Crispy shook his head violently back and forth. Dixie patted him on the cheek. He briefly considered taking the tape off and trying to get him to tell him what Chico had told him do, but he decided against it. Crispy wouldn't tell him voluntarily and Dixie didn't have the heart for torturing people. Even people like Crispy.
'I could just set the car alight and be done with it,' he said. 'Then you could live up to your name.'
Crispy ignored the comment, didn't even grunt or thrash around a bit more. Just glared at him. They both knew he wouldn't do it. There was no point wasting any more time. He slammed the trunk lid shut. Should he shoot a couple of air holes in it like they did in the movie Thelma and Louise when they locked the traffic cop in his trunk? That was such a great movie. But was the air holes thing just some BS they made up for the movie? Surely car trunks weren't airtight. Not on an old heap of rust like this one anyway. On the other hand, it might be fun to do it just to scare the ever-loving shit out of him.
On balance he decided it wasn't worth wasting a couple of perfectly good bullets. He started walking back to the street, hoping to find a cruising cab. He pulled Crispy's phone out of his pocket and checked it as he walked. There was nothing from Chico. Nothing from Chico that hadn't already been deleted, anyway.
Chapter 30
Dixie only had to walk about a mile before he got lucky and a cab picked him up. He'd felt Crispy's phone buzz in his pocket while he was walking and he checked it sitting in the back of the cab, As he expected it was from Chico; demanding an update. An update on where they were specifically. He reckoned that clinched it. Chico was onto him. Why else would he make contact with Crispy—the supposed sidekick—and not with Dixie himself?
He thought about sending a message back, making up some story to buy himself some more time. But what to say? He lay back in the seat and closed his eyes and gave it some thought. He let out a short laugh as an idea crossed his mind. In the front the driver looked at him in his rear-view mirror, worried that he'd inadvertently picked up some screwball. Dixie ignored him and got his wallet out. He found the piece of paper with the details that Dave, the bartender at Kelly's, had given him over the phone.
He typed out a reply to Chico's text: I've lost him. We met up with a guy called Evan Buckley. The two of them gave me the slip. What do you want me to do?
He smiled to himself as he hit the send button. If Crispy's real purpose had been to keep an eye on him, it would make sense to Chico. If not, what the hell? He had nothing to lose. He might even get a reply from Chico.
He got the driver to drop him at the nearest car rental office and hired a medium-sized van. It was better than a sedan for a couple of reasons: one, he might need to sleep in it, and, two, if he managed to catch up with Ellie, it would be useful to hold her in while he decided what to do with her.
First things first, though. The money.
He got his own phone out and found the number of the GPS tracking device that he'd called from Alvarez's office. He hit redial and waited for the text to come back. Almost immediately his phone pinged. He opened the text and clicked on the link. A map opened in his phone's browser, the tracker's location clearly indicated. He smiled to himself again. It was the exact same location as last time. She hadn't moved it.
He put his phone away. He didn't need the map. He knew exactly where he was going. After all, he'd chosen it in the first place.
He felt a unpleasant flutter in his stomach the whole journey. He didn't know if it was excitement or trepidation. A very unwelcome thought dug its way into his mind and wouldn't give him any peace. Would Alvarez have phoned Chico after he'd left? The guy had been so full of himself, so sure that he'd solved Chico's problem in two seconds flat. He'd definitely enjoyed showing off in front of Dixie. Maybe he'd got the urge to do the same with Chico. Call him up and gloat. And give him the tracker's number at the same time. That was the problem with them, anybody or everybody could ring the number. Then he might send some of the other guys to pick up the money, leave Dixie to concentrate on finding Ellie. He'd need to be careful when he got there.
He suddenly laughed out loud to himself. They didn't have a key. What the hell was he worrying about? He must be getting old. Worrying about every little thing. Real and imagined.
It didn't take long to get there. He didn't recognize any of the vehicles in the parking lot and there was nobody waiting in any of them. He jogged across the lot, into the main lobby and took the stairs up to the second floor. He found the unit he was looking for. He still had his keys in his hand. Looking down at them he was surprised to see a slight tremble.
Pull yourself together.
He found the right key and tried it. It didn't fit. He must have mistaken it on the ring. He looked again. No, it was definitely the right one. Was it the right unit? He checked. Yes, it was the right one.
What the hell was going on? He'd have to get the manager. He ran back down the stairs to reception and found the guy. He was in the middle of eating his lunch and wasn't at all pleased at the interruption. He looked like a man who enjoyed his food. Dixie explained the problem and they went through a great long rigmarole of verifying who he was. Thank God he'd booked it using his credit card.
Then they went back upstairs and the manager tried Dixie's key. Dixie was relieved when it didn't work for him either. The guy got his master key out and the lock opened up without a problem.
'It's probably new,' he said, inspecting Dixie's key. 'We've had a bunch of them recently that didn't work.'
Dixie nodded understandingly. The feeling of trepidation that had been building inside him was getting to fever pitch. Now just get the hell back downstairs.
