V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

I drove into the underground parking garage that ran the length of the shopping center. Stores weren’t yet open, so all of the parking spaces were available. I chose one at the far end of the lot, close to the elevators. I ran an eye down the wall-mounted directory, which listed the companies with offices on the second and third floors, above the retail establishments. Dante Enterprises occupied the penthouse suite. I took the elevator up. I don’t know what I expected from the digs of a loan shark, but the complex was elegant and beautifully furnished, with pale gray short-cut pile carpeting and interior walls of glass and high-gloss teak. The reception desk was empty, and I waited, not quite sure what to do with myself. I took a seat on a lush gray leather chair and leafed through a magazine with one eye on the elevator. Finally, the doors opened and a tall, balding man wearing glasses emerged and crossed to the inner door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Is someone helping you?”

I set the magazine aside and stood up. “I’m looking for Lorenzo Dante, the younger one. I understand there are two.”

“You have an appointment?”

I shook my head. “I was hoping he could see me. I just took a chance he’d be in.”

“He’s usually here by now, but I didn’t see his car in the garage. Is this something I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so. It’s a private matter. Do you have any idea what time he’ll be in?”

The man checked his watch. “Should be soon. If you take a seat, I can have the receptionist bring you a cup of coffee while you wait.”

By then I was feeling anxious, suddenly uncertain what I was doing there and what I hoped to accomplish. I can tattle with the best of them, but I prefer to do so when I know my audience. Here, I had no idea what sort of reception to expect. “You know what? I think I’ll run a couple of errands and come back in a bit.”

“If you change your mind about the coffee, let the receptionist know,” he said. He disappeared into the inner corridor just as the receptionist came out and returned to her desk. I had already moved to the elevator, where I pressed the down button. I was intent on exiting before Dante showed up, so it was only by chance that I glanced back at her as she took her seat. She noticed I was staring at her and she gave me the blank look of someone who hasn’t yet registered what’s going on.

I said, “Aren’t you Abbie Upshaw?”

Still the blank look. “Yes.”

“I’m Kinsey Millhone. I met you the other day at lunch. You’re Len Priddy’s girlfriend.”

Her gaze locked on mine, and I could see her formulate the recollection of who I was and where we’d met. It dawned on her that I was a friend of Cheney Phillips’s and someone who now knew more about her than I should. I was still putting the pieces together but I’d already gotten the picture. It was her house Pinky had broken into when he stole Len’s packet of pictures. She’d probably taken the photographs herself, documenting the link between the vice detective and Dante’s brother. What I knew without even asking was that she’d been planted in Dante’s office to pick up the same sort of inside dope that Cappi was spilling to the cops.

I heard a soft ping. The elevator doors opened and I stepped in. She watched, transfixed, as the doors slid shut. She was pale and her expression had turned from fear to dread.

It was a moment I enjoyed perhaps more than I should have.

29

DANTE

In the rear of the limousine, Dante donned his reading glasses while he studied the spreadsheet Saul had sent to the house by messenger the night before. This was a comprehensive view of his finances, pages he’d shred when he’d absorbed the content. He’d meant to go over the report when it first arrived, but he was distracted by the revelation from Nora’s offhand remark at the beach house that day. He wondered if there was any way he could have known she’d been married to Tripp Lanahan, of all people. Dante could count on the fingers of one hand men who’d come to his defense. Tripp had seen value in him, had successfully challenged bank policy for him, an unprecedented gesture of trust and confidence. Tripp had also taken a raft of shit from the bank for approving the loan, but he’d shrugged off the criticism and stuck to his guns. Dante was never sure why he’d done it, but it meant the world to him. In his mind, buying the big old house made him almost respectable, and he’d never missed a payment. In fact, he’d paid it off six years early and now owned it free and clear. Since then he’d worked hard to erase the taint of gangsterdom that dogged his days. It was a reputation he couldn’t seem to shake. He was tired of the burden and tired of trying to free himself from the power struggles and the necessity for domination. Until recently when he’d pictured his escape, it was always in the vague and cloudy future. It had helped immensely to know he had a way out, but now that the reality loomed before him, he was reluctant to act. It would make all the difference if Nora agreed to go with him, but what were the chances once she knew the part he’d played in Phillip’s death? He was doomed if he stayed and doomed if he left without her. Uncle Alfredo was another loss he wasn’t ready to face. Alfredo loved him as his father never had, and even with his life slipping away, he was Dante’s anchor. Dante couldn’t imagine leaving while the man could still draw breath.