Drawing Dead

by Carolina Mac

  “Yeah, sure, a beer would be great.”

  “You look worried, Annie-girl. Everything alright?”

  “Dec’s mother had a stroke and he has to stay in Ireland for longer than he thought.”

  “Oh, too bad.”

  “I’ll miss him, and the boys will miss him at the ranch.”

  “About before…” said Travis.

  “You mean when you were kissing me like a madman?”

  “Yeah, then… I’m not gonna pressure you, because I’m the asshole in this picture, but if you ever forgive me and feel like male… company, you hafta know I’m available.”

  Annie couldn’t help but smile. “You’re available? A stud like you?”

  Travis shook his head. “Let’s go make money.”

  UPSTAIRS IN THE POKER suite, some of the regulars were in their favorite seats. Darryl Wise was firmly wedged into seat nine, his plaid shirt of the day a red and blue pattern, Judge Rumford looked half-asleep as he slumped low in seat three, Frank Vitali beamed a smile from seat four, his dark wavy hair perfectly combed. No sign of Sandra Beauchamp this evening.

  As Annie cast her eyes around the table she did a quick inhale of breath at the sight of Kristal Ducharme languishing in seat two. “Good evening, Kristal, I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Lance said you might be here tonight, Annie. Nice to see you again.”

  Lance Ogilvie returned from the bar wearing a stone-cold expression. He nodded in Annie’s direction. No greeting. No hug.

  He’s still super pissed at me for vetting his squeeze.

  Lance sat down in seat five and the dealer whipped out the cards.

  Annie peeked at her hand and checked, Travis raised, and it was game on. Kristal played amazingly well. She chatted to Darryl Wise like she knew him. Why hadn’t Annie seen her here before? Had she been playing at some of the other big games around town?

  I’ll get Lily to do more checking in the morning.

  Lance played his cards and spoke very little. He won a couple of moderate sized pots and Kristal smiled at him.

  Travis was quiet, but quiet was his norm if he wasn’t blowing a fuse. Under that placid exterior lived a raging bull. He was getting cards and playing his hands well. He drew out on the river and took a couple of big pots from Kristal.

  Judge Rumford drank bourbon steadily, supplied by a smiling waitress in black stockings and a short skirt. He fell asleep a couple of times and Frank Vitali woke him up when the action was on him.

  Most nights since Annie had arrived, the players had been relaxed and for the most part enjoying the game. Tonight seemed different. The players were quiet and the tension at the table was palpable.

  Rudy felt it too. He circled the table every few minutes, smiling and observing, at the ready to pour oil on troubled waters.

  Annie could feel it in her veins—trouble about to rear its ugly head like a cobra darting out of the weeds. Travis touched her leg and whispered, “you okay?”

  Annie nodded, folded her hand and stepped away from the table. She called, and Jesse answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Ace, how’s it going?”

  “Slow. I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

  “I’m home, sitting in the rocker and holding my baby. Nothing makes me feel better these days.”

  “You were awfully pale this morning, and I was worried.”

  “Better now and I checked in with the top dog. He knows I came home.”

  “Nothing you can do about it, cowboy. Accept your limitations and please, please, take care of yourself.”

  “I’m resting, sweetheart. Finish up and come home.”

  Annie put her phone away and picked up a pastry from the buffet table. She was about to take a bite when Lance crossed the room and stood in front of her.

  “Annie, I’d like you to be more pleasant to Kristal. I don’t like the vibes at the poker table.”

  “Okay, I’ll make an effort. Seeing you so upset doesn’t make me happy.”

  “Why is it so difficult for you to accept her? I thought you were a bigger person than that.”

  Annie shook her head. “Lance… she’s not.”

  He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Please don’t make things any worse than they are.”

  “I won’t say another word, Lance. You’re on your own.”

  “Appreciate it.” He turned his back and returned to the table.

  Annie wandered over to speak to Rudy who was chatting up the girl in the cash cage. “Did Sandra reserve a spot for tonight, Rudy?”

