“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.”
FORTY-FIVE
Driving back down Collins Avenue, O’Brien called Lauren Miles’ cell. It took her half dozen rings to answer. There was background noise that O’Brien could tell was coming from a bar or restaurant. He said, “Thanks again for your time this afternoon.”
“No problem. Are you calling to meet me for a drink? That would be nice…maybe for old times sake. I’m at Friday’s with a few girlfriends.”
“Wish I could. I’ve got another stop to make. I’d be really late.”
“No problem, tomorrow’s Saturday-a day for sleeping…sleeping in. When’s the last time you had a sleep over, Sean?”
O’Brien could hear slur in her voice, the sexual attraction in her delivery. “Does this mean the lab can’t examine the paper I left you?”
She was quiet a moment and said, “You dropped it off at the end of the day. Everyone in the lab had left. I’m getting a tech in tomorrow. He owes me a favor.”
“Every hour cuts into what’s left Charlie William’s time.”
“What if we can’t pick up enough from the paper to make an ID?”
“Let’s see what the paper reveals.”
She sighed, hiccupped. “Ok. Are you doing anything in the meantime?”
“I have to make a few stops. One is to question Jonathan Russo.”
“You need backup?” She made another slight hiccup.
“I’m fine, thanks. Please let me know if you can get someone in the lab tomorrow, bye.” O’Brien disconnected and called information. “Connect me to Joe’s Stone Crab Restaurant.”
Three rings later a male voice said, “Joe’s Stone Crab.”
“You offer take-out?”
“Yes sir. What’ll it be?”
“Got any live crabs?”
“They’re all live ‘till they hit the pot.”
“Good. I want to order the largest one you have. But don’t cook it.”
“No problem. But most people want us to cook it for ‘em.”
“Not tonight.”
The man paused. “Okay, you’re in luck. Got a bunch off the boat earlier today, and I saw one of ‘em as big around as a dinner plate.”
“Good. Keep that one for me.”
“What’s the name?”
“Ralph Jones.”
O’Brien drove another few blocks and pulled into a Walgreen’s store. He bought the largest woman’s purse he could find and then drove toward Club Paradise.
The strip club catered to high rollers, sports figures, and celebrities passing through South Beach. O’Brien took a seat at a table in the corner and watched a nude dancer on the stage. She was a statuesque brunette, exceptional body, and high cheekbones that looked sculpted.
A dozen women worked the floor. A waitress approached his table. “Hi, I’m Liz. What can I get for you?”
“Coffee, thanks. Would you ask the girl on stage to drop by after she finishes?”
“No problem, handsome.” The waitress smiled and moved on to another table.
O’Brien looked around the room. There were dozens of businessmen, ties down, alcohol causing them to lose their inhibitions and money. Two tables away from him a shapely blonde climbed on the lap of an NBA player O’Brien recognized from the Miami Heat. She gyrated, looking like a toy balancing on his leg, her feet not touching the floor.
“Hi, I hear you requested me.”
The woman who was nude on the stage a few minutes ago now stood next to O’Brien’s table in a cocktail dress. She had long raven hair, eyes like emeralds, and flawless skin. He smiled. “I did. Thanks for coming over.”
“Liz is right, you’re cute.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Barbie, what’s your name?”
“Ken.”
“Really? Is your name really Ken?”
“Is yours Barbie?”
“I like my name. Most people think it’s fake. Most people think my boobs are fake, too. But they’re real.”
“I saw that.”
“Want to see some more?”
“No, thanks.”
She looked disappointed. “I thought you wanted a dance.”
“What I wanted was to see you. Please, sit down.” She sat and O’Brien said, “Tell me about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dreams. What you want to do with your life.”
“Are you a producer or something?”
“No, just curious.”
“I just started college…Miami-Dade Community College. I do this job to help pay the expenses. And I’d eventually like to teach third grade.”
“Why third grade?”
“My favorite teacher, Miss Stafford, taught third grade. But most importantly, I really love kids. I think I can make a positive difference in their lives. That might sound like hot air coming from someone like me, a nobody, a stripper, but it’s true.”
O’Brien smiled. “I believe you, and I believe you’ll get there, if you want to bad enough. Look, Barbie, have you ever been to Club Oz?”
“No, and I hear it’s thirty dollars just to get in the door.”
“How’d you like to go?”
“Are you like for real?”
“It’s a long story. You can help get me to the front of the line and in the door.”
“I don’t know. What if-”
“When do you get out of here?”