The Way of the Guilty

by Jennifer Stanley

  “Why don’t you save that act for Lincoln? I’m sure he’d find it appealing.”

  Upon hearing her husband’s name, Ashley immediately ceased her play-acting. “He’s going to be late again. I’m sure I’ll be sound asleep by the time he gets home.”

  Cooper scooped fragrant grounds into Ashley’s coffee maker. “Another dinner at Morton’s?”

  “With the finance manager. His name is Alex, or something that sounds like that. It’s their second after-hours meeting this week.”

  Watching the steam rise from the top of the carafe, Cooper asked, “But why so late at night? Can’t they have a conference during the day?”

  Ashley removed a pint of rocky road ice cream from the fridge and began to burrow into its flat surface with a tablespoon. “That’s what I wanted to know, but Lincoln got mad at me when I asked. He said Miguel’s death has got everyone unsettled at the dealership right now, but strangely, sales are still at an all-time high considering it’s wintertime.”

  “So he and Alex are working on promotions or inventory changes or what?” Cooper persisted.

  “Heaven only knows!” Ashley shoveled the ice cream into her mouth. “I’ve never been too interested in the nuts and bolts of his business before, so Lincoln doesn’t really go into detail with me.”

  Cooper poured herself some coffee and then turned to her sister. “One of his employees has been murdered. Your husband is attending a bunch of late-night meetings, and in the middle of winter, during a recession, sales are going up?” She stirred milk into her coffee and then wagged the spoon at Ashley. “You’d better get interested in the details, starting tonight! Something’s going on at Love Motors.”

  Ashley nodded glumly. “You’re right. In my heart, I’ve been wondering the same things, but I’ve been too scared to look any further. I have a feeling that I don’t want to hear the answers to my questions. My life might never be the same again.”

  Touching her sister’s hand, Cooper said, “I’m scared, too, but now’s the time for us to dig deep in search of that inner strength. I know it’s in you and I pray it’s in me.”

  The sisters stared at one another, their hands clasped tightly. Ashley broke contact first.

  “You’d better fix me coffee, too.” She slapped the lid on the ice cream container and stuffed it back into the freezer. “I’m waiting up for my husband. And when he walks through that front door, that man’s going to tell me exactly what his meeting was about. Or else.” She smiled. “I can be a tigress when I need to be.” And she issued a serious and completely menacing growl.

  At ten thirty-five, Cooper waited by the front door of The Flood Zone, a downtown dance club located a block away from the James River. Hugging herself against the cold, she turned her head each time the club’s metal door swung open. The blast of loud music and the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke escaped as the bouncer waved couples and small groups of friends into the club.

  Suddenly, someone slipped an arm around her waist. It was Edward, dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and the same leather jacket he’d worn the night they rode to Ashley’s house on his motorcycle.

  “You’ve let your hair grow in,” she remarked over the thumping of her heart.

  Edward ran a hand over the spiked bristles of dark hair covering his scalp. “My tat didn’t go over so well at work.” He jerked his head toward the club. “Besides, my old crew would recognize me too fast if I didn’t do something different.” He glanced around the street. “I wanna have the advantage. Only talk to them if I need to. You brought the picture?”

  Cooper handed him the Love Motors newsletter. Edward moved beneath the grainy pool of light cast by the streetlamp and examined Miguel Ramos’s photograph. “Man, I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He rubbed his hands over his prickly scalp again and frowned. “He wasn’t a user, but he was in it. Somewhere, somehow, he was playing the game.” Edward clucked his tongue and shoved the newsletter into his front pocket. “You played with matches and you got burned. What did you do, little man?”

  Sensing that Edward had momentarily forgotten her presence, Cooper remained silent, but when a gust of frigid wind smacked her cheeks and slipped down her neck to chill her entire torso, she tugged on Edward’s coat.

  “Yeah, we’re going.” Edward placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the bouncer. After the two men exchanged cryptic nods, Edward opened the heavy front door and escorted Cooper into a steam bath of strobe lights and gyrating bodies.

