Amber spoke, “Kind of early in the day to get fried, don’t you think? Getting drunk is not going to change your contract, Amy.”
“No it won’t, Amber, but I’m going to have another one anyways. Maybe two, probably three. At least four. Jack, you big fucking stud. Would you care to join me in a round of Tanqueray?”
“No, sorry. I never developed a taste for gin. I’ll have another lemon and water though, if you’re buying.”
“Lemon and water? What kind of man drinks God damned lemon and water? Maybe one that likes lesbos. Fine, I’ll have a drink with Nancy, then.” She fell out of the chair, and staggered back into the house.
“That one way ticket to Australia is looking better every day,” Amber told Trotter, laughing. “It’s only a matter of time, and I’m out of here.”
Once more, Trotter and Amber jumped in the pool to cool off. Nancy came out a half hour after Amy left. “It looks like Amy is in another one of her moods. I had one drink with her, but when I told her I had work to do, and did not want to get drunk, she got all pissy and took her gin and went to her room. I imagine she forgot all about Micky and the Freaks coming over tonight at seven thirty to lay down some tracks.”
“Well, that is great,” Amber griped, while climbing up the ladder. “Just great! She goes and makes plans for them retards to use her studio; but now she’s drunk and will probably pass out.”
“Should I call them to cancel?” Nancy asked Amber.
“No. We need that one song for the next concert. Let them record. I’ll come back over. I doubt it, but maybe Amy will be sober by then.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. She was really hammering that bottle. The attorneys put her on a mission.” Nancy was familiar with her employer’s drunken ways. “I’m still working with the Dallas Police on getting security set up for the concert, so I’ll talk to you two later.”
Nancy left, and Amber looked at Trotter, who was still in the pool. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
Amber dried off, donned her robe, picked up their empty water glasses, and went inside, while Trotter stayed in the pool and did laps.
A few minutes later, she returned with a tray holding two tuna fish sandwiches, fruit cups and water refills. She sat the tray on the big glass table and motioned for Jack. They both sought refuge from the sun under the huge umbrella.
Trotter took a bite of his sandwich. “These are great. You’re an excellent cook and will make a good wife someday.” He joked. They both laughed.
“Yeah, right. If supper comes in a can or a box and goes in the microwave…then I can cook. Otherwise, either my poor husband will starve to death or we’ll eat out a lot. But there are no plans for a husband in my future.”
Trotter grinned, and then asked, “What’s the scoop on these Freak guys?”
“Micky and the Freaks are four young punks that formed a band.” Amber explained, “Micky is the lead singer. He and Amy became an item a couple of months ago, but she dumped him when she caught him cheating. She met him when he was playing at a club downtown and she thought he was ‘so cute.’ Amy asked me to write some lyrics, and Micky came up with the melody. Their relationship might have lasted all of two months. He could have used her fame to make a name for himself. The jerk realizes how badly he screwed up, and now he’s trying to get back in her good graces.”
Using her fork, she stabbed a grape from the fruit cup; and pointed it at Trotter. “Micky is a weasel in my opinion. He’s no good. And creepy.” Then she ate the grape.
Trotter then speared a grape and pointed it back at her. “If you think there might be trouble, I can come back over tonight.”
She smiled. “Could you? I would appreciate that. These idiots can’t play unless they’re stoned, and I think Micky can get violent. Worse yet, complicating matters, he doesn’t know Amy has a twin. So, I guess I’ll be playing Fontaine tonight.” Trotter downed the juice from his fruit cup, stood up and said, “Well, that might be interesting. Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you later tonight.” Trotter looked her over with a quick glance, man she is sexy he thought to himself. “Later,” Amber said with a smile, as she placed their empty glasses and cups on the tray.
* * * *
Trotter reported into his captain after arriving back at his place. “Hey, El Capitan. This is Trotter. I’m still kicking.”
“Hey, Jack. That lead you gave us on Blaze Weatherspoon is paying off. We got a bunch of pictures of him and his boys doing business. He even took us to his main man.”
“What’s up with Grasser and his fat friend?”
