Fire and Rain

by Katy Munger

  "And the cops think that it's more likely that Rodney happened to Rats and then ran off with the missing stripper?" Cody guessed.

  I nodded. "Yes, I think he's their number one suspect."

  "But you disagree?"

  I nodded again. "It doesn't feel right. His record is clean and it would be way out of character for him to do something like that."

  "You sure about that?" Cody made it sound like a challenge.

  "What do you mean? Why did he leave your club?"

  "Let's just say we had different visions for our business ventures. Rodney wanted to go down one road and I wanted to go down another. I won. He left. Case closed." He nodded toward the men playing pool. "I don't think anyone was all that sorry to see him go. A couple years later, he popped up as a member of the Renegades. We didn't care. The day we start worrying about the Renegades is the day I hang up my boots."

  He had said a mouthful and, yet, he'd told me nothing. And I didn't think I was going to get more out of him. His mood had settled on glacial.

  "Rodney’s sister seems to think he's one of the good guys,” I said. “Someone who stands up for other people in a clutch. Would you agree?"

  "I would agree that people like that can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. You know what I mean? People who always want to do the right thing can screw it up for the rest of us."

  I was positive there was a threat beneath his words. "So you haven't heard from Rodney at all lately?” I asked.

  "Not in years." He raised his beer in the air so that the bartender would bring him a replacement. "I didn't even know he was dating one of those midget strippers."

  "They’re not midgets. They’re little people.”

  “Whatever,” he mumbled.

  “You’re saying you didn't know that Rodney Salem was dating Roxy Tinajero? I thought you told me one of the sisters had an ex-boyfriend in your club and that’s why you went to see them in the first place."

  If I thought I had him, I was disappointed.

  "From what I hear, that chick goes out with a new biker every other week.” He shrugged. “If I kept track of everyone she banged, I wouldn't have time to lead my club, now would I?" He smiled at me again, but this time it lacked the power to distract me. I was pretty sure it was all an act on his part. But was his constant hitting on me the lifelong habit of someone too good-looking for his own good or was he hiding something worse and trying to distract me? I could not tell.

  "If I wanted to find Rodney, just to make sure he was okay and not involved with what happened to Candy Tinajero, where would I go about finding him?" I asked.

  He looked bored. "If it were me, I'd check out the bars outside of Greensboro. That's where the Renegades hang out. They can't afford their own clubhouse.”

  "Whereas you can?" I asked.

  He smiled. "Maybe." His beer had arrived and he gulped down a good third of it. "We like to keep a low profile."

  That was when I decided that Bill Butler was right—Cody Sherrill was one of the bad guys. He probably had a good reason for keeping a low profile. What was he hiding?

  "But there was a time when you knew the Renegades pretty well, wasn’t there?” I asked. I had a sudden desire to wipe that confident grin off his face, to let him know he had not fooled me.

  He looked startled at my question. "That was a long time ago. Before they turned into a bunch of screw-ups. We steer clear of them now. We may have done some business together in the past. Not any longer, I assure you."

  "I heard you were once pretty good buddies with their leader."

  "Firewalker." He just said the one name and it hung in the air between us. For a moment, neither one of us said a word.

  "You were the last one to see him alive," I finally said, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking. He had grown instantly hostile and now radiated danger—and it scared me. His energy had changed in a heartbeat at the mention of Firewalker Coombs. I had touched a nerve.

  "Yes, I was the last one to see him alive." He took another gulp of beer. "Firewalker and I were friends. Real friends. I had his back and he had mine. That's rare when you're from different clubs. I would never have hurt him. Never. He was a better man than I will ever be."

  It was a surprising burst of self-awareness coming from a man like Cody Sherrill. And I knew I wouldn't get any more from him that day because of it. Men like him panic once they’re honest and always feel the need to clam up afterward.

