The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

“I’ll take a slice of your cherry pie, heated with a scoop of ice cream, please. Plus another soda.”

  “You got it, honey,” the waitress answered and went to walk off.

  “Wait, and a knife,” Nicole yelled after the waitress.

  “A knife?” the waitress clarified. “For pie?”

  “Yes, please,” Nicole stated and turned back to Kent.

  See? She was ruining everything. And now his cola was half empty and he’d barely begun his meditation.

  “So what brilliant conclusion have you made so far?” Nicole asked.

  “Guess you’ll have to wait for the morning to find out, like everyone else.”

  Nicole kicked him under the table. “And here I was thinking you might get some tonight.”

  Kent rolled his eyes. “On your first night of your period? I don’t think so.”

  “You, the great Kent,” Nicole smirked. “Gift to all women is put off by a little menses?”

  “Not me, you, my dear. You complain that I get your lady parts all too hot and bothered and then you get crampy, remember?”

  Nicole shrugged. “Maybe I’m willing to risk it,” she said as her shoe traveled up his leg, tugging up the hem of his pants.

  “Really?” Kent was unimpressed. Seduction was not one of her strong suits. “You tracked me all the way down here to make sure I would come home for a booty call?”

  Nicole dropped the siren act. “I just need you to get some sleep so you’re fresh for tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Kent asked.

  His fiancée, her ring glistening on her finger squirmed in her seat. You could tell she didn’t want to tell him but also knew what he’d do if she didn’t tell him. Being handcuffed in the rain probably brought back some memories.

  “The film crew is going to be there.”

  “Duh,” Kent replied. She really needed to also work on her lying skills.

  Nicole shuffled some more, took another swig of his cola then licked her lips. “Well, because of the film crew the Chief of D’s, the Police Commissioner and the Mayor are going to be there.”

  “Sounds about right,” Kent stated, glad to see surprise flash on Nicole’s face.

  “You knew?”

  “No,” Kent said, “But I guessed. The cameras really bring them out of the woodwork.”

  “And you’re okay with all of that?”

  Nicole cocked her head then reached for his Coke.

  Kent grabbed his cola back before Nicole finished it off. “There will be a lot of political posturing, but what do I care? I’m never going to run for office. And like I always say, I should be able to explain my theories to the janitor and make him understand so I’m good.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Nicole leaned back in the booth, the plastic squeaking as she did so and squinted her eyes. Could Kent really be serious?

  “It’s your ex-Latin lover that is going to be apoplectic tomorrow,” Kent continued. “All that power concentrated in one place? Cameras to record it all? It’s his panties that are going to be in a bunch tomorrow, mark my words.”

  In some ways it sounded like Ruben and in others it didn’t. However if he got the chance to show Kent up, the more public the better. It usually didn’t end well for Ruben, but the man never quite seemed to learn.

  The waitress brought her cherry pie, steaming just a little with a nice big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, already starting to melt. Nicole spun the plate around, grabbed the knife that was provided and tackled the sucker from the back, slicing the crust away and dipping the strips in the ice cream.

  “You are a sick, sick woman,” Kent commented. “I’m really not sure how much of a leap it is to massacre that pie and chainsaw someone.”

  “Not far at all, I’m sure.” Nicole shot back, not wanting to let Kent spoil her enjoyment of her pie. “Some people eat the middle out of Oreos before they eat the cookie part.”

  “Those poor souls are simply misguided… you are… you are the butcher of Sam’s Moonlight Diner.”

  Nicole smiled. That’s why despite the fact he was a kleptomaniac and overall ass, he could make her laugh at the most inopportune jokes. That and he knew her menstrual cycle.

  Kent raised his hand. “I really can’t watch this travesty. Waitress. Check please.”

  Nicole responded by taking a huge spoonful of ice cream and dropping it into her cola then swirling it around.

  “No, no, no,” Kent said seeming truly distressed. He hadn’t batted an eye at the Buzz Kill crime scene, but make his Coke into a float? That he’d react to. “Now we are approaching war crimes.”

