Bad Day in a Banana Hammock Page 4
“You slap like a bitch.”
“—actin’ all urgent and shit. What’s goin’ on? What’re you into?”
“Nothing. Or maybe big trouble. I dunno. It’s what I’m tryin’ to find out. What kind of car was it?”
“I dunno. Huge gas guzzler. Black Caddy, I think. Yeah. And she had a driver. Big guy. Helped you into the back seat. I just figured you were gettin’ your party on, man.”
“Yeah, some party. She roofied me.”
Freddie let out a low, long whistle, finally impressed by the serious nature of Zach’s plight. Even though enemies, Freddie also understood the professionalism of keeping one’s body in shape. “Dayum, man, that’s rough.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So…what happened next?”
“No idea. Thought you might know.”
“You know everything I do.”
“Hey…you said she told you to get my crap. What about my wallet and my phone? My clothes?”
“Tossed that in the back with you. I know ‘cause I snagged a tenner from your wallet. You owed me from a couple years ago.”
“I paid that back!”
“Bullshit you did. Anyway, like I tole you, I tossed your crap in on your passed out ass and the car took off, nearly burning tread on my shoes.”
“You happen to get the license plate?”
“Whadda I look like? 5-0? I’m a fireman!”
“Yeah, not a very good one, either.” Fully recovered, Zach kipped up on his feet. Maybe not so fully recovered after all. Freddie’d left a few sore reminders. A nemesis not to be underestimated. Just undervalued.
“Better than your lame act, Caulfield.” Copying Zach’s move, Freddie kipped up, too. Chests out, they stood glaring at one another. Nostrils flared. The tips of Freddie’s mustache flew up with each heated breath. Seriously invading Zach’s personal space.
“We’ll continue this another time, Filmore. Once I get my problems worked out.”
“Count on it. Maybe a dance-off, the audience judges.”
“I’ll be there with my g-string on.”
Zach turned at the waist, clasped his hands together and flexed in a side chest mode. Freddie curled over, his tensed arms shaking. Zach relaxed, nudged Freddie’s shoulder as he made for the door. Maybe he still had a little high school left in him, too.
At the door, he turned. “Freddie?”
“Yeah?”
“You know…I’m not gay, right, man?”
The question took Freddie by surprise. He popped out a gasp, his eyes wide beneath his beetle of a brow. “Yeah, shit, of course. Except for that suit, man. Kinda gay.”
Zach nodded, left more determined than ever to prove his heterosexuality to the world.
Chapter Four
Her brother’s disheveled appearance didn’t worry Zora. Her husband’s ripped suit kinda bugged, though.
“What the hell?”
“Mommy!”
“Shit, sorry.” She let her kids play out their put-upon grief before she attacked Zach. “What happened? What’d you do to Phillip’s suit?” She flicked the torn jacket pocket. A cash register ka-chinged in her head. “You’re paying for this, Zach.”
“You know I’m good for it.”
“Right. Heard that before. So…what? Did you and your little buddy decide to wrestle over who’s the better dancer?”
“Kinda.”
“Gah. Men. So stupid. What’d you find out?”
“Not much. The mystery woman paid off Freddie to take me to her car. That’s all I got.”
“Make? License?”
“Believe me, I asked. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Some things are better off left unsaid. But Zach had plenty to say about his clearly embellished story of heroism. “…and that’s how I crushed the Fireman!”
“So…we’re at a dead end.”
“Looks that way.”
Zora closed her eyes. Trying to separate the reality of her restless kids from the fantasy of Zach’s play world. Hard to do with two of her kids arguing in the back seat. And her brother humming a damn commercial jingle next to her.
“Zora?”
“What? I’m thinking!”
“Well, yeah, thanks and all that…but is Samantha, you know your ten month old—”
“I know who she is, Zach!”
“Is she okay? I mean, she hasn’t made a sound since we left.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. You an expert on parenting?” She turned around, sighed. “Kids, is Samantha fine?”
Nikki, well-trained at something, leaned over her little sister. She gooed and gahed at Samantha while rummaging inside the baby seat. “Everything’s fine, Mom!”
