Liar, Liar

by K. J. Larsen

  “That same witness believed he had a key. She claims Harding was a john keeping a date.”

  Uncle Joey lowered his voice. “I made some calls, Bob. We can say the guy fell off the pier and drowned.”

  “There’s a bullet in his head.”

  “I know a guy,” Joey said.

  There was a rap at the door and Chicago’s finest parted like the Red Sea. Chance Savino blazed into the room. Two stiffs in suits scurried after him.

  “Feds.” Uncle Joey made a face.

  Chance Savino glanced at his partner laid out on the table like Mama’s buffet. He took in the hole between the eyes, the lips drawn back in a horrific grimace. Savino’s jaw tightened and something hard grew behind his eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt in front of me. The DeLuca men closed in.

  His finger brushed the scratches on my neck. “Are you OK, DeLucky?”

  I nodded and jammed my hand in my pocket. Where the hell was my Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.

  “Liar, liar,” he said. He went to the kitchen, found me a glass of red wine, and pulled up a chair. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Your partner had an accident,” Uncle Joey said. “He drowned.”

  Savino raised a brow. “There’s a bullet in his head.”

  “Not a problem,” Rocco said. “Joey knows a guy.”

  I told the story again starting at the beginning. When I was finished, Captain Bob folded his arms across his chest.

  “We’re going for insanity,” Captain Bob said.

  Chance stood and leveled his gaze at the captain. “Dead men can’t plea.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Eddie Harr is under investigation by the FBI. His connections to Organized Crime made him the target of an FBI undercover operation that blew to hell last week when Harr killed our informant. The operation was top secret. We’ve had leaks at the Chicago office and suspected a mole. Somehow Larry found out and blew my cover. The Bridgeport bomb was a big clue.”

  “Tell Mama to call off the exorcism,” I said. “Savino’s not dead and I’m not crazy.”

  Captain Bob snorted, unconvinced.

  Savino shook Captain Bob’s hand. “The FBI is taking over this investigation, Captain Maxfield. You and your men are free to go.”

  For once Bob didn’t argue jurisdiction. He signaled retreat and wagged a finger at me. “Stay away from Eddie Harr,” he said and shuffled his men out the door.

  “I’m guessing the dead guy on my sister’s table was on Eddie’s payroll,” Rocco said.

  Savino nodded grimly. “Agent Harding came under suspicion after the bombing. I asked him to work with me so I could keep my eye on him.”

  “Puh-leeze.” I exaggerated an eye roll. “Where were you when he broke into my home?”

  He winced. “I didn’t know he’d come after you.”

  The DeLuca men growled.

  “The FBI will launch a full investigation into Harding’s death, of course, but there won’t be any charges.”

  “Damn straight,” Uncle Joey said. “This is a PR nightmare. The FBI hopes to sweep it under the media’s radar.”

  “What about Harr?” I demanded. “He killed three people this week.”

  “He eliminated our witnesses. It’ll be tough to build a case but we’re not giving up.”

  Rocco hung an arm around my shoulder. “Pack your toothbrush, sis. I’m taking you home.”

  “Your sister needs to accompany me downtown for a formal statement,” Savino said. “She can’t stay here tonight, but the FBI will put her up in a hotel until she’s able to come home.”

  Rocco narrowed his eyes.

  “What about the damages?” I thrust my hands on my hips. “What about my Chihuly vase? My busted coffee table? My camera?”

  “Itemize a bill,” Chance said.

  “Cha-ching,” Uncle Joey smiled. “I’ll make the list.”

  The FBI forensics team clamored through the door. I hugged the DeLucas and sent them away. Then I told the Feds to clean up the mess on the coffee table and disappeared into my bedroom with Inga.

  My face was pale in the full length mirror. I stepped out of my pants and dropped my hoodie on the floor. I wouldn’t wear them again. Joey could add them to his list.

  I took a long hot shower. The hot water pulsed down my back, pummeling the tension from my neck and shoulders. When I stepped out again I was steamy and pink.

