by Randy Rawls
* * * *
The phone rang, jarring them awake. Abby rolled away from Tom and fumbled for the instrument.
“Hello.” She sat up, felt her nakedness, then pulled a sheet up to her chin.
“Abby. Got a moment?”
“Lucy. Of course. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Lucy said. “I wonder if we could do lunch. I have some new information for you.”
Tom tugged at the sheet, cupped her breast, and kissed it.
Abby gasped, then pushed him away. “Later,” she whispered.
“What?” Lucy said. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Abby said. “I, uh, I—”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. How could I be so dense? You’re not alone, are you? Look. Call me when you have a chance. I’ll be in the office most of the day.”
“Well,” Tom said as Abby replaced the phone, a puzzled look on her face. “Is it later?”
“It’s later,” she said, still frowning. Then she felt Tom’s tongue on her nipple and forgot about Lucy.
At noon, Abby nudged Tom, who let out a soft snore, a contented look on his face. “Wake up.”
Tom rolled toward her. “Huh? Oh, good morning, pretty lady.” He ran his hand over her bare stomach.
“Not now,” she said. “I’m hungry. Whatever fool said sex could replace food must not have lived it. You look good, but a large platter of bacon, half a loaf of toast, and one of your omelets will look better.”
“Yeah. Now that you mention it, I seem to have burned off that French feast from last night. You got the makings?”
“Let’s go,” she said, throwing back the cover. She slid out of bed and stood.
When she bent over to pick up her robe, Tom said, “Ah, couldn’t we wait a while? Maybe…”
“Damn, Jeffries. You’re insatiable. Not a chance. Food, then sex. Those are my priorities.” She bent over, her breasts swinging toward his face, and kissed him. “You’d better eat. You’re going to need all your strength.”
* * * *
Abby pushed her plate away. “I think I’ll keep you. You’re fine in bed and better in the kitchen.”
“Yeah,” Tom said. “That makes us a perfect pair. You’re great in the rack and lousy in the kitchen. The bacon was burned.”
“Go to hell,” she said through a smile. “I like my bacon crisp and my men the same.”
Tom leaned back and grinned. “Abby Archer, are you a witch?”
“Not that I know of. Although, I must warn you, I have some strange ancestors.”
“Well, one of them must have been a witch or a warlock. You’ve cast a spell on me.”
Abby stood, walked around the table, and sat on his lap. “And vice versa.” She kissed him. “You taste like bacon.”
“You like bacon.” Tom ran his hand inside her robe and caressed her breast. “Have I told you recently how much I enjoy this?”
Abby jumped up. “Knock it off. I’m taking a shower. And, at the risk of being rude, you need one, too. You smell.”
“I’ll join you.”
They walked out of the kitchen hand in hand.
* * * *
Abby sat up in bed and looked at the clock. “Damn, Tom. It’s four o’clock, and if you come at me again, I’m going to have to say no. A woman can only take so much. There are limitations to everything.”
“You kidding? I think you’ve rendered me impotent—for a while. I’m taking a shower—alone this time. Entertain yourself.” He got up and padded bare-assed toward the bathroom.
Abby let out a contented sigh, fluffed her pillows, then fixed them so she could sit up in bed. The smile on her face showed how she felt. If this isn’t love, it’ll do until the real thing comes along. Her face changed. “Lucy. She must think I’m ignoring her.”
She hopped off the bed and fumbled into her robe, then dropped into her vanity chair. Picking up the phone, she punched up the last call, then hit dial. A moment later, Lucy answered.
“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Abby said. “I guess I’m too late for lunch.”
“At four in the afternoon, you bet you are. Who is he? I’m dying of curiosity. It’s late afternoon, and you still have that sound in your voice.”
“It’s magic,” Abby said. “He’s like no other man I’ve ever known. I’ll tell you all about him when next we meet. Now, you said you had news.”
“Yeah. This is exciting. It’s about Mary Lou Smithson. Jim Richards—he’s the head detective—uncovered a great lead yesterday. I think we’re onto something. I’ve spent most of the day working with him—and he’s sharp—putting together a warrant. Damn shame he’s married.”
