by Kim Smith
Now, Sal’s face took on an angry scowl. “Woman, you are going to get yourself killed doing things like that.”
Somehow the way he said woman made my heart go pitty-pat. The scowl did nothing for me, however. I crossed my legs hoping they would erase it from his face.
“It’s the job, only the job,” Dwayne said in his best Mel Gibson voice.
“Find a new line of work, this one is dangerous.” Sal sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We’re working with the MPD to get Thelma brought in. If she sticks her nose out a hair, we’ve got her…”
“If you’re in a hurry, see Charlotte Dillon. Take some legal action to make her talk. She knows something, Sal, I’m telling you,” I said with a gush of emotion. “Screw keeping things level-headed. We’ve been doing our best to find out stuff and we’re falling over Thelma left, right, and up and down. She’s not hard to find if you look in the right places—”
“Right! Places like coffee shops, right, Shan?” Dwayne interrupted. He suddenly became animated; a sure sign he was lying about something. I hoped he slowed down soon.
I nodded.
He didn’t want to divulge the adult bookstore yet, apparently. But I had sort of intimated we had information to share when I’d spoken to Sal. I tapped the desk with a finger while considering what to say. “Yeah. And she hangs out in the neighborhood over close to Hickory Heights, that’s where we found the man, Harpoon. David Lunsford’s Escalade sat in his driveway. Anyway, Thelma climbed aboard with Charlotte Dillon and took off.”
“Not exactly in that order,” Dwayne offered, giving me a frown.
Sal’s voice sounded strained and tired as he leaned in to write on his notepad, not looking at us. “Your story is hard to follow. How about complete disclosure? I need this in the exact order it happened with all the names, places, and faces. It seems we are destined to work together on this and for once even Dan would agree it’s important for everyone to be on the same team.”
Dwayne raised questioning eyebrows, and I nodded. No use in being subversive. Hiding anything at this point was useless.
“Okay, here it is, dude. We went over to call on that reporter chick, and she brushed us off like flies on the garbage man. We followed her to see where she would lead, and sure enough, she ran smack into old lady, Denaldo, who climbed in her car. We followed them toward east Memphis, but lost them thanks to traffic.”
He paused to check if I had anything to add. I shook my head, and he continued. “We decided to go back to the ‘hood where Denaldo came strollin’ out of. We found her brother’s ride parked in one of the driveways. I got out and talked to the neighbor lady who told us about Harpoon, and how he owned the house, what she suspected he did for a livin’, which ain’t good news. He must have been watchin’ because he got tired of seein’ us burnin’ fuel outside his joint, and came out to shoot off a round at our quickly departin’ asses.”
“Is that it?” Sal asked, his eyes dark and brooding. “Either of you hurt?”
The pain in my shoulder kicked in simply from thinking about it.
“Nope, no hurts from us,” I told him, uncrossing my legs and sitting up straighter. “Are you going to arrest us for messing in your case?”
He clasped his hands in front of him and directed his gaze at me with purpose. “No. I said we were working together. That means you keep me informed, and I keep you informed. Comprende?”
I glanced at Dwayne who visibly relaxed.
“Yes. We understand. And thanks,” I said, letting out a little held breath.
“Good,” Sal said. “I just need to make sure you know a few things. First, don’t get caught. No matter what happens from here on in, I’m not going to save you, if you do anything illegal, or otherwise. And if Memphis police haul you in, you’re on your own.” He paused to allow this to sink in. “Second, ask before taking things in your own hands. If you get in the middle of a gun battle in Memphis, I am pretty damn powerless to save you, but I will send flowers to the hospital or the funeral home. I’d rather be told before you rush into a situation so I can advise you on the best way to handle things.”
Dwayne nodded. “Got it.”
I started to voice my opinion, but Dee put his hand over my mouth. “She gets it, too.”
Sal smiled. “Good. Thirdly, if this Harpoon character is the killer, then he now knows who you are. Does that make you shiver any?”
Dee removed his hand, and we both nodded. Sal patted his desktop with one hand. “Me, too. So, keep clear of him and his friends. Let the police do their job, okay? Hate to sound like a movie line here but this is for professionals, don’t try this at home.”
I wanted to tell him it was too late, but thought pushing my luck that way might change his mind about jail.
“Now,” he added, looking at Dwayne, “how about I have a private word with Shannon?”
Dwayne quickly rose to leave. “I’m goin’ down to talk to the dispatcher. She’s kinda sweet on me. Maybe I’ll get her brother’s telephone number this time.”
I made a zipper motion over my mouth and watched him leave. Sal stood and came over to take the seat Dwayne had vacated. He tried to hide the fact he was checking me out. It failed.
“Sorry about all this.” I sounded nervous even to me.
“It’s fine.”
Fine. Fine? What did that mean? Nothing was ever fine with Sal when it came to his cases. Was he trying to put me at ease? It had the opposite effect.
“Should we just forget this situation with Denaldo? I mean we were hired to do this job, but whatever. I think deep down Dee and I want to find out if there is any connection to Dan’s murder and Thelma’s activities.” I shut up at that point. He didn’t need to know about the porno queen until I had more to tell him.
