flicked on the windshield wipers to chase it away, but it was stubborn and didn’t move. She pressed the button that squirted windshield fluid and watched the hated leaf sail off to nowhere. It did not make her feel one bit better. She wished for a moment that she could take wing and fly off like the leaf. It wasn’t going to happen. Her wishes never came true, for some strange reason.
Long, bloodred nails tapped the steering wheel. She felt out of sorts, antsy and shaky, knew she was capable of exploding in a sea of venom if she didn’t get herself under control. She looked down at her cell phone and sent off a text to her husband to meet her at Supper Club One ASAP. Before she could shove the phone into her designer handbag, which cost more than most people earned in a month, she heard the ping of an incoming text message. She blinked and bit down on her lower lip. Just the sight of his name sent shivers up and down her spine. She did not need this right now. She absolutely did not need this. She tried to frown, but the Botox kept her features frozen in place. She read the message twice and forwarded it to Gabe. She knew that if she didn’t respond to this particular text message, there would be hundreds to follow, which would become a blizzard and end up blowing up her phone. No one kept Zuma Delgado waiting. No one. Certainly not the likes of Pilar Sanders.
Zuma’s text read Are we on schedule? Confirm. We would like to double our Christmas order. I haven’t seen any advance publicity. Double up and do it now.
Pilar’s heartbeat quickened. Answer or not? Gabe would say to play along and tell her to move up their schedule. She closed her eyes in panic. All she could see behind her heavy lids was Zuma Delgado’s pockmarked face, his greasy hair, his beady, malevolent eyes, and his yellow teeth before her eyes snapped open. For one wild, greedy moment, she calculated what her cut of double would mean. Before she could change her mind, she tapped out two words and sent the text message on its way. No problem.
Pilar climbed out of the car. Her heart thumping, she locked it and raced toward the back door of the supper club. She stopped for a minute to look down at the three tabby cats bent on hitting the Dumpster, where the waitstaff threw out the leftover food. She liked cats and had left a standing order with the chefs that they were to feed them every night. As far as she knew, they had obeyed her instructions. The cats looked healthy and well fed. She bent down to pet them, and they purred their thanks. She wondered, and not for the first time, where they slept at night. Maybe she should have one of the staff fashion some sort of shelter for them.
Pilar straightened up and looked around at the empty parking lot. So much to think about. Gabe would know what to do. Right now, she couldn’t seem to think on her own. And she was in full panic mode. Which was scaring the hell out of her. Pilar Sanders did not panic. Pilar Sanders always had it all under control. Pilar Sanders never lost control; nor did she ever turn control over to anyone else. Especially the likes of Zuma Delgado. Bullshit!
In full panic mode, so light-headed, Pilar ran to the bar for a drink to calm down her nerves. She reached for a bottle of Crown Royal and gulped down the fiery liquid. Her throat burned and her eyes watered as she coughed and sputtered. She took a second hit and had to sit down on one of the bar stools, the bottle still clutched in her hand. She stared at herself in the mirror behind the bar. Who was that person staring back at her?
Pilar was about to take a third hit from the bottle when she looked up to see her husband standing over her. “That’s not the answer, Pilar.” He pried the liquor bottle from her hands.
“I know. I know. Oh, God, Gabe. What are we going to do? You know how he is. If I didn’t respond, he’d just keep texting all day long. I just said ‘No problem’ to buy some time. We have seven weeks to . . . to . . . Can we get out from under, Gabe? Tell me the truth. Can we?”
“Earlier this morning, I would have said no. But Carlie just told me about the Hong Kong offer. We might be able to squeak by if we play our cards right and get this show on the road. Stat. No screwing around this time. We need to be on the same page, and we need to be united. We’re not going to be able to sell the properties. That would be a dead giveaway. When we walk out, we walk out with what we have and leave it all behind. I warned you, Pilar. Why didn’t you listen to me?” Gabe said wearily as he took a seat next to his wife. He wished he knew if what he’d said was the truth or not. He was so tired of it all, he almost didn’t care. Almost.
“Because I’m greedy, Gabe. I admit it. I never thought . . . I just assumed . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say,” Pilar said tearfully. “I guess this is what you meant when you warned me my chickens would come home to roost. I’m scared, Gabe. Really scared.”
Gabe nodded as he patted his wife’s shoulder. “We’ll figure out something. I think we should go home and talk about this. We do not need to make the rounds today. Nothing ever changes. We need to get out in front of all of this and make some really hard decisions. You on board, honey?”
Pilar tried for a smile, but it was sickly at best. When was the last time Gabe had called her honey? She couldn’t remember.
Pilar nodded. “Let’s stop on the way and buy some flowers and maybe some food from that corner grocery. We need to christen our abode.” Her voice was so jittery, Pilar could hardly recognize it as her own.