“Those two slugs must be his runners. Street level dealers. We’ll build an ironclad case on all these perps. In a couple of weeks, they’ll all be going down. That Blaze is one big son of a bitch, just like you said; he looks like one brother that won’t go down without a fight. You did exceptional work on this one, Jack.” Palmer praised his detective.
“Thanks, Captain. I’ll try to have some more leads in a couple of days.” Trotter informed his boss, smiling. He just bought himself some time to spend at the Fontaine house.
“Just remember to keep your head low if they start shooting.”
“Yes, Mother,” Trotter joked, and hung up the phone. He thought how well this is working out for him. Amy Fontana paid him to lounge in her pool and she kept a steady flow of drug users coming his way; all the while, he collected a paycheck from the force.
Trotter set his alarm clock to go off in one hour. He decided to take a power nap in case he had to be at the top of his game tonight with Micky and the Freaks.
The sun and the water put him into a deep sleep; the alarm went off, startling him. Before taking a quick shower, Trotter dropped and did fifty pushups and fifty sit-ups, just to stay toned.
At seven fifteen, he pulled into the estate. An old beat up VW microbus with “Micky and the Freaks” hand painted on the sides was parked next to Amber’s Porsche. Trotter quickly got the plate number on film.
When he entered the front door, he heard muffled sounds of music coming from the basement-recording studio. Amy spent tens upon tens of thousands of dollars on the room, the acoustics, the soundproofing, and especially on the hi-tech recording equipment.
Not a soul was present on the first floor, so Trotter ventured into the kitchen and looked out by the pool. Seated at the patio table were two girls. He watched them for a few moments and saw them pass a joint. Recalling what Amy had said about “partying outdoors,” Trotter opened the sliding doors and approached the pot smokers.
“The party’s over girls; put the weed in the van. Fontaine does not allow any drug usage outside,” he told the two girls, who reminded him of vampires. Both had long, jet black hair and snow white skin, as if they never came out in daylight. The girl closest to Trotter had a lip ring in the corner of her mouth and offered the marijuana cigarette to him. “Chill out, dude. Here, take a hit.”
Trotter took the doobie and flicked it into the bushes. “What part of ‘no drug usage outside’ do you not understand?”
“What a fucking party pooper, man,” the other girl exclaimed. She had a safety pin pierced through her left eyebrow, and wore way too much eyeliner.
“Come on, Danielle. Let’s go to the van like Officer O’Reilly says.” She made a face at Trotter, and they both left; the distinct and pungent odor of the cannabis clung heavily in the humid air surrounding the pool.
Trotter went back inside. A male version of the two female vampires was helping himself to the contents of the refrigerator. He too, had long black hair and very white skin, and of course, facial piercings.
“What’s up, dude?” he asked Trotter, and set a four pack of wine coolers on the counter; his tattooed arm extended out from his black leather jacket. Trotter recognized the tracks on his arm. A junkie!
“How’s the recording session going?” Trotter asked.
“Smooth. Real smooth, man. Fontaine’s gear is top shit.” His eyes were also very red and glassy. The
skinny kid closed the refrigerator, picked up the wine coolers, and headed back down to the studio. Trotter followed. The muffled music grew louder as they neared.
When they opened the door to the studio, three more longhaired, pale-white skinny kids were standing by their instruments. Trotter realized they were listening to a playback of what they recorded. Amber sat in the engineering room behind big glass windows, operating an equalizer. When she saw Trotter, she waved and gave him a wink. This was their signal letting Trotter know if he was with Amber, or her evil twin. She had the adhesive theatrical mole on her cheek.
The kid who made the beer run joined his band members, and Trotter went into the mixing room with Amber. “Hi, Jack. I was hoping you would show.”
She made a small adjustment on the treble slide, and then pointed to a toggle switch labeled ‘speaker’ that was in the off position. “They can’t hear us.”
Trotter glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, I’ve been here for fifteen minutes. Two girls were smoking pot by the pool. I made them take it to their van.”
