Battle Axe

by Carsen Taite

  No such luck. It was nine thirty a.m. and the house was still. Even from across the street I could see that the only car Momma owned was still in the garage. Guess the whole house had decided to sleep in. Lucky them. Lucky me, I hadn’t had that second cup of coffee I wanted, or this stakeout would be short-lived.

  This house was in a nicer neighborhood than mine, which supported my theory that Henry would probably rather hole up at home than stay on the run. Momma’s cooking had to be better than what he might find lining a Dumpster. I decided to give this stakeout another hour before I figured out a plan B.

  The hour seemed more like a whole day. I’d even fallen asleep at one point and woke up with a trace of drool on my chin. Guess I should’ve had that second cup of coffee after all. At least the car was still in the garage. If anyone had snuck past my sleeping self, they’d done it on foot.

  I needed to walk around, stretch my legs, or I wasn’t going to make it much longer. I climbed out of the car and walked a few yards away from the house as if it were perfectly natural for me to take a stroll through a strange neighborhood. I could never live in such a cookie cutter place. Every house looked the same. Four windows facing front, brick veneer, two trees. Reminded me of the house I’d grown up in, although that neighborhood was way older.

  When I turned around to head back to my car, I detected movement in front of the house next to the Marcher’s residence. Excellent. Time to make a move. I ducked behind some bushes at the house next door and waited. I saw a shadow slip around the side of Marcher’s house, but I couldn’t make out who it was. Whoever it was crouched low and moved along the fence. Had to be Henry, trying to sneak out. I unzipped my jacket for easy access to the long Colt in my shoulder holster and snuck across the lawn toward his place. The wide-open front yard meant I was probably visible to anyone who felt like peering out their windows at the tall, crazy woman slinking through what was probably a normally quiet neighborhood. Wouldn’t be quiet today. Today, this place would be the scene of a takedown.

  Once I reached the brick wing wall in front of Marcher’s place, I tugged the Colt from my jacket and leaned around the low brick wall, letting the gun barrel lead. “Freeze.”

  “No, you freeze. And drop the weapon.”

  My guy had a really girly voice.

  I followed my gun and peered around the wall. Not a sign of Henry Marcher, but an androgynous brunette who looked mighty fine in her Dallas Police Department uniform had a gun pointed at me. My gun was bigger, but the uniform won the fight. I may not like to wear one, but there’s a reason we all like to see them on women. ‘Cause they’re super hot. No way was I going to duke it out with her.

  I held one hand in the air and crouched low to set the Colt on the ground. “I’m a P.I. You can check my license. It’s in my wallet, left inside pocket.” I hoped she’d take me up on it, probably be the closest I could get to some action today.

  She declined. “Reach in slow and toss it over here.” I did and she studied it long enough to memorize every detail. “We got a report of some suspicious activity in this neighborhood. You mind explaining why you’re slinking through people’s front yards?”

  “I’m working a case.” I didn’t bother telling her I was a bounty hunter on the prowl. Despite the rumors, cops don’t necessarily hate P.I.s, but they loathe bounty hunters. I have to be licensed as a P.I. to work as a bounty hunter, a fact that came in handy every once in a while. Like now, when I’d just gotten caught carrying a gun, something a bounty hunter isn’t supposed to do when they are in the process of picking up a jumper. I shrugged. “Didn’t know it was illegal to sit in my car or walk around a neighborhood.”

  “And the gun?”

  Well, that was a sticky one. A concealed carry permit means just that—concealed. I’m not supposed to be running around waving my weapon in the air. I hustled for an explanation. “Sorry, I saw someone acting funny. Kinda spooked me.”

  I could tell she was considering the fact that she was the one who’d been acting funny, sneaking around the fence line. She jerked her chin at the gun on the ground next to me. “Looks like you’re off the case for today. Why don’t you clear out and leave these folks in peace?” It wasn’t a question. She stood firm, legs spread, arms crossed. I dug in. I wasn’t ready to leave. Hell, I’d spent the entire morning waiting to catch Henry. I was invested and, as much as I didn’t want her to know what I was up to, I couldn’t help a quick glance at the Marchers’ house. That very moment, the garage door rumbled to life and slowly rose to reveal a boxy Olds Cutlass, circa 1985. Older than my Bronco. Made me feel a little better about my current state of financial well-being.

