by Jude Hardin
“Jack’s got the situation well under control.”
“I want to be alone, Nicolas.”
“We just saved your life. I’m sure you’ll want to thank us later on, once you get your head on straight.”
I heard sirens in the distance.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate it. I really do.”
She broke then, started sobbing into the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She was shaking. “Oh my god. He could have killed me.”
She leaned into me, pressed the side of her head against my chest. I put my arm around her.
“You’ll need to talk to someone,” I said. “A counselor. Don’t worry, we’ll get you set up with everything you need.”
She stepped away from me, took a nervous drag on her cigarette. “Oh my god,” she said. “He made me open the safe and he got Anil’s ring.”
Anil Sircar had bought Kelly’s Pool Hall a few years ago, after Kelly O’Conner, the original owner, dropped dead one night delivering a pitcher of beer to a table. Anil and his family were from India
Anil had bought a very expensive ring for his wife. He’d shown it to me. He’d been planning on surprising her with it on their upcoming anniversary. It was from the sixties, I think he said. The diamond solitaire was almost six carats, set in platinum, and there were more diamonds all around the band. It was gorgeous.
I was apparently in the wrong business. I needed to quit the private eye game and open a restaurant bar.
“He took the ring?” I said.
“He took everything,” Molly said.
“What are you talking about?” It was Jack. She’d snuck up behind us. “There was jewelry in the safe?”
Molly nodded. “A ring. He put it in his bag, along with all the money.”
“I checked the bag,” Jack said. “And so did the officers who just arrived. There was no ring.”
THE PRIVATE EYE
11:51 P.M.
An ambulance transported Rey Aquino to Hallows Cove Memorial Hospital. He was in stable condition, but they were keeping him overnight for observation. Molly, tough girl that she was, refused any sort of treatment, and the EMTs sent her home with instructions to contact a psychological counselor if she started experiencing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I talked Lt. Daniels into spending the night in Hallows Cove. She’d checked into The Parkside Motel, and now she was back at Kelly’s Pool Hall, sitting at the big booth in the corner with Anil Sircar and me.
The place was swarming with vampires, Jasons, Freddy Kruegers, and a bunch of other gruesome characters. Ironically, there wasn’t a single Bugs Bunny in sight.
As for the Bugs who had been there earlier, he was looking at a dozen years, hard time, minimum. And with no front teeth, I had a feeling he would be really popular in prison.
“I’ll go get us another round of drinks,” I said. “You guys want the same?”
“Surprise us this time,” Anil said.
I looked at Jack. She nodded.
I weaved through the crowd, finally made it to the front and got the attention of a bartender.
I gestured toward the chalkboard, where Molly had written the cocktail du jour and its special price. It was a drink I’d never heard of. Or maybe I’d heard of it, but had forgotten.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Something tall and fruity. A rum drink, maybe. And I bet each one comes with one of those silly little paper umbrellas. And an orange slice or something.”
“Exactly,” the bartender said.
I hesitated. “All right, then. Three of those.”
“You’re with Anil, right? I’ll get Ashley to bring them to your table.”
I walked back over and sat next to Jack.
“Where’s our drinks?” she said.
“They’ll be here shortly.”
“This has been one hell of a day,” Anil said. “Of course my insurance will take care of everything—everything except the ring. The ring cannot be replaced. It was one of a kind.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“I thought you knew about the ring. I’d bought it for—”
“Of course I knew about it. You showed it to me. The Bugs Bunny Bandit admitted to taking it, but it wasn’t in his bag. I thought it might have turned up during the search.”
“It didn’t.”
“Maybe he swallowed it,” I said.
Anil’s nose crinkled. “I hope not. That would be terrible.”
I turned to Jack. “Would we need a warrant to get an x-ray?”
“No way,” Anil said. “If that criminal swallowed the ring, how could I ever put it on my sweet wife’s finger?”
