by Darcia Helle
He told Ruby that he had errands to run and wouldn’t be back. Outside, heavy clouds had begun to gather overhead. The air already felt wet. He climbed into his Porsche and lowered the windows. While he waited for the air conditioner to cool, he grabbed his cell phone from the glove box and punched in Sean’s number.
When Sean answered, Michael said, “Can you meet me?”
“Half hour.”
“See you then.”
The first drop of rain hit the windshield as Michael pulled out of the lot. Ruby’s earlier admonishments still nagged at him. She’d been right; he was hiding in his work. Both jobs. That much he might admit to, though he’d certainly never considered the comparison to his father’s alcoholism. That was absurd.
Still, somewhere deep inside he acknowledged the ring of truth.
“Damn you, Ruby,” Michael muttered. But the feeling behind the words was more irritation with himself than anger with Ruby.
Chapter 19
“This place isn’t the same since Rhonda left,” Sean said.
“Put a definite damper on the scenery,” Michael replied.
Rhonda had been the bartender at The Rusty Anchor for nearly a decade. She’d managed to remain feminine while retaining a tough edge that even the men didn’t mess with. Rhonda remembered what everyone drank but she never asked and didn’t want to know anything personal. Not even a first name. Her curves and full lips had been the only saving grace to this otherwise dreary barroom.
Sean said, “I heard she moved to Tennessee with some guy she met on the Internet.”
“Good for her,” Michael replied. “At least she knows how to take care of herself if the guy turns out to be a psycho.”
“Yeah, but now we’re stuck with Josh and all his piercings. Why would anyone want six steel balls stuck in his eyebrow?”
“Goes with the nipple rings?”
Sean grimaced. “Nipple rings?”
“You can see them through his t-shirt,” Michael said.
Sean glanced across the room and briefly studied Josh. “I don’t get it,” he said at last.
Sean had an easy grin and a deep tan. He sat across from Michael, no tension in his muscles, no guilt in his eyes. Nothing about him indicated he was a killer. Michael swallowed a mouthful of Guinness, then said, “I’m hoping you can provide me with some info.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You know a guy by the name of Antonio Lott?”
“Wanna-be banger,” Sean replied. “Goes by the name Lotto. Thinks his handful of slimy friends are his gang. Street dealer. Heroin. Ecstasy. Coke. He’s your basic piece of shit.”
“These friends of his,” Michael said, “How loyal do you think they are?”
“I can’t give you an answer to that.”
“Cops on him?”
“Doubt it. He’s not that high up on the radar.” Sean leaned back, eyeing Michael with a slight smirk. “But you appear to be on him. And I can only assume it’s the superhero in you seeking justice.”
A local prostitute had strolled in and was now leaning against the bar, precariously balanced on spike-heeled sandals, watching the two of them. She winked when she caught Michael’s eye. Mammoth breasts strained against a sheer tank top that rose on a protruding, fleshy stomach. “Hey baby!” she called.
Michael turned back to Sean, who rolled his eyes and muttered, “Banging her would be like sharing a condom with a roomful of strangers. No matter how many times you rinse the thing out, no way it’ll ever get clean.”
Michael broke into laughter. Sean swallowed the remainder of his beer and said, “Let’s go outside.”
They went around to the back of the lot and slid into Michael’s Porsche. The doors closed and wet heat engulfed them. Michael stuck the key in the ignition and they waited in silence for the air conditioning to take effect. Finally Michael said, “A friend of mine’s in trouble.”
“Okay.”
“This Lotto guy wants her dead.”
“So you’re gonna do him first.”
“Thinking about it.”
Sean nodded. “And you’re worried about his pack rats coming after her later. Of course, you could do them all. Solve the problem entirely.”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”
“Hell, that’s how I’d handle it.”
“I know.”
“You do what you need to do,” Sean said. “I’ll let you know if I hear any talk about the girl. What’s her name?”
“Nicki.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.”
Sean started to push the door open, but turned back and said, “She know you’re doing this?”
Michael looked down at the steering wheel and sighed. “She knows I’m involved.”
“You trust her?”
“Absolutely.”
Sean gave a slight nod. Then he was gone and Michael was left to plan a murder.
Chapter 20
Nicki lived in a small studio apartment in one of those neighborhoods that make up most of the crime statistics. The stucco on the outside had recently been repainted that bright peach that so many Floridians seemed fond of. The attraction totally eluded Michael.
He turned onto the narrow driveway that led out to the back parking lot. He couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened to Nicki back there had the two teenagers not shown up. Would he even have known? Murders weren’t exactly rare these days. And a murdered ex-prostitute with no family was hardly newsworthy. At least that’s how the media saw things.
As he climbed out of his car, his cell phone chirped. After checking the caller ID, he flipped it open. “Must be karma or something,” he said. “I just got to your place.”
“She called me,” Nicki said.
“Who?”
“Isabel. Lott’s girlfriend.”
“Okay. What did she say?”