Despite the fact that his lunch had been interrupted, the guy didn't seem to be in any hurry to get back to it. Dixie didn't want to open up with him standing there. Was the guy waiting for a tip? Get a new locksmith.
He got the hint in the end and headed back to his office. Dixie let himself into the unit and turned on the light. His heart was thumping, his mouth dry. The unit was a small five by five space, the smallest you could rent but more than enough room for the single bag sitting in the back corner. It looked quite lonely, sitting there all alone. Like it had been discarded when its owner had no further use for it.
The bad feeling that he felt intensified at the sight of the bag. What can you tell from simply looking at a bag from five feet away? It seemed it could certainly make your stomach turn over. He took a couple of quick steps across the room and picked it up.
Empty.
Just as he knew it would be.
He didn't need to open it, he could tell from the weight. He knew there were just under five hundred notes to a pound in weight, which means three million dollars in one hundred dollar bills weighs about sixty-six pounds. The bag in his hand didn't weigh sixty-six ounces.
He opened it up and looked inside anyway. It wasn't completely empty—she'd left the GPS tracker for him. It was a little plastic box about three inches by two inches and an inch thick. He wondered if she'd known it was there or if she'd simply transferred the money to another bag—one with wheels maybe. He dropped the tracker back into the bag and threw the bag into the corner. Might as well leave it there in case somebody else came looking for it.
A sudden thought crossed his mind and made him smile—as much as anybody who's just found out they've been double-crossed out of three million dollars can smile. He could take the tracker and drop it into a dumpster somewhere. Outside a fish restaurant maybe. Then whoever came looking could spend their time rooting through all the rotting fish and food leftovers, or, even better, spend a few days tramping around a landfill site. He was glad her mind didn't work along the same lines, but then again he'd never done anything to her to piss her off that much. Had he?
The thought of her gave him another idea. He could take it with him in case he caught up with her. Then he could stick it where the sun don't shine and he'd never lose track of her again. Not that there'd be much chance
of losing her again if he ever found her—people six foot under the ground don't tend to go very far. But in the end he couldn't be bothered and just left it in the bottom of the bag.
He turned out the light and closed the door. The manager hadn't given him a new key so he couldn't have locked it if he'd wanted to. He went back downstairs and out to the parking lot and got in the rental van.
What the hell was he going to do now?
Chapter 31
Evan booked a room on the floor above Ellie and then spent a few minutes freshening himself up before going back to wait in his car outside the hotel. He got a text from an unknown number while he was waiting. It turned out to be Ryder making a big deal about how it was now safe for Evan to go back to his office, now that the real detectives had sorted his mess out for him. It was irritating to give Ryder the satisfaction of riling him, but at least he knew that the two guys were out of the picture for the time being.
He saw Ellie arrive and park up about ten minutes before they were due to meet. She was alone in the car. Nobody drove in behind her and he hadn't seen anybody else who looked remotely suspicious. He was about as sure as he could be that it wasn't a trap.
He got out of his car and followed her into the hotel. She walked straight past the reception desk and across to the elevators. There was a car waiting to go and she stepped right into it. The doors started to close. Evan had to run the last few yards across the lobby to get his foot in the doors before they could close completely. They opened again and he stepped in.
Ellie looked up and did a small double take. She looked rough. The side of her face was bruised and her bottom lip was swollen. She tried a smile. It wasn't a very good one. It certainly didn't get within a mile of her eyes.
'Somebody hit you?' he asked. He made no effort whatsoever to put some concern into his voice. A few more slaps like that probably wouldn't do her any harm.
She put out her hand to press the button for her floor but he intercepted it and pressed the floor above.
'What are you doing?' she said. 'I'm on the third floor.'
'I'm on the fourth,' he said. 'Better view.'
She gave him a tight smile. A have it your way sort of smile.
'No reason why we shouldn't go to my room, is there?'
She gave a small shake of her head but didn't say anything.
'There isn't somebody waiting in your room you want me to meet?'
She didn't bother saying anything to that either. He didn't actually think she had set something up; she was just pissed she wasn't in control.
They rode up the rest of the way in silence and he let her get out first and walk ahead of him. Again, it wasn't that he thought she was going to do a runner. He was just being gentlemanly—despite the fact that there wasn't what he'd call a lady in sight. He let them into the room and she dropped into the only armchair. He locked the door and leaned against it, and they stared at each other in silence for a minute or two.
'Tell you what,' he said, 'I'll tell you what's happened since I last saw you and then you can tell me what the hell's going on.'
He ran through it all on his fingers; the fight in the bar; the confrontation afterwards with Juan and José; his visit to her ransacked hotel room (although he didn't mention the photograph he'd found); almost getting caught by Juan and José at her hotel the following day and, finally, Juan and José's visit to his office.
'I don't know about you,' he said, after he'd finished checking them all off, 'but that sounds like a lot to happen in just a couple of days.'
'I haven't exactly been having the time of my life either,' she said, pointing at her face.
'The difference is though; you know what this is all about. I don't. At least when you were getting beaten up you knew the reason why.'
