“Charming place.” I switched on the walkie-talkie on my belt, slipped on my shades, and stepped out of the truck. “I’ll take the front door. You take the back.”
Conor pulled a shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds from the back of the Gray Ghost. “Copy that.” He walked around the east side of the house, where there was a gate to the backyard.
I gave him a minute to get into position then pounded on the front door. “Bail enforcement! Open up!” I followed it up with more pounding. “Open the door now.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” an unhurried male voice said from inside the house. A heavyset guy with a mess of wild hair opened the door, wearing a rumpled T-shirt and plaid boxers, which revealed a lot more than I wanted to see. This was not Renzelli.
“I’m looking for Arthur Renzelli. I’m told he’s here.”
“Arthur who?” He scratched his belly.
From the other side of the house, I heard loud barking, followed by Conor shouting and cursing. Aw, shit!
I keyed my walkie. “Conor, you all right?”
The belly scratcher chuckled. “That your guy trespassing in my backyard? Guess he met Bert and Ernie.”
I tried to push past the guy, but he held his ground. “Get out of my way, asshole!”
“Not a chance, little lady.”
I planted my heel in his instep, and he fell forward onto the porch, howling. I flipped him on his belly, one arm twisted behind his back.
A shotgun blast thundered from the backyard and then another, followed by what I guessed were Bert and Ernie whimpering after getting hit with beanbags.
“Sumbitch shot my dogs!” Bellyscratcher yelped.
“Conor!” I called again into the walkie. “What’s your status?”
“Just teaching a couple of mutts who’s top dog around here.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement on the west side of the house. A skinny guy with long black hair and wearing only jeans and flip-flops had slipped out the side window. This was my guy, Artie Renzelli. He took off running down the street.
“Fugitive’s on the run westbound out the side window!” I yelled.
I chased after him, since Conor had a handle on the dogs and their owner. Renzelli sprinted across lawns and, with his long legs, was making good time. I may have been shorter, but I was in better shape and had proper footwear. After a couple of houses, I was gaining on him. I caught snippets of Conor trying to call me on the walkie, but I was running too fast to make out what he was saying.
I was almost on Renzelli with my Taser drawn when the neighborhood street we were running down emptied onto Seventy-Fifth Avenue, thick with traffic. Renzelli charged full bore into the street, dodging vehicles amid squealing tires and angry honking.
I hesitated to follow, not wanting to get pancaked under someone’s truck. When he reached the center turn lane, I decided to risk it. I didn’t want to lose him. Not after chasing him for half a mile already.
With a quick glance at the oncoming vehicles, I threw myself into the street, hoping my mother’s prayers for my safety would pay off. I reached the center turn lane just as Renzelli disappeared into a shopping center parking lot on the other side. I wanted to rush after him but had to wait on a dump truck to pass, followed by a slow-moving landscaper with a trailer.
When I finally reached the parking lot, I looked for Renzelli among the rows of cars. He was nowhere to be seen. I was about to tell Conor on my walkie that I’d lost him when I spotted my quarry ducking between a Corolla and a Jeep a hundred feet away. “Gotcha!”
I poured on maximum speed, angling through the maze of cars, narrowly missing a Caddy pulling out of a space. When I was almost on him, I raised the Taser and fired. A rapid whapp-whapp-whapp was followed by Renzelli howling and face-planting onto the hood of a Buick. I cuffed him and called Conor on my walkie.
“Yo, Conor!” I said between gulping breaths. “You still alive?”
“Aye! Doing better than those bloody hounds and their owner. Where the hell are ya?”
“Shopping center parking lot. In front of the Fry’s Foods. Other side of Seventy-Fifth Avenue. Guess our guy wanted to do a little shopping before we hauled him back to jail. That right, Renzelli?”
“Kiss my ass!” Renzelli said.
“I’ll be right over.”
A few minutes later, Conor pulled up in the Gray Ghost. I secured Renzelli in the backseat, and Conor drove us toward the Peoria Police Department. I had one thing to do before returning our fugitive to custody.
