by K. J. Larsen
“Of course you are.”
I picked up the deck and dealt.
In the backseat, Ronnie gulped the coffee gratefully. His red, tired eyes looked as if they’d been propped open all night with toothpicks.
“Long night?” Max said.
“Let’s say, it’s good to see you. Smoak is in the yellow house on the right. It belongs to an aunt.”
“Is she at home?”
“No. We think she’s in Florida for the winter.”
“Good.”
Ronnie cocked his head left. “The blue jeep across the street is Toby’s ride. He got home around midnight and was a little lit. He could be sleeping it off.”
“That’s his Harley in front of the house,” I said. “He was on it when he tried to fill me with lead last night.”
“Damn,” Ronnie shook his head. “You mean I could have just shot him, gone home and gotten some sleep. Instead I was watching his sorry ass all night.”
“Anything else?” Max said.
Ronnie flipped through his notebook. “He had a visitor around 1:30. He didn’t stay long. Half an hour or so.”
“Thanks, man,” Max said. “We’ll take it from here.”
Ronnie looked uncertainly at me and back at Max. “She going with you?”
“I got skills, Ronnie. This is what I’m trained for.”
He choked on a laugh. “Honey, you’re an overpaid dirty picture taker.”
I heard my teeth grind. “Go home and get some sleep.”
He blew me off. “Max, you and me. We go in there and get this guy. In and out.”
Max shrugged. “Cat’s a lot scarier than she looks. This is her case. I’m along for the ride.”
“Shit.” Ronnie shook his head as if dealing with the insane. “Take care of her, Max. Anything happens to Tony DeLuca’s girl, Tino’s gonna come for you.”
I heard my teeth grind.
“And by that, I mean Tino’s not comin’. He’ll be sendin’ me. Go home. We’ve got this handled.”
Ronnie winked and took his coffee and breakfast with him. We watched the brown Impala drive away.
I exaggerated an eye roll. “What a bunch of macho crap. I was waiting for rulers to be whipped out, so certain body parts could be measured.”
“Just don’t get yourself shot.” Max leaned down and checked his ankle holster. “I don’t need to deal with the shitstorm that would follow.”
“No one is getting shot today. Well, not us anyway.” I gathered my hair and clipped it in a tight bun. “Here. Put these on.” Then I pulled two pair of thick rimmed glasses and a big black leather Bible from my bag. I put on my glasses and Max did the same. We looked convincingly harmless.
Max grinned. “Is this a disguise?”
“Just a few props. We want the face shooter to come to the door without his gun. When he does, voilà!” I flipped open the hollowed out Bible and whipped out a taser. “Karma is a bitch.”
“Or I can knock him out cold.”
“I’m still gonna zap his ass.”
We made our way up the porch and Max knuckle-rapped the door. Toby didn’t answer. I pressed an ear to the door and listened.
“TV’s on. Maybe he didn’t hear you knock.”
“Maybe he’s ignoring us.” Max removed the Bible-thumper specs, slid a hand in his coat and pulled out a 357 Magnum.
“Open it.”
He stepped out of the way and I used my picks to turn the dead bolt and then the doorknob lock. After the final pin moved into place Max nudged me aside.
“Wait here, Kitten. I’m goin’ in alone.”
“Fat chance. Like you said, it’s my case.”
“I lied.” He pulled me behind him. “Stay close. Get your piece out and cover my ass. Just don’t shoot me.”
I didn’t drag out my Glock. This was all about Karma. I wanted this asshat alive. I took the stun gun and left the Bible on the porch.
Max opened the door and stepped inside. I was hot on his tail. He moved silently and deliberately into the living room, both hands extended, clenching the Magnum.
Judge Judy was on the television and a flurry of family photos were displayed on the coffee table. The room had the comforting scent of old women and gardenias. I felt a flicker of sadness for the aunt who’d almost certainly see her nephew return to prison for a long schlep.
