Destroyed by a Dangerous Man

by Cleo Peitsche

  “What?” I opened the door a few more inches. The office was silent. I turned on my overhead light. “No. I’m still here.” Rob had probably assumed I was gone because my car wasn’t in the lot.

  “Did you fall asleep?”

  “Maybe. But I’m wide awake now.” I unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in my mouth. Raspberry flavor. Or strawberry. Whatever the hell red was supposed to be.

  “I’ll come get you.”

  “Ok.” I stifled another yawn. Maybe I wasn’t so refreshed after all. “I need to run over to Ashdale tonight.”

  “We’ll go together. Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  After he’d hung up, I picked up the files Erin had copied and looked through them. Jimmy had given me a decent outline over the phone, and Dad’s interviews provided color. For example, establishing that Kelly wasn’t much liked by anyone.

  Dad had jotted down a few notes about Kelly’s history. He’d served time for minor offenses, mostly related to check forgery and impersonation.

  Strangely, Dad hadn’t printed out the details. Maybe he hadn’t seen the point; when we were pursuing a bail skip, we generally needed to know the types of crimes they had committed and if they liked to swing weapons around, but the specifics didn’t matter.

  But I wasn’t trying to find Kelly. In fact, I assumed he was at home, doing whatever it was that jerks did after they’d been fired.

  Curious to see when Kelly was last arrested, I turned on my computer.

  Two years ago. It was a long stretch for him; before that, it was every four or five months. Maybe he’d reformed…

  I dug deeper. The pattern had started when he turned eighteen, which suggested to me that he had a sealed juvie record; no one waited until they were a legal adult to start getting into trouble.

  In other words, he was bad news and had been for a long time. Reformed? He’d probably gotten better at covering his tracks. Lovely.

  I wondered how he’d gotten the job in the first place. On the other hand, Critter Chomp wasn’t a gourmet restaurant; no one expected the employees or the patrons to be saints.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Corbin: Thirty seconds away.

  I found an empty folder in one of my desk drawers, grabbed the photocopied notes, and shoved them inside.

  Corbin had showered. His hair was still wet.

  I smiled.

  “What?” he asked, smiling back.

  “You smell like home. Home and… bread.”

  He pulled onto the street. “I made you a sandwich.”

  That’s how big his SUVs were. There was a sandwich in a plastic bag at my feet, and I hadn’t needed to move it out of the way, hadn’t even noticed it.

  I opened the bag and unwrapped the warm foil inside, revealing egg and cheese on a toasted bagel.

  “You’re my hero.” The food in Vienna was amazing, and I’d especially gotten addicted to kaiserschmarrn, which was a delicious twist on pancakes.

  But more than once, I’d bemoaned the lack of a simple egg and cheese sandwich on a bagel. The one time Corbin ordered one it was decent, but it wasn’t the same as when he made them.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked between greedy bites. The bagel was chewy, the egg perfectly scrambled or whatever he did to it, the cheddar cheese nice and sharp. The perfect mix of carbs, cream, and salt.

  “I assume to Critter Chomp,” he said, glancing over.

  “Yeah.” While he drove, I told him about my dad working on the case. “Can you believe that shit?”

  “Someone had to head it up while you were gone, and Rob’s not qualified.”

  “I guess.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for asking Dad to take the case. The way things are, he probably would have turned it down.”

  “It seemed important to you. Besides, we’re working it together, so I know you’ll be safe.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Corbin was wearing dark jeans and a button-down red flannel shirt. I couldn’t see from his knees down, but I assumed he was wearing boots. Corbin never wore sneakers unless he was exercising, and he tended to avoid dress shoes when he was helping me with Stroop business.

  “Did you take a nap, too?” I asked.

  “A short one, right after I got home.”

  “And then you went for a run,” I said. “I’m guessing through the nature preserve?”

  “Astute observations, Ms. Stroop.”

