She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll have to pay me back for the next six months.”
She winked, then bounced around the condo, explaining the origin of each piece, her thought process on every decision.
“Did you buy the condo, then decorate it?”
“No, silly. I met a couple at one of the meet-and-greets after one of those musicals. Just retired, in their sixties, they had a desire to find a place in the heart of the city. I told them I’d always had a love for design, colors, fabrics, architecture. I simply asked if they’d let me lead the project, pro bono.”
“So you now have a graduate degree in shopping?”
Jabbing my shoulder with a fist of knuckles, she waltzed into the last room of the tour, a master bedroom with mirrors on two sides, floor-to-ceiling windows on the third. I cast a gaze across the flat landscape looking north, and I could see a bank of dark clouds heading our direction, signaling the arrival of our next cold front, and I knew I’d be shivering in a few minutes.
Turning back around, Britney stared right at me, expressionless, but I still felt her emotion. Letting her green suede jacket fall off her shoulders, she unbuttoned her tight knit shirt, then popped her bra strap. Both dropped next to her jacket. Tossing her shoes away, she unclipped her skirt.
No panties.
“I want you,” she said, her eyes demanding my attention, yet it was nearly impossible not to look at her incredibly sexy body.
Colliding against me, she gripped my face, and we kissed, heat radiating from her perfect figure. She tugged at my clothes, releasing tiny grunts.
Lost in a haze of passion, a flare of responsibility suddenly ignited in my cloudy mind.
Huffing out breaths, my lips moist from the most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced, I clutched her shoulders, her stature solid, a ripple of muscles up and down her arms, her torso as tight as a drum.
“What? Don’t you want me?”
Sad eyes. She lunged for me, tongue first. But I had to hold her back.
“Britney, you’re gorgeous. I think I…” I couldn’t say it now, not when I had to run out the door to follow a lead on drug dealing thugs. “You’re so talented. I think you did an incredible job. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud?” she said, thrusting her arms downward. She walked to her clothes, yanked them off the floor.
“It’s that case I’m working with the Double Ds. I got a tip and I have to go. It’s not just about money any longer. Lives are at stake.”
“Fine,” she said, her voice abruptly monotone.
I turned back to the window, rubbed my sore, stressed neck, looking north again to my next destination.
“Do you want to meet up for dinner later? My treat?”
I twisted, noticed an empty room, then heard a door slam.
<><><>
“It’s good to know people in low places.” Drops of ice-cold rain trickled off my nose, ears, and uncovered head. Precipitation that started off as an invisible mist popped the crinkled garbage bag that protected my Sony Cyber-shot DSC-RX10 digital camera. With not much lead time, that was the best I could do.
NorthPark Center Security Director Tyler Foyster, a former cop from Bentonville, Arkansas, had given me access to the rooftop. We’d developed a decent friendship one night at The Jewel, and if there was ever a time to call in a favor, this was that moment in time.
Lying chest down on a borrowed fur-lined jacket, my elbows served as fulcrums to steady the point-and-shoot camera as I scanned the northeast parking lot at the high-end mall located at Central and Northwest Highway. For midday on Tuesday, the space was surprisingly full with vehicles, a smattering of umbrellas bobbing to the cadence of strides, all on a direct path toward the nearest entrance. I scooted left to evade the fanged zipper jabbing my rib cage. Tyler had tossed the coat in my direction when I headed up the ladder to the roof. While I’d hoped to avoid lying in dirty puddles, water began seeping through and around the jacket.
Bone-chilling rain, soaking clothes, numb hands, not even a lustful Britney, could stop me from carrying out this mission. David, who apparently had returned to run the kitchen at Marvel just yesterday, called me late last night. DPD Corporal Ernie Sims had partied with his fellow drug-dealing partners at Marvel, once again throwing money around like pimps on the Vegas Strip. Excess alcohol had led to diarrhea of the mouth, though, and Sims shouted with slurred speech about their next big haul—trading cocaine stolen from the evidence room for a cool quarter million dollars today at noon. He and his buddies also gave up the location of the swap, laughing at the prospect of pulling off another drug deal in broad daylight in a parking lot full of Mercedes, Jaguars, and other luxury cars: NorthPark Center.
