Tramps and Thieves

by Rhys Ford

  “The guy who owns Bergan’s came up with a shotgun and pretty much kicked Vicks out. You know, the old guy?” Rook snorted through the line. “Apparently he’s a hell of a lot younger than I thought he was—a clear-cut poster boy for the argument drugs do shitty things to your body—and he’s also married to some guy named Thorkenberry over at Central. Vicks was out the door before Harsgard could call the cops in on him.”

  “Thorkenberry. I know him. He’s in IA. Good guy. He handled the shit Vince and I got into with you.” Bringing up the past was always touchy with Rook, but Thorkenberry did right by both of them, especially after Vince was shaken out of the force. His anger waged its silent war against the walls his rational, logical mind kept throwing up, screaming for Vicks’s blood and possibly his head if Dante could get a good enough shot in. “You okay?”

  A year or so ago—or even maybe last month—the Rook he’d first tried to pin down would have sidestepped and finagled his way out of answering. Now—this Rook—the one he’d woken up next to in the morning, who he’d wiped blood from his sharp, sweet face, who he’d buried himself into and pulled out screams loud enough to rattle the loft’s expanse of windows, this Rook sighed and then broke Dante’s heart.

  “No,” he whispered over the phone. “Fucker scared the shit out of me. Not right then. Not while I was facing him, but… afterwards. Yeah. I got fucking scared. He had me followed when I left our place this morning, Montoya, and I’m so fucking far out of the game I didn’t even notice. Then my brain kept rolling over with the what-ifs. Suppose he’d been the one to screw with us at the shop? What’s to stop him from dogging me while I go around LA and do business? And then, what’s going to happen if one day I turn down the wrong fucking street and I find I can’t get out without going through him? What then?”

  Dante’s fingers ached to break every bone in Vicks’s body, until they were as shattered as Rook’s voice. Gritting his teeth, he took a long breath, then another to squash his growing rage. Catching Rook’s whispered hello in his ear, Dante pulled his focus in.

  “He’s not going to touch you. I won’t let him, cuervo.” Dante caught some movement at the front door, turning to find Hank standing on the top step, his expression filled with a questioning concern. Shaking his head at his partner, Dante waved him to go back inside. “Where are you now? Home?”

  Home. Funny how that became the loft apartment over the store rather than the bungalow he shared with Manny.

  “Yeah, I’m parked in the back. Just wanted to call you before I went inside.” Something loud rattled through the phone, and Rook barked a short, hard laugh. “The store crew is going to love the fuck out of me. They’re going to have to sort through about fifty pounds of tin toys.”

  “Tin… toys?”

  “Yeah, and a few other things. Figured I owed the guy for pulling Vicks off my butt, so I kind of cleared out his third floor. They’re dumping the larger stuff off later today. Seriously, I’d have bought out the whole damned store to thank the guy for saving me. There was a moment there, I wasn’t sure, you know? I didn’t trust him not to kick my ass. Like I said, getting sloppy.”

  “It’s not sloppy to expect a cop to act like a cop,” Dante replied softly. “And that doesn’t include beating the shit out of someone just because you don’t like them.”

  “Yeah, that’s not the cops I’ve ever known,” he murmured. “You’re the first one I’ve trusted. Maybe the only one.”

  “What about Hank?” he teased, hoping to lighten the heaviness in Rook’s voice.

  “Fucker ate my carne asada tacos out of your fridge, babe,” Rook reminded him. “Friends don’t bogart another man’s tacos. You know that.”

  “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Tell you what. Let me and Hank talk to Sadonna about what Harold was up to, and maybe we can find something to lead us away from her and to the real killer.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Rook hedged. “I’ve got some news from Vicks I’m not sure I should believe. He seems to think Harold got hooked up with some guy—the whole closet gay thing—and Sadonna was tired of faking a marriage and was on her way out the door.”

  “Wait, what?” Dante’s brain shed its worry, latching on to Vicks’s theory. “Harold wasn’t gay. Okay, I’m lost. Explain to me what he said.”

