Jasmine opened her mouth to speak. She shook her head and went to the bedroom. Ready for bed and curled up, she admitted to herself that she just might be glad for Jacob Wolffs involvement, too.
She had assumed the group was trading in prostitution, turning models into drug addicts and then trafficking them.
She hadnt known about the bodies in the barrels. And she hadnt suspected that Smirnoff was going to die.
So she was glad she would have backup if she had to continue getting close to these dangerous players. Otherwise she probably should back right out of the case.
Except she just couldnt. They had Mary. They had her somewhere.
And Jasmine had to pray her friend was still alive.
Chapter Three
Jacob could remember coming to South Beach with his parents as a child. Back then, the gentrification of the area was already underway.
His mom liked to tell him about the way it had been when she had been young, when the world had yet to realize the beauty and architectural value of the art deco hotelsand when the young and beautiful had headed north on South Beach to the fabulous Fontainebleau and other such hotels where the likes of Sinatra and others had performed. In her day, there had been tons of bagel shops, and high school kids had all come to hang out by the water with their surfboardsdespite a lack of anything that resembled real surf.
It was where his parents had met. His father had once told him, not without some humor, that hed fallen in love over a twenty-five-cent bagel.
The beach was beautiful. Jacob had opted for a little boutique hotel right on the water. Fisher House had been built in the early 1920s when a great deal around it had been nothing but scrub, brush and palms. It had been completely renovated and revamped about a decade ago and was charming, intimate and historic, filled with framed pictures of long ago. The back door opened to a vast porchhalf filled with dining tablesand then a tiled path led to the pool and beyond down to the ocean.
Jacob started the morning early, out on the sand, watching the sun come up, feeling the ocean breeze and listening to the seagulls cry. The rising sun was shining down on the water, creating a sparkling scene with diamond-like bits of brilliance all around him.
It was a piece of heaven. Sand between his toes, and then a quick dip in the watercool and yet temperate in the early-morning hour. He loved it. Home for him in the last few years had been Washington, D.C., or New York City. There were beaches to be found, yes, but nothing like this. So, for the first hour of the day, he let himself just love the feel of salt air around him, hear the lulling rush of waves and look out over the endless water.
There was nothing like seeing it like a native. By 9:00 a.m., he was heading along Ocean Drive. The city was coming alive by then; roller skaters whizzed by him and traffic was heavy. Art galleries and shops were beginning to open, and tourists were flocking out in all manner of beach apparel, some wearing scanty clothing and some not. While most American men were fond of surf shorts for dipping in the water, Europeans tended to Speedos and as little on their bodies as possible. It was a generalization; he didnt like generalizations, but in this case, he was pretty sure he was right.
A fellow with a belly that surely hid his toes from his own sightand his Speedowalked on by and greeted Jacob with a cheerful good morning that was spoken with a heavy foreign accent.
Jacob smiled. The man was happy with himself and within the legal bounds of propriety for this section of the beach. And that was what mattered.
He stopped into the News Café. It was a great place to see...and be seen. Before hed been murdered, the famous designer Gianni Versace had lived in one of South Beachs grand old mansions. He had also dined many a morning at the News Café. Tourists flocked there. So did locals.
Jacob picked up a newspaper, ordered an egg dish and sat back and watchedand listened.
The conversation was all about the shooting of Josef Smirnoff at what should have been one of the brightest moments in the pseudo-plastic environment of the beach.
You can bring in all the stars you wantbut with those people
I heard it was a mob hit!
Did you know that earlier, like in the morning, three bodies were found in oil drums out in the Everglades?
Yeah. I dont think anyone had even reported them missing. No IDs as of yet, but hey...like we dont have enough problems down here.
People were talking. Naturally.
Told you we shouldnt have come to Miami.
Hey, mobsters kill mobsters. No one else was injured. Bunch of shots, from what I read, but only the mobster was killed.
Someone who was apparently a local spoke up.
Actually, honestly, were not that bad a city. I mean, my dad says that most of our bad crimes are committed by out-of-towners and not our population.
Bad crimes... Sure, like most people in the world, locals here wanted to fall in love, buy houses, raise children and seek the best lives possible.