  “Let me check, Mrs. Powell.” He returned to his lectern and picked up his clipboard. “Yes, she did, for ten o’clock.”

  Annie checked the time on her phone. “That was an hour ago.”

  Rudy shrugged. “If someone else comes in I can’t hold her seat any longer than an hour.”

  “That’s fine, I was only wondering.”

  “Is your husband playing later?”

  “No. He had to go back to Texas.”

  “He’s a Quantrall, right? One of the oil brothers?”

  Annie smiled. “Yes, he is. Oil and horses.”

  “I liked him,” said Rudy, “Nice guy.”

  Annie winked at Rudy. “I like him too.”

  “And Major Bristol is…?” Rudy was getting nosy.

  “He works for Jesse. Travis is my bodyguard.”

  “Uh huh. Rudy was digesting that tidbit of information when an argument broke out at the poker table. He spun around to see which players had raised their voices and hurried across the room. Annie followed him back to her seat and watched the drama unfold.

  Kristal had drawn to a gut shot and made her straight on the river. Darryl Wise was livid. “I put in a big enough raise that you should have folded,” he hollered from the end of the table.

  “I felt my card was coming,” said Kristal. “And I was pot committed after the turn. I can call if I want to, Darryl. I put my chips in.”

  “Of course, you can,” said Lance, putting his two cents in. He smiled at Kristal then turned to Wise. “Why don’t you apologize to Kristal, Mr. Wise. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m not apologizing. The odds for her were terrible and it was a rookie play. She should have folded.”

  “Maybe it’s time for us to leave,” said Lance glaring at Annie. “This game isn’t fun anymore.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BLAINE OPENED one eye and checked the time. Five forty-five and his cell was ringing. Couldn’t be good. Never good news this early in the morning. Lexi whined on her bed on the floor.

  “I know, girl, it’s too early to get up.” He reached the phone and read the screen. Austin PD.

  He barked a reply. “Yep, I’m up.”

  “You don’t sound too alert, Blacky. Too much partying last night?”

  “I wish. What’s up Detective?”

  “Got a floater and he belongs to you.”

  “Who? Is it Zach Fisher?”

  Lopez chuckled. “You sounded hopeful for a second. Nope, according to the info I have, this guy is a doctor at the State Hospital. A psychiatrist named McIntyre.”

  “Fuckin coyotes. Don’t tell me that.”

  “I am telling you that. Do you know him?”

  “Zach Fisher’s doctor.”

  “Shit, man. The runaway crazy offed his shrink? We pulled him out a half mile downstream from the Congress Avenue Bridge.”

  “Damn it to hell.”

  “Think the loony toon did it?”

  “Course he did, but it doesn’t make a lick of sense—why in hell would he kill his doctor? And what was McIntyre doing with Fisher at the river. They must have been in contact. That fuckin McIntyre should have called me.”

  “Might have saved his life if he had. You any closer to catching the whack job?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Where do you want your corpse?”

  “I’ll call Calhoun and tell him McIntyre is coming to DPS t
his morning.”

  “One less for me,” said Lopez. “I closed a case and I haven’t even finished my first coffee.” He chuckled.

  “Lucky you. I haven’t had a coffee yet,” grumbled Blaine. “Even worse, I have court this morning.” He sat on the side of the bed and tried to think. “How did McIntyre get to the river? Did you find his car?”

  “No car.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll send Farrell with Red. See if he picks up a direction.”

  He ended the call and pressed the contact for Chief Calhoun. “You up, Chief?”

  “Eating breakfast. I need nourishment to get me through another agonizing day of crime fighting in Texas.”

  “Lopez has Doctor McIntyre. Fished him out of the river.”

  “Zach Fisher killed his doctor?”

  “I’d bet on it, unless McIntyre toppled off the Congress Avenue Bridge on his own.”

  “Damn it, son, where is he?”

  “Downtown. He’s coming your way this morning. Can you move him to the head of the line?”

  “Yep, consider it done.”

