Imperfect Contract

by Brickman, Gregg E.

  "What was that?"

  "He slipped about the deal, said something about being sent on a job, and apparently, someone showed him a picture of the target."

  "Can I ride along?"

  "Why not? I'll follow you home."

  "I'll leave my car here. It'll be fine."

  ***

  I settled into the passenger seat of the S2000. The sun was shining, but the air was cool, though I knew it would heat up later. Ray popped the levers to lower the top—the way I liked it. We drove in silence for a few miles.

  "Just hang loose and keep close. Stay out of the conversations. Let me know if you see anyone you recognize as one of Jamel's friends."

  "Ah, I'm an invitee with a purpose."

  He patted my leg. I bristled at the unexpected familiarity. He retracted his hand as if burned. "The less obvious you are, the better."

  "Okay, boss. Whatever you say."

  We drew close to the neighborhood. He pulled over into the parking lot of a strip mall and twisted in his seat. He put a hand on my shoulder, then withdrew it in a quick motion. "I don't know how to take you. Sometimes you seem glad to have me around, then you push me away. Then you seek me out. What's with you anyway?"

  "Is now the time for this conversation?" I faced him, turning sideways. I knew by the tone of his voice that we would have the conversation. The only way to avoid it was for me to get out of the car and walk home. Too far. Too dangerous.

  "I can't get you off my mind. It seems like forever since I saw you on Saturday. Now you're all business."

  "I thought this is a business, professional relationship. You made that unequivocally clear in the past."

  "I don't know anymore. Being around you brings back those old feelings."

  "Ray, for me, too. Feelings of being hurt, deserted, cheated on." I snapped at him. It hadn't been my intent.

  "That's not what I meant. I mean the old emotional attachment, the longing, the desire. I didn't take you out to dinner to be professional. I took you out to be with you."

  "Seems that every time we see each other we end fighting. Then you disappear until the next case. I feel set up and used."

  "That's uncalled for. You've said you like to be involved in my cases. But the truth is, I look for reasons to see you, excuses to call."

  I stared at him in mock dismay.

  He sat back in his seat and shoved the car into gear. "I can see you don't feel the same. I'm sorry I brought it up." He gunned the engine and popped the clutch. The tires squealed, and we sped out of the parking lot, a cloud of dust in our wake. "Let's check out the neighborhood, then I'll take you to your car."

  "That's a plan." I was angry, and I didn't know why. I wondered if I'd ever get over the old hurt. I didn't think so. Many years had passed, and I still remembered the day I realized he wasn't coming back to see me again. Then the other cases, the inevitable end to the case, and the casual see you around.

  It wasn't long before Ray pointed to a couple of young men in front of a convenience store. He pulled in behind their car—the only one in the lot—and climbed out. "Stay here."

  I watched as he approached the punks and flashed his badge.

  "I'm looking for Jamel Hutchinson. You know where he's hanging?" He directed his comments to the shorter of the two.

  "No, man. Haven't seen him since his old man passed. He ain't been comin' round."

  "We busted the shooters."

  "I heard."

  Ray leaned close to the kid and said something I couldn't hear. Then he said, "You know if we got them all?"

  "You do. I know for a fact." The kid glanced at his friend who looked like he wanted to crawl under the pavement.

  Ray leaned close. The muscles bulged across his shoulders. The kid's mouth moved. Ray had his face within a few inches of the kid's eyes.

  I strained to hear the conversation.

  "Don't say anything," the companion said under his breath. "You'll be as dead as Jamel's old man."

  Ray reached out and grabbed the taller kid by the front of his red shirt, lifting him to eye level. The kid's toes swept the ground. "Would you care to explain that comment?" Again, he raised his voice.

  "Man, it's obvious," he said. "There's a few more of the boys. They hang out together. We talk to you, they'll do us."

  "If you don't talk, they'll think you did anyway. Maybe when I find them, and I will find them, I'll tell them you told me a story."

