Burning Heat

by David Burnsworth

  My guess was he’d gotten smarter.

  I said, “We’re going to stick out if we roll up in this unmarked car.”

  “You got any suggestions?”

  “Yes.” I called Mutt, put him on the speaker, and explained where we were.

  “You mean Ernest got that smokin’ detective hostage?”

  “Something’s not right about it all,” I said, not wanting to admit that she could already be dead.

  Mutt said, “Well, pick me up and let’s go get him.”

  After convincing Detective Crawford to swap his unmarked for my Audi, which he didn’t want to do because he could lose his connection with headquarters, we swung by and picked up Mutt.

  From the backseat, Mutt said, “I didn’t know you was bringing the cub scout, Opie.”

  Crawford, portable radio in his lap, kept quiet.

  I said, “Warrez’s his partner. He deserves to be here.”

  “He know how we roll?”

  Crawford asked, “How do you roll?”

  Mutt spun the barrel of his thirty-eight special and snapped it shut. “All the way.”

  “You guys think you’re going to shoot someone?”

  “You’re the one who brought me in on this,” I said. “Mutt and the heaters come with the package.”

  “Yeah,” Mutt said, “and we get results. How!”

  How was right. Of course, we also acquired casualties along the way. But we weren’t about to let Crawford in on that little detail.

  Twenty minutes later we rode through the North Charleston community known more for drug busts than tourist attractions.

  At Ernest’s rundown apartment complex, we pulled in and parked at a building down from his.

  Mutt got out, walked around to the driver’s side. “You keep your eyes open, Opie. You see anything look out of place, shoot first like we talked about before.”

  My friend walked away from the car and up the stairs to Ernest’s second-floor apartment.

  Crawford said, “Why does he call you Opie?”

  Mutt cleared the top of the stairs.

  I said, “He’s my brother. He can call me anything he wants.”

  With the window down, I pulled a stogie out and pressed in the lighter.

  Crawford said, “Cigars are out of style, you know.”

  The lighter popped, letting me know it was ready. I pulled it and lit my cigar. “So is dressing like a metrosexual but that doesn’t seem to stop you.”

  Coughing, he said, “Very funny.”

  As I replaced the lighter, a loud blast refocused our attention. Immediately I saw Mutt dive down the stairs.

  I threw the cigar into the gutter and jumped out of the car. A tall black man the size of a Sub-Zero refrigerator racked a shotgun. The gorilla was halfway down the stairs aiming at Mutt and my hands were still patting my pockets for a handgun that wasn’t there. Mutt ducked behind a car and pulled his thirty-eight.

  Crawford looked like a deer in the headlights. He froze in the front seat of the car.

  I yelled, “Get out of there!” and met the gorilla in three long strides. I grabbed the barrel of the shogun and aimed it away from Mutt. The blast came a second later. I hit the monster with everything I had. He backed up half a step and I locked my hands on the Remington. I kneed him in the crotch and his legs buckled. Wrenching the shotgun from his hands, I slammed the butt across his face hard. He didn’t go down.

  Mutt joined me and smashed the guy’s head with his thirty-eight. That move tamed the savage beast. Or at least knocked him out cold.

  Catching his breath, Mutt said, “Where’s the cub scout?”

  I turned and didn’t see him. “Crawford?”

  No answer.

  Mutt and I looked at each other. I held the monster’s shotgun by the barrel and followed Mutt to my car. The windshield had taken the errant blast. So had Crawford, now lying on the asphalt beside the car. His face was a mess. I checked for a pulse—present but faint.

  On the opposite side of the parking lot a V-8 engine barked to life through glass-pack mufflers. I’d heard that sound before. Memories flashed for an instant. Willa Mae being shot. Running with Aphisha in my arms. Without thinking I ran toward the noise, the shotgun in my hands. Ernest’s black Impala roared away. Instinctively, I racked the shotgun and trained it on the escaping car. But Warrez might be in there. I didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, I did what I should have done first. I went to Crawford. Used my shirt to apply pressure and stop the bleeding. Told Mutt to call an ambulance.

