Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1)

by Harriet Rogers

  He pocketed his cell phone, grabbed his gun off the counter, stuffed his shield onto his belt. He was at the door when he turned back. “Stay here. Do not move from this house.” And he left. His attitude was beginning to piss me off. Like I couldn’t take care of myself. Who had rescued Belle, anyhow?

  We lasted 20 minutes. Belle and I fed each other’s bravado. She thought I had nerves of steel and I thought she had the chutzpah of a chocolate chip, macadamia nut, raisin, oatmeal cookie walking down Sesame Street and making rude gestures to Cookie Monster. Together we became Super Girl or, more accurately, Super Women. The only question was where we most wanted to go. Belle wanted to go to Susan’s condo to see if the cops got the mess we had left. If the goon was still there, she might be able to accidentally stomp on him a few times. Belle had a great deal of confidence in her ability to penetrate police barriers, with some justification. Her anger had overcome her cop phobia. I wanted to go back to Lucille’s for more cookies.

  We compromised and ate all the cookies we had brought for Jon. Then we got in the taxi and headed toward Susan’s condo.

  We arrived just as they were bringing the “hostage” out. He looked a little battered, like he’d been rolling around on the floor. His feet had been cut free, but his hands were still taped. He was limping.

  Jon came out of the condo after them. When he saw us, the word scowl took on new meaning. He walked over to us.

  “What part of stay don’t you understand? I feel like I’m training a fucking puppy.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Ah shit, Susan Scarpelli is probably more interested in saving herself than murdering you. Although if it were up to me, it might be a close call.” He looked like he wanted to kick the puppy, but he turned and stomped toward his car instead.

  Halfway to the car, he turned around and stomped back to me. He grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me hard on the mouth. Then he walked back to the car, got in and drove away.

  “I’ll check in tonight, sweetie. Maybe.” I smiled goofily, and did a little finger wave at the retreating car. Even if I wasn’t sure about my relationship with Jon, Jon seemed to know what direction we were headed.

  Belle stared at the man who was being loaded into a cruiser. I could see visions of trampled flesh running through her brain.

  We got in the taxi. The car must have felt the need to be among friends, because five minutes later we found ourselves at the Cool Rides office.

  It was late afternoon and all we had eaten was a few dozen cookies, so Mona ordered pizza. Comfort food would help us all talk more freely.

  “So,” I said, turning to Belle, “what did Susan say to you when they snatched you? What did she want?”

  “Mostly she just slapped me around. I think she’s into it. Like fun with S & M. Only she was S’n and I wasn’t M’n. She’d be real good at the dominatrix trade. She kept babbling about a disc. Said Horace told her I knew about it. Bastard. He was always shoving stuff off on me. She ranted about increasing some corridor. I think her daddy has her climbing walls. There’s a big weird goin’ on there. Those Freudian freaks would have a heyday.”

  “And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Maybe she has her own agenda. Have you run this by Jon? I know both of you have a problem with authority, but...” Mona trailed off.

  I spoke around a mouthful of cheese and ignored her question. Mona was right about the authority though. “So, Horace never kept any books, like about the business? Did he have a computer?”

  “Not that I knew of.”

  “Maybe it was his contacts book, on a disc.” Mona said.

  “What’s a contacts book?” I was new to the language of illicit businesses.

  Belle swallowed a bite of cheese, pepperoni, peppers, onions, and something else I hadn’t figured out yet. “Could be a list of my customers or which police could be bribed. But why would Susan want it? Why wouldn’t it be old man Scarpelli who was after it?”

  “Or maybe it didn’t belong to Horace,” I said. “If he got his hands on it, where would he stash it? Susan must have searched the apartment before they shot Horace. When you moved in with me, they ransacked my place. Then they staked out Jon’s house. Belle, they think you know where this disc is.”