  “So, are we going to make this happen or what?” he asked me suddenly, staring into my eyes with a look that I feel certain made most women who frequented the Oasis rip off their clothes and fall at his feet.

  “Make what happen?" I said, annoyed at his businesslike approach to our possible coupling—not to mention his assumption that the tactic would work. Geeze, I’d heard more romantic proposals from carnies at the state fair and they weren't exactly known for their subtlety.

  "You and me," he said, sounding as if the whole deal was inevitable. "It would be awesome. Like two big cats going at it."

  I thought that was taking his club’s Panther motif a little far and counted myself lucky he hadn't made some goofy meowing sound to accompany his proposal.

  "I've got to get back to town," I said, suddenly weary of his battered handsomeness and his belief that good looks alone might protect him if he’d had anything to do with what had happened. "My friend Rats is dead and I'm going to find out who did it."

  He looked at me for a moment in silence, surveying me from head to toe. This time it had nothing to do with sex. I couldn't tell if he was admiring me or getting ready to challenge me.

  "I bet you’ll find out who did it," he finally said. "I just bet you will.”

  ●

  I was on my way home, puking Jack and Coke out by the side of Highway 70, when Bobby D. called to give me the bad news. I wanted to thank him for what he had done for Rats, paying for the funeral and all, but since he had done it anonymously, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Especially when he started in without even saying hello first.

  "I heard you tied one on last night," he said. I strained to hear him. I was hunched over, trying not to dry heave while attempting to avoid the exhaust fumes of the trucks roaring by at the same time. I was in no mood for chitchat about my private life.

  "Does everyone in this town know my business?" I asked sourly as I wiped my mouth with the back of a hand.

  "I'm not sure about everyone," he said, way too cheerfully. "But I sure do."

  "Why are you calling?" I demanded, feeling another wave of nausea welling up.

  "I've got bad news and worse news," he said. "But what it all boils down to is that you need to get your ass in here quick."

  There was a lull in the traffic and I could hear background noises behind Bobby's voice. It did not sound good. There was a crash, followed by a female voice rising in anger. That gave way to a few thunks and a deep cry of outrage.

  "What the hell is going on?" I asked.

  "Your friend Bill Butler sent some guys over to the hotel today to question Roxy. When they tried yesterday, she pretended to be too upset, so they came back today. When she refused to talk to them again, they tried to take her downtown. She didn't take kindly to their treatment. She's about to get herself arrested for assault."

  "Are you shitting me?" I asked in disbelief.

  "Ouch! I wish I was. Hey—quit throwing things, you crazy little bitch."

  Wow. I’d never heard Bobby D. insult a woman before. "What the hell is going on?" I asked.

  "They asked her a few questions about Rodney Salem. You know, since he’s her boyfriend and, apparently, he's missing, too. And she went crazy. She's throwing things at them right now—"

  All I could hear after that was more shouting and a multitude of voices cursing, followed by more crashes and thunks.

  "Bobby?" I asked tentatively, after a long silence on the other end of the phone line. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm okay. But don't bother coming to
the hotel. If I were you, I'd go straight to the jail. They're taking her in. I've got to be honest with you: I don't blame them. I'm starting to think this is one gal who's got a screw loose."

  A truck roared past and I had to wait it out, willing myself not to puke. My stomach muscles were actually sore from throwing up and somewhere, deep inside, I knew I had a lesson to learn from the night before.

  "I'll be there soon," I promised. "Tell her not to say anything to the cops and, for godsakes, get her a good lawyer. Apparently, she’s got the money for one."

  Her money wouldn't last long, though, if the cops thought she was involved in Candy’s disappearance or in what had happened to Rats. Hell, a couple hundred thousand would barely cover her retainer if the charges amounted to murder.

  ●

  I knew it would take at least an hour to book and process Roxy. I also knew I would need every minute of that time to find out what the hell was going on. Bill Butler wouldn't answer his cell phone and I was pretty sure I knew why: it was me calling. I had once glimpsed his contact list—okay, maybe I was snooping—only to discover he had listed me as “Pain in the Ass” in his directory. And that was when we were still sleeping together. Bill clearly was not going to willingly involve me on this case beyond what he had already shared with me.

