acknowledge him.
Now, as the last remnants of the miserable day slipped away, night covering the lake, he went over the shooting again and again in his mind. She was twenty feet away! He’d unloaded a whole clip! Then he thought maybe Gatts was just setting him up and knew it would get him killed. He tried to think of something he’d done to Gatts.
“Jesus, you fucking drunk asshole,” Shaun Corbin said of himself. At times, he despised himself more than anybody on the stinking planet.
He took a sip from his whiskey flask, lit a cigarette with a shaky hand, and thought of what to do next. Failure wasn’t an option. Failure was a death sentence.
And he knew he didn’t have much time. His cousin was down in Vegas making some huge deal. Big boys. Silicon Valley types and Chinks all looking to put money in Tahoe. And his uncle was busy buying, stealing, grabbing properties all around the lake. And next weekend was the big party of the year, the Great Gatsby Gala.
Then he thought about the pro they were bringing in.
I gotta find out when. I gotta finish this first. Or it’ll be me the bastard comes for.
First thing he needed to know was when his cousin was coming home from Vegas. The only other person who might know was the top girl on the string Corbin ran, Kora North. Thorp had a thing for her. She was to be his Miss Daisy at the big Gatsby gala.
He took out his phone. Tried to think straight, get his brain into the moment. He felt lethargic and took another hit followed by a pull on the flask, then lit another cigarette with shaky hands. Lately he found his hands shook a lot. He managed to press in Kora’s number.
When she answered, Corbin said, “Kora, it’s me. Look, I’m in something of jam. A big damn problem.”
“You’re a big problem,” Kora said. “I’m busy.”
“Don’t hang up. This is serious. This is life or death, Kora. You got to help me out here. I got enough on you to send you up for five life sentences, bitch, so listen to me.”
“Shaun,” Kora said, “piss off.” The bitch hung up.
Enraged, Corbin smashed his cell on the dash again and again. When he calmed down, he knew one thing for certain: He had to find Jesup, to kill her and that bastard who picked her up.
And he had to do it tonight.
8
Sydney told Marco where to pull off. He turned down toward the lake, lights out, and then stopped in front of a padlocked gate. “You have a key?”
“Yes. I’ll get it,” she said, starting to get out, but he stopped her. “I’ll get it. Sit tight.”
“The post on the right. The cap unscrews. It’s underneath. Old technology.”
Marco found the key and opened the padlock. He swung the gate open, then slid back behind the wheel.
She said, “You don’t need to come in. I can handle things from here.”
He didn’t respond, just drove on in, got out, and went back to lock the gate behind them. When he came back, she had gotten herself out of the car but was feeling a little wobbly. He grabbed her. “Easy. You need water. There a house key?”
“Beneath the second bird feeder.”
“Whatever works,” Marco said.
The Shaw house was secreted in the trees along the water, well hidden from the highway, guarded by thick stands of trees on both sides shielding the place from any neighbors. There was a boathouse, a small dock, and a detached garage.
He came back with the key. “Alarms?”
“Yes. Inside the door. Five, five, six, one, one.”
He opened the door and turned off the alarm as she waited, leaning against his car and feeling like she might pass out.
“Who’s place is this?”
“Bernie and Meredith Shaw,” Sydney said. “He’s an Indie filmmaker. His wife’s his producer. She acts in their films.”
He helped her inside. “How do you know them?”
“I was an adviser on a small project they did when I was working with the sheriff’s department in Sacramento.”
“How’d the film do?”
“Straight to video.”
He started to escort her to a
Now, as the last remnants of the miserable day slipped away, night covering the lake, he went over the shooting again and again in his mind. She was twenty feet away! He’d unloaded a whole clip! Then he thought maybe Gatts was just setting him up and knew it would get him killed. He tried to think of something he’d done to Gatts.
“Jesus, you fucking drunk asshole,” Shaun Corbin said of himself. At times, he despised himself more than anybody on the stinking planet.
He took a sip from his whiskey flask, lit a cigarette with a shaky hand, and thought of what to do next. Failure wasn’t an option. Failure was a death sentence.
And he knew he didn’t have much time. His cousin was down in Vegas making some huge deal. Big boys. Silicon Valley types and Chinks all looking to put money in Tahoe. And his uncle was busy buying, stealing, grabbing properties all around the lake. And next weekend was the big party of the year, the Great Gatsby Gala.
Then he thought about the pro they were bringing in.
I gotta find out when. I gotta finish this first. Or it’ll be me the bastard comes for.
First thing he needed to know was when his cousin was coming home from Vegas. The only other person who might know was the top girl on the string Corbin ran, Kora North. Thorp had a thing for her. She was to be his Miss Daisy at the big Gatsby gala.
He took out his phone. Tried to think straight, get his brain into the moment. He felt lethargic and took another hit followed by a pull on the flask, then lit another cigarette with shaky hands. Lately he found his hands shook a lot. He managed to press in Kora’s number.
When she answered, Corbin said, “Kora, it’s me. Look, I’m in something of jam. A big damn problem.”
“You’re a big problem,” Kora said. “I’m busy.”
“Don’t hang up. This is serious. This is life or death, Kora. You got to help me out here. I got enough on you to send you up for five life sentences, bitch, so listen to me.”
“Shaun,” Kora said, “piss off.” The bitch hung up.
Enraged, Corbin smashed his cell on the dash again and again. When he calmed down, he knew one thing for certain: He had to find Jesup, to kill her and that bastard who picked her up.
And he had to do it tonight.
8
Sydney told Marco where to pull off. He turned down toward the lake, lights out, and then stopped in front of a padlocked gate. “You have a key?”
“Yes. I’ll get it,” she said, starting to get out, but he stopped her. “I’ll get it. Sit tight.”
“The post on the right. The cap unscrews. It’s underneath. Old technology.”
Marco found the key and opened the padlock. He swung the gate open, then slid back behind the wheel.
She said, “You don’t need to come in. I can handle things from here.”
He didn’t respond, just drove on in, got out, and went back to lock the gate behind them. When he came back, she had gotten herself out of the car but was feeling a little wobbly. He grabbed her. “Easy. You need water. There a house key?”
“Beneath the second bird feeder.”
“Whatever works,” Marco said.
The Shaw house was secreted in the trees along the water, well hidden from the highway, guarded by thick stands of trees on both sides shielding the place from any neighbors. There was a boathouse, a small dock, and a detached garage.
He came back with the key. “Alarms?”
“Yes. Inside the door. Five, five, six, one, one.”
He opened the door and turned off the alarm as she waited, leaning against his car and feeling like she might pass out.
“Who’s place is this?”
“Bernie and Meredith Shaw,” Sydney said. “He’s an Indie filmmaker. His wife’s his producer. She acts in their films.”
He helped her inside. “How do you know them?”
“I was an adviser on a small project they did when I was working with the sheriff’s department in Sacramento.”
“How’d the film do?”
“Straight to video.”
He started to escort her to a
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