Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter 22

Evan didn't hang around
to see what they wanted. He got out of the room lickety-split and ran down the
corridor, ignoring the elevators, until he made it to the stairs. There was
every chance one of them would be coming up the stairs while the other one took
the elevator, so he went up instead of down. Two flights up he stopped and
waited, his chest heaving. It couldn't have been more than a minute before he
heard one of them come panting up the stairs. He heard the sound of the door
opening and as soon as he heard it swing shut again he half ran, half jumped
all the way to the bottom.

He crashed through the
door into the lobby and skidded across the floor just as it crossed his mind
that one of them might have stayed downstairs. That would have been the sensible
thing to do. He realized too late that he hadn't heard the elevator. His head
twisted round at a noise behind him but it was just an old guy snapping his
newspaper as he folded it. Apart from that the lobby was deserted.

He pushed through the
front doors, bounded down the steps and ran for his car. He didn't remember
about the slashed tire until he was half way there.
How the hell could he
forget in two minutes?
He stood in the middle of the street, unsure which
way to go, looking back and forth between his car and the hotel. The blast of a
horn made him jump as a taxi swerved past him.

It pulled up outside the
hotel and an old woman started to slowly get out. He ran towards it. The woman
was waving her stick in front of her trying to get up from the sagging back
seat. He was tempted to grab hold of it and haul her out. He looked round, back
into the lobby. The elevator had started on its way down again. It didn't mean
it was them.
Should he wait or should he run off and not waste another
second?
The old woman had got her feet on the sidewalk and her hand was on
the top of the door. She planted her stick on the ground and heaved herself up.
She stayed there, teeter-tottering for what felt like forever, before
collapsing backwards with a loud shout into the cab again. Her feet flew up and
Evan was treated to a view up her skirt, her pantyhose dirty and wrinkled, God
knows what horrors lurking further up.

He looked round again.
The elevator had stopped on the second floor. He turned back to the old woman
and offered her his hand. She grasped it with that old-person grope, the
fingers cold and bony, the nails yellow. He pulled her out—a little too harshly
from the look of surprise on her face—and led her onto the sidewalk. She nodded
her thanks to him and started to dig in her bag for her coin purse. The
elevator was still stuck on the second floor.

She found her purse and
pulled out a five dollar bill; handed it to the driver. The fare on the meter
was eight dollars and change. She squinted at the meter and dug in the purse
with those bony fingers again. A solitary dollar bill emerged and was handed
over. Evan could see it was the last one; only coins left. Behind him in the
lobby the elevator pinged. He watched the doors open, ready to run if it was
them. He could see a young couple; both of them looking down at their cell
phones, somebody else behind them, but couldn't see who it was.

The young couple seemed
oblivious to the fact that the doors had opened, like when they walk down the
street texting and expect everybody to move out of their way. They suddenly
burst apart, barely even any shock on their preoccupied faces, as an arm was
thrust angrily between them and a man forced his way past. It was Juan or José,
Evan couldn't remember which one. He turned back to the cab. The driver waited,
his arm extended wearily, palm upwards, as the old woman dug coins out, one by
one, inspected them carefully before she handed them over.

Evan wanted to kick her
in the butt, but made do with pushing her roughly out of the way. She let out a
startled squawk as he jumped into the cab and slammed the door shut.

'I'll pay the rest of
it,' he shouted. 'Just go.'

The driver stared at
him, mouth open, not comprehending what was happening.

'Go,' Evan shouted, as
Juan or José burst through the front doors. 'I'll pay her fare.'

It finally clicked with
the driver. He shrugged and pulled into the traffic. Behind them, the beaner
leapt down the steps and collided with the old woman, spinning her and sending
her sprawling. He stepped over her and stood staring at Evan's face in the back
window of the disappearing cab, his hands bunched into fists at his sides.

'Damn,' the driver said
as Evan turned to face front.

'What?'

