by Diane Kelly
I took a space at the edge of the parking lot, backing into the spot so I could pull out quickly and easily if I needed to. Nick did the same, reversing into a spot nearby.
In almost no time my phone pinged with a ride request from Backseat Driver. Someone named Cameron G needed a lift. Both the pickup and drop-off addresses were in the Village, only a couple of miles apart at most. I wouldn’t be earning much on this job. Then again, I wasn’t in this for the paycheck. I thumbed the app to accept the job.
I headed out with Nick trailing behind. Three minutes later, I pulled up in front of an apartment building. A woman in her mid-twenties came out. She had hair the color of caramel. She wore strappy heels and a sleeveless dress tight enough to show off her goods but in a tasteful floral print that kept things reasonably classy. As she tottered over, I rolled the window down. “Are you Cameron?”
“That’s me,” she said as she reached for the back door handle.
I’d assumed Cameron would be a dude. Damn these unisex names! Looked like I’d wasted my time again.
After she climbed in and buckled her belt, I eased away from the curb.
She virtually bounced in the backseat. “I’m so excited! I met this really great guy at a coffee place earlier in the week and he’s taking me out to dinner tonight.”
I remembered my dating days, how excited I’d get about a guy only to realize two or three months later that he had an unacceptable flaw. He was skipping classes and flunking out of school. He had no sense of humor, or didn’t understand mine. He’d lied about where he’d been the night before and seemed to think I was too stupid to realize it. Yep, a girl’s gotta kiss a hell of a lot of frogs to find her prince. Still, for Cameron’s sake, I tried to muster some enthusiasm. After all, I’d eventually found Nick, and his flaws were few and manageable. “First dates can be a lot of fun,” I said in reply. “I hope it goes well.”
“He’s a programmer,” she gushed. “He must make pretty good money because he dresses really well. He drives a nice car, too. I saw it when we walked out to the parking lot together. It’s a black Fiat Spider. You know, the two-seater convertible?”
Oh, to be so young and easily impressed.
“Sweet ride,” I said. I fought the urge to ask why he hadn’t picked her up in the car. If he was such a great guy, why was he expecting her to come to him, especially on the first date when he’d presumably be on his best behavior, trying to make a good impression? I’d never even met the guy and had already pegged him as a shallow, self-centered jerk.
We were halfway to the programmer’s apartment when another ride request came in via the Backseat Driver app on my phone. Coincidentally, this request came from the same address we were on our way to. I figured it must be someone else in the same apartment complex. The rider was identified as Casey B. Like Cameron, Casey could be either a male or female name, though the first Caseys that came to my mind were Casey Jones, the legendary railroad engineer who sacrificed himself to save the lives of others, and Casey at the Bat, featured in the classic poem. I tapped the button to accept this second job, too. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
The closer we drew to the guy’s apartment, the less confident Cameron G became. She pulled out a mirrored compact and powdered her nose. She pulled out the compact again seconds later to apply another coat of lip gloss. She’d barely returned it to her purse when she yanked it out again to check her hair. Sheesh. Sometimes I missed those wild and crazy single days. But at times like this I was darn glad they were over. The dating game could be exhausting!
My GPS told me to turn into a complex, so I did. It was a huge place, with half a dozen buildings in sight and more around the bend. “Do you know which building he’s in?”
“Thirteen.” She craned her neck to check the numbers as we rolled farther into the lot. As we rounded the bend, she said, “There it is. The one up ahead with the girl standing out in front of it.”
“Okey doke.”
We passed the black Spider, which was parked in a reserved, covered spot to our left, and rolled on a few more feet. As I pulled over to the curb, I got a better look at the girl standing outside. She wore a light green retro-style dress and had cinnamon-colored hair that hung in a straight sheath to her chin. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes pink and puffy from crying. She looked pale, frail, feeble, and heartbroken. She held a tissue to her runny nose as she hobbled forward in stiletto pumps that looked sexy but painfully uncomfortable. She took note of my yellow placard and went to open the back door of my car. This must be Casey B. I’ve struck out again.
