He had no answers for himself.
• • •
Late on Sunday night after Randy closed the bar, he and Danny were settled in front of the TV with takeout Chinese when Randy’s cell phone went off. The ring tone was Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ song “Black Leather,” and Randy scrambled out of his chair because he knew what that particular ring signified. The screen of his phone showed three-thirty in the morning.
“Mother fuck,” he swore under his breath as he read the display.
Danny sat up straight in the chair across which he’d been sprawled. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s trying to break into Mata Hari.” Randy’s phone rang again; his alarm company this time. He confirmed that the alarm was real, and asked the company to tell the police he would meet them at the bar. He called to Danny, “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” before hustling out the door, donning his jacket as he went.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the driveway he shared with Pyramid. Two police cruisers were parked near the door to Mata Hari, painting the building and pavement with red and blue light. One officer turned to face him, a hand on her holstered weapon, as he climbed out of his truck. She was a tall black woman in full uniform, and she kept her eyes on Randy as he approached her with his hands visible, his driver’s license held between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m Randy Vaughan,” he called out. “This is my bar.”
“Good morning, sir,” the officer said and reached to take his license. A quick scan and she nodded. “The alarm service alerted us you were coming. I’m Officer Chavez. We found a broken window on the side, but we haven’t entered the premises yet. We have officers watching the broken window and the rear of the building, but no one has come out.”
“Understood. Here’s the key to the front door.” He handed over his ring and started to follow Chavez, but she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Sir, it’s better if you hang back and we go in alone, in case one or more persons are still inside.”
Randy grunted in frustration but came to a halt. “Okay. I’ll wait. The door opens toward you. Main light switch is immediately to the left of the door as you step in.”
The officer signaled her partner and waited at the entrance until he joined her. She turned the key, unholstered her weapon, and waited to make sure her partner was ready. He held a flashlight as well as his gun. As soon as Chavez pulled the door open, he swept his beam across the bar. Apparently nothing caught their attention because Chavez stepped inside and a moment later, the house lights came on. Randy tensed as the two police officers moved out of sight.
He waited, kicking at the pavement with hands clenched in his pockets, hating that he was sidelined as others faced danger. Mata Hari was his bar; he should be the one searching. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that was part of being retired. He was a bartender now, not a law enforcer.
After about ten minutes, Chavez came back to the front door and waved Randy over. He jogged up, and she said, “There’s no sign of any intruder still on the premises, Mr. Vaughan. The door to your storage area seems to have been how the person got in. Whoever it was must have gone back out the way he came in when the alarm went off, before we arrived. Or possibly through the broken window we found.”
“Anything damaged inside?” Randy asked.
“Nothing other than the window that we can tell on a quick sweep, but you’ll want to check carefully.” Chavez held the door for him as he stepped into Mata Hari. She indicated her partner. “Officer Gentry will accompany you, just in case.”
In case the burglar was still inside and in hiding. Randy got that it made sense to be cautious. Gentry tipped his head in a greeting and gestured for Randy to follow him in. “We’ve looked in each room including the bathrooms but we’ve tried to leave doors as we found them in case you notice something unusual,” he said.
The main room of the bar had the same abandoned air as that moment after last call, when the ambiance Randy created disappeared under too-bright house lights. The door to the coat room was closed, though he was pretty sure he’d left it that way. He touched Gentry’s shoulder to get his attention and pointed with his chin. Gentry said softly, “It’s empty,” but he aimed his weapon upward while he turned the knob to push the door open. The room was bare except for a few forgotten coats hung on the racks. Gentry pulled the door shut again.
Randy led the way to the bar itself and leaned over the counter to confirm no surprise was waiting before he raised the pass. He checked the register but it didn’t appear to have been opened. Not that it would’ve meant much loss since he’d taken the receipts as usual when he left with Danny a few hours earlier.
Gentry started to speak but clammed up when Randy stiffened. A slight breeze caressed his cheek, one that shouldn’t be coming from the hall that led to the restrooms and then to his office. The office door was ajar.