Lifting the grocery bag to my eye, I scanned the parking lot once more. David told me to be on the lookout for a black Hummer H2, Sims’ new vehicle of choice.
The Hummer by itself was worth more than half his salary. From my perspective, Sims was a walking red flag. How no one at Internal Affairs had caught on to his game was the greatest mystery of the twenty-first century. Months ago, when word spread about the internal investigation into drugs being stolen from the evidence room, relief hit me like a muscle relaxer. But in the end, they focused on just one cop—Felix. It was obvious Felix felt compelled to cover for Sims for a multitude of possible reasons.
Who knows? Regardless, my newest tool and I were poised to capture this drug deal on a memory card. Then, I could finally take it to Henry in the DA’s office and watch that son of a bitch, Sims, roast like a gluttonous pig.
Movement at ten o’clock. A man the height of Lebron James lumbered out of a department store, his head on swivel, a pair of new high tops tied together popping off his back. Peering into the lens, the guy’s face was painted in red and black. Wait a second. He looked just like Star Wars character Darth Maul. Hot on his tail was a fiftysomething mall cop, gripping a flashlight with one hand, his other fumbling with his hat. Ill-fitting pants allowed his white socks to flash against the gritty blacktop.
“Booker, have you seen the drug deal go down yet?”
Flipping my head around, I spotted Tyler’s plastic-covered hat poking just above the top rung of the ladder on the roof, his arms displaying a yellow slicker.
“Nothing yet. It could be a while. I’ll be patient. By the way, did you know one of your guys is chasing after the Darth Maul bandit?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can see everything from up here. One of your mall cops is catching up to a tall fella who appears to have stolen a pair of basketball shoes.”
“Ah crap. I’ve got to get to Phillip. If he catches that guy, he’ll use his flashlight like a ninja uses nunchucks, and then I’ll have another lawsuit on my hands.”
Tyler dipped below the surface, and I awaited more comic relief.
Rain subsided, but it was replaced by a stronger wind. At fifty feet above ground level, it whipped my wet clothes, creating a cascade of chills.
Cupping my hands, I blew warm air into my palms and tried to avoid thinking about my latest confrontation with Britney…because it was unexplainable.
Instead, my mind stuck on the ligature marks and the scratch on Olivia’s neck, There could have been more, but there had been no time for me to check it out further, and the danger of infecting the crime scene because of my curiosity just wasn’t worth it. There was a real possibility that the CSI unit could find a sliver of skin or hair follicle from the killer—DNA evidence. I had put in a call to Renee after the police allowed us to leave. Still working at almost midnight, I could hear her raspy voice vibrate with emotion, grief, frustration, and anger, just to name a few.
“I appreciate the quick notification, Booker. This will allow a few hours for me and my staff to deal with the tragedy, talk to family and friends, and formulate our next steps in this public relations nightmare.”
Then, just before she hung up, she offered one more piece of guidance. “Catch this motherfucker!” Not fitting with her styl
e at all, the blunt order resonated. But my dogged determination had already shifted a heavier burden on my shoulders.
For whatever reason, a brief smile crossed my lips, recalling my trek into my condo after a hellish night. I’d actually caught Cindy with another guy in the hallway. She was only hugging, not humping, but I felt relief—actually more like a pardon—when I turned the corner to see her grab his bushy head of hair and bury it against her cleavage. Part of me wanted to warn him, but maybe he’d be the one. She noticed me out of the corner of her eye and rushed him into her condo, almost as if she was embarrassed.
Surveying the northeast parking lot, I spotted Tyler swinging his free arm toward his mall cop, Phillip. In handcuffs, the perp dragged and shuffled his left leg, and I could see his lips smacking. I think Tyler’s prediction came true, which meant a future of depositions from lawyers racking up useless fees.
I’d only spent one lackluster semester in law school, but I questioned my sanity for even thinking about joining that profession. Just didn’t fit my personality or my desire to actually make a difference, even on the private side. I’d convinced myself serving the community could be accomplished in many ways, and it didn’t have to include rolling out yellow tape or lighting flares after a fender bender.
