“The whole state is three feet above sea level – what’s there to look at?”
“Have you ever been to Apache Junction?”
“A couple years ago. Got hired by a guy who worked part-time re-enacting gunfights at the ghost town for tourists. He thought his wife was cheating.”
“Was she?”
“Yeah.”
“Was his gun real or fake?”
“Always assume they’re real.”
“Did he try to shoot her?” Enid said.
“No, but he sledge-hammered the hell out of the boyfriend’s car.”
“Boyfriend?” Enid asked in a sharp voice.
“What do you want me to call him?”
“Cheating sleazebag! What happened then?” Enid said.
“My check cleared – so…” Jack shrugged.
“How’d you become a detective?”
Jack’s lips tightened. “This is our exit.”
They found Cormac Delrow’s house easily. The whole town seemed to be a series of squat, ugly houses. Cormac’s house had the nicest truck in the driveway, which gave it the sense of being the best home in the neighborhood.
“I don’t want to wait in the car. It’s too hot.”
Jack hesitated.
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
Jack looked at her doubtfully.
She gave her most winning smile, which was rusty.
Jack sighed, gestured for her to follow him.
Before they reached the front door, a cacophony of barking dogs hit their ears. Jack rang the front doorbell and the barking increased to a frenzy.
From within the house, a man’s shouted, “Shut up!”
Cormac Delrow opened the door. He shoved the dogs back with his legs.
Enid stepped behind Jack, thankful for the iron-barred door.
Cormac was in his late sixties and would have been six-foot four if he had been able to stand straight, but his neck was bent to the left like a gnarled tree. Enid had the feeling that he might have been handsome – a long, long time ago.
Jack held out his identification, shouting to be heard above the barking dogs. “My name is Jack Fox. Are you Cormac Delrow?”
“What’s this about?” Cormac shouted.
“I was hoping for a few minutes of your time.”
“Shoot.” He made no move to invite them in or quiet the dogs.
“I’m doing a background check on a former employee,” Jack shouted.
“Since when do detectives do employee background checks?”
“Ann Smith.”
Cormac narrowed his eyes, jabbed a finger at Enid. “Who’s she?”
“Enid!” she shouted, trying to look harmless. Even with the dogs, she didn’t want to wait in the car.
“Wait here.” Cormac herded the barking dogs into another room and shut them in. He unlocked the iron grate, motioned for Jack and Enid to enter.
They followed him into a living room, which was filled with the vibrant colors of Mexican art – skeletons with voluptuous breasts, skulls, and flowers in every shape and size.
Enid gazed around the room with wide, admiring eyes.
“You like it?” Cormac said.
“They’re beautiful,” Enid breathed.
Cormac notched his thumb in Enid’s direction, “Kid’s got taste.”
Enid paused in front of a painting that somehow reminded her of a bullfight – or a teacup.
Cormac smiled proudly, “Paid a pretty penny for that one. Worth every cent.”
“What is it?” Enid asked.
“Damned if I know,” Cormac answered.
Jack said, “I collect Day of the Dead figurines.”
Enid shot him a surprised look. What was that crap he’d been feeding her about not lying? And what the hell was a Day of the Dead figurine?”
“A doll collector, huh?” Cormac laughed.
Jack laughed, “I like ‘em.”
“You want something to drink?” Cormac asked. “Mountain Dew?”
“No thanks,” Jack answered before Enid could say anything.
“Well, then, take a load off,” Cormac said, “Fire away.”
Enid sat on the couch while Cormac and Jack sank into well-worn armchairs.
“Ann Smith,” Jack said. “She worked for you at – ?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cormac waved his hands. “Why you need to do a background check on a dead girl?”
“The dead girl’s daughter is my client.”
Cormac leaned forward. “The baby?”
“Not anymore,” Jack answered with a smile.
Cormac rubbed his stubbly chin, “Yeah, I guess not.” He looked at Jack, “How’d she turn out?”
