And drink it with her tonight.
The air would be cool.
The sun would be gone.
She bit her lower lip.
And wondered if her life was about to change.
She went topside to see if Coyote was still on the Searay.
She was.
In spite of her better judgment, Raven threw on shorts and a pair of flip-flops and headed over.
COYOTE LOOKED UP AND SMILED when Raven stepped onto the boat. Then she must have detected the seriousness on Raven’s face because she asked, “What’s going on?”
Raven pulled the towel up.
Sure enough, there was a surveillance camera underneath.
Pointed directly at the sailboat.
“Do you want to tell me why you have me under surveillance?”
Coyote’s expression was exactly what Raven expected.
A deer-in-headlights.
The woman said nothing.
Then she shook her head and said, “I can’t tell you that.”
Raven headed down into the cabin.
The camera was connected to a digital recorder and the image showed on a flat-panel monitor.
“Were you going to hide all this when I came over tonight?” she asked.
Coyote nodded.
Raven turned and huffed down the dock.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
DALTON SHUT THE TRUNK as the state trooper pulled up, leaned in the cop’s window and said, “This is the way my life works. I get a flat and of course the spare’s flat too.”
The cop put a look on his face, as if he understood bad luck.
“What happened to your face?”
“Mountain biking,” Dalton said.
“You took a spill?”
Dalton nodded.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“That’s good because it looks pretty bad.”
It took five insanely long minutes to get rid of the jerk. Then Dalton pulled Malcolm’s body out of the trunk while Samantha kept a lookout. He stashed the man in the back seat, changed the tire, stuffed him back in the trunk and then got the hell out of there.
“The more I think about it, you’re probably right that it’s too risky to dump him with the other body,” Dalton said. So they continued west on I-70, got off near Georgetown, wove into the mountains and dumped him three hundred yards off a deserted gravel road.
In a boulder field.
Back at the machine shop, they wiped the Lexus meticulously. Dalton drove it to a high-crime area north of downtown and parked it with the windows open and the keys in the ignition. He gave it one final wipe and then walked three blocks south, to where Samantha was waiting for him. Then they drove back to the machine shop and cleaned the place to perfection.
Samantha went home.
Dalton went to his loft.
There.
Done.
Not a foolproof plan by any stretch of the imagination.
But not bad, considering.
WHEN HE POWERED HIS CELL PHONE ON, he wasn’t surprised to find twenty-seven new messages. Six of them were from Mandy Martin, each one more panicked than the prior.
He dialed her.
“Where the hell are you?” she asked.
“I got jacked up mountain biking.”
Hesitation.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I look like Frankenstein, so I’m going to handle things from home instead of coming into the office.”
“There’s no time for egos,” she said. “I need you down here now. G-Drop dropped off the face of the earth. His manager hasn’t been able to get him on the line all day.”
“I know. He left me a bunch of messages. I’m already working on it.”
“He’s not going to show tonight,” she said. “I can feel it.”
“Calm down—he’s probably just screwing some groupie.”
“I already have the lawyers working on the legal aspect of all this,” she said. “What I need you to do is contact all the other acts and get them to commit to an extra ten minutes each, if we need it.”
“I’m on it.”
“Get down here, please. Save my ass.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
TEFFINGER SET A HEAVY BLACK PLASTIC BAG on Kwak’s desk, next to a stack of Old Car Traders, and said, “I need some good evidence photos of what’s in here.” Then he headed for the door with the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.
Kwak looked at the bag.
Then at Teffinger.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
Down in homicide, he got a cup of coffee and headed for his desk. Kwak called thirty seconds later and said, “What the hell is a rattlesnake doing on my desk?”
“That’s not a rattlesnake, it’s a murder weapon,” Teffinger said. “Correction. Attempted murder weapon. Oh, I almost forgot, I need it dusted for prints too; and weighed.”
“You’re messing with me, right?”
No.
He wasn’t.
A minute later, Kwak called again.
“Where’s the head?”
“Smithereens.”
“Smithereens?”
“Right, Sydney blew it there.”
“Sydney blew it to smithereens—is that what you’re saying?”
“There you go.”
“With her gun?”
“Right.”
Silence.
“Nothing’s ever normal with you Teffinger, do you know that?”
AS SOON AS TEFFINGER HUNG UP, Double-F called and summoned him. The photograph was still hanging on the wall, the one of the chief and the mayor, both smiling. “I heard about your close encounter of the reptilian kind. How long have you been driving around with that thing?”