  “I’ll have the girls put a BOLO out on McIntyre’s ride. No vehicle found at the scene. Maybe Zach is cruising the streets in the doc’s Toyota.”

  “Fuck that,” growled the Chief.

  “Ditto.”

  JESSE WOKE to the sound of Charity crying. He smiled as he glanced at the monitor and sat up on the side of the bed. This was where he belonged, and if he wanted to be around to raise his daughter, he couldn’t be flitting off to other states because a man he’d never met told him to.

  An annoying pain radiated from the center of his chest and he thought he might hurl. Charity cried louder, then stopped and hollered out the only word she knew… ‘Da’.

  “I’m coming, baby.”

  Placing one hand on the nightstand next to the bed, Jesse forced himself to his feet.

  I need more rest, maybe I’ll skip chores and spend the day with my baby.

  ANNIE OPENED the door to the waiter and tipped him after he placed the breakfast tray on the dining table. Travis hadn’t made an appearance and it was just as well. He hadn’t gone to bed happy after she’d told him he’d be sleeping alone—not that she didn’t want to be with Travis, but because previous experience told her it was a terrible idea. She was a slow learner when it came to Travis, but she had it down now. They had to work together and finish this case. There was no room for a one-night stand followed by romance gone sour and the fighting that ensued. She was growing impatient with her assignment and wanted to go to Sante Fe, pick up Jackson and go home.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down and tried to relax. Her phone rang, and she checked the screen. LVPD.

  “Annie Powell.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Powell, this is Lieutenant Zystra. Sorry to be calling so early but you are listed as the next of kin for Lance Ogilvie?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Why do they need next of kin?

  “Lance? Has something happened to Lance?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Powell. His assistant found him dead in his suite this morning at the Gold Mine. I’m there now. I would have come in person to notify you, but I thought it was a mistake. I don’t see how you could be Mr. Ogilvie’s closest kin.”

  Wayward tears rolled down Annie’s face and she brushed them away.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Powell?”

  “No. Lance is family. I’m not all right.”

  “Then you are his next of kin?”

  “No, but close to it. My number would be listed, because Jackson is only six years old. My son is his only blood relative. Lance is his grandfather.”

  “Is Mr. Ogilvie connected to Race Ogilvie? We here in Vegas are too familiar with that name.”

  “Race was Lance’s only son and Race was my son’s father.”

  Zystra paused. “I see. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Powell. Would it be possible for you to come to the morgue later today and identify the body?”

  “Yes, I’ll have Travis bring me.”

  Annie ended the call and ran down the hall screaming. She burst through the door into Travis’ room and hollered, “She killed Lance. The phony bitch killed Lance and took away Jackson’s grandfather. I’ll kill her for that. You just watch me.”

  BLAINE OPENED the door of his truck and helped Misty up onto the sidestep at ten to nine. “Are you okay? You feel kind of shaky.”

  “I am shaky, and I think I might throw up.”

  “Try not to hurl in my truck.” Blaine chuckled but Misty didn’t smile. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and stared at the floor.

  “Lean back and relax. It will be okay.”

  I don’t know why I’m saying that. It won’t be okay with Mulligan involved. He’s a loose cannon.

  The courtroom was almost empty. Few spectators were interested in domestic assault. Murder drew the big crowds.

  Blaine escorted Misty to the front row and sat her behind the prosecution. “You won’t have far to go when they call you.”

  She looked up at him, panic in her eyes. “You aren’t leaving me, are you?”

  “Nope.” He sat close and held her hand.

  “I can tell you have someplace to be.”

  She knows stuff and I can’t hide it.

  “Farrell is taking care of it. Stop worrying.”

  The lawyers were in position ready to start. The judge came in and took his place on the bench, then the bailiff brought Brad Mulligan in from the ante-room.

  The eyes of her ex-husband narrowed as he zeroed in on Misty and yelled at the top of his lungs. “There she is, the lying bitch that owes me money. She’ll be sorry she ever crossed my path. Her days are numbered.”

