by G. K. Parks
“You’re sure about this?” The only visible portion had been the curved blade of the scythe.
“Mostly. Just keep in mind, it’s a rough approximation.” She pointed to the large upper portion of the tattoo. “This part might not match exactly, but I did what I could.”
“How?”
“It took a lot of work, but after playing with the levels for hours, I was able to make out the dark ink behind the dude’s white sleeve. With a little guesswork, the computer filled in the missing pieces.”
I took the folder from her and flipped through the pages. It didn’t get any hits in the prison database. Was it possible the car thief didn’t have a record? Most offenders had priors which meant the tattoo was fairly new.
I reached for a tablet someone abandoned and did a search. “Yesterday, I made a list of tattoo artists in the city with a similar style, but now that we know what the rest of the image is, we can probably narrow it further.” I graced Mac with an appreciative smile. “Good work.”
“Thanks.”
After some research and a few calls, I found the tattoo artist. Strangely enough, his name had been the first one on my list. Too bad I didn’t make it to my destination yesterday. By now, the bastard might be in custody.
“Let’s take a ride, Fennel.”
Brad drove to the tattoo parlor, and we spoke to the artist, Kai Kahale. Kai recognized the rudimentary approximation of his work and plucked half a dozen photographs off the wall to show us. “It could be any of these. They all feature the same blade in that position,” Kai said.
“Impressive,” Brad remarked. “We’re going to need your clients’ information.”
Kai nodded and went to the front desk. “The last one I did was six months ago.” He squinted at the labels on the folders until he found what he was looking for. Kai’s face sagged. “Oh.” He spun the page with the attached receipt around and pointed. “That’s his name and contact info.”
Brad read the name. “John Smith. 555-1234. This guy thinks he’s cute.” He glowered at Kai. “You didn’t think that was strange?”
“I just write down what they tell me. The only time I worry is when a kid comes in. They have to be eighteen to get inked, so I check IDs in those instances. Other than that, I don’t pay much attention.”
“What about the receipt?” I asked. This had to be our guy, but I took copies of the other five customers’ information who received similar tattoos, just in case. We’d have to check them all out.
Brad tore the receipt off the page. “It’s only the last four digits of a credit card, but we might be able to work with it.” While my partner phoned in the information to see if we could get an actual name and address for John Smith, I questioned Kai.
“Do you remember what John Smith looked like?”
Kai bit his bottom lip. “Not really. I ink a lot of people.” He examined the photographs hanging on a corkboard and plucked two more off. Unlike the other photos he handed me, these included the person’s face, not just the tattoo. “I like to keep copies of my work, but not everyone lets me take a picture when I’m finished. These two did. The tattoo you’re looking for is similar.”
“But neither of these men is John Smith?” I asked.
Kai read the dates on the bottom. “No, I’m sorry.”
I studied the men in the photos, recognizing something familiar about them, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. One was blond, and the other appeared too lanky to be our suspect, but it wouldn’t hurt to run them through facial recognition. “We’ll need to hold on to these.”
“That’s fine. Whatever I can do to help.”
I tucked the photos into a folder with the other forms. “What about what Mr. Smith drove? Do you remember his car?”
Kai snorted. “I have no idea.”
I looked around, but I didn’t spot any security cameras. “Did he say or do anything strange? Anything you can tell me about this guy will be a help.”
“He was white. And if I’m remembering correctly, I’m pretty sure it was his first tattoo.”
“Do you remember how old he was?”
“Over eighteen,” Kai said.
“No shit.”
He held up his palms. “I dunno. In his thirties, I think. I just remember thinking it was strange he waited so long to get a tattoo. Most people get their first one when they’re in their early twenties. So he had to be older than that.”
“Would you take a look at some photos and let me know if anyone rings a bell?” I opened the file containing intel on Kincaid and his crew and removed a stack of glossies.
Kai flipped through them but didn’t pick anyone out. Either he didn’t remember what the tow truck driver looked like, or he wasn’t part of Kincaid’s crew. My thoughts returned to my earlier conclusion – we were dealing with two crews. Two separate sets of crimes, but the man with the tattoo connected to both. I flipped through the information Kai had given me a second time. Who the hell was John Smith?
“Yeah, okay, thanks.” Brad hung up the phone, and I looked expectantly at him. “You’re never gonna believe this.”
A feeling of dread filled me. “What?”
“It was a prepaid credit card. Someone is checking to see if the owner registered it or logged in to check the balance. If not, they’ll do what they can to determine where it was purchased,” Brad said.
I rubbed both hands down my face. “Son of a bitch.” I circled the room, frustrated and angry. We didn’t even know enough to know how involved the tow truck driver was, but considering how far he went to conceal his identity, he had to be involved in something shady. He was at the hotel two hours before the heist. He was in on it.
“Thanks for your time.” Brad handed Kai a card. “If you remember anything else or if Smith comes back, give me a call.”
Kai nodded and tucked the card away.
