‘Well, this is your lucky night, Carly. Tonight, you get to star in your very own movie.’ He patted every word into her knee. ‘Can you guess what it’s going to be?’
She slapped his hand away, leapt forward. But Victor and José were too fast for her. Strong hands clamped around her arms, pulled her back into the chair. Held her there.
‘You guessed, didn’t you?’ Chico laughed. ‘You clever thing. It’s Soldier Blue.’
***
CARLY SAT IN A chair in Chico’s office, rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Water dripped from her nose, her chin. The four-inch cut he’d opened up under her breast before she fainted, the one he called just a little scratch, stung like hell. But she ignored it, thankful to be out of the basement.
Opposite her Chico was relaxed. At ease. He had a drink at his elbow, her phone in his hand. She shuddered as she looked at that hand, could still feel it crawling over her body. Evan’s business card was on the desk between them. That, and a slip of paper on which she’d scrawled a name and an address.
‘You got two missed calls while we were downstairs.’
She dropped her eyes, pulled her arms closer around herself. She needed a drink. And a shower. She’d seen his nose wrinkle a minute ago. He tried to hide it, pretend he had an itch.
He took a small sip of his drink, then picked Evan’s card up from the desk. He compared the missed calls with Evan’s business card. Nodded to himself.
‘From Evan, whoever he is. So what’s going on?’
He pinched the skin between his eyes and the bridge of his nose, as if it would help get things clear in his mind.
‘We’ve got this guy Buckley asking about Dixie in Kelly’s Tavern. He leaves his business card with the bartender. Victor and José try to have a word with him but then—surprise, surprise—they see you sitting outside waiting for something. Or someone. Then you tell them you’ve never heard of the guy. And now, next thing we know, we’ve got two missed calls from him on your phone.’
Her mind was racing. What the hell was she going to say? He didn’t give her a chance.
‘I think we should go downstairs and watch some more movies.’
‘No!’
She felt sick. Dizzy. She swallowed, reached for his drink without thinking. Her hand hovered above the desk. He pushed the glass towards her. She hesitated a moment, then picked it up, drained it in one gulp. She put her hand over her mouth and coughed as the spirit hit her chest.
‘I can explain.’
He shook his head, his mouth turned down.
‘Don’t bother. I don’t want any more of your lies. I want to talk to Buckley.’ He waved Evan’s business card in her face. ‘Call him back.’
He pushed her phone across the desk. She stared at it as if she was being asked to sign her own death warrant. But she didn’t have a choice, could only hope Evan didn’t pick up. He watched her as she took hold of the phone, saw the way her hand trembled.
‘No,’ he said, putting his hand on top of hers. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea after all. You might spook him.’
She shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t. I promise—’
He patted the air to calm her down.
‘I don’t mean deliberately. But you’ve had a rough day’—he gave her a small smile—‘and you won’t sound like yourself. Text him instead.’
So, under his guidance, she sent Evan a text:
Just seen your calls. Can’t talk. Text me.
The reply pinged back almost immediately:
Where the hell were you? Where are you now?
She showed Chico the reply. He thought about it a few seconds, then told her what to say:
Long story. I’ll explain later. Meet me at hotel tomorrow morning at 9?
She didn’t even have time to let out the breath she was holding before the reply came back:
Okay. See you then.
Her heart sank.
‘We’ll look forward to it, Mr Buckley,’ Chico said with the self-satisfied smile of a python contemplating a tethered goat.
Chapter 11
EVAN GOT TO CARLY’S hotel a little before eight. He headed straight up to her room even though he was an hour early. He’d catch her off guard. It would give him an advantage if she was still in her nightdress. Everybody feels stupid talking to a fully-clothed person when they’re dressed for bed.
But he was the one who got the surprise when it turned into déjà vu all over again. After he didn’t get a reply to his knock he went ahead and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He stepped into the room, looked around. Nothing had changed. The mattress was still leaning up against the wall, the drawers from the dresser still lying empty on the floor. The suitcase was where he’d left it.
So where was she? Was she even coming?
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. That must be her now.
‘Where the hell are you?’ he snapped, without looking at the display. ‘I’m getting pissed off with this—’
‘Good morning to you too, Evan.’
His mind went blank. He knew the voice but couldn’t place it, expecting it to be Carly.
‘I take it you were expecting somebody else,’ Kate Guillory said and laughed. ‘At least I hope you were.’
The sound of her laughter made it click, swept away the rising tide of irritation that had swamped him from the minute Carly had intruded into his life. Guillory was a detective with the local PD. Their relationship could best be described as undefined. Or undefinable. Hearing her voice, her laughter, first thing in the morning was just what he needed. The smart money said one day, maybe not so far away, it would be the first thing he heard every morning.
‘Kate? Yeah, sorry about that.’
In the background he heard breakfast cereal being poured into a bowl. His stomach reminded him he’d skipped breakfast to arrive early. And now Carly wasn’t even here. There was the sound of milk splashing into the bowl. It sounded fresh and ice cold, made his mouth water.
‘What’s that? Cheerios?’