  “Did you hear me? I said clear out.”

  I glanced back at Officer Hotstuff. I needed to lose her so I could take care of Mr. Marcher. The Cutlass was on its way out of the drive. Henry was at the wheel. That clinched it. “Great. I’ll be on my way.” I shot a look at the gun and she nodded. I grabbed it and rushed toward my truck, using every bit of restraint I could muster to keep from peeling out after Henry. I saw my new officer friend standing slack-jawed on the sidewalk, and I gave her a friendly wave.

  Once I turned the corner, I hauled ass after Henry, slowing down as soon as I spotted him stopped at a light at the next intersection. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the light to change while I made a plan. I needn’t have worked so hard to fashion a strategy. Judging by the time it took him to accelerate from the light, Bronco would beat Cutlass in a drag race. In a drive through residential streets, I owned him. It pained me to drive so slowly, but I resigned myself to following him to his destination rather than cutting him off and taking him in the street.

  We drove block after block at a painful pace. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of an elementary school. Not a lot of action in the parking lot at eleven a.m. I parked a few yards away, contemplating my next move, while he sat behind the wheel of his ride, waiting. For what? A drug deal with a sixth grader? An opportunity to steal some school supplies?

  I didn’t have to wait long. He craned his neck at someone coming out the double doors of the school building and then got out of his car. He moved as slowly as his car and I rushed over to intercept. “Mr. Marcher?” He turned, his expression puzzled.

  “Do you have Leonard?” he asked.

  My turn to be confused. Who was Leonard? “I have a message from Hardin Jones. He said that you missed court and he sent me to help you get it straightened out.” I’d chosen my most subtle approach. If it didn’t work, I was prepared to tackle him.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I need to get Leonard now. I can come see Mr. Hardin later.” He took a step away from me, toward the double doors.

  I took two long steps and was at his side, cuffs in one hand, the other on my now concealed Colt. He looked back and I could tell when he fixed on the shiny silver of the handcuffs. I spread my hands, preparing to catch him when he bolted. He stood on his toes, ready to run, but before he could launch, the school doors burst open and we both turned to look.

  “Ree-Ree!”

  I watched as a skinny little guy ran and jumped into Henry’s arms. Instead of looking shocked, like I would if a miniature person slammed into me, Henry smiled and patted the intruder on the head. “Hey, Lenny, I thought you weren’t feeling so good.”

  “He has a fever.”

  The woman who spoke looked fierce, like school teachers were supposed to. I wondered what she would think about the fact a felon, make that a fugitive, had one of her charges in his arms. I thought about tipping her off, but decided she would be the type to call the cops. I wasn’t sharing my catch. I decided on discretion. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to take Leonard, or Lenny, back inside. I have some business with Mr. Marcher.”

  “You know Ree-Ree?”

  When I’d left the house this morning, my plans did not involve having a conversation with a tiny person about someone named “Ree-Ree.” Thankfully, Henry intervened.

  “He’s
my little brother. The school called and he’s sick. Momma’s sick too, so she sent me to pick him up.” He shot a glance at the fierce looking schoolteacher, and whispered, “I really need to take him home or my momma will whip me.”

  I wanted to meet the woman who could whip Henry Marcher, all six foot three inches, two hundred and fifty pounds of him. Again, I considered my options. Take him in now and leave little Lenny to rough out the rest of the school day with a tummy ache, while taking a chance the school marm wouldn’t call the cops. I didn’t need another run-in with the cops today, especially since I was carrying a gun on school property—enough to get me arrested for sure. The remaining option was equally distasteful, but legal and less likely to land me in trouble.

  I leaned down and directed my comment to Lenny, not yet a felon. “How’d you like to ride in a Bronco?”

