ON Edge (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 1) (Redemption Thriller Series 13)

by John W. Mefford

  I emptied my lungs. I felt like an idiot for temporarily forgetting my car had been impounded by the cops. Who knew when I’d get it back? On top of that, I wasn’t sure if my credit cards would work. Still, I said, “I’m good, Tito. Thanks for the offer and all. I’ll grab a cab or something. You’ve done enough already.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, give me a call. And I know you have a lot of shit going on, but if you have time tonight, I hope you’ll drop by the grand opening of my new exhibit. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Do that. I’ll make it a point to show up.”

  “By the way, hot coffee is in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  He gave me a wink and headed out the door. I dragged my aching bag of bones to the bathroom and stood under a hot shower for a good twenty minutes, hoping to gain some clarity on what the hell I could, or should, do.

  It worked. When I came out and loaded up on some coffee, I had enough energy to feel like I’d get something accomplished, hopefully on both fronts—with my dad and with my soon-to-be ex-wife. Sitting around the loft and staring at a TV would only bring about another night of worry and restless sleep.

  Step one was to talk to Ray. I felt fairly certain his initial probing had alerted Dad’s killer, or someone close to the killer, that I was questioning his death. His digging had apparently broken the seal on the scum bottle. Did I think that Dad’s mystery client was someone in the ranks of MS-13? Not likely. But perhaps someone had a connection to that group, aware that members of the gang had been known to carry out brutal acts without a second thought. Plus, thanks to Stacy, I now had Dad’s personal email-account information to pass along.

  I put in a text to Ray and waited a couple of minutes. No response. Then I dialed his cell-phone number. Of course, it rolled to voicemail. I didn’t want to get into the sensitive details of why I called, so I left a short message and asked him to call me.

  Before I went down the path with Nicole, I called to get an update on Sam. He was stable and would likely be okay. Something in the world is still right, I thought.

  I thumbed through my contacts and found the one for Nicole. I had real questions for her about having access to my money…well, our money, so that I could find my own place to live, get my car fixed, and eat on occasion. But my mind went straight to the note I’d found on her desk.

  The gleam of your beautiful smile is only eclipsed by the blaze of your red-hot passion. Every time you look at these flowers, think of my body against yours.

  C

  A poisoned dose of reality quickly drained twenty percent off the top of my adrenaline. Every bit of news in that part of my life was being absorbed as a body blow, as opposed to just another noteworthy data point. Sure, it was understandable, but it sure as hell wasn’t sustainable. I had to find the middle ground of being human, yet buffer myself from being impaled every time I learned more information or thought about the past.

  I loved to swim. In a pool, in Lady Bird Lake, at Barton Springs Pool—the temperature was never higher than sixty-eight—and even in the ocean. Sure, I’d been a lifeguard and competed some through our country club and school swim teams, but it wasn’t the competition that drove me. It was finding that perfect balance of thinking through things in my life—whether it be about one of my clients or something more personal—without those thoughts disrupting my breathing. As a swimmer, breaking your breathing cadence was akin to losing a wheel in the Daytona 500. If it happened, you couldn’t recover. You were toast. I needed to find that sweet spot right now, outside of the water. My swimming mindset.

  Move forward, I told myself. I reached my thumb for the little green circle, but just before I dialed Nicole, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ray. I switched over and read it.

  Sorry about missing ur call. I’m stuck in a meeting with a client. One of those husband-cheating investigations. The wife’s a mess. Why don’t u drop by this afternoon? We can talk about what I’ve learned.

  It seemed like he had some progress to share. Of course, he had no idea that I’d been shot at and my life threatened. Lots for us to discuss. I locked down our meeting time as early as I could make it.

  I’ll drop by at 1.

  No sooner had I finished my text than he sent off a quick reply.

  Better make it 3. I have a new client coming in around 1. New clients are the most unpredictable with my time. Later.

  I confirmed the midafternoon time slot with Ray, then walked into the kitchen to clean out my empty mug and the coffeepot. In other words, I was finding something to occupy my time before I called Nicole.

  Dammit, Oz, get over it, or her. She’s just a woman.

  “Right. The most beautiful, caring soul you’ve ever met,” I said out loud.

  The sound of my voice nearly made me laugh. As I dried off the coffee pot, I punched up her number before I could talk myself out of it.

  “Yes.” She sounded in a rush, exasperated.

  “It’s me, Ozzie.”

  “I know your number. It’s still a contact in my phone. How can I help you?”

  You’re swimming in the frigid waters at Barton Springs, in the middle of a fifty-lap workout. Maintain the form of your stroke and in no way allow her to—and I say this with the intention of using a pun—don’t allow her to take your breath away.

  “It’s nice to talk to you, Nicole.” I paused, if for no other reason than to let her know she had a choice about being rude. She said nothing in response, which told me that she knew she was, as my mom would sometimes say, “being an itch with a capital B.”

  “So, thank you for allowing me to pick up my stuff.”

  A nice compliment to try to throw her off her bitch perch.

  “Uh, sure.” She was abrupt, but at least it wasn’t combative.

  Point for me, or at least my sanity.