I puffed a visible breath into the chilly wind, focusing on the number one thing I could achieve for the people of Dallas—taking down Sims and his goon squad.
Sweeping in from the right, where the mall hugs the Central Expressway frontage road, a black Hummer glided to a stop, then slowly accelerated across the outer edge of the parking lot.
“Come to papa.” I think Eva would have scoffed at my failed Spanish accent. A red light flashed on the Hummer’s left side. “That fucker uses a blinker like he’s a law-abiding citizen.” The vehicle was heading toward the aisle directly in front of me.
It angled into a parking space midway down the aisle, cars parked on both sides. Blocked by the other cars, I couldn’t make out faces, but I was certain more than one person was in the Hummer, possibly all men.
No one exited the vehicle. A door didn’t open, and all the windows remained up, as best I could tell. My instinct told me it was Sims, without a doubt. But I needed a picture of him in the act of conducting a drug deal. Plain and simple, or so I thought.
Fifteen minutes passed and still no movement.
I scratched my goatee, then felt the phone buzzing in my back pocket. Maintaining a visual on the black Hummer, I twisted around, feeling my shoulder catch a bit as I pulled out my phone. A text had come in from Alisa.
Just finished Maggie interview; also have research to share. Ur gonna love it:)
“You wouldn’t be Alisa if you hadn’t uncovered skeletons from someone,” I said out loud, resetting the chilled lens against my eye socket.
A trunk popped open two cars down, a newer model Chevy Camaro, blue with white stripes outlining the elevated middle part of the hood.
Pressing the camera hard against my face, I saw two guys exit the car, one on either side, wearing matching blue Dallas Cowboys raincoats. I initially wondered if their Mommy had dressed the twins in the same Tuesday outfit. I clicked a couple of shots while I had their mugs in full view, still unsure if their presence was connected to Sims or any drug deal.
The guy from the passenger seat walked to the rear of the car, leaned down, and moved his arms, but the angle didn’t allow me to view what he was doing. The other guy was in surveillance mode, turning and scanning the area, his body still inside the open door.
“What are you guys up to?”
It just hit me. NorthPark had experienced a rash of car break-ins over the last several months. Could I be watching another one go down? I took a few more shots, in case evidence was needed for an indictment and, hopefully, a conviction. As good as it sounded, my pulse remained even. Petty theft didn’t jazz me, not today, not after I’d seen Sims almost kill a man and me as well, spearhead a drug-dealing scheme, and manipulate the system to where he didn’t get caught.
Without warning, a man appeared at the rear end of the Hummer, pulling the back window open.
Zeroing in my optical zoom, I rattled off five or six shots. The cowboy from the bar the other night. Same basic outfit, with a denim jacket. He glanced to his left, appearing to nod at the guy behind the Camaro.
Two more men came into focus at the Hummer—Sims from the driver’s side and Felix from the other side. That poor schmuck. He was already facing a trial for similar charges, and here he is working another drug deal? He couldn’t be making worse decisions in his life. I took in a breath and pressed the rapid-fire shutter release, capturing Felix and his spiked, colored black hair and nose rings, then a few close-ups of Sims, the shortest of the three, a wisp of gray mixing with his reddish-blond hair. He wore a tight-fitting muscle shirt, his barrel chest looming larger than I recalled. With his protruding forehead, I wondered if he’d added steroids to his diet recently.
Felix shuffled his feet, bunched his shoulders, generally appearing the most awkward of the group, while Sims spun a shiny keychain around his forefinger.
Everyone had his head on a swivel, and it felt like something was about to go down. Just then, Sims nodded to the guy at the back of the blue Camaro, who pulled out a black duffel bag, sagging some in the middle, and walked to the Hummer.
Glancing left, I found the Camaro driver still perched inside the open door, observing everything around him except the scene at the Hummer. He never thought to look up. I could have been dancing nude, and he wouldn’t have spotted me.
I shifted the lens to the Hummer just as the man and his weighted duffel bag arrived. Sims unzipped it, rummaged through the contents.