“What did he uncover?”
“The guy who did the tattoos for the gang. We should have a warrant in the morning and their identities in the afternoon. Isn’t that great?”
Abby squealed. “Tom will be thrilled… Uh, damn. Forget I said that.”
“Tom?” Silence filled the line. “Abby, are you hiding something?”
“Of course not. It’s just that someone I know is a friend of the family. He’ll be thrilled to know the police have a solid lead.” She hesitated, then rushed on, “Is it okay if I tell him?”
Lucy laughed. “From the tone I hear, you will anyway. But, be careful. We don’t want to raise hopes too high until we have firm information. It looks good, but… Well, you know how it goes some days.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Please keep me in the loop. This is important to me.”
“You’re worrying me, Abby. Don’t get in so deep you can get hurt. I remember a couple of other times you put your heart on your sleeve, and some guy picked it off.”
Abby laughed. “Nothing like that. Not with this one. But thanks for caring. Now I have to run. Will I hear from you tomorrow?”
“Only if I have something to report.”
They finished their conversation with promises to get together soon. Abby hung up, a smile creasing her face. Tom would be ecstatic to know the police found the tattoo artist. Breaking the case couldn’t be far behind. Mary Lou would be avenged.
She went into the bathroom. Tom stood at the vanity, a towel around his waist.
“So now you’re bashful,” she said, grinning. “Maybe I should jerk that off you.”
“At your own peril, woman. I’m bigger, meaner, and hornier than you. I can spin you out of that robe in an instant.”
“First, let me tell you some great news.”
“Gotta be better than this girlie deodorant you have here. Don’t you have anything that doesn’t smell like lavender?”
“Guess you’ll have to supply your own. I could probably make room for you.”
“I will—for sure, I will. Now, what’s the news?”
“The police have a lead, a really good lead on Mary Lou’s murder. They think they’re well on the way to solving it.” She told him Lucy’s news.
“Shit,” Tom mumbled, a frown wrapping his face in ugliness. “Tomorrow?” He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead. “Ah, dammit all to hell.”
“Oh no, Tom,” Abby said, her voice sad as realization sunk in. “You are hunting them, aren’t you?”
TWENTY-THREE
Tom’s thoughts roared, screaming at him for not pursuing his advantage. Now, he’d have to put up with the cops tracking the gang. If the tattoo artist gave up the names, they’d be all over the three remaining members. Sis, we gotta get those bastards before the police haul them in. Why the hell didn’t I do them while it was all mine?
He heard a gasp and realized Abby had her eyes locked on him. He shook his head. How could he forget he stood in Abby’s bathroom with a towel around his waist? He’d forgotten the wonderful night and day he’d spent with this woman who gave him more pleasure than anyone he’d ever known.
“I’m sorry, Abby. An old war wound. Sometimes I tend to blank out. What did you say?”
In a courtroom voice, she said, “You are hunting them, aren’t you?”
&nb
sp; “If by them, you mean those who killed Mary Lou, of course not. I’m thrilled the police are getting closer. I only hope the Florida courts do a better job than the Texas courts.”
“I don’t believe you.” She spun and left the bathroom, but returned a moment later with his clothes. “You’ll need these. I suppose you’re going to rush out and try to get them ahead of the police.” She swallowed hard. “Call if you need a lawyer. You’re my assignment, remember?”
“No, Abby. It’s not—”
“Bullshit, Tom. I saw your expression. You forget I’m not some bimbo who spends her time walking the beach in a bikini. I’ve seen combat. And I’ve seen the faces of those dedicated to the kill. Rage consumed you. Rage that you might be thwarted in your mission of revenge.”
Her eyes misted, then teared. “Damn you, Tom Jeffries. Just when I was falling in love with you, you pull this shit. Why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you let me think…” Her voice trailed away as she lowered her gaze.