‘Uh-uh,’ she said through a mouthful of food. ‘Frosted Flakes.’
He swallowed drily and waited. His stomach growled again.
‘Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be getting so pissed?’ she said when she’d finished chewing.
Evan rolled his neck in a figure of eight. Massaged it with his fingers.
‘Yeah, well, I missed breakfast. And then somebody called me up just so I could listen to them crunching down the line.’
‘There’s plenty more if you want to come over.’
‘Are we talking breakfast in bed?’
If you can give a suggestive shrug down a phone line, Guillory gave one now. He could almost see the sparkle in her denim-blue eyes. He swallowed. And it wasn’t listening to her eat this time.
‘You’ll be going to work any minute,’ he said.
‘Not today, I won’t.’
Damn. Now it was his fault. He checked his watch. He was still forty-five minutes early. Carly wasn’t even late yet.
‘I’m busy right now.’
He almost choked on the words. He’d have sworn he heard her stick her bottom lip out. He definitely heard her mumble something about don’t expect to get an offer like that every day.
‘No problem. How about lunch at the Jerusalem?’
‘Drinking on duty? That’s not like you.’
He realized too late he was putting up objections to everything she suggested. She didn’t even notice, let out a quick stutter of a laugh.
‘I just told you, I’m not at work today. I’ll explain later. See you at twelve-thirty.’
His phone pinged to let him know he’d received a text. Maybe Carly had tried to call him while they were doing their little dance around each other.
‘Gotta go. See you later.’
He ended the call, checked his messages. He was right. Carly had texted him.
I’m
picking up breakfast. Doughnuts or danish?
That was what you called good timing. He’d have preferred breakfast in bed with Guillory, slopping ice-cold milk over each other, but this was better than nothing. He texted back:
Danish.
He sat in the armchair and crossed one leg over the other, his stomach complaining loudly. He couldn’t get comfortable. He jumped up, walked over to the window. Stuffing both hands deep into his front pockets, he rocked back on his heels. It was quiet outside, hardly any traffic.
Where the hell was she? How long did it take to pick up breakfast?
A sudden noise behind him made him jump. He spun around. Somebody was outside the door.
Not before time, he was starving.
He took a step towards the door, then stopped. He heard footsteps on the other side. They were moving away. Then the sound of a key in a lock further down the hall.
Damn.
He walked over to the mattress against the wall, looked behind it. He smiled to himself.
Idiot.
There was nothing there, of course. Dirty drab wallpaper, scuffed paintwork. What had he been expecting? A message for help written in lipstick on the wall? Blood? A dead body? He laughed at himself and then stopped abruptly.
Doughnuts or danish?
That was it.
That was what had been niggling him, making him antsy, stopping him from settling. Listening to Guillory munch her way through breakfast had put him in the wrong frame of mind. Made him listen to his stomach, not his gut—which wasn’t the same thing at all.
Carly had celiac disease. One sniff of a doughnut or a danish would set off a whole bunch of unpleasant symptoms. The thought of her stopping to pick up doughnuts or danish for him to enjoy while she watched hungrily was a joke.
She hadn’t sent the text.
He ran to the window, peered down at the street. A car was backing into the space behind his. It looked like the one from the previous day, the one the two Mexicans had been driving. From where he stood the angle prevented him from seeing through the windshield.
He watched it straighten up, a feeling of dread rising up inside him. The doors opened. Any lingering doubts evaporated as the same two guys climbed out, looked around warily. One of them pointed to his car. They both smiled, then walked up to it, peered through the windows. Did they think he was hiding under a blanket in the back?
Then the smaller guy, the one called José, pulled something from his pocket. He crouched down by the front tire. Evan caught the glint of sunlight on a blade. He watched, mesmerized, as if it wasn’t his car that was being casually vandalized. José pushed the knife through the side wall of the tire. The tire slowly deflated as he worked the blade free again, the car settling gracefully onto the wheel rim.
José straightened up. He snapped the knife shut, pocketed it. Then they doubled across the street towards the hotel.
***
EVAN GOT THE HELL out of there. He sprinted down the corridor. Ignored the elevators, straight to the stairs. One of guys would come up the stairs while the other one took the elevator. That’s why he went up, not down. Two flights up, he stopped, pressed himself into the wall. He waited, his chest heaving, ears straining.
There it was. The sound of a large man panting up the stairs. Then a door opening. As soon as it banged shut again he half ran, half jumped all the way to the bottom, crashed through the door into the lobby. He skidded across the polished floor. Dived through the front doors. Down the steps in two bounds. Then he was running for his car, fishing in his pocket for his keys.
He stopped dead. Stared at the slashed tire.
How the hell could he forget in two minutes?
He stood in the middle of the street, unsure which way to go. Head snapping frantically back and forth between his car and the hotel. The blast of a horn made him jump as a taxi braked hard and swerved past him, pulling up outside the hotel. He memorized the license plate of the car parked behind his, then ran towards the taxi.
An old woman was getting out. Or trying to. She waved her stick in front of her in an attempt to get up from the sagging back seat.
In the lobby, the elevator was on its way down.