“Maybe he didn’t swallow it,” I said. “Maybe he just shoved it up his—”
“I don’t want to hear this.” Anil shook his head violently.
I considered another possibility. “Bugsy said he tripped in the dark when he was running away,” I said. “Maybe the ring fell out of his bag.”
Anil shook his head. “We’ve checked the entire bar. We found the case it came in, but the ring is nowhere.”
“Occam’s razor,” Jack said. “The easiest answer is probably the simplest. Colt, you spent a minute or two alone with the bandit after he jumped, while I was coming down the stairs.”
I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Would you like to frisk me, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You were alone with him, too,” I said. “Before the police arrived.”
“I’ll also pass on your upcoming offer to frisk me,” she said.
“You’re no fun,” I said, playfully.
“But seriously. Think about it. We weren’t the only ones alone with the bandit.” She looked at Anil. “Your new bartender. Molly. What do you know about her?”
“I just hired her last week. She’s smart, confident, nice to look at. Knows how to make a good drink without over pouring.”
“Did you check her references?” Jack asked. “Check for a police record?”
“I… well, I… no.” Anil’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t check.”
“The police searched her car,” I said.
“Her entire car?” Jack asked. “It would be easy to hide something as small as a ring. Lots of places that aren’t apparent. Inside the gas cap. Or the air filter. The space behind the glove compartment. Also, I know she was patted down, but how thorough was that?”
I nodded. “I saw her messing around in the glove compartment. But she could have just as easily stuck the ring in her—”
“Enough!” Anil put his hands together as if in prayer. “Can we please stop talking about the various body cavities where the ring might have been hidden?”
I glanced at Jack. I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “I need to make some phone calls.”
I got up and let Jack out, then sat back down.
I looked at Anil.
Anil looked at me.
We both shrugged.
A few minutes passed, and we still hadn’t gotten our drinks. Jack returned and slid in beside me.
“They found it,” she said.
Anil lit up like Christmas. “They did? But how? Who?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me Molly was in on it all along? That she helped Bugsy—”
“It wasn’t Molly,” Jack said. “It was Rey Aquino.”
Anil and I both said, “Huh?”
“I’m guessing, mostly, but based on what one of the CSI guys just told me, this is probably how it went down: the bandit tripped over Rey in the dark, and when the lights came back on, Rey spotted the ring on the floor. It had fallen out of the bandit’s satchel and had rolled into the main barroom, and in a heated moment of poor judgment, Rey decided to crawl after it and keep it for himself.”
“He wants to
open his own restaurant,” Anil said. “He’s been planning it for years.”
“They found the ring in his possession at the hospital,” Jack said. “Under his mattress.”
“The mattress!” Anil grinned ear-to-ear. “Thank goodness! No swallowing or shoving into orifices.”
“According to the police, Rey swears he was going to give it back. The guilt was gnawing at him.”
“But why didn’t anyone notice that Rey had crawled into the barroom?” I asked. “He was bleeding all over the place from the buckshot wounds on his legs.”
Jack smiled. “Elementary, my dear Colt. At first, nobody noticed the trail of blood he left going to the barroom and then returning to his original spot, because Molly had squirted fake blood all over the place earlier. But the CSI team took some samples and some photographs, and they were easily able to differentiate the fluids.”
“Damn,” I said.
Hard to believe that Rey would have done such a thing. But I guess the temptation had been too great.
Jack turned to Anil. “I think you’re going to have to find yourself another head cook,” she said.
Anil shook his head. “I’m not going to press charges.”
Jack made a face. “Why not?”
“Rey is my friend. He’s a family man. And he cooks an incredible shepherd’s pie.”
True enough, I thought. Rey certainly did cook an incredible shepherd’s pie.
“He’s a thief,” Jack said.