  “Ah, you’ll visit me in the Hague won’t you?”

  “Not if I have to watch this sight,” Kent chuckled, nudging her foot under the table.

  The waitress walked over. “There ain’t no bill, sweetie.”

  “What do you mean?” Kent asked. “As a law enforcement official I can’t take a gift of even food.”

  For all of Kent’s railing “against the man” Nicole knew that the profiler was a stickler about keeping himself untangled from any whiff of scandal. He created enough problems on his own, he didn’t need to look like he was playing favoritism.

  “Ah, nah, darlin’ I’m too broke to be not only buying you pie but losing my tip,” the waitress explained. “Nah, a biker guy came in and paid for your pie and soda and I might add left me a hefty tip. Now your girl is going to have to pay for her own.”

  Nicole sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to look at Kent’s face. That couldn’t just have happened could it? The way his cheeks drained of color, he too was thinking exactly what she was. Lucky 37 had not only been in this restaurant, but paid for Kent’s meal?

  Had she walked by him? Had she missed one of the FBI’s most wanted serial killers?

  “Here ya go,” the waitress said. “He wanted you to have this, sorry, it completely slipped my mind.”

  The waitress handed Kent a green and white ticket then turned and walked off like it was no big deal. Maybe in the course of the waitress’s life, it wasn’t. But to Kent and she? It was everything.

  Kent’s hand even shook a bit as he unfolded the ticket. He laid it out on the table between them. Kent didn’t bother to try and preserve any evidence. Lucky 37 always used gloves.

  On the front appeared to be only the waitress’ handwriting, documenting Kent’s order. The total was scrawled at the bottom, a red line through it to indicate it had been paid.

  Kent flipped the ticket over.

  There were only two words. Tomorrow Night.

  Huh?

  Kent flipped the ticket over again, then back again.

  “What does it mean?” Nicole asked.

  “Hell if I know,” the profiler responded.

  Okay, this wasn’t good if Kent had no idea.

  “Is he going to kill tomorrow night?’ she queried. If Lucky 37 kept to his schedule, he needed to make two more kills in the next week. Nicole hated to admit it, but she had kind of hoped that Lucky had moved on. She had hoped that he had gotten spooked by Kent’s attention and had abandoned his schedule, striking for greener pastures.

  The ticket laying between them shattered all of her hopes. Lucky was still in town and apparently still stalking them. It made her skin crawl to think of a serial killer watching her every movement. She’d had one before and it didn’t end well.

  “Well?” Nicole prompted Kent who was staring at the ticket as if it were the only thing that existed in the world.

  “No idea,” Kent said. “He could also be telling us that Buzz Kill is going to kill tomorrow night.”

  “Buzz Kill?” Nicole parroted back. She knew Kent hated when she did it, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “He could be trying to help again,” Kent stated.

  “Why?”

  “Why does Lucky 37 do anything?”

  “You said he helped last time because he had a teenage daughter. Why would he help catch Buzz Kill?”

  “Because he’s fou
nd a new high?” Kent suggested. “I think he was getting bored with his routine. Our interactions have given him new purpose.”

  “And what if he tires of that?” Nicole suggested. “And decides that going after a profiler and his girlfriend are his new high?”

  “Fiancé, you mean?” Kent retorted.

  Kent could seem so distracted, then snap back into focus so quickly that it gave Nicole whiplash.

  “Yes, fiancé,” Nicole agreed, looking down at her engagement ring. She might have slipped up, but at least Kent hadn’t.

  “We’ll have to see,” Kent said as if he was talking about the possibility that the Cardinals could make it into the World Series.

  Kent waved the waitress back to their table. “You said the guy was a biker. Was he dressed in leathers?

  “Oh, no. He was in khakis and a long sleeved knit shirt.”

  That didn’t sound at all like Lucky 37, but that’s what the point was Nicole supposed.

  Kent pulled out a sketch of Lucky 37. “Did he look like that?’

