Whiskey Tango Foxtrot: An Addison Holmes Mystery (Addison Holmes Mysteries Book 5)

by Liliana Hart

  Ugly Mo stared at us out of dead black eyes. He was blacker than coal and bald as a billiard, his face horribly disfigured. One of his eyes bugged out and never seemed to focus on anything. His face was scarred and part of his nose was missing. He wore a three-piece suit the color of limes and a bright red tie. And he walked with a cane, though I was willing to bet money it wasn’t just a cane.

  Scarlet bit the inside of my hand and I jerked it away, rubbing it on my leggings. Mo kept staring at Scarlet for several seconds, but she didn’t bat an eyelash. And then he dropped his head back and laughed. A big booming sound that echoed in the cavernous space.

  “I’ve always been ugly,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “House fire when I was seventeen didn’t help matters any. Never kept me from catching the pussy though. Know what I’m saying?”

  “I hear ya,” Scarlet said, nodding and putting away her gun. “It’s all in the technique. Young people these days don’t understand the mechanics.”

  Ugly Mo and Scarlet did a knuckle bump, and I was starting to wonder if I was in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

  “Whew, lady,” Mo said, looking Scarlet’s face over. “You been in a tussle. You need Mo to put a cap in somebody’s ass for mistreating a lady?”

  “Already taken care of,” Scarlet said. “Shot his ear right off.”

  “You’re one tough bitch. They don’t make bitches like you no more.”

  “Oh, go on with yourself,” Scarlet said, blushing like a schoolgirl.

  “You must be Addison Holmes,” Mo said, turning to me. “Jimmy Royal said you’re in need of my van,” Mo said. “It’s right back here. Just finished up the detailing on it yesterday.”

  I looked around at the junkyard of cars, not seeing anything that remotely resembled a van and said, “Umm.” I was going to kill Jimmy Royal.

  “I got just what you need.” Mo stamped his cane against the cement for emphasis. “You’ll be the most badass P.I. in Savannah. It’s a genuine Mercedes Benz motorhome, barely used. It’s got a fresh coat of paint and a couple upgrades on the interior. And due to the fact that I need room for more inventory on the floor, I’m going to cut you a special deal.”

  He headed toward the back of the warehouse and Scarlet and I followed, passing old junkers mingled with a couple of brand new Honda Accords that I was almost positive weren’t there by legal means. There was still a car seat in the back of one of them.

  Mo flicked on another set of lights, illuminating the back half of the warehouse, and I almost choked on my tongue. It looked like a new car showroom, everything polished to a shine.

  “Holy crap,” Scarlet said. “This here’s the kind of car I always thought would complement my personality.”

  I looked at the bright yellow Ferrari with raised eyebrows. I’d always kind of seen Scarlet in a tank.

  “That’s a mighty fine car there, Miss Scarlet. It would suit you real nice. But that one’s already sold. Most of these cars are being shipped out tonight. We do a real fast turnaround here at Ugly Mo’s.”

  “I see that,” Scarlet said thoughtfully. “Maybe I need to think about investing in the car business.”

  “Big Mo would be happy to have you as an investor.”

  “Is that the van?” I asked, pointing to the black Mercedes that was parked just inside the garage doors that led to the back side of the lot.

  “That’s not a van,” Mo corrected. “That’s an experience. It has all the comforts of home on four tires.”

  Considering I didn’t have a home at the moment, it was sounding better and better by the second. The rain was really coming down now, droplets pelting against the tin roof like a hail of bullets. I could feel the electrical currents building. The hair on my arms was standing straight up.

  “Have you ever thought about having short hair?” Mo said. “Seems like a lot less maintenance. My old lady got short hair and that way she can wear whatever wig she wants to on top. Seems like a lot more opportunity for variety.”

  “I’m going to take her to the salon after we’re done here,” Scarlet piped in before I could answer. “My stylist is a real genius. Addison’s got hair just like mine when I was younger. If you don’t maintain it and keep it in good condition it starts to take on a mind of its own.” Then she switched topics. “You can do some damn fine investigating in that little thing. We’ll be a force to be reckoned with. And it’s black, so no one will ever suspect us of spying on them.”