  “Yeah, well, I am an unlicensed private investigator.” And to prove it, I opened up the photocopied file. While Corbin drove, I risked motion sickness and absorbed every piece of paper it contained.

  Kelly’s address was listed as a post office box; the bar didn’t have a street address for him.

  I sent a quick text to Rob, asking him to dig into it.

  Whenever I came across something potentially interesting, I read it aloud for Corbin’s benefit.

  He nodded and did his best to look interested, but we both knew he was there to keep me from getting into trouble.

  It said a lot about our relationship that mostly I just accepted it. Hell, it said a lot about me. There had been a time when I’d rebelled mightily against Corbin’s assistance.

  He was becoming an honorary Stroop Finder, but that was better than the lot of us becoming honorary Lagos team members.

  Because while we didn’t talk about it, the jobs Corbin took were dangerous. Even though he’d walked away from murder-for-hire. But he chased the bounties I could only dream about.

  Lately, though, he’d been busy managing his investments. It was an unspoken truce: he would stop doing dangerous things if I stopped taking unnecessary risks at work.

  Or maybe being around simply made it easier for him to keep an eye on me.

  Corbin drove fast, and half an hour later we were pulling into Critter Chomp’s parking lot.

  “Park there,” I said, indicating an empty space at the edge of the half-filled lot. “I wanna take a quick look around before we go in.”

  “You’re the boss,” Corbin said.

  His cocky grin said a whole lot more, but I ignored him.

  Critter Chomp was one of those interchangeable brick affairs that had popped up like weeds all over the state. The parking lot was twice the size of the building, and the sign towering over the entrance showed the red neon outline of a man riding a bull.

  Though he might have been humping it.

  The bar only had a handful of windows. I cut through the scraggly green shrubs hugging the perimeter. From the smell of things, the greenery was being watered with urine.

  I peered through one window and found myself looking into the kitchen. A heavy man wearing a stained wife-beater stood with his back to me. Well, it was either his back or a brown shag carpet that he’d stuffed into his shirt.

  He turned his head to bark an order at someone, then ambled out of view.

  “Look up,” Corbin said, pointing at a security camera overhead. “Maybe it covers the spot where the victim’s corpse was dumped.”

  “Don’t make jokes.”

  The camera was discolored, warped, and generally looked unloved. “Maybe the mascot was dropped off here, but I didn’t see anything about taped footage in the reports.” I sighed. “I’m starting to think PI clients lie half the time. Well, now we know why some employees are so certain it was this Kelly guy.”

  “If they had footage, it wouldn’t be half the employees.” Corbin turned in a slow circle, surveying the property.

  I tried not to stare lustfully at his ass. I’d been horny nonstop ever since the night I’d tried to dominate him. “Have you ever heard of Kelly as a guy’s name?”

  “Sure. But even if not, so what?” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “It’s just a pattern of sounds.”

  “Deep.” I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go in.”

  We’d just about reached the paved sidewalk leading to the door when Corbin grabbed my arm.
<
br />   “Baby. Bad news.” He jerked his head toward a row of parked cars.

  I squinted, looking for a skulking man with mischief in his eyes. Looking for Kelly.

  I couldn’t see anyone. I wasn’t about to ask Corbin to point out the bad guy, maybe shine a beam of light on him. Nope, no way.

  And then I saw it. Because it wasn’t a person that Corbin had spotted.

  No, it was a nondescript, boat-sized sedan.

  I’d been standing at the wrong angle to see the license plate, but I took a step to the side, and then I knew for sure.

  7

  “We can go home,” Corbin said.

  “Why would we do that?” I headed for the door.

  Corbin easily matched my stride. “Because you and your dad working this case together is a bad idea.”

  “I didn’t come out here just to turn around and go back. Besides,” I said as I angrily yanked open the door, allowing the reek of stale beer to hit us like a wave, “it was his bad idea, not mine.”

  Old rock music was playing from the speakers. The place wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people to create an irritating din. Or maybe the irritation was all on my end.

