Dangerous Stakes

by G. K. Parks

  “Looks that way.” Fennel tossed a baseball toward the ceiling and caught it. “Mac found a few photos on Juan’s social media account geotagged at Rhinestones.”

  “He always paid cash.” Slowly, I lifted my head and watched the baseball yo-yo skyward. “I hate to say it, but we never would have connected Juan to Emilio without Axel. You know what bothers me about that?”

  “No one’s IDed Kincaid or Fox.” Brad caught the baseball and rocked forward in his chair. “Still think he’s involved? Wouldn’t giving up his accomplices throw a wrench into his plan?”

  Spinning my chair around, I stared at the empty interrogation room. “To hell with our preconceived notions. Let’s start fresh.”

  “Three men in a stolen white SUV. We can place Emilio inside the SUV, and we can connect him to Juan and Becca.”

  Flipping through Emilio’s file, I reread his rap sheet. He had been arrested once at seventeen for tagging a subway car. That was it. No history of drugs or violence. His parents died when he was seven, and he lived with his grandmother until she died four years ago. The apartment he lived in and was now renting to some stranger he found on a vacation rental site was the only home he’d known for the last twenty years. He didn’t have any social media accounts. His phone records didn’t include any suspicious activity. Neither did his financials. We pinged his cell phone, but it was turned off. We issued a BOLO for him and his car, a late model two-door coupe, but nothing about Emilio screamed killer.

  “Do you think Axel’s story about the pros in the motel room is accurate?” Fennel asked. He glanced at his phone which hadn’t rung since Mac’s update. “Ms. Mercury didn’t give me the impression any of the girls really liked Emilio.”

  “They found him creepy because he is creepy. But like she said, he seemed harmless. Honestly, I’d bet on Fox or Kincaid taking a crowbar to someone’s skull before I could picture Emilio doing it.”

  “He might not be our killer,” Fennel said. “He could be the driver or the other thief.”

  I dropped the file and went back to the stack of receipts. “If he isn’t our killer, he knows who is, which means we need to find him before he ends up dead. Break time’s over.” Handing off half the stack of receipts, I went back to identifying the card owners based on the receipt information and barely legible signatures. “Let me know if any of the names match up with Spark’s members or employees.”

  Brad chuckled. “You heard Kincaid. He doesn’t share a customer base with Rhinestones.”

  “Kincaid’s an idiot.”

  “Is that all you learned after three months?” Captain Grayson asked. He hovered above our desks. He put a hand on my shoulder, hoping to soften the harshness of his words. “I thought you might like to know we tailed Kincaid to the private lot where Marvin Struthers left the repossessed SUV.”

  “What’s he doing there?” Fennel asked.

  “We don’t know. He went into the trailer office and hasn’t come out since.” Grayson looked at his watch. “That was about an hour ago.”

  His words left a sinking feeling in my gut. “I’m gonna check on something. Stay on this. Call me as soon as you get a name.”

  Fennel nodded, and I grabbed the bike helmet from beneath my desk. Officers had already checked out the private lot, and Captain Grayson determined Marvin Struthers wasn’t involved in the murders. But he was involved with Kincaid and Spark. And now Axel was at the same lot. I didn’t think he was grabbing a cold one with a friend.

  I pulled the bike to a stop beside Axel’s burnt orange car, wondering which vehicle was more of a death trap. The surveillance team remained on the street, doing their best to appear inconspicuous in a blue and white cruiser. Kincaid knew we were following him, but he still came here. It had to be important, or he wanted to lead us on a wild goose chase while his friends escaped.

  Cautiously, I crossed the lot, walking through the rows of parked cars and the stacks of various parts. It looked like a junkyard. Property records showed it once belonged to Towers Wrecker Service. But the bank took possession, and a pawn shop bought it when it went up for auction.

  The rusty chain-link fence stood menacingly on both sides, deterring vandals and thieves. Well, most thieves. I went up the two steps to the trailer. The sign said closed on the office door.