  “We?” I asked.

  But Scarlet ignored me. “How much does a fine piece of machinery like this cost?”

  Ugly Mo rattled off a number that would have made my testicles run and hide for cover if I’d had any.

  I sputtered before asking, “Jimmy Royal was able to afford something like that?”

  “Oh, no. Jimmy Royal got the economy edition. He’s got all that child support to pay. This is the top of the line.”

  “Well, I can’t afford that. Do you have another economy edition?”

  “Nope, this is it, but maybe we can work out a trade,” Ugly Mo said.

  “That’s how business was done back in the day,” Scarlet said. “The barter system. When I worked for the OSS I’d find my mark, seduce him into telling me everything he knew, and then take all his money before the authorities could come take him off to be tortured for more information.”

  “That’s not that barter system at all, Aunt Scarlet,” I said, horrified.

  “Oh. Then I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ll let the two of you work out the details.”

  “What if I knock it down to half-price?” he asked. “Would that be more doable?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I could do that. What’s the catch?”

  “I’ve got a little bit of an issue with my old lady. I’ve been suspicious of her activities lately. Seems my competitor has known of a few of my dealings and intercepted a shipment or two, and Jasmine has been acting real secretive. And she’s been overdoing it on the sex too. We been together thirteen years. I ain’t never had so many blowjobs in my life, and you know that’s not something a woman just volunteers unless something’s going on. I figure a private investigator could clear things up real quick.”

  I bit my lip. I really wanted that van. It would cover my immediate housing and transportation needs. But there was one problem. “It’s against agency policy to take side jobs,” I told Mo. “Everything has to go through the agency.”

  “Oh, bollocks to that,” Scarlet said. “I’ll take the job. And then you can help me with it and you don’t have to worry about all those dumb rules.” She turned to Mo. “Never in my life have I met someone so caught up with the rules. Her sister’s not like that at all. Would talk you out of your life savings without batting an eyelash. And she’s got some of that medicinal marijuana too.”

  “Love that stuff,” Mo said. “Helps my arthritis. Used to be a clinic right here in town, but the cops swooped in and shut it down. If I ever find the bastard responsible for taking away such a service to the community I’m going to hunt him down like a dog.”

  Heat flushed through my entire body and I had that clammy feeling you get just before you’re about to throw up everywhere. I knew the clinic Mo was talking about. I’d busted a senior citizen who’d been growing at the assisted living facility he lived at, and then selling to the clinic in town. So I guess I was the one responsible for shutting down Savannah’s largest-growing pot industry.

  “What’s this Jasmine look like?” Scarlet asked. “You got the deets on her?”

  I raised my brows at the slang, while I ignored the impending feeling of doom. We needed to leave. I was getting antsy.

  “Her picture is painted on the front of the building, but I can probably send you more details through email. You do this favor for me and you’ll always be in Ugly Mo’s favor.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” Scarlet said, knuckle bumping him again.

  I wasn’t really sure what had just happened or how things had spiral
ed out of control so quickly. I’d just wanted a van. And now I was getting a van with a whole lot of strings attached and I’d somehow become fifty-fifty partners with Scarlet in a business I hadn’t known we’d started.

  “How about real license plates and a new VIN number?” I asked. “Am I going to have any trouble with the police?”

  “It’s a hundred percent police proof,” Mo said. “But maybe be careful driving it in the Forsyth Park area. Just in case.”

  Before I knew what was happening I’d passed over the biggest check I’d ever written, and I was holding the keys. Ugly Mo handed me a title and some other paperwork, and Scarlet and I piled into my new vehicle and we drove out of the building and into the pouring rain. The seats were leather and heated, and if anyone wanted this puppy back they were going to have to pry the keys out of my cold, dead hands.

  “He seemed like a nice man,” Scarlet said. “I’ve always appreciated entrepreneurs like Ugly Mo. They’re real go-getters.”

