Chapter 10

The time was seven-thirty p.m. Darius was in his office in downtown Miami. His office was vast and quite magnificent. It was oak-paneled with bright lighting, heavy white Persian rugs, a big glass-topped desk, a large black armchair, and a floor to ceilings window that ran the length of the room's view side. He had an uninterrupted view of the busy activities in the streets, the distant skyscrapers, and the Miami neighborhood's ocean from his desk.

He was sitting behind his desk; a big cigar gripped between his teeth and a bottle of Johnny Walker on his desk. Neatly arranged on his desks were real estate quotations papers requiring urgent attention and mails marked with colored stickers denoting its priority. He did not even bother to check them. It was not that he was lazy or idle, but his mind was preoccupied with Eva's thought. His mind had refused to function or process anything ever since that night they had met at the Olympus hilltop.

The words she had said to him before she had left had delved into his head, fiddled with some part of him, and turned him sick to his stomach. It was a terrible day he dreaded to remember, and yet, everything that took place that night kept forcing its way back into his head. The picture of the kiss they shared, the foreplay on the bed, and the earth-shattering words she said to him kept replaying itself like an old movie making his mind feverish and burning how he had craved to have her that night. To make love to her, and yet he could not. He had thought she would understand the explanation he had given to her. But no, him not making love to her that night seemed like a punishment to her.

Darius knew he loved her not because of how beautiful she was but for the fact that no woman had affected him in a way she did him. Never in his life had he been so gut-tearing obsessive about a woman. Why? Damn it! Why can't you love me, Eva? he thought. His office door opened, and a dark, attractive, neatly dressed girl in her late twenties came into the room. Her name was Vina Dale, and she was his secretary. Darius liked her. She was beautiful, smart, and efficient. A rare combination, and yet it had always baffled him how he had not being attracted to such a girl.

"Darius! I've got another fresh mail for you," Vina said, noting the quick irritation that jumped into his eyes. "They just arrived this evening! The mailman brought it late."

Darius groaned and stubbed out the cigar. Then he told her to put the papers on the desk. Vina did what she was told, and while she was at it, she noticed that the heap of mails she had brought to his desk in the morning had been left untouched.

"Are you alright!?" She asked him, her voice full of concern.

"I'm fine!" Darius mumbled. "Fine! Fine!"

The look in her eyes told him she did not believe what he had said.

"Can I get you something, maybe a cup of coffee?" She asked.

The concern in her soft eyes and her anxiety to please him at that moment made her a bore.

"No, Vina!" he answered in a low voice. "Please! just go!"

She gave him a long, slow stare from under curled black eyes and lifted her pretty shoulders. Then she went out of the room.

Darius leaned back into the armchair, took out a cigar from a platinum case, bit off the end, and set light to it. He watched it burn a little anxiously; then, he passed it into his mouth. After smoking for some minutes, he felt better, and as he was about to pick one of the mails, his cell phone, which was on his desk, started to life. He picked it up and looked at the number displayed on its screen. The caller was unknown. He pressed a button and put it to his ear.

"Who's this?"

"Darius! It's me!" Eva said.

Darius almost shot out of the chair.

"Eva! You called?" he said breathlessly, his heart pounding wildly. "How nice to hear your voice."

"How pleasant to hear yours too!" Eva replied. "Listen! There's something I need to tell you."

"What's it about?" Darius asked, gripping the cellphone tightly. What she told him next came as a shock to him.

"Vince has agreed to give me a divorce!"

"What?" he said, his heart slamming hard against his chest.

"You heard me right!" Eva answered.

"How? I mean, how did you go about it?" he asked and swallowed hard.

And so, Eva went through the story of what had transpired between her and Vince, how she had threatened him, and how he had finally succumbed. The news seems to stun Darius for a moment because he was hesitant when he began to speak again.

"So, what are you going to do now, Eva?"

"Well, I'll give him a month for him to get his shit together, then after that, we split up."