Good question.
“I’ve actually been trying to figure that out,” he said. “Not long, I’d imagine.”
“Any chance it crawled in there by itself?”
Teffinger shook his head.
“I got rattlesnakes up where I live, but I always leave the windows closed.”
“Always?”
“Well, 50 percent of the time.”
Tanker creased his wrinkles.
“You think the black woman put it there?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Here’s my advice—which you won’t take, by the way, because you never do. But here it is anyway. Take some time off. Get out of town until we can figure this thing out.”
Teffinger stood up.
“I’m still batting a hundred percent.”
“On what?”
“On not taking your advice.”
Tanker chuckled.
“Find out where she got the snake,” he said. “That’s your best lead.”
“I already know that.”
“I know you know that,” Tanker said. “I just wanted you to know that I know it too. I’m not totally out of touch.”
Teffinger headed for the door.
“No one ever said you were,” he said. “Totally, at least.”
Tanker grinned and threw a pencil at him.
“Go on, get out of here.”
Back at his desk, the room suddenly seemed too small. The walls were too close, the ceiling was too low and the windows were too few. For a heartbeat, he thought about heading outside where he could breathe.
Then he refilled his coffee cup instead.
Screw it.
No time.
NO ONE CALLED WITH ANY INFORMATION regarding the suspect in the Lindsay Vail case—the pirate with the forehead scar. Teffinger didn’t know what else to do, other than keep Coyote on Raven Lee’s tail. Then something bad happened.
Coyote called and said, “I got made.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But she came over and confronted me. She saw the camera and all the rest.”
Damn it.
“Okay,” Teffinger said. “Go ahead and pack it up.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Coyote said. “This boat’s obviously contaminated, so you can’t stick anyone new on it. She’ll be watching the other boats too. I think it would just be best if I stuck around and made friends with her.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
TEFFINGER CALLED VENZELLE, who turned out to be in a production meeting with Geneva Vellone and the bigwigs. She stepped into the hall when she heard the tone in his voice. He gave her the short version of the rattlesnake incident.
“I have to start taking this thing seriously,” he said. “You could have gotten bit; or Sydney. Whoever’s doing this doesn’t care.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take your advice and go to New Orleans.”
“When?”
“The next flight.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“What I’d really like you to do is stay with Sydney tonight where you’ll be safe,” he said. “Besides, you have a radio show in the morning.”
“I’m walking to my car right now,” she said. “Are you going to the house first?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“You have no idea,” she said. “Bring your voodoo doll.”
“Why?”
“How are you going to find out where it came from if you don’t have it to show to people? In fact, bring the one with the needle in the eye too. Bring ’em both.”
“You have to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Being a better detective than me.”
“I’m a bad girl,” she said. “I should be spanked.”
SYDNEY CAME OVER AS TEFFINGER STOOD UP. “I’m going to New Orleans,” he said.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Thanks but you’re more use to me here,” he said. “Stay focused on Lindsay Vail. If you think of anything new, or if anything breaks, get right on it. Everything else is second priority. In the meantime, see if you can find out where the woman got that snake.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
RAVEN VENTURED TOPSIDE several times during the afternoon. In each instance, Coyote was still over at the Searay. She pulled out the binoculars and brought the boat in closer. The camera was no longer on the dash. So what was the woman still doing there?
Raven slipped on her flip-flops and headed over.
“You’re still here,” she said.
“Yes, I am,” Coyote said. “I put the camera away, though, so don’t worry about it any more.”
“Do you have a bug or anything like that on my boat?”
“No.”
“How about my phone? Is that bugged?”
“No.”
“My computer?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
“No.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Because I wouldn’t do that to you,” Coyote said.
Raven believed her, maybe because of the kiss.
“So what are you still hanging around for?”
“You’re going to bring me wine tonight, remember?”
“Do you actually think that’s still on?”
Coyote shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’m going to wait and see.”
“Well, you’re going to have a long wait.”
She turned and left.
COYOTE SHOUTED AFTER HER, “By the way, how does it feel?”
She stopped and turned.
“How does what feel?”
“Walking around on the dock and knowing you won’t drown if you fall in.”
Raven ignored her; but four steps later she said over her shoulder, “It feels good.”
“Show me,” Coyote shouted.
Raven stopped and focused on the woman.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, show me.”
“You expect me to jump in the water for you?”
“If you do, we’re even,” Coyote said. “You don’t have to bring any wine tonight.”
