Judge & Jury - James Patterson [92]
“You’re hurting me, Nick.”
“We’re talking about killing a man, Andie.”
“I know that, Nick!”
Nick let her go.
She held the knife until she grew comfortable with it, and it began to fit more smoothly in her palm. She thought of all the times she had wanted to do this to Cavello—in so many dreams that she’d had, over and over again.
She pushed the blade deeper into the spot Nick had showed her.
His head bent with the pressure. “Harder. One movement. What if this is all we have, Andie? What if you’re in there with him and I can’t get there to help?”
Andie jerked her hand and dug the blade under his chin. Nick’s head lifted. His face showed pain.
“Better.” He nodded and picked up the melon. “Now show me again. I want to see you stab this fruit hard. Kill Cavello, Andie.”
Chapter 115
DOMINIC CAVELLO’S WEDNESDAY had turned to shit.
He always looked forward to Wednesdays. By then he usually couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take feeling locked up on the remote farm like a prisoner in his own house.
Wednesday was the day he rocked the daylight out of Rita, the hot little tamale who worked at the Bar Ideal. But Rita wasn’t around today. The bitch was up in Buenos Aires, at some spic family thing.
So Cavello just sat there in Bar Ideal, nursing a warm beer and sausages, horny and frustrated as hell. For years he never, ever ate alone. He was always surrounded by his men, his business partners, dozens of them if he wanted, plus an assortment of pretty bodies. All he’d have to do was snap his fingers. Now he ate alone all the time.
He might as well be in a federal prison. Well, maybe not.
Cavello was thinking how he missed that sweet little thing he’d had back at the ranch. Mariella. What a shame that was. He thought of her satiny smooth ass, her baby tits. At least—and he chuckled aloud—I was the only one to do her!
Soon the snow would start, and it wouldn’t stop for months. It would be even harder to find distractions here then. He took another swig of shitty Argentine beer. He felt so trapped and bottled up, he wanted to kick over the table. Times like this, back home, he’d snap his fingers and he could have all the women he wanted. Any age. Or put a gun in someone’s mouth and hear him beg for his life. Yes, he’d done that just for fun! He could do anything back home. He was Dominic Cavello. The Electrician.
These Incas had no idea who he was.
Cavello got up and tossed a few crumpled bills on the table. He went outside and nodded to Lucha and Juan, who were in the Range Rover across the street. He started to head up the hill in his black leather topcoat, his shoulders hunched against the stiffening wind.
Fuck. This. Shit.
With his bodyguards trailing, Dominic Cavello turned up the hill away from the port and headed toward Magellanes. Two dogs were barking, tearing at strips of meat from a tipped-over garbage can. Pretty soon, they would be fighting each other for the scraps. That was his amusement now. He pulled out his gun—shot one of the dogs. Felt better.
Then he turned on Magellanes. What else was there to do today except smoke a fat Cohiba and then go home?
Chapter 116
ANDIE’S CELL PHONE buzzed. She didn’t answer. She knew what it meant.
She turned to the short, mustached clerk in the cigar shop who barely spoke English. “These are the best, you say? They’re Cuban, right?”
“Sí, Señora, the best in the world. At any price.”
Andie nervously held out the two cigar boxes. Montecristos and Cohibas. She waited for the sound she knew would be coming, the little bell tinkling behind her—Cavello entering the store. A tingle of nerves danced down her spine. This isn’t some stupid play, she said to herself. You’re not on stage here. You have to calm yourself and do this right. You have to be perfect.
Finally, she heard the bell, then the whine of the door opening. Andie tensed but never looked behind. She knew who it was.
“But which is the best?” she kept asking. “It’s a gift for my husband, and they