  Knocking, I waited. One hand rested on the butt of my gun, perhaps out of habit or fear. Truthfully, this place gave me the heebie-jeebies. “Police. Open up.”

  A loud bark resonated from within, and I saw the thick, spiked collar and lead hooked to the side of the trailer. A sign in the window warned of a guard dog. Shit.

  A large, black dog, some kind of Pitt mix, pounced against the window. His sharp teeth bared as he continued to bark at me. On second thought, maybe I didn’t want to go inside. Through the spittle smeared window, I saw movement.

  “Axel, open the damn door. Now.” Judging from the hinges, I knew the door opened outward, so I stood behind it. A moment later, the lock flipped. The moment the door opened, the dog burst out, running straight ahead. Immediately, I swiveled around the door and pulled it closed behind me, locking the dog out.

  “He better not scratch my car,” Axel muttered.

  “Is anyone else here?” I asked. I kept my gun at my side and checked the tiny two-room office, but the place was empty. “You know breaking and entering is a crime.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Detective, but I did nothing of the sort.”

  “So Cujo let you in?”

  Kincaid let out a huff and rested his hips against the drafting table. However, it did little to conceal the mess he made in the office. He’d been searching for something.

  “Your tie’s stuck in the cabinet drawer,” I pointed out.

  Kincaid tugged it free. “Did you come all the way here just to arrest me on more bogus charges?”

  “No, but I’m reconsidering.”

  “Call my lawyer. I’m done talking to you.”

  “And just when I was beginning to think you weren’t a murderous thief.”

  He groaned dramatically. “I’m not.”

  “What about Emilio?”

  His jaw clenched. “Look, Liv, this has nothing to do with me, my club, or my friends. Hypothetically, it’s possible I enjoy using my car for its intended purpose. And maybe races aren’t the only thing I organize for Spark’s members. But whatever is going on here isn’t about the games I run.”

  “You said your members are dangerous men and women. What about your employees? From Fox’s rap sheet, I’d say he has anger issues. I wouldn’t put it past him to take a crowbar to someone’s skull.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t.”

  Axel stepped away from the filing cabinet and invaded my personal space. He took another step closer, and alone in tight quarters, I took a step back. He moved closer still, but I had backed myself into a wall. He wasn’t armed, at least not with a gun. He could have a knife, but with a unit outside, he’d have to be suicidal to try something.

  “Do I scare you?” His breath brushed against my neck. “You spent three months working at Spark, getting to know me, my crew, the club members, and you still have so many questions.”

  “You were on your best behavior. Like you said, you knew I was a cop. And you did an excellent job hiding the illegal casino and betting from me.”

  He chuckled to himself and stepped away. “Maybe I have a few vices, but that’s neither here nor there.” He returned to the filing cabinet and rifled through it. “Have you found Emilio?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He wasn’t at Rhinestones?”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Once or twice. Not recently. I’m sure you checked.”

  “Did Emilio tell you that’s where he hangs out when he’s not at Spark?”

  Axel rolled his eyes. “Emilio doesn’t exactly hang out with other people. He’s like someone’s kid brother. Fox and I let him hang ar
ound Spark since he’s a whiz with maintenance and electronics. He saved me a ton by repairing the HVAC when it went on the fritz. So he earned his keep, but as far as friends outside of work, I don’t think he has any.”

  From what I recalled, Emilio spent every night at the club. Mostly, he hung out around the VIP area. “Is he involved in anything shady or illegal?”

  Kincaid found a folder and opened it. He removed several sheets of paper and what looked like several pink slips and tucked them into his jacket. “Like I said, Spark’s on the up and up.”

  “Bullshit.” I jerked my chin at his breast pocket. “What the hell is that?”

  He smirked. “Frisk me and find out, but it’ll be an illegal search. And I will file harassment charges. Depending on how thoroughly you search me, maybe sexual harassment charges, but I’m game if you are.”

  “Illegal?” I practically choked on the word. “You broke into this trailer and stole documents. Don’t talk to me about illegal.”

