BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  “Haven’t found anything yet,” Bobby said as we stepped onto the balcony and wind whipped across my face. Two chairs were on their side, a potted plant was dumped on the gold, textured concrete.

  “CSIs already been out here; believe they’ve picked up a few prints. Might have a lead there,” Bobby said.

  I looked south and east across the city skyline, spotting the unique exterior of the Perot Museum. From this distance, the shell appeared to be made out of silver toothpicks. I thought about Ligon living one floor down. Not sure he wanted us to stop by and say hello. I still wondered why he’d called Henry and me to the scene. Did he have any idea the victim worked in the DA’s office?

  Turning back toward the arena and the hub of Victory Plaza, I could see Henry leaning over the edge without touching the railing, just staring.

  I put my hand on his back.

  “Hey dude, it’s late. We can touch base with Bobby tomorrow. Sounds like they might be able to quickly identify a suspect through a fingerprint. There might even be some blood. Plus, I’ll see if I can get ahold of the video. I might know someone in security that works for the W.”

  Henry just stared.

  Then something hit me. Was there a possibility Chief Ligon could be involved? He lived only one floor down, and up to now, he’d shown a very covert nature. Or was it paranoia? By calling Henry and me here, did he think he could manipulate the path of the investigation?

  Just then, my phone buzzed, and I looked at the screen.

  Speak of the devil.

  13

  My eyes fluttered for a brief moment, as a hardened scowl formed on my face, my first conscious thought after a nap of no more than three hours of restless sleep. Another second ticked by, just long enough to figure out the pounding thud putting a chokehold on my brain wasn’t internally based.

  Peeling open an eye, a sliver of bright light cut across my face, seeping through the blinds in my living room. I‘d been sleeping on the couch since Bolt moved in and took over the one bedroom. Getting a new place was on my priority list, just not in my top ten at the moment.

  Bam, bam!

  “Booker, you there? You’ve got to be home. Your car is still in the lot!”

  Sounded like Alisa banging on the door. An annoyed Alisa.

  Smacking my lips a couple of times, it felt like cotton balls had been camping out in my mouth. I wiped my eyes as my brain begged for coffee.

  Wait, Booker, didn’t you just hear Alisa at the door? That was Alisa, right?

  Three more slams against the door.

  “Wake up, lazy asshole, asshole, asshole.”

  Pulling my forty-pound head upward, I stared at Big Al’s cage, currently covered with a beach towel to try to mute my obnoxious blue macaw.

  “Shut the hell up, Big Al.”

  “Booker, is that you?’

  Why would Alisa be at my door at six in the morning?

  I shook my head, and it felt like a bull named Jack Hammer had just been speared and was trying like hell to break free from the confines of my skull.

  I threw off the covers and lunged upward. Head rush. I paused, tried to get my bearings, then stepped toward the door. Something grabbed hold of my foot, and I dropped to the floor, clipping my shoulder off the edge of the tree stump that doubled as a coffee table.

  “Fuck!”

  “Booker? Are you okay?”

  Sitting on the floor, I mumbled a string of four-letter words and untwisted the blanket from around my foot.

  “Booker, this is urgent. Do I need to call the super to open the door?”

  What the hell could be so damn important that couldn’t wait a couple of hours?

  Wait. Something must have happened to Samantha, and for whatever reason, Eva had contacted Alisa. I jumped up, felt a slight tweak in my shoulder, and rushed to the door.

  “What’s up?” I croaked, then immediately cleared my throat.

  “Grab your stuff,” she said, marching in as her eyes gave me the once-over.

  “What’s wrong, Alisa? I’m glad to see ya, but when you show up at six in the morning, my mind jumps to conclusions. Is Samantha okay?”

  She flipped around. “Samantha? She’s fine, I guess. Probably at school.”

  “At six in the morning? She’s probably still dreaming about kicking a winning goal on her Pink Ladies soccer team. Are you sleepwalking or something?” A draft of cool air from the hallway swept across my bare chest, and cold chills reverberated on my skin. I rubbed my upper arm, and that strange knot of pain prodded my lower back. I think I winced as I tried to reach back and rub it out.

