BELLE OF THE FELONY BALL
Rooftop Lounge – The Clarendon Hotel
10:15 PM
Shane dropped her third empty martini glass to the bar and asked for another. Her eyes were drawn curiously across the rooftop deck, weaving in and out of bodies in search of just one that looked familiar from the list Jack had finally sent her through email, twenty minutes before leaving the room. There were none, only mingling crowds of leggy blondes and their cowboy dates. This wasn't a mafia party at all. It was a party in honor of Jimmy, supported by the local celebrity wranglers and housewives.
But there were still flourishing glass bowls of cocaine, gun holsters revealed in the twinkling lights left and right, and alcohol splashed around like rain in a drought. It was remarkable to her, that this was what Tuzla had spent the last eight years doing under an assumed name, all while he was one of America's most wanted men.
She scoffed at the thought and tore through another drink, listening to Carter, schmoozing Miss Arizona a yard or two away, and Jeff reading out room numbers to Andy from a separate, disclosed location at the pool just below where she was.
"Rod Massino, he's Vic Amuso's nephew."
"The Vic Amuso?"
"Yeah, Loop. Do you know another one?"
In her ear bud, Shane heard Andy gulp in frustration and open a door.
"I'm in, give me a minute to wire it and then you can read the next one."
"Fine." Sands growled and she laughed. "Shane, remind me again why the hell we're bothering with suite taps when we should be finding the trade location?"
Turning from out of clear view, she sipped at her drink as she whispered to him, "These guys aren't drinking and snorting angel dust just for the hell of it, Jeff. They're after women. And one of them is going to end up using that room before the night is over. It's just precautionary and something for you to occupy your time with until I find the trade. Chill, would you?"
Her snap made him growl even louder and she shook her head at him, until she felt a warm hand on the bare lower back of her dress. Shane turned abruptly to see the smiling face of an apparently single looking Italian.
"Hi there, miss. This spot isn't taken is it?"
His gesture to the open piece of cement next to her at the bar, was a good line, but she'd heard better before. She knew the man's face instantly from the fax, and inside, was leaping in bounds for having caught one. Finally, she thought as she twisted her back against the bar.
"No," she answered sweetly with a flutter of her eyes, "It's free and clear."
"I'm Emilio."
"Emilio," she placed her hand in his as he kissed it. "I'm Kate."
"Kate or Katie?"
There was a soft, New York purr in his voice that made her want to ram her knee into his balls, steal his guns and money, and throw him into the pool. But she resisted, and played the part of a lonely, brunette musician at a drug induced rooftop party, quite well, if she did say so herself.
From down below at the pool, where Sands resided on a corner lounge chair, glasses on, hat tilted and boots kicked up, he too was gaining fair attention, all unknowingly of course. There was a tap on his shoulder, a soft tap, like that from only a woman, and he turned his face up to smell the alcohol and evening desert heat radiating from her skin. Her wet skin.
"Hi," she pronounced with an outstretched hand that he quite obviously couldn't see. "I'm Tiffany. I don't think we've met."
He raised his hand despite it, thinking that she would eventually reach for his to shake, and she did with her dripping hand and long nails tickling his palm. Sands threw on his accent and went along with it.
"Nice to meet ya."
"What's your name?"
"Uh, Luke ma'am."
The girl, who sounded as if she were no more aged than twenty-three, sat down on his chair, suddenly intrigued by him.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses out here? It's nighttime."
Oh great, he thought with a teasing smirk, she's a Harvard graduate just like Lily.
"I'm blind, ma'am."
She gasped then, like a child would, or a teenage girl who just ran into Brad Pitt.
"You're kidding," her tiny hands began to stroke his legs and hands, attempting to come off motherly instead of just like a drunken slut. "That's awful. You're so handsome though, I would have never known."
She began to pet his mustache, the one that would eventually fall off if it gained too much attention, and he moved his face away in defense when he heard Miles in his ear again.
"Dude, need the next room number. Quick."
"I'm sorry miss, but--" he raised his right hand, wiggling his fingers out close to where he could feel her breath, allowing for her to see the ring. "I'm married."