As Casey teetered to the back door, Cameron opened it to get out.
“Thanks for the ride!” Cameron called over her shoulder as she stepped past Casey.
Casey put her hand on the top of the door, but didn’t get into the car. Instead, she turned to watch as Cameron walked up to an apartment on the first floor and knocked.
A screech came out of Casey like none I’d heard before. If I hadn’t known it came from a young woman, I would’ve thought it had come from a velociraptor. “You bitch!”
The next thing I knew, Casey kicked off her heels and launched herself at Cameron like a human missile. Cameron cowered in the alcove, throwing up her hands to protect her face as Casey came rocketing in her direction.
Sheesh, again. Looked like we were going to have a catfight.
I shoved the gearshift into park, leaped from the car, and ran toward the two as Casey started clawing at Cameron and yanking her hair and clothing. Cameron used the only weapon she had to defend herself, her clutch purse. She swung it at Casey’s face in a desperate and futile attempt to make Casey back off, whapping her repeatedly on the forehead and cheeks. Whap-whap-whap!
“Get away from me, you crazy freak!” Cameron cried, landing a solid whap with her purse on Casey’s tearstained cheek. “Get away!”
She landed another whap on Casey’s nose and blood spurted out of it, staining the front of her dress and the concrete with red spots. Ew.
“Break it up!” As I ran up and threw my shoulder into the fray, trying to insinuate myself between the two, the apartment door opened. A good-looking guy in his mid-twenties stood there, looking both astonished and amused. I took it that he was the programmer.
I put a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders and tried to push them back, but with my strength split between the two of them I only managed to separate them by a few inches. The guy made no move to help me, to clean up this mess of his making. Luckily for me, Nick ran up, grabbed Casey around the waist, and pulled her backward. Her arms reached out in a final yet futile attempt to grab Cameron, her bare heels dragging across the concrete.
Now that her attacker had been subdued and she knew she was safe, Cameron burst into tears, too, clearly not accustomed to being physically attacked. “Why?” she cried. “Why?”
I turned to the guy standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
He pointed to Casey. “I broke up with her”—he turned his finger to point to Cameron now—“so I could go out with her.”
“You jerk!” Casey shrieked, squirming in Nick’s arms. He might’ve stopped her physical assault, but short of sticking her stiletto in her mouth he couldn’t stop her verbal one. “You asshole!”
“She’s right, you know,” I told the guy. “A gentleman would have made sure his ex was gone before his date arrived.” I turned to Cameron. “He couldn’t even be bothered to come pick you up or protect you from being attacked. Why are you wasting your time with this guy?”
She turned from me to him, swiping at her tears with her hand, a frown taking over her face.
Casey stopped struggling, turned around in Nick’s arms, and, realizing he had nice, strong shoulders, proceeded to lay her head on them and bawl. Nick cut his eyes to me and raised his palms in a “what the hell do I do now?” gesture.
If Cameron decided to call the police, Casey could end up facing assault charges. The longer she stuck around, the more li
kely that was to happen. Though she was the one who’d started the fight, she’d gotten the worst of the deal. Not only had her nose been bloodied, but her dress was ruined. Those stains weren’t likely to come out. Add in the abject humiliation, and I felt sort of sorry for the girl. Her hurt had been fresh and raw and she’d lost it. It could have happened to anyone.
As I headed back his way, Nick scooped the girl up in his arms and carried her to my car, putting her in the back and buckling her in. He moved his vehicle to an unreserved parking spot and climbed into my passenger seat. “Let’s get her home.”
chapter twenty
The End of an Era
Despite my having saved Casey from an assault charge and attempting to console her on the way home with platitudes about how there were “many other fish in the sea,” that “a pretty girl like her was sure to find someone better soon,” she had the nerve to slap me with a negative review. Driver should mind her own business!
Oh, yeah? Well, two could play that game. I reviewed her as well, so that all of the other Backseat Drivers would be forewarned. This woman be cray-cray. The only vehicle she should be riding in is the crazy train.
