Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (53 page)

“
A commitment to help you occasionally as your mentor does
n’
t mean
I’
ve taken you to raise, Alaina. 
I’
m your boss.  What yo
u’
re asking is a lot, and yo
u’
re not qualified to make this call
.
”

“
Brick, what the
fuck
? 
I’
m being straight up with you, and all you can do is mock me
?
”
 
I grab my Twizzler pack and head for the lab door.
 “
Never mind. 
I’
ll find someone else to look at the evidence
.
”

“
Wait
.
” 

He does
n’
t yell.  I
t’
s a quiet command. 
Wait.
  Desperate to nail my frien
d’
s murderer and save my brother, I obey, but not without attacking Brick.
 “
Why
?”
I say
,“
Why should I wait?  So you can mock me some more
?
”

“I’
m sorry.  I was
n’
t sure how serious you were.  I was . . . testing your commitment.  Leave the evidence. 
I’
ll check it against what
I’
ve already found using HVO.  If i
t’
s a match,
I’
ll call you
.
”

Walking to the table, I slam the Twizzler package down.
 “
I need the results before this evening
.
”

“
Wha
t’
s so important about this evening
?
”

“I’
m taking it with me somewhere.  I need it
.
”

“
Where will you be taking it tha
t’
s so secret you ca
n’
t tell me
?
”
 
He smiles.
 “I’
m on law enforcemen
t’
s side.  Remember?  I can help you
.
”

What difference does it make if Brick knows why I want the HVO matchup, as long as he does what I ask?
 “I’
m going to meet Stoke Farrel tonight
,”
I say, relenting.
 “
I think h
e’
s Megalo Don.  I was hoping I could confirm these are his teeth marks
,”
I add, nodding toward the Twizzler package.
 “
I want to confront him with the evidence, to make him confess
.
”

“
No!  You ca
n’
t do that
!”
he shouts, and then when he sees my reaction
,“
Oh, dear,
I’
m sorr
y
—”

Quickly, Brick tries to hide a flush deepening his hairline, splotches forming on his neck. 
I’
ve never seen him this alarmed, thi
s—
angry.
 “
What
I’
m trying to say
,”
he says, forcing himself to a calm he clearly is
n’
t feeling
,“
is that you should let me go with you.  It could be dangerous confronting him all alone.  I can drive you
,”
he adds.
 “
I know you do
n’
t have a car
.
”

Wishing everyone and his brother did
n’
t know about my impoverished lifestyle, vowing to one day educate Brick about how the other ninety-nine percent live, I shrug.
 “
Brick, i
t’
s not like I have
n’
t faced danger before.  I mean, I am an exotic dancer
.
”

Was that a snark before dying?  To see if I can shock his LDS sensibility?

Maybe.

“
I know all about your other job, you vicious little whore
.
” 

“
What th
e—?
”

I feel the blow to the back of my head, like a tree punching through.  Then the pain, like an aftershock, radiates outward from an area deep inside my skull.  I feel my knees buckling, and hear someone cursing
,“
What the
f—?
” 

Oh, tha
t’
s me.

Then time stops, and
I’
m thinking:
I’
ll be more polite to men like Brick Verbote in the futur
e—
if I live
.

Chapter 47

              I climb the rickety metal steps leading to the trailer door, praying the
y’
ll hold my weight, and knock on the door.  The handle has been knocked or torn off, and someon
e’
s created a makeshift door handle by wiring a screw driver through the door frame.  I pull it. 

“
What the hell do you want
?
”
 
Flinging open the door, she nods toward the crazed pit bull, his jowls covered with saliva, eyes bloodshot with rage.
 “
Saw you watching Floyd
,”
she says.
 “
Do
n’
t get any ideas.  I do
n’
t want to have to turn him loose on you
.
”

I smile.
 “
Nice dog
.
”

Berta Colb
y’
s look is haunting, an older, wearier version of her daughte
r’
s, yet I can see she once was stunning.  Beautiful.  Did I sa
y“
onc
e”
stunning?  Her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones are now lifeless artifacts bespeaking a bad history, a few unhappy and futile lifetimes.  Sh
e’
s weathered more of lif
e’
s storms than any woman should. 
I’
ve seen her darting gaze, her sullen mistrustful frown on the face of every hooker from New York to L.A.  

