Chapter Nine
I had decisions to make. I wanted to talk to Marcus and find out what was going on, but phoning the division was not an option unless I used a disposable cell or a public phone. Stacy might have his home number, but that would be risky, too.
“Do you have the phone number for Secrets?” I asked Riley.
She dialed for me and handed the receiver over.
Stacy sounded worried. After we’d said our hellos, she said in a low, hurried voice, “Look, I won’t ask you what’s going on, but I just want to tell you that I talked to Marcus about fifteen minutes ago. He said they ransacked your desk in the file room. They took your computer and pretty much anything and everything you’ve had your hands on in the last few days. Apparently, whatever they are accusing you of, they’re keeping it hush-hush.”
“Have they traced me to Secrets?” I asked fearfully, worried about being on the phone in case they were listening in. A call from Riley’s place to her employer would mean nothing, but if my voice was on tape, she would be an accessory.
“No, not yet. And if they do, they won’t get shit out of me or anyone else in this place.”
“Stacy, what about Riley? Did Marcus say that they knew about Riley?”
“Nah. The story he heard was that the cops who went to go pick you up at your apartment last night were jumped from behind by a couple of armed men in ski masks.”
I grinned. “Score one for the large male ego. Listen, I’m not sure where I’ll be, but I’ll try to call you at the bar to see if you’ve heard anything else, all right?”
“Yeah, okay. Foster, you and Riley take care of yourselves, okay? You’ve got people here who care about you.”
My heart warmed at her words, so much so that I didn’t think to correct her assumption that I would be with Riley much longer. I said, “Thanks for sending Riley out for me.”
Stacy chuckled. “I didn’t exactly send her, hon. I told her what I’d heard, and she was out the door before I had finished my sentence.” I looked over at the large woman who was tapping at Bud’s condo with the tip of her nail and making little clicking noises.
“Oh, well, I still want to thank you.” I said good-bye and returned the phone to its cradle.
“I’m going to miss her,” Riley said.
Much to my chagrin, I was already starting to have a negative impact on her life. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair here pretty soon and you can go back to the club. I don’t think those two idiots will put two and two together.”
“No, it’s too risky. I don’t want to bring any trouble to Secrets. Besides, I only stayed there as long as I did because I wanted to talk to you.”
“To me? What for?”
“I needed to explain about the picture and the other stuff. I wanted you to know that I wasn’t involved with whoever was out to hurt you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to question her motives, but I stopped myself. What’s that saying about a gift horse? Currently, Riley was my gift horse, my tether to reality, as it were. I didn’t want to piss her off until I could stand on my own two feet. And that wasn’t possible when wearing neon orange flip-flops, or shorts and a shirt—both of which were three sizes too big. If I’d had my wallet, I could have easily grabbed some money out of my savings account; I had enough to get me through a few months. But as things stood, I was penniless.
“Riley, I need to run a few errands. May I borrow your car?”
“You can’t go out there in broad daylight. Every cop in the area is probably out looking for you. They would pick you up in an hour, tops.”
“Stacy said they were keeping it hush-hush, and they won’t be looking for your vehicle. I’ll wear a ball cap.”
She wasn’t happy, but she tossed her keys to me. “Do you really want to take the risk?”
“I don’t have any choice.” As soon as I’d done what I needed to do, I would exit her life for good. The thought made me want to stay put, slumped in my chair, hoping I would wake up soon and find this was all a nightmare.
She nodded gravely. “Be careful out there. You think you’re going to be warm enough?”
I looked down at my bare legs and feet. “Thanks for the flip-flops, by the way. I’m surprised they fit.” Okay, I know I really shouldn’t snoop, but I couldn’t help it. I wear a size 6 1/2 shoe, and just from looking at Riley’s foot I would have guessed she wore a size 8 1/2, if not larger.
“I know, wasn’t it a fluke that I had those? Somehow they got put in my bag at the grocery store, and I kept forgetting to take them back.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t throw them away. It would be a hassle having to go shopping for shoes right now.”
She looked at me curiously. “I would give them to charity before I’d throw them out.”
Of course she would give them to charity. I found a smile for her. “Thanks for the car. I’ll see you soon.”
She walked to the door with me. “I think I should come. What if something happens?”
“Then you can’t be there. I don’t want you involved.”
“I’m already involved.” Her blue eyes were bright with an emotion I couldn’t read. “At least tell me where you’re going, so I know where to start looking if you don’t come home.”
Home. I told her an East Side address and said, “Don’t even think about following me. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
She had a stubborn look on her face, and I thought of how formidable a woman she was. She seemed to wear her ferocity like a cloak she only put on when she deemed it necessary. Deep down I sensed it wasn’t a guise she enjoyed wearing, and given half the chance, she would toss it off and become the caring person I was getting to know.
“I’ll be waiting,” she said.
I didn’t linger. I knew if she kept staring like she could not bear to see me close the door, I would weaken and take her along with me. I didn’t need to add another irresponsible decision to the long list. It was time to start thinking like the smart detective I was supposed to be and get ahead of the game.
“It takes a lot to freak me out,” Riley insisted as I started to close the door behind me.