He never left that open.
Gritting his teeth, he started down the hall but Gentry stepped in front of him and held up a hand to signal caution. He said in an undertone, “We looked and found no one, but let’s go slow.” He led the way again but hesitated as they reached the restroom doors. Randy gestured insistently to his office, and Gentry nodded.
Gun pointed straight ahead in his left hand, Gentry used his right to ease open the door. The handle was bent and hung loose where someone had broken the lock. Randy’s heart beat faster and his breath came quickly as he followed Gentry into the room, ready to take a swing at anyone who might still be in his personal space. A window to the alley outside was busted and a chilly breeze poured in, making Randy shiver. Given the office door was forced open from the other side, Randy figured the shattered window was the way out of the bar, not in.
Gentry looked behind the door and in corners, but found no one hiding. Randy narrowed his eyes at his computer, intact on the desk and still powered down. He frowned. If someone was looking for an easy score, why didn’t he or she take the computer?
They looked into the unisex restrooms together, even though Gentry said they’d been checked once already. Each was for a single person with no stall to hide in. Each was empty.
Moving more quickly once everyone was satisfied that the burglar was gone already, they completed a walk-through of the side rooms and storage area. Even the bottles of high-end liquor were undisturbed.
Finally, they came to a halt in the middle of the main room, and Randy shook his head. “I’m not seeing that anything was taken.”
Gentry didn’t seem that troubled. “It was probably someone looking for easy drug money and when the alarm went off, he panicked and ran.”
“Makes sense,” Randy agreed reluctantly, but then he paused as he focused on one wall, specifically at a landscape situated between two arm chairs. The picture was slightly crooked. It was the same landscape Fraser had critiqued in that high-handed tone of his, only the elegance of his English accent preventing it from being an outright insult.
Fraser.
He’d seemed desperate when they spoke the first two times he came in. Desperate to see Sunrise. He might have assumed, incorrectly, that the painting was somewhere in the bar, possibly in Randy’s private office. That could explain why nothing seemed to be missing.
Gentry had stepped away and was conferring with Chavez about their report. Randy thought fast. He had Fraser’s card in his pocket, and he knew the name of the hotel where he was staying. Should he point the police in Fraser’s direction? It seemed incredible the man would break in, no matter how determined or needful he was.
More than that, Randy didn’t want to think he was involved, but he shied away from the reason. I’m thinking with my dick. I don’t want to believe Jack’s a bad guy because I want to fuck him. Simple as that.
It wasn’t that simple, of course, but the situation had hallmarks of the Trevor fiasco all over it. Randy trusted his instincts in most scenarios, except he knew from painful experience he had a blind spot for men he wanted. And l
ike it or not, he wanted Jack Fraser.
He pulled out his cell and sent a text to a stored contact:
It’s Randy Vaughan. Would you give me a call when you can? Not urgent, but I could use your help and insight.
Hah. Torres would see right through his good-natured flattery, but he’d gotten to know her pretty well. Even if she suspected she was being played, she’d call him to find out what he needed. She was good like that.
He’d met Detective Maria Torres months earlier when a monster murdered one of his patrons and then went after Zachary Hall. Working with Torres to stop the crime had been deeply satisfying, not only because they saved Zachary, but because he’d been useful again. All of his law enforcement training, his contacts and his experience had come to bear, and Torres had respected what he had to offer. He missed that sense of being valued. Running a bar was great, but it couldn’t compare with the satisfaction of standing between a friend and disaster.
By the time Randy boarded up the broken window, wrapped up things with Chavez and her team, reset the alarm, and drove home, it was almost six in the morning. The remaining Chinese food was in the warming drawer. Randy had just fixed a plate for himself when Danny wandered into the kitchen, sleep-tousled hair and flannel pants under the long-sleeved shirt draped over his beanpole frame making him seem like a boy instead of a young man.