'She's got a suitcase in
the trunk. I forgot all about it watching her trying to get out.' He laughed at
the memory. 'I'll have to turn round and go back.' He started to slow, looking
for somewhere to turn.

'No,' Evan shouted, 'you
can't.'

The driver gave him an
annoyed look in the mirror, like he didn't want to be told what he could and
couldn't do in his own cab.

'Just get me a few
blocks away from here. Make a couple of turns. Anywhere,' Evan said before he
could say anything. 'I'll give you twenty bucks. You can take the suitcase back
later.'

The driver was silent for
a few beats. Evan watched his eyes in the mirror; saw him thinking back behind
his eyes. 'Whatever you say,' he said finally and picked up speed again.

Evan twisted round in
his seat and looked behind them but the beaners were nowhere in sight.

Chapter 23

'So what happened?' Chico said when Juan and José came back empty-handed.

'He got away,' Juan
said.

'What do you mean
got
away
?'

'His car was outside,'
Juan said, inspecting his shoes, deciding that full and frank disclosure wasn’t
the way to go at the present time, 'but something must have spooked him.'

Chico
's lip curled. 'What, like you
playing that narcocorrido crap full blast with all the windows down as you
cruised past?' he sneered.

'No, it wasn't like that—'

Chico
quietened him with a flick of his
fingers and shook his head. 'I didn't really expect him to be there but it was
worth a try.'

Ellie sat across the
desk from watching the exchange. She was wearing her own clothes which made her
feel a lot better. She'd spent the previous night down in the basement and had
hardly slept at all which wasn't surprising. It was cold and uncomfortable and
she was sharing it with rats and roaches, but it was the stool they'd tied her
to and the rope hanging from the rafters that had stopped her getting all nice
and snuggly. Things were looking a bit better today; it was good news that Evan
had got away. She'd let out a hidden sigh of relief when Juan and José had come
back empty-handed. She didn't know what they did to get information out of guys
but it didn't take a lot of imagination—just switch balls for breasts. It
wasn't as if she cared what they did to Evan if they caught him—it was what he
might say that worried her.

Chico
had spent the previous night in
much more comfortable surroundings, thinking what he should do with her. She'd
already told him where the money was and he was confident she hadn't lied to
him after the fun they'd had in the basement. But that wasn't really what he
was interested in; he wanted Dixie. Wanted him so bad he hadn't been able to
sleep either. And he reckoned the best way to get to him was through the
grasping, self-centered bitch sitting in front of him.

Option one was to keep
her here and have some more fun and games—and it had been fun, no doubt about
it. He didn't know if he'd actually slice her breasts off, but even if he
didn't, that evil little son of a bitch José would. However, if they went down
that route he doubted he'd ever see Dixie again. He'd have a couple of hours'
fun, soon forgotten, and spend the rest of his life tearing his hair out every
time he thought of Dixie.

Option two was to turn
set her loose. If he made it clear it was a straight choice between her skin
and Dixie's . . . The downside was he couldn't send anybody with her. On her
own she had a chance but not with a minder. He'd be taking a gamble on his
assessment of her character—or lack of it.

'Looks like it's down to
you,' he said to her. 'I'll give you two days to get the money back here. If I
don't have it by then, Juan and José will pay a visit to your friend here.' He
picked up the piece of paper with the information she'd written down and waved
it in her face.

Two days sounded like a
result to her. She could have it in a couple of hours and in two days' time
she'd be on the other side of the country. Did the stupid wetback really
believe he'd be able to find her again? Let him think it if it meant she was
out of here.

'What about Dixie?' she said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

Chico
cocked his head. 'What about him?'

'How long do I have to
find him?'

'Same thing. Two days.'

'You can't be serious.'
She leapt out of the chair but Juan put a hand on her shoulder, pushed her back
down again. She shuddered at his touch, memories of the previous day still
fresh in her mind. 'I'll never find him—'

'Ellie,' he said,
leaning over the desk.