I’
ve also seen that look on Alain
a’
s face, which is why my reaction shocks me.  I do
n’
t want to empathize with a woman wh
o’
s most likely called trouble down on her own head.  I do
n’
t want to feel stunned by her faded beauty.  But I ca
n’
t help it.  Sh
e’
s Alain
a’
s mother, and even if she was
n’
t, my own mothe
r’
s taught me a lot about women who make bad choices: cheap one night stands for money, tricks for drugs, or for the hell of it.  At times,
I’
ve felt guilty, knowing I was one of those bad choices.

I stutter a hello, reeling.  This is my come-to-Jesus moment. 

I was a one-night stand for Alaina.  At least, tha
t’
s what she believes.
 

Was I Alain
a’
s bad choice?

“
Detective Hawks, M
a’
am
,”
I say, noting the portable oxygen tank on wheels, hooked to her and rolling around behind her.
 “I’
m with Newport Police Department.  I need to ask you som
e
—”

Her eyes narrow.
 “
Well now . . . so
yo
u’
re
Detective Aidan Hawks
.
”

“
Yes, M
a’
am.  Can I come in
?
”

“
You got a badge
?
”

I hand her my shield and wait while she examines it, comparing my face to the photo on my ID. 

“
Drive
r’
s license
?”
she demands, handing me back my shield.

“
Anyone can lift a badge, even one who smells like leather and gun metal
,”
she says, sniffing the air like
I’
m a piece of shit the cat drug in.  What, exactly, might Alaina have told her?  Shifting on the steps, I hand them to her.  After several seconds of close scrutiny, making sure I match the description on my drive
r’
s license, she waves me in.  Pulling the door shut, she whacks at a haze of cigarette smoke.

“
Alrighty then.  Come inside.  It ai
n’
t much, but i
t’
s home
.
” 

Stooping to enter the tiny door, I take a mental walk through Alain
a’
s childhood.  The traile
r’
s an older model, late Sixties.  I
t’
s spotless, but Febreeze masks the thick cloying cigarette odor, although it does nothing to hide the yellow brown film coating the paneled walls.  Family pictures plaster the wall behind a worn plaid couch.  Scanning it, I search for Alaina.

In one of the pictures, she and a boy
I’
m guessing is Robin drape their arms across the shoulders of a gaunt man proudly holding a stringer of catfish.  Her father, poor bastard, ate his own double barrel when Berta, claiming self defense, stuffed it down his throat.  Wondering whether she got away with his murder, I stare at Alain
a’
s mother with a modicum of respect, and a healthy suspicion.  Sh
e’
s one tough cookie.   

“
What do you want, Detective?  Or have you come to socialize
?
”

“
No, M
a’
am. 
I’
m looking for a young man your daughter might have known in her early childhood or pre-teens
.
”
 
I do
n’
t expect her to open up right away.  I know this will take time, but I think if she knows
I’
m here to help Alaina, maybe sh
e’
ll help me.

I can tell sh
e’
s either a user or in rehab.  Sh
e’
s got the drawn gaunt face of an addict.  Leaning against the tiny kitchen counter, she folds her arms across her chest.  Sh
e’
s closing up, shutting out the LEO. 
I’
ve seen the gesture before.

“
M
a’
a
m
—”

“
You can call me Mrs. Colby.  M
a’
am ai
n’
t my speed
.
”

“
Mrs. Colby, I need to know if Alaina knew a young boy called Stokely Farrel when she was a child, if they . . . if there was any trouble she, they, might have gotten into
.
”

“
Just wha
t’
re you sayi
n
’ my daughte
r’
s done?  If she did something as a juvenile, her recor
d’
s sealed
.
”

I do
n’
t explain how fast I can unseal a juvie record in a case like this.  Instead, I explain in detail why
I’
m here. 

