by Meg Benjamin
Behind Hefner, Nando moved slightly, leaning one shoulder against the wall so that he had a better view of Hefner’s face.
Erik kept his own face expressionless. “What arrangement was that?”
Hefner moved his shoulders against the back of his chair, restlessly. “The…ah…arrangement. About the rally visitors.”
Erik took a careful breath. Grabbing Hefner by the throat probably wouldn’t speed things up, satisfying though it might be on other counts. “Mr. Hefner, this is the first rally I’ve seen. What arrangement about the visitors are you referring to?”
“Well…” Hefner’s smile was definitely beginning to wobble around the edges. “Chief Brody arranged for us to sort of, you know, pay our fines in advance. So that we wouldn’t have to go through the whole posting-bail-and-returning-for-trial thing.”
Erik sat very still, watching Hefner sweat and trying to decide if he was actually that stupid. Maybe he should just give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was. “So you paid the fines in advance. Did Chief Brody return the money for people who didn’t do anything that warranted a fine during the weekend?”
Hefner was definitely squirming now. “Well, no, not exactly. I mean we agreed anything left over in the end would be donated to the Konigsburg Police Benefit Fund. Sort of our thank-you gift to the town for being so hospitable and all.”
“And how much did this payment amount to?” Erik felt the beginning of a headache somewhere behind his eyes.
Hefner exhaled quickly. “Oh, it varied. Usually around a hundred dollars a person. I mean the fines for the kind of thing our members might get picked up for aren’t all that big, right? You know, jaywalking, stuff like that.”
“A hundred dollars a person?” Erik kept his voice bland.
“That’s what it came to.” Hefner nodded vigorously. “We really appreciated the consideration too.”
Nando whistled softly.
Erik leaned back in his chair and studied the other man for a long moment. “Okay, Mr. Hefner, you’ve just basically admitted to bribing a public official. And since you were trying to continue the deal with me, that’s another count of attempted bribery. Potentially, your weekend just got a lot shorter.”
Hefner’s mouth moved soundlessly, like a beached trout. His eyes were suddenly the size of golf balls. “But…but…Chief Brody was the one to suggest this. He said it was a convenience he offered for groups like ours, to keep us from being hassled. He said it was perfectly legal.”
Erik leaned forward, propping his elbows on his desk. “Chief Brody is wanted for assault, attempted murder and burglary, among other charges. He’s currently unavailable, seeing as how he’s a fugitive. I wouldn’t appeal to his reading of the law if I were you.”
Hefner sank down in his chair like a deflated balloon version of himself. For a moment, Erik almost felt sorry for him. On the other hand, stupidity was frequently its own reward. He sat back in his chair, switching into his Voice of Authority mode.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. Hefner. I want you to go back to your group now. Tell them the town noise ordinance is in effect from sundown to sunrise. Tell them officers will be picking up anybody guilty of public drunkenness and tossing them in the county lockup. Tell them the Highway Patrol will be watching for speeders on the county roads. In other words, tell them to behave themselves. If nothing nasty happens this weekend, I’ll overlook what just transpired here. If anything goes down, I’ll throw the book at you. Got it?”
Hefner took a deep breath. His zippers trembled. “Yes, sir. That sounds quite reasonable.”
“Good enough.” Erik let one corner of his mouth inch up. “You have a nice day, now.”
He spent the rest of the morning patrolling the streets, watching yuppies pretending to be outlaws on bikes that were almost too much for them to handle.
Unlike Hefner’s, Erik’s bike back in Davenport had been over five years old and looked pretty routine. It lacked chrome. It could, however, move like a son of a bitch thanks to the time he’d spent working on it. As he turned the cruiser up West Street, he profoundly wished he still had his bike and could use it now, rather than driving the standard piece-of-crap cruiser that the city of Konigsburg provided to its law enforcement officers. On the bike, he could have taken any of these hotshots. In the cruiser, it was a toss-up.
