Curse of the Jade Lily: A McKenzie Novel Read online

  “I apologize,” I said.

  “This had better be worth my while.”

  Cid had been standing when he called me out. Now he slipped into the same booth where he had sat when I first met him. His bodyguard was sitting at the same table. The same hat was on top of the table; I presumed his gun was beneath it. If there was a difference, it was that he openly watched Herzog intently. I could have been carrying a bazooka in my pocket instead of the Walther PPK and I doubt he would have noticed.

  I moved to the booth and waited until El Cid nodded his permission before I sat. Herzog stood at the door, his hands casually folded over his stomach, and stared at the bodyguard. He told me before we entered the bar, “I gots t’ say, ’at pussy pulls on you, I’m gonna cap ’is ass.”

  “I would certainly hope so,” I told him.

  “I agreed to meet you again as a favor to Chopper,” Cid said, the implication being that otherwise I was beneath his notice.

  “I appreciate that,” I said.

  “Well? What’s it about?”

  “When last we spoke, you suggested that you’d be happy to take the Jade Lily off my hands should I stumble upon it. If memory serves, you also mentioned several ways an enterprising man might dispose of it—selling it to interested parties in Europe or the Pacific Rim; perhaps locking it in a vault for safekeeping until the statute of limitations expired and/or a convincing provenance was established. These possibilities existed, of course, before the cop killing made the Lily too toxic to handle.”

  Cid spread his hands wide. “Just idle chatter,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said. “We’re just talking here. Speculating. For example, I was speculating that if someone were to be arrested for the cop killing, that would remove the curse, if you will, making the Lily more readily marketable.”

  “I’m sure it would, although, the last I heard, the Lily was blown to smithereens.”

  “Yeah, I heard the same thing.”

  “From the look of you, I’d say you were close to the explosion.”

  “Close enough to know what others don’t.”

  “What would that be?”

  “First I have to ask you a question.”

  Cid spread his hands wide again.

  “Are you an enterprising man?” I asked.

  Cid smiled the way some people do when they hear a foolish question. “I believe I am,” he said.

  “I have never doubted it.”

  “McKenzie, what are we talking about?”

  “I have the Jade Lily. I will sell it to you for one-point-three million.”

  Cid laughed at my remark. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

  “The price does seem pretty steep, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.”

  “If I were you, I’d laugh, too. Especially if the money was coming out of my own pocket.” Cid’s laughter subsided as he got an inkling of what I meant. “However, if someone else were to pay for it…”

  This time I spread my own hands wide.

  “What do you mean?” Cid asked.

  “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that a couple of enterprising thieves—not as enterprising as you, of course—had one-point-three million in illegal funds that they wished to make legal. They would naturally seek out the services of a—what’s the word—facilitator.”

  Cid smiled and nodded at the reference.

  “This facilitator, in turn, could invest that sum in a more lucrative venture,” I said.

  “What you’re suggesting is a serious breach of business ethics,” Cid said. “A man could be driven into bankruptcy or worse, behaving that way.”

  “True, if the couple in question were regular customers and if they were connected in some way. They’re not. They’re just a couple of amateurs looking for the big score. Amateurs, I might add, whose conduct in this matter has not only created undue turmoil in the business community, it has compromised the dealings of serious professionals such as yourself. If they were to lose their investment, who would they complain to? The SEC? The Better Business Bureau? In any case, they won’t need the money where they’re going.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “Prison, for killing a police officer. Or hell, depending on how things are arranged.”

  “Ahh, I see.”

  “My point is—you could acquire the Jade Lily at no out-of-pocket expense.”

  Cid studied me for a moment.

  “It doesn’t fit,” he said.

  “What doesn’t fit?”

  “This offer of yours. It doesn’t fit your profile.”

  “I have a profile?”

  “You’re a doer of good deeds.”

  “You think so?”

  “Besides, you don’t need one-point-three million.”

  “Everyone needs one-point-three million,” I said. “You’re also forgetting that there’s a principle involved.”

  “What principle?”

  “The sonsabitches tried to blow me up.” I slapped the tabletop for emphasis, startling Cid, his bodyguard, and Herzog. “Look at me. You think I’m going to let them get away with this?” I clenched the fist of my right hand. “First I take their money. Afterward…” I made a production of unclenching my fist, letting Cid decide what the gesture meant.

  Cid grinned at me like he had won a long-odds bet. “Retribution,” he said. “Now that is something I can appreciate.”

  “Good.”

  “Where is the Lily now?”

  “I can deliver it within one hour after you contact me, day or night.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Herzog and I were in the Jeep Cherokee driving east. Herzog was silent, but I could sense there was something on his mind.

  “What?” I said.

  “How’d you know Cid was launderin’ the money for ’em?” he asked. “There’s plenty of others coulda done it.”

  “Educated guess. When we spoke the first time, Cid said he never met Tarpley; they didn’t travel in the same circles, he said. Yet he knew what Tarpley’s wife looked like.”

