I looked back at Quinn. Shook my head. ‘The thing is, I’ve got no sitter for Dakota right now. She’d have to come along, and I’m not real keen on some fugitive being around my kid.’
Quinn shrugged. ‘I get that, Lori. But if you’re looking for a high-money job, this is all I got. Should be easy, no complications, just a taxi-driver gig. The man you’d be collecting is a professional who got mixed up in a bit of trouble when tempers ran high. Bailey’s done the tracking. Merv’s picked him up.’
It did sound easy. And a taxi ride – well, that sounded safe enough. But would it be safe enough for my daughter to ride shotgun? I wasn’t real convinced of that.
‘All I need,’ Quinn continued, ‘is for you to collect the man and bring him back for the summary judgement in three days. Your Silverado’s fitted out with restraints and a full transport kit, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah.’
He smiled, revealing thousands of dollars’ worth of dental work. ‘So there’s no chance of this man getting close to your little girl, is there? The way I see it, this is easy money, and fast. Hell, I’d go do it myself if I wasn’t needed here.’
I snorted with laughter, couldn’t help myself. The most physical Quinn had ever gotten was a Boxercise class at the gym. ‘Is that right?’
His smile sagged. ‘Sure is.’
Guess I’d deflated his ego a little. I studied his expression for a beat, considering his offer. He was right, it sounded easy and the money was good. My Silverado had a proper travel cell, real secure, so there’d be no need for Dakota to be in contact with the fugitive. But I’d had another idea. Krista wasn’t due to leave for her folks’ place until that afternoon. I could offer her a thousand bucks to delay her trip by three days and watch Dakota for me. What with three kids and her husband out of work she always needed cash, so I was sure I could convince her.
‘So, will you do it?’ Quinn was looking hopeful again. He needed this man back fast, and he knew I had the skills to get it done. Seemed like I was near on his last shot.
That got me to thinking. CF Bonds might be prepared to pay a little more than usual for this job, and any extra sure would help. ‘West Virginia is an awful long way from Florida. Perhaps if you upped my percentage I could work something out.’
‘Well, maybe,’ Quinn said, trying to cling on to his smile. ‘I could go to eleven percent.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s gonna cost me more than one percent in gas money. I was thinking closer to twenty.’
‘Jesus, Lori. You’re trying to bleed me to nothing here.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a calculator and tapped in a few numbers. ‘I guess I could scrape by at fifteen. Final offer. What do you say?’
Fifteen percent on a hundred-thousand-dollar bond would give me fifteen thousand bucks. That sure was a decent stack of money. It’d pay the arrears I’d gotten into on the medical bills and allow for me to pay a few months’ rent in advance. But it all hinged on Krista sticking around, and on me feeling able to leave Dakota with her. It’d be the longest I’d have been apart from her since before she’d gotten sick. This past year I’d never stayed away overnight; was always watching for the slightest sign of the cancer returning, so I’d be sure to catch it early and get her help. Three days. Could I bring myself to leave her that long? I sure hoped so. Her treatment had to continue.
I was still thinking on it when I heard the flush of the john followed by heavy footsteps trudging from the backroom to the office. Bailey.
‘Oh look, it’s Barbie the Bounty Hunter,’ Bailey said, his tone loaded with sarcasm.
He waddled over to me and offered the hand that wasn’t in plaster for a flaccid handshake. His palm felt clammy as he gripped mine. He stepped closer; too close. I could feel the press of his generous belly against my hip and smell the chilli dog on his breath.
I removed my hand and resisted the urge to wipe it on my pants. ‘So you tracked this guy for a few weeks. What can you tell me?’
Bailey ignored the question. He walked to his paper-scattered desk and plonked himself down in his chair. The wooden frame creaked under the strain. He glared at Quinn and shook his head. ‘You’re sending her after my fugitive?’
I smiled real sweet as I imagined punching Bailey in his doughy, three-chinned face. ‘Don’t look so troubled, sweetie. This ain’t my first rodeo.’
‘So you’ll do it?’ Quinn said.
I winked at Bailey, whose cheeks had turned an ugly shade of puce, then looked back at Quinn. ‘Sure.’