Gabe nodded, but his expression clearly showed that it was way too late for flowers and cooking, but he was game. Pilar burst into tears again. Gabe was so shocked, he didn’t know what to do. The last time he’d seen his wife cry like this, she was ten years old, banging on the rusty trailer door for her mama to give her something to eat. But her mama was busy entertaining a gentleman friend, one of many that fine day. He’d run home to his own mama, and she had followed him back, scooped up Pilar, taken her to their trailer, fed her, and given her a bath. From that day on, as long as they were in Alabama, he had never let Pilar out of his sight.
“I know what you’re thinking, Gabe,” Pilar whispered. “You’re thinking about that day you found me banging on that rusty old trailer door. I can always tell when you’re thinking about that. It’s going to be okay, Gabe. You just said so, and you never lie to me.”
Gabe didn’t believe it for a minute, and he knew that Pilar didn’t believe her own words, either. The best he could come up with in the way of a response was, “Can you drive?”
Pilar nodded.
“I’ll meet you at home, then.”
* * *
Back at the BOLO Building, Abner’s fist shot in the air as he gave a whoop of success. “Cracked it, guys. I can now access all the information for all the dancers! Names, backgrounds, Social Security numbers, home addresses, not the ones where they are temporarily living while they work for the Supper Clubs. Just as a point of interest, the guys go under their legal names. No silly made-up monikers for the ladies to soak up. Give me forty-five minutes, and I’ll be able to print it all out for you so you each have a copy.”
“Well, that should help speed things up,” Fergus said. “Where is young Toby right now? Shouldn’t he be here?” The questions were directed at Dennis, who simply shrugged.
“Isn’t he with Mia Grande?” Maggie asked. “By the way, how does Toby’s boss line things up for the Mr. December gig? Do they advertise, or is that just something they do every year, same old, same old except for the dancer who will be Mr. December?”
Espinosa raised his hand. “They advertise. They make announcements on Facebook. They tweet and do all that Instagram stuff. Word travels. They send out e-blasts to all the colleges in the area. It works for them. They have standing room only. That’s all according to the archives I’ve checked. They have it down to a science. They roll in, do their thing, and roll out as they do their good deeds along the way. Not a hint of anything out of the ordinary. Except maybe one thing.
“While I was checking all their press releases, the candid shots, the plaques given out in thanks, I noticed one guy in a lot of the same pictures. They don’t use bodyguards, so that’s out. The thing is, he shows up in different towns. He’s never front and center in any of the crowds, but maybe two rows back. He doesn’t look like the rest of the crowd, and that’s why I noticed him. He’s older, thuggish looking. Wears some heavy-looking gold chains, has a tattoo on his neck and a big old diamond in his left ear. Like I said, he stood out. The crowd is mostly young women and young, collegiate-looking guys. At awards events, the crowd is a mix of local politicians, town fathers, soccer moms, that kind of crowd. The guy I’m talking about stands out like a bull in a puppy mill.”
“Show me,” Ted said. Espinosa started flipping through his iPad until he found what he was looking for. Maggie leaned forward to stare at the pictures. Ted shook his head. “I don’t think we ever came across him before, at least not that I remember.”
“I don’t, either, but there’s something about him I can’t put my finger on right this minute. Ted, do you remember that reporter friend of yours who used to work for the LA Times? The guy who’s in Miami now? Send him some of these pictures and see if he recognizes him. Miami is full of Cubans, and he looks to me like he might be one of them. Maybe this guy will remember him or something. I hate when this happens. It’s going to make me crazy until I figure it out.”
While Maggie stewed and fretted, and Ted and Espinosa sent off texts and pictures, Jack looked over at Charles. “Are we on for tonight, or do we give it another day before we hit the Supper Club to see Toby dance? We never did nail that down.”
“Tomorrow. Too much is up in the air right now. Fergus and I were just discussing the matter. And, like it or not, you boys will have to go in disguise. Additionally, Avery just informed me he heard from his operatives that Toby’s boss is in a bit of a tizzy. The female operative assigned to her has been tailing her all morning. Something must have gone awry, because Ms. Sanders called her husband to meet her at Supper Club One, and they left shortly after he arrived. The operative said it looked like Ms. Sanders was crying. Her husband followed her home, and they are both there as we speak. She said that while Ms. Sanders was sitting in the car, she was either sending or receiving text messages. We won’t know what that is all about unless we can get her cell phone or Abner can figure out a way to hack into it. Toby would have to give him her cell-phone number before he can act on it.”
“Maybe we could do a pretend mugging when she gets to the club tonight. We’ve done that a time or two before, and it worked. No reason to think it won’t work again if we play our cards right,” Dennis said. “We take her money, upload everything on the phone to Abner, then ditch her bag in the parking lot. If the money and credit cards are gone, she’ll think it’s just a run-of-the-mill snatch and grab. She won’t care about the money or cards, but she will care about the phone. She probably won’t even report it to the police. What do you think?”
