Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis

by Virginia Brown

  Thinking of Tootsie reminded her how close she’d come to disaster. Maybe their attacker was just a mugger. Or maybe he’d just been ticked off because they’d gotten his parking space. But if it had been the killer, why would he think only she and Lydia could identify him when there had been two busloads of tourists along for the rides? That didn’t make sense. There were dozens of other witnesses, but the killer focused on her, and perhaps Lydia. Because they knew him? Was he a former employee? Parking lot attendant? Delivery guy? Damn, there was any number of choices to track down. She really wished she could find out what the police knew.

  First, Lydia should be warned to be careful. Since it had to be done delicately instead of bluntly—not Harley’s specialty—she hoped Tootsie had already taken care of that. Dealing with a hysterical Lydia would make her forget the fourth chakra.

  With that unappealing thought in mind, she took the remnants of her Taco Bell meal to the kitchen. Instead of putting it in the fridge she threw it away. Morgan was right. Warmed-over burritos weren’t very tasty. The microwave did something nasty to the sour cream.

  Sam curled around her ankles, looking up at her with slitted blue eyes and purring, his tail straight up like a flagpole. He wanted something, of course.

  “Just like a man,” she said to him, and he purred even louder, “always wanting something else and never happy with what you’ve got. All right, you little furball, how about a kitty treat? The pet store clerk said cats love them, so I’m sure you won’t.”

  Harley was right. Sam sniffed it a few times, and then walked away with the equivalent of a cat shrug. Really, that was one of her favorite things about him, his individuality and sense of independence. Not at all like King, slavering drool all over her shoes and wiggling ecstatically just for a word or two. They didn’t even have to be kind words.

  Cami said there were cat people and dog people. She must be a cat person. She’d never say it to Cami, but she’d gotten really attached to Sam. If she let Cami know that, she’d end up with a dozen cats running around her apartment, so it would be a well kept secret.

  After pulling the curtains over the French doors to her small balcony, she checked the lock on the front door and turned out the lights. A couple of nightlights shed a small glow so she could find her way in the dark for midnight raids on the fridge, and so Sam could find his litter box for a night deposit. She’d bought one of those expensive electric ones that automatically scooped after him and saved her the necessity of continuous scooping. Other than a little bit of scattered litter and the whir it made while cleaning, it worked out fine for all concerned.

  As she turned toward her bedroom, she heard her front door knob rattle and froze. Didn’t most visitors have the decency to knock? Heart hammering, she fumbled one-handed on the counter that divided her kitchen from her living area, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. At least the front door was locked, so the intruder would have to break in and that would be noisy enough to alert her neighbors—just as her fingers found a small, hard object, the front door swung slowly open.

  A dark shape silhouetted against the hallway light stood there a moment, and Harley flung the object in her hand at the head. Not waiting to see if it hit the target she grabbed for something else to use, hampered by throbbing pain in her left shoulder.

  “Oww, dammit, Harley!”

  She paused with her hand on a heavy candle and solid brass holder. “Morgan?”

  He said something under his breath, and then said aloud, “I see that you’re not at death’s door like I was told.”

  Harley flipped on the lights. Mike stood rubbing his cheek. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not sure if she was glad to see him or not. He had a big red spot on his left cheek and didn’t look at all happy as he rubbed at it. He worked his jaw from side to side, apparently testing it for fractures, then blew out a heavy breath.

  “Tootsie called. He said you’d been stabbed, so I came to check on you. What’d you hit me with this time?”

  “I don’t know—oh dammit! My cell phone.” It lay in several pieces on the gleaming oak floor and looked beyond repair. Again. “You could have called first, y’know,” she said crossly.

  “He said he’d left you sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you. I should have remembered to wear a helmet and face guard.”

  “So what were you going to do, sneak in and watch me sleep?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess. Just wanted to see for myself that you’re all right.”

  “Obviously, the wound isn’t fatal.”

  “Obviously.”

  He stood there with the door still open, looking so good in his usual black jeans, tee shirt, and SWAT boots that she had a hard time not saying something stupid. Like Come lie down for a while, or Stay with me. That would never do. He’d wanted a break, so she’d give him one.

  After a moment, he said, “Got everything you need? If not, I can run to the store for you.”

  “I’m fine. We stopped at Taco Bell and I have cat food. I’ll make it until tomorrow.”

  “You know the assault’s been reported.”

  Damn. She hadn’t thought about that. Of course, the emergency room attendants would have to report it even if Tootsie hadn’t. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, things like that were always reported to the police.

  “I don’t remember talking to the police. Who did?”

  “Tootsie. You were out of it, and Baroni told them you could be released to go home. A couple of uniforms took the initial report from Tootsie. Expect a call from Baroni.”

