Dexter couldn’t believe how fast Grover was pulling away from him and flying into the intersection against the light. Jesus, he thought. Damned steering wheel must have gone all the way through the big man. Dexter slammed on his brakes, watched until both the Mustang and the bus had stopped, then made a quick U-turn over the safety island. He was absolutely stunned as he headed up Speer Boulevard and back toward downtown.
Tina called 911 and the medics came and got both Marty and Streeter to St. Joseph’s Hospital. Denver General Hospital was much closer, but too many people came out of that place in worse condition than when they went in. Streeter had a heavy, dull ache in his left arm and his head was pounding from Grover’s punches. But the ER doctor quickly set his broken ulna—which wasn’t as badly damaged as he originally feared—and gave him some painkillers for his headache. Within an hour, he started feeling almost human again.
That didn’t last long.
Two uniformed officers—an elderly white man and a Hispanic who looked like Jimmy Smits—arrived at the hospital while Streeter was being looked at. They took Tina’s statement and, just before the bounty hunter was done in the ER, they got a call from downtown. When Streeter came out, the Hispanic officer nodded for him to sit. Then he pulled out his notepad.
“How you feeling?” he asked, glancing at the cast that took up most of Streeter’s forearm and wrist.
“I’ve been better. There must be an easier way to get Percodans.”
No one laughed. For the next fifteen minutes, Streeter walked them through his recollection of what happened at the store. As he and Tina had agreed while waiting for the medics, he didn’t mention why they were meeting Marty other than a vague “We had some business papers he wanted to see.” They’d deal with the rest of it the next day with Bill McLean present.
When he finished, the older cop kept his eyes welded to him. “And you say Grover was hit only once with the crowbar? By the woman?”
“That’s right.”
The Hispanic cop jumped back in: “And he left under his own power?”
Streeter nodded. “I think I heard him drive out of the alley, but I didn’t see him. I’ve got his home address if you want to get someone over there to talk to him.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the white cop said. “Grover was killed in a car accident on Speer just north of Mile Hi Stadium about an hour or so ago. From what I heard there’s no way to tell how many of his injuries were due to you two and how many to an RTD bus.”
Streeter couldn’t just go right back to the church. He needed a few stiff hoists with bar people, so he had Tina drop him off at Gabor’s on 13th. Now that Grover was dead and she was out of danger, Tina could stay at her own place. And because they’d both had their fill of the entire mess, neither one of them wanted to wait around and talk to Marty. They made sure he was all right and then left. Before walking to Tina’s car, Streeter called Frank and gave him a quick summary of what had happened that night. He said he was going out for a few drinks at Gabor’s and not to wait up for him. He’d catch a cab later. Streeter was in a mood so foul he didn’t even care to talk to Frank for long. All he wanted to do was get loaded in a bar packed with people he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Gabor’s was a decent choice. He seldom socialized in that part of Capitol Hill and the crowd was young enough to leave him alone. It was dark, smoky, and the CD jukebox was turned up to a level that didn’t allow any quiet contemplation.
For nearly two hours he sipped Scotch with beer chasers, ate an occasional painkiller, and debated whether to have a cigarette, something he hadn’t done in years. The go-for-it side was about to carry the day when she walked up to him. Wearing bleached-out blue jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, Connie stood across his table looking down at him. He squinted through the smoke and couldn’t place her at first.
She smiled broadly. “Rough night, huh?” Her voice was gentle and he struggled to hear it above the jukebox.
“Connie?” He frowned and squinted harder. “That you?”
She nodded once.
“What are you doing here?” Streeter shifted his shoulders quickly as a small wave of pain shot up from his broken arm.
“I thought maybe you’d like to see a friendly face.”
He looked off, nodding and considering that. Then he glanced back up at her. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I called your place a little while ago to see about our big date and your partner Frank and I had a nice conversation. He told me a little of what happened.” She took a step closer to his table. “I guess you’d just talked to him and he was pretty upset. He said you’d been in a fight and would probably be down here licking your wounds.” She nodded to the cast on his arm. “How does it feel?”
He glanced down at the cast as well. “Terrible, probably. I should know more tomorrow. Tonight I’m in a self-medicating mode.”
“You figure a lousy night’s sleep and a horrendous hangover’ll help, do you?”
Streeter shrugged. “I haven’t thought things through that far yet.” He pointed to the chair next to him with his good arm. “Care to join me?”
Her nose crinkled up slightly and she shook her head. “Not really. I was thinking maybe we could get out of here. My apartment’s less than three blocks away. A little walk might do you good. You can tell me how you beat up the bad guys or whatever happened. I’ll give you an Alka-Seltzer and then you can crash out on my couch if you’d like. We’ll get you home in the morning.”
He studied her face for a long time. “That’s very nice of you,” he finally said. He glanced at his drink and then back up at her. “I accept.”
Connie held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
Streeter got up and dropped a few bills on the table. Then he nodded toward the front door and they left without another word.