Sal gazed at my hair, and tucked a strand behind one of my ears. “I know. He was my friend. He was a good guy. That’s why we should work together on it.”
“I don’t know how to work with you. I’ve made it a habit to work against you.”
He laughed. “So that’s it! I knew there was a reason you fight me.”
I went a different direction. “Thelma is staying over at Harpoon’s place. She’s been seen going in and out, and her brother’s car is over there. Maybe we should stake out that house?”
“No. The MPD will do that.”
“So, what should we do?”
He leaned close to me, placed his hand on my leg, and whispered in my ear, “You and I are going to do many things.”
My pulse rocketed from its normal 80 to 90 beats per minute to off the charts. I began a mantra in my head. I do not know anything more. I do not know anything more. I do not—
His neck-nuzzling distracted me.
“Do you remember that time in my car…?” he murmured.
Oh, my God, how I remembered. “I remember a dark night in the car with you, and it was very good,” I replied, closing my eyes. “Until I discovered a little black book.”
He stopped nuzzling, and moved away with a sigh. “I remember, too.” Then he stood, and held out his hand for me to take. “I remember too much to finish this walk down memory lane now. Maybe we can continue over dinner tonight? Today, I have criminals to catch, and you have Mr. Brown waiting downstairs.”
I took his hand and stood, my legs a little wobbly after his physical assault. “Dinner? Tonight? Sure.”
He smiled and turned me toward the door, giving my back a gentle push. “I will call you.”
I did a quick over the shoulder smile and hauled out of there. Halfway down the stairs, I remembered he was an expert interrogator and wondered if I had accidentally committed to a date that would end up being a probe-Shannon-for-information session.
I really hoped not. I would have to work hard to keep the info about the adult bookstore out of his notepad. If he allowed his hands to roam over my more sensitive spots, all bets were off. And did I even want that? We had a history as he had begun to relate in our most recent chat. Our date i
n his car didn’t turn out very well. Should I even be glad he remembered that night at all? Did he remember that the night in question only happened because he had taken a dare to date me? Should I be mortified that I had taken his black book and published it in the school newspaper? Up until this point I hadn’t been. I felt more like a woman scorned who needed to have the upper hand.
I tried to push the thoughts away as I stepped off the last step in the tight staircase. He surely didn’t want to date me on a dare now, apparently. Maybe we could let bygones be bygones.
Maybe I was just developing a conscience.
Dwayne sat on the edge of the dispatcher’s desk telling some crazy joke. He must have known by my look that there was a problem of some kind, because he said goodbye in the middle of the story, and we walked out together.
“So?” he asked.
“He’s got my number.”
“Yeah, but does he have that secret information we found out this afternoon from Yoshi along with it?”
“Not yet.”
“Yet? Yet hell! What happened?”
“He wants to take me out for dinner tonight.”
“Did you say yes?”
“Yes. But I think I meant no. He had me all breathless.”
Dwayne clicked the door locks opened, and we got inside his car. “If he hits on you again while on this date, are you going to explode with information that I would rather he didn’t know about?”
“What do you think?”
He started the engine. “We’re screwed.”
###
Dwayne dropped me at the entrance to my apartment and took off in a cloud of exhaust. I clumped up my stairs, the sling-backs pinching my toes together. The air conditioning was working in fine form, and I soaked in the cold goodness. I tossed purse, keys, and sunglasses on the coffee table and went to change. Jeans and a tee shirt felt fabulous. Nothing was out of sorts in my apartment and for the first time all day, I relaxed.
Then, just because I had time to kill, I switched on the television to watch the noon news. Grimacing, I watched a stern faced Charlotte Dillon on the screen, and an even more stern voice telling me to watch the evening edition to hear Charlotte’s in-depth report on a local pornography ring.
A report? She had been hanging out with Thelma to pick her brains on her involvement in the porn market? I shook my head. No matter if hell froze over today, I would be in front of my television at ten tonight.
While I had nothing more pressing to do, I pulled open the internet browser on my smartphone and looked up Leslie Howell, attorney at law. I called the number listed and listened to the rings.
“Howell, Howell, and Howell,” the perky female voice answered.
“Um, yes. My name is Shannon Wallace, and I need to speak to Leslie Howell.”
“Is Mr. Howell expecting your call?”
“Well, not really…I mean he told my aunt that I should call him. It’s about a trust.”
“I see. Well, he might be at lunch Ms. Wallace. Let me check and see.”
She put me on hold and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
In a few moments, she came back on the line.
“It’s as I feared. He is at lunch. Can I have him return your call?”
The butterflies sank into oblivion.
“Yes. Please do.”
When we disconnected, I wandered through the apartment contemplating my life, my sad social existence, and Sal Ramirez. Would he still want to date me if I suddenly came into a lot of money?
“Guess it’s a good thing he wants to date you now, before that happens. At least you know where you stand with him,” I said to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
The problem was, I really didn’t know where I stood with him. It was never what I thought it was and had never been so.
Chapter Fifteen
While I dried my hair and tried not to think about a date with the one man in the world who could be my undoing, I focused all my thoughts on Thelma Denaldo. Considered her really hard, the way a woman thinks of another woman. It was very enlightening.
