Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  With a howl, Charles jumped back over the divider and rammed into me.

  My hip slammed against the wooden table, and my skirt snagged on the worn ledge. “The Beast? Is that a pill?” I gasped. How did the old guy know about the illegal drug?

  “Yeah, baby.” Charles scaled up to the tabletop again. He did his earlier dance, this time singing that they couldn’t catch the magic penis.

  Darn it, my leg would bruise from that. “Tell me about Beast.”

  “Got it from a friend because friends are friends forever and also have blue pills,” Charles sang loudly.

  What the heck? My adrenaline pumped faster. Was Beast on the streets? “Who is your friend?”

  “Can’t tell ya.”

  “Enough!” I yelled at Charles and lifted his coat to him. His fuzzy slippers grinned evilly from the table. With a growl, the bailiff made a leap for Charles, who tried to scramble away, but his legs tangled in the coat. His arms windmilled around, and he fell onto me. My face bounced off the edge of the table, and sharp pain lanced through my cheek. I hit the ground, and the wind burst from my lungs. The old naked guy landed atop me, his skinny arms and legs flying in different directions. His coat rested between his penis and my suit, thank goodness.

  Charles grabbed my white blouse. A tearing sound filled the air as it ripped down the middle. The bailiff hauled him off me. Then I was free. The bailiff threw the coat over Charles and gave him a good shake. The cop reached two hands under my armpits and lifted me to my feet. I tried to regain my balance only to discover that I’d lost a shoe.

  “I’m Bud,” he said in a deep growl as he waited for me to let go of his arms. “Detective Pierce has me on you during work hours.”

  On me? “Because of yesterday? The two guys in the van?” I squinted my one good eye up into deep black eyes set in a hard-boned face with a nose that had been broken more than once.

  “Yep,” Bud said. “We have a man on you during work and one on your house. Until we catch those guys.”

  That was actually sweet. I smiled, and he smiled back. He had a short buzz cut and was basically built like a Mack Truck. “I appreciate the protection. Do you see my shoe?” I stepped back.

  Bud nodded and leaned down to grasp my black pump.

  I took the shoe. “Thanks.”

  He raised an eyebrow the size of a lime. “That’s going to be quite the shiner. Another one.”

  At least it was the same side of my face as the other bruise. I leaned down and placed my foot in the shoe. No doubt, I looked terrible. My hair had escaped the braid to frizz wildly around my head, my right eye was closed in pain, and my stockings, skirt, and shirt were ripped. I turned and glared at Charles. He folded his hands in front of him and gave the judge an angelic smile.

  “Quite the show, huh?” Charles whispered out the corner of his mouth.

  The judge ordered Charles into three-day observation at the county psychiatric hospital. I might have had a duty to argue that he deserved a criminal charge, but my mind still reeled with the images of an old man penis, and I couldn’t make the effort. Plus, maybe I could interview him at the crisis center about Beast. The bailiff handed Charles off to Bud, who looked me up and down before leaving, probably so he could report full details to Pierce and the rest of the police force in Timber City. Great.

  I limped back to the office and wondered again why I hadn’t studied business in school. A quick trip to the ladies’ room revealed I was too kind in my earlier assumption of how I looked. It was beyond terrible. Catastrophic maybe. My hair stuck out in frizzy spirals, and a deep purple bruise spread over my right cheekbone under my squinty, bloodshot eye. In movies the heroine always looked so sexy with a bruise marring her perfect face; somehow the bruise always accentuated high cheekbones. My bruise looked splotchy and painful and kind of grotesque. The only thing the shiner accented was my now uneven skin tone.

  I threw the blouse and nylons in the trash. At this rate I wouldn’t have anything to wear to work but jeans and a workout bra. The rip in my skirt was up the side and not too bad so long as I didn’t move. I tugged my hair out of the braid and put my hands under the faucet before running them through my hair—when all else fails, curls will do. Finally, I buttoned up my jacket. While the material plunged further than I’d like at work, it was the best I could do.

  It was time for Scot’s funeral, which should be packed considering he’d been the prosecutor in the area for so many years.