The old woman had her feet on the sidewalk now, her hand on the top of the door. She planted her stick on the ground, heaved herself upright. She hung there, teeter-tottering, then collapsed backwards into the cab with a loud shout. Her feet flew up. Evan was treated to a view up her skirt, a close up of her dirty, wrinkled pantyhose. God knows what horrors lurked further up.
He checked the lobby, his eyes darting to the numbers above the elevator. It had stopped on the second floor.
He turned back to the old woman, offered her his hand. She grasped it with that old-person grope, the fingers cold and bony, the nails yellow. With so much adrenalin pumping through his veins, he misjudged how little she weighed, almost threw her over his shoulder as he pulled her out. She nodded her thanks, then dug in her bag for her coin purse.
The elevator was still stuck on the second floor.
She found her purse, pulled out a five-dollar bill. She handed it to the driver. The fare on the meter was eight dollars and change. She squinted at the meter, dug in the purse with those bony fingers again. A solitary dollar bill emerged and was handed over. It was the last one, only coins left.
In the lobby the elevator pinged. Evan watched the doors open, poised to run if it was them. He saw a young couple, both of them totally absorbed by their cell phones. Somebody else was behind them. He couldn’t see who it was.
The young couple didn’t move, oblivious to the fact that the doors had opened. They suddenly burst apart as a large arm was thrust angrily between them. A man shouldered his way past. The taller Mexican guy.
Evan turned back to the cab. The driver waited, his arm extended wearily, palm upwards, as the old woman dug coins out, one by one, inspecting each one carefully before she handed it over.
There was nothing else for it. Evan took hold of her arm, moved her out of the way. She let out a startled squawk as she stumbled backwards. Evan jumped into the cab, slammed the door shut.
‘I’ll pay the rest of it. Just drive.’
The driver stared at him, mouth open, not comprehending what was happening.
‘Go!’ Evan shouted
Eight feet away, Victor burst through the front doors.
‘I’ll pay her fare.’
It finally clicked with the driver. He shrugged, pulled into the traffic. Behind them, Victor leapt down the steps. He collided with the old woman, sent her spinning and sprawling onto the sidewalk. He stepped over her, stood staring at Evan’s face in the back window of the disappearing cab, hands bunched into fists at his sides, oblivious to the old woman beating his legs furiously with her stick.
‘Damn,’ the driver said as Evan turned to face front.
‘What?’
‘She’s got a suitcase in the trunk. I forgot all about it watching her trying to get out.’
He laughed at the memory although Evan didn’t think he’d be laughing so hard if he’d got the view up her skirt he did.
‘I’ll have to turn around.’ He slowed, looking for somewhere to turn.
‘No! You can’t.’
The driver gave him an annoyed glare in the mirror. Like he didn’t want to be told what he could and couldn’t do in his own cab.
‘Just get me a few blocks away from here, okay. Make a couple turns. Anywhere. I’ll give you twenty bucks. You can take the suitcase back in a minute.’
The driver was silent a few beats. Evan watched him in the mirror, saw him thinking back behind his eyes.
‘Whatever you say.’ He broke eye contact as the cab picked up speed again.
Evan twisted around, scanned the street behind them. There was nobody in sight, no cars tearing up the road after them. He allowed himself to relax, melting bonelessly into the cracked leather of the worn seat.
He knew it would only be temporary, knew it wouldn’t be t
he last time he saw them. What the hell had Carly got him into?
Chapter 12
‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN got away?’ Chico shouted.
Victor inspected his shoes, decided full and frank disclosure wasn’t the way to go at the present time.
‘He was in there. His car was outside. Something must have spooked him.’
Chico’s lip curled.
‘What? Like you two playing that narcocorrido crap full blast as you cruised past? Made him look out to see what was making the windows rattle.’
‘It wasn’t like that—’
Chico quietened him with a flick of his fingers, shook his head. He’d spent the previous night thinking about what he should do with Carly. He wanted Dixie. Wanted him so badly he hadn’t been able to sleep. And the best way to get to him was through the grasping, self-centered puta sitting in front of him.
So he told her what he wanted her to do.
She came out of her chair so fast Victor had to push her back down.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Carly.’
He leaned over the desk as if he wanted to share a secret with her. Automatically she leaned in towards him.
‘What?’
He slapped her hard across the face. It connected with her cheekbone, busted up through her teeth and nose and eyes, made her whole head ring.
‘I’ve already got somebody who talks back and argues with me. She’s called my wife. I don’t need another one.’
He picked up the piece of paper with the name and address she’d written down, waved it in her face. She could barely see it as her eyes slipped in and out of focus
‘If you don’t like it, Victor and José will pay a visit to your friend here. That’s the deal.’
Carly stared at him, the whole side of her head pounding, one wrong word away from being dragged back downstairs.
‘Do I get my gun back?’
Chico opened his desk drawer. He lifted out a Sig Sauer P938 with the factory six-round flush magazine, threw it to her.
‘You want to get the seven-round extended magazine. Better balance.’
She ignored him, wasn’t interested in his opinion. Later, she’d have cause to regret not listening to him.
Hunting Dixie Page 5