“He offered five grand to whichever one of his friends found me first,” Nicki said. “Then he told her he’d kill her if he didn’t find me soon. She was told to pass that message along to me.”
Michael blew out a heavy breath. That certainly complicated things. Now if he took Lott out, his goons might be more apt to retaliate. Plus he had a deadline. Perfect.
“I know she was stupid to go back to him,” Nicki was saying. “But she shouldn’t have to die for being stupid.”
“I know.”
“She also told me that if I go to the cops, his friends will take care of her. Then me.”
“Why doesn’t she go back to the shelter?” Michael asked. “She’ll be safe there until this is over.”
“She’s terrified of what he’ll do to the people there now that he knows where it is. She’s convinced he’ll find her wherever she goes and that it’ll be worse if she leaves.”
“Jesus.”
“What should I do?” Nicki asked. “I really suck at this helpless shit.”
“You’re not helpless.”
“No? I sure feel it.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Michael replied. “I’m outside your apartment now. I’ll grab you some clothes and be at the hotel in 20 minutes.”
***
The narrow stairway leading up to Nicki’s apartment had the same flaking yellow paint, the same musty smell. Why did that detail seem so important? Michael frowned at the feelings that tried to surface. Only a few months had passed since he’d last been here. How much had he expected to change?
On the second floor landing he turned right, passing Mrs. Farley’s apartment. Her television cranked out at full volume, just as it did every day. The dark green carpet in the hallway was that cheap indoor-outdoor stuff with a path worn straight down the middle. The apartment next to Nicki’s had a new stain in front of the door that smelled like sour milk. Michael stepped past it and stuck the key in Nicki’s lock.
While Nicki’s apartment was small, she’d always kept it neat. He’d started coming here a few months after meeting her, at the p
oint when their relationship turned from client-hooker to friends. No matter what time of day or night he’d stopped by, the place had always been clean to a fault. Now, standing just inside the doorway, Michael surveyed the disaster. Furniture had been overturned. Books and magazines had been tossed on the floor.
A glance in the kitchen at the open cabinet doors and broken dishes told him this had been more than a common robbery. Antonio Lott was pissed and had become obsessed with revenge. What had he gotten himself into here? With a sigh, Michael pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Nicki’s number.
Michael gave Nicki a brief explanation of what had happened. Then he said, “Did you have anything valuable in here? Anything you want me to look for?”
“My panty drawer,” Nicki said.
“What?”
“My panty drawer. Was he in there?”
“I haven’t been in your bedroom,” Michael said. “I’ll look.” As he walked down the hall, he asked, “What did you have in there?”
“Panties.”
“Panties?”
“Yeah,” Nicki said. “What did you expect me to have in my panty drawer?”
“Are your panties that valuable that the guy would steal them?”
“Some might think so,” Nicki said. “But I don’t want to know if he stole them. I want to know if he touched them. You know, went through my drawer and pawed at my panties? That grosses me out. I won’t wear them if that slime touched them.”
Michael took one look at the bedroom and groaned. All the drawers were open. Clothes had been strewn over the floor. One silky black thong dangled over the corner of a drawer. He said, “I’ll stop at the mall on my way over.”
Chapter 21
Michael rapped twice on the hotel room door. “Nicki!” he called. “It’s me.”
A second later she was standing in front of him wearing a short white hotel-issue robe tied loosely around her waist. She smiled and Michael wanted to rip the robe off her right there. For a brief moment, he couldn’t imagine why he’d stopped seeing her. Then he remembered how and why they’d met, his thoughts flashed to Christina and the murder, and the guilt set in once again.
Michael stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He handed Nicki two bags; one from Victoria’s Secret and one from Burdines. He said, “I wasn’t sure how you felt about wearing the rest of your clothes, so I bought you a couple new outfits.”
Nicki wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Did he touch everything?”
“Looked that way.”
“Gross,” Nicki muttered. She dumped the contents of the bags on the bed. She grinned happily as she held up the various pieces. “You are so good to me,” she said.
That wasn’t entirely true. He’d broken off contact without ever bothering to explain why. But Michael let the comment go and said, “I’ll go back if the stuff doesn’t fit. Or if you don’t like it.”
“Everything’s perfect,” Nicki said. “I’m going to owe you a small fortune.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Nicki started to object but Michael held up his hand and said, “I can afford it. I’m not taking your money. Arguing is pointless. It’ll just irritate me.”
“Nice to see you’re still as stubborn as always,” Nicki said with a grin.
“That’s the second time today that I’ve been called stubborn.”
“And you’re having trouble understanding why?”
“Smart ass.”
“I do my best.”
As she spoke the words, her robe dropped to the floor. One minute she was covered and talking, the next minute she was standing in front of him naked while biting the tag off her new panties.
“Which outfit should I wear?” Nicki asked.
She looked down at her pile of clothing, totally at ease with the situation. Michael, however, was anything but comfortable. His body reacted instantly. He could almost taste her skin on his lips. He muttered, “Jesus Nicki,” as he turned away.