'What?' Instinctively
she leaned in towards him.

He slapped her hard
across the face. It connected with her cheekbone and busted up through her
teeth and nose and eyes, knocking her clean out of the chair. Juan took hold of
her collar and hauled her back up.

'I've already got
somebody who talks back and argues with me, she's called my wife. I don't need
another one.' He shook his head. 'Jesus Christ. I can't stand whining women.
You're giving me a headache.'

Ellie stared at him, the
whole side of her head pounding, not trusting herself to say anything. She felt
she was one wrong word away from being dragged back to the basement.

'That's the deal,' he
said, looking at his palm. The force of the blow had opened up the cuts again.

She touched her cheek;
her fingers came away smeared with blood although she didn't know if it was his
or hers. Her cheek felt as if it had been split to the bone.

'It's him or you,' he
carried on. 'You either find him or we'll put you back in the basement right
now until we find him—and your friend Evan. Then we'll have one big, happy
reunion and see who's really telling the truth.' He opened and closed his
fingers a couple of times as if using a pair of imaginary secateurs.

She slumped back in the
chair, not looking at his little show, and ran her hands through her hair. She
could smell a faint body odor coming off her as she raised her arms. She just
wanted to get out of here.

'Do I get my gun back?'

Chico
opened his desk drawer and lifted
out the diminutive Kahr P380 by his finger and thumb.

'You mean this?' He
swung it back and forward in front of her. 'No, I don't think so. I can't see
why you'd need it anyway. I don't want you to kill Dixie, just find him.'

He put his hand in the
drawer again and brought out the can of pepper spray.

'You can have this
back.'

He pushed it across the
desk towards her. She watched it as it rolled towards her, imagined grabbing
it, taking hold of the back of his greasy head and pulling it backwards,
spraying the searing gas in his wide open startled eyes, back and forth, back
and forth, like she was trying to shift a particularly stubborn stain in her
oven. It was a nice thought. She picked it up and tucked it away in her bag.
Another time maybe,

She got up and headed
for the door. At the door he called her back. She turned to look at him. He was
holding her gun again. For a split second she thought he'd changed his mind and
was going to give it back to her.

'By the way,' he said,
'is this toy registered to you?'

She nodded. 'Uh huh.'

He gave her a
right
answer
smile. 'Good to know. If you don't find Dixie before us, we'll
probably shoot him with it and leave it at the scene. You might think you can
get away from me'—he wagged his finger at her; an
I'm not as stupid as you
think
glint in his eyes—'but you'll have the police to worry about as
well.'

Chapter 24

Evan was just about to
call Guillory to tell him that he wouldn't be able to pick him up when Guillory
beat him to it. They'd arranged to meet at the Jerusalem Tavern which was
probably Evan's favorite bar in the whole world. Before he had a chance to
explain about the car Guillory told him he could do with some exercise, so he
was going to walk and would meet him there. Evan didn't say anything but it
sounded to him from the noises in the background that he might already be
there, making an early start. He could almost smell booze through the phone
line. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Then again, it might just be the
radio in the background. Not for him to judge.

'So how comes you're not
at work?' Evan said as he climbed onto the barstool next to him. Starting this
early pretty much guaranteed that you got a seat at the bar. Guillory looked
like the half-empty beer sitting in front of him wasn't the first one.

Guillory snorted. He
stretched his arms out, lacing his fingers together and let out a sharp hiss of
breath. 'What? Can't a man take a couple of days vacation?'

Evan ordered a beer and
waited for him to say something else.

'You're right,' Guillory
went on. 'I'm not on vacation.'

Evan turned to look at
him. 'Don't tell me you've resigned. Where will I get my free information now?'

Guillory laughed but
there wasn't much humor in it; none at all in fact. 'I've been suspended.'

Evan felt as if he'd
been slapped on the back by a bear. He almost spat his beer out. 'You're
kidding.'