  She sighed. “I’m so not looking forward to that.”

  “I don’t blame you. If you’re okay, I’ll go back to my stakeout.”

  “Stakeout? You have a suspect for the Elvis case? And don’t bother denying that’s what you’re working on, because I won’t believe it. There’s no other reason you’d have been in black leather pants and a TCB chain.” She sat down on the arm of her cushioned chair. Morgan looked at her left arm and shoulder in a sling, and then shook his head.

  “Have you ever thought of applying for the police academy? Use your talents for good instead of evil?”

  “Stick to the issue. I’ve tried to stay out of sight and out of trouble, but tonight this guy attacked me. Tootsie thinks he might be trying to get rid of witnesses. What about the tourists on the buses? Aren’t they witnesses, too?”

  “Yes, but most of them were from out of town. They’ve given statements and gone home, except for a few.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment, and then something occurred to her. “If you’re on a stakeout and it’s for this case, am I the one you’re staking out? Or Lydia?”

  He just smiled.

  Harley didn’t know whether to feel better or worse. If they were staking out her apartment to see if the guy came after her, then she was protected, but that also meant they thought she was in danger. There wasn’t really a good side to this that she could see.

  “Go away,” she said. “My drugs are wearing off and I might get cranky.”

  “Wouldn’t want that. You’re always so sweet.”

  “Sarcasm to a poor invalid. Really, Morgan, that’s police brutality.”

  “So report me.”

  Catching her by surprise, he closed the distance between them in two long strides, put his hand under her chin and kissed her. It was short, sweet, then over. Except for that tingle in the pit of her stomach. Damn. How did he do that to her? She stared at the closed door for a moment before getting up to lock it. Even with pain killers, it was going to be a long night.

  * * * *

  “What are you doing here?” Tootsie shook his head and scowled up at her. “You should be resting at home.”

  Harley plopped her backpack down on his desk, a familiar ritual. “I’ve got some errands to run. Besides, I’d get more rest lying in the middle of Poplar Avenue. Did you send out a chain letter announcing my injury? Even my great-grandmother called this morning to te
ll me I need defense lessons. Which reminds me—why didn’t I know that you could do karate?”

  “You never asked.” Tootsie took another call, and then looked up with a wink. “Someone like me has to know a few defensive moves. There are always guys who want to prove their manhood by beating up someone smaller, especially when he’s wearing a blond wig and boobs.”

  “I guess that could be a problem.”

  “Only if you can’t defend yourself.”

  Harley sat down in the chair close to Tootsie’s desk. “You always seem so well-adjusted it’s hard for me to think anybody wouldn’t like you.”

  “Strangers don’t bother me. I just consider them ignorant. It’s the family members who say and do things that get to me. You’d think after all these years I wouldn’t care, but sometimes I do.” He shrugged. “Everybody has a right to their own opinions and lives as long as they don’t infringe on others, so I try to overlook it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Tootsie retied his ponytail with the elastic band, adjusted the phone headset and said lightly, “Don’t be, darling. We can’t choose our family, just our friends.”

  “Good thing. Think of all the therapists that’d be out of business if we could.”

  “You always have the right answers. Ah, the delightful buzz of more cancellations. Do excuse me, bankruptcy is calling.”

  Three lines had lit up at once on the console next to the computer. The console was new, the computer not. Tootsie had seemed disappointed about the latter, but managed to make do. He’d loaded a bunch of new programs in it that made his life a lot easier, he said, especially when she observed that he was on the Internet a lot for someone supposed to be booking clients. Since computers were among the things she found convenient but uninteresting, she took his word for it so he wouldn’t go into detail about gigs, megahertz, and other incomprehensible terms.

  Musing about differences between friends and family members, Harley thought about her own family. Which led to thoughts about Patty Jenkins, which progressed to speculation about Leroy Jenkins. He’d moved in with a roommate in Frayser. She really needed to talk to him even though the police most certainly had already done so. Maybe there was something she, as a non-police officer, could find out. People were usually more comfortable talking to civilians in a casual situation than they were the police, especially if they’d ever transgressed in some way. All she had to do was make a quick visit. She still had that address written on the back of one of the Memphis Tour Tyme business cards Patty Jenkins had refused to take.

  “How do you drive one-handed?” Tootsie asked during a lull in cancellations.

  “Slowly. I just have to hold the wheel with my knees and shift gears with my right hand. The bad thing is, I can’t drink Cokes while I drive right now. By the way, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

  “Pick away. But if you’re going to bitch at me about calling Morgan, it won’t do you any good. You know you’re glad.” He leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips in that bitchy little way he had. It turned into a smile when she flipped him a one-fingered salute.

  “But why him? You could have called Cami.”

  “Please. You two together are just double trouble. I wanted someone to watch out for you who actually can watch out for you.”

