ON The Rocks (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 3) (Redemption Thriller Series 15)

by John W. Mefford

She coughed a couple of times and fished through her purse until she pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen a few times and leaned over so I could see the video. “Watch right here in the left part of the screen. You’ll see a brief image of a man moving into the picture and then back out.”

  I waited a few seconds. “Did I miss something?”

  “Wait…right there!”

  I must have blinked. “Can you replay it?”

  She did and then paused it one second earlier. “It’s the guy here, with the purple ribbon around his cowboy hat.”

  All I could see was the top of a cowboy hat. And yes, it had a purple ribbon wrapped around it. But lots of people wore cowboy hats. I slowly turned to her. “This is your evidence that Earl murdered Stuart Benson?”

  She flicked her fingers against my shoulder. “That’s just one piece.”

  “Good, so you have a better angle that shows his face. Do you have an ID yet?”

  “Eh. I’m not that close.” She pushed her knee up on to the couch, allowing her to face me. “So, it took a lot of back-and-forth checking between all of the camera footage, but one interesting thing is that no one on the team recalls interviewing this guy. That’s the first thing.”

  I was unimpressed so far, but I nodded.

  “Second. If you look at videos shot by two other people on the ground, this guy was in the general vicinity of where we believe the shot came from.”

  “Which was where…the grassy knoll?”

  She tilted her head and gave me an eye-roll, but she was smirking.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “He was near the tour bus of that country singer who had just exited the honky-tonk next door.”

  “Anyone else near this guy by the bus?”

  “We haven’t found video of that. And from the people we’ve interviewed, no one mentioned seeing this guy. But we’re going to go back to the witnesses and show them this video.”

  “So what about cameras in the area?”

  She inhaled deeply and ran her fingers through hair. “Nothing so far, but we’re still looking. I’m wondering if he might have ditched his cowboy hat.”

  “Good theory.”

  She motioned with her fingers as if she wanted something from me.

  “Now you want me to jump your bones? Stand in line, lady,” I said with a hearty laugh, trying anything to avoid the reality of what had just happened.

  She punched my arm, and I almost spilled my glass of red wine on the tan couch. “Hey now! I paid four hundred bucks for this couch at a secondhand store,” I teased.

  Her face scrunched into a prune as she looked around. “You two were doing the nasty on this thing, weren’t you? Maybe you can get a sheet and put it on top or something.”

  Another chug of wine. “We weren’t doing the nasty.”

  “But—”

  I held up a finger. “She had nothing on under her trench coat. I can’t control that.”

  “You’re right. You’re completely innocent.”

  I picked up my glass and realized it was empty. I went to the kitchen and poured another glass. I could see hers was still half-full. I stopped at the edge of the living room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking to see if it’s safe to enter. You’ve pretty much shredded me over something I couldn’t control.”

  She tilted her head again and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Okay, okay. I own part of it. Now, please, let’s move on.”

  I plopped down on the couch.

  She chuckled. “Okay. I shared with you what I had. Now it’s your turn.”

  I took in a deep breath, debating how much I should share. I was trying to find that thin gray line, one that would allow me to sleep tonight. “Rosie has a past that might explain a bit of why she’s so emotional about her husbands’ extramarital affairs.” I held up two fingers.

  “Plural?”

  “Two husbands. Don’t know how many extramarital affairs.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I felt my chest tighten. As an attorney, not betraying the trust of a client was beaten into you from the first day of law school. You just didn’t go there. As a PI, I knew the rules were less rigid. And, technically, this part of her past had nothing to do with what she’d hired me to do or the murder that Brook was investigating.

  “Rosie had been married before. Husband number one, Billy Dixon, had verbally abused her.”

  I waited for a reply. Brook just stared at me. I waved a hand in front of her face.

  “So, that’s it?” she asked.

  “I thought you’d have some sympathy for Rosie. She’s the victim here.”

  She nodded. “So she says.”