  "No, man, don't do that." The kid's voice shook as he shrunk against the wall. "Just make like we're not cooperating, and we'll tell you."

  I looked around. I believed everyone in the neighborhood knew Ray had rousted these two. But was anyone close enough to know they were cooperating? I didn't think so.

  Ray grabbed the shorter kid by his shirt as well. Neither of them were any match for his strength and agility, and an uninspired struggle ensued. Ray pushed them against the moldy brick façade of the building in apparent disgust and walked away. When he climbed back into the car, he said, "That was productive. You recognize either of those two?"

  "No."

  "I want you to drive." He pulled into a driveway and hopped out.

  I did a better job of laying rubber by accident than Ray had on purpose. For the first time in days, I heard Ray break into a deep, rumbling laugh. I couldn't help but join him.

  "Take it around the block. Get used to it. Then I want you to cruise the boulevard. When I tell you, let me out, then just keep me in sight. If you lose me, go to the next gas station, and I'll find you there."

  "That's a plan. But why the theatrics?"

  "The name the kid gave me is the local gang leader, Gordon Wright. He said Wright arranged the contract and was pissed about not getting the rest of the payoff."

  "How'd he know?"

  "The kid is always on the street, one of our informants. He's the one who put us onto the other two. He thought we'd stop there, and he'd never have to finger the big man."

  I nodded, urging him to continue.

  "Wright is usually armed and is always dangerous. We've never nailed him on anything other than a misdemeanor. He inspires loyalty, and no one will ever give him up." Ray took his cell phone out and punched in a number. "Turn right here," he directed me and pointed with his free hand. "Lewis," he said, then explained the situation in brief. "Yeah, I know I shouldn't have her here, but I can't pass up the opportunity. Wright's in the hood now, but he'll probably be on the move within the hour." He listened. "Not a bad idea. I'll give her my cell phone." He listened. "Okay."

  "What was that all about?" I asked.

  He keyed a number on the cell phone but didn't press send. "Just push send if things get out of hand. Lewis will be here as fast as he can."

  I took a few deep breaths and felt my heart rate slow. I looked at my own hands on the steering wheel. My knuckles were white against the black leather. I picked up one hand at a time and flexed my fingers. The leather glistened from my damp palms.

  "Over there. Stop a hundred feet this side of those guys." He pointed to a couple of well-dressed young men, then stretched over and retrieved his service revolver from under the driver's seat. I hadn't known it was there. I should have guessed.

  I braked. He jumped out, letting the door go behind him. "Go," he said. The door slammed as I accelerated. Shifting into second gear, I roared past the two men.

  In the rearview mirror, I watched one of the young men say something to the other guy and take off on foot. Ray didn't pursue him, but instead jogged over to the remaining man. I slowed to a crawl, slipping the car into first gear. I used the clutch to edge along a few feet at a time. The discussion looked heated. An angry sneer captured Ray's face, but he kept his voice under control. The only thing I heard was repeated biologically impossible instructions the man hurled at Ray. I saw Ray's lips move again, but I couldn't hear. Ray backed off and looked to see where I was. He signaled to me to pick him up, which I did.

  The young man yelled as we pulled away.

/>   I didn't catch all the words, but I could fill in the blanks. "He's rude," I said as I shifted into second.

  "He was very helpful. Turn left."

  I swung around the corner.

  "Stop here. Wait for me to come out. If anyone approaches the car, leave. Go around the block and come back through. Anyone gives you a hard time, run 'em over."

  "Sure, right. I do that every day. Run people over." I regretted asking to come along.

  Ray disappeared inside a dilapidated building. The sign over the door said beer and wine, but I couldn't tell if it was open for business or not. I stayed on full alert in the middle of the narrow street, scanning the deserted street in front of me and checking the rearview mirrors every few seconds.

  I heard yelling, Ray's voice saying something police sounding, more yelling, a loud crash. Then there was silence. After what seemed like hours, I checked my watch. Five minutes had elapsed. The banged up door opened. I depressed the clutch and slid the car into first, preparing to escape if necessary. I felt my heart pounding. "Breathe, Sophia." I took several deep breaths, trying to maintain my composure while thinking the worst.