  I toweled my hair, packed my toothbrush and an overnight bag. It was going to be a long night and I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt. I was tired and hungry and dreaded another splash at the FBI building where everyone gets to have a gun but me.

  When Savino knocked I slung my purse over my shoulder and opened the door, bag and beagle in hand.

  “Inga wants to ride in a Porsche Boxster.”

  “So would I. My car’s in front.”

  The eerie zip of a body bag sent shivers down my spine.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Savino said.

  “When do I get my 9mm back?”

  “This is a complex case and it’s hard to say how long the investigation will take. If I were you…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d find another gun.”

  “I’ll put Uncle Joey on it.”

  I lowered my eyes and marched through the hall, past the living room, and out the front door. A large boat waited by the curb.

  My face fell. “The Boxster?”

  “Gone,” Chance said. “It was part of my cover. This is my car. A 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz with a ‘Q’ engine with three dual barrel carburetors. She purrs like a kitten.”

  “You drive an Eldorado?”

  “I’m restoring it. It’s a classic.”

  “An Eldorado?” I repeated like he didn’t hear me. The rusty, dented machine needed more than a paint job. It screamed Demolition Derby.

  “What was that you said about my Porsche? Midlife crisis? A need to compensate?”

  My face felt hot.

  He flashed a smile. “I don’t.”

  Savino opened the passenger door and Inga jumped inside and into the back. I slipped into the passenger seat. Chance leaned in, his lips lightly brushed my hair.

  A gasp sounded from the bushes.

  Savino glanced over his shoulder. “The witness?”

  “It’s my very own Gladys Kravitz. You’re steaming up her binoculars.”

  A soft laugh escaped his throat. He closed my door, moseyed around to the driver’s side, and slid in beside me.

  The new leather seats and interior had a dreamy new car smell. “You can wow blind women with this car,” I said.

  “I’m wowing you.” Savino cranked the key. “Listen to that engine purr. She’s not finished yet but she’s…”

  “A boat.”

  “A dream,” he laughed and pulled away from the curb. I waved to Gladys and wriggled down into the lush cushy seat. It was a delicious ride.

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  “That’s what they said about the Titanic.”

  Savino chucked a fist to his chest.

  “Tell me about Harding,” I said. “When did you know he was the leak?”

  “A bunch of FBI guys were at the morgue after the explosion. We had a corpse, no ID. The body was on the table, a biker dude with tattoos and piercings. Some in incredibly painful places.”

  I made a face.

  “Anyway, Larry said any dude who tattoos a woman holding a snake to his head has serious issues. I got to thinking about it and I went back to the morgue alone. Larry was right. The tattooed woman was drawn down his back, but it wasn’t visible lying on the table. I asked around. No one mentioned the tattoo.”

  “Larry knew AJ. They were on the same retirement plan.”

  Chance shook his head. “How does a guy like Larry get sucked in with slime like Eddie?”

  “What about you? You let
the FBI think those shiny diamonds were lost in the explosion. Planning an early retirement?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t turn them in.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. I wasn’t going to hand them over to pad a bureaucrat’s pocket or fund a lousy war.”

  I studied his face. “So what were you going to do with them?”

  Savino shrugged. “I don’t know. There are a lot of good causes out there. Maybe a research hospital.”

  “Not stash a few away for yourself?”

  “I wouldn’t want to cross that line.”

  We were approaching downtown, not far from the FBI office. I poofed my hair and smeared Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker on my lips.

  “What were you doing at that vacant building that day?” I said. “You were waiting for someone.”

  “I got a call from a guy who wanted to meet there. Said a reporter told him to call. Something about a witness protection program.”

  I felt sick. AJ wanted to get out with his family. Rita went to the FBI to ask for witness protection for AJ. She talked to Larry. It was AJ’s death sentence.

  Savino set his jaw grimly. “AJ was dead when I arrived. The fireworks were for me.”

  “In her last email Rita said she’d been ‘duped.’ I hope she put it all together before she died. I mean Turncoat Larry, the guns, the diamonds, and the cheating husband who smells like Red Door.”