I dialed the number I’d almost deleted from my contacts list. It rang four times before a familiar voice answered.
“Liberty Bail Bonds. Sara Jean speaking.”
“Sara Jean, how the hell are you?” I asked.
“What do you want, pervert?”
“Now, Sara Jean. Don’t be rude. I have something you want. Or rather someone.”
“Who?”
“Your buddy Artie Renzelli. Dope peddler extraordinaire.”
“That case was reassigned to Fiddler. I told you.”
“So even if I turn him in and get the body receipt, you’re not going to pay me?”
“I will not!” I could picture the self-righteous expression on her face.
“Huh.” I turned to my prisoner in the backseat. “Hey, Renzelli, you want me to let you go?”
“Hell, yeah!” Renzelli had a confused but hopeful look.
“No!” Sara Jean shouted. “His bond comes due on Wednesday.”
“But it’s only Saturday,” I teased. “I’m sure if I drop Artie back where he was hiding out, Fiddler’ll find him in a week or three. Maybe.”
“Don’t you do it!”
“What’s it going to be, Sara Jean? You going to pay me, or do I let this guy go?”
“Fine, I’ll pay you,” she grumbled.
I couldn’t help smiling. “See you Monday morning around ten. Be a doll and have the check waiting for me. Wouldn’t want to sully your office too much with my transgender cooties.”
She hung up. I turned to the bare-chested man in my backseat. “Bad news, dude. Got to take you to Peoria PD to get this mess sorted out.”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
“Aw, Renzelli darling, don’t be cross. It’s been kind of fun. We both got some sunshine and exercise. Almost got killed by crazy Arizona drivers. Maybe they’ll reset your bail and we can do this all over again. ”
He glared. Ugh, so much hostility. Oh well. At least I was getting paid. And at the end of the day, that was what really mattered as far as I was concerned.
A little while later, Renzelli was back in custody. I had my body receipt. I’d called Edie, my tipster, and sent her forty dollars via PayPal. Meanwhile, Conor and I were drinking ice-cold beers at McGowan’s Pub, waiting on our lunch order.
Just as our server showed up with our food, my phone rang. It was Becca.
“What’s up, Becks?” I asked between bites of my bangers and mash.
“Bonnie Schwartz’s phone pinged. I got an address.”
I wiped my hands on a napkin and grabbed another to write on. “Go ahead.”
“The phone’s at the Desert View Inn. It’s off the I-17 southbound access road just past Thunderbird.”
“What room?”
“The information isn’t that detailed. Sorry. I did call the motel, but they don’t have any rooms rented to a Holly Schwartz.”
“No problem. It’s a start. Thanks!” I was about to hang up when an idea occurred to me. “Oh, one more thing! Get locations on the prepaid burner phones called by Bonnie’s phone.”
“Gimme a sec,” Becca said. “Nope. Uh, no. And . . . damn. No luck on any of them. All three burner phones must be turned off.”
“I’ll start with the motel. Thanks!”
I hung up and turned to Conor. “Pack it up. We gotta go.”
“What? I’m still eating my bloody fish and chips.” Conor gave me a what-the-hell look.
“Grab a box.
We have a girl to rescue and a bounty to collect. On your feet, soldier.”
Conor grunted. He tossed our lunches into a take-out box and left a couple of twenties on the table. Such a generous tipper. “Bloody hell, you’re so bossy sometimes.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” I mocked as I pushed him toward the front door.
27
As I drove us north on I-17, Conor’s phone rang.
“’Ello? What? Now? I know I promised, but I’m busy at the moment.” He paused with a frustrated and annoyed expression on his face. “Oy! Not that kind of busy.” He blushed and glanced at me.
I mouthed, “Who is it?” He shook his head.
“Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.” He hung up. “Sorry, love. I have an errand to run. I’ll need ya to drop me off at my place.”
“An errand? Who was that?”
He shook his head. “One of my mates needs my help moving a dresser.” Something about his voice was off.