The living room led to the dining room and kitchen that circled to a master bedroom. We crept up the stairs with the stealth of bandits, brandishing our weapons of choice, checking closets, and under every bed. We completed our search without shooting or tasing anyone and returned to the kitchen.
“I don’t get it,” Max said. “The guy had to slip out the back.”
“Maybe he saw Ronnie parked outside and knew he was in trouble.”
“I don’t think so. It was dark and Smoak was drunk.”
“OK. So a friend comes by and tells him about the brown Impala. Toby goes out back and they pick him up on the next block.”
Max shrugged. “What are friends for?”
I snooped around the kitchen cupboards. Pork rinds and chips and a wide assortment of salty junk food. Toby ate like a teen on steroids.
The fridge was loaded with Pabst beer, stacks of Chinese takeout, and baby-back ribs. There was a bag of crusty White Castle burgers, a jar of dill pickles and some ketchup.
Max rummaged through mail, a kitchen catch-all drawer, and whatever else he could find that could connect Toby Smoak to Provenza. He came up empty.
“Sorry, Cat,” he said. “Looks like the asshat’s in the wind.”
I was bummed. I wouldn’t be strutting my stuff to Captain Bob after all.
I wandered to the mud porch off the kitchen. It was a small space with a box of mittens and gloves and a bag of rock salt for cold icy mornings. A stack of shelves leaned against an old stand up freezer that dominated the space.
I noted Toby had fled in a drunken frenzy without his Harley leather jacket and boots. I wandered to the freezer and pulled the door. It was stuck. I’m not easily discouraged where ice-cream dwells. I yanked harder. The freezer rocked and the door jerked open. A big frozen blob hurled at me, propelling me to the floor. My bloodcurdling scream was muffled by the paralyzing weight on my chest. I gaped with horror into his eyes. The fear in Toby Smoak’ eyes was forever frozen on his knife-scarred face.
Max wrestled Toby Smoak’s icy body off me. He pulled me up and held me against him. My Bible thumper glasses dangled from my nose.
“Are you OK?”
“Eeeuww!” I shuddered. “Dead guy germs on me. Again.”
I was shaking and Max held me until the trembling stopped. Then he moved over to Smoak’s body, knelt down, and jerked up one pants leg. And then the other. The second shin had an angry, red, beagle-sized bite. The wound was infected. Smoak should’ve had it looked at.
“That had to hurt,” I said.
He gave a quirky smile. “Your partner nailed him. Her teeth put Smoak at the park with Bernie’s body.”
“Ted Bundy,” I said smugly. “It would’ve been enough to convict him.”
“For body snatching maybe. If we had a body.”
I made a face and he laughed.
“You might want to call your brother,” Max said.
I groaned. “I’d rather slip out the back door.”
“It’s daylight. We drove up in a Hummer. We’re toting Bibles and wearing missionary glasses. Trust me, somebody noticed.”
“Dammit.”
He gave an apologetic smile. “Spoiler alert, Kitten. Rocco is gonna be pissed.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I dragged out my cell and punched Rocco’s number.
“Yo, Cat.”
“I got good news. And not so good news.”
“Hit me.”
“Tino got a tip on an address for Toby Smoak. He’s in Bridgeport, house-sitting for a snowbird aunt. She’s in Florida.”
“Thanks for telling me first. Gimme an address. Jackson and I will arrest this asshole. If you wanna talk to him, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Huh?”
“That’s my not so good news.”
Rocco expelled air. “Dammit, Cat. You’re there in the house now. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Trust me. I would if I could.”
“I don’t freakin’ believe it. You screwed me again. Waja do to Smoak? Let him get away again?” He paused. “Ah shit, Cat. Tell me you didn’t shoot him.”
I took a deep breath. “Toby Smoak was in the freezer. He’s hard and cold as a block of ice.”
“Is he dead?”
Seriously? “Gee, I don’t know, Rocco. Did a frozen hamburger ever talk back to you?”
