“Here you go,” she said, as she handed the drink to Trujillo. “The sandwiches should be here in a minute.”
“Thanks. What sort of business are you in?”
“I’m the Personnel Director of SWT Technologies. We have engineering offices in twelve cities around the world. Our—”
Her telephone chimed, as she’d set it to do. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she glanced at the screen, then stood. “That’s my boss. I need to take this.”
Trujillo waved a hand. “Of course. No problem.”
Nguyen slipped on her leather coat, moved to the front door, and stepped outside, under the awning that shaded the front windows. She smiled at Trujillo as she pretended to conduct a conversation. He smiled back at her, picked up his tea, and took a healthy drink. Nguyen paced the sidewalk, continuing her phony conversation. She watched Trujillo take another drink. As he did, she spoke into her dead phone, “That ought to do it.”
A couple of seconds went by and then Trujillo fell to the floor, convulsing and frothing at the mouth.
As Nguyen walked to the corner and then turned left to hail a cab, she thought about what else she could do to find Bruno Pedace. Her research had given her information about Pedace’s background, including his relationship with the Massarino family. And she’d learned that Robert Tennucci was probably associated with the Luccheses, which, by extension, meant the Massarinos. Sy Rosen is screwing around with the wrong people, she thought. I don’t like messing with the mob. But an assignment is an assignment.
Nguyen called her FBI contact, a married guy named Wayne Evans who she’d sexually co-opted a few years back by doing things with him that he’d never experienced before.
“Hey, girl,” Evans answered. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long, Wayne. I’ve missed you.”
“I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid. What do you want? The only time you call me is when you need something.”
She chuckled. “Are you available tonight?”
Evans said, “I could be.”
“Good. Usual place. 6:30.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”
“I just want you, Wayne.” After a small pause, she added, “Oh, and maybe a tiny bit of information. I need the home address of a Robert Tennucci.”
CHAPTER 11
The whoomp-whoomp-whoomp sounds of her gloved fists hitting the heavy bag had a cathartic effect on Janet. Despite her hands swelling after each workout, there was something recuperative about coming to J’s Gym three times a week. She’d signed up for boxing lessons for self-defense purposes, but she’d discovered the sessions at the gym gave her a sense of confidence, not to mention that she’d muscled up and built stamina. Other than having to ice her hands after each training session, she loved the experience.
“Looking good, girl,” Jesse Washington said as he unlaced her gloves.
Janet smiled at eighty-year-old Washington, the owner of the gym and a former welterweight boxer. “Thanks, Jesse,” she said, “but you say that to all the women who work out here.”
“That I do, girl. I keep hoping that I’ll get lucky one of these days.”
Janet laughed and kissed his cheek. “You old reprobate.”
“What you doin’ tonight?”
“Working, Jesse. I’ve got a lot of homework.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Good-lookin’ girl like you should be out kickin’ up her heels, not workin’.”
Janet placed a taped hand on the old man’s face and smiled.
After showering and changing, Janet stopped at a Whole Foods Market, bought a week’s worth of food, and made her way home. She carried two bags of groceries inside and placed them on the kitchen table. When she turned to go back outside to retrieve her jacket and purse, there was a knock on her front door.
She moved to the door and checked the peephole. Two Asian men stood on her porch. One was about five feet, ten-inches tall and wore a black suit and tie. The other one was much shorter and dressed more casually, in jeans, a white dress shirt, and a blue blazer. Back at the curb, she spotted a black compact car.
What the heck? Janet thought. She placed the security chain on the door, then cracked it open and asked, “Can I help you?”
In perfectly good Brooklynese, which surprised Janet, the taller man said, “I’d like to talk with you for a minute.”
“About what?”
“Bruno Pedace.”
“Who are you?”
“Police.”
Janet almost laughed. “All right, Mr. Policeman, let’s see your badge.”
The guy stuck a hand inside his jacket, as though to pull out a cred pack, then slammed a foot against the door. The chain snapped and the door flew open. The edge of the door caught Janet’s left arm and caused a huge jolt of pain from her elbow to her shoulder. The man moved aside and made room for his companion, who burst through the doorway. Janet reflexively swung at him with her right hand, aiming for his chin. But the man straightened up and her punch struck his throat. He went down, gasping, fighting for air.
The taller man launched himself at Janet. She attempted to block a strike, but her left arm didn’t respond. Bright lights exploded behind her eyes and then all was dark.
“Rosales.”
“Hugo, it’s Detective Jackie Parrish.”
“Hey, Jackie. How’s everything in El Segundo?”
“I thought you’d want to know. My partner and I just answered a 9-1-1 call. A neighbor called it in.”
“What’s that got to do—?”
“It’s Janet Jenkins’s place.”
“Oh, man. Is she all right?”
“She’s not here. The place was tossed, but there doesn’t appear to be anything missing. I mean, it doesn’t look like a robbery. There’s blood on the floor. Looks like someone vomited, too.”
“You mind if I come by and check out the place?”
“Of course not. That’s why I called. I remembered you were friends with Jenkins. We found her purse and jacket in her car.”
“What’s up, Van?” Victoria said into her cell phone.
“You want the good news first?”
“Stop playing around, Van. I’m busy.”
Pham Van Duc laughed. “All business, as usual. Okay, I got her.”
Victoria Nguyen breathed out a long, steady breath, inhaled, and said, “Any problems?”
Van chuckled. “The guy with me won’t be talking or breathing right for a while. The woman clocked him in the throat. But, other than that, no problems.”
“You find anything in her stuff about Bruno Pedace?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
“Sonofa—Okay, here’s what I want you to do.”
Detective Hugo Rosales pulled in behind an El Segundo patrol car. An unmarked Crown Victoria was parked in the driveway behind Janet’s vehicle. Flashing lights bounced off nearby residences and lit up the sky. As he opened his door, Detective John Andrews told Rosales, “I’ll check with the patrolmen; why don’t you go through the house? Talk to the detectives.”