“I think it’s doable. It’s possible Ms. Sanders has more than one phone that she uses for different things—the guys, the business, her home and husband. This, I’m thinking, would be a sure bet,” Snowden said. “I’ll set it up. Nice thinking, kid.”
Dennis beamed his pleasure at the compliment.
“Do we think she got spooked somehow?” Ted called over his shoulder.
“I think it’s a good bet, and if she did, you can bet she picked up some bad vibes from Toby,” Charles said. “Where does this leave us? And where is Toby?”
Cyrus was the one who responded to the question by getting up and racing to the alley door.
“There’s your answer,” Jack said, grinning.
Cyrus led the small parade to the conference room, then took his place under the table, at Jack’s feet. He’d done his job and even gotten a treat from the jittery guy he’d just escorted into the conference room.
Toby backed up, bumping into Mia, who stumbled, then caught herself as the gang bombarded them.
“Talk to us.”
“What happened?”
“What’s going on?”
“Say something.”
Toby cleared his throat as he looked around. His gaze settled on Dennis, whom he considered his only friend in the room. “Well, Pilar met Mia. I don’t know all that much about women, I admit it, but I thought she looked envious. Pilar, that is. She was pleasant enough, however. The meeting at the Dog and Duck went off as scheduled. Mia’s ‘friends’ were there and were introduced to Pilar. She spent a good bit of time texting at the beginning. She did her best to play the mothering boss, but I thought it fell flat. I think she has trust issues. Where I’m concerned. I have nothing concrete to base that on, just my gut feeling. I did get a sense that something was off somehow. Oh, she said she was calling a special meeting this evening, before the first show. And she also told me not to bring Mia. The meeting is just for the dancers.
“She did seem a little excited over that, now that I think about it. Maybe excited is the wrong word. Maybe nervous would be a better choice. Like I said, the whole thing was just off somehow. She’s never done that before. Pilar is very rigid in everything. As long as I’ve known her, she’s never been a spontaneous or serendipitous kind of person. She operates on a schedule and does not deviate from it. If you piss her off, you don’t dance that night, and the perks disappear for a week or so. To keep that from happening, everyone toes the line.”
An earsplitting whistle shot through the air. Abner was calling for everyone’s attention. The room grew silent. Even Cyrus stopped munching on his chew bone to see if his help was required. Satisfied that his help wasn’t needed, he went back to his chew bone.
“I have here on my screen, people, the names, addresses, and current information on the last seven Mr. Decembers! Drumroll, please!”
“You want me to pull it out of you, Abner?” Harry growled.
Ah . . . no, Harry. I’m good here. All seven of the dancers have gone on to the male modeling world. All are extremely successful. I’m printing out some of their latest photo shoots. A few are working in Manhattan, some in California. Two of them are currently doing an Armani photo shoot in Hawaii. Nice work if you can get it. They are making bookoo bucks. Actually, all of them are. Three of the seven got married. One guy has a newborn baby. Everything looks legit, from what I can see. I guess being Mr. December paved the way for them in their new careers.
“One other thing. They all have college degrees, so that leads me to believe that Ms. Sanders recruited them all from various colleges. It says a lot that they finished and got their degrees while dancing. If my opinion counts, I’d say all of them are stand-up guys. It’s going to take me a little longer to access their financials. I’m not expecting anything other than robust accounts that they earned. Modeling, like dancing, is a hard job, even though we might not think so.”
“I guess what you’re saying is none of the seven knew or had anything to do with the drug end of things that Ms. Sanders had going on,” Charles said.
“That’s my opinion, Charles. Once you make Mr. December, there is no place left to go on the Supper Club circuit, so Ms. Sanders cut them loose. She might be the one who had contacts with the various designers and got them their jobs. It makes sense if you think about it. They’re all happy, with good jobs, contented in their lives. No blowback to Sanders in anyway. Smart lady, if you ask me,” Abner said.
Dennis grinned as he looked over at Toby. “I wonder what designer she had planned for you, Toby. Did you know anything about this?”
“I did not. I don’t think any of the others know, either. I told you, after being named Mr. December, the guy was never seen or heard from again.”
“But if they’re famous models, wouldn’t someone have recognized them?” Maggie asked.
The guys hooted. Ted poked Harry and asked him when he looked at a male model last. Harry scowled.
“Guys don’t look at catalogs or advertisements,” Jack said. “That’s a girly thing.”
Maggie grimaced, knowing that Jack was right. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you that one.”
“Now what?” Dennis asked.
“Now we wait for Toby’s meeting with Ms. Sanders this evening. After that is when we make a concrete plan. Will someone check with Bert to see if the Sanderses have been in touch?” Charles asked.
“I’ll do it,” Fergus said.
“Coffee anyone?” Jack asked as he headed out of the room to go to the kitchen, Cyrus following close behind him.