Zora raised her eyebrows, stared at Zach. “She’s my golden child. Nice. Quiet. But once she starts talking and walking, the trouble starts again. But right now? She’s wonderfully quiet! Like I wish others would be in the car! Can I get back to thinking about your mess?”
“Yep, just a concerned uncle.” Before she could retreat back to her quiet, contemplative place, Zach started humming the EZ Brite jingle again. An unwelcome soundtrack to her thought process…
What am I missing? What would I have done back in the business?
Zora cursed silently. Her swear bucket change was running low and she couldn’t afford to curse out loud.
Think, woman! What would I do if I was still working security?
Still sitting in Fireman Freddie’s apartment lot, she killed the engine and plucked out her phone.
“Here.” She handed it to Zach. “You’ve got GPS on your phone, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Pull it up, log in with your password.”
“You know, I was just thinking about that.”
“Don’t strain yourself too hard.”
Zach tapped out the numbers, handed the phone back. “All logged in.”
Zora found the right app, did a little finger work. Her heart stuttered when she read the location of Zach’s phone.
“Um, Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“The address here is 1636 Swankler Lane, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because your phone’s here. Same address.”
“Son of a…um, dog! Freddie lied to me. Had it all along. Alright, I’m going back in, round two.”
Before he opened the door, she grabbed her brother’s arm. “Hold up a minute. You believe Freddie about not having your phone?”
“Yeah, guess so. Guy’s kinda’ a tool, but, yeah, whatever.”
“And he confessed to making $110 off your trauma. If he’s dumb enough to fess up to that, why wouldn’t he go all the way? I mean, about having your phone? Why lie?”
“Unless he’s still working for the woman!”
“Or…just be cool a minute, Zach.” Zora looked over the parking lot.
Junkers, works in progress, cars patched together by rust and dust…
A song from one of her kid’s shows burrowed into her head: One of these things is not like the other…
Several cars over, a Hybrid was backed into a parking spot. Smoke plumed from the exhaust. Strips of sunlight struck the top of the car and the interior. A perfect spotlight picked out a bald dome. Hunkered down in the car.
“I think I found your phone.”
“What? Where?” Zach hitched up his butt to peer beneath.
“Don’t look now. But a guy down in the lot. Sitting in a Hybrid.”
“Whaddaya talkin’ about? We’re being followed?”
“Ixnay on the ollowfay!” Zora gave him crazy urgent eyes and nudged her head toward the back seat.
“Who’s following us, Mommy? Beary Brian?”
“Quiet, honey. No one’s following us.”
“Um, I’ll go have a word with the guy, sis.”
“No you don’t. I’ve seen how you have words with people. Ahem!” She tapped Phillip’s wasted jacket pocket. “Let me handle this.”
“You’re kidd
ing, right?”
Immediately, she put him in his place with her special, narrow-eyed look. A skill she’d mastered years ago, the shorthand of siblings. “Not kidding.”
“But…Zor, you’re like, what, eight months pregnant!”
One, two, three, four… “So help me, Zach. I’m trying to be patient here. And I’m trying to help you outta your latest cluster. But, by God, you’re trying me. Before Phillip started sticking his…ah…babies in me, you remember what I used to do, right?”
“Yes.” Properly chastised, Zach tucked his hands between his legs, folding like a losing poker hand.
“So. You’re gonna tell me how to handle this?”
“No.”
“Da…darn skippy! Now, make yourself useful and watch the kids.”
She shut the car door behind her, leaving her brother sputtering something inconsequential. No time for nonsense. Phillip expected dinner at six.
The building Freddie resided in ran the length of eight top and bottom apartments. Two entrances at opposite ends. Conveniently, the Hybrid was parked between the doors. Zora kept her head low, walked into the entrance Zach had come out of. She’d no idea if their shadow knew her by sight, how long he’d been following them. But past experience taught her surprise could be a valuable weapon. Certainly the Hybrid’s driver wouldn’t expect her to approach him. She walked down the hallway, placed a hand on the opposite exit. Took a deep breath.