"Oh," she began, suddenly uninterested but sweetly defense all the same. "That's fine. Your wife is a lucky woman."
And all at once, from three different directions and locations, he heard simultaneous agreement with the sound of the girl's wet feet as she walked away.
"That's right, bitch."
"He's taken, but I'll pretend to be blind for those tits."
"Keep it in your pants, man."
This was one of those moments he wished he had eyes, even if just long enough to roll them and make his point firmly.
"We got a bunch of comedians on the line tonight, huh? For Christ sake…"
They all laughed and somehow returned to what they were doing and with whom they were doing it. Andy begged for the next room number again though, and while Sands assisted him with finding it out and tapping the room of rat #2, a Nicky Luchese, he sat twisting his wedding band on his finger, thinking about all the reasons that tall, half naked, wet blondes, did very little for him anymore.
Pool Veranda – Two minutes later…
With one leg hiked against another and the skirt of her dress draped high enough on her skin to tempt the coward sitting beside her on the patio canopy bed, Lily had slyly managed to keep an eye on her husband from clear across the pool deck. The Paris Hilton wannabe in the slinky pink bikini, had tempted him for about as long as it took her to finish off her third cosmopolitan.
One flat minute and no more.
"It can be a risky business sometimes, sure, but ya know, puts food on the table so to speak. Ya know what I mean, eh?"
Her attention was forced back to the slimy little Italian man at her side, softly stroking her knuckles where they rested on the mattress.
"I do, absolutely." She flipped the flirtation switch right back on, as she began playing with the buttons on his silk shirt. "I mean, I think it takes a real man to put his life in danger every day. I just can't imagine."
He smirked down at her when she spread out, temptingly, teasingly almost. Lily moved her hand in between the button spaces on his shirt, shuddering at the feel of his overtly hairy chest beneath, but playing the game all the same.
"Where do you keep your gun, Nicky? Can I see it?"
With a twist of her curls on his jeweled fingers, he nodded and bit his lip for obvious reasons she could already feel grinding against her bare knee.
"What do ya say we go back to my room, Miss Lucy, and I'll show ya the whole collection."
Lily licked her lips and slid down from the canopy bed with a taunting twist of her hips as she followed closely behind him, trying not to laugh when she heard Tom chuckling in her ear.
"Dad would be horrified if he were here. He'd kill me himself."
She wanted to reply back and say, 'Jeff said the same thing about you.' But she was forced to save the comment for later, when they won this charade finally.
It didn't take long to get to Nicky's room. It was on the eleventh floor, one below where their suite was. While she stood waiting for him to open the door, she saw one young looking, distant man trip halfway down the hall and then turn back around from where he came on the elevator and run to it nervously. Part of her wanted to laugh, but she was led inside by Nick Luchese's fat, greasy fingertips before she got the chance.
One minute earlier…
In one ear he had Jeff explaining the quickest route to the eleventh floor of the hotel, and in the other, to calm his nerves as was usual, Andy had the bud from his iPod blasting Tom Petty. He was focused, shuffling into the elevator from the 10th floor, and with a single flick of the button, he shot right up to the next one.
"It's straight down that hall, right out of the elevator. #1123."
"Alright, I got it," he murmured back to Sands, trudging down the colorfully carpeted hallway.
He was halfway there, halfway between the lyrics of Learning to Fly, when he heard voices coming from the direction opposite him, a man and a younger woman. He tried to ignore it and stay calm, stay normal. But before he was within ten feet of Nicky Luchese's door, he saw none other the man in question, turning the corner of the hall in his navy blue silk shirt, with a slender, dark haired woman on his arm, wearing a barely there blue dress to match.
Andy bit his tongue as he shifted away on his dress shoes, somehow tripping over air, wires and that same colorful carpet. He wasn't sure if they saw him, or if they cared, but he was skipping right back down the hall toward the elevator when he heard the room's door click shut.
"Fuck. Fuck, man."
"What the hell, Rookie? Are you running?"
"He came back early. He's got a girl in there with him."