'What, and that makes it easier—'
'And I'd be willing to bet it was probably all your own fault.'
She extended her middle finger towards him. 'Up yours, Evan.'
'Ever the lady.'
'If it's as bad as you say, why are you still here?'
He was about to say it was for one reason, and one reason only, but then he realized that wasn't the case any more.
'For one, I don't have any choice any more. Unless Juan and José's visit to my office was an isolated incident and they'll give up now, they're going to be back.'
'Okay, I can see your point. What's the other reason?'
She had a mocking half-smile on her lips that he'd have liked to slap off. She knew damn well that she'd hooked him with her promise of helping him find Sarah. She probably didn't know that he believed her now, thanks to the photograph. Believed that she could help him, at any rate. He still wasn't sure about whether she would. He hadn't planned to bring up the question of the photograph at this point. He'd have preferred to find out what was going on before going down that route. But, you don't always get to call the shots.
'You know why. You said you'd help me find Sarah if I helped you.'
'I didn't think you believed me.'
'I didn't.'
She didn't look quite so sure of herself suddenly. It wasn't the answer she was expecting.
'So what changed?'
Now it was his turn to give her an irritatingly smug smile.
'Well it sure as hell wasn't because I sat down and thought to myself: you know I did Ellie a huge injustice, I'm sure she really wants to help after all.'
This time she managed to keep her middle finger under control. Maybe it was because she was too busy watching Evan's hand as he reached into his jacket pocket. Did she have any idea what was coming? He took the photograph out of his wallet and handed it to her.
She stared at it dumbly for a split second before she realized what it was. Her head snapped back up.
'Where did you get this?'
He took a quick step forward and snatched it out of her hand again. He didn't want to risk her doing anything with it.
'Where did you get it?' she said again.
'It was in the front compartment of your suitcase. I found it while I was waiting for you to turn up.' He didn't think he needed to tell her that he'd gone through her diary as well. Or mention the other piece of paper for the moment.
'It's not important anyway,' she said. 'You don't need it to find Dixie. I already told you that.'
'I know.'
'You know what?'
'That I don't need it to find Dixie.'
Her brow creased into a slight frown. Did she really not know why he was interested in it? The slightest of doubts crept into his mind. Had he been mistaken? Or had she simply forgotten who the other person in the photo was?
'So what do you want it for?'
'I think that's obvious, don't you?'
The frown intensified.
'You need to work on your confused face,' he said, trying to sound confident.
She shook her head. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'
'The other person in the photo,' he prompted.
'There isn't anyone else in the photo.'
'Okay then, the other person's arm. The arm that's round your neck.'
'Show me.'
Was it a trick to get it back? Or was he making a mountain out of a molehill?
'Don't worry; I'm not going to try to take it—even though it's mine in the first place.'
He passed it back to her and she studied it carefully before giving it back to him.
'I honestly don't remember who that was. I'm not even sure when it was taken. I just grabbed the first photo I could find of Dixie.'
'Why cut it in half?'
'For Christ's sake, Evan. If I could have found one of Dixie on his own . . .'
She trailed off as something occurred to her. She let out a genuine laugh.
'I don't believe it. You think it's Sarah. Don't you?'
Evan wasn't sure what he thought now in the face of her reaction. If she wasn't being genuine, she was one hell of an actress.
'You do, don't you?' she sai
d again.
'I recognize the bracelet,' he said. It sounded pretty lame to him now.
She held out her hand and flicked her fingers at him.
'Show me.'
Again she studied it carefully before handing it back.
'It doesn't mean anything to me.'
'But it does to me. I bought it for her.' He was sounding increasingly desperate in his own ears.
'And it's one of a kind is it? You commissioned it personally so that nobody else in the world would ever have one like it?'
He didn't answer her.
'No, I didn't think so. There's probably thousands of them out there. Probably came out of a Christmas cracker.'
'Okay, but what's the likelihood that you know two people—Sarah and whoever that is in the photograph—with the exact same one.'
She shrugged. 'Who knows? You're clutching at straws. It's not her.'
He didn't know what else he could do or say. It didn't really matter what he said, she was adamant that it wasn't Sarah. That, or she was determined not to admit it. This wasn't how he'd seen it panning out. He'd expected to catch her on the back foot. Expected to see something in her reaction that confirmed his suspicions. In fact he'd seen the exact opposite. It made him question his own convictions.
'Okay, put a pin in that,' he said and cringed at what he'd just said. 'Why don't you tell me what's been going on.'
Chapter 32
'Who beat you up?' Evan asked her again.
She shook her head. 'It doesn't matter.'
'Was it those two guys?'
'Why? Are you going to kick their asses for me?'
I might shake their hands if you carry on like this.
'Is that why you didn't show up at the hotel?' He held up his hand. 'Don't answer that. Stupid question. Of course it was.'
He took her silence as confirmation.
'Why did they beat you up?'
'To scare me.'
He nodded and started pacing up and down. That much was obvious. He could have worked that out for himself. The question was why. It could be one of two things.
Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1) Page 13
