Battle Axe

by Carsen Taite

  I parked my Bronco far from my front door, hoping to sneak in under my landlord’s watchful gaze. As I approached the door, I saw a shadow lurking. I took the direct approach.

  “I’ll get you your money, Withers. Quit stalking me.”

  “You? Paying me? That would be a switch.”

  The voice was low and throaty. Sultry. Delicious. Wasn’t Withers, but familiar all the same. Diamond Collier. I’d always wondered if Diamond was her real name. We’d known each other, intimately, but not the personal details kind of intimately. She stepped out of the shadows. I hadn’t seen her in months, but she hadn’t changed one bit. Her formerly blond hair was now brunette, but she was still as sexy as I remembered. And, I could tell by the bulge under her jacket, she was still packing.

  “Hello, Agent Collier.”

  “Hello, Luca Bennett. And it’s Marshal Collier now.” She pointed at the door. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  My mind ran through the contents of my apartment, sparse, but in complete disarray. I didn’t have much to offer in terms of hospitality. My fridge was empty and my sheets were a couple of weeks dirty. Plus, I was pretty sure I had a couple of unregistered weapons on the kitchen counter. But I wanted to show her some hospitality. Boy, did I.

  I had a sudden blast of brilliance. A few drinks might make my place look better than it was. “I have an idea. Come with me.” I walked back toward the parking lot, listening for her footsteps behind me. She didn’t ask where we were going. Either she trusted me or she wanted something bad enough to follow me anywhere. Maybe a little of both.

  I passed the Bronco and kept walking. About a hundred yards later, we wound up in front of Maggie’s, my local bar of choice. Mostly because it was within walking distance of my place.

  Diamond nodded her head when I held the door open. Kind of appropriate to bring her to this bar considering months ago I’d met her here. At least I’d met a picture of her. In a file from Hardin’s bond agency. He’d hired me to find what we all thought was a murderer, but it turned out Diamond was just a federal agent posing as a stripper turned socialite. I got to pretend to haul her in and collected a reward instead of a bounty, but I didn’t much care what the money had been called since it was in cash. As a bonus, I’d gotten to play with my catch.

  I wasn’t naive enough to think she was back because I was such a good lay. It’d been months. Still, I could hope. Maybe a few drinks would do the trick. I led her to a booth and we sat down. “I’m ordering beer unless you want something stronger. If you say you’re on duty, I’m moving to the bar.”

  “I’ll have a Jameson’s. Neat.”

  Perfect. After Chance left with the stripper dressed like an insurance saleswoman, I’d been mentally prepared for a difficult evening. Looks like my concerns were unwarranted. A few drinks and I’d feel safe bringing Diamond back to my messy lair.

  “Luca Bennett, you don’t think your tab’s high enough?”

  Diamond and I both turned toward the feisty little woman tapping her pen on our table. Maggie wore her Saturday night best, a tiger print miniskirt with a not so coordinating flaming orange sweater that showed more cleavage than I cared to see on a woman who’d gone on several dates with my dad. She didn’t normally make a point of mentioning my growing tab unless she was annoyed with me. Maybe bringing Diamond here had been a bad idea. Should’ve just picked up a bottle of whisky at the corner store. I held up a hand to ward Maggie off, but Diamond beat me to the punch.

  “Actually, I’m paying. So, you’re Maggie? Is this your bar? It’s great. Very comfortable feel.”

  Maggie’s brash demeanor couldn’t compete with Diamond’s overdone praise, and she practically preened. “You think so? I was thinking of doing some work on the place, but I don’t want to ruin the ambiance.”

  Good thing I didn’t have a drink yet, or I would’ve choked on it. I watched while Diamond charmed Maggie and then Maggie offered her a drink on the house. Luckily, Diamond ordered a beer for me. I was convinced I would’ve stayed thirsty without her intervention. When Maggie finally wandered off, Diamond turned her attention back to me.

  “You come here often?”

  “Too much, I guess. Maggie treats me like shit, but I get to run a tab. Seems like a fair trade-off.”

