Hunting Dixie

by James, Harper

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ He swapped the phone into his other hand. Wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. ‘She got a lucky break, saw me driving past.’

  There was an uncomfortably long silence on the line while the information was digested.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. You think I’m stupid?’ he snapped, more loudly than he intended.

  The situation this morning had rattled him more than he’d realized. This wasn’t making it any better. Guillory was a loose cannon. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if she got her hands on him again without her colleagues to pull her off. On the other hand, the people behind Liverman were just as bad. Worse. The longer the call went on, the more he wished he’d never made it.

  He wondered if the silence on the line was meant to imply anything.

  Yes, we do think you’re stupid. You’re becoming something of a liability.

  ‘Keep a low profile for a few weeks,’ Liverman said eventually, ‘while we take care of things.’

  The phone went dead.

  He pushed the car door open. Fell out and threw up all over his back wheel.

  Chapter 56

  VICTOR AND JOSÉ WERE not in a good mood. Hadn’t been since Chico told them to take a photograph of Dixie and Carly and show it around every storage facility in town. If they didn’t get any information after the first run through, start over.

  And don’t ask so nicely the second time.

  Lucky for Terry Loveless they were still on the first pass. He honestly didn’t think his day could get any worse. He felt sick, convinced he had a concussion. Then they walked in looking like they wanted somebody to hurt. Anybody.

  The little one looked worse than he did. That didn’t stop him laughing when he saw Terry’s face. It sounded like he’d stopped taking his meds a long time ago.

  ‘Hey Victor, looks like we finally got the right place.’

  Victor gave him an evil grin back.

  Terry was tempted to say he didn’t know what he was laughing at, ask if he’d looked in a mirror today. He thought better of it.

  ‘I think we both ran into the same guy.’

  ‘Don’t suppose he’s still here,’ Victor said.

  Terry shook his head.

  ‘None of them.’

  They frowned in unison.

  ‘How many of them were there?’

  ‘Three in all,’ Terry said, then gave them a blow by blow account of the morning’s events.

  José pulled out the photograph of Dixie. Slapped it on the counter.

  ‘Is that the guy with the wire?’

  ‘Nope. Looks a bit like him maybe.’

  José pointed to the web of flesh between his finger and thumb.

  ‘He have a tattoo here?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  They nodded at each other.

  ‘Jackson.’

  ‘But who was the other guy?’ José said more to himself than anyone else.

  ‘The woman called him Evan,’ Terry said.

  There was a moment of stunned silence as the two guys stared at each other.

  ‘The investigator.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you say that earlier?’ José said to Terry. ‘You didn’t think we might like to know that?’

  Terry shrugged apologetically, opened his hands wide. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  ‘It just came to me.’ He touched his forehead, a sharp hiss on his lips. ‘It must be the bang on the head.’

  José showed him the photograph of Carly.

  ‘Is that the woman?’

  Terry shook his head slowly. Wished he had some positive answers.

  ‘You catch her name?’

  Terry kept on shaking his head. Little sequins of sweat had popped up all over his forehead.

  ‘Maybe if I gave you another bang on the head it might come to you?’

  ‘No, really, the guy who got choked didn’t say much at all. He was having trouble breathing. I think that was like a priority for him.’

  ‘What’s she look like?’ José said.

  Terry described Guillory. He was so keen to please he volunteered some additional information as well.

  ‘I got the feeling she was a cop.’

  Later Guillory would be thankful they thought he was an idiot, didn’t give a damn what he thought. The remark went right over their heads.

  ‘It’s the woman who came to the investigator’s office,’ José said.

  The two of them headed for the door. Terry’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since they walked in. He felt drained, the washed-out feeling you get when the adrenaline stops flowing.

  He stiffened again as the little one, the dangerous one, stopped at the door. Turned back towards him. He swallowed nervously, imagined him thinking:

  Damn, we got so preoccupied we almost forgot to beat the crap out of this guy.

  ‘Did the two of them take anything with them when they left?’

  Terry’s stomach unclenched. ‘Yeah, a small suitcase.’ He held his hands apart. ‘About so big.’

  José’s ugly face split into something that looked like a death mask. It was most likely his idea of a smile.

  ‘Thanks man, you have a good day.’

  ***

  ‘BUCKLEY’S GOT IT?’ Chico said, his eyes closed as he tried to keep a lid on his temper.

  On the other end of the line José felt as if he’d just told him Father Christmas had driven off with it in his sleigh.

  ‘Yeah, he went to the self-storage unit to pick it up. Jackson caught him there, would have strangled him to death if the security guard hadn’t brained him.’

  The phone flexed in Chico’s hand, the knuckles white.

  ‘Where’s Dixie in all this? And how come Buckley knew where the money was?’

  José went to say something. Chico cut him off.

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘Problems?’ Dante Ortega asked from the couch on the other side of the room.

  Chico gave him a look that made him wish he hadn’t said it. He gave a dismissive flick of the hand.

  ‘Nothing I can’t deal with. What were you saying about Miguel?’

