The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (31 page)

She blew out a breath of mist as she followed me. "Makes two of us."

I stood next to the Toyota for a moment, then climbed in and tried to start it. When the engine didn't catch, I tried jiggling the transmission – since the Anglia could be temperamental that way, tried one last time, then concluded that the problem couldn't be solved that way. The carburetor was most likely flooded from repeated attempts already.

I got back out of the car and turned to Jill. "Tell you what. I'm not going to risk breaking things, so why don't we have Eddie down the street look at it? He can tow it if it won't start for him. And in the meantime, I'll give you a ride home."

Jill was nodding to accept, so I quickly added: "That is, if you can stand the clutter for more than ten minutes."

She laughed and smacked my arm.

After locking all the doors, we dropped heavily into the old Ford's bucket seats. I quickly threw several maps, a pair of worn out gloves, and an empty Coke can into the back seat to make room for Jill to sit.

"It takes a few minutes for the heat to come on," I warned, rubbing frozen hands together as I shifted back into drive. "It's a little chilly in here."

"We'll manage," she replied simply.

"That's a sport," I said, pulling away from the curb.

Jill lived in Logan – a township over from Swedesboro – across the street from a three–star hotel. The neighborhood was relatively busy, as her apartment complex was located on Township Line, close to the freeway. Cars went by night and day, generally speaking, but tonight the roads were empty – and relatively clear of snow. A few random pedestrians and the occasional jaywalker were the only people around.

I pulled the Anglia up in front of Jill's apartment and killed the engine, intending to walk her in.

It was a clear, starry night. There were clouds off in the distance: white cotton lumped together against the purple sky, indicating that it would begin to snow again soon. But for now the stars were shining. The cold of the evening was driving and bitter, but somehow I found that it didn't bother me any. It was probably because of the fact that I had just "solved" my first big case, but I preferred to think that it was because the prettiest girl in New Jersey was in my company.

We stopped before the salty, ice–encrusted steps to the building and turned to face each other.

This is where there will be an awkward pause, then we'll say goodnight, go on our way, and regret not saying everything that we
wanted
to say.

At least, that's how it would go down for me. It hadn't been a date or anything, but somehow it felt like that type of cinematic encounter – the moment before the big, sloppy kiss and the rolling credits.

Pay attention, stupid,
I thought at myself.

"You sure you're okay after all that?" I asked, speaking first. The smile I offered was tentative, because I couldn't gauge her reaction. "That was a lot to go through."

"I'm fine, Chance," she replied softly. She didn't smile in return, but that was okay. "Thank you so much for listening to me ramble."

"Returning the favor," I said evasively. I didn't have time to really think about it, but maybe I'd offered the same stupid excuse earlier. "Remember, you listen to
my
nonsensical psycho–babble day in and day out."

It thrilled my heart to hear her laugh and made it easy for me to smile again.

"If you need anything," I said softly, "you know my number."

"I do." She drew her lower lip into her mouth, those bright green eyes searching mine – as though there was something there she was trying to find.

Maybe there is.

My mind instantly began screaming a million and one suggestions at me – suggestions of how best to delicately approach the mutual–interest situation. If it even
was
mutual. Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe I was denying myself the truth for fear of hurting myself and others again. Maybe I was just goddamn
blind
.

Robert Mendoza's words chose that moment to pop into my brain, thought–provoking and ambiguous: "What if you had asked her? What if she had said 'yes'? I wouldn't want to live the rest of my life asking those questions."

Tell her like it is,
I thought at myself.
Be honest – be direct. Tell her you like her, but you wanna play it slow. Tell her you think she's pretty – that's always a good start. Always worked in high school.

I swallowed hard, knowing that the awkward pause was stretching onward without signs of ceasing. I was also keenly aware of the fact that Jill was waiting, easily recognizing that there was something on my mind. Maybe the silence wasn't awkward for her because she didn't have an inner monologue running through her head.

Just tell her that you're interested,
I growled inside my head.
Just tell her that and go from there.

Her gorgeous eyes were expectant; she was still waiting for me to say something.

Something.
Any
thing, dammitt.

So I said, businesslike: "Well, I don't wanna keep you. I guess I'll see you in the morning, right?"

Although her face didn't display her disappointment, her eyes did. I almost winced at the change – I definitely cringed internally. The hopeful twinkle was gone, and she simply looked sad and miserable again: the radiant daughter of a dead man who simply hadn't given a damn. She was crushed for the second time that night, disappointed, lost.

It broke my heart.

"Okay," she said, breathing the word out in a sigh of steam. Slowly, she turned and began mounting the steps to the front door. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stikup."

And there was that title again, like a goddamn barrier between us – the Berlin Wall, for all intents and purposes. My stupid fascistic mind just wouldn't let those poor romantic thoughts escape westward to freedom.

"Goodnight, babe," I said to her back – sadly, softly enough that she most likely couldn't hear. I waved when she turned to give me one last parting smile, and then turned slowly to get back in my car as she closed the door against the cold.

I kicked at a patch of ice in frustration, grinding my teeth.
Goddamn you, Stikup.

With a growl, I wrenched open the Anglia's door and got back in. I slammed it harder than necessary and quickly started up the vehicle. Once I had the heater running, I paused one last time to look at the closed door of the apartment building, suddenly realizing that I had just blown a prime opportunity – one that I already regretted not seizing when I could.

…
what if you had asked her? What if she had said 'yes'? I wouldn't want to live the rest of my life asking those questions…

I hammered a fist on the steering wheel. "Shut
up
, Robbie!"