  Alisa’s eyes turned to the closed bedroom door. “Is Bolt still here too?”

  “What do you mean? He worked late last night, remember? Justin gave him a ride home. He’s trying to get as much sleep as possible before school. You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

  I padded toward her, thinking she might have wanted to start a new tradition in our dating regimen.

  Just as I got to her, she jabbed a sharp finger toward the kitchen. “Dammit, Booker. It’s not six, it’s after nine in the morning. A storm came through early morning and knocked the power out. I would have thought you, more than anyone, would have a backup system in place.”

  After my cell phone, the typical ear-piercing backup consisted of Big Al. The backup to the backup was Bolt. Then I looked over to the coffee table where I spotted my phone. I walked over to it and tapped the screen.

  “Damn thing is out of juice. Forgot to plug it in last night. Late night at the W, dealing with an old flame of Henry’s. Oh yeah, I texted you about it last night.”

  She gave me a cursory nod, then yanked her phone out of her purse, holding like it held the key to everlasting life. “The chief called me.”

  “Why you?”

  “Said he couldn’t reach you, Booker. It’s urgent, and he has to talk to you.”

  I moved across the room and plugged my phone into its charger. Ten text messages came to life. I read a sample out loud.

  “Horrible night, we lost another. Call me”

  “Booker, need u engaged at the scene. Call”

  “Wake ur ass up, get to work. Im payin u to stop this killing, but he struck again! CALL ME”

  Alisa set a hand on her hip.

  “Jesus. I’m…I’m sorry I overslept.”

  The bedroom door creaked open, and Bolt shuffled into the living room, his yawn as wide as a lion’s mouth. “Alisa, Mr. Booker. What’s going on?”

  “You’re late for school. Power went out last night.”

  “Shit,” he said, sticking a foot into the ground and rushing back into the bedroom.

  “Don’t cuss,” I called out.

  “I have an algebra quiz that I forgot to study for,” he said.

  “Great. Working late at the bar has already impacted his school. I’m going to kick Justin’s skinny little—”

  “Booker. He’s a kid.”

  “Who’s trying to catch up to every other kid in his grade.”

  “It’s one class,” Alisa said, “Not his entire life that he’s just pissed away.”

  “Just like she said. I will be fine, Mr. Booker. I can rock this quiz. Just need to get to school.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder.

  I threw on some jeans and my Doc Martens, grabbed my leather coat, and rushed everyone out. Just before the door clicked shut, I heard the shrill of Big Al.

  I handed my phone to Alisa. “Text the chief. Tell him I’m on my way.”

  “Okay, you little shit,” I said to Big Al, jogging toward the kitchen to grab a scoop of bird food.

  Big Al whistled, then let out a phrase I’d never heard. “Bitchin’ kitchen. Woo hoo. Bitchin’ kitchen.”

  “Here you go.” He tried to snap my finger off, for the hundredth time. I thought I heard him chuckle.

  “Just for that, I’m going to let you sit in your own crap all day. Later, Big Al,” I said as I met Alisa in the hallway.

  �
��Did you text him?” I ushered us down the hallway and spotted Bolt at the door, waving us on.

  “Yeah. No response yet.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Crap. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t see it in any of your text messages. I scrolled through them while you were getting dressed.”

  Stepping outside, my breath suddenly became visible as smoke puffed in quick spurts.

  “I’ll drive, you text and talk.”

  The Saab started on the first try, and we darted out of the lot and headed across town toward North Dallas High.

  “Mr. Booker, are you solving another murder? I thought you had already taken another case.”

  I traded looks with Alisa as I shot through a yellow light. “Booker & Associates has a full docket. How did you know anything about a murder?”

  “Your discussion with Henry last night at The Jewel. You never said the word, but I could tell.”

  Lifting my eyes to the rearview mirror for a brief second, I spotted Bolt showing all teeth.

  “I know you think you’re a young Sherlock Holmes in the making, but right now you just need to focus on algebra and science.”

