by Julie Kenner
“Wonderful.” He slid to the edge of the booth. “I’m just going to go over to the convenience store and pick up a few things. I’ll be back by the time your shift is over.”
She aimed a google-eyed smile his way as he slipped out the door into the perfect California weather. Darling Doris wasn’t one he’d leave the light on with, but she’d do in a pinch. Right now, all that mattered was that he had a free bed for the night. And, if he worked it right, a ride into Los Angeles tomorrow.
A few cars he hadn’t seen before were parked in front of the store and he realized they must have pulled in off the little dirt road that ran parallel to the freeway. He hesitated, telling himself he was being stupid. He hadn’t even been in the country for twenty-four hours. Joey couldn’t possibly know he was back.
Still a little apprehensive, he trudged across the parking lot, hoping the men’s room had a condom dispenser. He had no intention of going to the cash register where he might get caught on the video surveillance. He was, after all, a dead man.
The antiseptic smell of bleach assaulted him as soon as he pushed open the door. He fought a gag reflex, sure that the smell was only hiding the germs, not actually killing them. He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, then headed for the condom machine, using the towel instead of his fingers to operate the mechanism. He selected the extra-large ribbed version, then tucked it into his pocket when the foil coin popped out of the machine. After a second’s hesitation, he repeated the process, then wondered if he ought to buy a third.
“Well, well, well…” The deep voice rolled over Al, echoing through the tiled room. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.”
A cold shiver, like the finger of grim death, snaked down between Al’s shoulder blades and he turned from the dispenser to face Reggie Barton, Joey Malone’s number one attack dog. Weighing in at over two hundred and fifty pounds, Reggie vaguely resembled Paul Bunyan, without the friendly blue ox.
A grin slithered across Reggie’s face, the four-inch-long scar on his cheek twisting and bulging. A souvenir from some fight Reggie had surely won. Because Reggie always won. Malone wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Malone’s missed you, Al.” Reggie’s lips flared back, exposing his yellowed teeth in an expression Al assumed was supposed to be a smile. “Or is your name Charles now?”
Al cringed, not sure why he should be surprised that Reggie knew about his fake name. Hell, Joey Malone had eyes everywhere. He’d found him here, hadn’t he?
“How’d you find me?” Al asked, unable to fight the instinct to just keep Reggie talking. If Reggie was talking, he wasn’t pounding Al to a bloody pulp.
“Joey’s got friends everywhere,” Reggie said. “You should know that.” Again, he flashed that snaggletoothed grin. “Hell, Joey’s even got Border Patrol agents on his payroll. You hitch a ride over the border, Al old buddy, and somebody just might recognize you.”
Oh God, he should have known. Al had thought he’d been so clever, hitching a ride with the truck driver hauling a load of fruit into the States, sure that there was no way that Joey Malone would know he’d come back in the country. But he hadn’t been clever; he’d been stupid. And now he might really end up dead.
The shiver was back, deep in his blood and uncontrollable, and Al only hoped that before this nightmare was over he wouldn’t pee his pants. Digging down, he found some remnant of courage—the same fire in his belly that had given him the guts to run in the first place. Drawing on all his strength, he looked Reggie in the eye. He still trembled, but maybe—maybe—it was disguised. “What’s Joey want with me, Reggie?” The thug wasn’t too bright. Maybe if Al played innocent…
“I think you know.”
He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “You got me. I don’t know. Honest.”
“Where’s the stuff?”
If that wasn’t the question of the hour…He shook his head. “I don’t have it.” That, at least, was the God’s honest truth. He’d stashed it in the girl’s car, planning to have an all-night bang-a-thon with the lovely Jude, then he’d get up before dawn and drive her precious Volkswagen over the border. He’d never imagined that she’d run out on him.
“You stole from Joey Malone,” Reggie said, flipping open a pocketknife.
Al swallowed, his knees turning liquid, and he grabbed onto the condom dispenser for balance.
“Joey don’t take kindly to that kind of double-cross,” Reggie added, then started cleaning under his fingernails with the blade.