  I tried to continue the win streak. “During this time while we’re separated and working through the process of finalizing our divorce, I’d like to figure out a way where I can have access to some money for living expenses.”

  Can’t get any more non-confrontational than that, I thought.

  “Well…” She sighed, which, in our past life, told me she was stressed about something at work. But at this moment, what could be causing her stress, other than unwrapping her fingers from some cash so that I wouldn’t have to continue mooching off of Tito?

  “I don’t think you should have a problem right now,” she said.

  “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  “The credit cards. At least one of them should be turned on now and working like a charm.” She sounded like a second-grade teacher on the first day of school. Everything was happy and perky.

  “That’s a good sign,” I said, trying to maintain a positive vibe. “Can you tell me which one so I don’t have to worry about a card bouncing on me when I’m buying pots and pans at Target?”

  “You act like you’re above buying things at Target. Not all of us come from such a wealthy family.”

  Left uppercut just connected into my already bruised ribs. I blew out a breath, concentrating on not taking the full brunt of the blow. But I was still taken aback. Was that her big beef with me, that my family had money? That was not exactly new news. She had been raised in a blue-collar family, from what little I knew. Her father had died of lung cancer from working the coal mines in West Virginia, and her mom had worked odd jobs just to keep the lights on. She had died prematurely as well, apparently after drinking enough vodka to cause her kidneys to fail.

  Nicole had told me early on that she didn’t want money to drive our every decision, nor did she have any desire to live a life that was all about our status. She wanted us to be defined by how we treated others, not by materialistic gain. It was one of the things I loved most about her.

  I tried not to address the personal dig. “If you don’t know which credit card, I’ll just use the process of elimination, I guess.”

  “Okay.”

  That was
an odd answer. But then again, I’d been doing backflips to make sure I kept my cool and didn’t let her strikes pierce a vital organ.

  There was an awkward silence. “Okay,” I said just to hear someone say something. “How do you want to handle the bills at the house?”

  “I’ll figure it out and let you know.”

  She’ll let me know. My pulse couldn’t help but tick faster on that comment. I tried to alter the statement. “Okay, how about you take a first stab at it, and then I’ll provide feedback.” I didn’t go to law school for nothing.

  “Well—”

  I had to break in. “And while we’re at it, I need to create my own bank accounts, so don’t be surprised if I take out half the money and create my own account.”

  “Uh…” That one utterance sounded as if I’d left her homeless. She said, “You can just use the money from your paychecks for now. We’ll settle everything else through the lawyers.”

  “I guess you haven’t heard.”

  “Heard what, Ozzie? You’re giving me a headache.”

  Keep that swimmer’s mindset. “The firm is being sold off in chunks.”

  “Perfect. You can use the proceeds from the sale. You see, I’m not such a bitch after all. But try to be frugal with it, please. Just remember that half the money you’re spending is mine.”

  “Wish it were that easy. I think you recall that I’m not a partner in the firm.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.”

  Now she was playing naïve? I suddenly felt like I was talking to a used-car salesman. Actually, that sounded disparaging to anyone who earned an honest living selling used cars.

  My phone buzzed. It was a text from Stacy.

  Do you need a pick-me-up? How about we meet for lunch?

  Damn, she had good timing. “Hey, Nicole, I have to go. Just wanted you to know about the withdrawal I’m going to make from our joint account.”

  Before she could say another word, I told her she could call or text when she had something to share, and then I ended the call.

  I’d survived. Barely. But a win was a win, even if it was a narrow victory. I typed in a text to Stacy and told her to pick the spot and I’d meet her there.

  29

  Thankfully, Franklin’s barbeque was less than a mile from Tito’s loft, just east of I-35 on 11th Street. A blustery wind blew leaves into mini twisters along my path, but the walk was just what my lungs needed. A block away from the joint, I picked up the sweet aroma of barbecue. My mouth was already watering by the time I walked in and spotted Stacy sitting in an old wooden booth.

  She jumped to her feet and was about to give me a hug when a grimace crossed her face. “What happened?”

  “I cut myself shaving?” I shrugged, trying to make light of my minor injuries from the previous night.

  Knowing my sense of humor, she simply tilted her head and flicked her fingers. “Spill it, Ozzie.”

  I first encouraged her to take a seat, and we ordered our meals and soft drinks. “I would ask you to keep this to yourself, but it might be in today’s paper or even on the news. Someone shot at me last night.”

  She gasped, accidentally knocking her fork and knife off the table. “For the love of God, are you okay?” She scanned my body, as if I might be hiding another injury.

  “I wasn’t hit. I have superhero powers. You’re actually having lunch with Bruce Wayne,” I said with a wink.

  She didn’t laugh. In fact, she appeared to thumb a tear out of the corner of her eye.

  “I didn’t mean to make you upset, Stacy.”

  “It’s just that we already lost your father. We can’t lose you too.”

  I put my hand on top of hers. “I guess someone upstairs thinks I have something to offer, so I’ll be around a little longer.”

  “Who are these people that tried to kill you? And what is really going on?”