“Fine.”
“She’s not…?” Cormac glanced at Enid, “Dancing…?”
Jack hesitated.
“Shit!” Cormac slapped his hand on his knee. “I hate to see girls end up on the pole.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
Cormac waved his hand, “Just ‘cause I owned it, doesn’t mean I want to see a baby grow up and hang off a pole like her mama, does it?”
“Can you tell me about Ann?” Jack asked.
“Sweet as they come. Dumb as a rock-sack.”
“How so?” Jack asked.
Cormac shrugged, “Client would feed her a line of shit and she’d buy it – hook, line and sinker. Most girls know better or at least learn quick to know better. Except for the ones who love the bad boys. She wasn’t one of those. Ann wasn’t like the other girls – she didn’t belong there. Didn’t know the score. I think she had a falling-out with her family. Fell in with the wrong people.”
“You remember any names of the ‘wrong people’?”
“Some guy. I don’t know. Same guy – different face. They’re all the same – like they come off an asshole assembly line. She got knocked up and the asshole cleared out – left her high and dry. That’s right! If it wasn’t for Viv…” Cormac gave Jack a cagey look. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Viv – as in Vivian Hargrove?” Jack said.
Cormac pressed his lips tight. “How much do you know?”
“Ann Smith had a baby named Jeni. When Ann died, Vivian took in the baby and raised her.”
“You know Viv?”
“Not personally.”
“So, you know Viv used to be a stripper.” He said it more as a statement than a question.
“I’m not out to ruin anybody’s reputation. Jeni wants to know who her real mother is.”
“Then you know that Vivian Hargrove has the power to hang you up by the balls if…” Cormac glanced at Enid with a frown. “I’d rather handle a rattlesnake than mess with that woman. Capisce?”
“My client simply wants to know who her real mother is.”
“Are you supposed to tell me that?”
“No,” Jack said.
Cormac frowned. “Viv would have my hide if…”
“You keep in touch with her?”
“Hell no!” Cormac laughed, “Not Ms. High-and-Mighty ‘never-knew-nothing-about-being-no-stripper’ Vivian Hargrove! She’s got a gold-encrusted social register stuck up her ass so far she wouldn’t look at me if you had a gun to her head.”
“How so?”
“She got a whiff of a higher rung of a ladder, and she lunged on it like a rabid dog. That’s one thing about Viv – she never missed an opportunity. She had a knack of getting on the lap of money. I got on her once for taking too many breaks – she took her smoke break on the side of the club and I told her we weren’t running an open market – she needed to take her smoke break with the other girls in the break room. She looked me in the eye and said ‘I don’t smoke.’ I pointed at her lit cigarette and said ‘What’s that? A Johnny Walker?’ She laughed and said, ‘I’d look pretty funny standing out here without a prop, now wouldn’t I?’ She nodded toward the parking lot where a beat-up truck was pulling in and she said, ‘I choose my laps,’ and brother – she wasn’t kidd
ing!”
Jack said, “Is that how she met her husband, Daniel Hargrove?”
“That pervert who owned the bank – yeah, Viv zoomed in on him like a heat-seeking missile.”
“Why was he a pervert?”
“Viv’s thing was dressing up like a baby girl with a lollipop and lace undies. Truth be known, it gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Every girl had her own angle. I don’t care what drives them, as long as the bills get paid.”
“How did Viv and Ann get to be friends?”
“They weren’t really friends. At least I don’t recall them hanging out together. When Ann had the baby and brought her in to show the girls, they all made a big to-do over her. I’m not one to oo-and-ah over a baby, but she was the prettiest little thing I ever saw. I forgot her name was Jeni.”
“What did everybody think when Viv took the baby – after Ann died?”
“Surprised. Shocked, really. I never saw Viv as the warm-and-fuzzy mother type – even though she already had a kid and, like I said, I never saw that she was that friendly with Ann. The girls raised some money to help Viv with the cost.”
