In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [105]
He strolled into the office of a yacht broker, where he expressed interest in a power vessel, and found out that quite a few guys lived on their boats. Mario thought a man could easily hide out there. But even a killer had to eat. And, knowing Gus, he also had to drink.
He drove around the immediate neighborhood in search of the nearest food and liquor stores. Within walking distance was a mini-mall with a 7-Eleven, and next to it, a small, nondescript liquor store with iron bars on the windows. There were other stores nearby, bigger, brighter, more open. He knew Gus would avoid those.
Mario was not a patient man, but he parked his car in that mini-mall and settled down to wait. He was in this for the long haul.
It was dark when Gus walked out of the marina and crossed the road to the liquor store to buy vodka. He had no appetite, but he needed liquor to numb his befuddled brain. He picked up four bottles of Smirnoff and half a dozen candy bars and walked back out again. He hesitated outside the 7-Eleven, then he went in, chose a couple of chicken tacos, waited uneasily in line to pay, then hurried back.
It was ironic, Mario thought, that Aramanov’s disguise was pretty much like his own: the mustache, the glasses, only instead of the silver toupee, Gus had shaved his head and was now completely bald. Somehow, it only served to emphasize his pit-bull appearance.
The Town Car slipped out of the lot, the engine idling, just keeping Gus in sight, but staying far enough back so he didn’t notice. Mario had a lot of experience at this game; he was an expert. At the marina, he parked and followed Aramanov on foot.
Gus let himself into the slip and climbed aboard an old, rust-stained twenty-eight-foot Bayliner in bad need of a paint job. It was owned by a man who no longer existed, having been carefully eliminated by Gus due to the fact that he owed money to the wrong people. Gus had kept the boat for himself, using it as a kind of floating bachelor pad when he was in LA on business. There were plenty of singles’ apartments at the marina and a lively bar scene. It wasn’t difficult to pick up a woman, especially when you had a Mercedes and a boat, and at night, in the dim light, the old Bayliner didn’t look half as bad as it really was.
He stumbled down the few stairs into the cabin, slumped onto the stained blue canvas banquette, and placed his Smirnoffs on the table in front of him. He opened the first one and took a long drink.
The vodka didn’t make him feel better, only slowed his brain down a bit. He was screwed and he knew it. He had been going over the scenario and there was only one chance. Even that was risky, and meant a life in prison. The choice was not a happy one.
He pulled the wrapper off a Snickers bar and devoured it in a couple of quick bites, washing it down with more vodka. He wondered what Lila was doing, but he couldn’t even bring himself to think about his children. They were no longer his. He had forfeited any right to them, he understood that. He wouldn’t have felt half so bad about it, though, if he had come out of it with a stash of money and a new passport, plus a one-way ticket to Europe, or South America. But it was too late for that.
He was sitting there, contemplating his mistakes, when he heard a noise. He lifted his head, sniffing the air like the dog he so resembled, testing the wind for the presence of a stranger. The wind had come up and he felt a movement under the boat. There it was again. It must be the rigging tapping against the masts outside.
He was thinking that if at least he had to kill a guy and inherit a boat, it should have been a worthy seagoing