by G. K. Parks
Brad had yet to meet with Mr. Hart or Mr. Stevens, but I knew the names sounded vaguely familiar. They had to be club members. I’d probably seen them a time or two at Spark, which is why Captain Grayson forced me to leave before they showed up. If they didn’t volunteer that information, I’d have to check Spark’s records. Rick, Kincaid’s doorman, kept a running log of who came and went. I could easily ask him when I showed up for my shift tonight. I just needed to come up with a good reason for wanting the information.
As I drove to my cover apartment, thoughts raced through my brain. Becca’s words from last night were cryptic and ominous. She warned me to stay away from this. Don’t lie down with dogs. What the hell did that even mean? She knew who stole the cars, but she was genuinely surprised one of the thieves resorted to murder.
Thieves, plural. Hotel surveillance showed the SUV driver, the killer, and a third man who grabbed the second car. Briefly, I wondered what had become of the other sets of keys they took off Juan’s body. Were they even car keys? Four sets. That’s what we determined. And, of course, three more vehicles were snatched during the course of the night. At least one of them by a tow truck driver. What the hell was going on? Was any of this even connected?
I let myself into the apartment, more confused now than before I left the station. The crimes seemed random. The vehicles weren’t even the same. Two sports cars. Two sedans. And an SUV. Maybe it’s about what’s inside the cars. That’s what Becca said, and even that meaningless statement resulted in the killer taking a baseball bat or tire iron to her skull, unless it wasn’t the killer but one of the two other men involved in the heist. Regardless, it was the same white SUV, which made them all guilty.
After doing a quick sweep of the apartment to make sure nothing was disturbed, I checked the status of our BOLO. No one had located the vehicle. Patrols were scouring the city for it, but without a plate, it was difficult to find the white SUV in an endless sea of SUVs.
I took a seat in front of my laptop and went through the notes and photos I’d taken. At one point or another, Axel had several SUVs in his possession. None of them were white. Surveillance photos from the last three months had been taken of people arriving at his club. The only white SUVs were either too large or too small to be the one used in yesterday’s crime spree.
“Dammit.” I put my hands on my head and circled the apartment, trying to clear my thoughts.
Grabbing the phone, I dialed the captain. “We need to bring in Fox and Emilio. I double-checked their profiles, and neither drives a white SUV. But they saw me with Rebecca Johnson last night. They might know something.”
“I heard you the first time you said it, DeMarco,” Grayson replied.
“And?” I asked, exasperated.
He let out a huff. “I can authorize officers to bring them in, but they’re Axel’s guys. They will lawyer up. And they’re going to wonder how we got tipped. It’ll track straight back to you, and if you aren’t compromised yet, you will be. That’s a Hail Mary play that I’m not willing to use yet.”
“You would if it was Fennel.”
“Careful, Detective.”
I sucked in a breath. “Get uniforms down to the bar on Amsterdam. It’s the dive near Becca’s usual corner. She ducks in constantly to use the john or with a john. I’m not sure of the dynamics, but you can show her photo around, ask some questions, and see what shakes loose. I don’t care what excuse you come up with, but we can’t let this stand.”
“Be patient. I’ll do my job, and you do yours.”
He disconnected, and I resisted the urge to throw the phone into the wall. Instead, I placed it on the table and looked out the window. What were we missing?
I could hear my dad’s voice in my head. Work the scene, Olive. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell? What are the commonalities? What are the differences? Forget everything you know. Don’t assume anything. Whatever you think is wrong. What is the evidence telling you?
I checked the time. I had three hours until I was expected at Spark. I couldn’t just sit back and twiddle my thumbs for three hours, but I couldn’t go traipsing across town to visit the crime scenes either. So I’d have to take a virtual tour. It wasn’t that different from our academy training.