"Eva," He said. "You don't think he would be happy about this, right?"

"Who cares what he thinks? I am going to be free. That's all I know," She said happily, and Darius could feel the excitement in her voice.

He sat there frowning, silent, and debating with himself.

"Eva!" he said.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"I've got a bad feeling about this! I think we should be more careful from now on! Vince his one hell of a gutter fighter. He wouldn't just give you a divorce just like that."

"Come on, boy," She said. "Don't be such a spoilsport! You should be thrilled about this."

"I know, Eva," he said. "but…"

"Look, have got to go now! He just got back," She said hurriedly "we'll talk about this later, alright? Chow!"

The click in his ear told him she had hanged up. Darius placed the cell phone on the table, pushed back the chair to give himself a little breathing space, and stared at the ceiling while he thought of what she had told him. What baffled him was that after Eva had threatened her husband, the man did not put up a fight with her, neither did he beat her just to vent out his anger. If he did, Eva would have told him all these, but she did not, which made the whole thing seems weird. His instinct told him her husband was up to something, but what was it? He thought. Vince Montreal, who was dangerous, crazy, and deadly, would never succumb to a threat or blackmail, especially his wife. Unless, unless what? He thought. Unless Vince had some ulterior motive or plan, that must be it. Vince was cooking up something. Who knows? Something sinister or fatal.

Darius brooded for a moment; then, he made a decision. He picked his cell phone, searched through the contact lists, and his face lit up when he saw the number he was looking for. It was the number of the private investigator he had hired a long time ago. He dialed the number and waited for a moment; then he heard a click.

"yeah!" the voice at the other end said.

"I've got an assignment for you! Don't worry! I'll pay you well for this," Darius said as he leaned back in the chair.

"I'm listening!" the voice said.

"We can't talk about this on the phone, so let's meet in my office this night. Come around nine p.m. I'll be expecting you," and he hung up.

****************

At the time, Darius was speaking to the private investigator on the phone, Vince was inside his casino office, in his executive chair, a cigar gripped between his teeth, a grimed expression on his face. How had Eva figured out everything? He wondered to himself. She had talked as if she had been there when he had cleaned up the whole apartment that dreadful day. Somebody had talked. That was the only plausible explanation that came to his mind. Somebody must have told her the whole truth or hinted her some part of the story. Either way, she had found out the heinous crime he had tried to keep away from her. But who? he wondered. Who talked? His mind flashed back to the night Lance had died.

He remembered vividly that after she had talked trash to him that fateful night, he had given her the best beating of her life, which had made her lost consciousness. Then he had driven her to the villa, locked her up in their bedroom, and then drove back to Lance's apartment to clean out any traces of evidence. It was while he was at it that he discovered Lance was dead.

He had broken out in cold sweats. He had never meant to kill the man; let's say he did want to harm him, but not to kill him, and yet the deadly blow he had dealt Lance had killed him instantly. He had never killed anyone before, and he had flinched, almost gotten hysterical with fright, but common sense took over, and he had pulled himself together. He had placed a call to the Chief of Police and explained everything that had happened.

Twenty minutes later, the Chief of Police had arrived at the crime scene with five uniformed men who worked for him. The chief had taken in the whole situation and had understood what was at stake and what was meant to be done. Then the chief had said in a hard, biting voice.

"For what you did, Mr. Montreal, you'll pay. You'll surely pay for this but of course, with money and my boys will fix this."

Vince had not even argued. He had nodded his head, relief flooding through his body trembling body that he could get away with the murder.

"The dead man is a nobody." Chief of Police Wilson had said to him after looking around the whole apartment." A rich businessman, fancy-looking no doubt, but a nobody. Don't worry. My boys will handle it." and they had handled it perfectly well.

After the boys were done, no one would have believed that a murder had taken place in the apartment, and he could remember the last parting words of the chief vividly.