Guillory bit his tongue
and shook his head.

Evan couldn't believe
it. Guillory was the straightest guy he'd ever come across. He couldn't imagine
what he might have done to get suspended. Guillory was staring at the bar as if
Evan wasn't even there.

'What happened?'

Guillory took a deep
breath and waved his arm to order another beer. The bartender looked up from
his conversation with a girl in a clitoris pink dress that showed off her full,
wobbly young breasts and came down the bar to serve them.

'Don't you want to hear
what I've got for you?' Guillory said.

'That can wait. Tell me
what happened.'

Guillory picked a
coaster up off the bar and started picking absently at it, dropping little bits
of paper onto the bar. The bartender gave him a look but didn't say anything.
Evan reckoned that was a good call.

'I got a bit carried
away interviewing a suspect,' Guillory said quietly, still looking down and
pushing the little pieces of paper around.

Evan was at a loss for
words. As well as being the straightest guy he'd ever met, Guillory was also
the most laid-back. Nothing got to him.
Ever.

'Sorry, I got that
wrong.' Guillory said and looked up. 'I should have said interviewing a
low-life, cock-sucking piece of shit.' His expression said to Evan that it was
important he understood the distinction.

'But that's what you
deal with all day, every day.'

Guillory gave a small
shrug. 'Yeah, well.'

They both sat in silence
for a minute. On the jukebox Jeannie C. Riley was singing Harper Valley PTA.
Beside Evan, Guillory had his eyes closed and was nodding his head along to the
song.

'I love this song,'
Guillory said. 'Life was a lot simpler back then. Not that you'd remember seeing
as you're only about twelve. I'm surprised they serve you.'

'Okay gramps,' Evan said
trying not to laugh and wanting to get him back on track. 'How carried away?'

Guillory stopped nodding
along. His lips curled into a grim smile. 'Broke his jaw, knocked out most of
his front teeth.' The satisfaction in his voice made it sound as if he thought
it was worth the suspension.

Evan looked down at
Guillory's right hand. There was a ragged v-shaped flap of skin and flesh that
was swollen and scabbed on his second knuckle. The first and second knuckles
were so swollen they looked a bit like a rubber glove full of air. Guillory saw
him looking and flexed his hand a few times.

'Hurts like hell when I
do this,' he said, wincing.

Well don't do it,
dummy.

'Lucky I didn't break my
hand,' he said. Then he grinned, the familiar, almost mocking grin that Evan
knew so well, which made Evan wonder if he was just fooling around.

'Are you kidding me?'

Guillory shook his head.
'I wish I was.'

'I better watch what I
say to you in future.'

Guillory smiled at him
like he'd never heard a truer word.

'I thought you people
had brass knuckles for that sort of work?'

'Ryder's got a brand new
pair; just waiting to get you in that room,' Guillory said with another grin.
He punched his open palm without thinking and let out a yelp. 'He gets them out
every day and kisses them. He's saving up to get E-V-A-N engraved on them—did
you know it's the exact right number of letters.'

'So what happened?' Evan
said, ignoring him and wishing he'd never mentioned brass knuckles.

Guillory shook his head
and was serious again. 'I'll tell you another time. Long story short, I'm
suspended. Which is why I've got all the time in the world to run your errands
for you.'

He slid his glass along
the counter and Evan obliged, although he didn't get another one for himself.
For once it wasn't him who needed a layer of protection from all the bad
thoughts in his head.

'How comes you can get
the information?'

Now it was Guillory's
turn to look at him like he'd just heard the stupidest question ever. 'I might
be suspended, but people still talk to me. The Captain has to suspend me, but
as far as most of the guys in the department are concerned I'm a hero. They'd
like to give me a medal. The dispatcher says she's going to bake me a cake.'

'Like in the good old
days, eh? None of this political correctness garbage.'

'You got that right.'
Guillory punched him on the shoulder with his uninjured hand and got up off the
stool. 'Wait here. I'm gonna put that song on again.'

