Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (23 page)

earlier conversation with Patricia about the trinkets.

Carlotta conceded that even as she told herself that the

idea of the charms having meaning was utterly ridiculous,

she nonetheless had reached for the bracelet again when

she’d gotten dressed that morning.

Deep down, she guessed she, too, was hoping for a little

magic…Admittedly, though, the “dead woman” charm on

her bracelet didn’t hold much appeal.

Then the ribbon of a thought slipped into her head. Maybe

the dead woman represented by the charm was Shawna

Whitt…maybe it was fate that Carlotta had been on her

body pickup. Maybe she should poke around a little, ask a

few questions.

Okay, maybe Michael’s death was affecting her more than

she cared to admit, but doing something for Shawna Whitt

gave her something solid to hold on to.

She fished out her cel phone and punched in Coop’s

number. He might know about a memorial service for the

woman. His uncle’s funeral home sometimes benefited

from Coop moving bodies for the morgue. If a family didn’t

have any particular religious or traditional ties, they

sometimes chose Motherwell out of convenience.

After five rings, Coop’s voice mail kicked on. “Hi, it’s

Coop,” his voice said, but it was so slurred, it was almost

unrecognizable. “And here’s the beep.”

The sharp beep mirrored the alarm going off in her head.

“Hi, Coop. It’s Carlotta. Call me as soon as you get this

message.” She disconnected the cal as worry squeezed

her lungs.

This couldn’t be good.

16

Tick, Father Thom’s henchman, had the front of Wesley’s

shirt fisted in his big paw. They were alone on the

elevator.

Wesley swallowed. “Going down, man? What a

coincidence.”

The big guy gave him a teeth-rattling shake. “Shut up and

pay me before we get to the ground floor.”

“Okay, okay. Let me go and I’l get my wallet.”

Instead Tick used his free hand to remove Wesley’s wal et

from his back pocket, then released him with a shove.

Wesley watched helplessly while the man removed the

two hundred sixty-some dol ars.

“Is this all you got?”

“Yeah.”

Tick threw the empty wallet back at him. “You can’t be

serious.”

“I’m starting a new job soon,” Wesley said in a rush. “Tel

Father Thom I’l be able to start making regular payments

again.”

“Next Wednesday I’l need a grand.” Tick smacked him

hard, then the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Wesley waited until the stars subsided before he shuffled

out among the people trying to enter. Tick was long gone,

thank God.

He stopped at a water fountain, then reached into his

backpack to root for the bag of Oxy. But Meg’s taunting

words came back to him and he resisted. He didn’t need

the OxyContin—he could quit any time. He leaned over to

al ow the cold water to splash on his face. It revived him

somewhat. He looked for a vending machine, then realized

he didn’t even have enough change to get a Coke.

Damn, he needed a card game.

Pondering how he might get home, he left the building.

Only to find Mouse waiting for him in the front of the

parking lot, leaning on his Town Car, filing his nails.

“Shit,” Wesley muttered under his breath.

“Nice to see you, too,” Mouse said. The man wore a

decent suit and could’ve passed for an attorney…except

for the jagged facial scars and the shapeless nose that had

been broken a few times.

With nothing to lose, Wes gave honesty a try. “I don’t have

any money, man. Father Thom’s guy just jumped me in the

elevator and took everything I had.”

Mouse made a rueful noise. “Then I’m gonna have to beat

you.”

Wesley winced. “Come on, man, don’t do that.”

“I don’t want to. Every time I get my nails looking good, I

have to mess them up again. The ladies like nice nails.”

Mouse flexed his huge hands.

Wesley sighed. “I don’t suppose you could cut me some

slack this one time?”

“Nope. Maybe you should call that preppy dude who

bailed you out before.”

Peter Ashford had bought Wesley’s way out of The

Carver’s warehouse where the man himself had held

Wesley and mutilated his arm, but Wesley didn’t want to

keep involving Peter in his problems. For a few crazy

seconds, Wesley considered making a run for it, but

rationalized it would only postpone the inevitable.