  I wasn’t ready to face that many people with all of my bruises…and whisker burn down my neck from Aiden. It was time for more concealer.

  Chapter 29

  The funeral was a somber gathering of law enforcement, judges, lawyers, and general townspeople in a nondenominational church in town. No family. Scot had worked as the prosecuting attorney for at least a decade, and as a deputy prosecutor before that, but he wasn’t an Idahoan native. Most of us had family going back generations. If not, you were new to town, even after decades.

  It looked like Scot had been well liked, and apparently, he’d attended one of the summer camps on the far side of Timber Lake as a child. That’s how he became aware of the area in the first place. The preacher spoke quietly and reverently, mostly about Scot’s success in the courtroom.

  The fact that Scot had been gun-downed after being arrested by the DEA was off limits for the day, and I was fine with that.

  I stood between Nick Basanelli and Detective Pierce, feeling bracketed by maleness and guilty about my liaison with Aiden. They’d both given my new bruises a once-over but had quite smartly not said a word. Now they scanned the crowd in a way that made me feel like I should be doing something besides feeling sad that Scot hadn’t had any family. What would it be like to be alone in the world?

  I truly couldn’t imagine.

  “Ex-wife number one.” Nick dipped his head toward a forty-something-year-old platinum blonde standing up by Celeste near the casket. How was the paralegal doing? I should check in with Celeste after the service.

  I couldn’t see the face of the first wife, but her suit looked like Chanel.

  “Number two,” Pierce added, lifting his chin to the adjacent pew. This woman was a brunette with liberal gray through her hair. She was trim, almost dainty…also in Chanel.

  “Paid a fortune in alimony,” Nick whispered.

  Geez. They were like two gossipy old men who should be sitting on porch swings. Somebody clapped up front, and I jumped, craning my neck to see who’d interrupt the preacher.

  “Ah, great,” Pierce muttered.

  I elbowed him in the ribs, so he’d move over, and then I caught sight of what he’d seen. I winced. Judge Hallenback was dressed in a neon green suit jacket with the logo for Hallenback’s Used Car Lots somehow emblazoned across the back. He wore a striped clown wig. His brother stood next to him in a muted brown suit that also held the logo.

  “They give car dealerships a bad name,” Nick said.

  The judge clapped again, and his brother shushed him.

  “We need to do something about that guy,” Pierce said. “It’s time for retirement.”

  A slight ruckus at the rear of the church had me turning to see Pauley pushing away from a crowd gathered near a series of white pedestals covered in flowers. I froze for a minute. Then I launched into motion, every protective instinct I had on full alert. The crowd was too much for him. “Excuse me.” I pushed by Pierce in the pew and accidentally stepped on his shoe with my heel.

  He hissed out a breath.

  “Sorry.” I gingerly made my way past bodies to the aisle and then hurried toward the back.

  Pauley was fidgeting, his face pale, his body contorting in a buttoned-down white shirt. He yanked at the collar. “No.”

  I reached him, careful not to touch. “Pauley? I need some air. Would you please come outside with me?”

  He pulled harder on the collar, his eyes darting around.

  “Pauley. Outside.” Without touching him, I pushed open the heavy
door and walked outside into the drizzly day. It had been a long time since I’d seen one of Pauley’s episodes, partly because his medicinal regimen was good and partly because Pauley was amazing. Even so, anxiety twittered through me. Then I felt guilty about that.

  My shoulders relaxed fractionally as I walked down the concrete steps to the cracked sidewalk. Since I’d been surrounded by law enforcement, my bodyguard had been given the rest of the day off, and I was glad there wasn’t another person around to agitate my cousin.

  Pauley exited the church and immediately clasped his hands together, his gaze on his brown loafers, his steps a little jerky.

  I drew air in, not caring that light rain drizzled over my aching face. In fact, the coolness felt good. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” He walked past me and then turned to follow the sidewalk away from the church.