“Please, Abby. Try to understand.” He pulled her into his arms and spoke into her hair. “There are certain things a man must do—even if it means losing something precious. I tried to tell you last night but messed it up. I’ll try again.” He sighed, then spoke in a hesitant voice. “I don’t know what love is. I’ve spent my whole adult life running from it. But something slipped up on me—you slipped up on me. I tried not to like you. I tried to chase you away. Instead, I find myself wanting to spend every moment with you. This is all new to me, but from everything I ever heard, it’s love. I’ve fallen deeply, completely, irreversibly, head over heels in love with you. I’d like to blot out the world and spend every moment with you.”
Abby put her arms around his neck. “If you love me like you say, you’ll give it up. Let the police handle it. The killers will get what’s coming to them. Florida is a capital punishment state. Let justice take its course.”
“Like it did in Texas? All the talking heads on TV rant about Texas having more executions than any other state. Yet, my sister’s murderers walked away without a blemish. Trust the system? I think not.” He pulled her arms from his neck and stepped away. “If you care, you won’t ask me to stop now.” He hesitated, waiting for her to speak, hoping she’d give her blessing. When she didn’t, he said, “I’ll dress and get out of here.”
* * * *
Tom drove away from Abby’s, his heart heavy, but his brain active. He couldn’t do anything about yesterday, last year, or even last night. He had to live in the present and prepare for the future. Abby was just another female who didn’t understand him, another who’d broken his heart. He remembered what Charlie said about the bar tart. Abby was nothing like her, but the results were the same. Both took advantage of him. The bar bitch wanted his life insurance. Abby wanted to change him, to stop him from doing what he had to do. Sis, is it this way with all women? I really wanted it to be different this time. I’m not sure I want to live without her. But first, the Thorns on Roses must die.
At home, Tom took out his arsenal and carefully checked each weapon, insuring it met his rigid standards. The knife seemed wanting, so he spent an hour honing it. When he finished, it would split a hair.
By then, the sun had set, allowing him to pack his car in darkness. He had to get to Izzy and the others before the cops. There was no time to arrange a rental. He’d have to chance it in his car again.
If he grabbed Izzy tonight and Laury tomorrow night, they at least would have met their just rewards. That would leave Raul, El General, for Tuesday evening—if everything worked out. What bothered him was he didn’t have a firm plan on what to do with the bodies. There was Big Al, but he didn’t like the odds of more visits. Besides, he didn’t want to risk incriminating his friend who owned the alligator attraction.
Like some of his missions that had gone awry, he’d have to act on the fly. While he had no qualms about doing that, he remembered a few times when the luck of the draw saved him. He could have gone down as easily as the bad guys. But he trusted his training and his skills. Certainly, he could outwit the jerks in the Thorns on Roses. And the cops hadn’t particularly impressed him with their investigative insights—until now.
Rushing his plan also prevented Raul’s self-torture as he wondered what happened to his gang. Tom wanted to watch Raul sweat over a couple of weeks when he discovered his loyal followers were no more, that they had disappeared one by one. It would be fun to drop hints on Raul, hints of how he would die. It would be a delight to watch him cringe, jumping at every shadow and every noise. It would serve him right. He deserved to suffer before he died. But that pleasure was not to be—the cops’ breakthrough changed all that.
The one ally Tom knew he had was the normal inefficiency of any government bureaucracy at work—the bean counters who were more interested in dotting I’s and crossing T’s than seeing criminals brought to justice. It would take awhile for the police to solidify enough evidence to support warrants. If his luck held, by the time a judge issued the necessary papers, there’d be no one to arrest. Of course, in the meantime, the police might be watching Raul and the others. Tom would have to be careful not to become a person of interest.
As Tom drove through the night, headed for Izzy’s house, a dark-colored Honda pulled into the near-empty parking lot of a corner strip mall in Fort Lauderdale. There were only two entrances, one off each street. The sedan cruised along the perimeter, then moved slowly past the storefronts. It completed its circuit by parking in a space near one of the driveways, nose out.
A pickup truck, also dark in color, came in through the other driveway and copied the actions of the sedan. After its sweep, it stopped beside where it entered, also facing out.