Connie’s apartment was small, tidy, and in his confused state, seemed to him to contain a large guitar collection. There must have been two dozen of them, all different sizes, colors, and shapes. He was going to comment on them, but instead he just looked around. They hadn’t talked much on the way over, and as she prepared his Alka-Seltzer in the kitchen, he knew he was too tired and groggy to explain what had happened that night. He was having a hard time remembering. She walked back into the living room, where he was standing, and handed him a glass that was still fizzing from the Alka-Seltzer. He studied it for a moment. Then he downed the whole thing in one shot.
“Good boy,” she said, her voice friendly. He just nodded and handed the glass back to her. Then Connie made up the couch with a pillow, two sheets, and a plaid blanket. Neither of them spoke as she did. When she finished, she looked at him. “The bathroom is down at the end of the hall. Let me know if you need anything.” She studied him for a second, her face soft and kind. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugged, his upper body moving slightly. Then he shook his head.
“Will you be all right out here? Think you’ll need anything else?”
Streeter felt embarrassed at being so messed up, but he also appreciated her kindness. Not lecturing him, either. He glanced at the couch and then back to her. “This should do it. Thanks.”
She took a step closer and touched him gently on the cast. “You’re welcome. If you do need anything, my bedroom’s next to the bathroom. Just knock.” With that, she reached up and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, the same as she had done the week before at the music school. “Good night, Streeter.”
After she left, he stripped down to his boxer shorts and socks. Then he wrestled himself under the covers. But once down there, he couldn’t fall asleep. His head was pounding and his bladder was full enough to catch his attention, but not to the point where he had to go to the bathroom. And he kept thinking about how good it was to see Connie at the bar. How good it was to get out of there. She was right: a hangover wouldn’t help. After about half an hour, he finally got up and went to the bathroom. When he’d finished, he walked back into the
hall. He stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a minute. Soft light came out from underneath it. He reached over and knocked on it gently, not sure what he would say.
“Streeter”—her voice came from inside the bedroom—“are you all right? Come in.”
He opened the door slowly and squinted into the light. Connie was leaning up against a stack of pillows and reading a book. She was wearing what looked to him like a silk nightshirt, but he could see only the top part. He frowned. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” She put the book in her lap. “Can’t you sleep, either?”
He shook his head.
She looked down at his shorts and smiled. “Nice outfit.”
Streeter, too, glanced down and remembered that he had only his boxers and socks on. Instinctively, his hands moved to cover himself. Connie shook her head, still smiling. “It’s okay. After all those Calvin Klein ads, that doesn’t shock me.” She looked at the empty side of the bed next to her and patted it. “You can sleep in here if that’ll help. Just don’t get frisky. The socks have to go, but the shorts stay on.”
“Thanks.” He walked the few feet to the bed and, sitting at the side, laboriously removed his socks with his good hand. When he turned to face her, she had put the book down and was settling in. She had pulled a pillow from behind her and placed it in his spot. Without another word, he slid under the sheet and light-blue blanket. He could feel her warmth next to him and he smelled what he imagined to be the moisturizer she used. Streeter closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of something appropriate to say. But he fell asleep so fast, he didn’t even see her turn the light off.
When he woke up just before seven the next morning, it took him a few minutes to realize where he was. Then the dull throb from his left arm and the soreness around his mouth brought everything back. He was alone but he could hear Connie moving around in the bathroom next door. The faint smell of fresh coffee came all the way from the kitchen. When he tried sitting, his equilibrium took another half a minute to catch up. Grover was dead, his arm was broken, but his hangover was barely noticeable. He’d slept in Connie’s bed without either of them touching the other. As he sifted through all of it, he heard her out in the hallway.
“Are you awake yet? I’ll make us some breakfast.” The bedroom door opened and Connie appeared. She was wearing a tan skirt and white blouse. Ready for work, looking as fresh and friendly as he’d ever seen her.
“That sounds great,” he said. “But I’ll just get myself home. No need to bother with breakfast.”
She smiled and shook her still-wet hair. “I guess if I looked as bad as you do, I’d want to hide out, too. Go wash up and I’ll have the juice and coffee ready when you’re done. There’s a clean toothbrush on the sink. Aspirin, too. I’ll still have time to give you a ride home before work.”
He walked past her into the bathroom. Cold water, clean teeth, mouthwash, and aspirin helped put him back in the game. Standing over the toilet taking a leak, he saw something that might explain Connie’s strange behavior toward him initially. There was a framed color photograph hanging on the wall in front of him. It was Connie and a man hugging. They were in the mountains and both of them were smiling, he more than she. The man’s face startled him. With the exception of longer sideburns, he looked exactly like Streeter. This had to be the someone she’d said he reminded her of. Was he the one who’d ended up with her best friend? Why would she keep him hanging there? Streeter washed his hands and went to the kitchen.
He felt grubby and uncomfortable during breakfast. Sensing that, Connie was quiet, too. Streeter told her only that his injuries were related to a case he was working on that appeared to be almost completed. He’d fill her in over dinner.
“It shouldn’t take long to wrap up the loose ends,” he said when they’d finished breakfast. “But I think last night and this morning makes us even for my finding Lomeli. Dinner at Alfresco’s is my treat.”