  In such a crush of people, the pair could not make their way toward the bar walking side by side, so Edward took a firm grip on Cooper’s hand and carved a path through the diverse crowd using his shoulder and a resolute expression that caused many a larger man to step aside. Women eyed him appreciatively and Cooper felt an unanticipated flush of pride that she should be the woman he turned to and asked, “What’ll ya have, sweetheart?”

  Flummoxed by the use of the endearment, which he uttered with just enough humor to make her doubt its sincerity, Cooper stared at the rows of liquor bottles, beer taps, and rotating drink machines containing frozen cocktails in tropical red, yellow, and tangerine hues, and tried to make a decision.

  “Two Coronas,” Edward shouted his order and then smiled at Cooper. “You gotta act fast or they’ll serve somebody else.” He pointed at the margarita and daiquiri machines. “ ’Sides. You’re a tough chick tonight. No sissy drinks for you.”

  The beer came in chilled bottles with slices of lime tucked into the necks. Edward slapped a bill on the bar and turned around, relaxing his shoulders and taking a small pull of beer as his eyes surveyed the room.

  “Damn,” he muttered and his words were drowned out by the music, but Cooper had been able to read his lips.

  “What is it?” she shouted and then took an unfeminine swig from her Corona bottle.

  Edward turned toward her. “The fuzz is in the house. That’s good, ’cause it means there’s a deal going down, or one’s supposed to go down. But it’s bad, too.”

  For a moment, Cooper was confused. Then she said, “Because no one will want to talk about Miguel once the cops make their move.”

  Nodding, Edward smiled. “Brains and beauty. You can’t beat that.”

  Cooper followed him as he edged around the dance floor. She had no idea that he was heading for a tall, black-haired man with light coffee-colored skin. Without making eye contact, Edward spoke casually to him. The only word Cooper caught was “papers.”

  The man gave Cooper a licentious stare and then jerked his head toward the restrooms.

  “Stay here!” Edward commanded and disappeared with his new acquaintance.

  Suddenly stranded beneath the flashing lights, Cooper distanced herself from the nearest speaker and tried to strike a nonchalant pose by leaning against a wall and taking lazy sips of beer. She pretended not to notice an attractive man in his late thirties smiling at her, but her lack of interest didn’t deter him from approaching her.

  “Your beer’s almost empty. Can I get you a refill?” he shouted and then added, “My name’s Rich.”

  “Nice to meet you!” Cooper replied loudly. “And thanks, but I’m fine. I’m actually waiting for someone!”

  “Aren’t we all?” Rich smiled again and Cooper felt herself warming toward the stranger. “I think I saw you two come in. Guess I’m not your type—seeing as you like guys with rough edges.”

  Cooper gave the stranger a sideways glance. There was something about him that struck her as incongruous. Like most of the other men in The Flood Zone, Rich was wearing acid-washed jeans and a T-shirt. The males on the dance floor seemed to opt for the colorful silk button-downs Cooper had seen in Miguel’s closet. Those lingering around the fringes—settled at the bar or openly assessing the females closest to them—wore tight T-shirts with a variety of graphic designs. Rich’s shirt was gray and featured a box of Good & Plenty candy on the front. He saw her grin at she stared at it.

  “Says it a
ll,” he said cheerfully as the DJ paused the music in order to announce drink specials and future Flood Zone events. “I’d offer to hook you up, but your boy’s probably got you covered.”

  Having no idea what Rich was talking about, Cooper murmured in agreement and wished Edward would finish up whatever business he was conducting in the bathroom so she could escape from her neighbor’s penetrating stare.

  “I’ve never seen you here before,” she said, deciding to challenge him.

  A shadow passed over his face but he recovered quickly. “I keep late hours. You’re probably snug in bed before I even walk through that door.”

  Suddenly, Cooper knew why Rich seemed to carry himself as though he were on guard. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?” she asked, and before he could argue, added, “It’s cool. I won’t grab the mic and tell everyone.”

  Rich took a step closer. “You seem like a nice young woman. Stay away from the Colonel. I can see he hasn’t roped you in yet, so you can still get out. Go now!” He had to shout again as the frenzied rhythm of music recommenced. “Before he comes back!”

