“I don’t know where he is,” she said.
“We both know that’s not true. You’re Bobby’s lawyer, so you have to know how to get in touch with him.”
“I was Mr. Chesterfield’s lawyer. He hired me to resolve a legal matter for him, but I wasn’t able to, so I’m no longer doing any work for him. And I really don’t have any idea where he is.”
Rafael smiled. “Nice try, but a lawyer is always going to know how to get in touch with someone who owes her money. So where is he?”
“Chesterfield may be a lot of things, but dumb isn’t one of them. He warned me that you were watching my office. That’s why he insisted that we meet at that tavern. It’s also why he hasn’t told me where he’s living. He figured you’d try to pressure me into telling you where you can find him. He calls me when he wants to talk,” Robin lied, not wanting Rafael to know that her contact was Horace Dobson. “He hasn’t given me an address or a phone number.”
Again, Rafael smiled. “That logic shit may work with juries, but it’s not working on me. Last chance. Tell me where Bobby is hiding, or Marco is going to hurt you.”
Robin was preparing to put plan B into action when Jeff walked up.
“Is there a problem, Miss Lockwood?”
Rafael got up and Marco turned toward Jeff, who was pointing a .38 Special at them.
“Who the fuck are you?” Rafael barked.
“I’m someone who won’t hesitate to shoot you if you don’t walk away right now.”
Robin stood to give herself more space in case things got out of hand. “These men wanted to know where Robert Chesterfield is, and I explained that I have no idea where he’s staying. They were just about to leave.”
“Is that right?” Jeff asked.
Marco glared at Jeff.
Rafael put a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay, Marco.” Then he turned to Robin. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me, there will be consequences.”
When Rafael and Marco walked away, Robin turned on Jeff. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said. She sounded upset.
“From where I was standing, it was.”
“I had everything under control, Jeff. You didn’t have to ride in and save me like a knight in shining armor.”
“Do you have your gun?”
“I left it in the office because I was visiting Jimmy O’Leary in the jail. And I don’t need you to act like a mother hen.”
“I acted sensibly, and I worry about you.” Jeff smiled. “You’re a big pain in the ass sometimes, but I don’t want to lose you.”
The tension in Robin’s shoulders eased and she let out a breath. Then she touched Jeff’s cheek. “You won’t lose me. I know you followed me because you care. I appreciate that. But I don’t need a man to babysit me. And I’ll make sure I have my gun with me at all times. Okay?”
Jeff holstered his gun and wrapped his arms around Robin. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“I do, and I’m sorry that I’ve worried you. But I think we’ve seen the last of Montenegro’s enforcers.”
Jeff looked over Robin’s shoulder in the direction Rafael and Marco had walked. “I hope you’re right,” he murmured.
“Jimmy O’Leary is getting released, and I promised I’d give him a ride home. I’ll come back to the office after I drop him off. You go back and investigate a place to eat tonight. It’s on me.”
“I’ll make sure it’s pricey as payback for scaring me.”
Now Robin smiled. “You do that, cowboy. See you soon.”
* * *
During the drive to O’Leary’s house, Robin kept a tight grip on the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking. For all her bravado, the encounter with Rafael and Marco had scared her, and she decided that it was time to cut her ties with Robert Chesterfield.
When she returned to her office, Robin found Horace Dobson’s number in Chesterfield’s file. She had done an internet search for the agent and discovered that Dobson didn’t have many clients. He’d been living in London when he read about Chesterfield’s murder charges, and he’d moved to Las Vegas when he made Chesterfield’s deal with Caesars Palace. Hobson had made a lot of money representing Chesterfield, and he’d picked up several clients because he was representing a celebrity, but his client list had slimmed down as Chesterfield’s star descended.
“Dobson Talent Associates,” Dobson sang out enthusiastically as soon as he picked up.
“Mr. Dobson, this is Robin Lockwood, Mr. Chesterfield’s attorney.”
“Oh,” Dobson said, his enthusiasm evaporating when he realized that Robin was not a potential client.
“Mr. Chesterfield told me to call you if I needed to get in touch with him.”
“Yes?”
“I talked to Joe Samuels. He refuses to settle. He’s still very angry and I don’t think he’ll change his mind, so I’m going to send back the rest of Mr. Chesterfield’s retainer. Should I send it to your office?”
“That will work.”
“There’s something else. Tell Robert that the two men who confronted him behind the tavern tried to get me to tell them where he was living. I told them I have no idea where he is.”
“You didn’t tell them about me, did you?” Dobson asked, alarmed.
“That’s the other reason I called. I wanted to warn you. You’re Robert’s agent, and they may come after you.”
As soon as Robin hung up, she got her handgun out of her desk drawer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Imperial Theater was a reclamation project funded by a Portland developer who was building expensive condominiums in a section of the city that was known for drug deals, strip clubs, and the homeless. The developer was trying to make the location attractive by bringing in high-end retail stores, upscale restaurants, and a performing arts center. During its various recent incarnations, the Imperial had been a porn theater and a venue for local bands. The developer had remodeled it and brought in legitimate theater, upscale musical acts, and currently, a semi-famous, still-notorious magician.
On the evening that the Chamber of Death was going to debut, and during the two weeks of rehearsals beforehand, a small group of protesting magicians picketed the theater because Robert Chesterfield had been exposed as Mysterioso. Chesterfield approached the Imperial in disguise, as he had every day of rehearsal, because of the protesters. When he was certain that he hadn’t been spotted, he slipped into the alley that ran alongside the theater.
Henry Schloss, an elderly security guard, looked up when the stage door opened.
“Evening, Henry,” Chesterfield said. “It looks like we’re going to be busy tonight.”
“It sure does.”
“Did you get the tickets I left for your daughter and her husband?”
“I did. Thanks. They were thrilled.”
“My pleasure,” the magician said as he headed down a narrow hall past the dressing room used by his assistants and on to his dressing room, which was adjacent to the loading dock. He had just taken off his cap and jacket and seated himself in front of his makeup mirror when Rafael, gun in hand, stepped out from behind the rack of hangers holding Chesterfield’s costumes.