“How about Ann’s death? Any thoughts it might not be an accident?”
“No way it wasn’t an accident! Besides, who would want to kill Ann? She didn’t have a pot to piss in. It was pure bad luck – hit a phone pole. I heard she was dead before they could load her into the ambulance.” Cormac looked at Jack, “What’s she like? Jeni?”
“Gorgeous,” Jack said.
Cormac nodded, “Ann was pretty, not gorgeous. That dimwit she took up with – I can’t believe he had a decent piece of DNA in his whole branchless family tree. Maybe he had a hot grandmother – you can never figure on these things.”
“Maybe.”
Cormac smiled sadly, “Time keeps moving, doesn’t she?”
Jack stood up and held out his hand, “Thank you for your time.”
Cormac stood up and shook his hand, “I can’t think that I actually helped with anything.”
“You did.”
Cormac led them to the front door, “If you run into Viv, could you not pass along any message from me? I’d like it just fine if she never knows you and me met.”
“Done.” Jack handed him a business card, “If you have any more information or if I can be of any help to you…”
Cormac took the card, nodded and waved as he went back into the house.
Heading back to Phoenix, Enid said, “What now?”
“What do you think?”
Enid thought. “Vivian Hargrove?”
Jack touched his nose.
Enid tried to hide her smile of pride.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A bad peace is even worse than war.
–Tacitus
Jack wasn’t surprised that Enid knew the next move was to talk to Vivian Hargrove, but he was surprised at the thoughtful silence that she lapsed into as they drove toward Phoenix. She had been the original Chatty Cathy all the way to Apache Junction and he had expected the same on the trip back to Phoenix. Taking advantage of the silence, Jack flipped open his cell and dialed Jeni.
After several rings, Jeni answered.
“Hi, Jeni. Jack Fox here.” Jack eased the car into the exit lane.
“Hey. What’s going on?” She said.
“I need to get in touch with Vivian. Are you on good terms with her?”
After a moment of silence, Jeni answered, “I saw in the paper – she’s doing one of her charity things tonight.”
Enid said, “Can I talk to Jeni?”
Jack made a motion for her to wait.
Jeni continued, “It’s her big annual fund raiser for the girls’ home – at the Phoenician. Big bucks to get in.”
Jack recalled the information that Rachel had already given him on Vivian Hargrove. She was on the board for a charity girls’ home – something about orphaned and “wayward” girls. Jack had raised his eyebrows at the name – it seemed outdated and vaguely insulting.
“Need a date?” Jeni said.
“No, but thanks. Got to concentrate on work,” Jack said, wishing it was Eve asking him that question.
“Oh,” her voice hinting at disappointment. “How are you going to get in? It’s by invitation only.”
Jack was about to answer when she interrupted him, “You shouldn’t talk on the phone when you’re driving.” She hung up.
Frowning, Jack hung up.
“Hey, I wanted to talk to her,” Enid said.
Jack handed her the phone.
Enid hit redial and, when Jeni answered, Jack could hear the surprise in her voice when she realized Enid had called her.
“Are you with him?” Jeni said. “Why are you with him?”
“I – uh,” Enid bumbled.
Jack grinned at her discomfort.
Enid scowled, cast Jack an evil look. “Remember how I told you about why I came here…?”
“Oh! You told him? How’d he take it?” Jeni asked.
Jack stared straight ahead, listening as Enid changed the subject by asking about Faith. Jeni took the hint and told her how she got Faith back from social services, how the crazy ex-boyfriend was in jail and she apologized for what she put Enid through.
Jack was surprised when Enid glossed over the ordeal with Jeni’s ex-boyfriend as if it was no big deal.
“Hey, uh – I left some stuff in your freezer,” Enid said tentatively. “I was hoping that you could hold on to it for me.”
Jeni agreed and they said their goodbyes.
