Hot Rocks (16 page)

thirty-seven

We cut back into
the hall and headed toward the bar, but took a left. We were in a storage area with no windows—solid block construction, about twelve by twelve. Bar stock, paper products, and other assorted boxes lined the walls.

“We can move this stuff out,” Bob said, “and we’ll have a perfect place for the conversion of Mr. T’s henchman.”

“Agreed,” I said. “When do you think we can pick him up? The sooner we get this thing on track, the safer I’ll feel. And the safer David and my mother will be.”

“The ones I called should be arriving within the next ten minutes or so. Then we can lay out the plan. How do you want to handle it?”

A door opened at the end of the hallway, signaling someone’s entry. We walked out of the storage room, and I saw two men I didn’t recognize standing inside the entrance.

“Street said you put out a call,” one of the men said.

“Yeah. Glad you and Manzo heard it. Any of the others with you?”

“Saw a couple headed this way.”

As the man spoke, the door opened and three others came in. There were head nods all around, but not much conversation. We moved into the men’s dorm, and the newcomers scattered around the room.

I marveled at the discipline these street people showed. They weren’t bums, they were human beings. A bit disheveled perhaps, but as human as anyone I knew, and more than many I’d known during my careers as a cop and PI.

Over the next half hour, men continued to drift in—plus three women. Bob played doorman, welcoming each by name. Eventually, thirteen had gathered. They stared at Bob like he was a commander ready to address his troops. He walked me around the room, introducing me to the group. Each of them greeted me with a warm handshake, like they were glad to meet me. Such was the power of Bob’s personality.

After we made the round, Bob said to me, “We have a quorum. Are you ready?”

“It’s your show,” I said. “I’m only along for the ride.”

“Friends,” Bob said to the assemblage, “you’ve all met Beth. Rest assured I would not expose you if I didn’t have complete faith in her. She is a private investigator, but has no love for our local cops. She’s in trouble and needs help. And, like each of us, she must turn inward to find that assistance. None of you have to help her. But I’ll consider it a personal favor if you’ll hear her out before you make your decision.” He turned to me. “Beth, these are my friends. Tell them what you want.”

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, knowing my next words were some of the most important I might ever utter. Without these derelicts of society, I would have no choice but to obey Mr. T’s orders. “I am honored that you’re listening to me. Since I’m sure you have other things to do with your time, I’ll keep it short.” I paused and filled my lungs with air. “I’m in trouble. I need your help …”

_____

After briefing Bob’s people on my plan, I left through the front door of the bar, stopping when I reached the sunlight, pretending to be blinded by the glare. I wanted to make sure Mr. T’s surveillant didn’t miss me. After fumbling in my handbag for about thirty seconds and coming up with a pair of sunglasses, I headed toward my car, taking my time in a casual stroll.

Once in the car, I dialed David’s cell phone. As I expected, I got his answering machine. I left a message telling him I had a lead on my case and was off to track it down. With what I hoped was the right amount of promise in my voice, I said I’d see him later at his place, then added, “I’m not sure what time that will be, but I’ll call before showing up. Looking forward to it.”

I clicked off, then after a moment’s reflection, called again. “If you have other plans for tonight, you can leave a message on my cell. Of course, I’m hoping your plans are the same as mine.”

As I pulled into my driveway, my phone rang. After saying hello, I heard, “What kind of lead? I want to play. Where are you?”

The voice caused my heart to leap. It was David. “At my house, but you need to stay away. This isn’t like your mother’s romantic suspense novels. Things could get rough.”

“I’ll be out of here soon. See you there. Any beer in your fridge?”

“Yeah. And by sheer coincidence, it happens to be your brand.”

_____

At seven p.m., I leaned back in my favorite chair and punched in the phone number Bruce gave me. The line answered on the second ring.

Mr. T said, “You’re very prompt. I like that. But, my dear Miss Bowman, where did you disappear to this afternoon? Lodo said you went into a bar and stayed there too long for a couple of belts. I want an explanation.”