Every time he thought about the conversation with Hefner, he wondered what the town would have faced if Linklatter had gotten the chief’s job. Ham would probably have accepted those “pre-paid” fines from Hefner without a qualm, although he might have been a little confused when he found out there was no Konigsburg Police Benefit Fund. Erik figured the only Konigsburg policeman who’d benefitted from Hefner and the boys had been Brody.
After a couple of hours of watching bikers barrel around town while trying to avoid permanent hearing damage, Erik turned the cruiser toward the suburbs, such as they were. He told himself he was heading for Cedar Creek only to make sure the bikers weren’t making trouble at the winery.
He definitely wasn’t going there to check on Morgan, who definitely—most probably—didn’t need his help.
The winery was surrounded by chrome-plated monsters taking up most of the parking spaces. The seats around the patio tables were occupied by men and women in leathers and vests and ponytails. Overall, the ponytails looked better on the women—of course, so did the vests. Esteban Avrogado dozed at a corner table. He opened one eye and raised a hand in salutation as Erik walked by.
Skeeter and Fred moved hopefully among the tables, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Occasionally someone took pity on them and tossed a cracker.
Erik strolled toward the tasting room, keeping his eyes peeled for Morgan and trouble, in about equal measure. In the doorway he paused.
Morgan stood behind the tasting room bar, staring fixedly at a far corner of the room. Three men in leathers sat on the barstools in front of her. It seemed to Erik that their gazes were all focused on her breasts. Maybe it seemed that way to Morgan, too, judging from the stiffness in her shoulders.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” one of the leathers cajoled, “just one glass. We’ll pay for it. Pick your favorite so we’ll know what’s fit to drink.”
Morgan’s voice was sharp. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to drink when I’m pouring. State regulations.”
“Well, it’s just us here,” another man said. “Who’s going to know? Besides, we want to buy you a drink.”
Erik walked farther into the room. Hefner wasn’t currently taking up a jail cell. There was plenty of room there for three obnoxious yuppie bikers. Halfway to the bar, he caught Morgan’s eye.
She shook her head slightly and he stopped.
“Gentlemen,” she said, briskly, “I’ll be happy to make wine recommendations for you. That’s what I’m here for. But as I said, I can’t drink on the job. Now, what can I pour for you?”
The men glanced at each other, then one of them shrugged. “Some of the syrah. And don’t be stingy, baby.”
The others snickered. Erik resumed walking across the room, letting his boot heels strike the floor more noisily than usual. The leathers glanced at him without much interest.
“Afternoon, officer,” one of them drawled. “Checking IDs?”
Erik ignored him. “Everything okay here, Ms. Barrett?”
Morgan’s smile seemed frozen. “Great, Chief. We’re having a terrific afternoon.”
“Yeah, only Ms. Barrett here won’t even have a drink with us. What fun is that?” One of the leathers turned around, propping his arms against the bar and attempting a sneer. In Erik’s opinion, his Brando impersonation left a lot to be desired.
“Ms. Barrett is obeying the law when she refrains from drinking on the job. Perhaps you weren’t aware of it.” Erik rested his hand on the top of his baton. Not that he’d use it. Not that he wasn’t tempted.
One of the leathers snickered again. “Oh we know all about the law. Fact is, Officer, you’re talki
ng to three members of the bar right here.”
“Right,” another leather chimed in. “Members of the bar at the bar, as it were.”
“Interesting.” Erik let his mouth edge into a half-smile. “That should save time if I have to lock you up. You can just call each other.”
One of the leathers cleared his throat. “No need for threats, Officer. We’re here to have a good time, spend a little money. No harm done.”
Erik raised his gaze to Morgan. “Ms. Barrett?”
Morgan’s smile looked pasted on. “No harm done, Chief. I believe the gentlemen were going to buy some syrah. I’ll call Ms. Maldonado to help.”
Erik watched her shoulders slump as the leathers moved to the other side of the room to give Kit their wine order. “I could have handled it,” she muttered.
“You did handle it.” He shrugged. “I just added a little firepower. Jerks like that sometimes need a little prodding.”