  “I knew Horace inside out. I don’t think he had the balls to steal from Scarpelli. Possibly from Susan, though. He was a sexist pig. He might think a woman wouldn’t have the balls to shoot him. Based on my most recent interaction with her, I think she’d enjoy drilling someone between the eyes. She’d like to see brains splatter all over the wall. She’d want to watch someone get hacked up like a pig into pork chops with blood dripping down and pooling on the floor. She’d...” Belle stopped.

  Mona was staring at her half-eaten piece of pizza. My hand had paused halfway to my mouth. Belle was in her British upper-class mode of speaking, but the words coming out were too coarse for the accent. It was lousy dinner conversation too. I wondered if she was aware of how odd it was.

  “Okay, we’re trying to eat here. Sorry.” Belle took another bite.

  “Maybe Susan was getting ready to off the old man,” Mona said and resumed eating.

  This was beginning to read like an episode of The Sopranos Godfather Ten. While I was trying to sort out characters, the dispatch phone rang.

  “Cool Rides, the best ride ever,” Mona purred into the receiver. “Where are you and where do you need to be?” She jotted info on paper. “Short haul. Wal-Mart to Hampshire Heights.”

  I groaned and looked at Belle. No tip, would probably want us to wait for “just a minute,” which would turn into 10 minutes while they dug up the fare and no wait fee.

  “We’ll take it,” Belle said. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door. I lifted the fare slip from Mona’s fingers, shrugged and followed.

  When I got into the car, Belle was fastening her seat belt.

  “What’s with the hurry-up?”

  “Hey, we’re going to Hamp Heights. I might want to stop at my old digs and pick up a few things. I’m running low on spandex.”

  The fare turned out to be a friend of Belle’s from her previous profession.

  “Honey, this is Miss Pussy Galore named after the James Bond character with no moral principles whatsoever.” Belle waved toward the slightly less spangled but equally voluptuous Pussy. I drove while they reminisced about the good old days of ho.

  “I was sorry to hear about Horace. I know how he was, but he did have his good times.” Pussy touched Belle’s shoulder. “That last day, I remember seeing him skateboarding with the kids. Of course, he stole the skateboard. Maybe that’s what got him killed.”

  “Huh? I don’t think those punks would shoot him for swiping their board,” Belle said.

  Pussy shook her head and gestured with perfectly manicured fingers.

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean that. He was riding one of the boards. He started getting cocky about how good he was and miscalculated. Rode it straight into the bushes, and that board launched Horace right through the front window of his own apartment. It was open ’cause it was hot and the air conditioner wasn’t working. It woulda been funny except, well, you know—what happened and all. Then I hear a pop. It sure sounded like a gunshot. Musta hit Horace.”

  “Did you see who did it?” My heartbeat picked up a notch.

  She looked at me like I was the dumb duck in the water watching the sharks circle.

  “Are you kidding? You hear gunfire around here, you get down. I don’t think he knew they were in there. Probably scared the shit outta them when he sailed through the window.”

  I hadn’t asked Jon about the autopsy report. Not that he would have told me. I had assumed it was an execution-style shooting. I might pass this information along. If Jon was really nice to me. Or even if he wasn’t.

  Belle’s friend was true to form and emptied the loose change out of her bag to pay the fare. Belle dug a key out and slipped under the police tape which still hung limply around the crime scene. I collected my money and
joined her.

  I was on the top step when a wizened old geezer staggered up the sidewalk. His arms were thrown wide, his pants drooped and his fly was open. A little pink penis hung out.

  “Belle,” he moaned loudly.

  Belle stuck her head out the door. “Why, hello, Mr. Ding. What’s up?”

  Certainly not him, I thought. Mr. Ding stumbled forward.

  “For old time’s sake?” He wiggled his hips. His penis flopped around like a rubber hot dog or a short, fat, worm. He took another step and fell, face first, into the bushes.

  “What do you want me to do with him?” I asked.

  “Is he breathing?”

  I leaned a little closer. “Yeah.” The air around him smelled horrible.

  “Leave him be. He’ll sleep it off.”

  I went inside. “Did you use to…uh…service him?”

  “Mr. Ding? God no. I used to cook for him. But he knew what I did. He was forever trying.” She smiled.