During my afternoon with Bob and his friends, we had decided to try to shake Mr. T’s confidence in his henchmen. “Perhaps you need to hire a better quality of criminals. There are aspects of my life I do not intend to share with you—or the thugs you employ. If they’re so incompetent they can’t keep up with one lone female …” I allowed my voice to trail away with an upward lilt, hoping to plant a question mark in his head.

There was a moment of silence before he answered my challenge. “I assure you it won’t happen again.” His voice had taken on an edge. “And I suggest you not play fast and loose with my employees. It could be dangerous. I think you know what I mean.”

“Mr. T,” I said, “plant your threats where the sun don’t shine. I’m not impressed. If you want my help, you’ll damn well knock off the bullshit. Now, I’ve checked in as you instructed. Good night. I’ve had enough of you for one day.” I hung up.

I counted seconds and before I reached ten, my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and saw that the number was blocked. Could my Mr. T be calling? I let it go, and it rang nine times before ceasing. A moment later, it rang again—for another nine rings. I smiled and counted—counted and smiled. Would the next move unfurl as I hoped?

My purse was beside my chair. I slid my hand into it, took out my revolver, and placed it under my leg. I had promised myself I wouldn’t be surprised again. I intended to do the surprising.

Three minutes later, there was a demanding knock on the door. Without moving, I said, “It’s unlocked. Come in.”

The door swung inward with force and Bruce barged into the room. “What the hell are you doing? The boss—” He stopped mid-hiss on the esses in boss, his eyes mutating to huge. My guess was he had noticed my .32 aimed at his forehead.

thirty-eight

Bruce recovered faster than
I would have. “Ms. Bowman. Put that away. You don’t scare me.” He took a step forward.

“I hit what I aim at,” I said. “Would you like to lose the ear?”

He laughed and took another step.

I fired, clipping his right ear. Fortunately, the .32 has so little power it didn’t penetrate the front wall—I hoped.

He snapped his hand to his ear, then brought it down, his fingertips red. “Damn. You did it.”

I shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He took out his handkerchief and pressed it against his wound. “You’re cool. I’ll give you that. But do you have the guts to put one of those slugs through my heart? You should know that’s the kind of hit it will take from a peashooter like that to stop me. And, be aware, I’m very muscular and the slug might not make it through the pec.”

“Want to find out?”

He rubbed his chin and chuckled. “I have to. That’s why the boss pays me the big bucks.” He took another step.

“If she doesn’t kill you, I will.”

Bruce spun toward the new voice while I smiled. A man with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face stood in my hallway, cradling a shotgun. I hoped Bruce was as intimidated as I was by the opening at the end of the barrel. Even from my angle, it looked the size of a beach ball. And Bruce had a direct view down its length.

Puzzlement swept Bruce’s face as he looked from the shotgun to me, back to the shotgun. “What’s going on here? Who … who is this guy? The boss—”

Two others stepped into the light, their identities hidden from view. One towered over six feet while the other came in at about five-five. Both had determination in their stride.

Bruce’s face fell. I could see realization settling in. The worm had turned, the turtle had outraced the rabbit, the ant had outwitted the grasshopper, the prairie dog had scared off the eagle … and all kinds of other underdog-wins scenarios.

“May I sit down?” Bruce said. “I have a feeling I’m about to get
a lecture and a proposition.”

“Of course,” I said. “To all three. But not here.” I nodded toward Bob, the first who had entered the room. “Prepare him for transport.”

While Bob pointed the shotgun, the other two duct-taped Bruce’s hands behind him and covered his mouth. The shorter of the two produced a black scarf and blindfolded him, then slipped his hand under Bruce’s jacket. He lifted Bruce’s pistol. Good move. I should have thought of it.

Bob stepped forward and inspected the taping. “He looks secure enough to move.”