Morgan raised her gaze to his. Her eyes looked more like good bourbon than chocolate today. “Thank you anyway. They’d been sitting there for thirty minutes. I was about to call Esteban.”
There was a burst of laughter from the leathers. One of them shook Kit’s limp hand. She didn’t look any more impressed than Morgan.
The Brando impersonator walked back across the room while the other two headed out the door. He gave Morgan a somewhat oily grin. “So…Ms. Barrett, is it? Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?”
Morgan’s mouth stretched in something that looked more like a rictus than a smile. “No. Sorry. Other plans.”
“Oh, well.” Brando reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you ever need a good lawyer or a good time in Plano, look me up.” He gave her a smoldering gaze that probably wowed all the ladies at the Friday happy hour.
Erik watched him saunter toward the door to join his friends. “That man is possibly the biggest asshole in the state of Texas. Maybe I should do everyone a favor and shoot him now.”
Morgan chuckled, leaning forward on the bar. “Nobody in Konigsburg would convict you.” She cleared her throat. “What are you doing for dinner this evening?”
Erik shook his head. “I’m going to be on duty most of the night.”
“Which doesn’t mean you don’t get to eat, right?” She looked up at him from beneath luxuriant eyelashes.
“Yeah, I’ll probably grab something at the Dew Drop around seven, unless somebody else does something stupid I have to deal with.” He raised an eyebrow. “Want to join me?”
“I’ll give it my best, Chief. Try not to shoot any assholes between now and then, okay?”
Erik allowed himself a full-sized grin this time. “No promises, ma’am, no promises.”
Three hours later, he sat in the Dew Drop sipping what was probably the worst cup of coffee he’d ever tasted. And given his army experience, that was saying something. The Dew Drop’s food was only marginally better than its coffee since it was all microwaveable. He gazed at the limp slice of pizza in front of him and sighed.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon making sure Hefner’s troops had gotten the message about the “behave yourself” policy. Most seemed to be fairly quiet, although a few had shown some Wild Bunch tendencies that he and Nando had managed to tamp down. Unfortunately, he discovered that the story about Hefner and Brody had gotten out somehow—he suspected that Linklatter had been listening at the door since neither Erik nor Nando had told anybody. Now he was having to answer questions he didn’t really want to deal with.
And Morgan hadn’t come to the Dew Drop with everybody else.
“You realize this means Brody was clearing somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand dollars per rally,” Docia said. “He had four rallies, so we’re talking about something in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand overall.” Even in the darkness of the Dew Drop, he could see outrage in those wide green eyes. He suspected that getting pissed was not good for somebody as pregnant as she was. Cal had his arm around her shoulders, looking a lot like a compassionate grizzly bear.
“He probably used the money to head for Brazil.” Erik made the mistake of sipping his coffee again, then tried not to grimace. “Or Bermuda. Wherever your better class of fugitive heads these days. I don’t know much more about it than you already know—we turned everything over to the Rangers who’ve got the file on Brody.”
“Damn. I was hoping for some juicy details I could pass on to Allie when she finishes selling bread to the bozos.” Wonder squinted at Erik’s plate. “You shouldn’t be eating Ingstrom’s food, Chief. He’s applied to have it added to the historic registry.”
Allie slid into the chair beside Wonder, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Wonder might have blushed, but it was too dark in the Dew Drop to tell. She glanced at Erik’s pizza. “You poor man. If I’d known you needed dinner, I’d have brought you some soup and a kolache.”
The thought that he might have had Allie’s soup rather than Ingstrom’s pizza was enough to kill what little of Erik’s appetite remained. He heard the door swing open and turned, hoping for Morgan. Instead, Nando walked in with a stunning brunette who looked vaguely familiar. Across from him, Allie’s expression soured.
“Is that Kit?” Docia frowned.
“That’s Kit.” Allie narrowed her eyes. “With Nando Avrogado. Another thing I didn’t know about until now.”
“Kit?” Erik recognized her now—the pourer from the tasting room at Cedar Creek.
“My niece.” Allie sighed. “This in loco parentis business sucks.”
“Allie, she’s twenty-one.” Docia grinned at her.