  Ray appeared in the doorway, sauntered over to the car, and climbed in. "Let's go."

  "What happened?" I saw a bruise darkening on the left side of his face. I set the car in motion, shifted into second, then reached over and touched the bruise with the tips of my fingers. "What happened?"

  "The son of a bitch took a swing at me."

  "More than a swing, I'd say. Does it hurt?"

  "Not now. It will later."

  "Did you learn anything?"

  "I learned that some of the most unlikely people have martial arts training." He laughed aloud. "And, I confirmed our boys were sent on the job, and the main man has taken a little vacation."

  "Ran out of town. A guilty conscience maybe."

  "Could be. But I have a name and some details. Plenty of stuff to throw at Jones and O'Ryan."

  "Has O'Ryan fessed up yet?"

  "No." He pointed. "Turn right at the light." After we were around the corner, he said, "But I expect he will. The public defender is protesting his innocence while at the same time making noises about looking for a deal. You know how it is. My client isn't guilty, but it'll be hard to prove. Wants to know what we can do for him. Jones' PD is dealing, says Jones was the driver, not the shooter, and he's trying to get the charges reduced."

  "You think the State Attorney will deal?"

  "After we get it sorted out. We want them to give up Wright, and we still need to know who took out the contract. We won't find that out until we can put some heat on the big man. Not even Jones is talking about that, says he doesn't know because it was an arranged job. Whatever the hell he means by that." Ray picked his cell phone off the dash and punched the send button. He filled Lewis in, then hung up. "He'll have every cop in the state looking for Gordon Wright within the hour."

  I pulled onto the main street. "Want to drive?" I said, accelerating into traffic and shifting gears like a pro.

  "No, I'm enjoying being chauffeured." He looked at his watch. "It's still early. Want to do something?"

  "I thought you were in a hurry to get rid of me."

  "Why would you say that?"

  "Gee, I don't know. Maybe because of our quarrel."

  "Sophi, we need to get over the past. Unless you don't want to?"

  "I don't know. I'm afraid of being involved with you again. It never works out, then I feel used and abused."

  "This time it'll be different. I promise you." He ran his hand over the side of my face and into my hair. "I told you I miss you. I know how much I screwed up. I love you. I always have."

  I hit the brakes and swerved to miss a little old lady crossing the street with her wheeled walker. She didn't seem aware of how close she had come to rolling into the next life. I pulled to the side, stopped, opened the door, and stumbled out of the car. "You drive." I wobbled around the back of the small car, holding onto the side for support.

  We spent the rest of the day walking hand-in-hand through Metro Zoo, and he spent the night in my spare bedroom. I told him to go home, that I'd be fine, but he refused. I knew he believed someone was out to get me. None of the creeps we saw during the day looked familiar to me. Someone else had to be involved. I wondered who.

  29

  It was close to eight when I woke the next morning. Sunshine snorted then stretched on the pillow on the other side of the bed, and the house was quiet. I knew I would find Ray's bed on the other side of the house empty. He was long gone.

  I slipped on a robe and wandered to the kitchen. He had brewed coffee and left a note on the counter telling me he fed Sunshine and let him out. It said he'd call me later. Fine with me. I had every intention of going to the beach.

  I stared at my coffee—it looked very strong—then decided to give Vanessa a call. The last time I saw her, she seemed in need of a break. Besides, it would give me a chance to have a look at her in a bikini and observe most of her body for bruises.

  Vanessa answered on the first ring.

  "Hi, Sophia. You crossed my mind a minute ago."

  "Great minds," I replied. "Want to go to the beach for a while? Time is running short. Soon it will be shore-to-boardwalk with school kids."

  "Sounds good to me," she whispered.

  "You have a sore throat?"

  "A little, I guess. I don't really know." She sipped and swallowed. "What do you hear about the investigation into Barry's murder?"

