Kiss Me Deadly

by Susan Kearney

  “We’ll be fine. I’ve got your back.”

  “Maybe Sam could use his influence with the mayor to apply some pressure on the police.”

  They’d reached the door, and it wasn’t closed. Zack banged on the trailer’s side. “Anybody home?”

  “Go away,” an older woman shouted at them, her tone more weary than hostile. “Nicky’s dead, and I ain’t got enough cash to turn on the lights, never mind pay his debts.”

  “Ma’am. We’re not bill collectors,” Zack told her, his voice firm and polite.

  “Get out of here. Didn’t you see the ‘no trespassing’ sign? This is private property.” The woman slurred her words.

  Mandy didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want to talk to the woman, but from the determined look on Zack’s face, he was prepared to camp outside her door in the hot sun until the woman came out or agreed to let them inside.

  “Would you answer a few questions for ten bucks?” Mandy offered.

  “Fifty.”

  “Ten.” Mandy remained uncompromising. “Twenty if the information’s useful.”

  “And who’s to say what’s useful?” The door creaked open. A heavyset woman wearing a stained housedress, her beady eyes narrowed in suspicion, waved an almost empty beer bottle. From her body odor, Mandy guessed that she hadn’t washed in a month, and the sour smell of beer on her breath suggested she’d been drinking since sunup.

  The trailer’s occupant stood between piles of stacked newspapers and a plastic palm tree strung with broken Christmas lights. Several cats rubbed against her swollen ankles, but she seemed oblivious to their attentions.

  “Do you live here with Nick Vizzi?” Zack asked.

  “I’m his mama, Angelina Vizzi. And I ain’t saying another word until I see some cash.”

  Mandy dug two tens from her wallet and held them in the air. Angelina tried to grab them and missed. She stumbled into the trailer doorway, then righted herself with a heavy heave of her bosom.

  Mandy waved the bills in front of Angelina’s nose. “We’re looking for an associate of Nick’s.”

  “An associate?” She took a swig from her beer. “Oh, you mean one of the punks he hangs with? Got a name?”

  “He’s black, has dreads, and has lots of acne scars.” Mandy described the man who’d stolen the ticket and held her breath, hoping Angelina wouldn’t exhale again in her direction.

  “You’re looking for Moose.”

  Mandy handed Angelina one of the ten-dollar bills. “Moose? Does he have a real name?”

  “None that I ever heard.” Angelina stuffed the bill into her bra and burped.

  “Where’s Moose live?” Zack asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Does he have a job?” Mandy asked.

  “Yeah, terrorizing good honest folk.” Angelina’s face began turning red. “Come in. I needs to sit myself down.”

  Mandy did not want to enter the trailer. It smelled bad enough from the doorway. She heard tiny animals scurrying, lizards, palmetto bugs, or field rats, although the cats would probably chase away rats.

  Before Zack or Mandy responded, Angelina hiked up her dress to her knees and sat on a messy stack of newspaper. Mandy fought to keep a pleasant expression. She knew what it was like to be poor, yet she’d never seen a trailer or a woman in such horrible condition. Perhaps Angelina had gone on a drinking spree after hearing about her son’s death, but filth like this took years to accumulate.

  Angelina looked ready to pass out. As promising as the lead on “Moose” sounded, they couldn’t be certain he was the man they were looking for. Mandy wanted to bolt. Her stomach soured. Just standing in the doorway was making her itch.

  “Where can we find Moose?” Zack asked.

  Angelina dropped the beer, but the bottle didn’t break. The cats lapped up the spilled liquid. She was too far gone to notice, but even in her alcoholic haze, her eyes focused on the money Mandy still held. “Moose and my boy . . . My boy is dead, you know. I had to identify his body.”

  Mandy couldn’t think of anything worse than having to ID the body of a deceased child, and her heart went out to Angelina. No wonder she was drinking. At the same time, her statement bothered Mandy. Hadn’t Ben said he was going to the police station to identify the body? So he’d lied to Sylvia. But why?

