by Kara Lennox
“It’s not safe for us to be looking for Larry. He’s dangerous.”
“I’m not afraid of Larry. You don’t have to come.”
The hell she didn’t. The mood Mitch was in today, no telling what trouble he might get into. He might hit the gas pedal on that El Camino and never stop.
Davy sat at one end of the picnic table, reading a newspaper and supposedly ignoring them, but Beth had figured Davy out. He was a listener. He might not appear to pay attention, but he took in everything.
Myra, meanwhile, was cutting into a pan of brownies that looked divine and smelled better. His mother had so far been content to let Mitch make his own decisions when it came to trying to clear his name, offering room and board and a safe haven, nothing more.
Now, though, she spoke up. “Beth is right, you know. I never liked Larry when you used to hang out with him as a kid. He was a bad influence. What was a grown man like him doing hanging with teenagers?”
“He’s mentally challenged, Mom,” Mitch reminded her. “He had more in common with kids than adults.”
“Still…he was a drunk and a thief.”
“But essentially harmless.”
“Are you sure? How do you know he didn’t kill Robby, huh? If he’s scared he’ll get caught, he could do anything.”
Mitch shrugged. “I’m going to look for him. Beth, you can come or stay behind, up to you.”
No way was she letting him run around town unsupervised. What if one of the local cops hassled him? With his emotions running high, anything could happen.
Being Mitch’s babysitter wasn’t exactly her dream job, but someone had to do it. “I’ll go with you.”
“Have some brownies first, at least,” Myra chided them as she served up a large square of the fudgy treat onto Mitch’s plate.
Mitch’s mouth twitched up on one side. “In case it’s our last meal?”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” Myra’s voice broke, and Mitch looked immediately contrite.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Someday soon, Mitch might be requesting his real last meal. Now, that was a sobering thought.
As soon as the dishes were cleared, Mitch and Beth piled into the El Camino and set out on their quest to find Crazy Larry. Beth had ridden with Mitch a number of times in his truck, and she’d always considered him a safe, responsible driver. But sometime over the past couple of days, he’d developed a lead foot. He tore down the dirt road toward town way too fast for Beth’s comfort.
She grabbed on to the door handle when he took a particularly sharp turn. “Can you slow down, please?”
“At this point, a speeding ticket is hardly a worry.”
“It will be if it makes the news. Don’t forget, the media could be around any corner. This case will turn into a circus, you can bet on it. No sense giving the reporters more grist for the mill than necessary.”
He eased his foot off the gas. “Point taken. I guess when I lived here, I drove a lot faster than I do in Houston. I’ve been living in the past a lot the last few days.”
“Yes, well, I’d prefer to live in the present. Rather than die.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that under consideration.”
“Where are we going, anyway?”
“Larry’s a drinker. If he has any money, he’ll spend it at a bar. So we’re gonna check every bar in town.”
For a tiny town, Coot’s Bayou had more than its share of bars. There were three smack in the middle of town, on Main Street, one bar and grill a few blocks off the main drag, and two more on the interstate.
They hit the highway bars first. One was a nasty, nameless spot in a corrugated tin building with a dirt parking lot filled with motorcycles and pickup trucks.
As they stepped through oil-slicked puddles, Beth had sudden doubts about her fitness as an investigator. Billy Cantu could walk into a place like this without a second thought, but no way she, or even Raleigh, could hope to blend in. Though Daniel had said to keep Mitch as far from the investigation as possible, she was glad to have him at her side. When she looked at him now, standing fierce and tall next to her, she did not see a mild-mannered computer geek. She saw a warrior on a mission.
And her heart skipped a beat.
Her insane, self-sabotaging heart.
“Stick close to me,” he said. “Some pretty rough characters hang out here.”
His warning was unnecessary. If she could connect the two of them at the hip with Velcro, she would. She was awfully glad to be dressed down in jeans and a plain beige cotton shirt. “So you’re familiar with this establishment?”
“I tipped a few back here in my day.” His face softened. “I’m just disappointing you right and left, aren’t I.”