“We’d be even?”
“Right.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I swear I’ll do it, if that’s the deal.”
“That’s the deal. Go ahead.”
Raven walked back to a vacant slip, stepped out of her flip-flops and jumped into the water. Then she muscled herself up onto the dock, picked up her flip-flops and headed to the sailboat without saying a word or looking back.
There.
Done.
They were even.
No wine tonight.
No more Coyote.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Night
______________
G-DROP DIDN’T SHOW UP FOR THE CONCERT. That didn’t derail the party afterwards, though. In fact, if anything, everyone was even more eager to go—to get in on the chat, to be seen and heard, to be a part of the night when G-Drop vanished. So far, everything was going exactly as it should. Everyone who was supposed to show up did show up—the DJs, bartenders, caterers, security, limos, escorts, etcetera. Every stripper in the club wandered upstairs between sets, where the serious money was.
Dalton got drunk, drunker than he should have.
He didn’t care.
He deserved it.
The last couple of days had been rough.
Most people there didn’t know him, but figured out that he was someone important, given his uninhibited access to the VIP room.
Young beauties walked up to him.
They stuck their tongues in his mouth.
They rubbed their asses in his crotch.
They pulled tits out of their blouses and rubbed them on his chest.
That was in the main room.
THE VIP ROOM WAS CRANKED UP several notches higher. There were at least twenty nude women in there, grinding and teasing, straddling the men and one other, getting their freak on. A thick marijuana haze set a nice base for cocaine and ecstasy. King Kong woofers pounded a heavy bass into the air.
Two woman—one black and one white—made out on a sofa.
Neither wore a stitch of clothing.
Dalton walked over and squeezed between them.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said.
They didn’t.
They climbed on his lap and continued.
Their faces were so close that he could feel the warmth of their breath. They kissed each other, hard and deep and wet. Every so often one of them licked Dalton’s face or squeezed his dick.
He played with their bodies as they made out.
Then his cell phone rang.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Evening
______________
TEFFINGER LEFT ANNOUNCEMENTS on his answering machines for home and work, telling anyone who called that he’d be in New Orleans for the next several days—but leave a message. He set suitcases on the driveway next to the Tundra and left them there until it was time to head to the airport. He told his neighbors to watch the house because he’d be in New Orleans for the next several days. He printed a map of New Orleans from the web and set it on his computer desk, facing the window, in clear view if anyone looked inside. He left the curtains pulled back so the looking would be easy.
There.
Done.
That was a start to let the black woman know where he was going, short of spraying it in red paint on the front door.
Not that any
of that would probably work.
So he had an even better plan for tomorrow.
Most of it would take place in New Orleans.
But also, on the Denver end, Geneva Vellone would tell FM 104 Hot Talk listeners tomorrow morning that her new co-host, Venzelle Oceana, would be absent for several days—in New Orleans.
VENZELLE OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR of the Tundra, looked around for snake remnants and found none. “Who cleaned the interior?”
Teffinger rolled his eyes.
“A few people think I’m an okay guy, but no one thinks I’m okay enough to clean poisonous snake guts with me.”
She chuckled.
“I would have helped.”
“Not if you’d seen it,” he said.
They headed for the airport with three suitcases and a carryon bag that had the voodoo dolls inside. “It’s going to be a little weird if the security people make you take the dolls out,” Venzelle said.
Teffinger raked his hair back.
“I already know they will,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s the way my life works.”
Five minutes later he pulled into thick 6th Avenue freeway traffic.
An 18-wheeler came out of nowhere and rode his bumper.
“Look under the seat and see if there’s a rattlesnake,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because there’s a truck on my tail,” he said. “That’s how it starts.”
She punched him in the arm.
And played with the radio buttons until she landed on an old Pussycat Dolls song, “Buttons.”
SOMEHOW THEY FLEW ALL THE WAY to New Orleans without dropping out of the sky and landing in a fireball. Neither of them had ever been there before, so after they checked into the hotel they headed over to the French Quarter to see if it measured up to all the hype.
A humid twilight sky hung overhead.
The city lights popped on, one by one.
Southern jazz spilled out of bars.
Loose.
People were everywhere.
Drunk.
Celebrating life.
Bar hopping.
The street had a feel to it, unlike anything Teffinger had experienced before—some type of rough mixture of history, music, food, chance encounters and danger. A feeling that made him want to drag Venzelle into an alley, right here, right now, and rip her shorts off.
Client Trap (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Page 14