  I thought about Belle’s previous employment and wondered what it would be like to choose your sexual partners based on their wallets. A lot of women do that. Prostitution was just more upfront about it.

  Belle came out of the bedroom stuffing a few spandex tops in her bag. She seemed to have a never-ending supply.

  “I’ve been thinking about where Horace might hide something. I say we search the joint,” said Belle. There was fingerprint powder on a lot of surfaces. The carpet had an ominous dark brown stain on it.

  We found mostly dust. All the illegal substances had apparently been confiscated by either the police or, more likely, the murderers.

  After 10 minutes, Belle flopped onto the sofa. The apartment was hot and stuffy. I wandered over to the air conditioner.

  “Don’t bother,” Belle said. “It stopped working months ago. Horace was supposed to get it fixed. He didn’t get to it before...”

  I punched the power button anyway. The fan came on. It made such a racket I turned it off. “Something’s caught in the filter.” I gave it a little shake and turned it on again. The rattle got louder. I pulled the filter out. A CD clattered to the floor. Well, duh!

  I picked it up.

  Belle stood. “Well, what the hell! That’s gotta be it.”

  “Time to go.” I was reaching for the door when it flew open. I jumped behind it.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Susan stepped in and glared at Belle. I kept quiet.

  “I fuckin’ live here. What are you doing anywhere, bitch?” Belle charged Susan with head down in true dirty wrestling fashion. They toppled down the steps. Belle was on top, so I stayed where I was. Suddenly there was a gun in Susan’s hand.

  “Back off, bitch!” she screamed. Belle rolled off Susan and stood up. I retreated unnoticed behind the counter that separated kitchen from living room.

  “Inside.” Susan waved the gun at Belle. “I’m going to search this fucking pit until I find that damn disc. Horace said you hid it in this hellhole and I came here to find it. If I have to whack you around, so much the better.”

  I grabbed a frying pan off the stove and ducked out of sight.

  When I looked out from under the bottom of the counter, I saw three pairs of feet. One of them was large and masculine. Susan had brought backup. And another pair of nice shoes. Those would be Susan’s. No matter what else we felt about Susan, she had great taste in shoes. The masculine shoes were big and flat and plain and stood next to the counter. The addition of the bad shoe guy meant not good odds for us. On the upside, neither of them had noticed me.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Sit,” said Susan, motioning Belle to the nearest chair. Belle sat. Susan stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.

  Belle’s arm jerked up defensively and punched Susan solidly in the head. Who doesn’t know to tie up their victim before the torture begins? Susan staggered backward, dropping the gun. Belle dove off the chair after it, the bad shoe guy charged after Belle. I jumped up and put all my muscles and a lot of adrenaline into connecting the frying pan with his face. He toppled like a giant sequoia. Belle snatched the gun off the floor. Susan had the sense to retreat in the face of superior force. She tripped over Mr. Ding on her way out, made it to the car and smoked her tires as she left.

  “Bagged another one,” said Belle, looking down at the comatose body.

  I pulled the duct tape out of my purse.

  Belle nudged the body with her foot. He didn’t move. He was breathing, so we decided to leave him for the police. I added more duct tape. Belle placed a kitchen chair over him and I taped him to that as well. It would make escape a little trickier.

  “I need comfort food,” I said.

  “I want to know what the fuck is on that stupid disc,” Belle said.

  “And we should call Jon,” I added, feeling almost guilty about having found the disc before the cops.

  “Lucille will have cookies, and I saw a computer on her desk,” said Belle.

  Police Dispatch put me through to Jon. “Stevens.” He sounded distracted.

  “Hi, Jon.” I tried to sound cheery.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Just leaving Hamp Heights. We had a fare. But you might want to send a squad car over to Belle’s old apartment. Where Horace was shot.” Where there was crime-scene tape all over the place.

  “Why?” Jon’s voice was beginning to sound wary, maybe even hostile.

  “We left you a present.”

  “Does this involve duct tape?”

  “Ahhh…yeah.”