  I couldn’t help noticing the platform beside the door where Booze had once reigned. It was covered in wilted bouquets, candles in glass jars, and stuffed animals.

  Disturbing.

  Corbin leaned down to pick up a small teddy bear with a red ribbon tied around its neck. “Doesn’t that seem tasteless, mourning the murder of a stuffed bear by sacrificing baby stuffed bears?”

  “The mascot didn’t look like a teddy bear,” I said, feeling grumpy and contrary. “It was on all fours.”

  “Sexy bear.” Corbin returned the toy to its macabre perch, then his large hands were on my shoulders. “It’s gonna be all right, baby,” he said.

  While he was talking, I was looking around. Straight ahead was the bar proper. It was surrounded by tables, half of which were occupied. The booths that lined the dining room all seemed to be full.

  I spotted Dad in a corner, about as far from the door as possible. He was sitting by himself, his curl-crowned head lowered over an enormous platter.

  As I watched, he picked up a few french fries and drowned them in ketchup.

  “Unbelievable,” I muttered. “It’s like he wants to go back to the hospital.”

  Then I thought how sad and alone he seemed. It lasted for about three seconds, which was the time it took for him to look up and see me.

  There was a flash of surprise—I was sure of it—but he masked his expression immediately. He waved for me to come over.

  Yeah, maybe I should have come in, talked to Richard, and gotten the hell out. Too late now.

  I marched over to him, and I was vaguely aware that Corbin wasn’t behind me. Whatever.

  “How was Austria?” The light hit his glasses in such a way that I couldn’t really see his eyes.

  “It was fine.” I pulled out my phone. “Does Martha know where you are?”

  “She knows I’m working. What are you doing?”

  I snapped a photo of Dad’s plate, making sure to get him in the frame. “I’m collecting proof.”

  “Erase it.” Dad’s tone said he wasn’t joking around. “Immediately.”

  I crossed my arms. “I can’t believe you.” Actually, I couldn’t believe myself. I was on the verge of tears. “Rob said your last checkup didn’t go well, but I guess you weren’t surprised. All this time, we’ve been blaming Martha.”

  “Audrey.” His voice was softer this time. “I’ve been here for forty minutes. I ate a very dry, very boring salad. The manager sent this over, and I figured I’d have a few fries. That’s all.”

  I stared at my dad, trying to figure out if he would lie about this. He wasn’t a liar, in general, but ever since his little emergency vacation in the hospital, he’d gone out of his way to convince us that everything was fine.

  “Stop thinking and sit down.”

  I sat and jerked the plate toward me.

  It was true that he hadn’t actually touched whatever fatty thing was on the bun, and he couldn’t have eaten many fries; they were still heaped high.

  “Tell me about Austria,” he said.

  Shrugging, I grabbed some fries. They were still hot and tasted like cardboard compared to Corbin’s bagel sandwich. “It was nice,” I said. “Lots of museums, lots of walking. We toured the major cities and hopped over to Bratislava for a day trip. I missed working.”

  “You get that from me,” he said. “It’s one of the reasons I put a firm deadline on how long this case can take.”

  I fought to keep my expression neutral. Stick to the case, and you might not strangle him. “Your write-up on Kelly Bortik didn’t mention that he hasn’t been arrested in two years. Before that, he was constantly in trouble.”

  Dad frowned. “Could be significant. I had someone else run that info.”

  “Who? Erin?” I immediately felt guilty, like I was suggesting Erin was stupid or careless.

  Dad shook his head. “One of the part-timers. He must have been in a hurry.”

  Or, more likely, he hadn’t thought it was important enough to do a thorough job. That’s what we were getting by cutting their hours. The best ones would take jobs elsewhere.

  Dad eyed the french fries.

  I mentally dared him to try.

  “Your mother always said I needed to learn how to take it easy. She said I’d give myself a heart attack or a stroke. You know the best thing to happen to me recently?”