Quinn smiled, looked relieved. He nodded towards the file. ‘The warrant and auth-to-arrest are inside. You—’
‘Did he tell you that your fugitive is one of us?’ Bailey interrupted. ‘The leads I followed, they’re all in the file, but from what folks said he’s quite the superstar bounty hunter out in Georgia. Shit, some even called him a legend.’
I frowned. ‘Yeah, and now he’s a fugitive.’
‘A smart one.’ Bailey sucked in his gut, pushed his chest out. ‘Been in the wind over a month, but I found him.’
Poor Bailey. So competitive. He just hated that my clearance rate was higher than his. ‘Good for you, sweetie.’
I’d forgotten that Bailey never got anyplace fast. He either wanted to impress me, or show his superiority, or maybe both. Whichever it was, he launched into a description of all the web searches he’d done, the papers he’d pulled, the folks he’d talked with. All that information would be in the case file, I didn’t need it verbal too. From Bailey’s yammering it sounded like he’d interviewed everyone but the neighbours’ pet dog’s cousin before he’d gotten lucky with an address.
‘… works for a Victor Accorsi, known as Pops, he’s a bondsman based in Savannah…’
Pops I knew. He’d given me my first job when I’d gotten into this game. My mentor had made the introduction almost ten years ago. I felt my heart rate quicken. ‘You got a name, a mugshot?’
Quinn thumbed through the papers in the file until he found the booking photo. ‘That’s him,’ he said, passing it to me.
‘Son-of-a-bitch.’ I dropped the picture like it was the business end of a branding iron. It landed face up on the desk.
I stared at the photo. Heart racing, mouth dry.
It was him.
The man I’d seen in my nightmares for near on the past decade. The only other living person who knew the truth of what happened all those years ago.
2
Robert Tate. Robert James Tate. The man I’d known as JT.
I glanced again at the mugshot. I knew every inch of him, or at least I did ten years back, when he’d taught me the first rule of my trade: Never trust no one. The booking picture wasn’t great, but it told me JT still had his rugged good looks; the same remarkable blue eyes, which looked azure or cobalt depending on the light and which, in this photo, squinted a little into the camera; and the same foppish, dirty-blond hair.
Quinn was watching me real close. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Friend of yours?’
I nodded. ‘Something like that.’
Bailey gave a long whistle. ‘Well, shit, girl. You do get around.’
I glared at Bailey. ‘He was my mentor. Taught me the business. Trained me. Helped me get my licence, before I came to Florida.’
Bailey leered at me, his yellow-toothed grin mocking. ‘Is that right? How come you didn’t stick around in Georgia?’
A simple question with a complicated answer, which I wasn’t going to spill to Bailey. ‘He always worked alone. Said it was safer that way – with no one to worry about he could think clearer. I respected that. Training me was only ever a short-term thing.’
Quinn shook his head. ‘Sounds like a real charmer.’
Sarcasm. Nice. But Quinn was righter than he knew. JT had been charming, but he was tough too. I still remembered his lecture on clarity of focus. We’d been heading back to the truck after a job that had very nearly gone bad. I’d delayed cuffing a woman who’d been holding a Moses ba
sket. She’d clung to the basket, crying that she couldn’t leave her baby. I’d stepped far closer to her than I should have done, tried to assure her it would be okay, that we’d not be leaving her baby behind. JT had told me that my sympathy was a weakness, drilled into me that emotion would get me injured, or worse. And he’d been right. There was no baby. The woman had fired at me with a long-barrelled revolver she’d hidden under the blanket in the basket. If her aim had been better, or JT hadn’t pulled me to safety, it would have been game over. Stay objective, he’d said in our debrief. Focus on the job. Don’t form close bonds. Never let anyone get under your skin.
That wasn’t the only one of his rules that I’d broken.
Quinn looked at me real funny. ‘You still up for this job?’
I nodded. Didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t going to throw away the opportunity of a fifteen-thousand-dollar pay-out because of the way things had ended with JT. All I’d lost back then had cost me dear. I wasn’t going to add my daughter’s health to the list.