  “It’s a story worthy of a Pulitzer.”

  “The rat in my bed was a little overkill. I didn’t see anything.”

  Whack, whack, whack. The hammers belted my skull and a glimpse of light slipped through a crack.

  “Footsteps,” I murmured with amazement. “Somebody running before the explosion.” I smiled shakily. “I remember.”

  “Maybe you saw his face.”

  I closed my eyes. “Nothing.”

  “It could have been Harding or one of Eddie’s goons. But even if it comes, it probably wouldn’t be enough.”

  “Where was Harr at the time?”

  “Slick Eddie? He was having lunch with the mayor.”

  Savino stopped the car and I looked around the parking lot. We weren’t at the FBI office at all. We were at the Palmer House Hilton.

  “Liar, liar,” I said.

  He slid me a look. “I said I would take you in for a statement. I didn’t say when.”

  I plucked my cell phone from my jeans and punched some numbers. “If this is your cheesy way of getting me to a hotel room alone it won’t work.”

  Savino closed his hand over my phone. “I only need a few hours alone with you away from your trigger-happy family.”

  Something in his voice stopped me. I tucked the phone away. “Why?”

  He stared miserably into the parking lot, his jaw clenched tight. “Because something awful could have happened to you and I…”

  “Nothing happened,” I said.

  “And I never told you…”

  I caught my breath. “What?”

  “You are the most stubborn, exasperating woman I’ve met.”

  “That’s it?”

  He smiled. “And incredibly sexy.”

  His lips were supple when he found mine. To my credit I pulled away.

  The deep cobalt blues searched my face. “I could have lost you today.”

  For once I could think of nothing to say. A warm glow spread over me like melted butter.

  “We’ll have dinner at the hotel restaurant. I’ll come back in the morning and take you in for a statement. I’ve reserved a room for you and Inga. I told them she’s your service dog.”

  “What’s my disability?”

  He gave a lopsided grin. “Mental. You called my Eldorado a boat.”

  “Hey sailor.”

  He laughed softly and brought my fingers to his lips. I studied his reflection in the street light. God was just showing off when he made Chance Savino. He wasn’t the hot guy in a Porsche Boxster. Dammit. He had a government salary and scruples. Well, some.

  I grimaced inwardly and took a chance.

  “Come upstairs with me,” I said. “We can order room service for three.”

  “Three?”

  Inga nuzzled his neck.

  I hooked a finger in his belt. “And then we’ll see about dessert.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I parked across the street from Toodle Realty and told Cleo to wait in the car.

  “I need a gun,” Cleo said.

  “No guns. This isn’t a hit. I’m a hootchie stalker.”

  She looked disappointed. “Who’s the hootchie?”

  “Mr. Toodle. Mrs. Toodle found a smudge of Passion Pink lipstick on his baby blue boxers. Her Frosted Peach lips don’t go there.”

  Cleo wrenched open my glove box and dug around. “You gotta have a gun.”

  She tossed out pepper spray, the Police Business sticker I snagged from Rocco, and a Snickers bar.

  “Take the Snickers,” I said.

  “Aha!” Cleo’s big brown eyes lit. “What’s this?” She wrestled a stun gun from the glove box and jammed it in her pants.

  “Don’t shoot anybody.”

  “I got your back, girlfriend.”

  I grabbed my camera, chugged across the street, and hid behind a bush outside Mr. Toodle’s office. The hootchie was a busy guy. He worked at his desk all morning, made calls, met with three agents, and drank four cups of coffee. Black with two sugars. I kept notes.

  At 11:58 Mr. Toodle’s secretary left in her car for lunch. At 11:59 a woman in a short, silky rose-colored dress sashayed across the street. Her neck snapped to the right and to the left before scooting toward Toodle Realty. She wore four-inch heels. Her legs were bare. Her lips were Passion Pink.

  I returned my attention to the window. Mr. Toodle sprayed a squirt of breath freshener in his mouth. I snatched my camera. Ready. Aim.