“Oh! I see you met Danielle and Kristie. They’re Micky’s crack whore sisters. They’re dating two of the guys in the band. You might want to keep an eye on them because they’ll steal anything that’s not nailed down. They asked if they could go swimming. I really didn’t want the filthy sluts in the pool, but figured they’d be better off there than roaming the house.”
She adjusted the bass slide. “This take did not record very well, and we have to do a retake. I hope we’ll be done here in half an hour. I can handle the Freaks if you want to watch those sisters. The tallest guy there, with the Mohawk, that’s Micky. I don’t know what Amy ever saw in him. Yuck.”
“I can’t see any reason, either. Unless you’re into vampires. I’ll go keep watch on his sisters,” Trotter said, and went back upstairs to the little security room. On the monitors, he could see smoke drifting out the VW’s windows and he watched as the sisters passed another joint between them.
Ten minutes went by with no activity. Then the passenger side door opened and Danielle stepped out with a cloud of smoke following. She went to the rear of the van, undid her jeans and pulled them to her knees. Bracing herself on the van, she squatted to urinate. When she was done, she bounced her ass up and down in an attempt to drip dry. Trotter got an eyeful. It’s a damn good thing the sleazy bitch was not in the pool.
Chapter Fourteen
“I can be your hero, baby. I can kiss away the pain.
I will stand by you forever.”
Enrique Iglesias
Another fifteen minutes went by and Trotter heard voices and footsteps outside his door in the hallway, and then he heard the front door opening. He watched on the monitor as three of the Freaks loaded their instruments in the van; and the one who was in the fridge got in behind the wheel. One of the sisters gave him a long French kiss, and then helped him pull his long sleeve up his arm. Trotter watched as the girl squeezed his upper arm and the kid stuck a needle in his vein. Trotter grinned. Heroin, most likely.
Realizing Micky and Amber were alone. Trotter left the security room and headed downstairs to the recording studio. He heard Amber screaming, “Get off me!” as he opened the door.
Micky was on top of Amber; his weight had her pinned to the floor. Her blouse was torn open, and he had one hand on her brassiere-covered breast. He tried kissing her as she struggled to get away. He gyrated his pelvis on hers.
Trotter ran over to them and grabbed the collar of Micky’s black leather jacket with his left hand, and jerked him up and off Amber. His right fist connected to the punk’s jaw, which sent him reeling backwards against the wall. Amber got to her feet and quickly buttoned her blouse.
Micky spit a tooth on the floor. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you’re going to pay for that, Asshole!” He reached to his back pocket and produced a switchblade knife. Pointing it at Trotter, he squeezed the tiny eject button and the six inch long, razor sharp blade sprang from inside.
“I’m going to cut you up, Motherfucker!” Then he took a swipe at Trotter’s face. The tip of the blade barely sliced Trotter’s cheek; but the nick was deep enough to cause blood to ooze.
“Ha, ha!” Micky laughed. He took another swipe but came up short. He tossed the knife from his right hand to his left hand and then back to his right. Then he took a stab at Trotter. Trotter jumped back and the knife missed its target by an inch. Another attempt at a stab, Trotter jumped back again, but also threw a left jab that grazed Micky’s right eye. “Ohh, you bastard!” Micky grumbled.
He threw another stab and two more swipes at Trotter’s face, causing Trotter to retreat until his back was against the wall. Micky smiled. “Got you now, Motherfucker!” He took a swipe at Trotter’s face but missed by a mere fraction of an inch. Trotter also threw a jab but missed.
Micky lowered the knife and aimed for Trotter’s gut. He thrust the knife forward. Trotter slid to his left, the blade pierced Trotter’s sweatshirt, sliced his side, and stuck deep into the foam-padded wall. In one quick motion, Trotter brought his right arm down with the precision and swiftness of a trained gladiator, pinning Micky’s arm. Trotter then used his left hand and grabbed the punk’s wrist while his right hand grabbed his forearm. Trotter dropped to his left knee and brought Micky’s arm down over his right thigh, above his knee. A loud crack could be heard as Micky’s radius and ulna; both of his arm bones, snapped across Trotter’s leg. Micky screamed out in pain, rolled onto the floor and lay on his back. The jagged arm bones protruded through his skin. Using his good arm, he brought his broken arm to his abdomen, and held it there.
