“If you touch my wife again, I’m going to remove your dick,” he said, dropping the drunk man onto the floor.
“Callen, don’t start a bar fight,” she stated. That was the last thing they needed. They had enough shit to dig through thanks to Alex and his wandering hormones.
She was maxed out in testosterone.
He wasn’t having it.
“Oh, I will go one step further if I see anyone’s hand on that ass of mine.”
“Oh, someone grabbed YOUR ass too?”
He laughed. He wasn’t going to argue. Her ass was HIS ass.
Period.
At the bar, as she squeezed between two men getting their feel on with two strippers, she waved Jonathan down. She wanted to get out of that precarious predicament—fast. Her gun was right there, and she didn’t like the idea of a stripper feeling it up—accidentally. In the dark, one ‘gun’ felt like another. Only, hers could go off and kill someone.
Then again, the man beside her looked like he was packing an STD.
Jonathan came over and had to lean over the bar to hear her. There was music, moans, and people shouting.
“Where is she?” she asked.
“I have no idea! She was working the room. She may be in a private room! You’ll have to ask around. It’s busy here tonight! I can’t leave the bar!”
She hated that, but when you had to do it, you had to do it. This was her job, and she was doing it sans a tour guide.
She motioned for Callen to follow her.
Going into the crowd, she was groped again.
“Are you happy to see me?” one of the strippers said as she bumped up against her gun. “Oops! I thought that was a dick, not some chick!”
And that was what she meant.
A gun was a gun was a gun.
“Yeah, my Glock loves a stripper. Where’s Black Magica?” she asked.
She pointed toward the back rooms.
“Somewhere back there?”
The woman nodded.
“She’s giving out tricks to get some treats. Take a number, and she’ll rock your world.”
Callen gave her a look.
That was the most unappalling thing he’d heard all day, and they talked about dead bodies for a living.
“Shit,” she said, rounding the corner. “Callen, this is going to suck.”
Yeah, they were about to bust into five rooms where kinky shit was going down. Oh, how their night just got that much worse for both of them.
And the people in the rooms?
Weren’t they in for one hell of a surprise?
“I hope you had your shots,” he shouted.
She laughed.
Yeah, that wouldn't save her here. Who was he kidding? This place was beyond that. She was pretty sure there was a used condom in the corner.
It made her shudder.
At the private rooms, she knocked on the first one. When no one answered, she opened it.
They both held their breaths.
Empty.
Thank freaking God.
Now, if that could happen three more times, with Black Magica being in the last one, they would be lucky.
At the second one, she knocked, and there was giggling.
Well, so much for her luck. It appeared it had just run out.
“Where’s Ivan when I need him? I could make him do this.”
He laughed.
“He knew, so he and Saint are following us at a safe distance. There’s no way he’d let you drag him in here. You’re sadistic.”
He was right.
Well, here went nothing.
Opening the door, a big-breasted woman was giving some man one hell of a time.
Her big breasts were waving around like she was trying to flag down a boat.
The tiny island she was trapped on?
His dick.
“Where’s Black Magica?” she asked, flashing her gun and badge.
The woman shrugged.
The man’s once erect dick got smaller the second he saw the flash of gold of her badge.
She reassured him.
“Yeah, I have that effect on some men. No worries. You’re not alone.”
Callen found that funny as she closed the door.
That wasn’t necessarily the truth.
“Not my dick. That made me hard. Wanna feel, pretty lady with the gun?”
She elbowed him.
HARD.
“Christ! I guess not. This place killed your sense of humor,” he stated.
“Exactly.”
At room three, she knocked and opened it. There was a man jerking off as a stripper did her thing.
“Black Magica?” she asked, hesitantly. Somehow, she doubted that was her. She was neither black nor magical. In fact, she was more like a white, cheap, parlor trick.
The stripper calmed down as soon as she saw the face and badge.
Clearly, someone watched the news.
“She was stripping. That’s the last I saw of her. Now, can you close the door? I’m doing my thing!”
Well, that didn’t help.
“Continue,” she said, trying to do her thing—the cop thing.
“Want to help?” the fat, old truckdriver-esque guy asked, waving his willy at her like it was a prize at a county fair. “I’ll let you touch it!”
Oh, hell, no!
“Not in this lifetime, or if that was my penance in Hell.”
Callen laughed when she shuddered.
“Hand sanitizer the second we get our asses in that ride,” she stated as she closed the door behind her. “I feel like I might have picked up something.”
“What?”
“Sperm.”
He snorted.
While this sucked, it was always fun with his wife. She was a party anywhere there was debauchery. Her sarcasm was ON POINT tonight.
At door four, she prayed for a miracle.
She literally crossed herself in hopes she wouldn't have to see some stripper’s vagina or another desperate man’s junk. She’d seen enough dick today to last her a good month.
It was making her twitchy—and not in a good way.
When she knocked, no one answered.