Forget everything. The first crime took place yesterday evening in the hotel parking garage, resulting in two stolen vehicles and a dead parking attendant. Ballistics showed the weapon of choice was a forty caliber handgun. There was no DNA, except the valet’s. No prints. No hairs. Nothing to indicate anything about our killer’s identity. From the security footage, we assumed he was male, average height, athletic build. Nothing stuck out. We were looking for three masked men. One was armed and clearly dangerous.
Emilio, Fox, and Kincaid, I thought and immediately chastised myself for breaking my dad’s rules. No assumptions.
And since I couldn’t jump to conclusions, I decided to ignore the other three GTAs that occurred in the last twelve hours. Instead, I focused on the obviously linked second crime. The aggravated assault. Again, my mind jumped to the same conclusion, but I pushed it away.
Work the scene. Fact: The killer or one of the crew interacted with Becca prior to the theft and murder, and he knew she talked to me. He left my business card on her body and dumped her at the ER, the same ER where my best friend, Emma, worked, just to make sure I got the message. CSU determined the damage was inflicted by a solid metal object, possibly an aluminum baseball bat, a tire iron, lead pipe, or crowbar. They took photos of the wounds and would narrow the possibilities further, but for now, that’s what the preliminary examination indicated.
However, leaving Becca alive posed a huge risk. When she woke up, if she woke up, she could tell us who attacked her. It didn’t fit with our killer’s profile or his crew’s. Whoever killed Juan was careful, but leaving Becca alive was risky. He must be confident Becca wouldn’t talk.
I reached for the phone and dialed the rookie officer who responded to the original call. I needed to know two things – where the crime occurred and who Becca feared. It could be her pimp, a john, a boyfriend, her dealer. Anyone. Not only would she have to be afraid of them, but she’d have to depend on them for something. It was the only way they could guarantee her silence.
The rookie promised me he was looking into it, but I hated the thought of some newbie boot screwing this up. It was important. It was a matter of life or death. I couldn’t just leave it in the hands of someone still wet behind the ears. Not when lives were on the line.
I grabbed the phone, regretting my decision even as I dialed. “Hey, Dad. I need a favor.”
Eight
The club wasn’t crowded tonight. A few of the regulars drank at the bar, but the dance floor had plenty of space. The back room was closed. No high-stakes poker games or men making exotic wagers. From the gossip around the club, I knew Kincaid had a street race planned in a few days, another epic event guaranteed to attract a ton of attention, so he wanted to keep things quiet. He didn’t want more trouble.
After the news broke last night, he knew the police would be knocking on his door any minute, so he took precautions to make sure they wouldn’t find anything. He was always careful. That’s why I didn’t understand why he would beat Becca and leave her in the loading zone outside the emergency room.
My eyes flicked to Fox, who’d been lingering near the VIP area. He was the muscle. He might have done the deed. From what I knew about the man, which wasn’t much, he had a history of aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder charges. He also had a short fuse. It was his presence at the bar last night that freaked me out and his constant questions about Becca that sent my radar buzzing. To put it mildly, he had anger issues, but he would have killed her. And I didn’t think Kincaid would stop him from eliminating a risk.
I squinted, trying to peer through the shiny silver bars. It was rare that I worked the cage. Being trapped in the box meant Kincaid and his crew could keep an eye on me
, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. As usual, the club’s lighting was a cross between an acid trip and a spaceship. Dancing in a three by three square didn’t allow me to question Kincaid or the staff about last night or discover his whereabouts yesterday. The surveillance team said he never left the club, but I knew it was bullshit. He’d ditched them several times before. I didn’t believe yesterday was any different.
How much did Axel know? And why did he make himself scarce?
The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. More than likely, he was on to me. Someone said he partied too much the night before and was upstairs in his loft, but I had no way of knowing if it was true. And with the security measures in place, I couldn’t exactly go check. For all I knew, Axel was out stealing another car and killing another parking attendant, and I was stuck here with nothing but a hope and a prayer that I’d find some piece of evidence to put the man behind bars. I snorted, realizing the irony of the situation.
