Page 80 of The Alibi Club

“Even if I wanted to believe you, wanting to be a better man is not enough. You have to actually be one.” All hope had left her, and her aching sadness crept back in and took up residence in her heart.

Cliff gritted his teeth and shook his head as if this was not how this was supposed to end. He made a final attempt at reasoning with her. “Think about it, Jamie. Something was stolen from Duncan Reeves but he won’t say what it was. It doesn’t get any more suspicious than that. He’s probably behind his own heist. Insurance fraud is common,” Cliff said sternly. But then, with a deeply sad expression, he sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. You only see what you want to see. You judge people. That’s some gift.”

Jamie felt the sting of that comment.

Moments later, three uniformed police officers appeared in the doorway of Piccolo and at the instruction of the SWAT team leader and Jon Robey, Cliff was handcuffed and taken into custody. He walked out without protest, like a man who knew his guilt, like a man caught, and did not look back.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I Otta Not

CLIFF

Two weeks earlier, on a searing hot day fueled by Santa Ana winds, Cliff met Melvyn Ott at Flores Pool Hall, a gritty billiards room in the grimy part of Wilmington, which prided itself on serving the more villainous part of the community. It was one of the few places in Los Angeles that flouted the rules on smoking cigarettes inside and selling dope in the bathrooms. The linoleum floors were filthy, but the felt on the pool tables was pristine. Hustlers mixed with long-haul truckers and dock rats while cheap beer and shots of whiskey lined the bar.

Through a blue haze of cigarette and weed smoke, he could make out the short, stocky frame of Melvyn Ott as he sat on a black leather barstool surrounded by three massive men, broad as refrigerators, wearing leather coats despite the autumn heat.

Cliff took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and walked over.

One of the three men stepped in front of Ott as Cliff approached. Ott leaned over, saw Cliff, and whispered something to his muscle, who then moved aside.

“If it ain’t my old buddy, Cliff ‘Mastermind’ Weston,” Ott said warmly, but with an edge in his voice.

Cliff nodded curtly. “Melvyn. Good to see you. Nice place. I used to come here a lot but then they changed chefs, so…”

“Always cracking wise, Weston. Sit down, take a load off.”

One of his gorillas-for-hire vacated the seat next to Ott and Cliff sat down.

“Drink?” Ott asked, as he held a finger up for the barkeep.

“Maybe later. You said you had some business you wanted to discuss.”

“You’re not much for foreplay, are you, Weston? What’s the rush?” Ott let out a short cackle. Then he clapped Cliff on the back and Cliff tensed up. “All right, the man means business. Let’s get down to it.”

Cliff swore he would never work with Ott again. However, to go against Melvyn Ott was a dangerous game. Ott wasn’t that smart, but he was incredibly volatile. He calculated, trying to think of how to turn him down.

“I need you to help me with a safe. Some fat cat in Manhattan Beach has a rare antiquity in a safe beneath the master bathroom floor. I have inside information that allows me to relieve him of it. Of course, I thought of you first. You’re the best in our line of work.” Ott winked.

“A dubious honor,” Cliff retorted. Manhattan Beach was his neighborhood. Melvyn Ott, to Cliff’s knowledge, had never been anywhere near that beach, or any beach for that matter. Cliff was instantly suspicious. “How’d you hear about this gig?”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis,” Ott said in his nasally New Jersey accent.

Cliff frowned. Nothing about this sounded good. “Melvyn, I thought you stuck to bank jobs. Especially since the last one we did together landed us both on ice upstate. This sounds like a whole different game, and no offense, Melvyn, but isn’t this a little out of your pay grade?”

“I’m branching out. My investment adviser says I should diversify.” Melvyn’s black eyes darted back and forth. “And no offense taken, but if you do it again, Tony here will blow out your left knee cap.”

Cliff sighed and put his hands out as a last gesture of good faith. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Weston, you’re not the only thief who can make a plan. I told you, I got an inside line on this. Almost foolproof.”

“It’s the almost that worries me,” Cliff said. He weighed his options. If he said no, there was a good chance Ott would have one of his gorillas knife him in the back in the parking lot. If he said yes, he’d be back in prison in the time it took Melvyn to finish his smoke. There was no way Ott had the intelligence to pull off a job like this.

“Ott, I just got out. I’m trying to go legit. I can’t be part of your crew.”

“Point taken. You won’t be part of the actual crew, which means you will also get no payment upon my operation’s success.” Melvyn Ott leaned in close to Cliff and said just above a whisper, “But you still owe me. Plus, aren’t you even a little curious?”

Cliff held his breath and weighed his options. He was more than a little curious. He was thirsty. He looked over to the barkeep and, not for the last time, Cliff broke parole. “Shot of bourbon?”