  “Oh heavens no. He was clean shaven with short hair.”

  Nicole frowned. “Then why did you say he was a biker?”

  “When he reached out for the check, his sleeve fell back and a big honking Orange County Choppers tattoo was on his arm.”

  Kent leaned back, his finger to his lip. That meant something to him. Why didn’t it to her?

  The waitress shuffled a bit, not knowing what to do next. Kent was in the zone so Nicole stepped in.

  “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.” Nicole pulled a business card out of her wallet and handed it to the waitress. “If you see him again, give me a call, okay.”

  The woman scanned the card. “Detective, huh? And he’s a cop too?”

  “No,” Nicole answered. “He’s an FBI profiler.”

  The woman’s eyes dilated. “Really? I thought for sure he was some kind of artistic weirdo.”

  “A common misperception,” Nicole said with a chuckle. She looked over to Kent, his face was still stitched up in concentration.

  “Am I in danger?” the waitress said, putting her hand on her chest.

  “Depends, do you ride Harleys?’

  “Goodness sakes, no, not at my age and stage of osteoporosis.”

  “Then you should be fine,” Nicole stated. “Lucky 37 only goes after biker chicks.”

  The waitress took a step back. “You mean the real Lucky 37 was in my diner?”

  “We believe so yes,” Nicole answered.

  “Oh my,” the waitress said fanning her face. “I’ve got to go update my Facebook status.”

  Damn but social media had suckered even an old coot like their waitress into posting their lives. Nicole couldn’t be concerned about that. She had Kent to worry about.

  “What’s going on?”

  Kent fluttered a hand, waving her off.

  Fine. Nicole got comfortable. They could be here a while.

  What was she missing? The Orange County Choppers were a Harley biker “club.” To avoid harassment and arrest these bikers no longer called themselves a gang. They were even on sites like Meet up. They tried to project a more family-friendly image these days.

  That didn’t mean they still didn’t run guns, dabble in prostitution, and human trafficking.

  The problem was the Choppers had branched out from California. They were worldwide, let alone countrywide. Just like the old school gangs, they kept no membership roster. So why was Kent so consumed by this new information?

  * * *

  Kent was not used to having his mind blown. It was a most unwelcome sensation, yet at the same time it felt incredibly stimulating. To have not just one, but two whole new avenues of investigation. It was like Easter and Christmas hit on the same day.

  The note. Ah, the note. Just a tease. Again, if Lucky 37 wasn’t one of the most prolific and brutal serial killers in the nation, Kent might have liked him. The man had a dry sense of humor and was willing to let the silence do the speaking for him.

  And now to find out he had a Chopper tattoo. It was like Kent had been handed Lucky’s personal diary.

  In khakis and a knit shirt. Damn, but Kent had seen Lucky and skimmed right over him. What had he been thinking at the time? Those psychopaths could copy normal, average. So there Lucky 37 sat, mocking Kent. Taunting him. They had been in the same diner and Kent hadn’t even picked up on it. He was getting rusty. Too rusty.

  “Kent?” Nicole whispered.

  “Just give me a few more minutes,” Kent asked.

  “It’s been over an hour,” Nicole shot back, her lips turned down.

  Really? Had it been that long?

  “Want to come up for some air?” Nicole asked.

  Really she meant sanity, but that was okay.

  “So? What’s the big deal about the Orange County Chopper tattoo?” Nicole queried.

  “You tell me,” Kent replied.

  Nicole’s frown deepened. Well, she shouldn’t have bugged him if she didn’t want to talk.

  “The OCC is a biker group.”

  “Wrong,” Kent stated.

  Nicole’s eyebrow shot up. “I thought they had a television show?”

  “They do. Actually they have three shows, but the original OCC is actually a custom motorcycle company. Clubs have been formed by owners of OCC bikes or those that appreciate them, but the actual OCC is a company.”

  “So?” Nicole stated.

  “So?” Kent shot back. “So everything.”

  Nicole threw her napkin at him. “Don’t be such a jerk. Just tell me what I’m missing.”