  *

  It was nice to be standing in Hardin’s office collecting money, two out of the last three days. I could get used to this. I was feeling so flush, I considered a middle of the week trip to the casino.

  “That was fast. Ready for the other files?” Hardin asked.

  “Sure.” He handed me several files. “Hey, you have two of Geno Vedda’s guys on bond?” I fished in my pocket for the scrap of paper where I’d written down their names. “Amato and Picone.”

  “What if I do?”

  My antennae went up. Hardin wasn’t usually cagey with me. “Just curious. Heard they were on the lam, figured I could roust them for you.”

  “Look at you, a regular entrepreneur. Stick to the cases I give you. You’ll never find Geno’s guys if he doesn’t want them found.”

  “Any reason you wrote the bonds if you know they’re such a risk?”

  “Now you’re scaring me.” His expression told me exactly the opposite. He was amused, like I was a toddler trying to learn the biz. “You trying to go into business for yourself? Want me to tell you exactly how it’s done? Everyone’s a risk, but Geno sends enough work my way, I can afford to let some go. You want to look for them, go for it, but you’re wasting your time.” He reached in his desk, pulled a couple of files, and handed them over.

  They were thinner than usual. As if he could read my mind, Hardin said, “Not much to go on, and what is there is probably a pack of lies.”

  “You’ll pay the usual?”

  “Ten percent of nothing is nothing. Good luck.”

  I took the files and left. A prickly feeling kept me from telling him that Geno himself had gone missing. Hardin didn’t care about these guys, and Diamond cared enough to track me to my apartment and give up sexual favors. Maybe I’d find them, maybe I wouldn’t, but I was curious enough to try.

  It was only three o’clock, but it’d been a long day for me. Surveillance, almost being arrested, a car chase, apprehension, and turning in a jumper. The money in my pocket ached to be spent, but I was too spent to care. I pointed the Bronco in the direction of home and a nap.

  I skulked through the small complex and managed to reach my door without running into Withers. I would’ve felt bad putting him off on the rent with a pocket full of cash. I tossed my jacket and holster on the kitchen counter and started toward the bedroom.

  “You should get a better lock on the door.”

  Jess was lucky I recognized her voice and that I didn’t have my gun in my hand. I strode over to the couch where she’d spread out. I refused to give her the pleasure of having both surprised and scared the fuck out of me. “You should take naps at your own place.”

  “I wasn’t napping. I was waiting for you.”

  “I like ’em waiting, but next time wait in the bedroom.”

  “You wish.”

  I noted an edge to our banter. I’d known Jess since we both entered the police academy, more years ago than I cared to admit. She stayed on, and I bailed soon after we got our badges. Too many rules. She loved rules and she loved to remind me about them. Despite our differences, we’d both had similar needs, which resulted in a fuck buddy friendship that had outlasted any other relationship I’d ever had. After seeing her possessive way with the chick from the softball game, I sensed a shift between us. I could tell she wasn’t here for a social call, but I couldn’t resist testing the waters. I leaned over the back of the couch and brushed my lips against her neck. Her body froze, but her breath was quick and rough. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe she was here for the usual. I pushed my point by sliding my hand down her shoulder, across her chest. A stranger wouldn’t have noticed how slightly she arched into my touch, but I was no stranger. Still, she was guarded and I wanted to know where I stood, so I said, “I’m tired. If you want to get laid, we’ll need to get to it.”

  She sprung from the couch. “You should be so lucky. I’m here because someone should worry about how you’re going to make a living when your license gets suspended. Again.”

  Guess that answered that. She hadn’t dropped in for a quickie and, even if pleasure had crossed her mind a second ago, the moment had passed. Fine.

  “What are you talking about?” I knew what she was talking about, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on her to bust into my place and boss me around. I imagined Officer Hotstuff from this morning couldn’t wait to tell Chance that I’d been waving a gun around a jumper’s house this morning. No one seemed to care that he was the felon, not me.