"Jesus," he heard Sands grumble as he pushed the button for the 12th floor inside of the elevator again, headed back to their suite. "Ah fuck it, Fruit Loop. Let him have some fun with his little whore. We'll tap the other guys."
Eight minutes later…
Lily stood in the middle of the room, twirling around with a shift of her hips back and forth every so often, as she sipped at a cold beer and swayed to Chicago on the radio low. Nicky was relaxed on his couch, watching her, accepting the bulge in his pants as it grew firmer and firmer with every tipsy little twist her slim body made inside of her dress.
Eventually though, he couldn't resist any longer.
"Lucy, in the Sky with Diamonds," he teased as Lily stopped her movement and with a flirty grin, sauntered to where his hand was held out for her, "Come over here and show me how ya tango."
When her fingers curled within his, she felt a jolt of her body as the alcohol rushed in her veins, sending her flying directly into Nicky's lap on the couch. She laughed out playfully, keeping herself in check as far as seduction and secrecy went. She wrapped her legs around his lap, changing her weight every so often, trying to avoid the solid rock awaiting beneath her dress.
There was no way that was leaving its cage.
Nicky pulled her towards him, biting down harshly on her neck with revolting laps of his tongue over the wounds he created, all while she pretended to be dry humping him in an effort to get at the gun on her left hip. It was there, just an inch too far away to grasp a hold of.
"Little Lucy wants to dance all night, huh?"
His breathy, rum soaked laughter on her neck and breasts was more than she'd bargained for, and it made her reach that much farther, push herself that much harder to grasp the handle of the gun under her dress.
"Let me show ya how we do it in Brooklyn, my wild western, ballerina."
The man gripped her hips firmly, just as she managed to tug the gun from its holster. He was seconds away from turning Lily over to her back on the couch, pulling his aforementioned 'gun' free of all constraint and taking her as hard he could.
But she was quicker than Nicky Luchese. She had trained with the best in America. She was Thomas Hanson's daughter and this gave her all the advantage she needed.
Nicky's mouth was a simple inch from hers when he stopped at the intrusion against his gut, the barrel of his Little Lucy's gun. His eyes widened for all of a second, he gulped, and that's when she made her move.
"I want you to tell me where in this building, your boss Freddy is making his weapons trade."
She watched carefully as the older, fatter, plenty uglier man's eyes bulged further, his hands trembling from her hips as the gun poked his ribcage, somehow.
"This bullet is going to blow right through your liver. And you will bleed to death, right here, alone, if you don't tell me where Freddy is trading the money for the guns."
He said nothing, in the purest of shock, but Lily was fair, and she gave him one more chance.
"Tell me, Nicky. Save yourself."
This time, through gritted teeth and popping vision, he shook his head and gave her all the reason she needed to let her shaky finger react against the trigger.
And it did, swiftly so.
Tommy was right about the sound of the fire, it was barely audible unless you were directly over it like she was. The bullet grunted the same as Nicky when it spun from the pin barrel and whirred through his gut, taking his liver for all its was worth, just like she had promised.
Lily wasn't sure how she felt when it happened, except to say that she felt slightly sick to her own stomach watching him bleed to death on that couch, and on the other hand, she felt entirely too relieved for words. It was one man down, leading her off to the next, and eventually, to the man who would provide her brother freedom with his own well dug grave.
She sighed, returned the gun to safety, tucked it into the holster at her leg, and then quickly and quietly snuck out of Nicky Luchese's room, dabbing at the tiny blood stains on the front of her dress. Lily took the elevator to the 12th floor again, hoping to avoid anyone from Shane's posse at best, until she could get to her and Tommy's room and change into her next disguise.
She was nearly there when she heard Tommy whisper in her ear, "Halfway done, monkey."
Four minutes earlier…
While Shane worked her magic on Mr. Emilio, sole heir to the Tuzla fortune due to his lack of sons, Carter teased and tickled Miss Arizona (ex-girlfriend to Tuzla's brother in law) right into another two margaritas and Miles was losing his mind in the suite, attempting to unravel and aide the now broken wire taps from the hallway below.