  “Ah, but that wouldn’t be quite so fun, now would it?” Kent answered.

  His fiancé’s frown warned him if he didn’t cough up something he was not getting any dessert tonight, or any other night for that matter.

  “Do you think that ink got laid down on Lucky 37s arm before or after he started killing?”

  Nicole’s lips turned up just a little. “Before. He’s too smart. Once he started killing, there’s no way he would put anything that identifying on his body.”

  “Exactly,” Kent praised her. “Now when did the OCC blow up?”

  “No idea.”

  “I don’t know either, but I am assuming it was the early 2000s.”

  “Which means?” Nicole asked.

  “Think about the timeline. Where does it point you?” Kent asked.

  Nicole’s brows knit together. “Lucky started killing well before 2000.”

  “That’s right. Which means?”

  “He didn’t get turned onto the OCC because of the television show because if he got the tattoo before the killing that puts the tattoo before 2000, before the show.”

  Kent nodded vigorously. “Which means we can infer?”

  Nicole’s features brightened. “He was a part of the original OCC Company’s crew?”

  “Either a mechanic or test rider,” Kent said with another nod. He flipped open his phone and dialed.

  “Dear god, I don’t have anything yet,” the voice on the other side of the phone snapped.

  “Hello to you too, Jimmi,” Kent replied. “I’ve got something on Lucky 37. We have reason to believe he worked for the OCC between 1997 and 1999.”

  “What?” Jimmi asked, sounding still a little groggy. “How did you figure that out?”

  Kent sighed. “Never mind. Just get me pics from the company employees during that era.”

  He clicked off the phone before Jimmi could engage him in small talk. He turned to Nicole, snatching the ticket up and putting it in his pocket.

  “No one can know about this,” Kent stated.

  “Why?”

  Kent gave her that look. “This is between us. Period.”

  Nicole frowned but nodded. “You know this is going to blow back on you.”

  Kent shrugged. “When doesn’t it?”

  She didn’t look too convinced, but when was she?

  “So what’s next?” Nicole asked.
>
  “Hopefully Jimmi will cook up a photo overnight so that I have something to present tomorrow morning. Until then, I thought we were going to get some rest.”

  “Rest?” Nicole replied back. “I didn’t think rest was what was on your mind earlier.”

  Kent smiled. That was his girl. Other people might find it weird that they were both in the mood, however most people didn’t have a serial killer stalking them or having to stalk down other serial killers that hacked people to pieces for fun.

  You had to take your comforts when you could.

  “Well, then, I’ll let you drive,” Kent said rising from the booth.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lucky surveyed from a discreet distance. It had been a huge risk. A huge risk to deliver that note and now to wait in the shadows?

  But it had been worth it as he watched Kent walk out, his arm draped over Nicole’s shoulder as she nibbled at his neck.

  This profiler was the most fascinating person Lucky had ever studied. And he had studied many, many people. Would the profiler figure out his warning? Or would it be too late?

  It was out of his hands now. He had done his duty. He’d even shaved off a beard that he had been growing for over twenty years. And cut his hair. He hadn’t even done that for his mother, God rest her soul.

  But he was running out of time. He would hate to break his track record so he needed to finish up all his business in town within the week. Could Kent rise to that challenge?

  He certainly hoped so. He did not want to waste all of this grooming.

  The game was afoot.

  He felt a thrill that he hadn’t felt since his twenties. Lucky sucked in the night air, relishing the tang of auto exhaust and the smell of freshly baked cherry pie.

  It was a good night to be alive and on the hunt.

  Lucky waited until Nicole’s Mustang retreated into the distance before firing up his customized Fire bike. The engine rumbled satisfactory between his legs. He gunned the engine.

  With his work done. It was time to go play.

  * * *

  Ruben tried to enter the bedroom as quietly as he could. Just because his night’s sleep was ruined didn’t mean that Paggie’s had to be as well.

  “Super late night?” Paggie asked as she rolled over. There was never any sneaking up on her.