  "Not a whole lot. Now that he's dead, I'm not involved. Ray only pulls me in when they need someone close-up and personal." I tasted my tepid coffee and stuck out my tongue. Ray must have left early.

  "Don't you know if there's a break in the case or not?" She persisted. Her voice sounded stronger with a bit of an edge.

  "There is one thing. They have the guys who did the original shooting in custody. Now they’re trying to discover who paid them in the first place." Conveying the harmless information didn't matter. The arrest was a matter of public record or would be soon. "Don't say anything about it to anyone until it comes out in the paper."

  "Of course not." I heard her swallow again, then a rubbing sound suggested she covered the receiver with her hand. I heard mumbling.

  "Vanessa, you alone?" I wondered if Craig was there. I hadn't run into her at work over the weekend. That was unusual because she worked almost every weekend.

  "Sure, just clearing my throat. The sunshine will do me good." She hacked and coughed, sounding contrived rather than congested. Then she continued. "I've been thinking. It makes sense to me that Amelia is the one who took out the contract."

  "It's a possibility."

  "We know she was about to lose everything. I remember her telling me about an insurance policy."

  "When?"

  "In the beginning, when we talked about my finances. She asked if I needed mortgage insurance and who'd take care of the payments if I became ill. She said her husband took care of those things for her. Then she told me he purchased a large insurance policy."

  "That's my understanding as well. She commented about the insurance and said she could only afford to take care of him if he died. He hadn't left enough money in the business to take care of himself in the event of illness."

  "Don't you think that gives her motive?"

  "It could. But people say all kinds of things when they are under stress. Who knows?" I emptied my coffee into the sink. "You dislike her intensely. You're not the best judge."

  "Don't you think I have reason to dislike her—and her dead husband for that matter?"

  "Well, I . . . Listen, you have to do business with her until your townhouse closes. It's about time you set aside your hatred. It's wasted energy, and you're going to make yourself sick."

  "That just makes me madder. Every time I talk to her, and it seems like almost daily now, it's always something. Now she says that maybe we can get it closed next week. She's selling her agency to the guy dow
n the street from her, and he'll handle the rest of the deal."

  "That's Mike Wiley, and it's a good thing for you. He's reputable at least and will straighten out the mess Hutchinson made for you."

  "I hope so." She didn't sound hopeful.

  "What's wrong? It'll work out."

  "I hope so."

  "Has she set a date for the closing?" I said.

  "Next Tuesday, but it's tentative at this point."

  "See? That's good. Then we can get you moved and settled, and maybe you can get your life back on track."

  "Yes."

  "Have you heard from the handsome broker again?"

  "No." Her tone ended the subject.

  "You ready to go soon? The day is beautiful, full sunshine, a gentle breeze. I'd like to get to the beach and home before the early afternoon sun gives us skin cancer."

  Might as well get moving, I thought. The conversation stalled. I'd continue it when we were face to face, and I could see her expressions. Something seemed amiss.

  "Sure, pick me up in an hour."

  "Okay, an hour it is. Want to meet me somewhere?"

  "No, come here. Can you? My car is still out of service."

  I parked in front of her apartment building an hour and fifteen minutes later. I'd stopped to buy a six-pack of soda for the cooler, discovered I needed gas, and poked along. The strange car from the other day was nowhere in sight. Maybe I was wrong about Craig moving in.

  Taking advantage of the opportunity to exercise, I walked the three flights to her apartment, then peered into the apartment through the screen door.

  "Van, you here?" I tried the door. It opened. "Van." I called out, louder this time. Maybe she had the same idea and went for drinks. She often supplied the soda for our little trips to the beach. "Van." Again no answer.

  I remembered her comment about the car and decided to go in and look around. It wasn't like her to leave the place open, but she had been acting a bit unusual. If Craig had forced himself back in her life full-time, she had cause to act unusual.

  I dropped my bag and car keys on the kitchen counter. Something didn't feel right. I wanted to see if a man inhabited the apartment.