“I’m getting to know a different side of you, that’s all.” She was surprised, true, but disappointed? Was that the right word?
Beth, come on. He beat up his own brother.
The memory of Mitch on top of Dwayne, pounding with his fists, made her shudder. Even if Dwayne had goaded Mitch into the fight, she disapproved. The man had a temper, and anyone who did not have control of his temper was dangerous.
Still, if Mitch wasn’t so strong and physical, could he have subdued Larry? As Daniel had pointed out, Mitch had done a brave thing. Incredibly brave. An unarmed man facing an unbalanced person with a gun—Larry could have killed him. Or any of them.
She didn’t know whether to be impressed with his physical prowess, repulsed or scared.
The inside of the no-name bar was dark and smoky. Business seemed brisk for one o’clock in the afternoon. A spirited pool game occupied one corner. Another table filled with men watched the sports channel featuring some replay of a hockey game. A couple more were bellied up to the bar, where a grizzled bartender washed glasses in a sink of gray water.
Beth was the only female in the place. And as she made her way toward the bar, hanging at Mitch’s elbow, every eye in the place turned to look at them.
The bartender’s face broke into a crooked smile featuring crooked teeth. “Mitch Delacroix! I’d have sworn you were dead!”
“Naw, I just went legit.” He made it sound as if that was something to be ashamed of.
“Who’s your lady?”
“Beth, this is Amos. Amos, Beth.”
“Nice to meet you,” Beth said politely.
“Oooowee, how’d you land a classy girl like her?”
“She’s not mine, are you kidding? Like she’d have me. She’s a coworker, trying to help me out of a jam. You heard about Robby?”
“They not tryin’ to pin that on you, are they?”
“’Fraid so.”
“That’s just wrong.” Amos shook his head sadly. “Can I get you somethin’ to drink? On the house.”
Mitch looked at Beth, and she shook her head. Even if she drank at this hour of the day, Amos’s cleanliness standards would have dissuaded her.
“We came looking for information,” Beth said. “We’re trying to find a possible witness. Larry Montague. Have you seen him?”
Amos immediately shook his head. “Ain’t seen Larry for months.”
“He’s a fugitive,” Beth added. “If you protect him, it’s considered a crime.”
She knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. A hostile look came over Amos’s face. “I told ya, ain’t seen him.”
“You’ll have to excuse Beth,” Mitch said. “She’s a little gung ho about her job.”
Beth shot him a look. Thanks for backing me up. She placed a card on the bar. “I’m sorry if I came off rude. Please call me if he shows up. I’ll answer day or night.”
Amos narrowed his eyes. “Are you a cop?”
“She’s not a cop. She means well. We just want to talk to Larry, okay? No cops.”
Beth was about to object, but Mitch shot her a look that quelled her urge to speak.
“Okay, dude.” Amos extended his hand. “You take care. Come back some time when you can knock back a few. Catch me up
.” His message was clear: next time, come without her.
As soon as they were back in the parking lot, Mitch went on the offensive. “Beth, what in the hell were you thinking, going all tough-cop interrogator on him? You think that’s how to get information from people like Amos? Threaten them with arrest?”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to jump all over me. It was the wrong approach.”
“No kidding.”
“Daniel didn’t think I was up to this job. You know, investigating. I guess I was just compensating.”
Mitch opened her car door. “Daniel doesn’t want you here?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him that. He’d probably like an excuse to get rid of her; she was cramping his style. “He left it up to me. If I can be useful, he wants me to stay. You really are his top priority.”
He didn’t respond until he was behind the wheel. “Yeah, well, if you want to be helpful, maybe you better let me do the talking at the next bar.”
“I’m sorry, okay?”
Gradually, his face relaxed. “Sorry I jumped all over you. I’m just a little on edge. Everything about being here reminds me of who I used to be. Something I tried to run from. But you can’t run from who you are. It catches up with you eventually.”
She wasn’t sure what to say about that. She’d never tried to change herself. She was the same exact person she’d been in high school. At her ten-year high school reunion, she’d been voted “least changed.”