  Our waiter, with a dirty apron and skin that mimicked the barbecue on our plates, delivered our food. I pulled a piece of meat off the rib. It melted in my mouth before I had a chance to chew. The door to the restaurant dinged open, and I caught a little tick in my breath until I saw it was a couple of college kids walking in. I was jumpy, and I had every right to be. I’d been the target of a hit. Thankfully, Sam’s condition had improved. But the reality was that the two thugs who’d tried to kill me had failed. Would they try a second time? Or would they and this person who’d hired them—that was my running theory—crawl into a hole now that the APD was involved? All of this made me wonder if I was putting Stacy in danger simply by having lunch with her.

  “What’s wrong, Ozzie? Something’s on your mind. I can see it in your eyes.”

  I finished chewing my mouthful of ribs, then washed it back with a gulp of Diet Coke. I scanned the well-known, laid-back joint. It was bustling with people, but no one seemed to be looking our way. “Before the shooting, I found a note left on my car last night telling me to back off from snooping into Dad’s death. Or else.”

  Her mouth opened, and then, slowly, she brought a hand up to cover it.

  “Oh yeah, for good measure, they also slashed my tire. I wasn’t happy. In fact, I was quite pissed. I changed my tire and headed over to Tito’s place.”

  “Tito? Tito Jackson? And I thought I knew everything about you.”

  A knot formed in my gut, which didn’t settle well with my barbeque. If I told her the complete truth, then I’d have to open up about why I was at Tito’s place. I’d yet to go public with my new Facebook status—separated from Nicole but not looking. I had to start sharing that part of my life, especially with those closest to me. I gave her the thirty-second elevator version.

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s just so unexpected, Oz. You and Nicole…I just thought you’d…”

  “I did too. I did too.” I sighed unexpectedly, but then went back to my drink, trying to move my mind off of Nicole. “But the good news is I changed a tire. First time since high school. I think I might be asked to join a pit crew.”

  A smile formed at the edge of her lips. “I know you’re like your father. Not exactly mechanically inclined and all.”

  I tried to match her smile, but I didn’t get there.

  “You’re not joking about this note. Someone threatened you?”

  I nodded. A tear ran down the side of her cheek. She picked up her napkin and wiped it away.

  Our waiter, who was walking by with a tray of food for a nearby table, slowed down and glanced at Stacy, then at me. It appeared he thought I was making her upset.

  “We’re good. Thank you,” I said, trying to calm his unease.

  He squinted one eye and kept walking. Not sure my words did much for him.

  I turned back to Stacy. “I think it’s rather clear that the people who wrote the note followed me to Tito’s, where they knew they wouldn’t have a ton of witnesses, and… Crap. I almost forgot to tell you about Sam.”

  “You’re talking about Sam, the guy who’s been shining shoes outside our building since before George W. lived in Austin? What on earth could he have to do with any of this?”

  I explained how I’d seen him get shot, how he’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  She momentarily pressed her eyes shut and gripped the side of the table. “Our world just seems like it’s crumbling, Ozzie.”

  She’d said what I’d been feeling—this had occurred countless times over the years we’d worked together—but never wanted to admit. I gave her the latest update on his condition. “So, it’s looking like he’s going to be okay.”

  “I need to send him some flowers.” She fished through her purse and pulled out a small pad with a vase of purple and yellow flowers on the cover. It matched her outfit. She found a pen and made a note. “I’ll add in a couple of balloons as well,” she said.

  “That’s nice of you, Stacy. But you’re not working for the firm any longer. It’s not really your job.”

  She stopped moving her pen and looked up at me, her face as
serious as I’d ever seen it. “This is who I am, Ozzie. I can’t control who I am or what I’ve experienced in my years at the firm. Not everything in my time at Novak and Novak has been perfect. Far from it, as a matter of fact.” She pulled in a breath and appeared to try to calm herself. “But kindness and compassion doesn’t end just because the company is being sold. It’s the right thing to do for Sam.”

  While part of her delivery seemed a bit intense, to hear her speak of the importance of kindness and compassion was heartwarming, especially when all I saw around me was either some type of vitriol or outright violence. “You’re a real sweetheart, Stacy.”

  She grinned, batting her fake eyelashes a few times. She finished writing her note, then went back to her plate of pork. I made some headway on my ribs. The waiter dropped by and gave us refills on our drinks. “Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes on Stacy.

  “Just fine, thank you.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.” He was addressing her, not both of us. With my face cut up and a sizable bruise on my forehead, I was sure I gave off a vibe of someone most people avoided. Whatever. It wasn’t as if I were trying to gain a new client.

  Yeah, what about that next gig? I’d need to talk to some of my lawyer buddies up at the courthouse to see if they had any openings at their firms. Hell, most of the folks I knew had asked about joining Novak and Novak in the last year. Apparently, many outsiders thought we had the best of both worlds—a smallish firm, but one with financial stability.

  Still, something about taking that next step in my career seemed…I don’t know, maybe forced? I’d always known I would be a lawyer, because my father was one, and I was endlessly intrigued by all of his stories. Looking back, I felt certain he’d done his fair share of embellishment. Yes, I had convinced myself that helping people, those who really needed someone to stand up for them, was my motivation. How many people, though, had I actually helped?