  I followed him, avoiding weeds through the concrete, appreciating the older homes and fully-grown trees down the quiet street. Finally, we reached a small park with a couple of swing sets and slides. Pauley moved for a brightly painted green picnic table off to the side and took a seat on the wet top to rock slightly.

  I slowed my steps and approached slowly, angling up to sit next to him.

  We both looked at an older brick home across the street. Vibrant purple lilac trees decorated the entire left side and around the corner, smelling delicious at a distance and even in the rain.

  I cleared my throat.

  Pauley looked at me and then back at the house. “The crowd bothers you.”

  I blinked. “Yeah. You?”

  “Yes.” Rain drizzled down, splotching his brown pants. But he didn’t seem to mind, which was good.

  “Why did you attend Scot’s funeral, Pauley?” I set my heels on the bench and curled my fingers around the table. The heavy paint had smoothed the wood enough that it didn’t scratch my still aching palms.

  “Scot was my friend.” Pauley tilted his head to the side. “Scot died. Blood stopped pumping to his heart and to his head and he died. My dog died two years ago on a Thursday. He was hit by a car. Scot died on a Friday. He was hit by a bullet. Your dog died on a Monday. He was just old. Everyone dies.”

  I tried to keep track of the conversation, but the first statement kept my attention. “You and Scot were friends?” How was this possible?

  “Yes. Scot was my friend. Lacey is your best friend, even though you are cousins. She told me you were best friends. But you do not live in the same town.” He rocked slightly. “Lacey is my sister. She is also my friend. But not best.”

  I let him talk in his way as he dealt with life. Maybe with death. “Okay. Let’s talk about you and Scot.”

  “Scot was my friend.” Pauley clasped his hands together on his pants.

  Okay. That truly was news. “How did you and Scot meet?”

  “On a Wednesday in February at school. Scot talked to my class, and then Scot talked to me.”

  I didn’t like Pauley having a friend unknown to me. I really disliked the fact that the friend had never said a word to me about my cousin. I hated the fact that said friend had been murdered. “What did you and Scot do?” I asked softly.

  “Worked on equations. Good work. Smart work.” Pauley said, pushing off the table. “Want to see?”

  Yes. Without a doubt. “I’d like that, Pauley. Show me. My car is over there.”

  Apparently, attorneys weren’t the only folks with war rooms. Pauley led me through a dusty smelling college library to another hall hosting offices for visiting professors. He had a key to the last dingy maroon-colored door at the far end.

  I walked inside to see one entire wall covered by a map of the western half of the United States. Lines were drawn from city to city along with equations neatly transcribed on sticky notes throughout. Timber City was circled in dark black ink, and the lines all followed from there. “Las Vegas, Missoula, Portland…”. I moved closer, reading aloud as I walked over the industrial maroon and brown carpet. “Rexburg? Louisville?” Both very small towns. “What is all of this, Pauley?” I had a feeling I already knew. Well, kind of. The smaller towns didn’t make sense.

  Pauley stood over by a desk covered in various papers, which he quickly began straightening into stacks. “Scot must have come in here. These are not organized.”

  Since he was distracted, I took out my phone and snapped several photographs of the map. “Who drew on the map?”

  “Scot drew the lines, and I wrote the equations.” With the papers in neat stacks, Pauley turned back around to face me.

  Warning ticked through me followed by a healthy dose of anger at Scot for getting Pauley involved. How dare he take advantage of my cousin’s great intelligence and innocence? “These look like distribution routes.”

  Pauley looked over the map. “That is exactly what they are with calculations for time and distance.” He moved closer to me, careful not to touch his shoulder to mine. “It makes more sense to take a big shipment to Las Vegas and then go from Vegas to Los Angeles and Vegas to Denver.” He scratched his elbow. “In comparison to going directly from Timber City to Los Angeles.”

  My throat went dry and I cleared it. “What are you distributing, P?”

  His smile flashed for the briefest of seconds. “I am not distributing anything. Since you meant to ask what was being distributed, I will tell you. Handlebars.”

  I jerked, heat flushing down my esophagus. “Handlebars?” Was that some new name for a drug? I’d thought Beast was a stupid name.