There was an exchange of
words at the juke box between Guillory and a spotty-faced, white kid with
dreadlocks and his jeans half way down his skinny ass. It looked like Guillory
upped the ante and poked him with his finger, but the sound of the first couple
of bars of Harper Valley PTA told Evan that the kid had seen sense.

'I put it on twice,'
Guillory said when he got back. 'Just to piss him off. Told him to pull his
pants up too. Stupid prick.' He looked round as if he was checking whether the
kid had done as he'd been told but he'd disappeared. Then he told Evan what
he'd found out.

'The car's registered to
some outfit owned by a guy called Francisco Garcia. Everybody calls him Chico and he's some hot-shot drug dealer. A very nasty piece of work indeed. I won't bore
you with the stories I've heard about him. Just think
Reservoir Dogs
on
speed. You know that scene where Mr. Blonde cuts the cop's ear off?'

'Okay, okay, I get the
picture. That makes me feel much better.'

Guillory looked directly
into Evan's eyes and suddenly it was if he hadn't had a beer for a month. 'What
it should do is make you drop whatever it is you're doing right now. Just walk
away while you still can.'

'So what about this guy Dixie?'

'For the record,'
Guillory said, holding up a finger, 'I'd like it noted that Mr. Buckley chose
to ignore my last statement.'

'Just get on with it.'

'The car was easy,
finding out about Dixie, not so easy.'

'But you managed to,
despite all that.' He clapped a hand on Guillory's shoulder. 'I knew I picked
the right man for the job.'

Guillory ignored him. 'Dixie is or was an undercover cop. Nobody seems quite sure whose side he's on now. At least
nobody that I was able to talk to.'

'Can we assume that he
is—or was—trying to infiltrate Chico's gang? God, that sounds so corny.
Chico
's gang
.'

Guillory nodded.
'Amongst other things, yes. That seems to have been the reason he first went
undercover. But lots of stuff has happened since then and it all seems very
confused now. Some people say that he got very close to Chico personally.'

'Like he got into
character a bit too well.'

'Exactly.'

Evan thought about what
Guillory had just told him. Things were a lot more complicated and serious than
he'd thought. He wondered how much of this Ellie knew and whether she'd deliberately
set him up. Guillory interrupted his thoughts.

'There's one thing in
all of this that's clear as day.'

'What's that?' Evan
said, a split second before he realized what Guillory was going to say. 'I need
to drop it,' he said at the exact same time as Guillory said:
You need to
drop it.

'At least we're both
agreed on that,' Guillory said. 'So why do I get the feeling I'm wasting my
breath here?'

Evan grinned at him.
'You know me—a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.'

'Bullshit. This is
serious Evan.' Guillory's voice was raised now, his jaw clenched. 'I should
never have told you any of this.'

Evan shrugged. 'Then I'd
just be walking into it blind. You wouldn't want that on your conscience.'

Guillory took a deep
breath to calm himself and leaned forward to put his hand on Evan's arm. Evan
looked down at the large, cut and swollen hand and was glad he hadn't been on
the other end of it. He wondered again who the unfortunate recipient had been,
and what their crime could have been to provoke such an extreme reaction.

'I'm serious,' Guillory
said, peering into Evan's face as if he were a horse he might buy. Evan could
feel the genuine concern in his voice. He couldn't even manage a dismissive
don't
worry about it
. 'You've got to drop this. I don't know what you're getting
out of it, but it's not worth it.' Guillory took his hand off Evan's arm and
jabbed at his own chest with his thumb. 'As a man who might well have just
thrown away his career and everything that goes with it because of a moment's
madness, I can tell you—it's not worth it.'

Evan shook his head at
his friend. 'But that's just it, Ed. You
don't
know what I'm getting out
of it.'

'So tell me.'

So Evan told him.

'Jesus Christ,' Guillory
said when he'd finished. 'I give up.'