"These things happen! So don't sweat it and remember. Nothing happened! Alright? Nothing happened here. None of my boys will say a damn thing about what happened here, neither will I and neither will you," and the chief and his boys went away.

He had transferred money Into the bank accounts of every cop present at the crime scene, and a large sum of money had been wired into the account of the chief of police. So, who had talked? Who could have told Eva everything that she knew? Vince shifted uneasily in his chair and puffed hard at the cigar. If only he could find out who, then maybe he wouldn't have to worry so much. He lifted his face when a tap sounded on the door, and Canyon came in.

Vince said, "What is it?"

"A man is asking for you," Canyon replied in a grave voice.

"Who is he, and what does he want?" he asked stiffly.

"He's one of the regular gamblers who come here. Tall guy, well dressed, and looked loaded. I must say this, he told me he lost a lot of money this night, and he wanted to see you about it."

Vince did some quick thinking. The word ' looks loaded ' got him but the word ' lost a lot of money ' made him uneasy.

"How sure are you that he lost a lot of money?" Vince inquired. "From all we know, this guy might be a phony."

"When you see him, you will know he couldn't lie about such a thing. The man smells of heavy money. Someone like that could not have lied about losing a lot of money," Canyon said.

"I don't think I would like to see him. Since he had lost a lot of money, he might need a favor, which is not inclined to give right now."

"Knowing his boss's weakness," Canyon said. "Boss, I think you should see him. This man shrieks for money. Big money!"

Vince stared hard at his right-hand man. He had never heard Canyon talk good of anyone before. If Canyon could be telling him all this, definitely the man he was talking about was worth seeing.

"Alright!" he said. "I'll see him. I want you outside that door but don't go anywhere. I don't know what this man has up his sleeves, but I am willing to find out."

Canyon nodded and went away.

Vince folded his hand and rested his chin on it, then he waited. Canyon came in again. He stood on one side, and the tall man he had talked about walked in.

Vince regarded the man with carefully concealed interest.

The first thing he noticed was that the man had a tattoo of a five-point crown on the left side of his brutal sunburned face, and his icy- grey eyes were the most dangerous eyes he had ever seen. Here is a man who could eat your heart out, he thought. He was magnificently dressed in a black tailored suit, and his shoes were highly polished. Vince noticed he was wearing a gold Rolex wristwatch and a black signet ring at a glance. On his right wrist, he wore a diamond chain bracelet. Canyon was dead on nail. This man reeks of money. Of course, Vince could afford all these things, and yet, at that moment, he soon forgot about his self-worth and regarded the man in utter awe.

The man crossed the room. "My name," he said, "is Gino Rissi."

Vince got to his feet.

"Vince Montreal. Welcome to my Casino. Please have your seat."

Canyon glanced at Vince and then went out. The door closed silently.

Gino sat down. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Montreal."

Vince lowered his bulk back into the chair.

"Don't you worry about it? This kind of thing happens sometimes."

Gino stared at Vince for a moment and nodded.

"You wanted to see me," Vince said. "Why?"

Gino drew in a long slow breath and took out Marlboro's packet from his pockets and a Dunhill gold lighter. He shook out one, lit it, and drew smoke into his lungs. Vince watched him interestedly.

"Mr. Montreal! I lost two million dollars at the roulette table this night," Gino lied easily. "I want you to help me."

Vince lips curved into a knowing smile. What he told Canyon had turned out to be true. One million dollars! he thought, you're in a lot of trouble, mister.

"In what way do you suppose I could be of help?" he asked blandly.

Gino pretended to look flustered by the question. He crushed out the cigarette impatiently and nibbled hard at his bottom lip, a sign of helplessness. To Vince, Gino looked like a troubled man, but all this was just an act for Gino. In his mind, he had already formulated a story that he knew Vince would fall for.

"One million dollars is a lot of money to lose in one night, don't you think?" he said uneasily.

Vince shrugged indifferently.

