Deadly Intersections

by Ann Roberts

  The paramedics swarmed around her again and she turned away to see Biz talking to one of the rookie officers. As she approached the rookie slunk away, well aware that he had been caught leaking information to a civilian.

  “So what happened?” she asked sarcastically. She folded her arms and smirked.

  Biz started to shrug her shoulders, but Molly cast a knowing look and Biz sighed. “Don’t be mad at him, Nelson. He’s just a kid. He’s still learning not to fall for flattery or the charms of women.”

  She rolled her eyes and glanced back at Ari who was sipping water from a cup.

  “Anyway,” Biz continued, “I guess justice was served.”

  She turned back to Biz, a quizzical look on her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Stan Wertz is dead.”

  It took four hours before the fire crew would allow her into the backyard. The charred remains entombed scattered pieces of Wertz’s Ford Roadster. According to the fire marshal the car bomb detonated when he turned the key in the ignition, preparing to take Ari’s limp body to wherever he intended to dump her. Molly pretended to listen, her mind still reeling from almost losing Ari.

  She turned toward the damaged house. The entire west side was burned and she could see into the rooms, huge gaping holes in the wood affording her a view of the blackened interiors. She imagined the house could be restored eventually, but it was pathetic to see such a majestic structure in this state.

  Andre rushed toward her and motioned to the street, where throngs of neighbors, bystanders and media stood behind the police lines. They walked to the front, avoiding the crime scene investigators as they searched for any clues to the identity of the bomber.

  “Did you take Ari’s statement? Is she okay?” she asked impatiently.

  He nodded. “She’s pretty weak, but her voice is coming back. She’s just shook up. Wertz lured her over here. She had some evidence that could have incriminated him in the murder of Warren Edgington, and he found out about it.”

  Molly looked shocked. “Where did she get that?”

  He paused, knowing his partner wouldn’t like the answer. “She stole it from his office.”

  “Damn it!” She jammed her hands into her pockets, wanting very much to punch a wall or shake Ari senseless. She took a deep breath and returned her focus to the crime scene.

  “I don’t think they’ll solve this one,” he noted. “And I don’t care since we just saved the taxpayers a ton of money.”

  “Me either,” she agreed.

  “But I think I know who planted that bomb.” She stopped walking and stared at Andre, who pointed into the throng of ogling bystanders.

  Molly strained to see individual faces against the western sun. A crowd of neighbors had gathered, craning their necks toward the smoldering house, pointing and whispering to each other. Her eyes found two Hispanic men at the back of the crowd— Hector Cervantes and Franco Perez. Neither seemed interested in the drama unfolding, but when Cervantes saw Andre point in his direction, he tapped Perez on the shoulder and whispered. Both of them turned and stared at Molly before retreating down the street.

  Andre glanced back at Molly with a slight smile. “What is it that Hector Cervantes does at his day job?”

  “He’s a mechanic.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Against the advice of the paramedics Ari refused to go to the hospital for observation. Biz gently lifted her into the SUV and took her home. She remembered nothing after Wertz covered her mouth with the chloroform. She’d awakened when the house was on fire, gasping for air. Then the firefighters burst into the room.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against Biz’s warm body. They sat on the sofa, a bottle of tequila between them. Biz had first offered her a cup of tea but when she’d made a face, Biz found the liquor cabinet.

  Ari grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a hefty swig. She was halfway to drunk and didn’t care. Maybe this is why Molly enjoys alcohol so much.

  The doorbell rang and Biz returned with Ari’s father. He stood in the center of the room, his hands on his hips, looking like a cop. Only his face wrinkled with worry betrayed the father in him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked evenly.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  He stared at the floor, and she knew he didn’t know what to do. Lucia was always the comforter, the supporter. Jack kept his distance, detached from emotional situations.

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, Dad, I’m fine. Biz is taking care of me.”

  Jack studied her. “You’re the girlfriend?”

  Biz reached over to shake his hand. “No, sir, I’m just a friend. Biz Stone.”

  He seemed relieved. “Oh.” He looked around and cocked his head to the side. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

  “She’s working, Dad. She’ll be here in a while.”

  “Um, okay. Well, I may stay in town for another couple days.”

  Ari shook her head. “You don’t need to do that. I’m fine. There’s no need for you to change your flight.”

  Jack shrugged and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not a big deal. I’m retired. Remember?”

  They stared at each other, and she sensed that he could read her feelings. She didn’t want him to stay, couldn’t want him to stay. It would be submission, an invitation to a relationship she wasn’t ready to have.

  “Besides,” he continued, “I was going to anyway. Sol invited me to the Suns game this weekend. He’s got courtside seats.”

  Ari raised an eyebrow. “Against the Lakers? That must have set him back quite a bit.”

  “Exactly. How could I refuse?”

  Ari cracked a smile. “Well, since we were supposed to have lunch today maybe we could do it tomorrow instead?”

  Jack grinned. “That’d be great. I’ll call you. I’m thinking barbeque.”

  Ari groaned, and Jack laughed as he strolled out the door.

  Biz rejoined her on the couch and snuggled against her. “I like your dad.”