On the way back to the hotel, I got a call from the lab. They matched the DNA found beneath Becca’s fingernails to Fox. “Send uniforms to pick him up,” I instructed.
Seventeen
“Are you sure about this, DeMarco?” Fennel paced back and forth as the techs performed a soundcheck. “We linked one of Kincaid’s guys to the pro’s murder. He’s in custody. We’ll break him. He’s facing murder charges. He’ll roll.”
“You don’t know Fox.” When he left the bar, he must have tracked down Becca to find out why we were together. I never should have left the bar with her. It was stupid. A rookie mistake. And one I would regret the rest of my life. “He won’t crack.”
Brad blew into his fist. “Where’s Axel taking you?”
“I don’t know.” I bit my lip. “I don’t know what he has planned.” I checked the clip in my gun, made sure the safety was on, and tucked it away. Better safe than sorry.
“We’ll leapfrog. Two mobile units will maintain eyes. We’ll set up better once you reach your destination.”
“Don’t get spotted,” I warned.
The techs finished with the equipment, and Brad turned to them. “Give us the room.” After they departed, he said, “Fox’s on to you. He has to be. It stands to reason he probably sabotaged your car. He must have told Kincaid. You might be walking into a trap.”
“Then be ready to move in as soon as Kincaid tips his hand. I don’t care how we get him, but we get him, even if it’s on some bullshit charge like threatening a police officer. We just need enough to get inside his club and find out what’s really going on.”
“I got your back, Liv. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
“You know me.”
“Hence the warning.”
A taxi dropped me off near my cover apartment, and I walked the rest of the way, not wanting to tip off Axel in case he was keeping tabs on me. Did Becca sell me out? I spoke to Axel after Fox got to her, and he seemed convinced of my loyalty. But it could have been an act. Despite the way it appeared, I still didn’t know how much Axel or his crew knew. The only thing we were sure of was someone sabotaged my
car.
The apartment remained untouched, and I made certain everything was still safely filed away. No one had been here. The nervous energy coursed through me, sending little jolts of adrenaline into my system. Any minute now.
I watched the clock, growing increasingly impatient as the seconds ticked by. It was 12:30. Kincaid said he’d pick me up around midnight. He was late.
“Still no sign of Axel,” I said, knowing Fennel would hear me through the radio. “Does anyone know his current location?”
My phone rang, and I picked it up. “He’s at Spark.”
“All right. I’m heading over there.”
“Liv,” Fennel said, “that’s not the plan.”
“Neither is dying of old age.”
He let out a disgruntled groan and disconnected. Since I was sans car, I grabbed my helmet and hopped on my bike. Ten minutes later, I went to the side entrance and stared up at the camera. George buzzed me through without hesitation, and I tucked my helmet in the locker room before making my way into the club.
Axel was in his office; the phone pressed to his ear. I knocked gently on the door, and he looked up from the paperwork scattered on his desk. He held up a finger, indicating I should wait, and searched through his top drawer for something. I leaned against the doorjamb.
“Yeah, fine. I expect a delivery tomorrow afternoon, or I will find another supplier.” He slammed the phone down. “Shit.” For a moment, he looked completely confused to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“Did we get our signals crossed?”
“Oh,” he blinked, “we had plans.” He shook off his confusion.
I jerked my chin at the phone. “What’s that about?”
“The liquor delivery was delayed, and time got away from me.” He grabbed his jacket. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“You told me to dress comfortably, but I can go home and change.”
He studied my jeans and button-up blouse. “It’s fine. We’re already late. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as he guided me out of his office and down the rear hallway to the side exit.
“You’ll see.” He held the door, waiting for me to exit. Parked at the rear of the building was a burnt orange Maserati. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one he’d taken for a joy ride that vanished into thin air.
“This is yours?” The color would make it much easier for the follow cars to maintain a visual, but the engine might pose a problem.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Just wait until you see what she can do.” He peeled away from the curb, checking the mirrors constantly. “It’s about time you learn what my business is really about, Ms. Bell.”
The use of my cover name set off my cop instincts. “Where are we going?”
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” He approached the next traffic light, slowing to a crawl even though the light was green. It would be red by the time we got to it. He must know he was being followed. The mobile units would end up right on his tail. One of them passed us, turning and pulling to a stop. The other joined the row of cars angrily honking behind us. When the light turned yellow, he gunned the engine, shooting through just as it turned red.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Making sure we have our privacy.”
“Paranoid much?”
He knew. He fucking knew. But I was too stubborn to end this, so I played along, calling his bluff.
“What is much?” He darted through traffic easily, gaining speed and accelerating until we hit the interstate.
“I didn’t realize we were crossing state lines. Where are we going? Canada?” At least the team knew we were northbound on the interstate.
“You ask a lot of questions, Liv.”
“Well, you’ve never needed me for something outside of Spark before. I want to be prepared.”