Then a thought fel into his brain—duh. He was looking for

an opportunity to go undercover in The Carver’s

organization, and here it was, towering over him. “I’l

col ect for you.”

Mouse laughed. “What? You’re crazy.”

“Nah, I’m serious. There must be someone on your list

that I can get to easier than you can. I’l work to help pay

down what I owe The Carver.”

Mouse looked away and dragged his hand over his mouth.

“I know how to get into places,” Wesley said. “Just give me

a chance, I’l show you.”

“I don’t know, I could get into big trouble.”

“How? I help you col ect money and you put in a good

word for me with The Carver. We could be partners.”

Mouse glared at him.

“Just a suggestion.”

Mouse hesitated, then narrowed his eyes. “Okay, there’s a

col ege kid who owes me two grand, but he never leaves

his dorm and I can’t get in.”

Wesley grinned. “I’m your man for the job.”

Mouse lifted a fat finger. “Fuck this up and I’l have to

break something. Get in the car.”

Wesley climbed into the front seat, praying he hadn’t

bitten off more than he could chew. “Who is this guy and

where does he live?”

“Name is Brent Crandall. He lives in Caldwel Residence

Hall at Georgia Tech. But there’s a sign-in desk with a

security guard, and I can’t pass myself off as a student.”

Wesley scanned Mouse’s hefty frame. “No kidding. Pul in

to that pizza place.”

“You can eat lunch on your own time, shithead.”

“Dude, it’s part of the plan. Pul in.”

Mouse sighed, but steered the Town Car into the parking

lot.

“What do you like on your pizza?” Wesley asked.

“Anything but mushrooms.”

Wes held out his hand. “I need a twenty.”

The big man looked murderous, then pul ed out his wallet.

“If you don’t come back, you’re a dead man.”

Wesley took the cash and went into the pizza joint. He

placed an order and while he waited, he walked around

the restaurant picking up napkins, a to-go menu and

anything else with the company logo on it. When his order

number was called, he paid for it, then held up the five-

dol ar bil he had left over.

“Five bucks for your hat,” he said to the guy at the

counter.

The guy rol ed his eyes upward, as if he could see the pizza

logo on the front. “This hat?”

“Yeah.”

“Deal.”

They traded, and Wes walked out with his bounty, then

climbed into the car. “Brent Crandall just ordered a pizza.”

Mouse pursed his mouth. “Not bad. Let’s see if it works.”

It worked. With a hat, a fragrant pizza, and a, “Dude, my

car’s running and I got to deliver this pie” story, he was

given Crandall’s room number and breezed past the sign-in

desk.

He rode up the elevator, found the room and knocked.

“Pizza.” When no one answered, he pounded harder.

“Pizza!”

He heard movement behind the door, then it opened a

crack to reveal a bleary-eyed guy. “I didn’t order a pizza.”

Wesley scratched his head. “Are you Brent Crandall?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Maybe one of your roommates did.”

“Nobody’s here, dude. And I’m trying to sleep.”

Wesley pushed hard on the door, knocking the guy back.

He walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

From the floor, the guy gaped. “What the hel ?”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Wesley said, suddenly realizing

he was sweating profusely. “I’m here to col ect for The

Carver. Just give me the cash, and I’m on my way.”

“I don’t have any cash,” the guy said, pushing to his feet.

He was bigger than Wesley and could probably pummel

him.

Wesley kept one hand behind him, hoping the guy would

think he had a weapon. “Dude, that’s not what I want to

hear. That stereo is top-of-the-line, and so is the gaming

system. Just give me the cash, and I’m outta here.” He

swallowed. “Otherwise, your roommates are going to have

a mess to clean up when they get back.”

The guy hesitated and Wesley was on the verge of retreat

when Crandall held up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He went

over to one of the two bunks, lifted the corner of a

mattress, and pul ed out a plastic baggie. “Two grand,

right?”

Wesley’s brain churned. “Yesterday it was two grand,

today it’s twenty-two hundred.”