  “I didn’t break in, Liv. I own this property.” He held up a set of keys. “The company that owns the pawn shop is A.K. Limited. It’s my holding company. That makes all of this mine, and you’re trespassing.”

  “What’s the dog’s name?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Spike.”

  “Sure, it is.” I kept my eyes on Axel and called to get verification.

  “You don’t trust easily.”

  “Said the thief.”

  His eyes went cold. “There is honor among thieves.”

  “Sure, there is.” I blew out a breath. “I know the heist and the murders connect to you. And I will find out how. Are you sure you don’t want to come clean?”

  “This is too much fun. Why would I give up now?”

  Fennel came back on the line, verifying Axel owned the trailer. “One more thing, one of the receipts tracked back to Iain Harrington. He’s one of Spark’s premier members. I already made the request for his phone records, but it turns out we already spoke to Harrington earlier today. He was part of the parade that marched through this morning.”

  “No one flagged him as suspicious?”

  “Nope.”

  Kincaid’s brow furrowed, and fire burned in his eyes. He heard the name, and it meant something to him. “Bring him in,” I instructed. Hanging up, I tucked the phone away. My right hand hadn’t moved from my weapon since I entered the trailer, and with the look on Axel’s face, it provided just the slightest bit of comfort.

  “You heard?”

  He nodded.

  “Who the hell’s Iain Harrington?”

  “Stay out of my business.”

  “You made this my business. You and those assholes. So answer the question.”

  “Just know, if you get involved in this, I can’t protect you.”

  “Protect me?” I scoffed, but he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he left the trailer, whistled for Spike, and sent the dog barreling toward me.

  I managed to get out of the trailer and lock the dog inside with my limbs still intact, but by the time I was done, Axel had peeled out of the parking lot. His rear tires spitting gravel as he pulled onto the main road.

  Twenty-four

  Axel Kincaid lied. Marvin Struthers worked for him. Kincaid owned the pawn shop and the old Towers Wrecker Service equipment. It had to be a front to move or steal high-end items, like exotic sports cars, without drawing unwanted attention from the authorities. It was the best way to move these hot commodities without exporting or chopping them. And since the pawn shop and private lot were listed under a separate corporation which didn’t directly link to Kincaid, we probably never would have found it because we didn’t know where to look. Axel made a mistake by telling me this was his, and I didn’t know Axel to ever make a mistake

  “We have forensic accountants going through Kincaid’s financials and holdings to see what else he’s got on the side. I can’t believe we didn’t know about this sooner,” Fennel said.

  “We thought vice gave us everything. We’ll know better in the future.” I squinted against the setting sun. The surveillance team had taken off after Kincaid, but they lost him in traffic. Kincaid was furious. He knew what was really going on, and he wanted blood. Harrington’s blood. “Ping Harrington’s phone,” I said. “It’s a matter of life or death. Kincaid’s going after him. I need to get to him first.”

  “Hang on.” After some shouting, Brad came back on the line and gave me an address. “Liv, I’ll send a team to his location. Wait for backup.”

  “No problem.” I straddled the bike and took off for Harrington’s last known location. I had no idea how Harrington fit into any of this, but I’d find out soon enough.

  Zipping in and out of traffic, I was glad to be on two wheels instead of four. It gave me an advantage Axel didn’t have. Dammit. I should have prevented him from leaving, except he sent that hellhound after me. I had no idea what he was going to do, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

  More than likely, Harrington double-crossed Kincaid. Fennel would have to figure out how or why. I didn’t know who conducted Harrington’s interview the other morning, but he didn’t say or do anything suspicious. No one from Spark said anything out of the ordinary, and since half of them were city officials, we didn’t dig too deeply once they provided alibis for the time of the shooting.

  I took a tight turn, my bike practically horizontal, and I gulped. No more fatalities, I promised myself. That’s why I had to stop Kincaid, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good if I became a smear on the pavement.