"You should have thought of that before you come here with that kind of money. This is a Casino, and we are used to people tossing away millions! You won't be the first, and you won't be the last to toss away such money."

Gino regarded the man sitting across him for a long moment, and then he smiled, revealing six gold-capped teeth.

"Have you ever heard of the Sin City casino?"

Vince thought about the name and nodded.

"Yeah! I think I've heard of the casino and I remember what happened to it. Back in those days, it was the largest and richest casino in the whole of Miami city and one day, out of the blue, Puff! It was torched to the ground. The police never got hold of the arsonist. I heard the owner committed suicide by drinking a whole can of motor oil."

"Good memory you've got there, Mr. Montreal," Gino said in a flat, bored tone.

"When in the casino business, you've got to remember names," Vince said proudly. "Lots of names." The names of the girls working at the casino came to his mind, and he smiled to himself.

Gino nibbled at his bottom lip and said to him.

"Anyways, I was the one who masterminded the torched down. One of my boys did it. He belonged to my gang, Latin King's gang. Ever heard of it?"

Vince composed expression changed instantly. He was so shocked his body broke out in cold sweats, and he felt the sweats rolling off him.! Latin King's gang! It was one of the deadliest local gangs in Miami city. A gang that was more at home with firearms than with their fists. Even the police could not control them. Vince swallowed hard. He had always thought he was a hard nut to crack. A toughie. But when he looked into the Icy-grey eyes of Gino, he knew he had met his match. The eyes sent a prickle of fear up his spine, and it chilled him.

"Don't look such shocked, Mr. Montreal," Gino said, noting the fear on his face. "As you said, this kind of things happens sometimes."

"What do you want?" he asked in a shaky voice. He wasn't to know that Gino never really had anything to do with the torch down of the Sin City casino.

Gino grinned, but Vince was not deceived. This man was a deadly rattlesnake. You face him, and you'll be stung dead.

"I want my money back! All of it."

"I can't……. can't…. do that," Vince stammered. Another blackmailer, he thought. First, it was Eva, and now this pompous looking fool. He wanted to call Canyon, to kick the face of this bastard in, but he thought better of it. Who was he kidding? A man like Gino Rissi was too big and tough to buck or mess with.

"Think about it, Mr. Montreal!" Gino eyes snapped angrily "If you can do it for Wilson, then you can do it for me too."

Vince's mouth turned dry. Wilson! he thought. Wilson!. That name sounds so familiar. Then he stiffened. Could this man be referring to the Chief of Police? No! It could not.

Gino saw the confusion on his face.

"It baffles you how I knew all these things, huh? When Wilson told me all about the dirty deals you guys had going on, it got me thinking. How can you return every damn penny Wilson and his boys spend in your casino just for the cheap protection he was giving you. A little commission that I can agree with it but every damn penny! The only reason I could come up with as to why you are doing this is that you, Mr. Montreal, are a dumb sucker."

Vince stared at Gino stupidly. Had the lousy chief of police talked to this man? No! It could not be. There was no way they could have met. He must be talking about another Wilson, he thought, let me tell him I don't know the Wilson he was talking about.

"Look! don't ever call me a dumb sucker," he seethed out, "and I don't know the Wilson you are talking about."

"Oh! come on, Mr. Montreal!" Gino said exasperatedly. "How stupid can you get? I'm talking about the chief of police, or who do you think I was talking about."

Vince stared at him, shocked to silence. He could not believe what he just heard.

Gino saw the look on his face and grinned. It was time for him to give Vince the punchline that would break all his defenses.

"You don't have to bother your brains about it." Gino said, "Wilson and I are old pals. We drink and chase beautiful chicks together. Wilson would never hide anything from me. Here's the payoff; Wilson knew about the torch down, and he didn't do shit about it. Why? Because the owner of the casino refused to play ball with Wilson. He was so greedy he was not ready to part with a dime. Since Wilson and I are pals, I helped him out. I fix the Sin City Casino and later fix the owner. That story you heard about the owner committing suicide is all yarn. I was the one who forced down the motor oil down his fucking throat. You see, I do all sorts of dirty jobs for Wilson. Anyone that proves too difficult for Wilson to handle in this goddamn city, they will have to deal with me."