“No way,” Al lied, his eyes never leaving the blade. “I don’t have a death wish. I’d never cross Joey Malone.”Now he wouldn’t. Four months ago he’d been desperate and naive. Hopefully, that was a character flaw he’d live through.
“Joey don’t believe you.”
“I can’t help that, Reg. I can’t give you what I don’t have. And I don’t have anything.”
Reggie twisted the knife in his hand. “Who’s the bitch?”
Al blinked. “What? Who?”
“The chickie you picked up in the hotel last spring. The redhead.” He tapped his scalp with the tip of the blade. “You were clever, but I been asking around. One of the maids saw you with some bimbo. What about it, Al? Does she have Joey’s stuff?”
“Of course not,” Al said, hoping his voice sounded normal.
“What’s her name?” Reggie asked.
“Jude.” Al swallowed. “Jude Wilde.” Lying would only get him dead that much faster. He looked up at Reggie. “But she’s not involved. She was just a weekend fuck. That’s all.”
“Maybe,” Reggie said. He snapped the knife shut. “And maybe not. If I find out different, you’re gonna be one sorry son of a bitch.”
Al exhaled. Hell, he already was.
Reggie slid the knife into his back pocket. “You shoulda stayed missing,” he said.
At the moment, Al was inclined to agree. The minute he’d realized that Jude had split, he had, too, taking only what he had in his wallet. But fifty thou only goes so far. All he had left was five hundreds, a fifty, three tens, and a smattering of ones.
He’d come back to get the diamonds. He’d hoped to get in, get the goods, and get out before Malone realized he’d come back across the border. So much for the best laid plans. He sucked in air. “Listen, Reggie, I don’t know how to make it any plainer. I don’t have Joey’s jewels. The girl doesn’t have Joey’s jewels. I don’t know where they are.”
“Joey don’t buy that.” The hulk took a step closer and Al froze, his stomach tightening with terror. He didn’t mind violence so much, except when it was perpetrated against him.
“But Joey also said to tell you he’s not such a bad guy,” Reggie said. “He’s gonna give you another chance.”
“Another chance?” Al repeated stupidly.
“You get him what you took and he’ll let you live.” The scar stretched, the reddish tissue turning white as it pulled tight against Reggie’s face. “Otherwise, he’ll see that Charles Lafontaine ain’t long for this world. And Albert Alcott won’t be doing too good, neither. You understand?”
“Yes,” Al said, his voice cracking.
“Good. ’Cause I’ll be watching.” Reggie turned to leave as Al started to breathe again. “Oh,” Reggie added, turning back around. “And here’s something Joey wanted me to give you. A little incentive not to let him down, he said.”
Al knew what was coming and didn’t even have time to flinch. Reggie’s fist shot out and all Al knew was a seering pain in his jaw and one thought in his head—If Jude didn’t still have those diamonds, he was a dead man.
After that, the world went black.
Chapter 2
My tight-skirted kitten pressed two C-notes into my hand. “Please, Mr. Monroe. I don’t know where else to turn.”
I let out a sigh like a steam engine. Her sister Sarah had disappeared after getting herself hooked up with the wrong kind of mug. The whole thing reeked of trouble and not just the kind t
hat might land me a broken jaw. No, this dame was another kind of trouble all together.
But I needed the dough, that was for sure. And I always was a sucker for a dame in trouble. Especially a dame with gams that went on forever, and curves in all the right places. Dangerous.
Fortunately, I live for danger.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
She rewarded me with a relieved smile, those pert lips puckered up just for me. I played the gentleman and showed her to the door. She gave me one quick glance before she sashayed out, a glance that seemed to promise more than just another C-note for my expenses.
My righthand girl, Sadie, followed me back into my office, her steno pad ready, and I started to lay out what we needed to do.
“You should just marry her,” Sadie said.
I balked. I was hardly the marrying kind, and from what I could tell, neither was the little number who’d just disappeared out my door. For that matter, Sadie wasn’t the type who usually pried into my life. That’s why I’d hired her. The girl knew how to watch her back—and watch her mouth.