Involved in a porn ring, authoring porn books, possibly producing porn movies, Mrs. Denaldo was interesting if nothing else. I couldn’t imagine her acting in them, though. Or maybe she did? Maybe it was porn for the over forty crowd.
“Ugh!” The distaste hit my mouth like wasabi-flavored jellybeans.
She was living with or spending time with a man who was suspected of illegal activity in many flavors too, and who knew what that meant?
I flipped the television on to see the five o’clock news, but there was nothing new about the news story. They said they would bring us more at ten. I planned on being present for it. Then, I thought, I might not be alone, and that gave me a shiver in all the right places.
At six sharp, Sal pulled through the lot in the shiny new Mitsubishi he’d bought for his personal car a few weeks ago. I supposed he was tired of conducting personal business in the battered Taurus. He cut the engine. I waited to see if he would come up to the door to get me, or just honk like an impatient teenager.
Pleasantly surprised, he emerged; arms full of colorful flowers that made my heart throb hotly in my chest. He meant business this time. I rushed to the bathroom to check myself one last time. The short-sleeved black dress meant business too, and I told it to be nice and not get me in too much trouble. I did a quick spritz of a musky perfume, a quick peek for stray hairs out of place, adjusted my pantyhose, and double-checked my makeup before sauntering to the door.
When I opened it, I was reminded of the proverbial spider and fly scenario. This time I felt like the fly. Salvador Ramirez was going to consume me and toss away my dry husk.
He smiled, handing me the flowers. I made the appropriate exclamations while finding a vase, adding water, and displaying them on my dining room table. When I turned back to him, he stood too close for comfort, right on my heel.
“Oh! Oh, um, you look nice.” It was the only thing I could think to say, as we were nearly nose-to-nose.
“You smell good,” he replied, lifting my hand to kiss it. He must have gotten a whiff of the body spray. “Are you ready?”
I did a slight double take. If he meant going out, yes, I was ready. If he meant anything else, I would quickly panic and probably faint.
“Ready? Um. I guess?”
“I don’t know about you, but steaks at that new place over by Hazy Heaven are calling my name,” he replied, placing his hand on the small of my back and herding me toward the door.
I thanked my lucky stars his stomach came before everything else. I grabbed my clutch from the arm of the couch, and we took off. The drive exhilarated me. The sky, a deep amethyst the way it is at dusk in the summertime, illuminated the stars, which twinkled happily down at us. We sat at the bar and had beers while waiting on our number to be called.
The restaurant, a take on the old western movies, had John Wayne posters lining the walls, and cowboy items of all descriptions, including lassoes and steer horns.
“Been here before?” I asked.
“Yes. The food is outstanding.”
“Thanks for bringing me. It’s nice to be able to just hang out and leave the heavy stress stuff behind.” I gave him one of my most sincere looks.
“I agree. I’ve missed being with you for fun. Sometimes trouble follows you around like a dark cloud. I don’t mind being your Sir Galahad, but some days…”
“I know.” And I did. He must have answered my frantic calls a hundred times over the last year. Now that it occurred to me, I was shocked he even still showed interest. “I’m glad you still want to hang out.”
He sipped a beer and nodded. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I decided to come clean. “You and I have a strange history, Sal. You’ve been aggravated by me more than allured, or so it seems sometimes.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it does seem that way. But you’re pretty alluring, chica. I would like to think I have a semi-inv
estment in you. We go way back. You know?”
“Yeah. I do. I’m just glad we’re taking an active role in our…er…friendship. Not just all business and bad things.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He stuck his beer bottle out, and I gave it a good clink with my own. By the time we finished our beers, we were called for our table. Once seated, I started in on the bucket of peanuts on the table. He ate a few, a lot slower than I did, and watched me with humor.
“You keep going on those nuts and you’re going to be too full for steak.”
“Never.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone consume so many peanuts and not get sick.”
I stopped mid-chew. “Sick?”
“Yeah, you know they salt those things pretty hard.”
I shoved the bucket away. Salt was never a girl’s best friend, and I imagined how impossible it would be to fit my bloated body into skinny jeans tomorrow. Just as I was about to ask Sal’s opinion on fluid retention, the waitresses began doing a line dance to a country song. We clapped and hee-hawed right along with the rest of the crowd.
When we were stuffed full of garden salad, and hot rolls with honey butter, our server brought perfectly seasoned steaks and baked potatoes dripping with the works. As we dug in, I decided to ask a not-so-subtle question.
“Is there any news on Dan’s case? Do we know who did it yet? Or even the cause of death?”
Sal leaned back from the table a little and eyed me. I could tell his cop soul was battling his friendly heart. Cop soul won out once again.
“I can’t talk about it, Shannon.”
“Why not? You said we would work together.”
He scratched the side of his nose. “It’s complicated. I can tell you that we know what killed Dan, obviously, blunt force trauma, but the autopsy results aren’t in, and forensics is still churning out details from their end. I can’t share that with you. I can’t risk anyone knowing details that could compromise this case. It’s too critical. When I said work together, I meant I would share what I could share, and you would fill me in with what you find out.”