Indeed, she had simply rolled with the punches through this whole ordeal. I think I was more hysterical than she was, but then again, I was the one who was wanted for murder.
“I know,” I told her. “You’ve been great.”
She started to say something else, but I closed the door. A strange thought crossed my mind as I strode rapidly away: If I somehow got out of this, and if I was ever lucky enough to spend more time with Riley Medeiros, I would never shut a door in her face again.
*
Pollard’s Billiards was a local hangout for every street thug in East L.A. Lighting up in public establishments had been banned in California since ’98, but Pollard’s smoky atmosphere remained unchanged. The place had seen any number of crimes; however, no case had ever been successfully prosecuted against the owners or any of its denizens. Eventually the police just turned a blind eye to the goings-on as long as nothing got too messy. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement. The cops didn’t look dumb for trying to pursue convictions and failing, and the patrons of Pollard’s basically had a safe haven.
I pulled into a parking spot in the back of the billiard hall and exited the vehicle, automatically glancing around for any sign of trouble. I hadn’t even taken two steps into Pollard’s when some wannabe homeboy was in my face. Homeboy seemed to sense what I was and that I was in no mood for a problem, and figured he would do well to back away before he was mauled to death.
“Where’s Big Sherm?” I slammed my teeth down over my tongue as soon as the words left my mouth. In my own stupidity and eagerness, I had just given any fool in the place looking to make a name for himself a way to get it, and fast. Kill whoever was looking for the Big S, and you no doubt would be riding sky-high off the gratitude.
My question was initially greeted with the loud crack of a cue ball knocking int
o the black eight ball. No one said a word as the guy who hit the shot scratched on the last ball and forfeited the whole game.
“You got a lot of nerve coming up in here, girl.” Homeboy and one of his friends seemed to have gotten themselves some nerve all of a sudden. Probably delusions of grandeur, or some such shit. The friend, who stood about two feet taller than me, actually cracked his knuckles like in some bad mafia movie, while Homeboy, who was apparently too chickenshit to fight fist to fist against girls, was smart enough to pick up a pool stick.
I rolled my eyes and braced myself for a fight. I thought about kicking off my orange flip-flops, but the idea of stepping on the nasty floor in this place was incredibly unappealing. I had barely begun to tense for action when Homeboy’s hefty friend loomed closer, waiting for me to look menaced and run away.
“You want to piss Big Sherm off?” I dared them with the brazen calm of someone who knew something they didn’t know. “Go right ahead.”
They were uneasy. The big guy cast a glance toward a door to the rear of the pool area.
Translating this, I asked pleasantly, “In the back, is he?”
I didn’t wait for an answer or for them to ask their boss if he wanted a visitor. I walked on by like I had business to do. They didn’t stop me. The element of surprise had them temporarily out of their zone. I would probably get the shit kicked out of me later, but for now I marched through the place with the reckless audacity of someone with nothing to lose.
The “Big” in Big Sherm’s name derived from the fact that he was well over three hundred pounds. His real name was Dexter Wilmington. I figured the Sherm part was some drug-related nickname, but I never cared enough to ask. The back room looked as if it was used for illegal casino games. It wasn’t so much the smell of stale smoke and old liquor that convinced me, but rather the huge roulette wheel embedded in the far end of the table.
Every time I saw Sherm, he had a new hairstyle. The rather unattractive ponytail he’d sported for a while was gone and his hair was now short and brushed to the point that it waved like ripples in a stream. He’d trimmed his sideburns so they connected with his beard. I thought the effect was quite intimidating, much more so than a bushy, chemically processed ponytail.
“Hey, Sherm.”
“Shh, hold on, let me see this here.” Sherm stared mesmerized at the nine-inch TV on the poker table as if it was a window. On the screen two women went at each other in a blatant rip-off of Dynasty. “So are the days of our lives” blared a moment later.
“Whew, that was a good one.” Sherm sat back in his chair, staring at the TV with wistful adoration.
“Sherm, it’s Foster Everett. Remember me?”
He tore his eyes from the television and turned to me as he picked up a cheap blue Bic pen and wobbled it side to side between his fingers. I swallowed the bile in my throat and refused to let my top lip rise. “I know who you are, Foster Everett!” He broke out in a fit of coughing. I tried to keep the look of disgust from my face as he spat into a tissue and placed it in his shirt pocket.
“I need your help with something,” I said coolly.
“Why should I help you? Not like you ever did shit for me.”
I hated to do this, but he did owe me and I needed all the help I could get. “You know that’s not quite true. Don’t make me discuss the situation with other people, ’cause you know I will.”
He glowered at me and pulled the little blue top from his pen, cupping it in his hand. “What do you want?”
The pen dropped to the table, already forgotten. I hoped I would luck out and escape without witnessing the disgusting exhibition to come. “I need a gun. Make that two guns.”