  “Jesus, Honey. Scarpelli might take out a contract on you if this keeps happening.” He sounded a bit peevish. “Where are you going now?”

  “Belle and I are thinking we might head to your place and stay in tonight.”

  “How sensible of you. I’ll be there as soon as I get the paper done on your latest trophy. And you better be there. I have a lot of questions.” He disconnected.

  “How’s Jon?” Belle smiled one of her you should do it soon smiles.

  “He’s such a cop. I think he’s feeling left out.”

  “He’s just moving in the wrong circles. He hangs with us, he’s gonna enjoy life more. Maybe he could enjoy you more, too.”

  “He’s just too controlling. That stuff scares me. He did bust me for no good reason. I was just a kid.”

  “He busted you? Now that’s a story I might need to hear, but yeah, cops do that. Doesn’t mean he can’t be good where it counts.”

  I sighed. It had been a long time since that counted.

  “I say let’s hit up Lucille and see what she’s got cookin’,” Belle said.

  We rolled Mr. Ding off the sidewalk and hauled him back to his doorway before we left. Belle pushed his hot dog back inside his pants and carefully zipped him up.

  Of course, Lucille had a batch of cookies in the oven and another on the table.

  “Is your computer new?” I asked. My computer skills were nonexistent.

  “Oh, my, yes. That’s my new baby. I just love the Internet. And all those wonderful ads about penis enlargement. Why, it starts my day off just right. I can show you some of them. I save the best. There’s one with a wonderful illustration. It looks a lot like my dearly departed husband. What a shame to cremate that part of him. But they wouldn’t remove it for me before they burned him up. I thought about having it preserved.” She took a dainty bite of cookie. “So, what do you think about this recipe?”

  I was having trouble getting past the image of preserved parts. She didn’t specify the method of preservation they had refused. My imagination couldn’t stop coming up with possibilities—pickled, embalmed, stuffed like a hunting trophy. Wall mounted?

  “Could you read a disc for us?” I asked, trying to control my overactive brain.

  “Well, of course, dear. I get CDs all the time. They have most of the good classic movies, like Deep Throat, on CD now. I have a very complete collection.”

  I bet she did. Maybe I could intro
duce her to Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

  “Can we, uh, turn this on?” asked Belle, gesturing to the computer.

  “Boot up Baby? Well of course.” Lucille joined her at the computer. She patted it on the side of the monitor and pushed a button. Baby came to life. “Did you want to surf the Net?”

  “No, we have a special CD we wanted to take a look at.”

  Lucille pushed another button. The CD holder slid silently open. I handed her the disc. She set it in the round indentation in the tray. The holder slid closed. I can identify with computers. You have to push a lot of buttons to get a response.

  A list of names flickered onto the screen. Belle crowded in behind me.

  “Jesus, I know those names,” Belle said. “Some of them work for Scarpelli. And look.” She pointed an enameled, iridescent, silver glitter fingernail at a name on the list. “That’s a cop.” Her perfect fingernail traced down the list. “Another cop.”

  It pays to have someone in the business on your side. Belle knew all sorts of people I’d never heard of.

  “So, what do you think this is? And why did Susan want it so bad? If it’s just Scarpelli’s goon squad and some bad cops, that must be pretty common knowledge.”

  “Susan is relatively new in town. Maybe she wasn’t privy to common knowledge,” said Belle.

  We were contemplating this when there was a knock on the door.

  “Should I get my firearm?” Lucille asked.

  “Let me see who it is before we blast them to kingdom come.” I stepped to the door and cracked it open.

  “Hi, Jon.” I opened the door farther.

  “Honey.” He said it with some wariness in his voice. “You going to let me in?”

  “Oh, Jonny, dear. Honey and Belle and I are just having cookies and talking about lists of police officers. Do come in. We have plenty of cookies. And maybe you know some of the officers.” Lucille’s voice had the maternal ring I had learned she used around Jon.

  Jon walked over to the plate of cookies. He took one and continued to the computer. “Playing with Baby again?”

  “Did you get my package at Belle’s apartment?” I asked.