  “Treats you like shit? Right.”

  “Okay, maybe shit is a relative term. She treats me like I’m her wayward teenage daughter.”

  “Something tells me you worked hard to get the part.”

  “So, you transferred to the Marshal Service.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my complicated pseudo familial relationships with Maggie or anyone else. I was curious about Diamond’s shift in status. When I’d met her, she was working organized crime, undercover. Deep. As a federal marshal, she wore her badge on the outside and did what I do—chase down fugitives. Not exactly competition since her client was the United States government and she got a salary, and my client was usually a seedy bail bondsman, like Hardin, and I only got paid if I was actually successful.

  “Kind of hard to stay undercover when the entire Russian mob thinks you turncoated them.”

  “You could’ve moved away, dyed your hair, gotten plastic surgery.”

  “I like it here. And I did dye my hair, but my face? You wouldn’t want me to change that, would you?”

  “Yeah, I like it here too.” I wasn’t falling for the flirt. I knew she hadn’t shown up on my doorstep to fall into bed. Not that I’d mind that action, but I wanted to know the real story first, get the business out of the way.

  She feigned a quick pout and then plunged in. “I could use your help.”

  “I bet you could, but let’s finish our drinks first. Otherwise, I’ll feel like a cheap date. Don’t worry. You don’t have to buy me dinner.”

  “Be serious for two minutes, will you? Most of your work comes from Hardin Jones, right?”

  There are no client confidentiality rules between bondsmen and the muscle, like me, they hire to find wayward criminals, but I hesitated before answering. Maybe she was just making an assumption, since when she’d posed as one of those wayward criminals, Hardin was her bondsman. But something about the way she asked told me she already knew that most of my business came from him. It bothered me that she knew more about me than I knew about her. I settled on a semi-cagey response. “We have a good working relationship.”

  Her nod was perfunctory. “He has the bonds on a couple of guys we’re interested in.”

  “So go get them. Isn’t that what you do?”

  “Well, yes, if they have federal warrants. These guys are small-time. No pending federal charges. Yet.”

  I wasn’t following. Wasn’t sure I wanted to. Complicated wasn’t my thing. I’d chosen this profession for the sheer simplicity of it. Find the jumper, turn them in. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  She reached into her jacket and pulled out two photos. Not mug shots, action shots. Guy number one was driving a van. His face was hard to make out in the grainy surveillance shot, but enough details came through to make an ID possible. Guy number two was walking. Judging by the look on his face, he either feared where he’d come from or dreaded his destination.

  “These the guys?” Rhetorical question designed to get her talking.

  “Yes. Sandy Amato and Vince Picone. Lower links on Geno Vedda’s chain of command.”

  Geno Vedda was legend among organized crime families in Dallas. Part of his legend was his ability to lead a double life. Successful entrepreneur and hardened criminal. “And you’re interested in them because?”

  “We want Vedda.”

  “What’s new about that? Not like he hasn’t been breaking laws his entire life.”

  “He’s gone missing, and my team has been assigned to find him.”

  I waved at the pictures on the table between us. “And you think these two flunkies are going to lead you to him?”

  “Can’t hurt. Why don’t you track them down? Maybe they’ll
lead us to Vedda.”

  “‘Us’? I work alone.”

  “I’m not asking you to find Vedda, just his guys. Find them, collect the cash, and let me know. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Why don’t I just find Vedda for you? Probably be a lot easier.” Visions of a healthy payout danced in my mind.

  “No,” she barked. “I mean, leave Vedda to us. Besides,” she added as if she could read my thoughts, “there’s no bounty.”

  “So you only want me to do part of your work for you.”

  “You don’t have to do any of it. I just figured we could all win here. You collect a bounty from Hardin on Amato and Picone, and we may get a lead on Vedda. If you’re not interested, just say so.”

  I was interested. Not necessarily because I might make a few extra bucks, but because U.S. Marshal Diamond Collier had deigned to come see me in person to ask this favor. Either finding these guys was way more important than she led me to believe, or seeing me in the flesh was a bonus she had to have. I’m not conceited, but I preferred to believe the latter because it fit in with my plans.