  “He’s a character.”

  Biz stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Ari knew she should say something. She should push Biz away and insist that she go sit in the stuffed chair across the room. But she was too tired and Biz smelled too good. The tequila relaxed her, and she drifted off to sleep. She awoke to Biz shaking her.

  “Hey, you looked like you were starting to have a nightmare. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “How long was I out?”

  “About an hour.”

  Suddenly everything hit her at once—her kidnapping, nearly dying and dealing with her father. “It’s been a hard day…” Her voice cracked and she sobbed.

  Biz hugged her tightly. “I know.”

  She turned on her side and gazed into Biz’s eyes. “I haven’t thanked you. If you hadn’t gone to talk to Molly, I’d probably be dead.”

  Biz caressed her cheek. “No thanks necessary. I enjoyed sleuthing with you, Ari Adams.”

  “Me too,” Ari agreed.

  Biz touched her forehead against Ari’s. “I’m going to make a prediction.”

  Ari swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry, and she thought maybe the smoke inhalation from the afternoon was still getting to her. “What?”

  “I’m going to kiss you again. And I predict it will be the softest kiss you’ve ever had.”

  Their lips touched and it was like falling into a warm ocean. She floated on the waves, as the kiss, which was the gentlest she’d experienced, rolled into another and another, carrying her with the tide. When Biz’s tongue flicked against her own, she thought she might drown. She was helpless, unable to save herself.

  “This is a hell of a way to end Valentine’s Day.”

  Biz’s lips pulled away, and she crashed into the shore. She looked up at Molly—her expression a mixture of revulsion and distress. She stood exactly where Jack had stood.


  Ari suddenly realized that while her entire drunk psyche was focused on Biz’s kisses and her metaphoric experience in the ocean, Biz had deftly unbuttoned her shirt and was caressing her breast.

  She struggled to sit up. “Molly, please…” she begged, but Molly had already slammed the door before she could finish the sentence.

  Continuous love songs blared from the Hideaway speakers as a few hundred drunken couples and singles celebrated the most romantic holiday on the calendar. Molly finished her fourth scotch and scanned the patrons, comforted that many of them wore looks of desperation or despair just as she did. Misery definitely loves company. It would have been smarter to slink back to her tiny apartment and drink there especially in light of her recent traffic stop, but she couldn’t be alone. She owned a gun and the idea of sticking the barrel in her mouth had filled her head more than once in the past few hours.

  “Dance with me,” a voice commanded.

  She swiveled her stool and faced Lola who wore a bright red dress with a plunging neckline. Her pushup bra displayed her large breasts inches from Molly’s face.

  “I don’t dance,” she said.

  “Everybody dances.”

  She pulled her onto the dance floor and into a bear hug. Molly shuffled her feet and turned in a small circle while Lola pressed against her and long fingernails explored her hair.

  She ignored the flirtations, her mind replaying the scene in Ari’s apartment, over and over. She’d opened the door quietly, unsure if Ari was awake. She’d already decided they would celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow if she was asleep, her hand absently slipped into her pants’ pocket to feel for the bracelet.

  The lights were on. She’d started to say something but was rendered speechless at the sight of Biz kissing Ari and fondling her breast. She’d stood there for several seconds, anger exploding in her heart. When she’d finally spoken, it was Biz who noticed her first. And Molly was absolutely certain a slight smile crossed her face—a smile of victory.

  Lola cupped her face between her hands. “Hey, look at me.”

  Molly complied but said nothing. She had no desire to make friends.

  Lola smiled in understanding. “I get it. You’re hurt. Well, get over it. Half the women here tonight have been burned by someone. This party is as much a funeral for love as it is a celebration. For many of us love is dead.” She traced Molly’s lips with her index finger. “If I remember correctly, these lips can do amazing things.”

  Molly imagined Ari nestled in Biz’s arms, her shirt unbuttoned, Biz’s hand circling Ari’s nipple, just as Lola circled her lips now.

  “Let’s go,” Molly said, leading her through the back room, past numerous couples making out on the couches and in the corners. For a fleeting moment she thought of Jane and what she would tell Ari if she saw her with another woman—and she didn’t care. Ari had made her choice. They went into the manager’s office. As a regular and a cop Molly got special privileges.

  “Where are we going?”

  She ignored the question and opened an adjoining door into a large private bathroom. She pressed her against the wall and cupped her breasts. Lola cried out when Molly’s lips found her nipples. She buried her head in her chest and started to cry. The pain was too much. Visions of Ari’s smile filled her head. She dropped to her knees and pressed her face against Lola’s stomach.

  “Hey, baby, don’t stop,” Lola whined. She lifted Molly’s chin and looked into her eyes. “You’ve been hurt bad. I can see that. You need to feel good again. I can help you.”

  The words made sense, and she gave a slight nod. Lola reached for her purse and withdrew a white pill from a pillbox. Ecstasy or maybe speed.

  “Now, you take this, and I guarantee that you’ll forget all about her, whoever she is. I’ll make your troubles go away.”

