Wicked Impulse (ALFA Private Investigations #3)

by Chelle Bliss

  “He was just here.” Morgan reached into his pocket to retrieve a photo that was taken of Johnny last year at the track. “He placed a call from your pay phone.”

  Her yellow-toothed smile vanished as she set the beers in front of us. “You two cops?”

  “Honey, do I look like a cop?” I laughed.

  She lifted her chin in Morgan’s direction. “He does.”

  “He’s not. Cops aren’t usually my type of people anyway. He’s looking for his dad is all, sugar.”

  She eyed us warily. “I may have seen him.” She glanced toward the end of the bar to a group of rowdy guys and frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What the fuck?” Morgan gawked at me. “He’s not my father, dipshit.”

  I shrugged. “He could be. Anyway, she’ll help if she thinks he’s family. This isn’t the type of bar where people go to stand out, and it doesn’t seem like the type of town where they welcome outsiders. Just shut the fuck up so we can get the information and head home.”

  “Sorry,” she said, wiping her hands on the rag that was thrown over her shoulder. “So he’s your daddy.” She pointed to Johnny in the photo.

  “Yeah.”

  She lifted it closer to her eyes and squinted before glancing at Morgan. “He doesn’t look like you.”

  “I’m adopted,” he said quickly. “He disappeared last week, and my mother is in a panic.”

  She slid it across the bar with a single finger. “Usually, people who vanish don’t want to be found.”

  “How much do you want to make your conscience feel better?” I asked, knowing how the game was played.

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “A hundred should do it.”

  I reached into my pocket and grabbed my money clip. “Is he staying around here?” I asked when I held a hundred-dollar bill between my two fingers.

  She grabbed it quickly and stuffed it in her bra. “He’s been staying at the inn next door for a few days. He’d wander in here for a drink each night, but I haven’t seen him in a few hours.”

  “Thanks for the information.”

  “Sure. Anything else you want to know?” she asked. “Maybe I could interest you two in something else. Seems like you have more money to burn.” Her eyes drifted to my money clip still in my hand.

  “No, that’s it. Thanks,” Morgan said and yanked on my T-shirt after he stood up.

  “I get off at two,” she yelled out as I followed Morgan through the crowd.

  “Do women just throw themselves at you?” he barked before we made it to the door.

  “I think she was talking to both of us, kid.”

  “Yeah, ’cause that’s gonna happen.”

  I laughed behind his back because he was wound so fucking tight I thought that if the right string were pulled, his head would start to spin around like a top. He grumbled, talking to himself as we made our way to the motel next door. The woman called it an inn, but in no way did it resemble anything other than a by-the-hour, dirty-ass motel that I’d spent my fair share of time in throughout the country.

  “Hello,” Morgan called out after the bell on the door finished ringing.

  A man with a wild comb-over that looked more like a gnarly bird’s nest sitting on his head walked out of the office. “How can I help you?” he asked, seeing Morgan first and then sneering when he saw me. “Sorry, guys, I can’t rent a room to two men. It’s not biblical.”

  He could not be serious. This wasn’t the Ritz, and in no way was this anything other than a place to hit it and quit it. “I highly doubt anything that happens in this place is biblical.”

  He smoothed down his hair, but it didn’t help. It still looked a mess. “Then what can I help you with?” he asked as he hitched up his brown polyester pants.

  “We’re looking for someone who’s staying here,” Morgan replied and pulled the photo from his back pocket and set it on the counter in front of the man.

  He didn’t look at the photo as he sat down. “I don’t make it my business to remember faces.”

  Morgan fisted a handful of bills in his hand. “How much to make it your business?”

  The man glanced down and took stock of the wad of bills. “Two hundred.”

  “Here,” he said, plucking two bills off the top. “What do you know about him?”

  Once the balding man had the money in his hand, he said, “He checked out three hours ago.”

  Morgan glanced at me over his shoulder, and I shrugged and shook my head. That type of information wasn’t really worth the amount he’d paid. “Did he pay cash?” I asked, trying to get as much as we could out of him.

  “Cash.”

  “What name did he use?”

  “I don’t ask for names,” he said quickly. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Morgan sneered, but I rested my hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying anything more.

  “Thanks for your time,” I told the guy and started to back up, hoping Morgan would follow.

  “What a cocksucker,” he said when we were outside in the sticky night air.

  “I didn’t expect to get much out of him. Should we head back?”

  “Got a hot date?” he asked and quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”

  “Nah, man. I’m just tired.” I waved him off and tried to play it cool as we walked through the parking lot.

  “Right answer.”

  “What the fuck!” Morgan ran toward his car and bent down near the tire.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s flat.”

  “Shit,” I groaned because that meant we were going to be in this shithole town longer. “Let’s put on the spare and get the hell out of here.”

  He pointed at the tire and growled. “This is the spare.”

  “Dude, you didn’t replace it?”

  He shook his head.

  “I can push it to the nearest station.” Because at that point, I’d carry the car just to get home.

  “I don’t even remember where one is. I saw one about five miles back.”

  I closed my eyes and cursed. “I’ll call for a tow.”