  Ortega smiled.

  ‘Jackson got hold of him the other day. Looks like he’s trying to find out who set him up two years ago. He almost killed Miguel. Throttled him with a garrotte.’

  Chico’s head snapped around.

  ‘What?’ Ortega said.

  ‘That’s what José was saying on the phone. Jackson’s been using his garrotte a lot lately.’

  ‘So what’s going on?’

  Chico dropped into a chair. Shook his head.

  ‘I only wish I knew.’

  Ortega leaned back and listened while Chico took him through what little he knew, his eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to keep up with the twists and turns.

  ‘Did you try the tracker?’ Ortega said.

  Chico gave him an irritated glare.

  ‘What tracker?’

  Ortega swallowed nervously realizing his mistake, picked at a piece of lint on his pants.

  ‘What tracker?’

  Chico’s voice was like a cold wind blowing through an open window. Ortega cleared his throat, watching the glass in Chico’s hand as he gripped it tighter.

  ‘I told Dixie. I thought he told you.’

  If Ortega thought Chico’s face was red before, Chico surprised him.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Ortega said quickly. ‘I forgot you haven’t seen him since we talked.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We put a tracker in with the cash when we did the deal.’

  He waited for the explosion, ready to duck when the glass was hurled. But it didn’t happen. Chico was too busy considering the possibility.

  ‘You think maybe the cash is still in the original bag along with your tracker.’

  Ortega wasn’t happy with the emphasis on the word your. It suggested that as soon as the more pressing matters had been resolved, they w
ould be revisiting that issue. He managed to unfreeze his shoulders sufficiently to give a small shrug.

  ‘Gotta be worth a try. You might get lucky.’

  Chico’s face softened. It didn’t make a lot of difference. He still looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He pulled his phone out, called José back. As soon as José picked up he threw the phone at Ortega, let him give José the tracker’s number.

  His face might not have looked so sour if he’d known just how lucky he was about to get.

  ***

  JOSÉ PEERED AT THE screen of his phone.

  ‘I don’t know how accurate this thing is, but it looks like the tracker’s in a bar. The Jerusalem Tavern.’

  ‘Really?’ Victor said. ‘I never knew trackers liked a drink.’

  ‘It’s been moved. Ortega said it was in a self-storage unit.’

  ‘The money won’t still be in there with it. Who’d take a bag with three million in it to a bar? You might get drunk and forget it.’

  ‘You might,’ José said with the emphasis on the you.

  ‘Whatever. The money’s not there.’

  ‘But whoever’s got the tracker is.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just somebody who found the empty bag.’

  ‘You know what, I’m going to call Chico. Tell him we traced it to a bar but you decided it probably wasn’t worth checking out. I’m sure he’ll respect your judgement.’

  ‘Don’t be a smartass all your life. Call him. Tell him to send a van and some more guys to meet us there. I’m not taking any chances this time.’

  Chapter 57

  ‘YOU’RE NOT GOING TO make me dance again, are you?’

  ‘You don’t like to dance?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Just not with me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that either.’

  ‘But once a week’s enough.’

  Evan looked along the bar of the Jerusalem Tavern at the other drinkers lined up along it. Some of them he recognized. The guy who’d given a silent round of applause last time she made him dance at the bar, for one. He was watching them now.

  ‘You’ve got to be careful, that’s all. It might be an excuse-me dance.’

  Guillory looked along the line of drinkers like he just did, her chin raised, head swaying side to side. Searching out suitable prospects. She did a small double take as if she’d seen someone nice.

  ‘You want to dance?’

  ‘Ha, ha. I only dance with women wearing lipstick anyway.’

  ‘I wasn’t wearing any last time.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘Like a sympathy—’

  He put a finger to her lips.

  ‘Shush now.’

  He called the bartender over. The guy gave him a strange look.

  ‘There are bars for guys like you, into all that sort of stuff.’ He nodded at Evan’s neck. ‘I can give you a few names if you like.’

  Guillory snickered beside him.

  ‘I think you should wear a turtleneck until that goes down.’

  ‘I caught him looking at your teeth after he saw my neck.’

  The bartender put their beers down in front of them. He winked at Evan before walking off.

  ‘I reckon he works in one of those bars.’

  ‘I reckon he wants to take you to one of them when he gets off shift.’

  Evan looked over. The guy was still looking at him. Gave him another wink.

  ‘Maybe we’ll have that dance in a minute. You still staying at your brother’s place?’

  He hadn’t meant to imply any connection between the two things—as in a dance might lead to other things if she wasn’t staying with her brother.

  The look on her face suggested she took it that way. Time passed slowly before she spoke. When she did, her voice was soft.

  ‘Yeah. For another couple days at least.’

  He nodded like he could wait that long. There was a feeling in the atmosphere between them of a missed opportunity. Of what might have been. But they had plenty of time.

  They were both about to learn a hard lesson in not relying on that too many times or for too long.