She opened it like she was expecting a herd of ninjas with blowtorches, and Callen was amused.
“A hatchet-wielding killer is NOT going to jump out,” he promised. “Everyone here is a little busy getting their sex on. You’re safe.”
“You don’t know that.”
She had a point.
Inside, the black, faux-leather couch was empty, but someone had been in there.
There was a big wet spot on the couch.
A big.
Wet.
Glistening.
NIGHTMARE.
“I may puke.”
He grinned.
“You leave a lot of wet spots. In fact, we all do,” Callen offered.
“Uh, yeah, and it’s MY wet spot, or it’s YOUR wet spot. That’s a stranger’s and in a strip club. That makes it gross on principle alone. This is a crime tech’s dream location.”
She was probably right.
Christina would be giddy as a school girl in there with her blacklight and swabs.
At the last door, there was moaning.
LOTS of it.
“Oh, Christ on a cracker, dunked in a vat of Kool-Aid. Please let them not be fornicating. If Jesus exists, and he loves me like the song says, they will not be bumping all kinds of uglies on a cheap, fake-leather couch.”
He tried not to laugh, but it was hard.
His wife…she was borderline insane.
PLUS…
Callen didn’t think she was going to get her wish on this one. He knew fornication sounds.
That was definitely them.
“BLACK MAGICA?” she called, as she flung open the door. Then she stared.
There were two women with a very short man—a man with dwarfism.
And he was…
She closed her eyes.
“I need Black Magica. I don’t want you to say anything else but where she’s gone. Please. I may lose my mind.”
Callen couldn’t help but stare.
As a Fed, it was a train wreck. As a man, he was impressed as hell.
“I saw her head out back to smoke,” the one stripper stated.
That was good enough for her. She closed the door.
FAST.
“Let’s get outside. I need some air, sanitizer, and to bleach my eyeballs.”
He couldn’t help it.
Callen had to go there.
It was the pink elephant in the room—well, the elephant’s really long trunk.
“Did you see his dick? It was bigger than him,” Callen stated, clearly impressed.
“Are you insane?” she asked.
“No, but come on! It was like three-quarters of his body. That has to be…”
She had to stop him.
Callen was insane.
Here was her proof.
“Callen, no checking out dicks in the strip club.”
He stared at her.
“Would you rather me check out tits? What exactly should I look at when there are half naked women bouncing around everywhere?”
He had a very valid point.
“NO. Carry on. Look at all the dicks you want. I feel better that way.”
He laughed so hard.
“God! I love being your partner.”
Well, someone was having fun.
Her?
Not so much.
They headed toward the exit, and outside, she took a deep breath. Gone was the smell of tobacco, sex, and sweat. Gone were the moans, the groans, and the shouts of ‘I’m cumming’! She was out of there.
Thank God!
“Jesus. I have never been so glad to be outside in ALL OF MY LIFE!”
Callen had a look on his face.
It was one of confusion and puzzlement. Surely, he couldn’t find that statement hard to believe.
The Lumber Yard was her Hell.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you smell that?”
She shook her head.
Did he not just smell the same foulness that she’d been privy to inside? Her senses were shot from the stank, the flashing lights, and the smoke.
That place was a plethora of stinky shit that had no names and only evil origins. It made you want to gag, puke, and run for your life.
“We just came out of a small building where men were leaving samples of their unborn children, women were sweating from orifices that they shouldn’t be sweating from, and stale beer. How can you smell anything over that?”
“I do. Really! You don’t smell that?”
“No, what do you smell?”
“Blood.”
That put her on alert.
When a cop smelled blood, they generally smelled blood. There was no mistaking it.
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, and a lot of it.”
They began looking around.
Not far away was a dumpster. It was black, covered in grime, and what looked like vomit.
“Seriously, you can smell blood out here?” she asked. “In this dump?”
He was sure of it.
Getting down, he looked at the side of the dumpster.
“Do you have gloves?” he asked.
She always had gloves.
In fact, she’d been tempted to put them on while inside to protect herself from Syphilis, Herpes, and anything else that was breeding in that hellhole.
The Lumber Yard was gross.
There was definitely a lot of beaver and wood in there. The sign was accurate. She’d seen it all.
“Here.”
He took them and slipped them on. Then he touched the side of the dumpster. When he pulled his fingers away, not only was there blood, but there were tiny fragments of bone—or tooth. That was not normal for this place. They didn’t serve food. There wouldn't be bone chunks.
“You’re going to be glad you got rid of the media,” he said, holding up his fingers.
On the purple gloves, the color was distinct and familiar.
She stared at his fingers.
“It’s blood.”
Shit.
They looked up.
The dumpster was at least six feet tall, and she didn’t want to touch it—let along climb into it. In her head, she pictured used condoms, sperm-filled tissues, and beer bottles.
NO.
WAY.
“Can you give me a lift?” she asked, knowing she had to look into it—at least.