The guy counted out twenty-two one-hundred-dol ar bil s

and handed them over.

Wesley folded the bil s and stuffed them in his pocket.

“Thanks. Have a nice day.”

“Don’t I at least get to keep the pizza?”

Wesley lifted the lid and handed over a slice, then left. He

took the stairs down to the lobby.

“He wasn’t there?” the security guard asked, nodding to

the pizza.

“We screwed up the order,” Wes said. “Want it?”

“Sure.”

He removed a slice for himself, then left the pizza box with

the guard. “Cheers.”

After discreetly removing two of the hundreds from the

wad and sticking them in another pocket, he walked out to

the parking lot and climbed into the waiting Town Car.

“How did it go?” Mouse asked.

Wes reached into his pocket and removed the wad of

hundreds. “Two grand.”

Mouse grinned and took the cash. “Wel done.”

“Told you.”

Mouse counted the money and stowed it, then nodded to

the slice of pizza. “You didn’t save a piece for me?”

“I wil next time.”

“Who says there’l be a next time?”

“Come on, Mouse. Let me work off my debt. It’s a win-win

situation for The Carver. Wil you talk to him for me?”

Mouse eyed the slice of pizza. Wesley sighed and handed

it over. “Now wil you talk to him?”

Mouse took a bite. “I’l think about it.”

“Okay. Can I at least get a ride home?”

Stil chewing, the big man leaned over and popped the

back. “Your bike’s in the trunk. Get the hel out of here.”

Wesley jumped out and walked around the car, then lifted

the trunk lid, happy to see his bike. He pul ed it out, feeling

pretty good about the way things were unfolding. The

col ection job hadn’t been so hard, and he had two

hundred bucks in his pocket. Maybe working for The

Carver wouldn’t be so bad after al .

He removed his bike and started to close the trunk lid

when he noticed his jacket wadded up in the corner, the

one Mouse had stripped from him as he’d walked through

the metal detector the day he’d met with the D.A. Wes

grabbed it, but frowned when he realized the fabric was

sticky and wet. When he unfolded it, he nearly swallowed

his tongue.

Wrapped inside was a bloody finger.

He jerked his head up, but since the trunk lid was raised,

Mouse hadn’t seen a thing. Wesley almost dropped the

finger, then frantically rewrapped it and shoved the jacket

back into the corner of the trunk. He slammed the lid and

backed away, almost falling over his bike in his rush to put

distance between himself and the severed digit.

Obviously a souvenir from a past-due customer.

Mouse turned the car around and saluted with the half-

eaten slice of pizza as he pul ed out of the parking lot. “I’l

be in touch.”

Wesley lifted his hand, feeling sick.

17

Despite the humid temperatures, Thursday evening’s

Screen on the Green event at Piedmont Park had drawn

thousands of people to the rol ing lawn for a sunset

viewing of Breakfast at Tiffany’s on a giant screen. While it

was stil daylight, everyone enjoyed picnic meals and the

preshow entertainment of a cover band and crowd sing-

alongs.

Sitting on a checkered blanket, her stomach ful of shrimp

salad and chive butter crackers, Carlotta lifted her glass of

chardonnay to Peter’s and smiled. It was exactly the kind

of date they needed—casual and fun, with no pressure

and no interruptions.

Peter leaned forward to kiss her, but stopped and looked

past her. “You didn’t mention that Wesley was going to be

here.”

“Wesley, here? You must be mistaken.”

“It’s him,” Peter said, pointing. “With a pretty girl.”

She swung her head around. “No way. Did you bring

binoculars?”

“No. But you could just go over and embarrass him.”

“I think I might.”

“I was kidding—”

But Carlotta was already making her way to the spot

where her brother sat on a flowered blanket, no less, with

two geeky-looking guys, but leaning toward a seriously

cute girl with a sassy ponytail and funky clothes.

“Hel-lo,” Carlotta said.

They all looked up and Wesley sprang to his feet. “Hey.”