Enid turned to Jack. “I need to pick up – my stuff – from Jeni’s apartment.”
“I’ll take you.”
Enid made a face.
“Well, I am not lending you my car. Are you even old enough to drive?”
“I can drive!”
“I can’t drive you over till tomorrow. If you need something tonight, we can go to the store.”
Enid irritably stared out the window.
Jack glanced at his watch and mentally went through the assortment of clothes that he kept in the trunk of his car. Being a self-employed detective sometimes called for quick outfit changes. “I’m going to Vivian’s charity ball and I won’t be able to take you with me. I’ll drop you off at home.”
“Why can’t I go?”
“It’s a black-tie event. You won’t blend in and you’ll get in the way.”
“What? I can’t pass as a wayward girl?”
Jack gave her a look.
“I want to go,” Enid said, a determined gleam in her eyes.
“I said ‘no’ – so the answer is no.”
“Didn’t you say this is a chance for us to get to know each other?”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Jack said, “Well, let’s get to know each other some other time. I’ve got work to do.”
Enid shrugged, “No problem. I can hang out with your neighbor – the girl next door. Maybe she can give me some tips on picking up dirty old men – or we can go cruising the mall for tattooed tongue-pierced boys who’ll be happy to slip us a couple of roofies.”
Jack glanced at her, irritated. “Did you ever do anything your mother wanted you to do? And if so – how’d she get you to do it?”
“Not likely,” Enid sniffed.
“Well, if she’s got a ninja-mom secret on how to deal with – ”
“Yeah,” Enid said in a scathing voice, “Her secret is to marinate in vodka until she doesn’t remember I exist.”
Jack felt a stab of shock. Even though she told him the situation – he hadn’t imagined it was that bad.
How bad was it?
He wanted to ask her, he wanted to know, but was interrupted by the sudden violent urge to beat the shit out of somebody – some invisible anonymous “somebody” that was to blame for her pain – for everybody’s pain – like that would fix anything! A dim memory pushed its way up, and
he felt the ghost of that horrible pain and anger that had been as familiar to him as his own skin and worse than any broken bone…
To be a kid and know you aren’t wanted.
Grimacing, he shoved the memory back down and stole a look at Enid. She was red-faced and looked like she was going to burst into tears.
Forcing his voice to stay casual, he said, “All right. Wayward girl it is.”
The subtlest of smiles curved at her mouth. A thought flashed through Jack…
Did she just play me?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon.
–Napoleon Bonaparte
Bud stared at the hospital ceiling, wondering how many other chumps had lain in the that same bed, listened to the same doctor and stared at the same fluorescent lights as their world came crashing down.
How many are dead?
Bud closed his eyes, trying to push down the anxiety that wasn’t just “anxiety” anymore – it was no longer just an inconvenient occasional feeling – it was a symptom of something that threatened to bump him off – into oblivion.
No more Bud.
Bud forced himself to look into the thought of him no longer existing.
What next?
Where?
Bud’s thoughts floundered. All he saw was darkness. Bud thought back to all the Sundays he spent in church, all the prayers, all the hymns, all the checks written to the church – what did it mean? Did it mean that he was going to heaven?
Bud knew he wasn’t going to hell.
Hell was a place for diseased souls – murderers, molesters, and abusers – with a subcategory for people who hurt animals and, of course, Mr. Jenkins – the neighbor who, when he was in sixth grade, cut down the oak tree that he had hidden in as a shy boy – reading books, eating crackers, watching the clouds and whiling away the hours with daydreams of adventure and romance.
Bud turned his thoughts to what was next and what “next” might look like.
After several minutes, beads of sweat formed on his brow at the blank he was drawing. Bud focused on a new thought – no matter what’s next – where he goes – whether it’s to some magical heaven or straight into the hard-packed Arizona dirt – he decided to concentrate on what wouldn’t be there – what he didn’t see.
Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) Page 12