  The judge banged his gavel and Mulligan’s lawyer tried to shut him up without much success.

  “Sit down, Mr. Mulligan,” said the judge.

  “I won’t sit down. I’ve got things to say to this jury.”

  The twelve men and women waiting for the trial to begin appeared startled by Mulligan’s tirade.

  The judge banged his gavel again. “One more outburst, Mr. Mulligan and you will be found in contempt of court and fined accordingly.”

  Brad sat down and was silent for the moment.

  Tears streamed down Misty’s face and she shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

  “Is the prosecution ready to proceed?” asked the judge. He peered over his horn-rimmed glasses looking none too happy.

  “We are, your honor.”

  “Call your first witness.”

  “The prosecution calls Ms. Mystere Mulligan.”

  Blaine hopped up, slipped his arm around Misty’s waist and escorted her the three feet to the gate.

  The bailiff opened the gate, escorted her to the witness stand and swore her in.

  Misty swore to tell the truth and Brad hollered, “She won’t tell the truth, she’s a witch and a voodoo queen and a born liar.”

  Bang. The gavel fell hard against the bench. “This court finds you in contempt, Mr. Mulligan. Sixty days in jail and a thousand-dollar fine. Bailiff, remove Mr. Mulligan.”

  “Yes, Judge.” The bailiff rounded the defense table and placed a hand on Mulligan’s elbow. Brad jumped up and plowed the bailiff in the face and knocked him to the floor.

  Blaine vaulted the gate and drew his Beretta. “Sit down, Mulligan. Hands on your head.”

  Mulligan’s attorney helped the bailiff up and although he seemed a little groggy, the bailiff drew his weapon and took Mulligan in hand. This time Mulligan walked straight to the ante-room and the bailiff closed the door.

  “Thank you, Ranger Blackmore,” said the judge. “A nasty situation averted.”

  Blaine nodded and returned to his seat.

  Misty gave her testimony without further problems. Brad’s attorney didn’t bother to cross-examine, and she was dismissed.

  FARRELL AND RED started again at the Congress Avenue Bridge while Blaine
was in court with Misty. Red picked up Fisher’s scent and raced along the bank for a few feet then stopped.

  “What, boy? Did he sit down here?”

  Farrell stood beside the big bloodhound and waited. Nothing happened. Either the scent was too old, or Fisher hadn’t walked along the bank. “Okay, let’s just jog along the bank and see if anything turns up. How about it?”

  Red got up and loped along behind Farrell, obedient, but not particularly interested. About a quarter mile from the bridge, they passed a clump of bushes and Red jerked on the leash. He pulled towards the water and Farrell took a closer look. “Holy shit, Red. That looks like the homeless guy from the bridge.”

  ZACH DROVE Doc McIntyre’s car to Lamar’s house on the street near East Cesar Chavez. Yellow tape still sealed the front door, marking it as a crime scene, but the police cars and vans were all gone. He drove around the block and down the narrow back lane searching for a place to park. At the back of Lamar’s tiny city lot, was a falling-down shack that might have been a garage at one time. Dirt floor and no door, but Zach drove the Toyota in. It was a tight squeeze and if the car had been any bigger, it never would have fit. He covered the car with a ripped blue tarp he found in the corner and viewed it from the lane.

  With a nod to himself, thinking the car was secure, Zach trudged through the weedy yard to the sagging porch and stared at the broken window that had been boarded over by the cops.

  A corrugated tin tool shed near the sagging chain link provided exactly what he needed—a claw hammer. In five minutes, he pried the plywood off the window, reached in and turned the lock. The door squeaked open and he smiled. He replaced the plywood, took the hammer inside and locked the door.

  ACROSS THE STREET from the row of houses, a tall, black boy with a red ball cap on backwards, stood in a narrow alleyway. He saw the curtains move on the front window of Lamar’s house and his fingers tightly gripped the handle of the small Colt in his pocket.

  “I knew you would come back, loony man. You wait until dark and you gonna pay for killing my brother.”

  “LILY, this is Annie in Vegas.”