  I decided to play offense. “And you’re one to talk about a license. How long you think you’re going to keep your certification when I report you for breaking and entering?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I was half kidding. Well, I wasn’t kidding at all, at least not about the angry part, but no way would I ever report her for anything. For a ton of reasons, one of which was she had enough dirt on me to take me out of commission for a very long time. She wouldn’t, but she could. “Dial it back a notch. I assume you got a report from Officer Hotstuff.”

  She shot me a withering look. “That’s Officer Pryor. Apparently, you think it’s okay to carry a gun to round up bail jumpers.”

  “Maybe I was just taking a stroll through the neighborhood. I have a permit you know. Besides, turns out it was my lucky day. Officer Pryor is a hot number, and you know how much I like uniforms.”

  She didn’t rise at the dig. She just sighed and stared at the floor. I hadn’t expected jealously. What she and I had was casual, and it certainly wasn’t exclusive, but I felt a little empty, like I’d expected more of a response. I dug a little deeper. “You know what I mean. I bet you put your uniform on for Red. Bet that really turns her on.”

  “Her name’s not Red.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Heather, no last name, hottie from the softball game. You know if you shared a few more details, I might not be so crass.”

  “Lay off, Bennett.” The three words were accompanied by a low growl. Finally, my shot had found its mark.

  “Why? You want to keep this one all to yourself? Next thing you know you’ll tell me you have feelings for her.” I threw enough emphasis on the F word to make myself feel sick, and the strange look on Chance’s face was a sucker punch to the gut. “Oh, shit. You do have feelings for her.”

  She stood. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I strode over and poked her in the chest. “Say what you really mean. You don’t want to talk about it with me.”

  “Yeah, okay. Maybe I don’t.”

  I started to ask why, but bit back the words. It wasn’t like we discussed everything. We’d known each other for a long time, but even so, we’d both been a bit cagey about sharing anything personal. The first time she’d met my father was just a few months ago, and then only because I’d managed to get myself in some deep shit. Since then, I’d shared a few more personal details about my lone wolf, super nerd brother and my get rich quick by marrying money mother, but beyond how she liked her coffee and what she craved in bed, the list of personal facts I knew about Jessica Chance could be counted on one hand. But I knew one thing. When a woman doesn’t want t
o talk to her fuck buddy about another woman, she thinks it’s serious. I hadn’t wanted to talk to Jess about Ronnie Moreno, but I’d been delusional at the time. Jess wasn’t the delusional type. I didn’t think.

  “You like her.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That means you like her.”

  “If you were this persistent in your day job, you’d be rich.”

  “Quit trying to turn things around. And I don’t have a J.O.B. I own my own business.” A stretch of a description, but true nevertheless.

  “Maybe you should have a job.” She stared me down, dead serious. Something big was up with her. She always hassled me about my choice of work, but there had always been a layer of play in her words. Not now. So she was all serious and I felt weird. Or jealous. Or something I didn’t want to examine right now. I abruptly changed the subject.

  “My brother’s getting married.” Not exactly a complete change of subject.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “You don’t say. When did he meet her? What does she do? Big wedding? Will your mom be there?”

  Funny, I hadn’t asked any of these questions when my dad had broken the news. Not because I didn’t care, but because I hadn’t thought to. That Jess was all hopped up about the details made me uncomfortable. “It’s all being worked out.”

  “Will you be in the wedding?”

  “What?” I didn’t try to hide the shock in my response.

  “You know a bridesmaid, or usher, or someone to cut the cake. Whatever.”

  She trailed off like she’d exhausted her wedding-related vocabulary. I could relate. What I knew about weddings consisted of what I’d seen on the covers of magazines as I stood waiting to check out with a six-pack at the grocery store. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so.” Her interest bothered me. I’d never figured Jess for one of those lesbians who dreams about weddings, walking down the aisle, two brides on a big, tall, white cake. The details alone made me shudder; imagining Jess in them would make my head explode. I cast about for a safer topic of conversation. “What do you know about Geno Vedda?”