But Mendoza certainly wasn't the one who deserved my frustration.

After another long look at the heavy apartment door – wishing, maybe even praying that Jill would come back outside – I pulled away from the curb. I took a quick survey to see if there were any cops around, then performed an illegal u–turn and headed off in the direction of home.

In the darkness, I shook my head.
Oh, Chance Stikup, you've done it again.

Chapter
Sixteen

I pulled up to the curb in front of my house at 6:00. It was completely dark by that time, and the bitter wind whipped right through my coat as I gathered it around me and climbed out of the Anglia.

To be honest, I barely noticed the cold. I was too preoccupied. I kept replaying the confrontation on Jill's front steps over and over again in my head, each time a little differently – each time saying something somewhat more romantic than simply "good–bye".

I let myself into the house, closing and locking the door behind me out of habit. After removing my coat, gun, and fedora – leaving them in the sitting room – I moved into the kitchen, led by the growling of my stomach. There wasn't anything edible in the fridge that met my interest – even though I'd just gone shopping – so instead, I abandoned thoughts of food and moved into the bedroom to change out of my work attire.

Thank you, Lord for heat
, I thought, hearing the wind rattle the shutters drearily.

As I was digging in the closet for my bathrobe, the phone rang from the hallway. I glanced at my watch, found it to be 6:15, and headed into the hall, wondering who might possibly be calling. It wouldn't be my mother, and it most likely wouldn't be Mendoza or Miles, seeing as how I had spoken to them both recently. In fact, I didn't think that either of them had my house phone anyway. That meant it was either Kevin Slyder or Jill.

Hoping it was the latter, I grabbed the phone up on the sixth ring. "Stikup."

"Stikup? It's Slyder."

"Howdy–do, Chief?" I asked, simultaneously disappointed and excited. However, I obviously liked beating around the bush, so I didn't let my eagerness immediately be apparent. "Didja miss me?"

"Actually, no." He coughed loudly, and I assumed he was smoking – as usual. "I gotta get a copy of your office hours. Seems like I can never reach you without trying six different numbers."

"Yeah, that's a shame." I tucked the phone between my shoulder and my head. "I assume you aren't just making a pleasure call." After all, we weren't really buddies. "So don't keep me in suspense. Tell me who it is."

Slyder heaved a sigh, and I immediately felt my hopes shrinking along with my internal organs. "We got
nothing
, Stikup. The paper was negative for prints, besides Thawyer's. His greasy hands covered up anything we might have gotten from it. There was a partial from an unknown, but not enough to make an ID. I'm sorry, Stikup."

For a moment, I stood there gaping like a fish. Some childlike aspect of my psyche demanded that I argue and deny the facts and insist on testing the note again. But despite my antics, I wasn't that foolish. I slumped back against the wall, feeling the crushing weight settle on my shoulders, sinking my heart even further.

So I hadn't solved the case. In fact, I hadn't even gotten further in it.

Well, that'll be fun – calling Miles back. "By the way, Rick, I was wrong – I still haven't figured anything out yet. False alarm."

I snorted a grim, weary laugh, pushing the hair out of my face. "Well, that's just great, Chief. I'm at a loss here, buddy – no ideas, no motives, no suspects." I lifted a hand as though to offer a suggestion, then let it fall helplessly back against my thigh. "I guess we have to go to Harris' place, then – see what we can turn up there. The customer records Mendoza sent to me were worthless. What else would you suggest?"

He sniffed, perhaps uncomfortable. "How 'bout a drink?"

I cracked a smile he couldn't see. "Not a doughnut?"

"Would you shut
up
, Stikup?" Although he was chuckling, I didn't chalk it up as a success: for the time being, it was all he could do. "So how 'bout it?"

I glanced at my watch again, then pushed off the wall to stand up straight.
Why not? Never been inebriated on a Tuesday night before.

"Sure, Kevin." His first name felt odd on my tongue. Usually I called him Chief or Boss or other nastier things when he wasn't around – never anything remotely informal. However, the friendly invitation seemed to demand the stripping of titles, and Slyder made no objections. "A drink would be great. Where do you suggest?"

"I'm about to head over to Donnie's place – on King's Highway," he replied. "It's a coffee house really, but they sell liquor. Nice place. Just past the library, across from the service station."

King's Highway cut a path straight through the heart of Swedesboro. Recently construction had clogged up the two–lane road, and had only been completed a few weeks ago – sometime in early November, just in time for Christmas. Donnie's little joint had only been in existence since September, and I'd never set foot in the place, but I traveled King's Highway all the time.

"Yeah, I know the place," I told him. "You wanna meet me there?"

"Sure," Slyder grunted. "Tell you what. I'll bring the evidence we got over here at the station and give it to you to hold onto for a little while. Maybe you can get something out of it that we've missed."

"Guess I'll bring a bag."

"Not much to carry." He coughed again. "Just the license plate, the note, a few photographs, and folders on the crooks we nabbed. I guess you can take the guns too if you want. Nice little doggie bag for you."

I'd entered the living room at this point, stretching the phone cord out behind me, and was donning my coat as he spoke. "Alright, Chief. I'll meet you in about twenty minutes. Okay by you?"

He coughed once more, like his throat was garbled. "Talk to you then."

I walked back into the hallway and replaced the phone on the wall–mounted cradle, then stood there for a long moment, looking around at everything and wondering why I felt so… hopeless. I was back to square one all over again. I was down to negatives in leads, suspects, motives, and – thinking of Jill – relationships.