  “He was lyin’, then, ’bout knowin’ Tarpley.”

  “Not necessarily. Cid could have met his wife without Tarpley being there.”

  ”How, unless—yeah, okay, I get it. The wife, she was the one that hadda set it up. The meeting, I mean. She met Cid way ahead of time, met ’im before ’er and Dennis coulda brought the money to ’im for launderin’, before they even heisted the Lily. Wait. No, ’at don’ make no sense. Does it?”

  “How should I know? I’m suffering from a concussion.”

  “How she know to meet wit’ Cid, girl like that? You ain’t gonna find ’is number in no phone book.”

  “Tarpley was a chess player. He would have had all of his moves worked out far in advance, including this one.”

  “I gits it. He was the man wit’ the plan. She—she was the one took the plan and made it work. Jus’ follow the instructions.”

  Herzog’s typically churlish expression became bright and cheerful.

  “Are you having fun, Herzy?” I asked. “Are you glad I called you?”

  “What a dumb fuck he was, Tarpley,” he said. “No wonder he got iced. Once they had the plan, the wife and Dennis, they didn’ need ’im no more. Fucker shoulda saw it comin’.”

  “What makes you think Von and Dennis killed him?”

  The question caught him by surprise.

  “You sayin’ they didn’t?” Herzog asked.

  “The possibilities are endless.”

  “How we gonna find out for sure?”

  “That’s a job for the police, isn’t it?”

  “Fuck that.”

  “We can tie them both to the Lily right now. The only thing that connects either Von or Dennis to the murder of Tarpley and the cop, though, is the gun. The fact they didn’t toss it after the first killing means they probably kept it after the second one.”

  “How you gonna git ’e
m to show us the gun?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “McKenzie?”

  Herzog swiveled his head from the street to me to the street and back again.

  “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he said.

  “What do you think I’m paying you ten thousand dollars for? My health?”

  Well, yes, actually, it is your health you’re paying for, my inner voice said.

  I pried my cell out of my pocket and started searching through my contact list with my free hand. I’ve seen kids send elaborate text messages one-handed while playing soccer, yet I could barely make a phone call. Finally I managed to reach my party.

  “Major Crimes,” Bobby said. “Commander Dunston.”

  I tried to make my voice sound like a doddering old woman. “Is this the police?”

  “McKenzie, your voice sounds kinda funny. Did they blow your brains out?”

  “All right, all right.”

  “Seriously, how are you?”

  “I will recover—more or less.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to visit you in the hospital.”

  “Believe me, you didn’t miss much.”

  “Everybody over here was worried about you, except Victoria, of course. She thinks you’re indestructible.”

  “She’s mistaken.”

  “So, what’s going on?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Let’s not start that again.”

  “It’s police business,” I said. “Granted it’s Minneapolis police business. Still…”

  “Why not call Minneapolis, then?”

  “You know how impetuous Lieutenant Rask can be.”

  “Oh? Are you afraid he might actually go out and do his job?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  “I hate this. I hate doing favors for you, and yet I keep doing them. What is wrong with me?”

  I changed the sound of my voice again. “Luke, give in to the power of the dark side.”

  “Is that supposed to be James Earl Jones? You know, I saw James Earl Jones on the stage. He was playing Othello to Christopher Plummer’s Iago. It was the best thing I ever saw in the theater, and McKenzie—you’re no James Earl Jones.”

  “Who is?”

  “What do you want?”

  I recited the license plate of the Toyota RAV4 I saw outside Von Tarpley’s house.

  “Must I remind you yet again that this information is available to the general public for a small fee through the Driver and Vehicle Services Division of the Minnesota Department of Public Safety?”

  “You know how bureaucracies are. I have to provide signatures and written consents and whatnot. Besides, they’re closed.”

  “Hang on.”

  Five minutes later Bobby gave me the name the SUV was registered to—India Cooper—and an address in South Minneapolis. She had no record of any kind.

  I thanked Bobby and said I’d see him soon. I caught Herzog staring at me out of the corner of his eye as I pocketed the cell phone.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?”

  “Wha’d he say?”

  “The problem with asking a lot of questions, Herzy, you sometimes get answers you don’t want to hear.”

  SIXTEEN

  I bought Herzog a steak at Mancini’s on West Seventh Street in St. Paul, not far from the Xcel Energy Center, where the Wild played hockey. It wasn’t a game night, so we had no trouble securing a table for two. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the swiftest move I’d made that day. You’re not going to find a more tender sirloin anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere than at Mancini’s. On the other hand, they’re not so tender that you can cut them with a fork. After a few minutes of watching me struggle, Herzog took my plate and cut the meat for me.

  “Chew before you swallow,” he said when he gave it back.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said.