Jeff was sitting idly somewhere in his head, sighing and drinking one too many beers to be as close as he was to the University of Arizona cheerleading squad, all clad in bikinis. It was the wrong place for someone like him, a victim, a blind man with a reason to be coddled by anything with breasts and long legs.
But it was the furthest thing from any of their minds. Shane had convinced Emilio Sandino to take her for a spin in his mock father's room, since he promised that 'Freddy' would be downstairs making deals in the Polo Club balcony suite for the rest of the night.
That was the slip up she'd waited for. They had their new lead.
From the bathroom of Emilio's, or rather Tuzla's suite only minutes later, she directed the traffic of her posse.
"Andy, screw the wires. It doesn't matter. I want you to go get Jeff and bring him down to the Polo Club in the lobby."
She heard Miles grunt but eventually agree. "And Carter. If you can hear me above all that noise, take Miss Arizona to a room before she falls and breaks her goddamn neck. Then meet us in the lobby."
She heard two loud coughs as his coded response between Sands' chuckling, and then when she was content with the way things had turned out, she tossed the bud to the counter and spun back on her black stilettos, headed into the bedroom again.
Poor Emilio, she sighed wickedly with a smirk and fingers dancing over the gun at her upper hip, beneath the flowing black silk and all, he never saw it coming.
12 minutes later…
With one hand firm on Sands' arm, Miles lead him through the scours of half naked women with beautiful 'pom poms' on the pool patio, and back inside of the hotel. They walked from the end of the long hallway on the 10th floor, to the elevator at the mid section of the hotel, and then rode it up to the 12th floor once again, so that they could collect their guns and ammunition for the first time that night.
Sands shuffled around on one of the beds, rifling through the insane plethora of weaponry Shane had toted in from the emergency exit of the hotel earlier in the day. There were rifles, handguns, and even two shotguns. He wasn't sure how they'd managed to continuously collect this much shit, but it was there for the taking, and he was glad for at least that much.
He felt out two identical semi-automatics and tucked them into his double breasted holster, then threw his suit jacket back on, with a few minor accessories of his own to boost the ensemble. Even with a mirror, he was sure, through his wandering isolation of mind and alcohol that he looked like a serious badass. And he told himself this, over and over while he waited for Miles to finish packing his heat however he could.
"Can you fucking hurry, Rook? Tuzla isn't going to care if you wear lipstick for him or not."
Andy sneered and tugged on Sands' hand, throwing open the door of the room with nothing but fierce determination, especially after having lost one room on the taps list.
"Calm down, Geek Squad. You're starting to turn into me," Sands' chuckled as Miles pulled him out of the room and into the hall, never noticing the woman slipping into the room just next door. The woman in the blue dress from the 11th floor.
As he stood there though, waiting on Andy with his nifty bag of tricks, Sands could have sworn that he smelled something familiar wafting in the air. It was pungent, but sweet, almost like candy but even better, like spices. He sniffed at the air in certainty that he looked like a fool, only to come to the conclusion that it wasn't the perfume of any one of the bouncing pair of tits walking up and down the halls throughout the evening.
"Do you smell Chanel in here or is it just me?"
Andy rolled his eyes, refusing to answer, and tugged on Sands' arm as they stumbled towards the elevator again, headed for the lobby.
35 seconds earlier…
With a worried swagger of sorts, Lily ripped her silver heels from her feet and tore out of the elevator as it rung for the 12th floor again. She hurried along the soft carpet, keeping her eyes peeled for Shane, for Carter, Jeff or Miles, any of them. They all seemed to be elsewhere, or least safe inside their room, so she slowed her pace and took a breath.
"I'm heading into the Polo Club downstairs, Lil. I'll see if Tuzla's hanging around in there and update you on what I find."
With another deep breath and baby steps towards the door of their suite, she replied quietly, "Okay. I'm heading back up to the roof to find Rod. I'll see what I can get from him."
"That's my girl, stay safe."
She smiled and took one more step towards suite #1205, theirs, when she began to speak to him, "Don't worry, I will--"
Her last word came off as a desperate choke when she saw the door to suite #1206 fly open as someone fell out laughing.
"Calm down, Geek Squad. You're starting to turn into me."