I grinned. “You can’t know how much I’m loving this. How’s it feel, Brucey-baby? Sorry, I didn’t have time to find a sleep mask.”

I received a mmmf in reply.

David entered the room. His eyes made a one-eighty of the area. “So this is how those who have all the fun live. Makes me wish I’d gone to thug school. I’ve missed so much.”

I laughed as he leaned over and kissed me. If I’d had a choice, I’d have grabbed him around the neck and just hung on. As much as I wanted to be his everything, I had a couple of other problems to sort out first. Releasing him from the lip lock, I said, “You’d never have made it. You’re too cuddly. Why don’t you go home now, and I’ll come there when we finish with Bruce.”

“Not a chance. This is more fun than liposuction. I’m sticking close. Maybe I’ll learn how to handle difficult patients.”

I looked at Bob. He nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s move our guest to his new accommodations.”

thirty-nine

Emulating Bruce’s kidnapping techniques,
we took a circuitous route to Bobby’s Bar, driving at a leisurely pace to make sure he had time to sweat. I couldn’t tell if he counted Mississippis to keep track of the time. Maybe he accepted that I had outmaneuvered him and was now my pliant captive—or not. I asked a few questions along the way just to disrupt his count—if he was counting, but he wasn’t very communicative. All I got in response were a few mmmfs. Perhaps the duct tape over his mouth and the blindfold put him in a bad mood.

We parked at the back of the bar and, after checking to make sure we had no unwanted witnesses, offloaded our passenger. When we helped him into the storage room, one on each side to keep him from stumbling, I did an abrupt halt and looked around. It had undergone major changes during our absence, emptied of everything except a few straight-backed chairs. One of those sat at an angle in a corner with U-bolts anchoring it to the wall. It was the only one with a wooden seat, the others having cushioned bottoms.

Bob led Bruce to the hard chair and pushed him down onto it. The way he landed made my coccyx groan. My two helpers, whom I could identify only as tall and short, were quick to duct tape him to the chair—arms and legs. Bob stopped them when they began to wrap tape around his neck and the back of the chair.

“Leave it for now,” Bob said. “If he gets hostile, we’ll make sure he doesn’t head butt anyone later.” He turned to me. “Should we take off his blindfold?”

“Yes, but I want you guys back in your masks first. He can see the room, but not you. I don’t want him finding you and evening the score at some later date.” I retrieved my pistol from my purse. “I suspect he’ll have a better appreciation of the situation once he sees where he is and the hopelessness of his situation.”

Bob and the others put their masks into place, then Bob slipped the blindfold over Bruce’s head.

Bruce spent the next few seconds blinking rapidly as he looked around the room. The look in his eyes said he got the message.

I glanced at David, who was leaning against the doorframe, a bemused look on his face. When he saw me looking at him, he held up his bandaged pinkie, then gave me a thumbs up.

I wanted to kiss it to make it well, but Bruce had to be my number-one priority. He had to know it was my show, that I was the ringmaster—in his vernacular, The Boss. “I’m going to ask you a few simple questions. If you’re smart, you’ll answer. If you’re not, well …” I gave him time to think it over before adding, “We’ll take the tape off your mouth so you can talk.” I nodded to Bob.

He stepped forward and the tape made a terrible sound tearing from Bruce’s face. I tried not to flinch, but wasn’t sure I made it. I could almost feel the pain.

Bruce ticked away a few seconds wiggling his lips and working his mouth. I suppose he was satisfied everything still functioned because he said, “Ask your questions.”

“Glad to see you’re feeling cooperative,” I said. “Nothing too difficult to start. What is Mr. T’s full name, and how do I get to his house?”