Rocco muttered a word I hadn’t heard him say since Mama washed his mouth out with soap. “How am I supposed to explain this debacle to Captain Bob.”
“Maybe you won’t have to. Not if you dash over here. Discover the body. You can say we followed you here.”
“That is not going to fly.” I could hear him tear his hair out. “Don’t do anything, Cat. I’m ten minutes away.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Too late,” Max said. “Somebody’s at the door.”
A voice bellowed. “Chicago Police! Open up!”
I groaned. “Hurry, Rocco. It’s Ettie Opshahl. I think she’s gonna arrest me.”
“Don’t say anything, Sis. I’m coming.”
“You’re ten minutes out.”
“I’ll make it in five.”
Rocco is, hands down, my best friend.
He made it in four and a half. And it’s a good thing. Ettie cranked my handcuffs so tight, I was pretty sure my fingers were turning blue.
Max brooded in stony silence. Ettie doesn’t know the first thing about men. If she did, she’d know Max was one of the good guys. And if she had any sense, she wouldn’t piss him off.
My brother and Jackson darted through the kitchen door out of breath. They got a view of our handcuffs. Jackson swallowed a smile. But Rocco’s jaw tightened.
“What’s going on here, Opsahl,” Rocco demanded.
She tossed back her stringy dark hair. “A neighbor reported seeing two unknown persons in her neighbor’s house. We discovered Ms. DeLuca here with the body of a man she claims made an attempt on her life last evening. It appears to be a classic case of tit for tat.”
“Tit for tat?” I said. “What are you? Eighty?”
Rocco examined the body lodged between the open freezer door and the mudroom wall.
“This body is frozen,” Rocco said.
“I’m not blind,” she sniffed.
“You can’t be suggesting Cat and Max killed Toby Smoak and shoved his body in the deep freeze.”
She put her nose in the air. “They could easily have done the deed last night and returned today to… ”
“To what? Hang out with the stiff?” Rocco said incredulously. Then he turned to me. “How did you and Max come to be inside the house?”
“I’m investigating the death of Bernie Love,” I said breezily. “Toby Smoak is—er, was, a person of interest in Bernie’s murder. This morning we received a tip that Smoak was staying at this address.”
Max jumped in. “When we arrived, the door was open. We smelled gas and let ourselves in to render assistance. ”
“I don’t smell gas,” Ettie said.
Jackson choked. “I do.”
“And where was the body when you arrived.”
“In the freezer,” I said.
“Why did you open the freezer door?” Rocco said.
“I was looking for ice-cream.” I shuddered involuntarily. “The body jumped on top of me.”
Rocco said, “The homicide of Toby Smoak is part of an on-going investigation. My partner and I are taking over the crime scene.”
“But…” Ettie sputtered.
Jackson unlocked our handcuffs and flashed a smile. “Thanks for your excellent work, Officer Opsahl. We’ll take it from here.”
“B-but…” she sputtered.
Rocco jerked his head toward the door and nodded a cool dismissal.
Her eyes raged. “Captain Bob will hear about this!”
I rubbed my wrists and flexed the blood back into my fingers. “Bite me.”
Chapter Thirty
Toby’s body was still thawing on the kitchen floor when Max and I climbed into his Hummer. I put my head back and breathed deeply. Rolex Man was dead. And so was his kill-list with my name etched on the top.
It occurred to me that I should perhaps feel a little sad for Smoak. And maybe I would later. But for now, when I thought to say a prayer for him, the word that came to mind was Yahoo!
I pulled a ziplock baggie from my pocket and studied a cigar through the plastic.
“A cigar?” Max said. “That’s a new look for you.”
“I found this on Toby’s kitchen counter. I could swear I saw this same cigar somewhere recently. I’m racking my brain and I can’t bring it up.”
I leaned over and kissed Max’s cheek. “Thanks, Max. You’re off the hook. I no longer need a bodyguard.”