  “Vicks dropped that Sadonna was trying to get a divorce out of Harold, but he wouldn’t give her one. But some guy came along and hooked Harold. Sadonna got ahold of some pictures, then turned the thumbscrews to get out of the marriage without having to support Harold for the rest of her life. Hold on a sec, Montoya.” Rook paused for a moment, and Dante heard a siren scream past, drowning out the call. “Sorry, some idiot hit a fire hydrant down the road. I think Vicks’s looking at her like she’s been Harold’s beard so Archie wouldn’t kick Harold out of the family or cut him from the will.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Dante thought back to the few times he’d been around Rook’s cousin, but he’d spent more time biting the inside of his cheek and ignoring the digs tossed Rook’s way by a few of his aunts than paying attention to anyone else. “What would Harold need a fake wife for? You’re gay. Alex is gay. For all the crap he gives you, Archie really couldn’t give a shit.”

  “Nah, he used to be a hell of a lot worse. Beanie—my mom—used to say Archie was the most narrow-minded, controlling racist asshole she’d ever known. It’s why she left. But that was a used-to-be. He’s worked his ass off to get his head on straight since I’ve been here.” Rook tsked. “Okay, and so my mom’s a druggie who wanted to sleep her way through the carnival, but she wasn’t wrong about him. When I first came around, he was a raging dick. I almost walked a few times. Then he realized I didn’t give a shit if he left me out of his will. He’d gotten too used to people rolling over and showing him their belly. Well, Alex didn’t roll over, but he also didn’t spend any time with Archie. He just never was around enough for the old man to get under his skin.”

  “Yeah, your cousin’s more of a dodge and feint than an attack head-on kind of man.” Dante chewed on his lower lip, thinking. “He’d avoid Archie rather than telling him to fuck off.”

  “Something I have a hard time not doing, so yeah, when Archie got around to meeting me, I’d already had fuck off on the tip of my tongue because of how Beanie used to talk about him when she was drunk. Shit got a lot better between us right about the time you decided I’d offed Danielle.”

  “Thought we worked that out. How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

  “We did.” Rook chuckled. “But it’s always good to remind you about when you’re wrong.”

  “Okay, focus now. Did Vicks give you a name of Harold’s lover? Anything other than throwing it out there?

  “Nope, Harsgard had him out the door before he said anything else. Maybe he thought I knew about Harold’s boyfriend and that’s why Sadonna hooked into me for help. I think he knows who it is but wouldn’t tell me. Stupid though, wouldn’t he know I’d go straight to Sadonna?” Rook hummed a bit, then said, “No, that’s what he’d want me to do. He’d want me to drop something in her ear so she’d react. Do something stupid.”

  Dante bit back a laugh, amused at hearing Rook work Vicks’s case out. “Academy’s accepting applications, you know.”

  “Fuck you, Montoya. One cop in the family is enough.” The family part warmed Dante’s heart, breaking off the vestiges of anger knocking around inside of him. Rook cleared his throat, then rumbled through the phone, “Hey, are you heading back to the loft after you’re done with Sadonna? I kind of need to talk to you about something. Face-to-face.”

  “Anything I should worry about, babe?” Concern crept back into the conversation, a discomfort in Rook’s tone. “Something up?”

  “No, not you. You’re fine.” Another chuckle, but this one was flat and bitter, a bit of tinfoil along Dante’s teeth. “Today was… fucked, and I… miss you, man. Just come home when you can, okay? I just… need to see you, and then everything
’ll be fine.”

  “Love you, cuervo,” Dante reassured his lover. “Don’t forget that.”

  “I know, Montoya,” Rook whispered back. “Just… hurry home and remind me again.”

  HE FOUND Hank sitting in the library with his hands wrapped around a pastrami sandwich the size of a small dog and chatting with the woman they’d come to interview. Sadonna looked up when Dante entered, her dazzling smile a practiced welcome laced with enough melancholy and sensuality to tug at a man’s heart and tickle his crotch. For a grieving widow, she was an elegant shimmer of blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, and a brazen beauty groomed to make a man’s pulse skip. Even with his own preference for long-legged, smart-mouthed men, Dante had to admit Sadonna Swann was a powerhouse of a woman, a classic, old-school sex kitten with a cunning intelligence gleaming in her wide, heavily lashed eyes and a hitch of promise in her sultry, smoky voice.