“Everything okay at the bar?” He appeared nervous for some reason.
“Yeah,” Randy sighed. “Break-in, but I don’t think anything was taken. Probably scared away.”
Danny squirmed uncomfortably, though Randy couldn’t think why. “Who do you think it was?” Danny asked. “What did they want?”
Randy shrugged. “You got me.” He kept his eyes on Danny until the kid flushed slightly and turned away. “Danny? Is there anything you know about this?”
“Umm, well, I don’t know anything.” He looked directly at Randy, all earnest and sincere. “But when we were at the bar this evening, I took a break and went out front of Mata Hari. I thought I saw one of those guys who jumped me, and he may have spotted me too. I ducked back inside right away, but I didn’t want to say anything and stir up trouble.”
Randy thought about that. “So maybe he saw you too and figured you were staying inside the bar?”
“Maybe.” Danny seemed eager now. “Or maybe he knows you’re the guy who decked him and he was looking for payback, once he knew I was there?”
It was unlikely. Unlikely, but not impossible. “Could be. If you recognized this guy, do you think you could identify a mug shot? Or pick him out of a lineup?”
Danny’s eagerness drained away. He started to tug at the edge of his shirt, twisting it in his fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Good. Tell you what. Tomorrow, I mean later today, I’ll contact the officer who took the call and have you give her a description of the guy. It may come to nothing, but at least they’ll be on the lookout.”
Danny yawned. “You better eat something. I’m going back to bed, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll see you later.”
Randy ate before heading to his studio. He was exhausted by the sleepless night but too keyed up at the idea of someone breaking into his bar to settle down and go to bed. Fortunately, it was Monday, the day Mata Hari stayed closed, and so he wouldn’t have to face a long shift behind the bar with no sleep.
Plus, it was his night to play, thank God, because he was restless and horny as hell. He promised himself he’d get a good long nap in later so he’d be fresh for the club.
In his studio, he began the process of preparing a canvas. He wasn’t ready yet to start the portrait of Danny, but it was good to lay the groundwork. He still wanted to draft out a more complete image before tackling the painting itself. As he moved around his studio, he had trouble finding his gesso. And where was his palette knife? Randy shook his head; the forgetfulness was starting to bug the shit out of him.
Eventually he located his materials and finished a coat of gesso on the medium-sized canvas, then picked up his sketch pad to fill in details on the rough image he liked best. Before he knew it, the sun had risen and his cell phone buzzed in his back pocket with the “La Vida Loca” ring tone.
“Maria!” he exclaimed as he answered. “You’re up early. The MPD getting tough on you slacking off?”
“Hey, old man. You’re the one who usually sleeps until noon. This is normal for me.” Maria’s sarcastic tone worked like coffee on Randy, and he chuckled. She said, “I’m disappointed you picked up so quickly. I was hoping I’d get to wake you to share my insights.”
“Still up, unfortunately. Listen, Maria, I had a weird night. Someone broke into Mata Hari early this morning. Beat cops came and I went through the place with them, but there was no sign of anything missing. I don’t think they even tried to get into the cash register, and they didn’t take my computer.”
“That ancient piece of shit? You couldn’t pay someone to take that.”
“Eh. It does enough for me.”
“So what do you need?”
“Here’s the thing. I think whoever it was might have been after one of the paintings in my collection. A landscape had been moved. You know how I have them on the walls of the bar? I know it sounds small, but I straighten those pictures every night before I leave. At least one was out of place.”
“Could they have been searching for a safe behind a painting? Like in a movie?”
“Yeaaah,” Randy drawled as he thought about that idea. “It could be that, but I have a different angle I’d like to talk through with you.” He explained about the mysterious contacts with Fraser, his reluctance to explain what he was after, and the desperation and fear he saw in Fraser’s eyes. “I don’t really have a reason to think Fraser would be the type to break in, but there’s something going on I don’t understand.”