The bell sounded for last call. My legs ached, and I was drenched in sweat. Fifteen minutes later, the music quieted and the house lights came on. I looked out at the crowd, no longer blinded by the strobing neons. I’d been at the club for almost eight hours, and I still hadn’t spotted the boss.
Normally, the club owner mingled among the throng of guests, catering to them, or running to and from the back room. But tonight, everything was subdued. The high-rollers lounged on the couches while their personal bodyguards and security details stood around looking bored.
Protection details always managed to blend in and stick out at the same time. They all dressed the same, with dark suits and white shirts. It was a sea of drab, punctuated by the ostentatiously rich and their trophy wives, boy toys, and girlfriends. The serious bodyguards didn’t wear ties, but even they had the same deadened look on their faces. I couldn’t figure out if the really dedicated ones tried to blend in by chatting with the staff and drinking at the bar or if they just didn’t give a fuck. But they all had one thing in common; none of them wanted to be here.
The normal crowd didn’t bother to show up tonight, as if they knew the modern-day Dionysus was away. But Axel always bid the staff good night, so he had to be here. Somewhere.
The hundred or so club-goers scampered to the door. The dull drone of their conversations, intimate looks, and clandestine touches promised the night wasn’t over yet. Vaguely, I wondered how many of the barely legal women had class in the morning. Maybe their sugar daddies would drive them in their fancy sports cars. Damn, this place was the epitome of a mid-life crisis.
Within minutes, only a dozen people remained, mostly Axel’s crew. Rick clapped someone on the back as he went out the door, but I didn’t get a good look at the departing straggler. Emilio and Fox were at one of the VIP tables in the back, and that’s when I spotted our missing god of wine, ecstasy, and probably murder.
Kincaid sat beside them, his back to me, but the dark, styled hair and the tailored jacket could only belong to one person. The three men hunched together over the polished mahogany. I couldn’t see what was spread on the table in front of them, but whatever it was kept them occupied.
Emilio caught me watching and waved. Stupid, I thought, smiling back, just as Kincaid turned around. His jacket was unbuttoned, and his crisp, white shirt was open at the throat. He said something to the boys, and Fox folded whatever was on the table and tucked it into his pocket. As if that wasn’t suspicious.
Kincaid crossed the emptying room and jogged up the steps. He unlocked the cage door and offered his hand. “Liv,” he said, his voice deep and sultry, “wonderful performance.”
“Thanks.” I took his offered hand as he helped me down the steps. I glanced back at the table, but Fox and Emilio were gone.
“Call it a night,” Kincaid said, dismissing the bartenders. “We’ll finish the clean-up tomorrow.” He smiled at Jessica and a few of the other waitresses who were beelining to the locker room and handed me a black silk robe with Spark embroidered in sequins. “You look wrecked. Let me get you something to drink.” He went behind the bar.
“Just water,” I said, slipping into the robe and fastening it around my waist.
“Sparkling or flat?”
“Flat.” I took a step backward, realizing we were alone in the club. “Really, it’s not necessary. I have a water bottle in my locker. You don’t need to go to any trouble.”
“Nonsense.” He grabbed a bottle of mineral water and unscrewed the cap before pouring it into a glass. With a jerk of his chin, he dismissed Rick, who went out the front door, locking it behind him. “Are you mad I wouldn’t let you come inside to grab your wallet last night?” He brushed past me and placed the glass of water on a table next to one of the sectional sofas. “Fox and Emilio said they ran into you at a bar. You didn’t go to Serano’s?”
He reached for his phone and scrolled through some details. I heard the muffled conversations of the waitresses heading for the side exit, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. We were alone.
“No, I didn’t. And I’m not mad.”
He patted the cushion beside him, and my heart rate kicked up a few notches. Something was up. The bikini top and mini-skirt I wore didn’t allow any place to conceal a weapon, except the switchblade which was tucked into a hidden pocket at the small of my back, beneath the thick, rhinestone-studded belt. The academy trained us to take down perps twice our size, but it would be a challenge, particularly in these ridiculous heels.