  I leaned across the table and caught her lips with mine. I held the kiss for only a few seconds and couldn’t help but smile at her surprise when I sat back in the booth. I gave her a minute to get on my wavelength before I gave her my answer. “Yeah, I’m interested.”

  *

  Sunday morning, I woke up alone. Just the way I like. The fact that my solitude followed a night of rowdy sex was a bonus.

  I glanced at my cell phone. I’d turned the ringer off the night before and I’d missed a late night call. Didn’t recognize the number and there was no message. Glad it hadn’t interrupted sex with Diamond. I dragged my ass to the kitchen and wished for the thousandth time that I’d remember to buy a new coffee maker. The one my father had handed down to me when I graduated from the academy had met an untimely death last year when I accidently smashed it with a baseball bat when one of my one-night houseguests had startled me during the night. I was a much lighter sleeper now, but still too cheap to buy something as dull as a home appliance.

  I don’t like owning stuff. Comes with too much responsibility. I made just enough money to get by and indulge in a few important habits. Like guns and gambling. And beer. Said out loud, my list of important things sounds kind of nefarious, but I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m happy. At least as happy as I know how to be.

  Diamond hadn’t left a note. The only evidence she’d been in the place was a copy of her card with her cell phone number scrawled on the back. She’d asked me to call her if I found out anything about the two Guidos she wanted me to track. I hadn’t decided if I was going to pitch in on her case, but I figured I could at least talk to Hardin and see if he wanted me to pick these guys up for him. At least then I’d make a few bucks. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure if sexual favors from Diamond made it worth the effort. Fresh from last night, I was convinced, but in a few days, the bliss would probably fade.

  In the meantime, I had the file Hardin had handed me yesterday. I took a quick shower, grabbed the file, and headed out in search of coffee. It was past noon, so I wouldn’t have to go far. Maggie had recently decided to open for lunch. She especially liked the new hours on the weekends since it was her way to capture the hungover brunch crowd. Since she was responsible for most of her patrons’ hangovers, me included, it was a steady business. Besides, this way I wouldn’t have to spend my newly earned cash on something as frivolous as food.

  I strolled into the bar. The empty bar. Big Harry waved in my direction and shouted, “Miss Maggie’s in the office. She’ll be right out.” He needn’t have shouted since he and I were the only folks in the place. I waved back but didn’t return the loud greeting. My head couldn’t take the ruckus. I settled onto a barstool and spread open the file.

  Henry Marcher. White male, age twenty-two. Bond posted by his mother, Daisy Marcher. The only address information in the file was hers. Guess Henry was still dependent on dear old Mom and she hadn’t seen fit to kick him out even though he had an extensive record of minor offenses. This last was a robbery. Mr. Marcher was escalating. Probably had a drug problem, which resulted in all the stealing for money to buy drugs. Getting an apartment for himself was likely last on his list, and I had a hunch I’d find him at his mother’s house, safe and sound, probably eating a home cooked meal. Maybe I’d make a trip over there after lunch.

  When Maggie finally emerged from the back, she was trailed by something else my head couldn’t take. Make that someone. My father, Joe Bennett.

  Holy hell, what was he doing here? Noon on a Sunday was Dad’s prime sleep it off time. He usually waited until after the sun went down on the weekend to show his face in public. But his face was not only out in public, it was shiny and awake. His eyes were clear and the last three or four strands of hair he had left were combed into some semblance of style.

  “Luca! Great to see you,” he bellowed.

  I mumbled a response that hopefully sounded like “great to see you too.” What I really wanted to say was why are you in my bar on a Sunday morning, but Maggie flounced over to my barstool, and I had my answer. She was decked in her finest purple dress complete with a sash so full of geometric design and color it made me dizzy. They were both so awake and cheerful it was exhausting to look at them.