  I shifted in my seat on the couch and took another good gulp of the vino. “I, uh, went and spoke with her ex today.”

  Her eyes got wide. “Damn, she does have you on a leash.”

  I was getting a little tired of the digs. I chose not to take the bait. “He essentially admitted it.”

  “He cussed her out a few times? I mean, that sucks, and he’s probably a prick, but I thought you were going to give me something that might help me with the case. Something substantive.” She slapped the couch cushion for a little extra emphasis.

  I wasn’t about to share with her Rosie’s strong belief that Earl was involved in Benson’s murder. That would, hopefully, come shortly. Earlier, though, after I’d given Rosie the evidence she’d been seeking about her husband cheating, I’d asked if she was ready to take the next step, hiring the attorney, finding a safe place to go. I’d even suggested sharing what she knew on how Earl was involved in Benson’s murder. She’d blown me off. Maybe she was nervous even thinking about kicking up that sandstorm. Who wouldn’t be?

  “Listen, this Billy guy wasn’t your run-of-the-mill asshole. He took it to another level. How she didn’t put a bullet through his skull is amazing.”

  “You’re really going to go there?” She looked off for a moment. “I’m not sure why you even visited this guy. You’re supposedly only looking for proof of Earl’s adultery, at least that’s what you’ve told me. So, what gives with investigating Billy?” Her eyes narrowed. “Hmm?”

  “I think part of me wanted to just see if it was true. And since it was, I pressed him a little. He didn’t like it. But, frankly, I didn’t give a shit if he didn’t like it.” I considered mentioning the part of his phone conversation and the major medical issue. But did it really matter when talking about his abuse of Rosie? Not in my book.

  She put a finger to her mouth and motioned with her head toward the back.

  I huffed out a breath and tried to calm my nerves. “This guy was…maybe still is all about money. It was as if his marriage to Rosie had been a financial contract. And he made Rosie feel worthless because she couldn’t bring in big bucks. Even when she tried, he made her feel like crap. She was trapped by the biggest asshole in Texas, and that’s saying something.”

  Just as I said it, I concluded he was probably a finalist along with Earl. And then there was Dr. Copeland.

  “So you’re looking for a favor, Ozzie. I can tell. What do you want?”

  I wanted a lot. But I had to choose my options wisely. “Can you find out in what hospital a Jared Dixon was born? That’s Billy’s son from his current marriage. He’s two years old right now, so that should narrow down the dates.”

  Another Brook stare. Her faced looked particularly white tonight, in stark contrast to her deep-red hair. I decided to wait her out. Finally, she surrendered to the silence.

  “Why would you want to know this information? How would this help Rosie?”

  “It’s complicated. Can you do it?”

  “It’s not that hard, so yes. But again, you need to come up with something on your end too.”

  “Like?”

  “Like pushing Rosie about the Benson murder. She knows something, dammit!”

  I wasn’t sure why I’d even asked. I said, “One more thing.
”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “Billy acts like he and his new cheerleader-looking wife are the perfect couple. He’s working the perfect job, and they’re all just so perfect.”

  “That just means he’s on Facebook a lot. You know how everyone acts like they live these quaint lives where everyone smiles and they share lovely photos of themselves on exotic vacations with their perfect family and even their incredible meals. Ugh.” She pretended to gag herself with her finger. “Sorry for the sidetrack. What’s your point?”

  “I need to know his financial situation. I could dig into his past, but it would take me a while.”

  “What’s the rush if he’s not impacting Rosie’s life right now?”

  I didn’t want to say that I had this strange feeling about him. Like I was some woo-woo spirit man. I only said, “Maybe he is.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me.”

  “As soon as I know something with any degree of certainty, I’ll tell you.”

  I held out my hand, ready for a shake. She spit into her hand and shook it.

  “Uh, thanks.” I wiped my hand on my sweats as she burst out laughing.

  20

  The morning looked like the night. Dark, menacing clouds blanketed the sun, and every car on the street had on its headlights. A light rain was falling, but I could tell the heavens were about to unleash the mother of all storms.

