Ghosts - Matt Rogers (warren buffett book recommendations .TXT) 📗

‘Explain myself?!’ Gates said, enraged.

‘That’s what we came back for,’ Slater said. ‘An explanation.’

The Glock Gates was aiming wavered, ever so slightly. He paused, thinking.

King let a shocked expression cross his face, as if he were only now digesting Gates’ words. He said, ‘Hold on, you think we killed your guys?!’

‘Who else would it have been?’ Gates said, bloodshot eyes boring into them.

Slater said, ‘We’d love to know, too. And while you’re at it, tell us how you got us involved in this mess in the first place.’

Gates’ gaze flared from man to man. He didn’t see the slightest chink in the armour of their story, because they sure as hell weren’t letting one slip through.

He said, ‘Tell me what you saw, and be quick about it. If you know what’s good for you.’

King loosened his tongue, and started talking fast. ‘We had second thoughts about Melanie, and we’re sorry about that, but it’s just what happened. We got cold feet and freaked out and didn’t want to incriminate ourselves so we asked her to get out of the car. She wasn’t too happy about it but she did it anyway, and then your guys got mad — like really, really mad. They drove us into this deserted lot and pulled us out of the car and we thought we were going to die … I swear to God I thought I was done for. But I knew you were a reasonable guy, so I guess I was optimistic, and then cops showed up.’

Gates froze. ‘Cops?’

‘They were in undercover cars,’ King said. ‘But they were cops. A couple of them were in uniform. There were two of them in each car and they got out and started talking to your guys like they knew them? Like, it was all really calm, and everything seemed to be taken down a notch, and then … I don’t know, man, this is crazy…’

‘Say it,’ Gates hissed.

Slater picked up where King left off. ‘They just pulled out their guns and shot your guys, man. Just unloaded on them. They couldn’t even put up a fight. And they didn’t see me and my buddy here, not until after they’d killed them all. We were on our knees in the shadows, getting yelled at by your guys, and then the cops pulled up and spoke to them, and then suddenly all of them were dead. That’s when the cops saw us. They asked us if we knew some guy called Keith, and I said, “Who the hell is that?” because it’s the truth. They thought it over, and, man, we thought we were dead all over again. Then maybe they figured they’d killed enough people so they told us to go home and keep our mouths shut if we knew what was good for us.’

Slater fell quiet, as if realising he was saying too much.

King didn’t speak.

They both looked at the floor.

Seconds later, when the silence in the cramped office became overwhelming, they looked up.

Gates was statuesque.

King hadn’t thought his eyes could get any wider.

They were now.

Gates said, ‘Repeat one thing for me. What exactly did they ask you? Some guy called who?’

‘Keith,’ Slater said, his voice quivering. ‘You know a Keith?’

‘Yeah,’ Gates said. ‘I know a fucking Keith.’

He hissed, ‘Make sure they don’t go anywhere,’ to his two henchmen, then stormed out of the room.

Deathly quiet.

King looked at Slater.

Slater looked at King.

King thought, Problem.

They’d figured Gates would be preoccupied with the revelation and would let them go. If they were now hostages…

Well, some heads might have to be smashed together after all.

25

The valet at Caesar’s handed Violetta’s keys over.

She’d rented a Rolls Royce for the occasion. It sure fit her cover. She thanked the man, maintaining the accent, and trotted for the driver’s door. Her work here was done.

The burner phone in her clutch started ringing.

She stopped in her tracks, thinking, Damn, that was quick.

There was only one person it could be. She’d had business cards printed weeks earlier for a multitude of burner phones, and she’d only given one card out for the phone in her clutch. She pulled it out, swiped to answer the blocked number, and lifted it to her ear.

She refused to speak first.

A cool female voice said, ‘Where’s your security, darling?’

There was the faintest hint of a voice scrambler behind the scenes, so that Gloria Kerr had plausible deniability if the call was recorded and used as blackmail.

Violetta didn’t look over her shoulder. She got behind the wheel, well aware there were eyes on her, but maintaining all the poise of an organised crime matriarch.

She said, ‘I do not need security, my dear. I am my own security.’

‘That’s not smart,’ the voice said. ‘I could have you shot dead in your car seat. Look at you sitting there, all exposed.’

Violetta laughed. Like she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Then my demands must not have been accurately conveyed.’

‘They were conveyed just fine,’ the voice said. ‘Only I’m finding it hard to believe them.’

‘It is on you,’ Violetta said. ‘You are the one who will deal with the consequences.’

She leant forward, peering up and out of the windshield, making her profile larger.

‘What are you waiting for?’ she said. ‘Shoot.’

Gloria Kerr said, ‘What is it you want exactly?’

‘I already told your man,’ Violetta said. ‘I do not like to repeat myself.’

‘You want a meeting with me? Is that it?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Are you just going to threaten me in this meeting?’

‘No,’ Violetta said. ‘I am interested in doing business.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Listen to me,’ Violetta purred. ‘If that is the case, then I will take Vegas. You are a public figure. It will ruin you. You cannot match what I can bring down on this city.’

Silence.

Violetta said, ‘Or we can talk. We can negotiate in advance. We can be partners.’

‘The industry is mine. We’re not going to be partners.’

‘I am flexible,’ Violetta said. ‘If we go that way. I am not flexible if we go the other way. So are you