A slight grin appeared. “That’s it? You’re right. Those aren’t difficult. In a different world at a different time, I could answer in a few seconds. But, this isn’t a different world. This isn’t a different time. Your third question should have to do with my burial. That’s assuming, of course, that there is enough of me recovered to bury. The Boss has ways of dealing with those who cross him.” He looked around the room. “I don’t get the feeling any of these nice folks are hardened killers, and I know for sure you’re not—I’ve seen you in action. My choices are simple. If I can tell you what you want to know and live to walk out of here, I’ll for sure end up in a meat grinder somewhere—or something worse. I’ve never been curious what it feels like to be snapped in half by a gator. Or I can choose to wait you out. I select the latter.”

His response threw me off-track for a moment, but I rallied. “You’re right. Two more questions. What kind of import-export business does your boss run, and what was in the briefcase that has him so excited?”

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. “You may as well tape my mouth again. I’ve said about all I’m going to say. Or,” he took a slow head turn around the room, “tell your designated executioner to get on with it. Because, Ms. Bowman, I’m just plain not talking.”

Darn. He had me. Killing him had no part in my plan. In fact, marking him in any way was off limits. I intended to turn him over to the police after he told me what I wanted to know. I couldn’t have him looking like we’d tortured him or beaten information out of him. Perplexity had become my middle name.

My feelings must have shown because Bruce laughed. “Did you really think I’d just open up and spill my guts? Beth, Beth, you have so much to learn. I’ll give you some good advice. Take me back to my car and turn me loose. I’ll forget all about the last few hours, and we’ll pretend this little episode never happened. Wouldn’t do either of us any good if the boss found out you took me like a rank rookie.”

That did it. His arrogance stiffened my backbone, and I bristled. “You’re not going anywhere—not until I make the decision anyway.” I turned toward Bob. “Blindfold him and tape him.”

After Bob finished, we gathered in the dormitory. There were David, Bob, Street, Blister, Rose, and Tall and Short, whose names I hadn’t learned yet.

I approached Tall and Short, who stood together. “We haven’t met yet, but I want to thank you for your help. Without you, Bruce might have been too much for us. I’m Beth.”

Tall smiled and didn’t say anything. Short said, “It was fun. Been awhile since we been able to do somethin’ useful.” She pulled her mask down.

I stared at her, and yes, it was a her. I had assumed Short was a height-challenged man, not an average-sized female.

“My name’s Dot, deary, and my friend is Bridge. Bridge, take off your mask.”

He did as she said.

She continued, “He don’t say much, so I talk for him.” She cackled. “’Course some say I try to talk for ev’rybody. He don’t want nobody to know his real name. Says it would embarrass his family if they knowed he was homeless. So he picked Bridge cause he’s slept under a bunch of ’m. Me? I don’t give a shit. Ain’t got no family—or if I do, I don’t know where they is, and they don’t care where I am.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said sticking out my hand. She looked at it a moment, wiped her hand along her pants leg—men’s pants—then took it. Her grip was firm and reassuring.

“Mighty fine to mee’cha, too, deary. I gotta feelin’ you some special lady.”

I turned away and felt David’s hand on my back as I lined up beside Bob, who faced the group. “Here’s our situation,” I said. “The man in the other room is a hardened criminal. I don’t want him to see you so keep your mask up whenever you’re around him.”

Dot said, “What’s he gonna do—take away our limousines?” She cackled.

I smiled, admiring her chutzpah. “Our prisoner has information that I need. Information that will remove a threat from over my mother’s head.” I looked at David. “And from my … uh, friend, Dr. David Rasmussen, who promises he’ll never turn away a homeless patient.”

That drew a chuckle from the crowd and a smile and tip of the head from David. “You have a personal physician any time, day or night.” He pulled out his business cards and handed one to each of the homeless. “Just call me.” He winked in my direction. “I’ll make sure Beth pays.”

I waited until the laughter died, then said, “The problem is I want the information that Bruce has, but I can’t afford to bruise him. From here, he goes to the police, where I’m sure they have a comfy cell for him. I’m open to ideas about how to encourage him to talk—anything that doesn’t leave marks or can be proven as torture.”