  I finally resorted to calling my friend Marcus Dupree, who is a computer whiz with the Durham Police Department. Marcus has the ability to hack into any law enforcement network in the country and probably knew more about the Raleigh Police Department system than the company who had built it. I begged Marcus to find out what was happening with Roxy. I got a call back from him just a few minutes before I was about to walk into the jail and demand a visit with her.

  "You're not going to like this," Marcus told me. "The cops were contacted by an anonymous caller saying that Roxy and her boyfriend Rodney took the other sister for the ransom money. They think your friend Rats was killed trying to stop them.”

  "An anonymous phone call from who?" I asked.

  "From whom,” Marcus corrected me primly. "And I don't know. Hence the term, ‘anonymous caller.’”

  "And they arrested her based on that?" I asked incredulously.

  "No, they arrested her because she attacked three police officers, scratching one, kicking another one in his family jewels, and throwing a room service tray at the other. That is called assault on a police officer, times three. As in a whole lot of men pissed off because they had guns but were not allowed to use them. And that is why she is sitting in a jail cell."

  I groaned.

  "A client of yours, I presume," Marcus said coolly. "You must really rake in the big bucks from that high-class clientele of yours."

  "Oh, shut up," I said crossly. "I'm too hungover to deal with your sarcasm and, besides, they're just using the assault charges to keep her while they look into whether she had anything to do with Rats. I don't think she's involved. Her fear for her sister is genuine.”

  "Then you better get busy proving it," Marcus suggested. "By the way, I’d help you cure the hangover you obviously have, but I feel it is my duty to point out that it's your own damn fault you feel this way and you must live with the consequences."

  "I hate you," I said automatically.

  Marcus laughed and hung up.

  ●

  I thought they would hassle me more about wanting to see Roxy, but they were suspiciously accommodating. Not being a fool, I checked the private room they gave us thoroughly for bugs while I waited for Roxy to be brought in. I didn’t find one, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.

  Roxy was wearing the same miniskirt and blouse she'd been arrested in. They’d taken away her three-inch heels, for plenty of good reason. Those babies were dangerous weapons in her hands. She was wearing ratty grey slippers instead and she didn't look too happy about it. She kept glaring back and forth between the two guards escorting her, as if she was trying to decide which one to bite first.

  "You can just leave her," I told the guards. "I'll vouch for her. If she gets out of line, I’ll kick her ass for you."

  They looked a little dubious at my offer, but they knew me and were anxious to get on with their jobs. They left us with a few last curious looks at my client. It’s not every day they process a four-foot stripper with a ten-foot mouth.

  “Sit down and behave,” I suggested firmly.

  Roxy parked herself in the chair across from me and shot me a few killer glares. I waited her out.

  "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" she finally said.

  I had to smile. She didn't like that one bit.

  "What's so damn funny?"

  "That sounds like something I'd say," I admitted. "What the ever-loving hell is going on with you? Why would you attack three police officers instead of just answering their questions? I thought I was a hothead, but you make me look like Gandhi. What is the matter with you?"

  She snarled at me. For real. It wasn't quite as intimidating as a dog, but it was close. "They acted like they thought I had something to do with Candy’s disappearance," she said. "Like they thought me and Rodney planned it together."

  "Well, did you?" Hey, I had to ask. It was my job.

  She looked down, searching for a stiletto heel to throw at me. Thank god for jail slippers.

  "You're my client," I explained to her. "Everything you tell me is confidential. But I need to know the truth if I'm going to help you."

  "Like you're going to help me," she said sarcastically.

  That pissed me off. I take my job seriously. If I take money from a client then, by god, I deliver. "You got a better plan?" I asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, you don’t look like you're going to be able to help yourself. So if I were you, I would shut the hell up and cooperate. I may be your only hope."