“Anytime, Kitten. We’ll have lunch at The Tapas Spoon before I drop you off.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Why Provenza’s place?”
Max grinned. “I want to see the guy who whacked Bernie. Or maybe I want to thank him for taking out Toby.”
“Only if you promise not to shoot him.”
Max crossed his heart with a finger.
“Good,” I said.
Max was still smiling.
“Or kill him with your bare hands,” I added covering my bases.
“Spoilsport.”
I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t exorcise the image of Toby Smoak’s horrified face falling on top of me. I would have preferred a shower with a loofah and insane amounts of soap until every last drop of hot water was spent. But Max wanted to check out Provenza and a shower could wait. Maybe he’d see something we missed.
Tapas Spoon offers thirty beers on tap. I let Max order. We had Bastille Beer with Bacon wrapped dates, Shrimp Skewers, Grilled Asparagus, Steak Sliders. We were on our second drinks when my cell phone rang. I dragged it out and flipped the lid open.
“Pants on Fire Detective Agency. We catch liars and cheats.”
“Cat? Is that you? Thank God you’re alive.”
I frowned. “Doug Schuchard?”
“I heard you were dead. I bought flowers.”
“I’m fine. My aura may have a few holes in it. Unfortunately, my favorite dress and killer heels didn’t make it.”
“The flowers are for them then. If you’re at home I’ll drop them off.”
“I’m at Tapas Spoon with Max. We’re having lunch.”
“Hey, a guy’s gotta eat. I’ll see you there.”
Click.
“That was Doug,” I said. “He’s on his way.”
Max growled. “Why?”
“He thought I died.”
“Doug’s an asshole. I didn’t make any promises about him.” Max drained his beer. “Just putting it out there, babe.”
Max lifted a hand and the server trotted over. “I’ll take another beer. And I’d like a word with Nick, if he’s available.”
“He left about ten minutes ago. Would you like to leave a message?”
Max wrote a quick note, folded it, and she took it.
“You can read it,” he said.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said hastily.
“Go ahead. It’s not a secret.”
She opened the note and her eyes flashed fire. She ripped the note in tiny pieces and dropped them on his steak slider and stomped off.
“Whoa,” I said. “What did you write?”
“I know you killed Bernie.”
“You can tell the staff likes their boss. I wouldn’t drink that next beer if I were you. Somebody’s gonna spit in it.”
Max shrugged. “Everybody’s gonna spit in it.”
A few minutes later Doug sailed through the door with a gorgeous spray of flowers where his face should be.
Max growled. “He was too damn close when he called. He’s stalking you.”
“Hardly. Doug’s not the stalker type. I’m sayin’ this as a professional stalker myself.”
“I still don’t like him.”
“So don’t buy him lunch.” I lowered my voice to a whisper as the big flower head approached. “Doug just lost his best friend, Max. Play nice.”
Max slapped a plastic grin on his face. “How’s this.”
“Perfect.”
Doug held out the bouquet with a goofy smile.
“They’re lovely, Doug. But not necessary. I’m fine.”
“Keep ’em. Just in case. You never know when that Hell’s Angel will strike again.”
“Cheery thought,” I said.
“Toby Smoak isn’t going to be a problem,” Max said. “It’s handled.”
Doug’s gaze took in Max’s intimidating size, the plastic smile, and cold, hard eyes. Doug jerked a finger across his neck, in a throat cutting gesture.
“You mean he’s—”
“Pretty much,” Max said.
“And you, uh, you whacked him?”
“I did.”
Doug got all bug-eyed.
Max shrugged. “He pissed me off.”
I laughed. “Stop.”
Doug shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So Toby’s toast, huh?”
“It was more like, iced.” Max said.
“I guess that means Cat’s not gonna die.”
“Not today,” I said.
Doug sighed. “I suppose I could give the flowers to my mother.”
The server came by with Max’s beer and a fresh glare for both of us.
“Fat chance,” I said. “Shut up and order.”