She goes from zero to sixty faster than the Ferrari sitting in my garage, from being suspicious of me to being ready to kill Megalo Don.  At least
I’
m not the target of her wrath, thank God. 
I’
m certain ther
e’
s a double barrel standing guard close by, probably the same one she used on hubby.

“
You mean to tell me ther
e’
s a sumbitchi
n
’ serial killer chasing my baby girl
?”
she asks, her deep brown eyes that look just like Alain
a’
s squinting. 

“
Mayb
e
—
”
I start to say.

“
Well, Christ on a crutch!  Wh
y’
n hell did
n’
t you say so
?
”
 
Putting out her cigarette in her palm, she jams the stub into a Big K cola can sitting on the sin
k’
s sideboard.  Propping both hands on her hips the way
I’
ve seen Alaina do, she glares up at me, one eye cocked.
 “
Wha
t’
re we doi
n
’ standing around here?  Are you a detective or ai
n’
t ye?  Le
t’
s go get that sumbitch and crack open his sick head
.
”

It should be funny, her vehemence, but wh
o’
s laughing?  Her look says mama lioness.  Ferocious and protective.  Fearless.  In the moment lingering suspended between us, I see her daughte
r’
s face, the determination of Alain
a’
s jutted chin. 

“
I intend to get him
,”
I explain politely
,“
but I do
n’
t need any help, M
a’
am, uh, Mrs. Colby
.
”

“
Now you came to me, Detective, did you not
?
”

“
Yes, and I did
n’
t mean you ca
n’
t help at all.  I need you to give me information
.
”
 
If she had her way, sh
e’
d already have Megal
o’
s nuts cut off and fed to him. 

“
Like what
?
”

“
First, I need you to tell me what you know, everything you recall about the suspect and what he and Alaina might have done or gotten into.  Then
I’
ve got to go talk to the man who was sheriff here that summer
.
”

She gazes intently, her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.  I know what sh
e’
s thinking, what every person wh
o’
s ever been victimized by cops think
s—
Why would I help you?

“
I believe the man who wants to kill Alaina lived here one summer as a kid, and that his path and Alain
a’
s crossed.  H
e’
s never forgotten about her.  And no
w
—”

“
Let me get this straight.  I tell you what I know
,”
she says, interrupting
,“
and then yo
u’
re going back to Newport without me?  When ther
e’
s a nut job out there after my baby girl?  Yo
u’
re just gonna sweat me and then
leave
? 

“
Hell no, yo
u’
re not
!
” 

Sh
e’
s shaking her head, defiance, which
I’
m beginning to believe is a family trait, screaming across her face.
 “
Nuh-uh.  Not without me, yo
u’
re not
.
” 

She grabs a Wal-Mart bag by the door.
 “I’
m packed.  Ready. 
I’
ve promised my baby girl
I’
d come see her. 
I’
ll just hitch a ride with you.  Maybe
I’
ll tell you what I know on the way.  Maybe I can help you hunt that sumbitch dow
n
—”

I do
n’
t think I could hold Berta Colby back if I wanted to, so I give in, but only on one point.
 “I’
ll give you a ride back to Cincinnati, but you wo
n’
t be getting involved in helping me find and catch this . . . er . . . sumbitch
.
”

“
Dandy.  Just dandy
,”
she says.
 “I’
ll be waiting here as soon as you git done interrogati
n
’ your sheriff
.
”
 
Her faded eyes twinkle mischievously.
 “
Wha
t’
s his name?  I might know him.  I have a long history with local law enforcement
.
”

“
Billy Lee Knowles
?”
I say, thinking what an understatement her remark was.
 “
Do you know him enough to tell me where he lives
?
”

“
Hell, Billy Lee and I go way back.  Let me give you directions
.
”