  As soon as he hung up, my phone vibrated. “You got a call comin’, Opie.”

  The caller I.D. said Detective Warrez.

  I said, “Swap places with me,” and picked up.

  The same growl I’d heard when Willa Mae died said, “You better back off or your girlfriend here dies.”

  So she had been in Ernest’s Impala.

  I said, “Your boy with the shotgun already shot a cop. Killing one won’t win you any friends on the police force.”

  “I said, back off. If you try to follow me, you won’t see her again.”

  I said, “Remember the night we met? How romantic it was?”

  “What you talking about?”

  “You know,” I said, “that hot and steamy night. The full moon. Me slamming your butt-ugly face onto the roof of that car.”

  “I remember you running away like a girl.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, it must make you feel like a real man shooting innocent women and children.”

  “That ho warn’t innocent.”

  “You’re still going to pay for chopping her up and burning her with the garbage.”

  Ernest Brown didn’t speak right away. I hoped I was getting to him, winding him up. Maybe distracting him enough to make a mistake.

  “After I finish with your girlfriend here,” he snarled, “you next.”

  I asked, “Hey, Ernest?”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to lose.”

  His laugh was deep and sinister, like a vampire. He said, “You gonna wish you never got in the way.” He ended the call.

  Rosalita Warrez did not deserve any of this. I couldn’t fix what had already been done, but I could stop Ernest. Mutt was right. Impossible situations were what I was good at.

  Mutt said, “What we gonna do?”

  The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance.

  I said, “Walk away.”

  My friend said, “Huh?”

  “You heard me.” I handed him all the cash we’d retrieved from the madam that had been in my car. “Get a cab back to the city. Call my lawyer. His name is Lester Brogan.”

  The police were real sweethearts. At least, compared to usual. Crawford was sent to the emergency room and Ernest’s gorilla was charged with attempted murder. They weren’t sure what to do with me.

  Lester Brogan gave the district attorney a hard time for not being able to see me. With Lester’s relentlessness, and a fortuitous ten-year-old who videoed the whole incident with his smart phone, I became a free man. Again. But I had no idea where Ernest or Warrez were. The cops seemed unconcerned about her when I tried to explain that was why Crawford and I went to the apartment complex in the first place. All they cared about was retribution for Crawford being shot. Which almost made me feel sorry for the stupid ape with the shotgun.

  They’d impounded my Audi, which was okay because the dealer said my truck was fixed. The police had sent it to the garage when they were done with it. I had the dealer deliver it to my house.

  Darcy was waiting for me in front of the police station in her convertible Infiniti.

  I said, “I thought you were on your way out of here?”

  She said, “Ernest has vanished.”

  I got in her car. “No kidding.”

  She handed me something wrapped in a paper bag. “Compliments of Mutt.”

  I opened the bag, pulled out a thirty-eight revolver, and opened the chamber. It was loaded. I asked, “
Have you a plan for finding Detective Warrez?”

  My favorite news reporter said, “The first question should be, ‘Why did Ernest kidnap her?’”

  Shoving the gun into a pocket, I said, “I think she might have witnessed him killing Sykes.”

  “Yeah, but why not just kill her?”

  I thought about it. “I’m not sure. That’s been nagging me a little, too. Maybe for leverage?”

  Fifteen minutes later, the convertible pulled into the deserted parking lot of my bar.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “Spending their money in places allowed to serve drinks, obviously.”

  Inside, I went behind the bar. Darcy sat at one of the stools.

  Bonny landed on my shoulder. “Hi, Brack. Squawk!”

  I stroked her feathers. “Hi, pretty girl. Where’s Paige?”

  A voice coming out of my office said, “I’m here.”

  And so she was. At least she hadn’t left yet. But I almost didn’t recognize her when she came into the room.

  I said, “What’s with that get-up?”

  Darcy said, “I love your shoes.”