  “Where can we find Moose?” Zack prodded.

  “He hangs at Cherry’s, the neighborhood pit stop.”

  “Pit stop?”

  “Booze. Pills. Whatever you want, you can get it at Cherry’s. It’s around the corner and up the street a ways. Moose hustles pool there most nights.”

  Mandy offered the rest of the money. “Thank you.”

  Before Angelina could take the bill, her eyes closed and she slumped to the floor. Mandy placed the remaining ten-dollar bill on top of a newspaper pile and under a string where Angelina would easily find it—when she came to.

  “Think we should call 911?” Mandy asked Zack.

  “She’ll sleep it off. And I don’t think she’d appreciate your concern.” Zack backtracked down the sidewalk and took her hand again. “You did real good with Angelina.”

  “Thanks.” Mandy appreciated the praise. “You think Moose is our guy?”

  Zack shrugged. “If you see him again, will you recognize him?”

  Mandy recalled his violent eyes and shivered. “Yes.”

  Zack placed his arm over her shoulder. “We can’t go to the neighborhood hangout dressed like this.” He grinned at her, and the way his eyes twinkled, she just knew he was about to say something outrageous. “We need to buy you something ugly so you can be inconspicuous.” He patted her butt. “And add extra padding to your hips so if Moose is there, he won’t recognize you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be modeling black leather pants and a Stetson.”

  She snorted. “That’s never been in style.”

  “Exactly. I want to draw attention—the wrong kind.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m hoping there’s a pool table in there and that they see a sucker coming.”

  “How will losing at pool help us find Moose?”

  “We’ll be outsiders. We can’t go in asking questions. Moose recognizing you could get us shot.”

  “So—”

  “Men who win money at pool drink lots of beer. Lots of beer loosens tongues.”

  She glanced sideways at him. “And what am I supposed to do while you’re losing?”

  “You keep your eyes peeled for Moose.”

  “What if he recognizes me?”

  “He won’t. Not if we dress you right.” Zack grinned one of those charming smiles that made her itch to slap him or kiss him—she never could decide which.

  “Zack, I don’t know. Moose got a good look at me in the airport parking lot.”

  Zack chuckled. “Trust me, darling. You’re going to look so ugly no man will look at you twice.”

  She stared at him, stomach twisting. The idea of coming face-to-face with a killer unnerved her. “Maybe you should go without me.”

  “I need you to eyeball the guy.”

  Yikes. Zack had her so distracted she couldn’t think straight. But she didn’t like this plan. She had a very bad feeling she couldn’t explain.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  SYLVIA HAD PLANNED to stay at the office all afternoon. But when her daughter called in tears to tell her that she’d caught Sylvia’s twelve-year-old grandson, David, smoking pot, Sylvia had locked up the office and left with her bodyguard. The answering service could take messages. Family problems were always more important than work.

  Before she abandoned the office, Sylvia phoned the police station and asked to speak to Ben. But no one had seen
him. They patched her through to the morgue, but he hadn’t shown up there, either.

  She stepped outside, wondering where he was.

  Ben had always been good with their children and grandchildren. His straightlaced no-nonsense and nonjudgmental talks had always set their kids on the right path. Years ago, after he’d caught one of their underage boys drunk, he’d taken him to the county jail to watch an alcoholic dry out. The vomiting, dry heaves, and shaking had done the trick. The teenage bingeing had stopped.

  She could use Ben’s help now. She’d left her cell phone at home. She rarely turned it on even when she had it with her, using it only for emergencies—unlike her eldest grandson, who didn’t even have a landline and carried his cell with him all the time.

  Progress could be a good thing, she supposed. Between the faxes, computers, cell phones, iPods, texting, and tablets, she felt old. Stepping to the curb, she resolved to find a way for her and Ben to move to the mountains and a simpler lifestyle—even if they never recovered the lottery ticket.

  Meanwhile she turned to her bodyguard. “May I please borrow your cell phone?”

  “Sure.”