“Oh really?” I asked, not bothering to hide my suspicions. “Which one of your mates?”
“Jody. Not even his dresser, really. Just some girl he’s shagging.”
“Jody, huh? Sounds like a woman’s name.”
“Stop it! He’s a bloke I know from work.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I grumbled. Him and his damned secrets. “But if I bag this chick without your help, I’m cutting your share in half.”
“However ya want to split the bounty’s fine with me. Just don’t be mad.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled it away. “Ah, love, I’m not runnin’ ’round on ya. Ya know me better than that.”
“Now you just sound guilty.”
“I’m not guilty of anything ’cept wanting to help a mate.”
“What about helping me? Aren’t I your mate? Who knows what I could be walking into at this motel.”
“You, darling, are my one true love. It’s just that I owe this bloke a favor. If ya want to wait till I’m done, then wait. It won’t take that long.”
“Maybe I should come give you a hand?”
“What?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, that won’t be necessary. You’re on a deadline. Maybe Rodeo can be your backup.”
“Screw Rodeo, and screw you. I can handle this myself.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll drop you off at your place so you can help your so-called mate with his so-called girlfriend’s so-called dresser.”
We drove the rest of the way back to his place in awkward silence. I wasn’t normally the jealous type. But after this thing with Levinson and now him obviously lying about this errand, I couldn’t help going there.
When I pulled up in front of his house, I stared at the dash without a word.
“Jinxie, love.” He lifted my hand from the steering wheel and gently placed three kisses on my knuckles. I felt my anger soften, which still kind of pissed me off. His chivalrous nature was my Achilles’ heel, and he knew it. Damn him!
“I swear to the good Lord above, I’ve always been faithful to ya, and I always will. No one can steal my heart away.”
I looked at him, fighting the angry tears pressing at the back of my eyes. My jaw felt tight, my stomach flip-flopping. I had no fear when it came to charging assholes with AK-47s. But this relationship shit could turn me into a whimpering child. “For reals?” I managed to squeak out.
“For reals.”
Our eyes locked, and the tears flowed. I felt myself clinging to his words but terrified of believing them. “Go on. Help this Jody person. Call me when you’re done.”
He kissed me, cradling my face. My insides turned to custard. No one could kiss like that and cheat, could they?
When I opened my eyes, the passenger door was closed, and he was strolling across his yard, digging his keys out of his pocket.
I slid the Pink Trinket’s album TERF Whores into my CD player and cranked it up to full blast before putting the Gray Ghost in Drive and slamming the accelerator.
It was one o’clock when I pulled in front of the Desert View Inn, a locally owned motel geared toward traveling families. The plaster walls outside the automatic doors showed their years, but the flowers in the planters were in full bloom in a rainbow of colors. I grabbed my paperwork and strode inside.
The woman behind the desk was fortyish and smelled of menthol cigarettes. She smiled as I approached. “Checking in?”
“Actually, I’m wondering if you’ve seen this person?” I showed her Holly’s photo. “She might have been in a wheelchair. Or not.”
She studied it for a second, then shook her head. “She doesn’t look familiar. ’Course, I was off all last week. Today’s my first day back.”
“Anyone here who was working the past few days?”
“My coworker’s on his lunch break. Should be back in an hour.”
“All right, thanks.” I started to walk away, then turned back. “You have security cameras?”
Her face grew less friendly and accommodating. “We’re not allowed to show the security feeds to anyone without a manager present. And even then, only with a warrant.”
I pulled out the authorization for me to apprehend Holly Schwartz. “I’m here on legal business. This person missed her court hearing, and I have reason to believe she may have been kidnapped.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not a warrant for the security video.”
“So you’re just going to let this girl be raped, maybe even killed, just because I have the wrong paperwork? What kind of person are you?” I was laying the guilt on a bit thick, but I’d learned from the best—my mother.
The woman raised her eyebrows in an apologetic fashion. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have a key to that room. You’ll have to talk to my head manager.”
“When’s your head manager get here?”
“Six tonight.”