  At that moment, Edward emerged from the restroom—sans the tall Hispanic man—and made a beeline for Cooper. Smirking, he walked straight up to the undercover cop and pointed at his shirt. “Nobody calls them that anymore. Get yourself some updated threads, my man.”

  Unperturbed, Rich toasted Edward with his empty beer bottle. “Word has it that you’ve cleaned up your act. Working two jobs. Paying your taxes like any other true-blooded American.” He fixed his gaze in the direction of the restrooms. “Maybe you can’t believe everything you hear.”

  Edward shrugged and grabbed Cooper’s hand. “Thought you knew that already, dog. How many bad tips have you chased down?”

  “A lot!” Rich replied in a good-natured bellow as the music peaked in volume. “But some of them work out, like the one that led me to you! No hard feelings, Colonel?” He held out his hand.

  Edward searched the man’s face and then clasped his hand. “I might wanna trade favors with you someday. Off the record. You cool with that?”

  Rich rubbed his freshly shaven chin and then winked at Cooper. “Sno-cone cool.”

  It was impossible not to like the good-humored officer. Cooper smiled at him before following Edward out of the club.

  Edward didn’t speak again until they’d walked several blocks east of The Flood Zone to a public parking lot. He marched up to a white sedan painted with the text After Dark Taxi and below, in smaller letters, 6 p.m—2 a.m. and a phone number.

  “Your second job?” she asked, breaking the silence. “And who was that guy back there?”

  “A cop.” The usual derisiveness was missing from Edward’s use of the word. “The special drug task force, undercover, pit-bull kind of cop. The guy’s a machine. I don’t think he ever sleeps. He’s like Batman. Shows up outta nowhere and takes no prisoners.”

  “Sounds like you admire him.”

  Considering this, Edward fiddled with his keys. “I respect the man. He gets results without treating people like they’re scum. He reads them their rights, makes sure none of his buddies get the chance to slip in a few right fists or kicks to the ribs, and takes them in for booking.” He unlocked the doors and he and Cooper quickly escaped the winter air. “When Rich Johnson shows up, something big is going down.” Edward started the car. “The night I got busted, he wasn’t even after me, but I told him I wasn’t gonna rat anybody out and he just signed the papers and sent me to Jail West. No threatening or yelling or blowing smoke in my face. He gave me a choice and I picked doing time over getting chopped up into tiny pieces and being tossed into the James. So yeah, I respect him ’cause he plays fair.”

  As Edward started driving, Cooper checked her watch. It was well after eleven. “Um, where are we going?”

  “There’s a video store a few blocks from here. Let’s just say they have a back room and it’s not full of porn.”

  As a flush crept up her neck, Cooper drew her thin jacket tighter over her chest. “Fake IDs?”

  “Yeah, and you’re gonna buy one. Got any cash?” Edward had warned her previously that she might need to spend some money if she wanted to uncover a clue about Miguel’s death.

  “Two hundred. It’s really all I could spare.”

  “It’ll do. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Edward parked in front of Doc Buster’s Video, and Cooper had to smile at the name. Her grin quickly dissipated as she looked around the ill-lit street and noticed several hulking shapes conversing in the shadows. Shattered glass was strewn on the sidewalk, the streetlamps cast a bruised, purplish light, and the store’s filmy windows displayed water-stained posters of movies that were popular a decade ago.

  Inside, a man with a weathered face obscured by thick eyebrows and a scraggly beard barely looked up from his laptop as they entered. Edward strolled through the action section until the only other customer in the store paid a few dollars for a previously viewed DVD and then disappeared into the night.

  Edward leaned on the counter and pretended to watch the Law & Order rerun for a few moments. When a commercial appeared onscreen, the proprietor took a drink from an insulated mug and licked his lips like a sleepy cat. “What you want?” he asked in accented English.

  Taking out his driver’s license from his wallet, Edward stated, “Mica.” And then pointed at Cooper. “For her.”

  The man shook his head. “We got videos,” he said, turning his attention back to the television.

  Unfolding the Love Motors newsletter, Edward shoved the photo in front of the storeowner. “Miguel Ramos recommended you, bro. You trying to tell me he sent us to the wrong place?” Edward inserted an element of hostility into his tone and it came out sounding like a low growl.

