Julia nodded. “I can see that in the file. My—I mean, my thought exactly—was that you were negotiating with the Russo family, specifically the Don. This was before he was killed.”
“Yes.” I remembered the controversy. “The Moretti family was involved. There was a territorial dispute. It involved the Russo and Moretti families and the Torres family. Diego Torres, to be specific.
“See, he knew the club was catering to Mexicans. That, in and of itself, wasn’t necessarily an issue, but the border of the territory was under contention. CS13—”
“The Calle Sombra 13?” Julia asked.
“Yes. This gang is led by Torres. He was disputing the Morettis’ claim that their line went down to Roosevelt Avenue.The Calle Sombra 13 said the Italian’s turf didn’t stretch past Corona Avenue.”
“And so the club…” Julia nodded in understanding. “The file says you were in the process of buying into this club. Is that correct?”
“I've had good relationships with the Morettis and the Russos going back a long time. We had hoped that my involvement could help smooth over any issues with Torres. But that all ended with the death of Big Sal.”
“And what happened?” She tapped the file. “It doesn’t say here.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” I held up my hands. “When Big Sal was hit, nobody knew where it came from. We still don’t. Nobody has taken responsibility for it. It makes no sense for the Moretti family to kill an ally, and I certainly had no incentive. I lost a ton of money when he was killed.”
“So CS13?” Julia’s eyes widened. “A Mexican street gang took out—killed Salvatore Russo?”
I shook my head and raised my hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “I’m baffled. But… no, I don’t think Torres would have been that short-sighted and irresponsible. What could he possibly hope to gain by starting a war? It would have killed the club for starters, and everyone would have lost a small fortune.”
“So it’s a giant mystery?” Julia sighed as if she was personally involved. “There’s an accounting sheet in here that includes a personal note.”
“There is.” I pointed to the folder. “We were going to celebrate.”
Julia leafed through the pages and stopped when she found it. She read the note in a deadpan. “Hope this is acceptable to you Q. If so, we’ll celebrate in a week with Cubans and shots of Ultra.” She tapped the page. “Then there’s the initials S and R. I’m assuming that’s Salvatore Russo?”
“Indeed. He signed off on the accounting personally. His way of guaranteeing the numbers.”
“And the Ultra?” Julia looked at me, as if questioning me in a police interrogation.
“Yeah. Big Sal liked this tequila. Clase Azul Ultra. It was an Añejo that came in a hand-painted bottle. That, and Cohiba Behike cigars. The man had taste. I’m sure he’s upstairs sharing cigars with Sinatra.”
“You sound like you liked him?”
“Big Sal?” I laughed. “Are you kidding? You couldn’t not like Big Sal, I mean, unless you were his enemy. To be honest, even if we were enemies, I’d like the guy. He was a character. And yes… we were business associates, but friendly ones. I liked him well enough. As you can see there, I trusted him enough to go into business with him.”
Julia closed the file. “Maybe whoever tried to kill you is the same person who killed him?”
She had a point. I’d been thinking the same thing over the weekend, in between being suspicious of Julia herself. It was possible all this traced back to CS13, but that didn’t make sense. It also didn’t make sense that the Morettis would double-cross me and Sal. I met Julia’s gaze and spoke something I believed deep in my gut. “I hope his family finds out who did this and gets to do what needs to be done.”
“I hope so too.” Her voice held a sad, cold tone.
I tilted my head. “It sounds like this is personal.”
Her back straightened and she sat up taller in the chair, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, I mean, I’m hoping this all ends well.”
“You sure you never met Big Sal?” I raised a brow. I measured her response carefully, curious to gauge what she didn’t say.
“I’m sure I haven’t.”
She sounded sincere but I detected a hint of uncertainty in her voice. As if there was a story behind it, and she didn’twant to share. “Maybe you ran into him once and you weren’t introduced. It’s possible you crossed paths.”
She shrugged. “Maybe, but I think I’d have remembered.”
“Probably.” I nodded, certain she would have remembered. He’d been a larger-than-life character. I was sorry he was gone. “I think you’re right. You’d have remembered him if you were ever in the same room for more than a minute.”
“Sounds like it. I’m—well, I guess…” She looked lost, unsure of herself in a way I'd never seen before. “I’m feeling a bit out of sorts. It’s past quitting time anyway. I’ll stay late if—”
