“Since we’re being recorded,” she said, “the purse isn’t technically mine.”
“Hand it to me.”
She gave O’Brien the purse. He lifted the stone crab out, holding it by the back of the shell. The two large claws opened wide, snapping, the crab’s eyes dark as small black pearls.
“Hey! C’mon, man! What the fuck you doin’?” Russo’s voice was higher, pleading.
O’Brien said, “A stone crab this size can generate almost two-thousand pounds of pressure in its claw when it clamps down.”
Russo’s eyes darted from the crab to O’Brien. “You’re insane.”
FIFTY-ONE
There was a soft knock at the door. O’Brien leaned closer to Russ and whispered. “Tell your people to go away or they’ll mop up what’s left of you.”
Russo’s eyes bulged. He swallowed dryly, heart hammering. He shouted, “It’s okay. Leave us alone.” He looked back at O’Brien. “You gotta believe me; I’m not mixed up in all this shit.”
“This is the kind of crab you told me you ate and tossed their shells over the balcony at Sergio Conti’s. Their claws are amazing-almost too large for their bodies. They use them to crush clams and mollusks. Imagine what this claw could do to your nose.”
“You’re a dead man, O’Brien.”
O’Brien stepped closer with the crab, the claws opening like traps.
“Name your price!” said Russo. “Look, I’ll give you anything you want. A hundred grand and you and big tits here can go away to some fuckin’ island.”
“All I want is the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” Russo looked down at the large crab.
“If this crab can shatter a clam, it could split your little finger like a chicken bone.”
“O’Brien…please…”
Barbie held her hand to her mouth. “Now I’ve really lost my appetite.”
“A hundred-thousand bucks! I’ll give it to you in cash. And you walk outta here. No questions asked. We do a deal and all this is history.”
“Where’s Spelling’s letter?” shouted O’Brien, the crab’s claws snapping air.
“You got the wrong guy! Look up your own tree-” Russo’s face twisted like the skin was going to peel off. The veins in his neck expanded. He turned crimson and then lost all color.
“My chest!” he yelled. “I can’t breathe! My heart!”
“I won’t cheat the state out of its right to lock you away, Russo, so I’ll dial 911, but before I do…tell me, why did you kill Alexandria Cole? The truth!”
“All right!” screamed Russo. “All right! I killed the bitch! That what you wanted to hear? I fuckin’ killed her!”
He stopped talking. His arms and hands shook. He slumped to his knees. Saliva dripping out of his open mouth.
“Ken!” shouted Barbie. “Do something! He’s dying!”
O’Brien said, “There’s a house phone on the table to the left of the couch. Tell them Jonathan Russo is in the Opium Den having a heart attack.” O’Brien unlocked the handcuffs and Russo dropped face down on the floor like a broken doll. As Barbie made the call, O’Brien set the crab back in the purse, picked up the tape recorder and handcuffs.
“I’m scared, Ken!”
“Don’t be.”
“What if he dies?”
There was a pounding at the door. O’Brien opened it. Two large bouncers, dressed in black, entered. “What the hell happened?” one of them asked.
“Jonathan got a little too excited,” said O’Brien. “Barbie has a way of heightening the excitement level more than the snow Jonathan blew. Poor guy just collapsed.”
One bouncer knelt down and held a finger to Russo’s neck. He said, “I can barely feel a pulse. EMT’s ought to be here soon. We called them as soon as the girl called down.”
Another man in black entered. Nikki and half dozen cocktail waitresses stood outside the suite. One of the bouncers said to another, “Johnny, help me get Mr. Russo’s to the couch.” The bouncers gently lifted Russo and positioned him on the couch.
O’Brien said, “Barbie, let’s go.”
The bouncer, kneeling by Russo, looked up and saw the pistol beneath O’Brien’s shirt. He said, “You two are staying.”
“Don’t think so,” said O’Brien.
The bouncer grabbed O’Brien’s shoulder with two hands, trying to throw him off balance. O’Brien twisted, pulling one of the man’s arms behind his back. He hit him solidly in the jaw, the blow sounding like a hammer hitting sheetrock.
A second bouncer stepped in and threw a punch at O’Brien’s head. He sidestepped, grabbed the bouncer by the T-shirt, pushing him hard against the glass wall. The impact shattered the wall, glass raining down in a thousand pieces.
A third man started to enter, this one lifting a pistol from beneath his black sports coat. O’Brien’s Glock was in the man’s face in a split second. “Freeze!” shouted O’Brien. “Arms high! Now!” As he raised his arms, O’Brien lifted the pistol out the man’s belt and could see the man had no fear in his eyes. He had the thick, scarred hands of a fighter. Neatly trimmed beard. Shoulders solid with muscle. His lips were thin and his eyes looked like wet lava rock.
He looked at Barbie and said, “Almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on. Kinda out of your league over here, aren’t you Barbs? Mr. Russo has a fine business relationship with your joint. Wouldn’t want to jeopardize that…now would you, girl?”
“Shut up and sit down!” ordered O’Brien, motioning with the Glock.
The man sneered, his eyes mocking O’Brien. He pursed his lips, popped callused knuckles that looked like barnacles, and sat in a black leather chair.
O’Brien grabbed Barbie by the hand and stepped out of the suite. Dozens of people crept out of their VIP suites. As O’Brien passed by Nikki he said, “Mr. Russo is picking up the tab for the Krug. You’re right. It was a good year.”
Barbie took off her high heels and ran to keep up with O’Brien as he descended the acrylic steps, weaved through the crowd, and stepped into the warm Miami Beach air.
They stood for a moment in front of Oz, the wail of police and ambulance sirens drew closer. O’Brien signaled a cab. He looked at Barbie, holding her shoes and both purses. He said, “Here’s some money. Take the cab home.”
“Can I go with you?”
“No, it would be too risky for you. Police will have my description. If Russo lives, he’ll come after me. How’d you know that guy, the one who recognized you?”
“I’ve seen him at the club. He was there about a week ago. Creepy guy. He’s been around for a few weeks. One of the girls said he’s an enforcer for some of the drug dudes. He’s just probably a high-paid errand boy for people like Russo.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Carlos Salazar. I remember ‘cause one of the girls said he was beyond kinky.”
“Barbie, I have a feeling that Salazar is more than an errand boy for Russo. Since he recognized you, be very careful. Lay low. Stay with your mom or a girlfriend for a few days. Don’t go places alone.”
“You’re scaring me, Ken.” The sounds of the sirens were closer. “You’re doing the right thing…speaking for that poor dead girl and those others.”
The sirens were less than two blocks away.
“Barbie, I have to go. Give me the big purse.”
She smiled. “You do look weird carrying a purse. But here, nobody will bat an eye. What are you gonna do with the crab?”
“Let him go. Crab’s earned its freedom.”
Barbie paused. She leaned in and kissed O’Brien on his cheek. “You’re a good man, Ken. Take care of yourself.”
O’Brien smiled. “You do the same.”
He took the purse and started walking towards his Jeep. As Barbie opened the taxi door, she turned to watch O’Brien in the distance. In a whisper she said, “Thanks for the date, handsome. Too bad we never got to dance.”
FIFTY-TWO
As O’Brien started his Jeep, two ambulances and half a dozen police cruisers flew past him screaming like a posse racing to Club Oz. O’Brien pulled onto Washington Avenue, cut over to Ocean Drive, and headed north toward North Shore State Recreation Area. He didn’t know if Russo was dead or alive. And he didn’t know what the state attorney would say about the confession on tape. O’Brien thought it might be tossed out, acquired under duress. But at least it was an admission of guilt. God, he thought, please let it buy Charlie Williams some time.