  “Ready for a good day at school?” I asked Mackenzie as I pulled the car into the school drop-off lane.

  “Yep.” There was little energy behind her voice.

  Mackenzie must have yawned about a dozen times on the way to school, but she never complained. Still, my guilt factor was high. I knew I was the cause of her not getting enough sleep. I had to be more responsible, to have more self-discipline. I was acting like a wide-eyed teenager who drooled over every pretty woman who walked by.

  Or sauntered by, wearing nothing more than spiked heels and a trench coat. The contrast in Rosie’s appearance from the day she’d walked into my office was mind-boggling.

  I pulled to a stop and held my fist behind the seat. Mackenzie gave it a lackluster bump. “Later, sweet pea.”

  “Dad,” she said, with a chiding tone as a teacher opened the back door. She brought a finger to her mouth, the sign to keep my nickname for her on the down-low. She slipped out and jogged into the school.

  I was feeling like I was always a step behind where I should be with Mackenzie. Did I need a partner just to help me raise her, to help me stay on top of the wave, as opposed to being crushed by it?

  Too much to think about now. I drove to the office, also known as Gartner Automotive. As I pulled into the parking lot, the headlights were bouncing off a thick fog. The scene looked like something out of a vampire movie. No other cars were in the lot. Maybe Steve had given his crew the day off. He never bothered to tell me much.

  I parked the car, walked inside, and flipped on the lights. Nothing happened.

  “Crap.” A breaker must have been tripped by the overnight storms. I thought about calling Steve and letting him deal with it. But I didn’t want to wait. I needed power to my office pronto. Unless I just wanted to work from home, which I didn’t. The walls of that nine-hundred square-foot apartment were starting to close in. I needed some freedom, to not feel so boxed in.

  Is that a euphemism for the situation you’re in with Nicole and Rosie?

  Possibly.

  I tapped on my phone flashlight and began my search for the breaker box. Almost immediately, I stumbled over a tire iron.

  “Fuck,” I said, regaining my balance. I put a hand on my hip and blew out a disgusted breath. Disgusted at the disorganized slobs who called themselves master mechanics, but more annoyed with my lack of mobility. I’d tried to ignore this constant pain after I’d injured my hip tripping over a log in the black hills of Pennsylvania. Something in that joint just popped. It hadn’t felt the same since. In fact, it hurt worse right now just because of my own personal irritation.

  I made my way to the far wall, scanning it for something that might look like a breaker box. I was no handyman. If this wasn’t an obvious fix, then I’d be out of luck. I might have to end up at a Starbuck’s. Did I have any earbuds on me to drown out the noise? I could always turn down my hearing aid, I knew, but that was kind of a cop-out.

  I turned and saw a blur of a leg whirring toward my midsection. A direct hit before I could brace my stomach. I dropped to the cold concrete as air rushed from my lungs. I tried to suck in a breath but only wheezed. Looking up, all I saw was a boot. A roundhouse kick caught me square in the jaw.

  Had to be a steel-toed boot. Motes of light circled my head, my brain scrambling to regain my mental balance.

  “Who…?” I attempted to ask. No air, no mental clarity.

  Did I hear a chuckle?

  A hand grabbed the back of my hair, yanked my neck backward. My dazed eyes couldn’t see a thing. Something metal pressed under my chin—almost the exact spot where my jaw had been kicked. A shockwave of pain ripped through my entire head and neck.

  A waft of something rank invaded my senses. Hot breath against my face.

  “You stay away from Rosie—is that clear?”

  The man’s voice sounded like he’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes or maybe had undergone throat surgery. Regardless, his breath smelled like rotten eggs.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say. I blinked a few times, my mental engine working like it was filled with sludge.

  “Good,” he growled, wrenching my neck even more. “Because if you had said something different, then I would have blown your brains all over this pretty garage. And who wants to soil a garage with brain matter? I respect cars too much for that.”