No lights showed in either vehicle, and no one exited. Ten minutes later, a black Ford Expedition drove by the entrance off the secondary street and turned onto the primary road. As it passed each vehicle, a lit cigarette waved in a short arc, side to side, twice.
The SUV continued, circled the block, then returned. This time, it entered the strip mall from the lesser traveled street, drove to the end of the buildings, and parked in the shadows, its engine idling.
The side windows of the SUV were a shade darker than the law allowed. The windshield and the back windows were also tinted, but within legal limits.
Fifteen minutes went by with no movement in the three vehicles. Then the sedan and the pickup truck started and moved beside the SUV, each pointing in opposite directions, as if in countersurveillance mode. Motors continued to rumble.
The clock ticked on, then a window of the SUV slid down. “Put the sign out, Izzy.”
“Yessir, El General,” responded the driver of the Honda. He pulled a placard from the backseat and leaned it against the grill of his car, then returned to his front seat.
After several more minutes passed, the passenger window in the SUV lowered again, and the voice said, “Now you, Laury.”
“Yessir.” Laury repeated Izzy’s performance.
Each sign carried the crudely drawn picture of a long stemmed red rose with a single thorn, a drop of blood hanging from it. The three sat for five more minutes.
The SUV driver flicked his interior light. The two others exited their vehicles, skulking around like spies in a bad movie, then climbed into the backseat.
Raul faced them. “The Florida Chapter of Thorns on Roses is called to order, El General presiding. Let the record show that Izzy and Laury are present.” He hesitated, glaring at Izzy. “Where the hell is Geda?”
“I…I don’t know, sir. He—”
“When I give you a job to do, I expect it to be done.” Raul’s eyes slitted, and he stroked his bushy beard. “What assignment did I give you?”
“You said I’m Geda’s buddy. You said we a team. If one mess up, both mess up. We responsible for one ’nother.”
“So…where is he?”
Izzy cut his eyes at Laury as if looking for support. “I don’t know. I tol’ him about the meeting last Thursda
y night. He said he’d be here. I ain’t talked to him since.”
“Shit,” Raul said. He shifted his attention to Laury. “You find Johnny?”
Laury licked his lips. “No, sir. Ain’t nobody seen him nowhere. He jist disappeared. I mean, like magic.”
Raul sneered. “There are times your ignorance is overwhelming. There is no such thing as magic. Folks do not disappear. They might run. They might hide. But they don’t disappear.” He stared first at Laury, then at Izzy, finishing by slapping the top of the seat back. “You stupid shits. You don’t have a freaking clue, do you?”
Izzy and Laury glanced at one another and stayed quiet.
“Just what I thought.” He took a deep breath. “It’s obvious if you’ll think. Think like I’ve tried to teach you.” He hesitated, letting his eyes drift from one to the other. “Somebody is moving in on us—another gang. Maybe it’s the Crips, maybe the Bloods. Hell, it could be a whole new bunch. When you’re on top, everybody tries to knock you down. After the way we hit those stations, the word’s out that we’re the new top dogs. Now, I figure Johnny and Geda either sold out or ran scared. They might even have turned us over for cash. I always thought Johnny had Miami Beach tastes on a Liberty City wallet. If somebody flashed a few bills, he’d sell his mother to the devil. Am I right?” He paused.
The two nodded.
“How ’bout Geda?” Izzy asked. “He won’t nothin’ like Johnny.”
“You’re right,” Raul said, tugging at his beard. “But, if they caught him alone, he wouldn’t have the guts to stand up to them. If they went after him, he probably ran. I expect he’s hiding somewhere. He’ll be back when he thinks the coast is clear.”
“You think so?” Laury said. “Maybe Johnny come back, too.”
“Could be. Only we won’t accept them. Soldiers have to stand and fight, not run and hide…or sell out. If they come crawling back, we’ll make them examples for the future. We’ll kill them. That’ll be your jobs. Take them out and snuff them, then leave a rose in the blood. The word will get around that the Thorns on Roses are not to be messed with. Nobody moves in on us or double-crosses us. If they try, they die.”