Before I met Sherm, I used to chew on the end of my pens when I was thinking. Not anymore. He had a fondness for sticking things in his ear. Namely pen caps. He would scrape it around like most people use Q-Tips. That, however, was not the most disgusting aspect of his habit, and he went through the entire ritual as he contemplated my request. As he plucked the cap from his ear, the tip of his little pink tongue appeared between his lips. He lapped at the tip of the pen cap once, twice, three times before it disappeared into his mouth. His eyes closed and his foot began to tap on the floor in unconscious pleasure. This disgusting display went on for what was probably only about fifteen seconds but felt close to a millennium.
Finally, the decision was made and he yelled, “Clovis, bring me my case!”
A boy of about fourteen came running into the room in seconds with a large brown case and a key. He handed the key to Sherm and disappeared.
Sherm put the pen top on the table, opened the case, and folded the sides down revealing an assortment of handguns, all expertly cleaned and displayed, probably thanks to Clovis.
I made my selections, two chrome 9 mm semiautomatics similar to the one I’d left back at my apartment, plus two fifteen-round clips for each and the nylon rear double-belt holsters that went along with them. I held the Glock 19s out in front of me, easing them both one way and then the other, as I checked both dust covers for cracks. The 17 I’d used in the past was larger and heavier; these felt just right.
“They’re new. No cracks.” Sherm sounded as if I had insulted him by inspecting the guns. “I don’t want to see you again, Everett.”
“Don’t worry. The feeling is mutual.” I was getting bold because I had my two new best friends and enough rounds to blast my way out of the building if I had to, but I knew better than to push it.
He didn’t respond, and I left the smoky poolroom unmolested. Sherm probably thought we were now even. When I was working the streets, I’d picked him up for indecent exposure. He was having sex in the backseat of his car. Normally, who would give a shit? But Sherm knew how many of his boys would do his dirty work if they found out his partner was a man.
I had never said a word. I figured one day the information would come in handy.
*
“Foster?”
“Yeah?”
“How good are you at setting bones?”
“I don’t know, why?” For the first time since I’d gotten back from Big Sherm’s I noticed a few beads of perspiration on the side of Riley’s face.
“I think I broke my hand when I hit one of those detectives.”
“Son of a bitch!” I was angry. So angry, in fact, that I went through the entire process of wrapping Riley’s hand without saying a word. Occasionally, I would look down at her, but Riley was staring trancelike at the floor. So I continued with my ministrations in a fuming silence. How could I have missed the signs that she had an injury like this? What had she been thinking lifting weights with a hand that had to be incredibly painful? I finished securing the Ace bandage and stepped away.
Mumbling thanks, she stood up and walked into the kitchen.
I was afraid to open my mouth for fear a Tourette’s-like stream of obscenities would come flowing out. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I couldn’t remember ever having been this angry outside of work. It didn’t feel good. My temper was what had gotten me into this trouble in the first place.
“You’re mad, huh?” She stood there like a child waiting to be scolded.
I opened my mouth to tell her that hiding her injury until now was the stupidest thing she could have done, but something stopped me. Body language can tell you a lot about a person. Riley expected to be yelled at. Her shoulders were slumped, and she wouldn’t look at me. Why she would give a shit if I was mad at her was beyond me.
“Yes, I’m mad.” I was proud of myself. I actually didn’t sound mad at all, I sounded serious, but not like a raging lunatic, which was my usual reaction.
Riley poured herself some water and leaned back against the refrigerator. Her eyes sought mine tentatively. All of the anger left me as I looked at her, I mean really looked at her. It’s not that I hadn’t noticed her before, mind you. Certainly I’d admired her body in a totally detached sort of way. No one I’d ever known put so much effort into their body, and he
rs was amazing. But there was something about her I’d missed in my previous perusals.
Her T-shirt rode up and out of her unbelted jeans. The waistband was too big. She had probably bought the jeans because they fit her comfortably everywhere else, but her waist was too small to fill them. I stared at her sculpted stomach for a moment before following a path down her body and then back up again. I don’t know why I had the impression of her being big, because she really wasn’t. I had seen larger women down at Muscle Beach. There was something about the way Riley held herself, along with the muscles, that gave the appearance of menace. Right now, however, she looked like she was afraid she was going to be put on restriction.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
My heart beat painfully in my chest. I want to hold her so badly floated through my brain and I took a step toward her before I could stop myself. I froze inches away from her. “It’s okay, Riley. I just wish you hadn’t gotten hurt.”
She inspected her bandaged hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“No, I don’t think so. It feels better already.”
“Let’s go,” I told her sternly. “You need to have that looked at, and I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you.”
She didn’t move. “Foster? Will you leave?”
I knew what she was asking me. A thought flashed through my head so foreign that I had to push it away before I could even give it a name. No, there was no way I could let Riley get hurt. I cared about her. As a friend. I didn’t want to see her get into any trouble, and the longer I stayed here the more likely that was.
“Yes, I’m leaving pretty soon,” I answered truthfully.
She nodded. “I was surprised you came back.”
“You thought I’d steal your car?”
She was silent, and I suddenly felt like the world’s biggest asshole. After all she’d done for me, she was even willing to let me drive away in her car, believing I had already decided I wasn’t coming back. Sure, I needed to get out of town, but I could do it with some class. Panic welled up in my chest. Exactly how was I going to leave and where was I supposed to go? Back to New York City? To Dad? How predictable.
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