  "You don't like me very much, do you?" she said and, honest to god, she was pouting like she really cared what I thought of her.

  "Isn't that the whole point of you being a total bitch? To alienate everyone? To break up with them before they break up with you?”

  She stuck out her lower lip and refused to answer.

  “Look—let me be honest with you,” I said. “You're hiding something and I can tell. It’s something to do with Rodney. Don't shine me on because I know you’re holding out. Just tell me what it is, or I cannot help you."

  We sat in silence for another minute and, trust me, sitting in silence in a jail is no picnic. Each tick of the clock takes minutes to pass. I felt about three years older by the time she finally answered me.

  "I didn't have anything to do with what happened to your friend Rats or my sister going missing. If it seems like I'm hiding something, it's because I was getting ready to dump Rodney, okay?" she said. "He was getting serious on me, and all clingy, so I was going to pull the plug. So maybe I feel a little guilty that he came up to see me and got pulled into this whole mess somehow. He may be dead for all I know."

  "So you don't think he's involved with the disappearance of your sister?" Maybe if I kept asking her that, she’d tell me the truth.

  "God, no," she said. She sounded almost scornful. "I told you already. Rodney wouldn't have the balls to do something like that. He's too nice of a guy."

  "You sound like that's a problem. What do you have against good guys?" I was uncomfortably aware I may as well have been talking about myself.

  "Look, I like to go out with bikers. That's not a secret. Specifically, I like to go out with bikers because they don't follow the rules. So having a really, really nice guy who follows the rules for a biker boyfriend is sort of beside the point, wouldn't you say?"

  "I'm really ashamed of myself when I say this but, yes, I understand. But may I point out that your supposedly really, really nice boyfriend met your sister a couple of hours before he was due to see you. That had to have been for a reason. Do you know why Rodney was there with Candy so early in the day?"

  Roxy shook her head. "I don't know."

  “Is it possible she
was having an affair with him?”

  “Hah!” Her confident disbelief told me what I already suspected: Rodney would never dared to have cheated on her. Not with her temper.

  "Did he have any idea you were about to break up with him?" I asked.

  "No way. I never tell anyone else when I'm about to cut someone loose. I like to be the one to tell them. Only seems fair that they hear it from me."

  Well, wasn't she just the humanitarian of the century?

  "What if I told you that the cops got an anonymous phone call saying you had something to do with your sister's disappearance?" I said.

  "I would say that someone I dumped in the past is pissed off at me and trying to set me up."

  An occupational hazard of going out with the bad guys, I thought to myself. She had a point, though.

  "I'm no expert, but I can tell you that it's very likely the cops are going to say that you discovered Rodney was having an affair with your sister and killed them both."

  Candy looked scornful. "That's ridiculous. I barely weigh a hundred pounds. They're saying I killed three people and then managed to drag two of them away and hide the bodies somewhere?"

  She had another good point.

  “Okay, then they'll say that you and Rodney conspired to kidnap Candy so that you could have all of the money you had saved together.”

  She just looked bored with that theory. “That makes no sense, either. Candy and I have a joint banking account. I could get my hands on our money any time I wanted. I wouldn’t have to kill her for it.”

  I was still hung over and lost my temper. "Well, they will come up with a theory that allows them to hold you. And you know why? Because you're such a hothead. What were you thinking when you attacked three police officers?"

  "I was thinking that they were a bunch of jerks hassling me and wasting my time when they ought to be out there looking for my sister."

  "I'm hearing you hung out with more bikers than Dennis Hopper," I said, rather nastily, I admit.

  "So what if I do?" she challenged me. “You jealous?”

  "Every single one of those guys could have done this. Don't you see? Any of them could have gotten it through their pea brains to kidnap either you or your sister for the money. Did any of them besides Rodney know how much you had stashed away?"