Trotter pulled the knife from the wall, closed it, and put the weapon in his back pocket, as Amber ran to his side. “God, Jack! Are you alright?” She saw the blood soaking into his sweatshirt. She pulled his shirt up. “You’ll need stitches.”
Trotter looked. “It ain’t that bad. Let’s get this asshole out of here.” He put his hands under Micky’s armpits and picked him up to his feet. All the while, the kid moaned and winced from the intense pain.
Trotter motioned to the door, the punk obeyed. Amber hollered, “Wait!” She went into the mixing room, and then returned with the finished CD.
“Let me see that knife, Jack.” He wrinkled his forehead, and acted hesitant about giving her the switchblade. She gestured with her hand to give it up. He pulled the knife from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to her, the handle end first.
“I almost forgot to autograph this for you, Micky.” She carved a big X across the playing side of the CD, handed the knife to Trotter, and handed the CD to Micky. When he reached for the disc with his good arm, his broken arm dangled down, and he screamed out again from the jagged bones cutting through flesh.
Trotter escorted Micky to the front door. When his band members saw the shape of their lead singer, they ran to him. Trotter warned them all, “You might want to get his ass to the hospital. Tell the doctor your friend was too drunk and fell down the steps. That’s unless you want to get the police involved. Then the situation will get ugly with the attempted rape and attempted murder charges. Not to mention your dope. I’ll keep his knife for evidence. It’s your decision. Now get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back.”
They promptly got Micky into the microbus and sped off. Amber waited just inside the door for Trotter. When he came back in, she gave him a hug. “I don’t know how to thank you, Jack. That bastard would’ve raped me if you wouldn’t have been here.” Then she started to tremble from the thought of Micky feeling her up and shoving his tongue in her mouth. Moreover, what probably would have happened if Trotter had not been there to rescue her!
Trotter put his huge arms around the tiny shaking girl. “It’s okay. I'm here. Everything is all right, now. I promise you nobody will ever hurt you. Ever.”
She had her face buried in his chest. The scent of his Old Spice soothed her. He held her for a few moments until she regained composure. Then she lo
oked up at him. “I honestly believe you.”
The blood on Trotter’s face caused Amber to remember he had just been in a knife fight. “Holy Christ, Jack. I forgot you were hurt. Now let’s see how bad that degenerate cut you. But I have to warn you, I’m as good a nurse as I am a cook.”
Trotter could not retain his laugh. “Well, I guess I’m going to live then…band aids come in a box.”
“Always the smart ass,” Amber said, much relieved, joining in with his laughter.
“I think this cut might need more than a bandage,” Amber told Trotter, while examining his side.
Then she washed the gash with a warm soapy washcloth; afterwards, Trotter applied pressure with a clean dry washcloth to stop the bleeding. Standing close to him, he could smell her exotic perfume. Amber said decisively, “Yeah, you definitely need stitches.”
“If I went to the hospital, a doctor would apply antiseptic and stitch me back together. Then they would ask who cut me. You can fix me up here with alcohol and adhesive tape,” Trotter responded.
“I don’t know, Jack. I think a doctor should look at this,” Amber argued.
“Trust me, Amber. The cut isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ll make you a deal, if we can’t get the bleeding to stop, then I’ll go to the ER. Deal?” Trotter bargained.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Amber said, accepting defeat.
She returned to the kitchen with a bottle of alcohol and a first aid kit still wrapped in cellophane. “Well, at least we know everything’s sterile,” Trotter said, pointing out another reason why they did not have to go to the hospital.
“Look. Butterfly stitches,” Trotter exclaimed as he rooted through the box. “And antiseptic cream. We have everything we need. First, pour some alcohol on it,” he instructed Amber as he pulled the washcloth away from the incision. Blood immediately ran down his side.
Trotter gritted his teeth, but kept a poker face. The alcohol stung like a bastard, but he did not let on.
Born of Greed Page 17