  “He’s a car thief,” I said.

  “Everyone’s got to start somewhere. And look at all the good that’s come out of meeting him. You’ve got a brand new car at half-off and we get to turn in that lying, cheating Jasmine, and keep Mo from losing more business.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “I don’t know what rock you just crawled out from under, but that’s not the way the system works. All you got to do is call Jasmine out on Twitter and she’s as good as guilty.”

  I took Martin Luther King Street all the way to Bay to avoid the smaller street traffic. The sidewalks were clear of pedestrians because of the weather, but street traffic was a nightmare. Horns were blaring and I’d gotten a few rude gestures. I didn’t realize until we were halfway down the street that people were just returning the favor, since Scarlet had been giving the one-finger salute the whole time.

  “Stop doing that,” I said. “It’s rude.”

  “I know, but I can’t seem to help myself. I think there’s a switch in the brain that flips when you hit eighty. Most of the people I know died long before then, so it’s kind of like a rite of passage. There’s so many damn rules to live by in polite society. When you’re standing in a long line at the post office don’t you ever have the urge to start ripping packages out of people’s hands and telling the only cashier at the register to go fuck himself?”

  Actually, I’d had those exact feelings the last time I’d been at the post office. But I still had the before-eighty polite switch that told me I shouldn’t do it.

  “You didn’t actually do that did you?” I asked.

  “No, but that’s only because everyone in front of me let me cut in line because I’m an old lady and I might have faked being unable to stand that long.”

  “Good thinking.”

  I was headed back to the agency when Scarlet pointed and said, “Grab that parking spot. It’s like the stars are aligning for me today. I need to buy a lottery ticket.”

  “Your face is swollen and you’ve got two black eyes. How is today going in your favor?”

  “You heard Mo. I’m one tough bitch. And when a parking spot opens up in front of one of the most exclusive salons in Savannah, you don’t kick the universe in the balls as a thank you.”

  I slammed on the brakes and both of us jerked against the seatbelt. I hadn’t prepared myself to actually visit Scarlet’s salon. I hadn’t been serious about a change. Well, maybe I’d been serious, but I had to think about it a little more. What kind of drastic changes did I want to make? Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias drastic or Charlize Theron in Mad Max drastic? Actually, probably neither were good choices for me.

  A horn blared behind me and I waved in apology before trying to figure out the best way to sidewalk park in downtown Savannah. There was no way I could parallel park. I couldn’t parallel park the smallest of cars. So I just pulled in front forward and left the back end sticking out into the street a little.

  “We don’t have to do this today,” I said, pure panic taking over my body. I’d rather deal with a dead body any day. “She’s probably booked. And you’re probably still not feeling too good.”

  “I’m fit as a fiddle,” Scarlet said, hopping out of the van.

  I thunked my head against the steering wheel once and then got out to join Scarlet on the sidewalk. It’s not like my hair could get much worse. The rain was pelting right off of Scarlet’s hair like she was wearing a helmet. I had rivulets of water running down my scalp and into my eyes. I probably looked like a drowned rat.

  My theory was confirmed when we walked in the salon and the receptionist squeaked at the sight of me.

  “My niece here needs to see Chermaine,” Scarlet said. “This is an emergency, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  The poor girl looked terrified of Scarlet and she ran to the back to warn Chermaine of our arrival. I wasn’t really sure what to do other than drip on the carpet.

  Before I knew what was happening I was being ushered to the back and a girl was pulling my sweater over my head and wrapping me in a black robe. A glass of champagne was shoved in my hand, I was led to a chair that looked vaguely similar to the one in my gynecologist’s office, and hot compresses were applied to my neck, abdomen, and feet. I was told I looked tense. That was an understatement.

  I downed the champagne in one gulp and the girl refilled it. I was guessing she was Chermaine’s assistant, though she looked terrified and ready to jump out of her skin. And then a woman walked in, and I could understand why the assistant looked like she was on her last pair of Depends.