Maria was quiet for a minute, but Randy could hear her pen tapping. “It’s odd. I’ll give you that.” Tap-tap. “Do you think this painting is valuable? Enough to explain desperation? Maybe trip a guy over into attempting some B&E?”
“Well, I paid about three and a half grand for it, and I was offered six. That’s not nothing, but it’s not the kind of piece that would draw an international art thief from the UK.”
“What about another painting hidden beneath the obvious canvas?”
Randy chuckled. “You’ve been watching Antiques Roadshow again, haven’t you?”
“That show’s the shit. Leave me alone.”
“You need to get a new boyfriend and off the couch before your brain rots.”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the advice, Mr. Clean. Where’s your love life heading, Randy?”
“I get plenty of action, thank you very much.”
“That’s what your friend Scarborough used to say, and look at him now.”
Right. Look at Thomas, all paired up with Zachary. Thomas, who had been a confirmed slut, always bouncing from one man to the next, until a kid from Utah stepped into Mata Hari. Now they were moving in together, and probably were gonna start hosting movie nights or some bullshit.
Years of moving around with the Secret Service had put the kibosh on Randy’s own boyhood dreams of finding someone who would see him the way Luc had seen Kevin. Always traveling, frequently facing reassignment as he climbed the ranks until he was head of his own protective detail. All that left time for was hookups and random hotel encounters. Until he met Trevor, and look how that turned out.
No, casual sex was what Randy was good at, and sex was enough. At least one perk of retiring early and owning his business was that he could bank on more regular action. His Monday night sessions gave him plenty of opportunities to scratch his itch without cramping his lifestyle. And while Danny was staying with him, sure, it was nice to come home to a house with lights on and dinner in the oven. But he didn’t live in a sitcom from the 1950s.
He pushed away the unwelcome rumination and tried to get himself and Maria both back on track. “Anyway. Fraser.
What do you think?”
“Well, how about if I drop by his hotel, or give him a call? Rattle his cage a little, and see if it triggers a response.”
Randy rubbed a finger along his forehead as he considered that. If Fraser were as desperate as Randy sensed, the plan could backfire. On the other hand, maybe the urge to demonstrate he had nothing to do with attempted burglary would shake something loose. Help to make sense of the situation.
“I think that’s a good idea. It won’t get you in any trouble with your captain?”
“It won’t take long, and Captain Nelson knows how much you did when we rescued Hall. Read me the number he gave you.” Randy recited the UK cell number from Fraser’s card and repeated the name of his hotel. “Got it. I’ll push him a bit, let you know what I learn.”
• • •
Randy spent his morning attending to personal shit like bills, but he was surprised when he ran out of chores he needed to do. Having Danny around really freed up his schedule. The kid had finished the laundry and yard work, even vacuumed and dusted.
By early afternoon, Randy was dragging ass from lack of sleep, and he wanted to be fresh to enjoy his night at the club. Danny had made himself scarce since they had lunch, so Randy holed up in his room and stripped nude before crawling into the sheets. He’d just started to doze off when his cell phone buzzed. When Randy glanced at the display and read “Tightass Torres,” he picked up the call.
“Hey, Maria,” he said around a yawn. “What’s shaking?”
“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” she asked. “I talked to Fraser. It’s that English accent that has your boxers in a bunch.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Randy huffed.
She chortled “Okay, have it your way. Mr. Jack Fraser of London, England, was very cooperative. We met in person, and I’d suggest you get some fashion advice from him. Those fitted clothes he wears. Muy caliente. Anyway, he told me the same story he gave you, about wanting to see a painting you bought a few years back. He says he was in his room alone last night, so he doesn’t have an alibi for three in the morning, but that isn’t unusual in and of itself. I flashed my badge and the hotel clerk pulled up the key card records for me, even though he technically should have waited for a subpoena. The door to Fraser’s room was unlocked at eleven fifteen the night before, and not again until nine this morning.”
Lying Eyes Page 8