‘Good.’ Quinn tapped the details into his computer and printed out a job docket – the agreement that made my pick-up on CF Bonds’ behalf legal – and handed it to me. As I took it our fingers touched. The contact did nothing for me, but from the way Quinn’s expression had gotten a whole lot more intense I figured he was about to say something deep. That, I could well do without.
Looking away fast, I picked the photo from the desk and slipped it and the docket into the back of the file. ‘Three days then.’
Quinn sighed. ‘Yeah.’
I waved through the doorway at Dakota. ‘Come on, honey.’
She said her goodbyes to Mrs Valdez and skipped over to me. Taking her hand, I led her to the door. Before opening it, I turned back to Quinn. ‘I’ll text you when I have him.’
The drive to Yellow Spring, West Virginia, would take me the best part of fourteen hours, getting me to the location where Merv was keeping JT a little before midnight. Even with a smooth run, the round trip would have me on the road for near on two days. First, I needed food, a change of clothes and to persuade Krista to delay her trip and watch Dakota.
Home is a two-bed apartment at the Clearwater Village complex. Residential, not holiday lets, and a reasonable kind of neighbourhood for the price. Still, as we climbed the concrete stairs to the second floor I noted a fresh pile of cigarette butts heaped in the corner of the twist. I guessed Jamie-Lynn’s teenage son and his buddies had been hanging out here again, and made a mental note to speak with them on my return.
Our apartment is second along from the stairs. Krista’s place is right next door. Her blinds were down, not a good sign, but I pressed the buzzer and waited anyways, willing her to be home.
Didn’t do no good. Maybe she’d just gone to the store for groceries, but seeing as she was about to take a long trip I knew that was real unlikely. Still I waited. Had to hope.
Nothing. As Dakota pressed the buzzer again, I unlocked our door – first the Yale and then the upper and lower deadbolts. Pushed it open and paused, just for a moment, to listen.
A sheet of paper caught my eye. It must have been pushed under the door while we were out. I scooped it up, unfolded it and read the note. Shit. I turned to Dakota. ‘It’s no good, honey. She’s gone.’
Dakota looked up at me, disappointed. ‘So I won’t get to have a sleepover?’
‘I guess not.’ In the note Krista said she’d be visiting with her folks for the next three weeks. She asked me to water her plants when I got the chance.
‘What about your job, Momma?’
Damn good question. There was no one else I trusted to watch Dakota – no friends and certainly no family – but I’d already agreed to do the pick-up. Going back on the deal would have me look a fool, and make Bailey’s taunts even less bearable. Worse still, I’d lose out on the fifteen thousand bucks that would guarantee Dakota’s treatment continued.
I remembered what Quinn had said: Take her along – you’ve got a full transport kit. True, I did, but if I took her along she’d meet JT, the man who knew my worst and darkest secret, who could threaten the life I’d built for us here in Florida, and who I’d promised myself right back at the very beginning would never know about Dakota. I couldn’t stand for him to learn the truth, but what choice did I have? I’d be damned if I did, or damned if I didn’t. Either way, I’d put her at risk. Forcing a smile, I held out my hand. ‘I’m not sure, baby.’
Dakota stepped away from Krista’s front door and joined me. Slipping her hand into mine, she looked up at me with those big blue eyes of hers and said, ‘I could help.’
I thought back to how things had been when she’d first gotten sick. The sleepless nights I’d spent sitting beside her hospital bed; all the drugs they’d pumped into her fragile body; her pain, which I’d been powerless to erase. It never got easier to live with the fear. Even when she’d gotten better, the doctors had said she was in remission and the cancer could come back at any time. So far it hadn’t, but that didn’t stop me from worrying, watching for the slightest sign.
I knew the choice I had to make. Whatever else he was capable of doing, JT would never hurt a child. ‘You know, sweetie. Maybe this one time you could come on a ride-along.’
‘Really?’ Dakota beamed. She hugged me, then rushed through the gap between me and the door. ‘It’ll be so fun. I’ll make us a picnic.’
‘Stop.’ My tone sounded harsher than I’d intended. Not her fault, but mine. The fear was back, churning in my stomach. Fear about the decision I was making, about seeing JT again after all these years, about having to remember what I’d done, what he’d done. About facing up to the horror of what had happened to Sal.
I tried to smile, almost pulled it off. Forced a lighter tone. ‘Sneakers, sweetie.’