  Arriving at the address, I parked the bike against the curb and searched for the familiar burnt orange. Kincaid wasn’t here. For the briefest moment, I felt relieved. But the nagging voice of self-doubt reared its ugly head. What if this was a misdirect?

  It didn’t matter. Harrington connected to Rhinestones, which meant he also connected to Juan and Emilio. Unfortunately, now that I was here, I had no idea where to search for Harrington. Backup was on the way, but so was Axel.

  “Brad, tell me where to look,” I said.

  “I gave you the address.”

  “Yeah, and there are two apartment buildings, half a dozen shops and restaurants, and two converted warehouses. Is this where Harrington lives? Works? What’s the deal?”

  I could hear the sound of typing. “Harrington lives across town. However, his girlfriend has a place near there. Half a block away.” He read the street address. “Apartment 39J.”

  Setting off toward the apartment building, I asked, “What else?”

  “Mac?” he yelled. After some muffled conversation, he said, “He likes to do happy hour at McGinty’s.”

  “What’s his girlfriend’s name?”

  “Kristen.”

  “I’ll take her apartment. Tell dispatch to send backup to the bar.”

  “Liv, wait.”

  “I can’t. Kincaid isn’t here yet. I don’t suppose we can ping his phone?”

  “Not legally, but just so you know, it’s turned off.”

  I hung up and jogged to the apartment building. Holding my hand over the peephole outside 39J, I knocked. I didn’t hear any sounds coming from within, but I didn’t want to announce who I was. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  Still nothing.

  “A pipe burst in 40J. We need to make sure the water didn’t seep into the ceiling.” I waited. Dammit.

  I banged on a few more doors until someone answered. “Have you seen Kristen today?” I asked. The woman shook her head. “What about Iain Harrington?”

  She gave me the once-over, suddenly suspicious. I pulled my badge from where it hung beneath my jacket.

  “Iain hasn’t been around in a few days. I think Kristen finally broke it off with that psycho. At least I hope so.” She gave the door a suspicious look. “Did he do something to her?”

  “What do you mean psycho?”

  “Screaming, yelling, throwing things. These walls are paper-thin. They had a knockdown, drag-out last week. It’s not t
he first time that’s happened either. He accused her of snooping on his phone. The next day, I see her in the laundry room with a broken nose. She said she got into an accident, but you know what that means.” She gave me a sassy look.

  “Are there any places nearby Kristen hangs out?”

  “That girl’s always at the coffee shop across the street. She works there, drinks there, practically lives there.”

  “Thanks.”

  I was halfway down the hall when she called after me, “You never told me what this is about.”

  “Stay inside. Lock your doors. You see Kristen or Iain, call the police and have them patch it through to Detective Fennel.”

  The burnt orange car caught my attention the moment I exited the apartment building. I unzipped my jacket and rested my hand on my gun. The café or the pub? Darting across the street, I pushed my way through the ever-present crowd at the café, but Axel wasn’t inside.

  “Kristen?” I hollered over the din.

  One of the baristas waved, apparently confusing me with someone else. “She went to visit her aunt. Took the day off.”

  Turning on my heel, I left the café and entered the bar. It made the crowd at the coffee shop seem minuscule. A moment later, two uniformed officers entered behind me. With the three of us, it was easier to conduct a sweep. I just finished questioning the bartender, who swore Iain wasn’t here, when I caught a glimpse of movement outside the pub. Kincaid.

  “Axel,” I yelled, bursting through the door, “stop right there.” He continued to move at a brisk pace toward one of the two warehouses. He must have been a hundred feet away. “I said stop.”

  He hastened his pace, jutting beneath the partially opened shutter door. I ran after him, reaching the warehouse just as he dropped the door. I tried the smaller side entrance, but it was locked. Since I didn’t have a radio, I used my phone to dial dispatch and get patched through to the uniforms at the bar. Two additional units were on the way, but I wasn’t waiting. Given the circumstances, we had cause to enter the warehouse.

  I took a step back and kicked the door. Pain shot up my leg and through my hip. Damn reinforced door. The two officers caught my pathetic attempt to enter.