  Hank hadn’t stood a chance.

  “’Nother sandwich over there for you, Montoya,” Hank mumbled through a mouthful of deli meat, nodding toward a napkin-covered plate on a side table. “Rosa brought more coffee.”

  “We just ate lunch, Hank,” Dante reminded him, then nodded at Sadonna. Sitting in a wing chair opposite her, he leaned back, taking in the room for a moment. She’d positioned herself beneath an enormous portrait of Archie in his later golden years, an unapologetic rendering of a man with a hawk-sharp nose, mismatched eyes, and steel running through his veins.

  The two-story room was a temple to masculine traditions, steeped with Archie’s presence and smug in its passing decorating nod to a Victorian gentleman’s club with its dark wood bookshelves, overstuffed chairs, and Persian rugs. It was one of the few rooms not bristling with embellishments and oddities, its air fragrant with the smoky vanilla scent of old books and a hint of cherry tobacco left over from the days when Archie occasionally fired up one of the seasoned meerschaums displayed in a long glass case on the broad fireplace mantle.

  “I don’t know if you remember meeting me. I’m Sadonna. Sadonna Swann,” she said, leaning over with her hand stretched out toward him. “Like Madonna but with an S.”

  “I remember, Ms. Swann. I’m glad you could meet with us.” Her palm was soft and dry, no quiver in her fingers as far as Dante could tell. Then Hank’s phone beeped with an incoming message and she flinched, drawing her hand back. Her smile tightened, and she tugged at the front hem of her shirt. “Check your phone, Camden. Might be the captain trying to get ahold of us.”

  He didn’t know exactly how long Hank’s phone had been left beeping, but it was only a few seconds after Dante’d hung up with Rook that he’d sent his partner the rumors from Vicks and a brief note about the detective’s attempted intimidation. After a quick read of the screen, Camden’s demeanor shifted and he put the half-eaten sandwich down on a plate, his face schooled into a neutral expression. Wiping his mouth clean, Hank finally glanced up at Dante, giving him a curt nod.

  “Just my wife,” Hank murmured, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Wants me to remember where I live. Montoya, how about if you lead and I’ll take notes, and let’s see if we can’t put this whole thing to bed.”

  “I appreciate you both helping with this.” Sadonna reached for her coffee, her eyes mournful and worried. “I don’t think the detective on the case is going to look for the real killer. And isn’t he supposed to turn this over to the lawyers by now? He’s already arrested me for murder.”

  “The DA hasn’t charged you yet because what they have is too weak, but Vicks is probably going to work on building a case against you. That’s why we need to produce someone for the DA to look at,” Dante said, softening his tone. “Someone like the man Vicks believes Harold was sleeping with.”

  “Now’s probably the time you’d want to come clean about possessing any tapes or photos you have of the affair,” Hank interjected. “If you know who he is or how to contact him, it could go a long way in shifting the focus of the case from you to him.”

  “I don’t….” Squaring her shoulders brought Sadonna’s pert breasts up, but Hank didn’t so much as flinch. She then cast a hooded, seductive glance at Dante, and he watched her expression change when she probably remembered she’d have no effect on him. Sighing, she continued, “I don’t have any tapes or photos. I only told him that so he’d budge on the divorce.”

  “So he wasn’t in a relationship with another man?” Dante pressed.

  “Oh no, he was gayer than a flying unicorn with rainbow wings.” She let a bitter laugh loose. “He just hid it because, well… Archie wasn’t so tolerant before Rook sauntered in. Harold slept with any guy who’d have him.”

  “Then why’d you marry him?” Hank took up the questioning. “What was in it for you?”

  “Connections. Harold’s circle included a hell of a lot of movie people, and when you’re a woman getting older in Hollywood, you need all the help you can get.” Sadonna grimaced. “Things were going fine until Harold got it into his head that we needed to have kids, mostly to secure his place at Archie’s Last Supper painting. The family’s a wee bit threatened by Rook.”

  “So there’s no guy?” Dante asked. There was something off in Sadonna’s mannerisms, more than the habitual sex-kitten routine. Her attention slid away from their faces, focusing on other things in the room, and Hank pursed his lips together, sending Dante a dubious glance. “Well, no one guy Harold was seeing?”