Jeff hit the opposite wall chuckling as Andy too turned out of the room, at the exact moment that Lily's swipe card went through her own door and her hand jiggled to allow her access back inside for safety. As soon as her door was shut and locked, she fell against it, breathing heavily and listening intently as she heard his voice from under the doorway.
"Do you smell Chanel in here or is it just me?"
Before there was a response from Andy, they were only footsteps as they moved away.
29 minutes later…
There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Wait for Carter to finish seducing Miss Arizona right under the sheets where she belonged. Wait until Shane had taken complete care of Mr. Emilio and his runner-up balls to the throne of Jimmy's Kingdom. Wait and see when their opportunity would come spiraling down and grant them the right moment to break up Tuzla's little cocktail contract party in the opposing room of the Polo Club.
They sat there, Sands and Andy, bored, tired and counting as the seconds ticked on without them. Eventually, at least for someone with an unstable capacity for silence and monotony like Sands, it would become too much and he would have left.
That was, if hope hadn't arrived in the form of an innocent and tipsy giggle from inside both of their heads. They weren't dreaming, they knew it when they both perked up in the corner booth seat, Miles' staring wildly at Sands and Sands smirking with a twist. It was entertainment for any man, finally.
"It's coming from the taps in Massino's room."
"Good ole' Hot Rod, huh?" Sands teased, focusing on the voices more closely. "Let's see what he's packing."
Andy laughed as they both sat listening. It was easy to do, with Shane having abandoned her earpiece altogether and Carter working so quietly on his beauty queen lay, that there were only whispers of words and sheets to block out the more interesting giggles and stumbling words from Rod's room.
"So, what'll it be Miss Isabelle, a Martini? You look like a chocolate martini kind of girl."
There was another sugary sigh that made both of their pants tighten from under the table.
"That sounds nice. Although, I'd rather have a chocolate covered Rod."
They choked on their own tongues in laughing at the sound of the girl's voice, the tangy, Western desire dripping right off of every syllable she mouthed deep in the confines of their minds.
"That can be arranged, I think. Shall we skip the martinis then?"
"Please. Let's not waste time."
"Desperate are ya, sweetness?"
"Desperate for a man like you."
There was a brief moment, where Sands felt something well within his heart as he listened to the woman that one of their enemy's had grown so fond of. There was something suddenly, in the way she let her words fall loosely in the throes of passion, in the reaction of another man's body to hers, and with the falling high of too many cosmopolitans in the moonlight.
There was something.
"Can you believe this cheesy mother fucker, man? He's got your game beat, that's for sure."
Sands ignored Andy for the voice of the young girl, obviously too young to be cavorting with a righteous 50-something bastard like Rod Massino.
"Can I borrow this?"
A grunt and a deep chuckling growl later, and they both heard the whipping of a belt being removed from pants, then tossed against a wall or table.
"Relax Mr. Massino…this won't take long…"
Sands' found himself gulping for no other apparent reason than the way the girl's voice continued to haunt his mind, since that's the only thing he could see. He couldn't see Andy in front of him, or the cocktail waitress leaving him a fresh beer with a smile. He could only see the girl, lost somewhere in a tangle of clothes and bed sheets with a man who wasn't him.
He hated that.
And when she spoke again, he knew exactly why.
"I'm going to make you wish you were dead…"
"Ooh, I bet you are. You naughty little rodeo Belle. Go on, ride me!"
He shot straight up in his booth seat, a sweat breaking out on his forehead from under his hat as he tore it off to the table, breathing heavily.
"Jeff? What the hell's wrong, man?"
He sucked in air tightly as he heard the wet kisses to skin in his ear, wet kisses to skin that wasn't his.
"I told you I thought I smelled Chanel upstairs. Chanel Mademoiselle," he mumbled cautiously, wiping the sweat from his brow and nose.
"So?"
Sands reached across to blindly grasp at Andy's shirt, pulling him close to his angered breathing, no different than he had in the truck that same morning.
"So, don't you hear that, the girl? Jesus, Rookie…"
"Sands' what?!"
He pounded his fist on the booth table, grunted and bit his lip before concluding under his breath.
"That's my wife."