  He gave me a salute. “That crap is boring. Who needs to know the seven layers of skin on the human body if I’m going to be creating a new brand of restaurant eateries?”

  “Oh, that’s your plan?”

  “It’s a brilliant idea, I’m telling you, Mr. Booker.”

  “You think Justin lives the good life, huh?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alisa stabbing the phone with her thumbs, her eyes narrowed with intensity.

  He opened his arms. “Well, you won’t allow me to be part of your PI team, so my second choice is to run my own restaurants. I’ll have several concepts. Do you want to hear my first two?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Alisa slammed her hand into my chest.

  “What the—?”

  “Flip a U-turn.”

  I took my foot off the gas, searching for a place to turn around. “We’re only a couple of miles from Bolt’s school. Can’t the chief wait a few—”

  “No, Booker. Turn. Now.”

  Downshifting, I hooked a quick left, my left rear tire catching the median.

  “Ah,” Bolt said, the momentum pushing him right.

  “Make sure your seatbelt is on,” I said, completing the turn.

  Wishing I had a cherry picker to put on my car, I said, “Where am I going?”

  “Far East Dallas, near the Rowlett border.”

  Zooming across Central Expressway on Lemmon, I zigzagged through the M streets until I ran into Highway 78 at Tenison Park Golf Course. I punched it, passing several cars on the right side as I picked up speed.

  “Mr. Booker, you are breaking the law.” Bolt’s voice pitched higher.

  “Don’t look. Take a nap.”

  “Right. Not a problem,” he said with a sarcastic tone.

  I could feel Alisa’s stare.

  “Am I going the wrong way?”

  “Booker.”

  “What?” I shot a quick glance her way, sliding the Saab in between two slow-moving semis, waiting for traffic to pass. Then I slingshotted us around the orange moving vans.

  “Chief Ligon is there.”

  “At the crime scene? Shit, he never goes to crime scenes. Well, not unless…”

  I couldn’t say it, but my thoughts went there. From my experience on the force, when the chief showed up, there were only two reasons—to offer condolences to the victim’s family or to handle the media because the event was so catastrophic no one else would do.

  As we passed White Rock Lake on the left, Alisa put her hand on my knee.

  “Booker, he said you need to find him the moment we get there.”

  A knot formed in my gut, and it started rising fast.

  “Booker, are you okay?”

  I realized I’d stopped breathing. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t, but I couldn’t get into what I felt. Saying my fears out loud would only heighten my anxiety, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it until we got to the scene.

  I motored up 78, took an exit, and veered north. The chief’s message to Alisa loomed in the back of my mind like a wrecking ball swinging wildly. I could sense all sorts of theories pinging my subconscious, but they stayed just below the surface, allowing me to operate in a pseudo-normal state.

  I turned down a road lined with wild trees on both sides, as if we’d launched ourselves into a foreign land, yet somehow still within the Dallas city limits. Turning my head back and forth, I had a surreal moment. It all looked so familiar, yet remote, alien even.

  “Take a right up here,” Alisa said, lifting her eyes from her phone.

  As I downshifted, I looked just past the small intersection through a thick bank of cedars and spotted a rusted blue and red sign for Motel 69. The motel with an hourly rate, run by a middle-aged pervert named Ernie. A surveillance job had brought me to Motel 69 a few months back, the seediest place I’d ever stepped into. I always wondered who had been paid off to keep that dilapidated structure open. A railing had collapsed, nearly dropping me into a razor pit of metal. The assignment had sucked. One of those wife/husband cheating scandals. I had to take pictures from an adjoining room, forcing me to actually touch the soiled furniture. The worst part was the mental imagery that stuck with me ever since that night.

  I tried not to draw a parallel as I adjusted my focus to just in front of my car. An officer stood next to a black-and-white parked at an angle, cutting off most of the small road. Turning slowly, I poked the window button down, ready to engage the officer. He removed his wraparound sunglasses, placed them on top of his hat. Matching the color of the sky, his gunmetal gray mustache sagged below his mouth. Leaning my neck out, we locked eyes. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place the name. Before I came to a stop, he gave me a respectful head nod and flipped a thumb toward the end of the road. I waved and kept moving. In my rearview mirror, I could see him talking into his shoulder radio.