  I’d managed to push the reality of my pushy neighborhood bartender dating my deadbeat dad to the far recesses of my mind, mainly because I never saw them together. They’d met months ago when I was in the hospital recovering from my last nonpaying case. Concern over my well-being turned into interest in each other’s well-being. For the last few months, they’d spent all their special alone time out of my sight. Okay by me. I’d just as soon they kept their private lives really, really private. Looks like I’d need to shell out some of my hard earned cash to feed myself today.

  “I just stopped by to say hi,” I lied, not that they’d fall for my play at niceties. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

  “Nonsense.” Maggie pushed me back onto the barstool, no small feat for a woman half my size. “I made a special lunch for Joe. Plenty for both of you. Blue Moon?”

  She poured a frosty mug before I answered. Made me reconsider. Maggie wasn’t big on handing out her good beer to folks who ran up tabs. Her dating Dad might have some perks. Guess I could have one beer before I hit the road. “Yeah, okay. Beer would be good.”

  She poured with one hand and motioned my dad onto the barstool next to me. She set our beers down and waved a hand between us. “Talk. I’ll get lunch. We’ll eat. Catch up.”

  In a flash, she was gone, and an awkward silence filled the space she left. I did my part to fill it. “Cold beer.”

  “Sure is.”

  “How’s the house?”

  “Good. Fixed that patch of fence last week.” He took a deep drink. “Talked to your brother yesterday.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken to Mark. He’d taken off from the hellhole that was our childhood home the minute he graduated from high school and never looked back. We spoke a couple of times a year, not necessarily related to any particular occasion. I didn’t resent him for not sticking around, but I didn’t have to cater to his need to cozy up to what was left of his family whenever he felt guilty about it. “He still alive?”

  He smiled over his beer. “He’s working for one of those fancy computer companies. I can’t even pronounce what he does. He’s getting married.”

  I nearly choked at the non sequitur. Married? The boy who spent his youth with his head buried in a book, graduated top of his class because he had no personal life. He’d sworn after witnessing the demise of Mom and Dad’s happily ever after that he’d never commit to a relationship. If Dad had said he was dating, I would have been surprised, but married? “Did he get a girl pregnant?” The question spilled out before I realized I asked it out loud. Dad’s angry stare sent me back to my beer and a muttered, “Never mind.”

  “You
should be happy for your brother. Talk to him more than once in a blue moon. Then you’d know he’s been dating a lovely girl for months. Her name is Lydia. Or Linda. Something like that.”

  Made me feel a little better that he could hardly remember the love of my brother’s life’s name. Still, how could Mark have mated and I not know about it? I still harbored the notion that the lovely girl might be knocked up. Time would tell. I suppose I should be expecting an engraved invitation in the mail any day now. Then it would be real. We could talk about it then. In the meantime, I’d blown off any thoughts about getting work done over lunch. I had another idea. I had cash burning a hole in my pocket and a potential accomplice right in front of me. “Hey, Dad, you interested in taking a trip up I-35 after lunch?”

  “It’s Sunday!” Maggie reappeared by Dad’s side with her announcement of the obvious.

  I looked around the bar. “You have a church service scheduled over drinks?”

  “Don’t be silly. But we’re going to have brunch and then go to the farmer’s market.”

  Seriously? I shot a look at Dad, but instead of a conspiratorial scowl, his expression told me he was excited at the prospect of “brunch” and a lazy trip to gaze upon fruits and vegetables. In the span of a day, my world had turned upside down. Jess was dating a stripper, my nerd brother was betrothed to a lovely girl, and my father turned down a trip to the casino for produce. I suddenly lost my appetite. This particular Sunday was probably best spent in bed.

  I drained the last of my beer and slid off the barstool. “I just remembered something I have to do. I’ll catch you later.” I ignored their protests and entreaties to join them and walked home. Home, where I could depend on everything to be just the way I liked it. The same.

  Chapter Three

  The Marcher house was a quiet place. I’d gotten here early on Monday, hoping to catch Momma Marcher headed off to work. Once she was gone, my plan involved some light breaking and entering. I figured poor little Henry probably slept in. Shouldn’t be hard to roust him out of bed and haul him downtown.