She scuttled back to the door. Slipping off her sneakers, she placed them in a neat pair on the mat beneath where our coats hung from two metal hooks. Glanced up at me, all bashful. ‘Sorry, Momma.’
I smiled, genuine this time. ‘Go make us that picnic.’
Our little apartment might not be much, but clean is one thing that doesn’t cost. I’d gotten the place a little cheaper than the going rate due to the water damage caused by a hurricane the previous year. The roof had been mended, but the box room had looked pretty nasty, with the walls discoloured where rainwater had flowed through the gap in the roof and been left to dry. Didn’t matter. I’d fixed it up real nice. With a few pots of paint and a bit of effort I’d converted it into Dakota’s bedroom. I hung bright pictures to cover the more stubborn stains and used two pretty bead lampshades and some purple drapes I’d found at the thrift store to cosy up the place. After living there ten months, it was someplace we could finally call home, and it sure as hell beat the last place. I hoped I could afford for us to stay.
In the kitchenette, I put my purse and the CF Bonds file on the counter and dropped my keys into the teal bowl we’d picked up at the weekly street market in Celebration. Next to the bowl sat Dakota’s end-of-term science project: a papier-mâché volcano that glowed red as it erupted and, so long as the water reservoir was filled, produced an impressive cloud of steam. Dakota had spent weeks perfecting the wiring of the electronic circuit board and remote control. She’d sure deserved her first prize.
I stared at the dormant model, trying to resist the lure of the file beside it, and more specifically, the mugshot. Didn’t want to think about JT. There’s no sense in being sentimental about a person you haven’t seen in years. Sentimental doesn’t pay the rent, and it sure as shit couldn’t keep up the repayments on my baby’s medical bills. I had to be practical, to focus. Make the pick-up, bring him back to Clermont, get him booked in at the precinct. Done.
Dakota was busy choosing food from the refrigerator, narrating her choices as she put them in the cooler: ‘… and some peanut butter cups, and this cherry yogurt, and a pack of cheese strings—’
‘And these peaches, and a pack of salad,’ I said, pulling them from
the upper shelf and stashing them on top of the yogurt.
She pulled a face, and fished the plastic bag of salad out again. ‘Lettuce, Momma. Really?’
I took the salad and dropped it back inside. ‘Yes, really. It’s good for you.’
Dakota gave an exaggerated sigh. She opened the icebox, took out four ice packs, and pushed them against each side of the cooler. ‘I think we need some ice cream.’
‘Honey, it’ll melt.’
She took four snack-size tubs from the icebox. ‘They’ll be okay. I’ll put them right up against the ice.’
I nodded. ‘All right. Now go pack your overnight bag.’
When she’d scampered off to her room I opened the cupboard below the sink and removed my metal footlocker. I opened the combination lock and checked my tools. I wasn’t expecting trouble. JT knew how things worked, and if Bailey had located him and had Merv pick him up, then my money was on JT wanting to be found. Still, there was no sense in going underprepared.
My brown leather carryall, the ‘go-bag’ I’d used ever since I’d started in the business, was stowed at one end of the box, battered but serviceable. I pulled it out, unzipped the front section and inventoried the equipment: my leather rig, two canisters of extra-strength pepper spray, three sets of plasticuffs, a roll of twenties totalling two hundred bucks – my emergency cash, which, if I hadn’t gotten this job, I’d have offered as a token gesture towards Dakota’s outstanding medical repayments – and my X2 Taser. Almost everything I needed.
In the bottom of the footlocker lay my Wesson Commander Classic Bobtail. I stared at it for a long moment. I remembered how my mentor had lectured me on the foolhardiness of doing what we did without a gun. Remembered what had happened when we did.
I reached into the locker, my fingers stretching towards the weapon. They started shaking, first a slight quiver then, as my fingertips grew closer to the wooden grip, more violently. I couldn’t do it. Still couldn’t. After almost ten years, the memory of that night, as vivid as ever, began to replay again in the dark place behind my eyes. I shuddered. Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I tried to force the images away. It didn’t work, though. Suddenly, it was as if I was right back there, and it was happening all over again.
Deep Down Dead Page 2