I turned to her, sure I must have heard wrong. “What?”
“Jacey. You ought to marry her.”
I frowned. Jacey? The dame that just left was named Mallory. So who the hell was Jacey?
“David?” Millie’s voice squeaked through the haze in his head. “Are you listening to a word I’ve said?”
He blinked. “Sorry. What?”
Millie punched a button on the remote control and Mel Gibson and Danny Glover turned mute. “I said, you should marry her.”
David choked on his tea, spit a mouthful of Earl Grey onto his jeans, then glared at his great-aunt. “Her? Who her?”
“Your new case. The one you were telling me about. The dame. The pigeon.” Aunt Millie smiled, her dentures flashing, then took a bite of her tiny, crustless watercress sandwich. Probably the only person in all of Los Angeles who actually ate watercress, much less kept it stocked in her kitchen. “Isn’t that what you call a woman with a case? A pigeon?”
He dabbed a napkin on his pants, a futile exercise that soaked up no liquid and left him with little shreds of white paper clinging to the material. Not exactly an improvement. “You’re thinking of a stool pigeon, Millie.”
“Oh. Well, you certainly don’t need to marry a snitch.” She frowned. “Too bad. She seemed like such a nice young lady.”
For a brief moment of insanity, David actually considered explaining to his aunt that Jacey wasn’t a stoolie, she was his client. And even if she wasn’t a client, he wasn’t interested in getting married again. And even if he was interested, she wasn’t his type. She was too sarcastic, too domestic, and, overall, a royal pain in the ass. But that would just spin them off into who-knows-what new direction. And with Aunt Millie, it was best to try and keep the conversation on some sort of track, no matter how twisty that track might be.
Instead of answering, he concentrated on flicking the soggy bits of paper off his leg. Hopeless. “Look at this mess. Now I can’t go out until it dries.” Not that he’d ever let something as ridiculous as fashion stop him before, but it seemed appropriate to complain.
“You weren’t going out anyway, were you?”
“I wasn’t until you brought up marriage. Now I’m thinking I need to run for my life.” He tried to growl the words, but it was impossible to be annoyed at Aunt Millie. As much as she meddled, he still adored his aunt. Even when she was driving him crazy.
“Nonsense. You just need to settle down with a nice girl. Jacey sounds perfectly nice.”
He could feel a headache starting. Right between his eyes. A dull throbbing that was going to build and build until his head exploded all over the tiny little sandwiches.
“Last week you wanted me to marry Doreen.” Doreen cleaned for Millie twice a week. A nice girl, sure, but she was only about twenty-two, spoke no English, and had a fiancé.
“Doreen wasn’t right for you,” Millie said, her chin lifting a little.
David sighed. “That’s what I said last week, remember?”
“Jacey, though…” She trailed off with a smile, completely ignoring his point about Doreen. “I’m certain she’s the answer to my prayers.”
“Uh-huh. And as soon as you realize Jacey is a nogo, we’ll move on to the next woman, right?”
“I’m simply saying that you need to find a nice wife,” Millie said.
David rolled his eyes. For Millie, proximity counted a lot. Jacey was nearby, so Jacey was the candidate du jour.
“I had a wife,” he said, knowing reason wouldn’t work, but ever optimistic. “And since I just quit paying alimony to the last one, I’m really not in the market for a new one.”
She waved her hand, shooing away his words. “Susan doesn’t count. You were both only children when you got married.”
“Yeah? Well, tell that to my checkbook.”
“She wasn’t the woman for you,” Millie said.
“And my new client is? Somehow you just know this?”
Millie put down her teacup and took his hand. “David, honey, it’s time you settled down.”
Settled down? What did she think? That he was out barhopping? Considering his apartment was in her backyard, she ought to know better. Unless he jumped through some pretty serious hoops, Millie could keep pretty good tabs on his comings and goings.