On Saturday afternoon, Nick came with me to look at an underpriced property near the Galleria mall in north Dallas. The leasing agent had been spotty with his information, fully failing to respond when I asked questions. He texted me the address a mere half hour before he expected me to meet him at the condo.
I pulled out my laptop, determined who owned the property, and attempted to find a phone number for the woman. Unfortunately, she had a common name and there were several people in the Dallas area who shared it. I didn’t have time to work my way through them before I’d have to head over to the property, so I didn’t bother.
The condo was on the second story of a three-story building. Seeing no one waiting outside, we stepped up to the door and knocked. The instant the door was answered I learned two things. One, this guy was not the purported leasing agent who’d been ripping people off. This guy was short, with light brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t even been combed. Second, the reason he hadn’t been more forthcoming with answers to my questions was because he was a disorganized mess. The portfolio he clutched against his chest had papers sticking out of it in every direction, as well as a purple Skittle smashed on the back of it.
“Mrs.…?” he asked.
“Galloway,” I replied.
He looked down at a sticky note he’d stuck to the front of his portfolio. “Galloway. Right. Sorry.” He held out a hand to invite us inside.
We’d taken only a couple steps into the place when a thunderous sound overhead instinctively caused us to duck and cover our heads. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. The pattern of the sound told me it was footsteps.
Nick straightened up. “Who lives upstairs, a herd of buffalo?”
The guy forced a laugh. “Communal living, eh?”
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. A moment later, the footsteps were drowned out by rock music being played at approximately eight million decibels. Whoever moved in here better invest in a good pair of earplugs.
We made a quick round of the unit before returning to the door.
“This doesn’t work for us,” I said. “We need a place on the first floor. We’ve got an old dog who can’t manage stairs.”
“Oh. Okay. I might have one I could show you.” He opened his portfolio and a cascade of paperwork fluttered to the ground. He bent down to scoop the sheets up, glancing over each one as he retrieved them. “Let me just see here…”
“Don’t bother on our account,” I told him. “I think we’ll go ahead and renew at our current place. Thanks anyway.”
With that, Nick and I left.
On the drive back to Bonnie’s, I groaned. “This rental-scam case is busting my chops.”
“It’s definitely taken up a lot of your time.”
“Yeah, my personal time.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” He cut a look my way. “I can’t even remember the last time we—”
“Itemized each other’s deductions? Claimed each other’s personal exemptions?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Me, neither. As long as it’s been I’m pretty sure we qualify as virgins again.” I exhaled a sharp breath. “Should I give up and tell Detective Booth that I couldn’t make any headway? Put the ball back in her court?”
“I’m sure she’d understand,” Nick said as he eased into the exit lane. “She couldn’t figure out who the guy was, either. He seems to be extra crafty.”
He was, which had made me want to bring him down all the more. Some of our targets were stupid and easy, posing little or no challenge. This guy, on the other hand, seemed to pose too much of a challenge. He wasn’t the average crook, that was certain. He was much smarter, covered his tracks much better.
Still, I was IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway, dammit! I didn’t bow down and I didn’t give up. No matter how much I might want to. No, I’d see this thing through to the end, no matter how long it took. I was nothing if not dedicated. On the contrary, maybe I was just too stubborn to know when to call it a day. “I’ll give it one more week.”
Nick chuckled. “I knew you couldn’t give up. It’s not who you are.”
“It’s not who you are, either.”
“That’s why we make such a good team.”
My resolve renewed, I returned to my bedroom when we arrived at Bonnie’s house and got myself ready for Lu’s retirement party. We’d already held one last year, shortly after I’d joined Criminal Investigations, when Lu had said she’d planned to leave the agency. But she’d rethought things and decided she wasn’t quite ready to be a lady of leisure, after all. Because we agents had put down nonrefundable deposits, and because we were always looking for any excuse to have a good time, we’d held a party anyway. It had been a lot of fun.
But things had changed since then. Lu had met Carl, a fellow sexagenarian who, like Lu, dressed like he lived in another era. They’d had some ups and downs but weathered them well, their feelings for each other only growing stronger. They’d moved in together not long ago. With a boyfriend at home to keep her company and do things with, Lu now had the incentive she needed to actually retire for good.