  Pacing the parking lot, I listened to the worst elevator music I’d ever heard as I waited on hold for roadside assistance to answer. When they finally did, their response was that someone would be out as soon as possible, but the expected wait time was close to eight hours.

  “They coming?” he asked when I hung up and almost crushed the phone in my hand.

  “They’ll be here in the morning.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about something as sad as this.”

  He scrubbed his hand down his face and grunted. “Might as well get a beer. It’s going to be a long-ass night.”

  “Aren’t you happy I’m here to keep you company?”

  “Yeah, couldn’t be any fucking happier about anything in my life,” he grumbled, walking ahead of me toward the honky-tonk.

  Even though it was late, I sent Fran a text because I wanted her to know I wouldn’t be back in the morning and that I was with Morgan. She’d already texted me earlier, worried about my safety, being alone with him. I assured her that I could handle him and that he seemed clueless about anything that happened the night before.

  “Two Millers,” he said as we sat down at the bar next to each other.

  The woman from earlier fished out two beers, but she kept her eyes pinned on us. “Find what you were looking for?”

  I shook my head.

  “Didn’t feel like leaving tonight?” she asked and smiled, sliding our beers across the counter.

  “Just grabbing a drink before we’re on our way.”

  “Don’t leave so soon.” She placed her hand on top of Morgan’s and toyed with his wedding ring. “Might as well have some fun while you’re away.”

  Morgan pulled his hand back like her hand had burned him. “We’re fine. Just wanted a drink.”

>   “Come on. It’s not often we get new blood in here.”

  “Ma’am, we’re not looking for anything other than a drink. We’re both taken and have no plans to cheat, so why don’t you move it along?” I shooed her away.

  She pursed her lips. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, handsome,” she drawled, sauntering away from us and swinging her hips wildly.

  “She’s just…” Morgan started to say but didn’t bother to finish before taking a gulp of his beer.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, knowing exactly where he was going.

  “Well, what do we have here,” a man said from behind us in the twangiest Southern accent. “Chase, I think we have a couple of city slickers.”

  I closed my eyes because I knew where this was going. A couple of macho country shitheads felt the need to mark their territory and give us shit.

  “Move along,” I said without turning around.

  “Big shot here wants us to move along.” He repeated my words like a moron. “Should we do that, Chase?”

  “Nah, man. They look like some uppity fuckers that don’t know this isn’t their bar.”

  God, I thought I dealt with some dumb motherfuckers at the Neon Cowboy, but these backwoods, inbred shitheads took the cake.

  “They’re not worth the time,” Morgan said next to me.

  I lifted the bottle to my lips and pretended they weren’t behind me. The last thing we needed was to get into a fight in the middle of Bumfuck, Georgia late at night. We were interlopers in their world, and it wouldn’t turn out well.

  “I’m talking to you, boy,” the guy, not Chase, said and hit my shoulder.

  Was he fucking serious? I’m fifty fucking years old and hardly a boy, but I knew he meant it as a derogatory statement, trying to get my blood boiling. He accomplished his goal.

  I spun around on my stool to come face-to-face with a redneck. Not just any country bumpkin, but a real-life, moonshine-making, shit-shoveling, cousin-fucking country boy.

  “What’s your fucking problem?” I barked, already curling my hand into a tight fist and ready to swing at any moment.

  He yanked on his red ball cap, adorned with a Confederate flag and covered in dirt. “You are. You don’t belong here.” He shoved his stubby little finger in my chest.

  I glanced down and laughed. “I don’t see your name on the bar. It’s a free country last time I checked.” I tried to play it cool, but I didn’t feel like sitting in jail tonight. Even the fleabag motel next door was preferable to a metal bench in a cell.

  “This is my town,” he announced and spread his arms out and raised his chin like he was king of the world.

  I didn’t have to look around to know that everyone in the bar was staring at us. He was talking loud enough that everyone heard him, and the music had been turned down for those too far away to hear over it.

  I crossed an arm in front of my chest and stroked my beard. He couldn’t be more than 5’10”, barely taller than me while I was seated. Probably at some time he had muscles, but his flabby arms stuck out from his sleeveless plaid dress shirt. “I’m just having a beer, guy. Why don’t you bother someone more your…” I looked him up and down “…size.”

  Morgan laughed next to me before finally turning to face them. “Chase, why don’t you take your buddy and get out of here before you get your ass kicked by an old man and a city boy.”

  “Who the fuck you calling old, kid? I can kick your ass with one hand behind my back,” I replied to him but kept my eyes trained on Chase and Shithead.

  “Come on, Travis, let’s leave them alone.” Chase told Travis, the inbred motherfucker, and averted his eyes. “They’re not bothering anyone.”

  “Listen to your friend,” I told him and cracked my neck, slowly turning it side to side.

  “I think you’re done drinking here, city slicker. This is my bar, and you’re not welcome.” Travis snarled and cracked his knuckles.

  Here we go.

  There was a point in every hostile conversation when you knew what was going to happen. No matter what I said or did, he was going to swing at me. It wasn’t that I was in his bar, but he wanted a fight and figured he’d pick on the stranger.