  ‘You were going to tell me about the pedophile, Garfield. Seeing as I nearly got killed as a result, I’d be interested to know what happened.’

  ‘He got away.’

  He nodded. Enough said.

  ‘Right. I don’t suppose you had a reputation for overly verbose reports in the department. Well, Captain, he got away. Or maybe Sorry, Captain, I hit him.’

  ‘There wasn’t much more to it than that. A bag lady pushed her cart out in front of me. It got tangled up in the bumper and fender. We had to jack the car up to get it free.’

  She blew a rush of air out of her mouth at the memory. Took another mouthful of beer.

  ‘You’re sure it was him?’

  She gave a beer-mellowed shrug. Laced her fingers together, pushed her hands out until the knuckles cracked.

  ‘I think so. I called it in to Ryder anyway.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She gave him a dirty look.

  ‘Don’t say it like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what a waste of time that was.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  They both laughed at that. Then by chance somebody put Wasting Time on the jukebox, the song they’d danced to the other night.

  ‘You want to?’ he said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Once a week’s enough, huh?’

  It carried on like that for a long time, gently flirting, until it was time to go. She put her hand on his thigh at one point for no reason other than she wanted to. He liked it sitting there, amused himself seeing if he could make it move higher just by concentrating on it.

  ‘You got any more of those blue latex gloves,’ he said.

  ‘What? Time to go.’

  If she’d known what was coming she’d have let him have one more beer before bedtime. It would be a long time before either of them got another one.

  Neither of them noticed the large Mexican guy at a table by the door, his drink untouched in front of him.

  ***

  ‘THEY’RE ON THEIR WAY out,’ the guy said into his phone.

  It’s one of the things about the modern world that nowadays nobody thinks twice about a guy sitting in a bar talking on his phone. They certainly don’t look at him and immediately think he’s letting them know we’re on our way.

  The big Mexican stood up. Waited for them to pass in front of him before falling into step behind them. With his cell phone clamped to his ear he looked like a well-mannered guy going outside to get a better signal.

  They stepped outside into the warm evening air. Headed across the parking lot. His hand was already moving towards hers when a voice called from behind them.

  ‘Hey, pendejos.’

  They turned. Victor and José were standing behind them, identical black automatics held loosely at their sides.

  ‘Remember us?’ José said.

  Evan nodded. Guillory tensed. A crunch of gravel behind them made them turn their heads. Two more guys materialized out of the shadows.

  ‘On the ground,’ José said. ‘Face down, hands behind your back.’

  As soon as they were down the guys behind them stepped up, cuffed them like professionals.

  ‘Very slick,’ Guillory said.

  José gave a small nod.

  ‘We watch a lot of TV.’

  ‘Thanks for making it so easy for us,’ Victor said.

  Evan and Guillory looked at each other.

  It wasn’t me.

  Victor motioned to the guys behind them. Pat them down.

  The one frisking Evan felt something in his jacket pocket. He stuffed his hand in, came out with a small black plastic box. He tossed it to Victor.

  ‘Well whaddya know?’ José said as Victor held the box up for them all to see. ‘It’s a tra
cker.’

  Evan felt like he was back in Jackson’s garrotte. Fighting to breathe. Blood pounding in his ears. The side of his face blistered under the heat of Guillory’s glare.

  ‘Where’d you get this?’ José said.

  Evan opened his mouth a couple times. Nothing came out. How the hell did that get into his pocket? Then he remembered. At the first storage facility, thinking how it might be useful. So much had happened immediately afterwards—unknowingly running into Jackson in Dexter’s and then discovering Rachel’s body—he’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘Idiot,’ Guillory hissed.

  He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to see her face to know what it looked like. He was glad she was in handcuffs.

  ‘Where’s the money that goes with it?’ José said.

  Evan shook his head hopelessly.

  ‘It wasn’t there. Just an empty bag.’

  Strangely, they all looked like they believed him. Like they weren’t really expecting to find that too.

  ‘Get them in the van.’ José nodded to the other guys. ‘Chico’s dying to meet these jokers.’

  ***

  ‘IDIOT,’ GUILLORY SAID AGAIN as the back doors slammed shut.

  He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything that would have worked so he didn’t bother saying anything. Better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you’re a fool than to open it and remove all doubt, as Mark Twain would have said.

  ‘You want to tell me what you thought you were doing putting that in your pocket?’

  He told her what had happened.

  ‘It’s certainly been useful to them.’

  ‘Shall we talk about what we’re going to do rather than just point the finger?’

  ‘I know exactly what we’re going to do.’

  She threw her head backwards a couple of times. Grunted as if somebody had punched her in the face.

  ‘I think there’s going to be plenty of that to begin with. Some bleeding, that sort of thing.’ She shrugged. ‘After that, who knows?’

  ‘Very helpful. Good to see you’re so relaxed about it all. What are we going to tell them?’

  ‘Depends on how many times you want to be hit.’

  ‘Okay smartass, let’s assume the answer to that is no times at all. Ignoring for now how unrealistic that is.’