I dressed in a slinky, strapless red dress. It was covered in sequins and had a slit that stopped at my upper thigh. It was the dress I’d been wearing the night I met Brett, the guy I’d dated before Nick. Not that I’d ever tell Nick that. As far as he knew, this dress had no history. No sense getting him riled up over nothing. Besides, I loved the thing and hadn’t had another opportunity to wear it.
Nick put on his fanciest suit and, after allowing his mother to exclaim over us for a moment or two, we headed out the door.
When we arrived at Guys & Dolls, Maddie, one of the young ladies who used to dance topless at the place when it was a strip club, greeted us at the door. Her boyfriend had abandoned her and their two-year-old daughter, and she’d been forced to strip to make ends meet. Exhaustion led her to try the drugs her boss, Don Geils, was dealing behind the scenes. Fortunately, after I’d arrested her boss, she’d turned her life around and now worked as a hostess and waitress, her tips added to her customers’ credit card slips rather than tucked into her G-string.
She gave me a hug. “You busting Don Geils was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
While busting the guy might have been the best thing that ever happened for her, it was one of the worst things that had ever happened for me. I’d ended up on trial for shooting him in the leg and thought I might be forced out of the job I loved, the job I lived for. Thankfully everything had turned out okay. But I didn’t want to burden her with the reminder. Instead, I forced a smile and said, “I’m happy for you. How’s your little girl?”
Maddie beamed. “As cute as ever!”
“Glad to hear it.”
We walked into the club as if we were walking back in time. The interior featured the Art Deco décor tha
t was popular decades ago, all done up in black and gold. A number of wide mirror panels hung behind the stage and along the walls. Elevated booths upholstered in black vinyl were positioned around the perimeter, with black-topped tables on the floor in the center.
Maddie led us to our reserved table right up front. Lu and Carl had already arrived and stood as we approached. Lu wore a glamorous gown in a shade of green that looked lovely in contrast to her pinkish-orange hair. She’d doubled her usual makeup and had on an especially glam pair of false eyelashes for the occasion, too. Carl had worn his best polyester leisure suit, black with contrasting white thread around the lapel, along with his shiny white bucks. We greeted each other with hugs.
As we sat, Carl draped an arm over the back of Lu’s chair. “It’s going to be nice having Lu all to myself every day now.”
I wagged a finger at him. “We’ve got dibs on her for at least one lunch a month.”
He smiled. “I’ll give you the third Thursday.”
I smiled back. “We’ll take it.”
The other agents and their wives or partners filtered in. Eddie and Sandra, who took seats directly across from me and Nick. Josh and Kira, the latter having worn her sapphire nose ring and an intact pair of fishnet hose rather than her usual hole-filled ones for this special occasion. Will and his wife. Hana and her girlfriend. Viola came with the mail clerk, who’d offered to give the older woman a ride. Her night vision could be problematic.
We ordered wine and cocktails, poured and prepared by Angelique, one of the other former dancers who tended bar, her tips now tucked into a jar. She looked much happier, too, going about her business with the efficient, certain movements of a woman with recently acquired dignity.
The club’s owners, Merle and Bernice, came over to our table. A former Vegas showgirl and dancer, Bernice had been cosmetically enhanced in as many ways as possible, yet her personality was sincere. She was a graceful, ageless woman, with champagne-hued hair swept up into a French twist. She was the informant who’d first contacted the police when she’d suspected Don Geils was running prostitution and drug rings from the club. The information she provided was instrumental in bringing Geils and the criminal enterprises down. While Bernice was the epitome of elegance, Merle looked like a grandfatherly version of Charlie Brown, short and boxy with a total of three hairs curling across his scalp. But unlike the sad sack he resembled, Merle was a creative genius, a playwright who’d spent far too many years with his talents and love for Bernice hidden away. When I’d arrested Don Geils, I’d not only given Maddie and Angelique a new lease on life, but I’d spurred Merle and Bernice to finally get together.