  Another chuckle. He stood up, taking the gun off my chin, and coughed. Not just once or twice. But over and over again, each one wetter and more violent than the last. It gave me a minute to catch my breath, clear my vision. But all I could see was what was in front of me. He still stood behind me with a handful of my hair in his grasp. My body was drained of nearly all energy. If he wanted to kill me with his bare hands, I knew I had nothing in me to fight back.

  He finished his cough attack. “Were you about to run away?” he screamed in my face. That breath again, warm and wet. I wanted to fight back, to grab his head, and throw him over my shoulder. But I was defenseless.

  “Oh, how I wish you’d run. Then I could say I had a good excuse for ripping your neck off your shoulders and shitting down your body cavity.”

  He laughed, howling like a wild animal.

  “And I thought you’d give me something. You’re a pathetic little Jesus-killing snowflake.”

  He laughed at his string of anti-Semitic slurs, throwing me back to the floor. It only made my head spin that much more.

  A kick to my thigh. I groaned, grabbed my leg. The muscle felt like his damn boot had pancaked it.

  “Next time, you don’t get a choice.” He laughed and coughed, the sounds fading into the darkness. The door opened, and a rush of wind came in.

  I was alone, injured. And fucking pissed. I found my phone and reluctantly called Brook.

  21

  “Good news,” Brook said from the side of my gurney inside the emergency room.

  I knew she was trying to get my mind off my plethora of pain points. A team of doctors and nurses had just left my “room,” which was nothing more than a curtain separating me from every other patient crammed into the east wing of Austin Memorial. They said x-rays on my jaw showed a hairline fracture. The goose egg on the end made me look like I had a third chin—and not the flabby kind. A bruise on my thigh and stomach. With an arm covering my eyes, I willed myself to respond. “You caught the fucker who did this to me?”

  “No. In fact, no prints on the door at Steve’s shop. He has no cameras, either. Someone’s got to convince that guy to protect his business.”

  Steve Gartner was a cheap sonofabitch, I knew. He seemed to count on the f
act that no one would want to break into a repair shop.

  “What’s the good news?” My head felt like a new roof was being installed, each word banging the inside.

  “I’ve already got some partial financial info back on this Billy Dixon guy.”

  “Right,” I said after a labored breath.

  “Before I share this with you, are you thinking Billy was behind this assault? You were kind of out of it when I got to the shop,” she said.

  A nurse walked in, asked how I was feeling. She gave me two pain pills. “Not much we can do for that jaw. Just don’t open your mouth real wide, and don’t eat anything crunchy, like ice.”

  I liked to eat ice, whether it was with my water, my Diet Coke, or even my Knob Creek. “Okay,” I said. “When can I leave?”

  “Dr. Zain wants to keep you here another hour or so. You probably suffered a minor concussion. He wants to make sure you’re okay before he releases you.”

  I didn’t have enough energy to push back. I knew I’d still have enough time to pick up Mackenzie from school. “Thanks,” I said with a wave of my hand. The nurse disappeared behind the curtain.

  Brook said, “Back to Billy. You’d mentioned your meeting with him was rather intense. You called him out; he was pissed. Should I bring him in for questioning?”

  I squeezed my eyes for a second, hoping the throbbing pain would soon ease a bit. “I don’t think it was Billy.”

  “No? But the timing. It just makes sense.”

  I explained the difference in physiques between the two men: Billy was doughy and short. The guy who took me out was gruff, maybe as tall as me, and had some type of formal training as a fighter. Maybe one of the martial arts. I also threw in the part of the goon’s nasty breath and his hacking cough.

  “Okay, I’ll cross Billy off the list of suspects.” She tapped something into her phone.

  I held out an arm. It was a clumsy move, and I accidently smacked her phone hand. Her phone slipped from her hand, but she caught it before it crashed to the floor.

  “Oops,” I said.

  “You’re basically acting like a drunk, you know.”