  She dialed Ben, and tried again fifteen minutes later, hoping he might be home. But no one answered.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ZACK AND MANDY bought clothes, ate pizza, and then checked into a hotel. It was too early to hit Cherry’s and they hadn’t slept much in days. It was a measure of how badly he needed sleep that he didn’t think about lovemaking. Okay, so he did think about it, but he put aside his hunger for her. They both required sleep if they were to function with any kind of intelligence.

  Zack pulled the blackout shades to block the sunlight, and the air conditioner’s hum muffled the noise of traffic. After a solid eight hours of sack time, Zack had showered and was good to go. Mandy took a turn in the bathroom to shower and change, but stayed behind the door so long he became concerned.

  Zack knocked. “Mandy? Everything okay?”

  She cracked open the door. “I’m trying to decide if my mother would recognize me in this get-up.”

  Zack chuckled. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t think it was safe.” As he caught sight of her, he stared. She looked nothing like herself. She wore a dull brown wig, and thick glasses that he’d decorated with duct tape until she looked nerd perfect. In addition, her baggy blouse and overstuffed padding at the waist and hips of her jeans threw her shapely proportions out of whack. The scuffed Salvation Army sandals were the finishing touch.

  She opened the door wider, and he restrained a laugh. She tugged her blouse out and it flopped over the padding around where her waist used to be, exactly where it was supposed to. “Do I look natural?”

  “No one but me will know how dazzling you really are.” He smiled.

  “It won’t be funny if this wig falls off.” Her tone snapped, but the fire in her eyes told him she’d been pleased by his comment. She cocked her wide hips, placed a fist on her waist, and her bulging tummy quivered. “You sure you want to be seen in public with me?”

  “I’d rather stay here and keep you all to myself,” his voice turned husky. “But we need to find Moose and that outfit will keep you safe. Remember the last time he saw you, you were your gorgeous self. He won’t recognize you in this.”

  “Fine.” She dabbed at her too-red lipstick with her pinky, and he almost groaned. Somehow he suspected the evening was going to be much harder for him than her. Because even though they’d disguised her beauty, he continued to think of her the way she was—gorgeous.

  When she brushed past, he inhaled her perfume and this time he did groan. She turned around, her wig brushing his face. “What?”

  “I wish I had a camera. The sight of you in that disguise is one I’m never going to forget.”

  Shoving his Stetson onto his head, he followed her out the door, appreciating her being such a good sport. Most women would have complained about making themselves so unattractive, but Mandy didn’t seem to care. He liked that she had the self-esteem not to worry about her looks, that she was focused on the job to be done.

  He prayed that they would see Moose the moment they stepped into Cherry’s Bar. But when they arrived, the joint was hopping with wall-to-wall people, the cigarette smoke thick, the local band playing loud and raunchy rock, the dance floor full.

  Although many women wore less than stylish clothing, none looked quite as nondescript as Mandy. With her mousy brown wig, the thick glasses, and the padding beneath the out-of-fashion clothing, she should have no difficulty avoiding attention. Mens’ heads turned, and their eyes moved right on by her as if she didn’t exist.

  If anyone asked, she was Zack’s pain-in-the ass cousin. When a massive, dark-haired biker dude with bulging biceps approached Mandy, Zack stiffened.

  “Buy you a drink?” he asked Mandy, his eyes unfocused as if he’d begun his drinking binge that morning.

  She squinted at him. “I guess.”

  “Great,” Zack muttered and headed for the pool tables at the far end of the bar. He ordered a beer, placed his back against a wall where he could watch the action on the tables as well as Mandy. In her dark clothing, she blended into the crowd. Biker Dude didn’t seem to mind her extra padding.

  At least the guy was protecting her from the rest of the losers, and Zack would protect her from him—even if Biker Dude was huge. Not many guys would willingly tangle with Zack—not unless they’d had too much to drink, not unless they were stupid, not unless they thought a gun would win them the girl. Since Zack knew a dozen ways to take down the big guy, he kept a casual pose, nursing his beer, watching from under the brim of his lame hat, but inside he was as tense as a drug addict making a buy.