Truthfully, she felt great. Except for the living watermelon in her body, of course. But it’d been a long time since she’d experienced the rush of the job, the thrill coursing through her veins. Been a while since she’d felt anything in her body except for babies. After this, she planned a serious talk with Phillip. About going back to work and his impending vasectomy. The one she’d just decided he was going to have.
Like a technologically obsessed child, something she knew a little bit about, the man dedicated his full attention to the phone in his hands. With both windows rolled down, an easy target. Amateur.
Her heart pounded. The baby pressed down on her spine, inducing some serious back pain. Probably best to sit through the interrogation.
At the passenger side, she leaned down.
“Excuse me, sir. I wonder if you could help me out.”
He jolted. An unhealthy wheeze escaped him. Like a busted teen trying to hide his porn stash, he flailed with the phone before slipping it into his sports jacket pocket. A greasy smile slid over his initial shock. Greasy and extremely phony. “Why sure, little lady. What seems to be the problem?”
She yanked open the door, slid inside. She kept her purse handy in her lap. Never leave home without it. “I locked myself out of my apartment. Could I borrow your phone to call the super? I hate when they don’t live on the premises.”
His tongue crawled over his lips, chasing a chuckle. An inappropriately smug and condescending chuckle. “Now that does sound like a problem, missy. Mighty big problem.” Tautly drawn buttons barely kept his formidable belly, one to give Zora some serious competition, in check. He patted his stomach trophy. “Always glad to help out a damsel in distress.”
“Thank you.”
He wiggled his head, kept laughing. She’d been made, no doubt about it. Playing with her.
“Lemme just grab my phone outta the glove box.” With a grunt, he leaned over, his shirt sleeve traveling high over gorilla-hairy arms.
“I don’t think so.” She grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand against the glove box. Gave it a little twist.
“Dammit, lady, what’re you doin’? Leggo!”
“Not ‘til we have a little chat. So…apparently you know who I am. Who’re you? My mother always taught me not to talk to strangers.” He didn’t answer. She grabbed two of his fingers, yanked back on them. A great way to break the ice.
“Let go, let go, let go! Christ almighty! Alright, alright…Mrs. LeFevre, alright!”
She released him. He flapped his hand before him, working the pain out.
“Ready to talk?”
“Wasn’t any need to do that to my hand!” He licked at his fingers, making a sloppy dog at a bowl sound.
“Oh, really? Then let’s see what you have in your glove box?” Clunk. The lid fell down, exposing a pistol. A 6 mm, kinda femme, but more than enough to do some damage. “This how you’re gonna help a lady in distress? Oh, and don’t call me ‘little lady.’” She snagged the gun, held it out of his reach.
“Alright, let’s just cut the game-play, little…ah, Mrs. LeFevere. Yep, I know who you are. Overland Park housewife, mother of three. Whoops, soon to be four. I also know you’re not the type to use a gun. So…” Another sickly Santa smile, his lips as red as his ruddy cheeks. “Why don’t you just hand it over to me before someone gets hurt?”
Sexist. His mistake. “Oh, really? If you’d truly done your homework, you’d know what I used to do.”
“Ah…”
“Just as I thought. Dolt. I was in the security field, did some detective work. A consultant for one of the biggest firms in the country. Denham and True. Heard of ‘em?”
“Um, yeah.” Suddenly his girth deflated. Not by much, but a difference that made Zora’s day.
“So, then, you know I’ll use this gun. In fact, since you pretty much insulted me, I may as well pop one in your kneecap. How’s that sound?” She closed an eye, stuck her tongue out, Annie Oakley style.
“No, no! God, no! Stop!” His shriek rose higher than a frightened pig’s squeal. Made her baby kick, a certain satisfaction. He shut his eyes, hands sheltering his knee. “What do you want?”
“That’s better. Let’s start over.” She heightened her voice, batted her eyes, imitating the stupid girls she despised in college. “Hi! I’m Zora. Zora LeFevre! Swell to meet you! I’m an Aries and I lovvve boy bands! What’s your name?”