  He nodded. “Yes. With a manufacturing plant outside of town, making handlebars for motorcycles, these would be good distribution paths.” Then he tapped the smaller towns on the map. “These places have a lot of motorcycle clubs, so they would be a good place to distribute and sell.”

  Stupid Scot Peterson. He’d found the best way to distribute drugs by using Pauley. At least Pauley had no idea. “What else could you distribute this way?” I asked.

  Pauley shrugged. “Anything, but the smaller motorcycle towns wouldn’t factor in.”

  Those towns weren’t really known for motorcycles. More for horse auctions and rodeos. I frowned and studied the map. Pauley hadn’t traveled much yet, and he probably wouldn’t know that. “Scot told you that these towns have a large number of motorcycle clubs?”

  Pauley scratched his chin. “Scot? No.”

  I couldn’t breathe. So, I swallowed rapidly to get my system back working. “Pauley? Who told you about the motorcycle towns?”

  He must’ve caught something in my voice, because he straightened and moved back to the desk, tapping errant pieces of paper into strict lines.

  “Pauley?” I struggled to keep my voice level.

  Finally, the papers perfect, he turned back around. “It was a secret because nobody wants to upset you. You are fragile, still.”

  “Baloney,” I burst out, wincing as he blanched. “I’m sorry, but I am not fragile, and you don’t need to keep secrets from me.” I wish Scot were still alive so I could punch him in the face. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Who told you about the motorcycles?”

  Pauley looked up to meet my gaze and then just as fast looked away. “The Lordes motorcycle club is building the motorcycle handle-bar factory. They were working with Scot to bring jobs to the area and make money.” Pauley clasped his hands together. “Aiden Devlin is in charge, and he is staying home now.” Finally, Pauley smiled again. “I thought that would make you happy, which is why I helped them with the math. Does that make you happy?”

  “No.” I tried to make sense of it all. “Is there any chance you’ve met a Melvin Whitaker?” There had to be a connection.

  “No. No Melvin. I met a Meryl once, but she was a woman. Friends with our grandma. Good lady.”

  It was then I noticed a blinking light in the far upper right corner of the ceiling. “What’s that?”

  Pauley looked up. “That’s Scot’s.”

  Was it a camera? Motion activated when we entered? Panic clawed t
hrough me, although I was just being paranoid. “Let’s go, Pauley.” I grasped his arm and all but ran us both outside

  A motorcycle was parked next to my car along with Spider standing next to it. Tattoos covered his neck, and he looked big against the bike. Two trucks were behind him. “Spider,” I said quietly, edging in front of Pauley. “You’re away from your garage.”

  Spider smiled, revealing a gold front tooth that was brand new. “Pauley? I need some help with your equations. Get in the front truck.”

  Chapter 30

  It might’ve been my Irish blood, or maybe my Italian, but sometimes righteous fury felt good. Proper. Energizing. Especially if somebody was doing something rather stupid, which I was in challenging Spider. Pauley was more important than anything. This late on a Friday, the parking area of the college was mainly deserted as darkness fell quickly, but even so, I planned how to get to the gun in my car. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”

  Spider crossed huge arms. “Get out of the way.”

  “It is okay.” Pauley moved around my car for the truck before I could stop him. “I will be home soon, although I am supposed to meet my mother and go home.”

  “No.” I made a move.

  Spider ended up in my space, smelling like motor oil and oddly enough, soap. He towered over me by at least a foot, and he was broader than I remembered. Muscle combined with a bit of fat, but he looked really tough. Strong. His eyes were dark and his features blunt. “I’m the president of this club. How about you and I go for a ride? Devlin ain’t interested.”

  “You take my cousin anywhere, Spider, and I’m calling the cops.” I levered up as close to his face as I could get. “It’d be kidnapping and child endangerment charges, for sure.”

  If I’d hoped to scare Spider, I failed. He didn’t even twitch. Instead, he poked at one of the many bruises on my face.

  Pain echoed behind my left eye. I slapped his hand away. “Knock it off.”