  “I don’t need a keeper.”

  “Baby, as many bodies as you run across, you need a scorekeeper. Here.” He grabbed his car keys off the desk and held them out. “Take my car. It’s an automatic. You’re less dangerous on the streets that way. Just don’t spill any Coke on my leather seats.”

  “Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite person?” She took his keys. “I’ll leave you my keys in case you need to go somewhere.”

  “That’s all right. You’ll be back before I leave. Won’t you?”

  “Of course. But you know, I’m sure, that my best intentions somehow get screwed up on occasion, right?”

  He held out his hand. “Right. Give me your keys. Just in case.”

  Tootsie had a four year old Acura with leather seats and all the bells and whistles any hedonist would need. Harley sighed with pleasure as she snuggled into the buttery-soft seat. She had thought about buying a new car since she had that extra money in her savings account, but couldn’t justify it. She had her Toyota, after all. It ran just fine and never gave her any problems. Now that her Harley-Davidson Softail Deuce with over-under dual exhaust and a Twin 88 cam belonged to her and not the finance company, her only bills were her Visa card and the basics like rent, phone, utilities, and food. And of course, her monthly cell phone replacement. That ran pretty high lately. It’d be nice if they made a rubber one.

  There were three errands on her list—cell phone replacement, a chat with Leroy Jenkins’s roommate, and a visit with Lydia Free, who also had a paid leave of absence. Being related to the ogre apparently had perks.

  It took only a few minutes to replace her cell phone. The clerk recognized her in the parking lot, got out a new cell phone and had it ready by the time she reached the counter.

  “See you next month, Ms. Davidson,” he called as Harley left, and she just barely kept from saying something really rude. If there hadn’t been children in there...

  Leroy had lived off Frayser Boulevard, in a duplex that had seen much better days. Harley set the alarm on Tootsie’s car and managed to get up the sidewalk without tripping over chunks of broken concrete uprooted by a huge dead tree. It looked bleak, not like the other houses.

  After knocking a few times, the door opened. A guy who looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties stood there. He had brown hair that looked like he cut it with an electric fan, hard eyes, and grease streaks on his face. Must be the roommate. He wore a greasy shirt with his name on the pocket. Darren. He leaned against the doorframe and gave her a gap-toothed grin.

  “Well, hello, green eyes. Did it hurt?”

  “What?”

  He pointed at her arm. “When you fell from heaven.”

  She barely kept from rolling her eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Leroy?”

  Darren’s grin disappeared. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You a cop?”

  “No. I’m with Memphis Tour Tyme. Leroy was killed on our van. Here’s my card.” She held it out and after a moment, he took it. He had grease blackening his hands and nails, but an auto mechanic usually did.

  “So, whatcha wanna ask me? I don’t know nuthin’ much about Leroy. He just crashed here when his old lady threw him out. Paid his rent on time, and that’s all I cared about.”

  “Did you ever go with him to the Elvis events?”

  “Hell, I didn’t even know he was a freak until a few weeks ago. Comes in with all that Elvis crap, looking like a dumbass and sounding like shit.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll take that as a no. Did he ever say anything to you about a fight with other contestants, maybe a dislike of any of them?”

  Darren shrugged. “We didn’t talk that much. Worked together, might watch a few ball games together, but not much else.”

  “Did Leroy ever talk about his wife?”

  “Talk? Hell, all he ever did was moan about how she kept him from his kids. Wouldn’t let him see ’em. Said he had to pay to play.” He frowned. “How does any of this have anything to do with a tour company? Sure you ain’t the cops?”

  “Mrs. Jenkins has requested monetary damages, and there has to be an assessment of the amount lost by her husband’s ... demise.” A half-truth. She smiled. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “That greedy bitch. Wouldn’t surprise me none if she had him killed. Did you talk to her yet?”

  “Once, but I’m sure I’ll talk to her again.”

  “Then give her this, will ya? I forgot to put it with the rest of Leroy’s stuff.” He left the duplex door open when he stepped inside to pick up a stack of envelopes from a table littered with empty beer cans, overflowing ashtrays, and half-eate
n pizza. Along with unwashed body and probably decaying food, the sweet smell of marijuana drifted out the door. He held out the envelopes. “It’s Leroy’s mail. I don’ know what else to do with it, so she might as well have it.”

  “I’ll see that she gets it.”

  Darren smiled at her again, showing empty spaces where a couple of teeth had been. “I bet a hot number like you has lots of guys after her, huh.”

  She took a step back. There was no good answer to that. “Thanks for your help,” she said, and walked away with him still in the doorway looking at her.

  “Anytime you feel like goin’ for a beer, stop by,” Darren called after her, and she pretended she didn’t hear him.