The Death Box by J. A. Kerley

Author:J. A. Kerley [Kerley, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780007493661
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

27

Hands on her ample hips, Consuelo Amardara stared at the food between Gershwin and me as if it were too Spartan for her liking. “If that’s not enough I can bring a nice slice of cake.”

“I think we’re fine, Miz Amardara,” I said, reaching for my Consuelo’s Delight. I had planned to order a beer, but she had the drink in my hands before we’d settled into the back booth. After the bushwhacking by Rayles, we’d retreated to Tiki Tiki to review our only road into the case: Carosso. Amardara had already loaded the table with tortillas, matzo balls, carnitas, chunks of baked salami, garlic dills, guacamole and chips, ceviche, sliced limes, pickled herring and three kinds of salsa. It seemed the kitchen at Tiki Tiki was also used for Ms Amardara’s sideline businesses: catering for Jewish or Latino events, presumably even Polynesian.

Carosso was now Miami-Dade’s case and Delmara seemed happy for any input we could supply. To me it seemed a tremendous oversight by Rayles’s people, but I was happy to have a road into the trafficking case, no matter how slender. We revisited Carosso’s financial records, still intrigued by the anomalous two grand deposited in Carosso’s account thirteen months back.

Gershwin drizzled a matzo ball with lime and salsa picante and popped it in his mouth. “Maybe Carosso got a big payoff and spent it on something, had two grand left.”

“I don’t think the guy owned anything that cost more than fifty bucks.”

“Maybe he has stuff elsewhere. An offshore account.”

“I doubt Carosso had that kind of fiscal sophistication. But then, I don’t know how much he made helping ditch a batch of dead bodies. Maybe he owed someone a favor.”

Gershwin’s turn to think. “Reverse it,” he said, flipping his hands over one another. “Maybe he got a favor instead of money. Or a favor with a little sugar added to the pot.”

His point dawned as I was sipping my drink, slowing today’s rum intake by using a pink straw. “Like his own personal slave, maybe? A young toy to play with for a couple months?”

“Maybe it was enough to make Carosso fill his truck with dead bodies and drive to the cistern. That’s a huge chance for an ex-con. If caught, he’d have spent twenty years in the iron-bar Hilton.”

I couldn’t think well, sitting and jamming food into my mouth. I stood and began pacing, but Ms Amardara zeroed in on my motion like a hawk on a mouse. “Sit, Detective!” she called, patting a hand in the down motion. “Don’t strain your legs. I’ll bring you a fresh drink.”

I glanced at the drink in my hand; she thought I was looking for a refill. “It’s fine, Miz Amard—”

“Connie!” she shrieked. “It’s Connie.”

“It’s fine, Connie. I’m just stretching.”

“Then stretch, stretch. You need something, anything, wave. An eyeblink and I’ll be there.”

I smiled and retreated to the restroom, thinking in the quiet for a couple minutes before coming back to the booth, careful not to blink or do anything that might be construed as a wave.

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