But it was true, too, that South Florida was one massive melting potperhaps like New York City in the last decade. People came from all the Caribbean islands, Central and South America, the countries that had once comprised the Soviet Union, and from all over the world.
Most came in pursuit of a new life and freedom. Some came because a melting pot was simply a good place for criminal activity.
While he people-watched, Jacob replayed everything he had seen the day before in his mind. He remembered what he had heard.
Witnesses hadnt been lying or overly rattled when they had reported that it seemed the shots had come from all over. From the bar, hed had a good place to observe the whole room. And then, as Ivan had muttered that they could go closer and see, they had done so.
The shooter hadnt been close to Josef SmirnoffJacob had been near him and if someone had shot him from up close, hed have known.
He was pretty sure that the shooters had been stationed in the alcoves on the balcony that surrounded the ground floor, just outside the offices and private rooms on the second floor. The space allowed for customers to enjoy a band from upstairs, without being in the crowd below.
When hed looked up at the balconies earlier, he hadnt seen anyone on them. The stairs might have been blocked.
Would Jasmine have known that detail? Or would they have shared that information with a new girl?
Jasmine had, beyond a doubt, drawn attention last night. She had been captivatingly beautiful, and she had played the runway perfectly, austere and yet with a sense of fun. She was perfect for the role she was playing.
The band, the models, the excitement... It had all been perfect for the setup. It was really a miracle that no one else had been hit.
He had thought that Jasmine was going after Josef Smirnoff when he had seen her lunge at himgetting close to see that the deed was done, that he was finished off if the bullets hadnt done their work. Hed never forget her surprise when he had tackled her...
Nor his own shock when she had thrown him off.
He was surprised to find himself smilinghe wasnt often taken unaware. Then again, while hed known that MDPD had police officers working undercover, he hadnt been informed that one of them was working the runway.
He was surprised to find himself smilinghe wasnt often taken unaware. Then again, while hed known that MDPD had police officers working undercover, he hadnt been informed that one of them was working the runway.
A dangerous place.
But she worked it well. She had an in he could never have.
He pictured it all in his mind again. There had been multiple shooters but only one targetJosef Smirnoff. Create panic, and it might well have appeared that Smirnoff had been killed in a rain of bullets that could have been meant for anyone.
Jacob paid his bill and headed out, walking toward Dolphin Galleries. He felt the burner phone in his left pocket vibrate and he quickly pulled it out. Dean Jenkins, his Miami office counterpart, was calling.
You alone?
The street was busy, but as Jacob walked, he was well aware that by alone, Dean was asking if he was far from those involved with the Deco Gang.
I am, he said.
Theyre doing the autopsy now. Someone apparently had a bead on the bastards heart. Its amazing that no one else was hurt. Oh, beyond cuts and bruises, I mean. People trampled people. But the bullets that didnt hit Smirnoff hit the walls.
They only wanted Smirnoff dead. Kill a mobster, and the police might not look so hard. Kill a pretty ingenue, a pop star or a music icon, and the heat never ends.
Yep. I wanted to let you know that Im on the ground with the detective from the City of Miami Beach and another guy from Miami-Dade PD. Figured if I was around asking questions Id be in close contact, and you could act annoyed and harassed.
Good.
You met the undercover Miami-Dade cops, right? Dean asked.
I did. Weve talked.
Good. The powers that be are stressing communication. They dont want any of you ending up in the swamp.
Good to hear. I dont think Id fit into an oil drum. Dont worry, weve got each others backs.
Have you been asked to move any money for the organization yet?
On my way in to the gallery now, Jacob said. I expect Ill see someone soon enough.
It may take some time, with that murder at the club last night, you know.
A murder that I think they planned. Id bet theyll contact me today.
Youre on. Keep up with MDPD, all right? Word from the top. Both the cops and our agency are accustomed to undercover operations, but this one is more than dicey.
At least I get to bathe for this one, Jacob told him.
Theres a bright spot to everything, huh?
You bet.
He ended the call, slid the phone back in his pocket and headed toward the gallery.