  “There is… was,” she admitted. “I just didn’t have anything to back it up. His housekeeper, Jennifer, delivered that delightful news one morning. She never liked me, you know. Very loyal to Harold. Then one morning after I asked her to get me some tea, she told me to enjoy drinking it because it wouldn’t be long before Harold’s boyfriend moved in.”

  “And you believed her?” Hank inquired carefully.

  “Yeah, I believed her. She’d do anything to get me out of that house. Between her and Harold’s mother, it was like living on cracking ice sometimes. I’d have fired her, but—” Sadonna made a face. “—she actually works for Archie’s company, so Harold was her boss, not me. Harold was a god to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if that cracked bird statue that guy used to kill Harold ended up in her grubby little hands. It’d be the perfect thing for the Harold shrine she’s probably got going on in her dining room.”

  “Huh,” Hank murmured, sitting back slowly. “So, tell me this, Ms. Swann… what exactly do you know about the statue? And what makes you say that’s what killed him?”

  Nine

  “WELL THAT was quick.” Camden snorted as they walked down the front stairs and toward the SUV parked at the end of the drive. “I’d have laid money on her doing a smoke-and-mirrors act, not clamming up tight and booting us to the curb.”

  “Almost as if she’s got something to hide.” Dante opened the car door, then stopped to stare at the imported castle. The library’s heavy drapes were drawn tight on the room’s first-floor windows, blocking Dante’s view of its interior. “I think there is a lover, but I don’t think that’s all of it.”

  “Still want to chase this down?” Hank glanced back at the house, the waning afternoon sun gilding his red hair. “We can leave this for the lawyers if you think she’s playing us.”

  “Can’t. I’ve got Rook in this,” he pointed out, climbing into the SUV, then waited for his partner to get settled on the passenger side. “I’m beginning to wonder if she’s the one playing him. Sadonna approached him to break into the house, allegedly to give Rook access to the movie prop Harold stole out from under him.”

  “Why?” Hank turned in his seat to face Dante. “Were they close or casual acquaintances? Why would she reach out to him? And why would Rook say yes?”

  “Because he’s a magpie, and deep down inside, gathering stuff up makes him feel safe.” It was a truth Dante had been slow to realize, but the longer he knew Rook, the more he understood his boyfriend’s avarice. The fascination of owning things drove the former thief, but it was the chase his lov
er got his thrills from. “He just wants them. It could be anything. Jewels, a plastic watch from the ’50s, anything that catches his eye. I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t have a home growing up and couldn’t drag a lot of things with him or if he’s just… a magpie. He hoards some things, but let’s be practical, there’s not enough space, so most of it gets discarded. It’s the gathering he likes. Getting access to something—without breaking the law—would be attractive to him. So yeah, she played him a little bit.”

  “Surprisingly, he let her,” Camden said softly. “He’s leery of women. Especially after Charlene and her shit hit his fan.”

  “He said the same thing,” Dante admitted. “That he had to stretch himself out to trust her. He’s taking a risk with Sadonna because his gut tells him she’s innocent, but that was before Vicks dropped the whole lover thing in his lap.”

  “No matter what, he’s still in Vicks’s crosshairs. That asshole’s not going to peel off Rook just because Sadonna walked into the fire. So yeah, I agree with you. We’re going to have to keep chasing this down. But where to next?”

  “Let’s see if the housekeeper will talk to us.” He ran down what he knew of Harold’s life. “There’s also the cousin’s mother. She doesn’t like Sadonna, so that might be an avenue we can follow.”

  “How much do you believe in the whole Harold’s-got-a-boyfriend story but he still wants to have kids with a wife he doesn’t sleep with?” Hank tucked the paper bag of sandwiches Rosa packed up for them into the space next to his feet. “It’s a little hard to swallow, but… this is Hollywood. Weirder things have happened.”

  “Yeah, I’m not willing to rule things out yet. Every time I think something sounds like it was cut right out of a telenovela, it turns out to be true.” Dante started the car, glancing at Hank’s snort. “What?”