Besides, he didn’t want to be settled. Not like that, anyway. He’d gotten married at twenty-five, divorced at thirty, and now, almost five years later, he was barely recovered. Certainly his checkbook was still feeling the pain. He was finally enjoying life as a single, alimony-free, unattached adult, and he wasn’t in any hurry to start filing joint tax returns again. Especially since the last one he’d filed had triggered an IRS audit that was currently making his life miserable.
No, he didn’t want a wife. He wanted to take his portable Olivetti and travel. Sublet an apartment in Paris and use it as home base while he backpacked all over Europe, holing up in museums or on mountain-tops or in parks and typing until his fingers fell off. Hell, he wanted to go to Spain for the running of the bulls or Provence to track down Peter Mayle. Right now he might be stuck in Pasadena, but he didn’t intend to stay put forever. And as soon as his money situation was under control, he was out of there.
Millie sipped her tea, then looked him in the eye. “You need a wife,” she said, repeating her mantra.
He rubbed his temples. “She’s a client, Millie. I barely even know the woman.”
Millie turned to the television long enough to watch Mel bust into the room, just in time to prove that there are still heroes. Then, as soon as Mel had pulverized the bad guys, Millie leaned forward to pat David’s knee. “Take her out to breakfast and talk about her case. Then you can steer the conversation around to more personal areas. Get to know her better.”
Then she winked. His eighty-two-year-old, childless aunt actually winked.
What was the world coming to?
“I don’t need to know her, Millie. I just need to do a job for her.”
“Nonsense.” Another sip of tea. “If you’re going to marry her, you need to get to know her. I don’t think I’d approve of you marrying a woman you know nothing about. Not even a woman as nice as Jacey.”
“You haven’t even met her, Millie. You saw her for, what? Two seconds out the window? How on earth do you know whether she’s nice or not?”
Millie tilted her head down, giving him that regal old-lady stare. “A woman has her ways.”
David tightened his hand on the armrest. “I’m not going to marry her. And, to be honest, she’s not nice.” He remembered her comment about supersizing his insults. “In fact, she’s one of the most annoying women I’ve ever met.”
Millie’s smile crumpled. “Why on earth would you say something like that about sweet little Jacey? Did you two have a fight?”
Pound, pound, pound. The headache ramped up with a vengeance and David gulped his tea, then poured another c
up and gulped that, too, hoping the caffeine would fight what was clearly not a caffeine-induced headache.
“She’s just a client, Millie.”
“Hmmm.” Millie’s spoon clackety-clacked against the side of her teacup. “What did she hire you to do?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
As he knew she would, Millie sat back, a look of pure offense on her timeworn face. “Why, David. We’re family. You can tell me anything.”
“Client confidentiality, Mill.”
She took another sip of tea as David wondered what scheme she was hatching. “We can’t have you betraying confidences, now can we?”
“No, we can’t.” Good. Maybe they could move onto another subject.
“What about your girl Friday.”
“My what?”
“Your girl Friday. You know. Your assistant. The girl who works in your office and answers your phone and generally keeps you out of trouble.”
“Oh. Right. That girl Friday.” He really needed to stop lending Millie his Mickey Spillane novels. “If I had one, I’d tell her. But I don’t have one.”
“Of course you do.” Millie plopped two cubes of sugar into her now-empty teacup, then topped it off with tea.
“I do? How do you like that? She’s so efficient I never even notice she’s around.” He shoved a tiny little sandwich into his mouth and spoke between chews. “Guess I should give her a raise.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about a raise. I’ll work for cheap.”
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He should have seen that one coming, but she’d broadsided him with the whole marriage ploy. Damn.“I don’t think so,” he said. But he’d already lost. He knew it. When Millie wanted something, Millie got it.
And what Millie wanted was to hook David up with a wife. She’d set her sights on Jacey and unless he could derail her somehow, he’d never hear the end of it.
“David, honey—”
He held up a hand. “Fine.” He gave in before she could even press another argument, which was either pathetic or wise, he wasn’t quite sure.