  In place of her usual T-shirt that barely covered anything, she wore a cream-colored blouse, and in place of what tried to pass for shorts was a cotton skirt. The shoes were, well, what did I know about women’s shoes? They matched the skirt with three-inch heels. That was as far as I could go.

  “Whose wedding did you just come from?” I asked, hoping it hadn’t been a job interview.

  “Cute, boss,” she said. “Real cute.”

  I scanned the bottles on the top shelf. “Can I get either of you ladies something to drink?”

  “If you’ll shut up and listen,” the manager of my bar said, “I’d like to tell you where I’ve been while you were busy getting arrested. Again.” Emphasis on the word again.

  I said, “Detective Warrez got kidnapped. And her partner, Crawford, got shot.”

  Paige opened her mouth but no sound came out. The color drained out of her face.

  Darcy stood and hugged Paige. Something wasn’t clicking with me. Paige wouldn’t be reacting this way because of Warrez. And she only knew Crawford from the times he came to the bar. Like when he remained with the single-mom staff while Warrez and I drove downtown.

  Then it hit me. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t know. He’s in critical condition.”

  Paige leaned back against a table. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. It’s … it’s—”

  “It’s okay,” Darcy said.

  “You want to go see him at the hospital?” I asked.

  She shook her head and slumped into a chair. “I can’t go like this.”

  I poured an inch of Absolut Limon into two tumblers and slid the glasses across the bar to the women.

  Paige reached for hers and took a sip. “What happened?”

  To buy time, I felt the outside of my cargo shorts pockets for my cigar and lighter.

  “Really, Brack,” she said, “I want to know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Darcy said, “Tell her.”

  Using the cutter, I clipped off the end of the cigar. It took a few seconds to light. I blew a stream toward the ceiling. “We found the kidnapper and someone with a shotgun wounded Crawford.” After the kid froze up, I thought, but didn’t say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Even with Darcy’s extensive network, we had no line on Ernest. The police did not like the fact that Crawford was with me when he was shot. They would not be a source of information on anything relevant. My Myrtle Beach friend, Wilson, didn’t have anything new to offer, either.

  So far, the only bright spot had come from Paige. Before she left for the hospital to see Crawford, her apparently-new boyfriend, she told us she’d had a meeting with Lester Brogan and we had a very good chance of appealing our license suspension.

  Darcy went to tape her evening news clip so she dropped me off at my house. As the sun set, I thought about my next move and received a text.

  After reading it, I said, “No way.”

  I started my recently returned and fixed pickup and used every ounce of horsepower it had to get me moving.

  Once in North Charleston, I turned into a run-down apartment complex and pulled to a stop in front of the address I’d been to before. I stuck Mutt’s thirty-eight down the waistband of my shorts, went to the door, and knocked.

  Kali, the cocktail waitress from the Treasure Chest, opened the door and said, “You miss me, baby?”

  “I got your text.”

  She took my arm and tugged me to her. “You wanna come in or what?”

  Face to face with a fragrance of vanilla and a slight whiff of reefer, I looked into her dilated pupils and said, “I want Ernest.”

  She giggled. “What if he don’t want you, baby?”

  “He’s got a friend of mine, and not because she likes his company.”

  “We all need rescuin’, baby.”

  I stepped inside and took in the surroundings. The small apartment held a decent green cloth couch that faced a medium-sized flatscreen. A toy dump truck, a football, and some action figures cluttered up one corner. “Where’s your son?”

  Her eyebrows raised. “With his grandmother. We got the place all to ourselves, baby.”

  “The longer we play this game, the worse off my friend could be.”

  Kali shut the door. “How you know someone’s in trouble, anyway?”

  “Ernest is an evil man. Didn’t you see the news article on him? I’m pretty sure he killed three people I knew, Willa Mae, a white girl named Camilla, and Willa Mae’s lawyer.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I said, “The message you sent me said you knew where the man I’ve been looking for is. I’m here for that reason. Do you know where Ernest is or not?”