“Martin. Bob Martin. Private Investigator.”
“How exciting!” She dropped the giddy girl act. “Tell me, Bob, what’s going on with my brother?”
“What? I don’t know any—”
“Have it your way.” Stay-at-home parenting really sapped Zora’s patience. Particularly today. She raised the gun again, almost hoping she could pull the trigger. “Kiss your kneecap goodbye.”
“Okay, okay, okay!” Jazz hands fluttered. “Just…put it down. I was hired this morning to find your brother and follow him. And just let my employer know what he’s up to.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Really, I don’t! I’m just a P.I. Sometimes it’s best if I don’t know too much.”
“Real professional.”
“Hey, lady, sometimes it takes being a professional to stay alive.”
Don’t I know it?
“Fine, let’s try a different tact. Who’s your boss?”
Puckered lips switched side to side. A deep breath sucked in, blowing out his belly. Jazz hands lowered. And, man, did Zora hate his smile.
“Well, now, what’s it worth to you?”
“What’s it worth to you? One or two knee caps?”
“Tough talk only gets you only so far, missy. Here’s the deal…let’s just say I’m good at taking insurance out on myself. My employer sent me a telephone, a burner, early this morning. The only way I’m supposed to contact them. Everything’s conducted through anonymous calls, texts and drop-boxes. I really don’t know my employer’s name. But I’m sure someone like you could suss my employer’s name out with the burner phone. Thing is it’s stashed away somewhere safe. You want it? You’re gonna have to pay for it.”
“Still might be fun to blast your knees.” A bluff. She needed the information. And Martin knew it. Easy to tell by his new-found confidence.
“Doubt you’re gonna do that. Cause I’m assumin’ by your desperation your little brother’s in a heap of trouble. You need my information to bail him out.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me? Just to save your precious knees?”
He laughed. Zora was killing ‘em tod
ay. “Cause contrary to what you believe, I’m a professional. Looks like this job’s already gone ball’s up…um, excuse my French…” Zora sighed, shook her head. She’d heard worse from her four year old. “So, I need to make a little cash outta’ the deal. Get paid for my time. You’re my new employer.”
“Yeah, some professional. So much for dedication to your previous employer.”
“It is what it is, lady.”
Crap. She didn’t have time for this. Tonight’s lamb chops hadn’t even been thawed out yet. If dealing with the creep could end this mess sooner, so be it. Zora’d learned long ago, sometimes you gotta deal with a little extortion. “What’s your price?”
His lips clicked, an eyelid closed. Human calculator. “How ‘bout…$10,000?”
“Yeah, right. How about two grand?”
“Sold.”
Zora brayed. Couldn’t be helped. “Really? Just like that? Hell, I was prepared to offer up $5,000! You really are an amateur!”
“No, wait! $5,000, then!”
“Too late, done deal. Sucker!”
“Dammit!”
A muscular arm snaked in, grabbed Martin by the neck. The detective’s face bashed into the horn, tapping out a few notes.
“Let him go, Zach!”
Zach stood outside the window, still playing horn taps with Martin’s face. “Hey, I heard a scream, thought you needed help, sis!”
“You mean like in rescuing?” Her daily quota of sexism had already gone way over limit. “That was him screeching, dumb-ass. Everything’s under control! Gah. Honestly, you men. Even eight months pregnant, I could take down both of you sexist pigs.”
“Sure, sis.”
“And you left the kids in the car by themselves?”
“Hey, I locked the door and Nikki said she could watch—”
“They’re not dogs! And Nikki’s six years old!”
“But that’s the age I started babysitting you.”
“Irrelevant!” She raised her voice to be heard over the horn. “Let him up already!”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Tenderly, Zach leaned Martin back into his seat. Straightened the detective’s thinning hair with a few hand pats. “Sorry about that, mister. Just thought my sister was in—”
“I’m bleeding!” Martin wiped his nose, pulled away a red splotch. Stared at it disbelievingly like he had a stigmata.