“Show me something, dammit.” I kept pressing the shutter release, the frames in perfect focus.
A nod from Sims. The cowboy stuck an arm in the Hummer and removed a plastic grocery bag—the same brown color as the one protecting my camera—its volume about the size of a football, knotted at the top. Two fingers hooked through plastic loops, and at the moment of handing it to the Camaro man, the fingers became stuck in the loop and the bags nearly dropped to the ground. Camaro man flung his arms outward, as if the contents consisted of fifteenth-century handmade china.
But this cargo was far more valuable, at least to the men involved in the swap.
“Booker, did you catch all that?”
My stomach lurched into the back of my throat. Tyler, just behind me.
“Dude, get down.” Swatting my hand, I glanced back and noticed his yellow slicker standing out like a duck swimming in a pond surrounded by hunters.
Dropping like an egg-shaped rock, Tyler grunted on impact, crunching forearms off the rocky, soaked roof. “Shit!”
“What happened?” I said, my eyes not leaving the scene.
“I just got racked by my flashlight,” he uttered through a thin voice, followed by a drawn-out groan.
“Sucks to be you.”
Two more bags were lifted out of the Hummer and given to Camaro man, and I kept my finger pressed on the top of the camera. I guessed I’d taken two hundred shots. My heart pattering my chest, I could taste redemption.
Tyler scraped his jacket across the gravel rooftop, nasal grunts accompanying each lunge, and he scooted next to me, his breathing pattern in disarray. He cupped meaty hands over his eyes. Was he pretending they were binoculars?
“This is all well and good, Booker, but did you get evidence from the chase?”
“Chase...” Changing topics, it took me a second to catch up. “Oh, your mall cop chasing after the strange man with the painted face?”
“Yeah, that crazy scene. I think he was trippin’ from some drug binge. Anyway, Phillip says he never touched him. The guy was turning his head, tripped over a curb, and sprained his ankle. Me, my department, we’re not taking the heat for this one. You got everything on your camera? Tell me you did.”
Camaro man extended a hand toward Sims, who scoffed at it, then Sims t
urned and flicked his knuckles against the cowboy man’s chest, apparently sharing a scathing joke.
He’d even proven to be an obnoxious asshole to his so-called peers in his new profession.
“Booker, are you with me?” Tyler leaned on an elbow, his mouthful of air spraying fog into my face.
Tyler’s plea included a waft of something pepperoni, and I inhaled a fresh breath through a small gap on the left side of my mouth. “I’m with you, Tyler. But I’m kind of busy right now.”
The groups separated, and Camaro man deposited three grocery bags in the trunk, full of…I couldn’t say exactly. I guessed it was cocaine, but it could have been any number of illegal drugs. Come to think of it, I wondered if they still used the evidence room that had now morphed into a full-blown warehouse in Deep Ellum as the supply source for their operation. Hard to imagine, considering the internal investigation and the usual scrutiny that came with it. Part of me wondered if the investigation was nothing more than a rubber-stamped mirage, with Felix artfully selected as the sacrificial lamb. If that was the case, there had to be others involved, with Sims orchestrating the whole thing.
Blinking frozen eyelids, I tried not to think about dirty cops roaming the streets of Dallas, soiling the badge, disgracing all the good people who worked their asses off each day to serve their community, dishonoring those who’d given their lives in duty.
“I can just see it now. That Star Wars freak will put on a conservative suit, stand behind a slick guy in a more expensive suit—I’m guessing someone like that Harvey Specter fella on Suits—and claim he was emotionally damaged by Phillip’s so-called brutal assault.”
My absence in the one-sided conversation had allowed Tyler’s mind to spiral into scenarios with the words “worst case” written all over them.
I clicked a dozen more shots, ensuring they included each vehicle’s license plate. The vehicles drove south on the aisle then split at the end, one moving east, the other going west. I considered racing to my Saab and following one of the groups, but I’d traveled that path too recently. The prudent thing for me to do was to get the memory card in the hands of the authorities, and then pray like hell Sims hadn’t compromised the whole fucking system.
BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense) Page 39