He crouched down, and she swung her legs over his shoulders and sat on them.
Carefully, he lifted her up.
When she peeked in, he had to know.
“What do you see?” Callen asked as she balanced on his shoulders.
Well, other than garbage, there was one important thing that shouldn’t be in a garbage receptacle.
“I see a dead, beaten, faceless stripper.”
“Really?” he asked.
Like he had to ask.
Yeah.
It looked like someone had beaten her to this one.
Black Magica was dead.
She had run her mouth.
And now, she was out of time.
Chapter Sixteen
The Lumber Yard
Wednesday Night
S ince the cat was out of the bag, they didn’t have to worry about a limited team, and that was likely a damn good thing. With all of the trace that was all over the place, it was going to take more than Christina to find it.
The poor woman was going to be digging around in garbage all night.
THANK GOD Elizabeth wasn’t a tech. This was one of the few times that she could say, without a doubt, that she was glad she was the boss of this three-ring circus. She didn’t have to dumpster dive for a hooker.
Still, she felt bad. Elizabeth was going to buy them all presents for doing this. They deserved it.
As the team got set up, the telltale black Lincoln pulled up, and out of it got the sexiest, suit-wearing devil she’d ever seen.
Ethan was on the scene.
Behind him?
A handsome doctor and his trainee.
“Well, someone found some fun things to do at The Lumberyard,” stated Blackhawk.
“Yeah, lucky me,” she stated.
“I don’t get the name,” Dalia stated. “Why is that the name? What am I missing?” she asked Chris.
He laughed.
Ahhhhh, to be innocent like a newbie. A trainee was like having a child with you at all times. They had to teach her all of the grossness of the world.
“Sweetness?” he asked. “You like schooling the newbies. Do you want the sex talk for our young doctor, or do you want me to do it?”
“If you do it, it’s an HR issue,” she teased. “I’ll take this one since we’re both women.”
She focused on the doctor.
“Once upon a time, men would wake-up from sleep with hard-ons. That’s called morning wood, pumpkin. You see now? Wood? Lumber? The Lumber Yard?”
The woman blushed.
Only, Elizabeth wasn’t done.
“And the caricature of the beaver chewing on the wood would be…”
“Elizabeth,” Ethan warned. “I think the doctor gets it. You can stop Vulgar Signs one-oh-one,” he said, making the air quotes.
She laughed.
“Just trying to be thorough,” she stated. “You know me. I do like to make sure we are all on the same wood-chewing page.”
Chris gave her a kiss and could hear the media going crazy behind him. Some of them had followed Ethan’s ride, and they were ogling the three of them.
She flipped them off.
“I hate them. God forbid you kiss someone on a crime scene,” she stated. “Oh wait! YOU SHOULDN’T!”
Chris laughed as Dalia carried his kit. He was pulling on gl
oves.
“I’ll climb in,” he stated.
She stared at him in horror.
“No!” she blurted.
He stared at her.
“Pardon?”
“I think the newbie should do the dumpster dive on this one,” she stated. “You know. Let the newbie have some of the fun.”
Chris stared at her, clearly not getting what the issue was. They’d been in lots of dumpsters. This wasn’t his first and likely not his last.
“I don’t mind….”
She wrapped her arms around his body and placed her mouth by his ear. To the media, and the people on the scene, it looked like a lover’s embrace.
It was anything but.
“Glass,” she warned.
Ethan stepped down on a piece of bottle so it made a crunching sound.
Chris got it.
Once cut…
“Yeah, let the newbie handle it. I can share the fun. We all have to have a dumpster dive outside a strip club at least once.”
“Callen!” she called.
He jogged over.
“What?”
“I need you and Mr. Clean to boost my ME to the side of the bin. He’s not going in, but he’s going to want to watch his trainee. Can you help hold him there while Doctor Duncan does the initial check?”
“Uh, okay,” Callen stated, holding out his hands to boost him up.
Ethan did the same only to have the newbie scale the side like a freaking spider monkey.
It was impressive.
“Wow, someone likes climbing into dumpsters,” she stated.
“I always get them. I’m lucky like that. I once had to grab a rat who was eating an ear. Only, it wasn’t an ear. It was other man bits. Who knew a scrotum off the body could look like one?”
The men cringed.
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Yep, she’s perfect for this box of Fruit Loops. You hired well, Christopher.”
He laughed.
“Okay, Doctor, let’s do this fast.”
She had the chart out, and she was making quick notes. “When we open the front of this, she’s going to slide out with all this trash,” she stated, perched on the ledge.
Chris couldn’t see beyond the hooker.
“Any pillowcase?” Chris asked, staring into the trash receptacle.
“None, well, not here on top. We’ll have to have the techs bring all of this back.”
“Jesus. The lab is going to smell worse than it usually does. Dead bodies, beetle dung, week-old beer, and dead hooker vagina. Great.”
All the King's Henchmen Page 58