  The office door was flung open and Passion Pink shimmied into Mr. Toodle’s arms. He pulled her tight against him. Their mouths met.

  Snap.

  Mr. Toodle was a wet and sloppy kisser. Yuck.

  He didn’t waste any time. He hauled Passion Pink across the room.

  Snap

  Hoisted her round bottom onto his desk. Slobbered on her face while fumbling with her blouse. Yuck.

  Snap.

  “Your Cheatin’ Heart” blared from my pocket. Damn. I fumbled for my phone and cut off Hank Jr.

  “Pants on Fire Detective Agency,” I whispered.

  “Caught ya working. Who’re you stalking today?”

  “Some miserable three-minute Joe. I got one word of advice for this guy. Foreplay.”

  Uncle Joey chuckled. “Then you’re almost finished. Meet me at D’Aria’s. I’m buying lunch.”

  A voice shrieked from the other side of the bush. “There she is!” a woman gasped. “She’s a—she’s a—”

  “Gardener,” I said.

  Large hands parted the branches. The guy chewed his nails. “What are you doing behind there, lady?”

  “I’m trimming the bush.”

  I turned back to the window and choked on a breath.

  “Damn girl,” I murmured.

  Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

  “She has a camera!” The woman screeched. “The gardener is a pervert!”

  “What the hell?” The man bellowed.

  Uncle Joey laughed.

  “Gotta run,” I said.

  “Look out!” the woman shrieked. “The pervert has an accomplice!”

  I frowned. Cleo?

  “She’s got a gun! She’s got a gun!” the woman shrieked.

  I leaped from behind the bush.

  “Cleo, no!” I shouted.

  Cleo charged the man. A crazed film glazed her eyes. She brandished a stun gun.

  “We’re gonna die!” the woman screamed.

  “Stand back!” The man with the chewed nails stepped gallantly
in front of her. He scrunched his face, braced for the hit.

  ZAAPPPP!

  The man crumbled to his knees. Cleo raised the weapon to her ruby lips and blew.

  “Hootchie,” Cleo spat. “You’re just like my liar, liar husband.”

  “That’s not Mr. Toodle,” I said. “He’s inside with Passion Pink.”

  “Oh?” Cleo’s eyes narrowed on the Toodle Realty door.

  The man on the ground groaned. The woman hoisted him to his feet.

  “Get them!” the woman squawked.

  I grabbed Cleo’s sleeve and pushed her toward the car.

  “Run!” I screamed.

  And we did.

  ***

  I found a parking spot a few blocks from the restaurant. Uncle Joey sat at a table by the window. We waved from the sidewalk.

  “He’s cute,” Cleo flapped her hand. “Single?”

  “Married,” I laughed, “a bit of a crook and probably fools around. But he’s the best uncle a girl could have.”

  “Hmm,” Cleo said. She coasted through the door. I skirted behind her to Joey’s table.

  “Uncle Joey, this is Cleo,” I said.

  She flashed a smile and glitzy rose-colored fingernails. “I’m Cat’s partner,” she said.

  “Partner?”

  “Assistant,” I said.

  “I just took down my first hootchie.” Cleo patted her waistband. “I’m good with a gun.”

  “He was an innocent bystander,” I said.

  Uncle Joey swallowed a smile.

  The waiter appeared with a sparkling bottle of Dom Pérignon. He popped the cork and the bubbles spilled in our glasses.

  “The good stuff,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Lunch with my favorite niece. And her new partner.”

  “Temporary assistant,” I said.

  Cleo and Joey winked at each other.

  “Cute,” I said.

  “Try the garlic shrimp,” my uncle said. “I ordered appetizers.”

  I popped a shrimp in my mouth and the savory juices dribbled from my lips. I dabbed with a napkin.

  Joey chuckled. “There’s a smudge of dirt on your cheek.”

  “A professional hazard for gardeners.”

  “And the smallest hint of a love-bite on your neck.”

  Cleo jerked her neck around. “You go, girl.”