  Experience told him the night could turn ugly in a heartbeat. Yet, he sensed they were in the right place. The bar was blue collar, a mix of races—black, white, and Hispanic. Zack’s clothing made him stick out like a pretty hawk among doves. He’d added an ostentatious fake Rolex and a thick gold chain around his neck to draw more attention. He waited to be hustled.

  It took only five minutes.

  “Hey you,” a white man with an ugly scar on his forehead addressed Zack. “You know how to use a stick?”

  Zack sipped his beer, then set it down and moved forward too eagerly. He took mincing steps, puffed up his chest, and held out his hand to shake. “I’m Robert Kingly. Pleased to meet you. It’s swell of you to invite me.” Zack refrained from wincing as he used the word “swell.”

  “Billy Bob McAllister.”

  Billy Bob, a redneck in jeans and a T-shirt that said “Eat Me,” elbowed his Hispanic friend in the ribs. They were taking Zack’s bait. Now all he had to do was lose fast, ply them with liquor, and hope their conversation would lead him to Moose. Zack lowered his outstretched hand, picked up a pool cue and smoothed out a ten-dollar bet on the table’s edge. While the boys racked the balls, he gazed at the dance floor.

  As the band played a decent version of If Bubba Can Dance (I Can Too) by Shenandoah, Mandy and Biker Dude shouldered through the crowd to the dance floor. What was she thinking? She was supposed to keep a low profile. She kept her head down, her shoulders slumped and studiously stared at the floor as if embarrassed to be out in public.

  One skinny, pimply-faced teen tried to cop a feel, but Biker Dude smacked him aside. The red-faced kid stumbled away and tried to retrieve his dignity at the bar. No one asked him for ID, yet he had to be underage.

  Meanwhile, Mandy began to sway. While she danced, she moved around the room, checking out men’s faces. She stopped in front of one black man, and Zack broke into a sweat.

  “Hey, you. It’s your turn, cowboy.”

  Zack forced his eyes back to the pool table. His opponent had already broken the rack and pocketed three solids. Zack was way behind. He picked a difficult shot when a
n easy one was just sitting there. He aimed a bit off. But just as he eased forward on the stick, Mandy whipped around, catching his eye. His cue struck the white ball straighter than he’d intended and a striped ball ended up in the corner pocket.

  Damn! How could he concentrate with Mandy’s spinning on the dance floor, checking out the men to see if any of them were the killer? Maybe this wasn’t such a good plan. He clenched the cue stick, reminding himself she was doing what he’d asked—but she’d obviously forgotten the maintaining-a-low-profile part.

  Zack sauntered around the table as if he’d expected his shot to go in. This time he tried a fancy behind-his-back bridge shot. Luckily, he missed and could sit out, nurse his beer, and worry about Moose recognizing Mandy.

  As long as the wig stayed on, she should be fine. He finished the beer and motioned to the barmaid that he needed a refill. When she brought it, he handed her ten bucks and told her to keep the change. She smiled at him, interest in her eyes despite his off-the-wall leather slacks and silly hat, but his gaze returned to Mandy.

  The music turned slow, and she’d placed her arms around Biker Dude’s neck, who bent his head to catch her whispering in his ear. Then he threw back his head and guffawed. Zack suspected she was pumping her dance partner for information and told himself to trust her instincts.

  “You going to play or what?” Billy Bob prodded.

  Zack missed his next four shots in a row. He needed to lose his money as fast as possible, pump these players about Moose, and take Mandy out of here.

  Zack bought a pitcher of beer, while his opponent sank the eight ball in the side pocket and won his ten dollars. Zack took out a twenty, signaling that he intended to up the stakes and play another game. This time he racked and broke. But two balls went in. Just to make the guy sweat a little, he sank two more balls.

  When he looked up, he saw that Billy Bob had helped himself to Zack’s beer. He pretended not to notice. However, the swift guzzling of his beer must have blurred Billy’s vision or caused his hands to tremble. He missed. Zack muttered a curse and missed, too.