“No way, Streeter,” Connie came back. “You’re not done with Mr. Lomeli and a deal’s a deal. I pay but you have to serve him the papers.” She glanced at his arm. “You don’t need two good arms for that.”
When she pulled up to the church, they said a quick goodbye. Before he got out of her car, Streeter was tempted to ask her about the man in the bathroom photo. But he was so anxious to get cleaned up as best he could with the new cast that all he said was he’d call her later.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marty Moats had one tough skull, you had to give him that. The crease laced into his forehead from Grover barely registered with the old man once he came around. He was treated for a mild concussion and released from the hospital within an hour. By the time Marlene came to take him home, he was already second-guessing the doctors. First thing the next morning he was on the phone to Streeter.
“Marty called about twenty minutes ago,” Frank said as his partner walked into his office just before nine. He studied the bounty hunter, cast on his left forearm, his shirt rumpled and torn, and his slacks sporting bloodstains. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen, and there were bags under his eyes. “I suppose I should get a look at the other guy before I comment on how bad you look.”
Streeter stood in front of Frank’s desk, not amused. “The other guy’s dead.”
Slowly, the bondsman nodded. “So I hear. It was in the morning papers, too, but you weren’t even mentioned. They said he had a car accident. Ran flat into a bus over on Speer.”
“I have no idea how that happened. When he left Marty’s store he was bleeding pretty badly from where Tina cracked him with a crowbar. The cops told us about the accident over at St. Joe’s later.”
“Marty just said you had some problems last night but he didn’t go into any details,” Frank said, shaking his head. “He didn’t mention that either of you were hurt and he definitely didn’t say nothing about Royals. But he did say he’s coming by here this afternoon to have a powwow with us. Can you be here at three?”
Streeter nodded. “I better call Bill McLean and see if he still wants to talk to the police today.” He sat down and reached across the desk for Frank’s phone.
McLean’s secretary said he was on the other line and he’d call back as soon as he was available.
“I don’t know how much Grover’s dying will affect things,” Streeter said after he hung up, “but I’d almost like to put off meeting with the cops. Maybe clean up and feel a little better first. But being in the position I am here, it’s best that I get it over with fast.” He stood and was turning to head upstairs when the phone rang.
“Bail Bonds,” Frank said when he picked up the receiver. “Yeah, he’s right here.” He held up his hand for Streeter to wait. Then he reached out with the phone. “It’s Tina Gillis.”
Streeter frowned and grabbed the phone. “ ’Morning. I hope you’re doing better than I am.” He took a shot at a smile, but couldn’t make it.
“Good morning, Mr. Streeter.” Tina sounded rested. “How’s the arm?”
“Still broken. Have you seen Richie yet?”
“I’m heading down to the hospital now.” She paused. “I just got a very strange call from Rudy Fontana. Actually, any call from Rudy tends to be strange, but this one was more so than usual. He wants to meet me for lunch. Rudy isn’t usually the kind to do lunch. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t do much of anything before dark. But he said he wants to talk about where we go from here, meaning how can he get his money and drugs and everything from the lockers.”
“Are you going?”
“I’m meeting him at The Cherokee Grill at about noon. I picked that place because it’s usually full of cops, being so close to the police station. I’ll be safe there.”
“Do you want me to come along?”
“I thought about it, but Rudy was insistent that we meet alone. I’ll be all right. The Cherokee is too public and crowded for him to try anything. Besides, Rudy Fontana may try to talk like a hard guy and hang out with mania
cs like Grover, but he’s nothing more than an oversexed slacker with a big mouth. He’s not the violent type. What I’d like to do is get together with you this afternoon when I’m done with him. He’ll give me his conditions about how he wants to handle the transaction, I’ll tell him I need time to think about it, and then we can discuss it later.”
Streeter glanced around with the receiver against his head. “Sounds good. I’m meeting with Marty and Frank here at the church at three. We can all kick it around then.”
“This changes things. Now that it’s just Rudy’s money we’ve got, I’m half tempted to keep it. What’s he going to do?”
“Say you’re joking. You’ve got to make this right and get out.”
“I know. It’s just that Rudy’ll be a lot easier to handle.” There was a pause. “I never thought I’d be glad to see someone die, but I can’t say I lost any sleep last night.”
Streeter knew how she felt. Royals’s death did make the world a slightly better place. “Find out what Fontana wants and we’ll take it from there. See you at three.”
Frank took the phone back and hung it up. “I take it she’ll be joining us later.”
“Right. She’s meeting her old boss for lunch and he’ll be laying down his terms for getting his money back.”
Once again Streeter turned to leave, and once again the phone rang and he stopped. Frank picked it up. “Bail Bonds.” A pause. “Hey, Billy. How you doing?” Another pause. “That’s good. Sure. He’s right here. He looks like dogshit. Feels like it too, but he’s still standing.”
Streeter again took the phone from his partner. “ ’Morning, William.”
“Good morning, Street. I can’t imagine why you’d feel bad on such a wonderful morning. The sky is blue, spring is here, the birds are singing, and Grover Royals is dead. Don’t you read the papers?”
Streeter Box Set Page 63