And as Vince sat listening to this man talk, he had an intuitive feeling he had finally found the right person who could help him with the dangerous plan he had in mind.

"Mr. Rissi," Vince said gently. "I'll give you back your money."

Gino, who had been running his mouth, broke off and stared hard at Vince. He kept his face expressionless. His heart was hammering loud against his chest, and he could feel cold sweats rolling off him.

"You see," he continued. "I'll be inclined to help you if you will help me."

Again, Gino kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless.

"What do you say?" Vince asked eagerly.

Gino regarded Vince for a long moment and nodded his head. I never believed this could be so easy, he thought. How can this powerfully built man sitting across him be such a dumb ass? I told him a cock and bull story, and he believed it hook, line and sinker. He's got the right muscle but lacked the brains.

"Before we talk business," he said to Vince, "Get me a drink. A damn good scotch with ice. Bring me a cigar too."

Hastily, Vince got up from his seat and moved to his cocktail cabinet. He fixed the drink and gave it to Gino Rissi. Then from a Platinum case, he took out a cigar and gave it to him. Gino regarded the cigar, then he cut the end with a gold cutter and set light to it.

Vince then sat down again, a look of impatience on his face.

"Mr. Montreal," Gino said, puffing out thick smoke. "What exactly do you want me to do for you?"

Vince sat forward.

"I'm looking for a man. Not just a man, but a good-looking man who is crazy enough to do anything dirty just to lay his hand on some good money. Find me this man, and I'll give you two million dollars. Of course, the money you lost is two million dollars."

Gino grinned as he knocked the cigar ashes into an ashtray. This was even simpler than he had thought. All he had to do was toss one of his tough and deadly men to this rich fool. He knew someone could handle a job like this, and a whole two million dollars would be his.

"Isn't it funny how things always turn out to be, Mr. Montreal? I came in here looking for help, not knowing the person I needed help from would also need my help."

"We'll help me or not?" Vince said stiffly.

"Of course, I will," Gino said, his eyes fully alive. "It's a piece of cake."

Vince nodded.

"So that you know, I am giving you back a lot of money just for you to get this man for me."

Gino grinned again, and his gold-capped teeth reflected its color.

"I've got the right man just for you. His name is Brett Forest. He's one of the best pistol shot in Miami as I speak. This guy could smoke a machine-gun squad while they are still screwing around with their guns. I am telling you, mister; this guy isn’t a joke. I'll send him to you tonight. Expect him by ten p.m."

"I'm impressed," Vince said eagerly. "Tell me more about him."

Gino shook his head.

"The less you know about him now, the better. I know he's the right man for any task you've got in mind. But wait till you see him and then say some shitty words to him; you'll be surprised how crazy he can be."

"Look! can he be trusted?" Vince asked. "I don't want a fucking blackmailer or a psycho on my doorstep."

"This man does his job and goes," Gino replied evenly. "He's an expert in what he does, and he does not come around to disturb his clients after finishing a job for them."

Vince did some thinking.

"Alright! that's fair enough."

Gino took out a pen from his breast pocket and a note pad. He tore out a sheet and scribbled on it. Then he gave it to Vince, who collected it from his hand.

"That's my Swiss bank address and my account number. When you've seen the man I sent to you, transfer the money to that account. I'll be expecting it," and he got to his feet and left the room.

As Vince watched him go, he had a feeling that something was quite wrong. His hand itched to grab his cell phone and yell at the police chief for losing his mouth, then asked him if he knew anybody by the name Gino Rissi. But one part of him stalled his hands. If he asked the chief of police about Gino, the man might get too curious. Vince was not ready to let anyone into what he was about to do. So, he picked up a document and began to glance through it.