  I shook my head.

  “Having to go on these cruises with Martha. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d enjoy cruises. Always thought they were for out-of-shape old people. Don’t get me wrong, I moan whenever the brochures start showing up in the mail. But your mom was right, and Martha was right. Taking time off is good. Don’t wait until you’re in your fifties to do it.”

  “Obviously I’m not.”

  I hadn’t come here for a lecture from Dad, the guy who had poured every waking minute into the business. The guy whose friends were all cops or bounty hunters—sometimes both.

  Dad watched me cannily. Then he sat back and ran a hand through his hair. In the bar’s dim light, he looked ten, maybe fifteen years younger; his hair seemed less gray, and the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced.

  Then he looked past me. “How are you?”

  “Don’t get up,” Corbin said, leaning forward to shake his hand. He said to me, “I spoke to Richard. He’ll be over to talk to us about those tapes.”

  “What tapes?” Dad asked.

  “From the security cameras,” I said.

  I was relieved that Corbin had addressed me and not my dad. After all, we were both working on the case, which he knew very well after my mini-rant on the way over.

  He could have deferred to my dad, but he hadn’t.

  It meant a lot.

  Then I got a little annoyed that it had to mean anything.

  Then I wished Rob were there. Rob was more like our mom. Easy to talk to, easy to get along with. But the biggest difference between Rob and my dad was that I could tell Rob exactly what I was thinking without having to filter it through layers of extra bullshit.

  A man carrying a tray of drinks approached. He was dressed in black slacks, a dark blue and regrettably shiny button-down shirt, and a garish blue tie.

  His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a pronounced widow’s peak. That, plus his trimmed, pointy goatee, made him look like a modern-day Mephistopheles.

  The effect had to be intentionally cultivated. I wondered if some well-meaning friend had assured him that it was a good idea.

  “Sorry about the wait,” he said, sliding the tray onto the table.

  Corbin handed me the drink in the cocktail glass. “It’s a Bear Maul,” he said. Then he whispered, “In honor of our fallen comrade.”

  I almost laughed aloud. Bear Maul was one of Critter Chomp’s signature cockt
ails. They always tasted like lighter fluid.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Corbin and my dad took the waters.

  “I’ve got time now,” the goateed man said. “I’m Richard Larriott, by the way.”

  “Audrey Stroop.”

  He nodded; he had surely figured out who I was. “The reason no one mentioned the security cameras is that they haven’t worked properly in about a month.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing the footage from the last day they were working,” I said.

  Richard didn’t seem to like that, but he shrugged. “Whenever you want.”

  “How about now?” I knocked my knee against Corbin’s to induce him to let me out of the booth, which he did.

  Dad got up, too. “Lead the way,” he said.

  I sighed. Yeah, I had to get Rob on this case with me.

  8

  Critter Chomp’s offices were through the kitchen.

  That didn’t strike me as the most sanitary of solutions, but then Critter’s wasn’t the kind of place where people went for anything more than cheap booze, good live music, and edible food.

  My head swiveled as we walked past stainless steel stoves and flame-darkened grills. I’d done some time as a waitress. The job hadn’t been a good fit for me, and now I tended to have flashbacks whenever I was behind the scenes of any eating establishment.

  The four of us crossed a short hallway and then crowded into an office that could have been roomy enough if three-quarters of it hadn’t been filled with identical cardboard boxes.

  In one corner, they were stacked almost to the ceiling. I tried to guess what was inside them, but without a hint, it was a shot in the dark.

  Three of the walls were whitish. The fourth was like a big, bright, clean, white rectangle. It had clearly been recently painted. I sniffed. No odor—so it pre-dated Booze’s abduction.

  “The video feeds into here,” Richard said, tapping what appeared to be a TV set from the eighties, sitting on top of five VCR-like boxes. “It’s an old system—”

  “The bar was built eight years ago,” Dad said, surprising me. That hadn’t been in the file, not that I’d read.