“Did Fox tell you what happened?” I asked.
Kincaid’s gaze flicked to me, and he dropped the phone to the table. “If you have something to confess, now’s the time.” He leaned back and stared expectantly at me.
“It was stupid, really. Someone left an eight ball as a tip. I don’t remember who, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to trade it for cash.”
“I see.” Kincaid’s eyes flicked pointedly to the cushion. The non-verbal order was unmistakable. “I don’t allow people to pass drugs around freely.”
I crossed the room, stumbling and almost crashing to the ground when my calf suddenly cramped. I winced and hobbled onto the sofa, massaging the knot in my leg.
Kincaid reached down, scooping my legs into his lap and forcing me deeper onto the sofa in a single move. He unbuckled one stiletto heel, letting it drop to the floor before repeating the process with the second one. “Are you dealing inside my club, Liv?”
“No,” I said with genuine surprise.
He pressed into the knot in my lower leg. I yelped, but he held tight, keeping me from squirming away. He could do whatever he wanted to me. No one was around to stop him, and even if they were, they all worked for him. He trusted them. With the way he dug his fist into my leg, I knew he didn’t trust me.
“Who left them?” he asked again, accentuating the question with a twist of his knuckle.
“I don’t know.” I thought about implementing various self-defense techniques, but the end result would confirm whatever suspicions were circulating around his brain. He wanted to see how I’d react to the interrogation and the pain.
“Is there anything else I should know about you? Any secrets you haven’t shared?”
Just that I’m a few seconds away from knocking your teeth out. My thoughts flashed to the card found in Becca’s possession. It didn’t list my first name or even first initial, just my rank, last name, and phone number. Even if he suspected I was a cop, he didn’t have proof, unless Becca ratted me out. He was testing me, which meant he wasn’t certain I was a cop.
“Axel, you’re hurting me.” I tried to pull away again, but his grip remained firm. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He squeezed my leg harder, and I hissed. Finally, the knot released, and the sharp pain turned into a dull ache.
He relaxed his grip. The pressure eased. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
I didn’t think he was talking about my leg. “Yes.”
“Should something like this happen again, find me. I’ll ta
ke care of it. You don’t need to get hassled by the police. I have enough problems without them poking around. The last thing I need is to have another waitress arrested for possession.”
“You’re right. It was stupid.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He leaned back, running his hand gently along my calf. “Who did you pass the drugs to?”
“A hooker who hangs around outside. I’ve seen a couple of the girls talk to her before, so I figured she was a safe bet.” I reached for the water and took a sip.
He slid his hand lower and massaged my ankles, an obvious reward for my cooperation. “You should know, if you continue to affiliate with questionable individuals, I’ll have to let you go. The police have a vendetta against me, and after the recent mishap with Wendy, the waitress you replaced, I don’t want to give them any more ammunition to fire at me.”
“Yes, sir.” I tried to pull my legs off his lap, but he held tight. I gave him a cockeyed look. “Seriously, Axel, you have a foot fetish or something?”
“No.” He graced me with a wicked smile. All was forgiven. “Just relax.” He dug his thumb into the ball of my foot, and my head fell back. Killer or not, he had skilled hands, capable of inflicting pain or pleasure. “According to the log, you missed your last two breaks. These heels must be hell. I can’t just let you hobble around, particularly this late at night.”
“I won’t hobble,” I insisted. “My bike’s outside.”
“Still, I should have made sure someone let you out of the cage. I didn’t realize the staff needed my constant supervision.”
“Where were you?”
“Upstairs.”
“You must have thrown quite the rager last night. Or was it a family emergency, like Fox said?”
He looked confused, and I wondered if he forgot the lie he told me. “It wasn’t much of a party. It was a meeting with my investors. Boring business stuff.” He turned to face me, hitting me with the full force of his rugged good looks. Yet, another man who thought he could charm me. I was getting tired of this routine. “Your night was probably a lot more exciting.”