  Like a child receiving Holy Communion, Molly opened her mouth and let the pill dissolve on her tongue. She fell against Lola and enjoyed the long fingernails stroking her hair. Within minutes her heart was racing, but she was feeling great. Nothing like scotch and drugs. She knew she was grinning and the woman smiled back.

  “See? Better already. And since you’re already down there, why don’t you give me a little valentine?”

  The music pulsated in her ears and she squeezed Lola’s ass. They’d been dancing for an hour, and Molly had never felt so free. Fuck Ari. Just fuck her. When the music switched to a slow song, Lola pulled her to the bar for another drink. She’d lost track of how many she’d had—Vicky had said she was calling her a cab.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lola said and led Molly to her truck when Vicky wasn’t watching. “Follow me to my place,” she added with a deep kiss.

  She jumped into a Mercedes convertible and headed for the exit. Molly’s adrenaline was surging. She’d never felt this way. She had to have her. She ached for her. She hopped in the truck and blinked her eyes. A little voice reminded her about DUI, but when the voice turned into Ari’s pleasant lilt, she sneered.

  “Fuck her.”

  She pulled up behind the Mercedes just as it whipped into the center lane. She followed behind closely trying to remember the route to her place. Lola veered in and out of traffic and she struggled to keep up. Once she nearly crossed the center lane and an oncoming car sounded its horn and swerved away just in time.

  “Shit!”

  She knew she shouldn’t be driving. She should forget the woman, pull into the nearest parking lot and sleep it off. That’s what you should do, Nelson. You know it.

  But she wanted to beat Ari. If Ari could cheat and throw away their relationship, so could she. She hit the gas and zoomed behind the Mercedes, nearly rear-ending it. They’d driven east on Camelback Road around Camelback Mountain. Her body swayed with the twists and turns as she fought to stay in her lane. Suddenly Lola crossed two lanes of traffic and made a quick right onto Lafayette. Without looking or thinking, Molly followed—and overcompensated. She overshot the turn and panicked. She jerked the wheel and the truck spun until it plowed into a decorative wall that adorned the front of an expensive Spanish villa.

  Her body shot forward into the deployed airbag. Before she passed out she remembered that in her hurry to rendezvous with Lola, she’d neglected to fasten her seatbelt.

  Less than twenty-four hours after her truck crashed and she’d resigned from the police force, she sat at The Twenty Yard Line, a bar that cops and lesbians didn’t frequent. She’d never again step through the doors of Oaxaca, the cop watering hole, and it would be a long time before she’d go to Hideaway either. It was all too humiliating.

  The memories of Ari that had clouded her mind seemed distant and fuzzy compared to the larger than life visions of her stumbling out of the truck when the first on-the-scene police officers revived her. Despite forgetting her seatbelt she’d walked away without a scratch, the airbag preventing her from flying through the window and her inebriated state ensuring that she didn’t tense up during impact. Lola was gone and she was alone.

  They’d taken her weapon, handcuffed her and put her into a car. She was prepared for a trip to jail and was surprised when she was driven to police headquarters instead and led into Sol Gardener’s office. He looked as though he’d been roused from sleep in his sweats and a baseball cap. The other cops left and closed the door behind them. She’d stared at his disappointed face and started to cry. He handed her a tissue and waited until she had her emotions under control.

  “This is going to cost you, Nelson, but it could have been much worse. After I got the call from Ruskin that you were in custody I woke up the mayor. He agrees with me that it wouldn’t look good for the Department or the city if the detective that cracked the biggest homicide of the year went to jail. Also, that house you hit is in foreclosure. No harm, no foul. We’re going to make this go away, Nelson. You’re not going to jail but you’re going to resign. Right now. Effective immediately.

  She’d nodded and handed over her badge and gun, relieved that s
he wouldn’t go down to booking, but already knowing her career as a police officer was over. She’d driven drunk and failed a breathalyzer by nearly two points.

  Now, sitting on a stool at her neighborhood sports bar sipping a scotch, she wondered what she would do with her life. She still hadn’t told her family. They would be crushed. Ari already knew and had left her a dozen messages, begging her to call, which she wouldn’t. She glanced at the amber liquid inside the glass, swearing to herself that she’d never drink and drive again. The bar was only two blocks from her house so any night she got drunk she could just stumble home.

  “I can’t be arrested for that,” she said to the glass.

  For some inexplicable reason she’d brought the printouts of the unresolved number 6815 with her. She stared at the pages of numbers once more. There was a nagging feeling at the back of her brain—that somehow all of this was related—but her zeal for justice was depleted, and she just didn’t care.

  “Sorry, Itchy,” she said, thinking of her informant who’d likely been killed by the mole.

  The door opened and sunlight stretched across the dark room. Jack Adams strolled over and took the stool next to her. He ordered a beer and stared at the bar.

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Once I got your address I decided to check out the closest bars. This was my second stop.”

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He flipped through his pictures and showed her an old studio portrait. It was faded and worn but the beautiful woman was remarkable and looked almost exactly like Ari.

  “Isn’t she absolutely incredible?” he asked, his voice full of admiration. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen?”

  She sipped her drink and refused to answer. Yes, Lucia was amazing, but no woman could ever compare to Ari. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to sob.