The sun was shining overhead. People were out on the beach, playing, soaking up the heat. The shadow of last nights murder couldnt ruin a vacation for the visitors who had planned for an entire year.
Besides, it was a shady rich man, a mobster, who had been killed.
He who lives by the sword...
Jacob turned the corner. Ivan Petrov was standing in front of the gallery, studying a piece of modern art.
* * *
MOE, CURLY AND LARRYor, rather Alejandro Suarez, Antonio Garibaldi and Sasha Antonovichwere upstairs when Jasmine arrived with Jorge at precisely 10:00 a.m. the next day.
Alejandro was at the top of the stairs. Sasha was at the door to what had once been Josef Smirnoffs office and was now the throne room for Victor Kozak.
Jasmine had made a point of greeting both Alejandro and Sasha. She presumed that Antonio was in the room with Victor, which he was. She saw him when the door to that inner sanctum opened and Natasha Volkov walked out.
The door immediately shut behind her, but not before Jasmine could see that Victor Kozak was seated at what had been Josef Smirnoffs desk.
The king is dead; long live the king, she thought.
This had shades of all kinds of Shakespearean tragedy on it. Apparently, Josef Smirnoff had known that someone had been planning to kill himhe just hadnt known who. Maybe he had suspected Kozak but not known. And he probably hadnt imagined that hed be gunned down at the celebrity opening for the club.
She knew that Smirnoff hadnt exactly been a good man. She had heard, though, that he wasnt on the truly evil side of bad. Hed preferred strong-arm tactics to murder. Hed rather have his debts paid, and how did a dead man pay a debt?
Jasmine couldnt defend Smirnoff. However, she believed that Kozak was purely evil. It made her skin crawl to be near him. She had a feeling hed kill his own mother if he saw it as a good career move.
Ah, you are here! Such a good girl, Natasha said, slipping an arm around Jasmines shoulder and moving her down the hallway. She turned back to Jorge. You come, too, pretty boy. You are a good boy, too.
Jorge smiled.
Natasha opened the door into a giant closetdressing room combo. There were racks of clothing and rows of tables with mirrors surrounded by bright lights for the girls to use. Before the show the day before, the room had been filled with dressers, stylists and makeup artists.
So sad. Poor Josef, Natasha said, admitting them through the door and then closing it. She made a display of bringing her fingers to her eyes, as if shed been crying. Her face was not, however, tearstained.
We are all in shock, in mourning today, Natasha added. So, let me pay you for last night and we will talk for a minute, yes? Maybe you can help.
Definitely, Jasmine said. Talking would be good. Mr. Smirnoff was so kind to all of us. Its so horrible what happened.
Terrible, Jorge agreed.
So. Natasha grabbed a large manila envelope off one of the dressers and took out a sizable wad of cash. She counted off the amount for each of their fees. When Natasha casually handed it over, Jasmine saw it was all in large bills. It seemed like a lot of cash to have lying around.
Natasha indicated a grouping of leather love seats and chairs where models and performers waited once their makeup was complete.
Jorge and Jasmine took chairs.
Youyou were very brave, she said, looking at Jasmine. I was behind the curtain, but I saw the way you protected Kari and tried to help poor Josef.
Oh, no, not so brave, Jasmine said. When I was a child... I was with my parents in the Middle East, and my father taught me to get down, and get everyone around me down, anytime I heard gunshots. It was just instinct.
I tried to get to Jasmine, Jorge said, because shes my friend.
Of course, of course, Natasha said. But you two and Kari were the ones who were out on the runway when it all happened. What did you see? Of course, I know that the police talked to everyone last night, but...were so upset about Josef! Perhaps youve remembered something...something that you might have seen?
Jasmine shook her head. Oh, Natasha. This is terrible, but I was only thinking about saving myself at first. I didnt see anything at all. Jasmine wished that she wasnt lying. She could easily be passionate because her words were true. She wished to hell that she had seen somethinganything.
She had just heard the bullets flying. And seen Josef Smirnoff go down.
Im so, so sorry, she said. Of course, I suppose this means that... Well, if you need anything from me in the future, Id be so happy to work with you again.