  Without taking more than a brief glance at the photo, the man said, “You got hundred big ones, then you can go to the back. If not, go find ATM.”

  “I’ve got it,” Cooper answered and strode through a set of pink bead curtains as though she’d shopped for a fake ID dozens of times before.

  The back room of the video store was filled with scanners, printers, computers, and a camera on a tripod facing a blank screen.

  “I’m Hector. You pay me first.” A young man looked them over. “A license costs a hundred bucks. Social Security card will be another seventy-five. Both of you?”

  “Just me.” Cooper handed Hector the money and followed his instructions as he tinkered with the camera. Reaching behind him, the fingers of his right hand flew over a computer keyboard while he adjusted the camera lens with his left. Edward took an interest in a state-of-the-art laser scanner.

  “Don’t touch anything!” Hector ordered sternly.

  Cooper tried to relax, to act like she belonged in the back room of a decrepit video store purchasing false documents. “So, do you know Miguel?” she inquired. “He told me about this place.”

  “I know fifty Miguels,” was Hector’s neutral response.

  “This one worked at a car dealership,” Cooper elaborated.

  A shadow crossed Hector’s face and then quickly disappeared. “Haven’t seen that little cabrón for a while. His cojones too big to hang out with his old posse. Miguel and his . . .” he muttered something under his breath and Cooper thought he mentioned China and the word blanco, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Well, I’m looking for him, too,” Cooper pressed on. “Bastard owes me money.” She put on her best indignant frown.

  Snapping a few photos, Hector laughed. “Man, you look pissed! They wouldn’t let you look like such a she devil down at the DMV. I should know—mi tía works there. Give Hector a smile, mamacita.”

  Cooper did as she was told and within twenty minutes, she was handed a new driver’s license and Social Security card for a woman by the name of Erica Rollins.

  “You’re good,” she blurted in astonishment and Hector grinned.

  “Top-of-the-line equipment,” he said, his chest puffed out with pride.
“ ’Cept for the Social. I didn’t have to make that one and Erica won’t even know someone else is usin’ it.” He smirked.

  So he’s got stolen IDs, too, Cooper thought and did her best to look impressed by the variety of Hector’s wares.

  As she and Edward made to leave, Hector grabbed her by the coat sleeve. “You tell Miguel I’m ready to whip his ass on the court again.” His dark eyes met Cooper’s and then he glanced back over his shoulder toward the beaded curtain. “You’ll never see a single buck of what Miguel owes. Forget about the money. I’m telling you this because I like you. You try to get paid, you get snuffed. You hear me?”

  Suddenly, there was a distinctive throat-clearing sound behind Miguel. The store clerk was giving Hector a ferocious stare.

  “You come back if you need more of Hector’s perfect papers, sí?” The young man gave her a little shove toward the front room.

  It was clearly a dismissal.

  Climbing into Edward’s cab, Cooper suddenly felt exhausted. The press of bodies in The Flood Zone, the conversation with Rich Johnson, the harshness of the winter air as they’d walked to Edward’s car, followed by an illegal transaction in the rear of a grimy store had left her drained.

  “You did okay in there,” Edward spoke to her for the first time since they’d entered Doc Buster’s.

  Cooper was warmed by his praise. “What’s mica?”

  “Spanish slang for IDs. I greased that guy’s palm in the club bathroom and he told me about the video store. I’ve seen him around. He’s kinda the go-to guy for this part of the city. You want something—he knows where you can get it. He gets paid by the customer and the seller.”

  “Did he know Miguel?” Cooper asked hopefully. She hated to think that the evening’s efforts were fruitless.

  “Just that he remembered sending him to the same video store about six months back. Says he never forgets a face.”

  Edward pulled into the parking lot behind The Flood Zone. He kept the engine running but released his seatbelt. Cooper had been wondering how the night would end and what demands Edward might make on her for assisting with the investigation. Part of her wanted to bolt from the car, but her body betrayed her and she turned to him—fearful, uncomfortable, and yet filled with desire.