  After that, it was two guys talking who didn’t know one another very well. As might be expected, we settled into an extended conversation about sports. I told him a few anecdotes about playing baseball and hockey for St. Paul Central, and he reminisced about playing football for North High School in Minneapolis. He was a linebacker—the Minneapolis Star Tribune once named him Prep Star of the Week for a game he played against Roosevelt. He had a chance to play college ball but didn’t have the ACT scores to get in. I told him I was lucky I had the grades for college because I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it on an athletic scholarship. And so on and so on. We were nearing the end of the meal when Herzog changed the subject.

  “Settin’ yourself up as a target such a good idea?” he asked.

  “I’m open to alternatives that will put the gun in their hands.”

  “You could call the cops. I don’t like cops…”

  “You’ve made your position known.”

  “You could call ’em, show ’em that picture of Dennis, tell ’em about Von, let ’em scoop ’em both up, search the house, all those boxes, find the gun, problem solved.”

  “Yeah, they might find the gun. That doesn’t mean they’ll be able to prove that either of them used it, though. I need at least one of them arrested for shooting the cop.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s all part of the plan.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Sure they gonna call?”

  “They don’t know about the photo of Dennis. They think the only thing connecting them to the theft of the Lily is me. Their first thought will be to pay me off. They don’t have the money. So they’ll call Cid and ask, ‘Where’s our dough?’ Cid will hem and haw and tell them they’ll get it at the end of the week as promised—the end of the week is when they’re leaving town, remember? They won’t wait till then because they’ll be afraid that I won’t wait. Eventually, they’ll decide the only alternative is to kill me. They’ll think of a location, a time, and try to set me up like they did Tarpley. Do you believe the bitch shot him in the same place that they were married?”

  “How you know ’at?”

  “I saw their wedding photo. It was taken at Wedding Hill in Wirth Park, where they found his body.”

  “’At’s cold, man.”

  I glanced at my watch.

  “They’ve been debating pros and cons for about two hours,” I said. “I expect them to call any moment now.”

  “Yeah, if they call. I’m just saying, you think they gonna hit you cuz you can tell the cops about your friend Jenny whatsername. Why not just shoot Jenny? Then it’s your word against them.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to me.

  What a fucking egomaniac you are, my inner voice shouted. You think it’s always about you.

  My jacket was hanging on the back of my chair. I spun in my seat to reach it, wrenching my shoulder in the process. I didn’t care about the pain—I deserved it. I pulled the cell out of my pocket and searched the log for Jenny’s number. I stood up even as I hit the CALL button. The waitress saw me and hurried over.

  The phone was ringing.

  “I need the bill,” I told the waitress. “Now.”

  Jenny answered the phone. She must have had caller ID because she said, “Hey, McKenzie.”

  “Where are you?” I said. “Are you at home?”

  “Yeah, I’m at home. Why—”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. My husband is at—”

  “Trigger your security system. You have one, right?”

  “We do. It’s a—”

  “You should have a panic button. Do you have one?”

  “McKenzie, what’s going on?”

  “Listen to me carefully, Jennifer. People might be coming to your home to hurt you—”

  “What? Why?”

  “Hit your damn panic button. Do it now.”

  “Okay.”

  Only a few brief moments passed, yet it seemed longer. While I waited, the waitress set a black folder on the table in front of
me. I opened the folder, saw the bill, and threw some money at it.

  “It’s done,” Jenny said.

  “Now I want you to find a safe place to hide. Are you listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Find a place to hide, and you stay there until your security people arrive. Until the police arrive. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You tell them that you saw an intruder. You do not let them leave until I get there. I’m in St. Paul, so it’s going to take at least forty-five minutes.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  It took longer than forty-five minutes, despite some daredevil driving by Herzog that left me breathless, because Jenny’s house was located on Cook’s Bay on the far western side of Lake Minnetonka and because the roads that led to it were narrow, winding, and indifferently marked. Finally we found Jenny’s private road. It wound upward over a low hill. When we crested the hill, we could see the house. It was made of brick and glass and was lit up like Target Field on game night. There were several vehicles parked in front of the six-car garage, including a City of Mound police cruiser. We parked behind them. The house itself was two stories high and built into the side of the hill with a spectacular view of the lake below. It was erected twenty years ago right after Jenny accepted her husband’s proposal of marriage, yet it looked like it was built yesterday. We were stopped at the door by a representative of Jenny’s security firm. I gave him my name; told him I was expected. He didn’t care. Jenny saw me, though.

  “McKenzie, thank God,” she said.

  That was enough for the guard, who quickly stepped back and let us pass.

  Jenny was sitting on a sofa that looked like it could sleep three. She was wearing white fluffy slippers that matched her white fluffy robe. She was sitting with her legs drawn up, her knees pressed against her chest, her chin resting on top of her knees. There was a uniformed police officer standing next to her, a notebook and pen in his hands. A couple of security guards lingered nearby, looking as if they wanted to be useful but didn’t know how.

  I knelt in front of Jenny and took her hand in mine.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” I asked.

  “McKenzie, they were here,” Jenny said. “They came, just like you said they would.”

  “What happened?”