  “I am Chermaine,” the woman announced in a thickly Slavic accent. She posed in the doorway so I could take it all in, and I took another healthy sip of champagne.

  She was an Amazon, well over six feet and thickly boned. Her head was shaved except for the strip of fuchsia hair that ran down the center of her head gelled into dangerous looking spikes at least a foot long. She wore a skintight black cat suit, but she’d embellished it with a bandolier across her chest and a thigh holster. Instead of bullets in the bandolier she had various pieces of hairdressing equipment—combs, brushes, hair clips, and a straight razor. In the thigh holder was a pair of wickedly sharp scissors.

  “You are Scarlet’s niece?” she asked, arching a black brow at me.

  I only nodded because I was incapable of speech.

  “Scarlet is one of my favorites. She reminds me much of Chermaine. I’ve seen pictures of Scarlet’s youth and can see the resemblance. You have good bones. Good genes,” she said, coming slowly into the room, looking me up and down like a prized horse. “Terrible hair,” she continued. “But Chermaine will fix.”

  “I…I just want a trim,” I said.

  “Silence,” she barked. “You do not tell Picasso what to paint. Just as you do not tell Chermaine how to cut. Chermaine can see into the soul and envision the cut you need. You are looking for change. For adventure. But you are not brave enough to be adventurous with color. We will go short. Very short. Like a pixie. Your cheekbones and eyes will pop. You will be magnificent, as much as your prurient soul will allow. This hair will get you much sex. The men will love it.”

  “I’m sort of on a sex break,” I said.

  “Nonsense,” she said, clapping her hands and jerking the assistant to attention. “You will be naked before the morrow. Chermaine knows and sees all. Esmerelda, take her to be washed. We have much work to do in very little time.”

  * * *

  I lost track of time. I only remember looking up at one point and seeing Scarlet laid out next to me in an identical magical chair, her face covered in some kind of blue goop with green gel patches over her eyes. I think they waxed my eyebrows at some point, but the champagne had made me sleepy, so I might have dozed off. I could have stayed in Chermaine’s care for the rest of my life. I might look like a horror story by the time she was finished, but I felt amazing.

  They pulled the eye pads and all of the heated wraps off, and then the chair co
ntorted to an upright position. Scarlet was standing in front of me, the bruising on her face much reduced.

  “Holy cow,” we both said at the same time.

  “The swelling on your face is almost gone,” I said in amazement.

  “Holy cow,” she said again, staring at my hair. “You look just like Anne Hathaway. But not all prostitute-like and emaciated like she was in Les Mis.”

  “Chermaine does not make mistakes,” Chermaine said, turning the chair so I faced the mirror.

  I didn’t recognize my reflection. And then I did and I burst into tears. Not because the haircut was bad, but because it was a heck of a shock. I had Audrey Hepburn hair. I looked like a complete stranger.

  “Cease,” Chermaine said. “Chermaine doesn’t allow tears in her presence. You are weak. Beautiful, but weak. Now get out of my chair and go prepare for your sex.”

  Scarlet took my credit card and paid for me since I seemed incapable of doing anything else. And then we bundled up and went back into the rain to the van. When I looked in the rearview mirror, my hair was in exactly the same spot as it had been inside the salon. And there was no frizz or hair expansion. It was a miracle.

  I was on auto-pilot, so I headed toward the Dairy Queen out of habit. There were no words spoken other than what we used to place our orders. I got my typical hot fudge with extra fudge and nuts and Scarlet got strawberry.

  “You can just drop me at the hotel,” Scarlet said. “I’m an old lady and I need my rest. I want to look my best for church in the morning. Ugly Mo sent me a text and invited me to come to his church. I always wanted to go to a black church. They got better music than the Methodist church. And they always wear pretty hats. I got a red hat I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said, pulling up in front of the historic inn Scarlet made her home while in Savannah. I helped her out of the front seat, handing her over to the care of the bellman who knew her by name.

  “Call me after church,” Scarlet said. “We can get started on that case for Ugly Mo and that no-good Jasmine.”