Crap! I waltzed outside and sat in the Gray Ghost to figure out the best strategy. What did I know? I knew someone had a phone with the SIM card for Bonnie Schwartz’s mobile account. Maybe it was Holly or an accomplice.
It could be a kidnapper, but even then they would have to have switched the SIM card between the murder and the time the police showed up. Why would they do that and not take Holly with them? In any case, it followed that if the phone was here, Holly probably was too.
I could stake out the parking lot, but there was no guarantee Holly would leave the room anytime soon. I could go knocking on doors. There were about a hundred rooms in the motel, all of them opened to the outside rather than a central hallway. It was too freaking hot to knock on that many doors. I’d die of heat stroke before I found her.
Searching on my phone, I found a Sub Barn sandwich shop a mile west on Thunderbird. I drove over and ordered a couple of sandwiches. While I was waiting on the order, I asked the freckle-faced kid at the counter, “How much for your hat?”
He looked confused. “I don’t think they’re for sale.”
“Aw, come on. Five bucks. Ten?” I pulled out some of the cash I got off Conor.
A middle-aged man in a white button-down shirt wandered behind the counter. I called out to him. “Excuse me, are you the manager?”
Freckles blushed as the guy in the white shirt turned. “Yes, I’m Craig. Is there a problem?”
“No problem at all.” I turned on my gushing fangirl charm. “In fact, I’m a diehard Sub Barn fan. Love your sandwiches, especially the Barn Burner. So great! And that new ad with the talking horse is hilarious.”
“Well, thank you. We’re rather proud of it.”
“I was wondering if I could purchase one of your hats.” I batted my eyelashes and pushed out my chest.
His eyes dropped to my breasts. “Anything for a loyal customer.”
Gushing smile turned up to eleven. “Oh, you’re so sweet. How much?”
“For you, it’s on the house. Call it a promotional investment.”
“Aw, thanks so much, Craig.”
“In fact,” he said, leaning over the counter, “give me your number, and I’ll th
row in a shirt too. Bet you’d look hot in it.”
Oh great. My flirting is working a little too well. Still, a shirt might help me get inside Holly’s room. “Ya got a pen?” I replied coyly.
He popped one out of his pocket.
“Hand?” I asked with a wink.
He held out his palm, and I scribbled down the phone number for the local sex offenders’ registry. Seemed appropriate.
He beamed. “I’ll be right back.” A moment later, he reappeared with a polo shirt and a cap, each wrapped in clear plastic. “You free for dinner?”
“I think so. Call me in an hour to confirm.”
I trotted out with my bag of subs and my Sub Barn bling. A quick change in the back of the Gray Ghost, and I could have passed for a Sub Barn delivery girl.
When I pulled into the Desert View Inn’s parking lot, I called the number for Bonnie’s phone. A young female voice answered. “Hello?”
Was this Holly? I couldn’t be sure. She didn’t sound as fragile as she had on those telethons.
“Hi, someone placed a delivery order from Sub Barn. I’m here at the motel, but I don’t know your room number.”
“Oh, that’s strange. I guess Richie ordered lunch while he was out. Okay, we’re in room 278. Second floor on the back side of the motel.”
“Fabulous! I’ll be there shortly.”
I used to think stunts like this worked only in the movies, but I’d seen Conor pull the same deal time after time. Bottom line, people were gullible. And most criminals were downright stupid. Good for me, bad for them.
I drove around to the back of the motel and parked the SUV. I pulled my snazzy new polo shirt over my ballistic vest, but it bulged too much. I could see the words Bail Enforcement Agent through the thin fabric. If they looked out the door’s peephole, I’d be made before I could grab her.
Reluctantly, I ditched the vest but pulled the shirt over my Taser. It peeked out only a little. I donned the Sub Barn cap, grabbed the bag of sandwiches, and hustled up the outside stairs to room 278, paying little attention to the people coming and going along the walkway. Apparently everyone staying at the motel was either headed to lunch or coming back.
Chaser_A Jinx Ballou Novel Page 14