“Yeah. Tell that to my brother Tony. If he finds out she’d dating Nando Avrogado, he’ll have my head.”
Nando stopped beside Erik’s chair, nodding at the group. “Everything quiet?”
Erik shrugged. “So far. Any problems at Cedar Creek?”
Kit grimaced. “Obnoxious yuppies. And we ran out of sangiovese. Morgan and Ciro are slapping some labels on bottles tonight so we’ll have more to sell tomorrow.”
Which at least explained Morgan’s absence. Another reason to be pissed at the bikers—he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of seeing Bambi this evening. And he still had to check out the bars on Main, the campground and the city park. Erik took one last shuddering sip of coffee and pulled his hat from underneath his chair.
Time to go put the fear of Texas justice into some half-assed motorcycle clowns who’d had the temerity to ruin his weekend.
Chapter Nine
Morgan figured her Saturday would have to be better than her Friday night. She and Ciro had put foil tops and labels on fifty bottles of sangiovese, along with another fifty of syrah. At least she had a machine to help her instead of doing it by hand like her father had in the early years. Still, by the time they’d finished, she was well-nigh giddy with boredom.
Of course, as Carmen had helpfully pointed out, her father wouldn’t have waited until the night before the bottles were needed to finish the labeling. He would have checked the inventory and realized that more bottles should be on hand for a big weekend like the motorcycle rally.
Once again, Morgan wished Carmen would go back to torturing Nando and Esteban and leave her alone. It didn’t help that Carmen was absolutely right.
She’d missed the Dew Drop. And Erik. She hoped the freakin’ bikers would at least order a few more cases of wine to make it up to her.
Skeeter clicked happily around the tasting room, looking for any leftover tidbits of cracker and cheese he could gobble. Morgan shook her head. “You know it’s not good for you to eat people food. Go find some dog food.”
Skeeter gave her his most soulful starving-puppy look. “Forget it,” Morgan snapped. “I know you, remember? Go find Fred.”
Skeeter sniffed around the bar one more time, then trotted disconsolately toward the door as Kit walked in.
“Morning,” she yawned. “Got enough wine for the troops?”
“Let’s hope.�
�� Morgan started to slide bottles into the bin under the counter. Behind her, Skeeter whimpered.
Morgan turned as Arthur pushed through the pet door and limped into the room. He gave Skeeter an ominous glare as he moved toward his food bowl, favoring his left front foot.
Morgan put the bottle she’d been holding back on the counter and approached him gingerly. At his best, Arthur wasn’t particularly sociable. When he was sick or hurt, he could be a real pain. “What have you done to yourself, cat?”
Arthur flicked an ear in her direction but kept limping to his usual spot beside the door.
“Rough night, huh?” Morgan knelt beside him and reached for his paw.
Arthur batted her hand away, showing the tips of his claws.
Morgan sighed. “Okay, okay. I won’t bother you now. But later today I’m going to have a look at that paw, cat.”
“Something’s wrong with his paw? What did he do?” Kit opened the office door and tossed her purse inside.
“Dunno. He was limping, but he won’t let me get close.” Morgan stood up, brushing off her hands. “I’ll check him again later when he’s had time for a nap and hasn’t been on his feet for a while. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood.”
“Poor kitty.” Kit started to lean down, then took a good look at Arthur’s glowing golden eyes and thought better of it.
Arthur gave them both a malevolent glare.
Morgan stroked him lightly along his spine, then rubbed her fingers. “You’ve got some gunk on your fur, cat. Been rolling in the muck, have we?”
Arthur stretched and collapsed into a loose ball, paws curled under. Morgan rubbed him behind his ears, and he rumbled.
“You’re kidding.” Kit raised an eyebrow. “He purrs?”
“Sure. Deep down he’s a sweetie.” Morgan stood up, squinting toward the parking lot. The rumbling wasn’t just coming from Arthur. From outside she could hear the sound of bikes bouncing up the drive. “Crap. They’re here ten minutes before opening time. Why do I have the feeling today is going to be a bitch?”