  I don’t know why I looked like a good mark. I’m well over half a foot taller than him, my muscles were still thick and strong, and I wasn’t friendly looking. My graying beard and dark, weathered eyes didn’t convey softness. Maybe he thought my gray was a sign of weakness, but I knew different. I’d taken on bigger men than him and won. It wasn’t all about power, but brains too. Travis clearly didn’t have much of either.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said and stepped down off the stool and towered over him.

  “Finally, something smart came out of your mouth,” he replied and nudged Chase with his elbow.

  “I’m still waiting for you to say something smart. Where’s your mama? Or is she your cousin?” I teased him because I was done pussyfooting around. I wanted him to swing on me. It had been forever since I’d knocked some country bumpkin on his ass, and Travis was an easy mark.

  His face reddened, and a vein in the side of his neck bulged. “No one talks about my mama.”

  I waited, standing tall and straight, and watched his hand closely. He swung on me moments later, and I jerked my upper body backward to make him miss. He looked like a child trying to hit a piñata that was way too high for him to reach.

  He grunted, but it didn’t deter him from trying again. This time, I let him connect with my face, just for shits and giggles. My head snapped to the side, all for show, of course, because I had to fuck with him and let him think he got one in. “Best you got, Travis?” I smirked.

  He swung again, but this time, I grabbed his hand and crushed it in my grip. “Hit me like a man or don’t even bother, pussy,” I goaded him before releasing his fist.

  He shook it out and looked around the bar. He wasn’t looking like such a tough guy in front of his “friends” at this point. An old-ass city guy was showing him up.

  “Want any help?” Morgan asked before he took another sip of his beer.

  “I got this,” I told him and waved him off before I turned my full attention to a fuming Travis. “I’m going to give you five shots to knock my ass out before I put you down.”

  He swiped his thumb down the side of his nose and started dancing around, using fancy footwork like in the boxer movies. I couldn’t hold back and started to laugh. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ jokin’. Is this kid for real, Morgan?”

  “Seems like he’s going to give you everything he’s got, Bear. If he beats you badly, I’ll step in and put him out of his misery.”

  “Shut up,” Travis the douchebag said to Morgan and continued to move around like he was Rocky.

  “I’ll make it easier for you. I’ll put my hands behind my back, give you five shots, and if I’m still breathing, I’m going to take you outside by the feet and beat you bloody. Sound like a deal?”

  Again he swept his thumb down his nose, and I wondered if he was high on coke or just trying to act tough. I placed my hands behind my back and stuck out my chin to make it easier. Every set of eyes in the place was on us, and a crowd had gathered around.

  He swung once, but my head barely moved. I’d had kids hit me harder than that. “One.” I counted each blow, if I could even call them that, taunting him.

  “This is ridiculous,” Morgan said after I called out four.

  “I’m a man of my word.” Just one more attempted takedown, and I was going to wipe the floor with Travis and teach him a lesson about southern charm and hospitality.

  “You’re next,” Travis said to Morgan through his heavy breathing.

  I laughed but kept still, waiting for number five and my chance to knock his ass out. He hit me twice in the face, once in the ribs, and once in the stomach, but it didn’t matter—I didn’t feel a thing.

  The fifth and final blow landed against my chin. I grunted and gave him an uppercut right in the corner
of his jaw. I didn’t want to knock him out, not yet. I had a promise to keep and a lesson to teach. Travis stumbled backward and lost his footing, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

  As promised, I grabbed his leg and started to drag him toward the door. The crowd parted, giving me room to pull a screaming, cursing Travis toward the parking lot. “It’s time you learn some manners, country boy.”

  An older gentleman tipped his hat and held open the door for me with a smile. Travis’s head bounced against the threshold as I pulled him on the sidewalk and finally let go. “Get on your feet and take it like a man,” I told him and let him climb to his feet before I tried to punch him again.

  His body swayed back and forth, and he tried to put his hands in front of his face to block the blow he knew was coming. Leaving his ribs exposed, I gave him a quick jab, forcing his hands downward and his body sideways.

  “Fuck,” he howled and grabbed his ribs. The crowd hooted with excitement.

  Using his position to my advantage, my fist connected with his jaw—harder than inside the bar. He teetered on his heels, the cowboy boots unforgiving and stiff. Before he could fall backward, I grabbed him by the arm and righted him again because I wanted five blows before I left him on the cement.

  He shook his head, probably seeing stars, and tried to grab on to me for support. “You need to learn manners, son.” I brushed him off and made him stand on his own two pathetic feet before I hit him again.

  But I made an error and hit him harder than I’d planned. He hit the ground with a loud thunk and didn’t move.

  “Maybe you killed him,” Morgan said from behind me.

  “Would serve his ass right.”

  “Well, what do we have here?” a voice said toward the back of the crowd. They parted like the Red Sea, and just when I thought we were going to get out of here without any trouble, a local sheriff dressed in a perfectly pressed brown uniform stepped forward.

  “I received a call about a fight, but this seems more like an assault,” he said before whistling. “I need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir.” His hand was already positioned on his gun, and I knew that nothing good would come from this.