“No. He’s a chef who made a mistake. He should go to jail for years because of one moment of weakness? Rey has asked me many times to invest in his restaurant, and I always turned him down because I didn’t want to lose him.” Anil beamed. “Now I’ll never lose him. He’ll be forever in my debt. A man who gets a second chance never forgets it.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. But, truth be told, I would have missed Rey and his cooking, and the free tequila he sometimes provided me with. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t wearing any expensive jewelry next time I saw him.
“You’re a good man, Anil,” I said.
“Thank you, Nicolas. And to show you how happy I am that the both of you not only helped to catch the bandit, but also recovered my wife’s ring, for the rest of the night you can both drink for half price.”
Maybe I’d spoken too soon with the good man comment.
“Every third drink,” he added.
“Speaking of drinks,” Jack said, “I thought you ordered some a long time ago, Colt.”
I looked over and saw Ashley, the cocktail waitress, lift a tray from the service bar.
Our drinks.
Finally.
Jack and Anil and I sat there another thirty seconds in silence.
And then the zombies came.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Joe Konrath is the author of more than twenty novels and dozens of shorter works in the mystery, thriller, horror, and science fiction genres. He’s sold over two million books worldwide, and besides Jude Hardin he’s collaborated with bestsellers Blake Crouch, Barry Eisler, Ann Voss Peterson, Henry Perez, Tom Schreck, Jeff Strand, Tracy Sharp, Bernard Schaffer, and F. Paul Wilson. He likes beer, pinball machines, and playing pinball when drinking beer. www.jakonrath.com
Jude Hardin is the author of the Nicholas Colt thriller series. He graduated from the University of Louisville in 1983 with an English degree, and currently lives and works in northeast Florida. When he’s not pounding away at the computer keyboard, Jude can be found pounding away on his drums, playing tennis, reading, or wandering the streets of Vegas in a sequined white jumpsuit. For periodic updates and special offers, please sign up for Jude’s newsletter at http://eepurl.com/zn1XD
ALSO BY JUDE HARDIN
Nicolas Colt Thrillers
Colt
Pocket 47
Crosscut
Snuff Tag 9
Key Death
Rattled (short)
Racked (with J.A. Konrath)
Blood Tattoo
Other Works
Bad Nurse
Ghost
Fire and Ice (Dead Man #8 with Lee Goldberg)
Silk – A Parody (as Howie Hughs)
ALSO BY J.A. KONRATH
Jack Daniels Thrillers
Whiskey Sour
Bloody Mary
Rusty Nail
Dirty Martini
Fuzzy Navel
Cherry Bomb
Shaken
Stirred (with Blake Crouch)
Last Call (with Blake Crouch)
Shot of Tequila
Banana Hammock
Jack Daniels Stories (collected stories)
Serial Killers Uncut (with Blake Crouch)
Suckers (with Jeff Strand)
Planter’s Punch (with Tom Schreck)
Floaters (with Henry Perez)
Truck Stop (short)
Flee (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Spree (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Three (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Hit (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Exposed (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Naughty (with Ann Voss Peterson)
Babe on Board (short with Ann Voss Peterson)
With a Twist (short)
Street Music (short)
Jacked Up! (with Tracy Sharp)
Racked (with Jude Hardin)
Other Works
Symbios
Timecaster
Timecaster Supersymmetry
Wild Night is Calling (short with Ann Voss Peterson)
Shapeshifters Anonymous (short)
The Screaming (short)
Afraid (writing as Jack Kilborn)
Endurance (writing as Jack Kilborn)
Trapped (writing as Jack Kilborn)
Haunted House (writing as Jack Kilborn)
Draculas (with Blake Crouch, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson)
Origin
The List
Disturb
65 Proof (short story omnibus)
Crime Stories (collected stories)
Horror Stories (collected stories)
Dumb Jokes & Vulgar Poems
A Newbie’s Guide to Publishing
Be the Monkey (with Barry Eisler)
Grandma? (with Talon Konrath)
RACKED
Copyright © 2013 by Jude Hardin and Joe Konrath
Cover and art copyright © 2013 by Carl Graves
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the authors.
October 2013