When we were no longer in the city, he pulled off the interstate. “Trust me. You’ll want to see this. I imagine it’s what you’ve been waiting for.” He zipped around the curves of the small town roads as if he’d made this drive a hundred times. After crossing beneath another traffic light, four cars pulled horizontally across the road behind us, blocking the street. The mobile units would be made the second they arrived. Kincaid wanted me isolated. My fingers tightened around my purse.
“Where the hell are we?”
Axel didn’t answer, and I edged farther away. My hand slipped into my bag.
“Answer me.”
He pointed out the windshield. “Look.” Bright streetlights and storefronts chased away the dark, and I saw dozens, maybe even hundreds, of exotic sports cars.
“What is this place? Where are we?”
He chuckled, sensing my uneasiness and taking pleasure in my anxiety. “We’re pretending to be extras in a car racing flick.”
“You’re going to race this car?”
“No. Tonight, we’re just watching.” He pulled to a stop near a few other cars. “I didn’t set this up. I just heard about it. As you know, Spark’s clientele has eclectic tastes. They enjoy the natural high from living on the edge. And they are wealthy. We don’t buy cars like this to leave them in the garage and collect dust. They’re meant to race, and as with any competition, there’s always wagering.”
“This is what you organize in the back room?”
Kincaid tore his eyes from the four vehicles lining up at the white line to look at me. “Without permits and authorization, a venture like this would be illegal.”
“Did you set this up?” I repeated.
“Shh, it’s about to start.”
In the blink of an eye, four cars raced past, almost like a scene out of a summer blockbuster, but this wasn’t a quarter mile. I didn’t know how long the course was, but when a blue Porsche returned to the starting point, I knew it was over. We watched a few groups get out and cluster around the car, money was exchanged, and the area cleared.
A second set of cars approached the white line, and Axel lost interest and turned to face me. “It’s not a particularly exciting spectator sport, but as you can see, I have no need for additional vehicles. I already have plenty of my own. And I doubt anyone from my club is hurting for a new ride either.” He jerked his chin back at the windshield, encouraging me to look around. “I don’t see any yellow Ferraris or silver McLarens. The police won’t find what they’re looking for here.”
Shit. “Do you race?”
He shrugged. The bastard knew it was best not to tip his hand. He would admit nothing.
“Why the hell did you want to show me this?”
Axel’s cold eyes bore into me. “This is the reason the police believe I’m involved in those two GTAs. So I wanted you to see what goes on. I don’t set up these races. I’m not responsible for the illegal betting, the public endangerment, or the traffic violations. But I know about this, and I know a lot of Spark’s members enjoy these races. That doesn’t make us thieves or murderers. No one gets hurt. The roads are blocked off. It’s a tiny sleepy town. We make sure there aren’t any accidents.”
“We?”
He smoldered. “They. He. Whoever’s in charge.”
You. But I didn’t voice it.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You know why.”
Something was going on, and I turned my attention back to what was happening beyond the windshield. “Who’s the guy with the reaper tattoo?” He appeared to be in charge of taking bets. Typically, the house wins, but our tow truck driver seemed more like a three-time loser. At least I finally found the son of a bitch, but I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.
“They call him Marvin,” Kincaid replied.
“Is he a member of Spark?”
Axel shook his head.
“Do you know anything else about Marvin? Does Marvin have a last name?”
“I’m sure he does.” Axel was infuriating.
/> “Do you know what it is?”
“No.”
We fell silent as more bets were placed, and two tricked out cars approached the spray-painted line. A scantily clad woman stood between the two cars, shimmied her panties down her legs, and held them high in the air before waving them like a flag. The cars took off.
“I thought you said your clientele was classy,” I remarked.
“What do you expect from startup punks who spent their formative years locked in their mothers’ basements, playing video games?”
The cars disappeared from sight. A rumble of cheering sounded, and Marvin the tow truck driver began taking more bets on the sidelines. Axel put the car in gear and took the back streets, waiting for the four cars that sealed us in to let us out.
“I hope you found this enlightening, Detective.”
My eyes went to him, but he stared at the road ahead. I had a million questions, but asking them now did not seem like the best plan. “What are you talking about?”
His gaze snapped to me for just a moment. “Don’t lie to me, Liv. I know who you are.”
“How long have you known?”
He snorted, refusing to answer.
By the time we made it back to the city, two mobile units were waiting outside Spark. Axel glared at me. Apparently, he thought our little field trip would make the PD back off the investigation. Instead, the police were out in force. They didn’t take kindly to one of their own being isolated from the support team.
“Busy night, Mr. Kincaid?” Fennel asked.
“What the hell do you want now? I have nothing to say.” Axel stared at me. “I gave you a gift. Call off the hounds.”
“I can’t do that.”
“We have a search warrant,” Brad said.
Kincaid ripped the paper from Fennel’s hand. “On what grounds?”
“One of your employees was arrested for murder earlier today. We need access to his workspace, and since his official title is general manager, the judge granted us clearance to search your entire club.”
Axel grimaced and reached for his phone. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Fennel ignored him and entered the establishment. “You okay?” he whispered.