  Turning her head slowly from side to side, she sighed.

  “Is that a no?” I asked. “Who is Ernest to you, anyway?”

  “My brother.”

  I hadn’t expected that one.

  She said, “He got a message for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kiss me first.”

  “Kali—”

  Before I could finish, she put her index finger to my lips. “Ain’t I good enough for you, baby? You liked what you saw at that fancy bar we was at. Why don’t you like me now?”

  I put my arms around her. “I do like what I see. I like it a lot.”

  “Then kiss me.”

  I did.

  Her lips were big and soft and inviting. She locked her arms around me tight. I ran my hands down her back and she moaned. The craziness of the moment was not lost on me. My goal was finding Ernest, and if this is what it took, well …

  She pushed me back with a hand. “After you done with what you gotta do, I want you to come back and rescue me.”

  Nodding, my only thought was Warrez.

  Kali said, “Ernest say he at the house Mary Ellen turned tricks at. He say you know where it is ’cause you been there before. You and Brother Thomas.”

  Before I realized it, I was out the door and running to my truck.

  This was a trap and I knew it. On the way, I called Mutt and explained the situation. He was locked and loaded and ready for Ernest when I picked him up.

  The target house was dark. In fact, the whole street was. We left the truck two blocks away and walked so Ernest wouldn’t see the headlights. Not that it mattered. Kali had probably called and tipped him off that I was coming. I prayed he didn’t expect both of us, pulled the thirty-eight, and scanned the area. Mutt circled the block and was coming from the other side.

  No streetlights meant he couldn’t see me and I couldn’t see him. Unless he had night vision.

  Instead of knocking on the door, which I was sure he knew I wouldn’t do, I walked the perimeter of the house. Two windows were open and only the screen door stood between anyone on the front porch and inside.

  A misplaced s
tep and my foot crunched on dry vegetation or trash. I stopped and listened.

  A voice behind me growled, “I see you got my message.”

  In the darkness, I said, “Where’s Detective Warrez?”

  Ernest snorted. “She might be Detective Warrez to you, but she one nice piece to me. You need to try some of that. Mm-mm good.”

  The sound of his familiar snarl put him to my left. I turned around, hoping Mutt knew I was now in the crosshairs.

  “Don’t you be gettin’ any ideas, white boy. You juss keep facin’ the house like you supposed to.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  The next sound I heard was a shotgun being racked. I closed my eyes and cussed. One pull of the trigger and I’d be splattered all over the side of this dump. Now would be a good time, Mutt.

  Ernest jammed the barrel into my back. “I already took care of your partner with the thirty-eight. Drop your pistol and get in the house.”

  I did as he asked, shell-shocked that Mutt could be dead. Ernest was right behind me, and my training came into focus. As we entered the house, a new plan formed. If he turned on a light, we’d both be blind while our eyes adjusted. The Marines had taught me to use every advantage.

  He flipped on the light switch. Immediately I dropped to all fours and kicked back with my foot. It caught Ernest squarely in the crotch. He grunted and I sprang off the floor like a cat. Grabbing the shotgun with both hands, I fought him for control. The weapon went off with a loud boom. Buckshot peppered the ceiling. His two-inch height advantage and twenty pounds over me made him more than a formidable opponent. He did not let go of the shotgun.

  I pushed him against a wall. He slammed the stock into my abdomen and I gasped for breath and dropped to the ground.

  “I told you not to get any ideas, boy,” he said, standing over me.

  I spit blood. Movement in the doorway caught my attention. I looked over and saw Trevor, Willa Mae’s ex-boyfriend, peeking in.

  Motioning with the shotgun, Ernest said, “Get up.”

  He hadn’t seen Trevor.

  “I understand why you felt you had to get rid of Willa Mae,” I said, struggling to get to my feet and move away from the doorway. “You had to get rid of the evidence of the baby. The one thing I can’t figure out is why you cut her up and burned her on Gardner’s property?”