  “I didn’t even know this road existed,” Alisa said, as scraggily branches slapped the shell of the car.

  Just then, an unmarked blue sedan with government plates tore around a blind corner. I jerked the Saab right, but he never slowed down. We both went off the shoulder, mowing down three-foot weeds. Mud clapped the undercarriage as I righted the vehicle.

  “Asshole,” Alisa said on my behalf, looking between the two seats. I think I caught Bolt giving the driver the bird.

  I set aside the parenting opportunity as I negotiated the tree-lined curve. Swirling lights danced across the road and vegetation before I saw a single person or vehicle.

  I took my foot off the gas and coasted around the bend. I first spotted two more black-and-whites forming a V in the middle of the road, serving as an initial gatekeeper. My eyes looked beyond them, and I found a two-story structure hidden behind more trees of what most in the ’burbs would call a cul-de-sac. But this wasn’t the sprawling suburbs, and it didn’t have a city vibe either, even though we were still within the Dallas city limits.

  The cops at the V-stop tipped their hats as if they were expecting me. That only heightened my anxiety, as the knot climbed into the back of my throat. I could taste it. I could have dug through my glove compartment to find my Tums, but the thought quickly left my mind as I spotted the chief up ahead, speaking to two suits and a guy in jeans.

  “That’s Bobby,” I said in monotone while cranking the brake.

  “That detective who’s worked the last two crime scenes,” Alisa said as a point of verification.

  I nodded. “You guys stay in here.”

  “But I believe, Mr. Booker, that I can be of assistance in—”

  I shut the door on Bolt’s words, my eyes peeled to the entourage.

  “Gentlemen. Who can give me a debriefing and when can I see the body?” I peeked over the group and looked toward the building. “Is that a church?”


  The chief stepped to the side, Bobby just behind him.

  “Booker, we need to share something with you,” the chief said.

  They’d ignored all my questions. Either I was being unceremoniously dismissed from my covert investigator role or…I didn’t want to go there. Once again, I couldn’t.

  “What is it?” I swallowed a dry patch.

  “It’s…” The chief paused, then glanced at Bobby, whose shirt was halfway out. He scratched his gritty, stubbled face.

  “You haven’t slept all night,” I said to Bobby.

  Closing his eyes for a second, he stepped toward me.

  “Booker, one of our guys was ambushed inside that old church. It’s…it’s violent and disturbing.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Booker…”

  I could see Bobby’s chest heaving, as his eyes shifted to the chief, then back to me.

  “Spit it out. I’m a big boy.”

  “I don’t know how to say this. It’s Paco, man. He was killed in that church.”

  Bile exploded in my mouth as I hunched over, resting my hands on my knees. Suddenly lightheaded, I turned over my shoulder, found Alisa’s eyes, and shook my head. I started walking toward the weed-infested area that led to the church’s wooden front steps.

  I felt arms and hands tugging on my arms. “Hold on, you can’t go in there, Booker,” Bobby said with strain in his voice.

  I kept plowing forward as Bobby tried to stop me, his boots skidding on the rocky pavement.

  “Dude, you’ve got to stop.”

  “We need help over here,” I heard the chief say.

  More arms pulled and tugged at me.

  “Leave me the fuck alone. Paco…it can’t be. He’s not…”

  Grunts from all around me, but I didn’t see a face. I kept my sights on the front steps, pumping my legs with everything I had.

  “Dammit, Booker, you just can’t go in there. You’ve got to stop, you stubborn son of a bitch,” Bobby growled.

  I could hear his Southern accent, smell the scent of someone’s sweat, maybe a mixture of several guys. My progress slowed to the pace of a worm, but my defiance only increased.

  “Booker, Booker, please listen to them!”

  Alisa. She was upset, on the verge of crying.