“What?” Nicki asked sweetly. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”
“Still…”
“Since when did you get all bashful?”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re now staring at the door. Looking for termites or something?”
“Or something.”
“Have it your way,” Nicki said. “Did you find any cocaine at my apartment?”
“No,” Michael replied. “Lott was probably trying to scare you, keep you from going to the cops. Your DVD player is missing, though. And probably some other stuff.”
“I figured as much.”
“There was a guy sitting in a car across the street. Seemed to be watching the place but I don’t know for sure. I’m at a disadvantage since I don’t know what Lott looks like. This guy was driving an old black Lincoln.”
“That’s the car that bastard was driving!” Nicki exclaimed. “The one who smashed my window.”
“He watched me go in the building, watched me come out. Nothing else.”
“The Porsche probably threw him off,” Nick said. “It’s not like I hang with a rich crowd. It’s safe. You can turn around now.”
It was anything but safe. Even after all this time apart, Michael experienced a spark of arousal every time he looked at Nicki. He turned back to find her dressed in the denim shorts and thin jade green t-shirt that hugged every impossible curve. A little easier to control himself, though not much. He said, “You look great.”
Nicki watched him for a moment, her expression serious. “You’re a tough one to figure out sometimes, Michael.” Then, not waiting for a response, she flopped down on the bed and said, “I spoke to my boss.”
“And?”
“I told her I wasn’t feeling good. Needed a sick day or two. I felt terrible lying.”
“I know.”
“Do you think they’re in danger at the shelter?” Nicki asked. “I mean, Lott knows where it is and thinks he’ll find me there.”
“He might have someone watching the place but he probably knows you won’t show up there again. And I don’t see him forcing his way inside. He’s not about to leave a ton of witnesses behind.”
“Good point.”
“The real danger,” Michael said, “is more likely that he’ll be announcing the location of the shelter. That might be a problem for a lot of women later on.”
“Oh God…”
“But there’s nothing we can do about that right now.”
“How much longer do you think I’ll be stuck here?” Nicki asked. “Do we have a plan?”
“Not long and I’m working on one.”
“Care to share it with me?”
“No.”
“Michael…”
“Nicki, just let it go, okay? Let me handle it.”
“But this is my mess that I dragged you into.”
“You didn’t drag me,” Michael replied. “I’m here willingly. When there’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you. For now, it’s better that you know nothing.”
“I don’t like knowing nothing,” Nicki said with an exaggerated pout.
“I’m aware of that.”
“Fine. I know you’re the best. And I’ve always trusted you.”
“The best?”
Nicki grinned. “You have your secrets. I have mine. We’ll leave it at that.”
Michael sighed and swiped a hand through his hair. Exactly how much did Nicki know? And how had she put it all together?
He didn’t address any of this. Instead he flicked the TV on and they watched a rerun of an old sitcom while lying comfortably together on the bed.
Chapter 22
At 9 a.m., Michael finally forced his eyes open. He’d gotten home sometime after midnight and then had swum 50 laps to squelch the restless angst burning inside him. That hadn’t worked, so he’d spent another hour or so running scenarios around in his head. He’d covered about every possible way of dealing with Lott and his
gang of misfits. And still he wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to handle it.
He shoved the covers aside. As he climbed out of bed, the chill in the air gave him a shiver. His temper must have had him on fire last night. Or perhaps the heat had been left over from being so close to Nicki. He let that thought go as he adjusted the thermostat, then took a warm shower.
By the time he’d dressed it was after 9:30. He could almost see Ruby pacing the office, wondering where he was, wanting to call but not wanting to behave like a nervous mother. For the past two years his workaholic nature had him in the office by 8 each morning. He considered his business and acknowledged that he’d been neglecting it quite a lot these days. He needed to make decisions about his future but now was not the time for personal contemplation.
The refrigerator was empty. Not even a Perrier to take for the road. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. But before he went out, he backtracked to the living room to check his answering machine. Another bad habit he’d developed was not checking, or answering, his messages. He should get rid of the damn home phone. He never used it.
The light blinked the number 3 at him. The first message came from Carrie, a girl he’d briefly dated. They hadn’t actually broken up. It was more like things had fizzled out and they’d simply stopped seeing each other. Or he’d stopped calling her. Another bad habit. Right now he was hard pressed to even remember what she looked like.
Her sultry voice told him she was calling to say hello and see how he was doing. She recited her number. He should write it down. Call her. He erased the message.
The second call was a hang up. The last one came from his father. His voice had a frailty to it. Or Michael could be imagining that, knowing what was to come. The message was brief, just saying hello. The same message he’d left on Michael’s cell phone last night. The call he’d chosen to ignore and send to voice mail.
Michael made a mental note to call his father later. He couldn’t keep ignoring things. That was getting him nowhere.
His brain felt like it was fragmenting. Too many directions to go in, too much to think about. It all left him standing still and doing nothing. Out in the garage, he climbed into his Porsche and turned the volume up on the radio. Even that didn’t stop the thoughts from rolling through his head as he drove to the office.