“You made something of your life, Mitch. Every day, you do good. You help other people wrongly accused of crimes. You should be proud of that. Not everyone can make positive changes.”
“Yeah, well, right now it sort of seems like I sold out.”
“If selling out means you don’t feel as if you belong in a bar like that, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Wait till you see the next place we’re going. You’ll think Amos’s place is the Taj Mahal.”
The next spot they hit was called Busties. It was a strip club.
Again, Beth was the only woman patron. But the smattering of customers didn’t spare her much attention. Their gazes were locked on the anorexic stripper gyrating on stage, who was either bored or stoned out of her mind.
Beth averted her gaze—not because she was offended, but because the hopeless-looking girl made her sad.
No one recognized Mitch here, which was somewhat comforting.
The young bartender didn’t know Larry, but one of the waitresses did. “Saw him a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “He came in long enough to blow whatever cash he had in his pocket, then he left.”
Beth’s ears perked up. A couple of weeks ago? Funny that Dwayne hadn’t seen him around. But maybe people like Larry Montague took pains not to be seen or noticed by cops.
Beth left her card, and she and Mitch headed to the next establishment.
The two bars on the town square were a little nicer, not quite so dark and smoky, and the clientele wasn’t quite as scary. She and Mitch heard the same story they’d heard at Busties: Larry had been by and either got someone to buy him a drink or two, or he played pool and won money for drinking that way. Seemed he was usually out of money.
The last place they went, the Conch & Crab, was more of a sports bar with a kitschy down-on-the-bayou decor that included a six-foot stuffed alligator and a clam tank where you could select your own shellfish. It was the sort of place Beth wouldn’t have minded spending time. The food smelled good, anyway.
No one in this place seemed to recognize Larry’s picture. “I think I’d remember a face like that,” said the bartender, who barely looked old enough to be serving liquor. Then he pointed at Mitch. “You, on the other hand, I’ve seen before.”
“I used to live here years ago,” Mitch said.
“No, it’s more recent than that—wait a minute, I know. You’re a martial artist. You were interviewed in Fight Club Magazine. Yeah, that’s it! You’re the Cagey Cajun!”
Beth burst out laughing. “Mitch, you didn’t tell me you were a celebrity.”
But Mitch violently shook his head. “No, that’s not me, dude.”
“Sure it is! Hey, Doug,” the bartender called to a friend. “We got the Cagey Cajun right here. You want a beer? It’s on the house.”
“No, thanks. Let’s go, Beth.” He headed for the door.
“What’s Fight Club Magazine?” Beth asked the bartender, wanting to smooth over Mitch’s brusque behavior. “Is it local?”
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t watch MMA? Mixed Martial Arts? Cage fighting?”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of his question. “Is that like pro wrestling?”
“No, no, it’s the real deal. The Cajun is lethal.”
“Well, it’s not Mitch.” She placed her card on the bar.
The bartender looked supremely disappointed not to have been able to serve a beer to a celebrity. “It’s cool. We have a UFC match on in here every Friday night. Draws a big crowd. You should come. You’ll see for yourself how strong the resemblance is.”
Beth felt herself blushing when she realized the guy was flirting with her. “I’m in town on business. I’ll probably be working Friday night, but thanks for the invite.” She didn’t add that even the idea of guys beating up other guys for entertainment made her queasy. She’d rather peel off her own fingernails than actually watch men smash their fists into each other.
MITCH DIDN’T WAIT TO SEE if Beth was following him. He just got out of there as quick as he could. Damn, he’d known that MMA was becoming more popular, more mainstream, but he didn’t expect to be recognized walking down the street.
Where was she, anyway? Maybe he should go in and make sure she was okay. He didn’t like the way that baby-faced bartender was looking her over. Not that he could blame anyone with a Y chromosome for noticing Beth.
And that reminded him—Billy Cantu would be hitting town soon. He liked Billy, but he didn’t like the idea of Beth and Billy together on a business trip. Billy would probably stay at the Sleepy Time Motel. Would Beth join him there? If she intended to stay in Coot’s Bayou any length of time, she’d probably be more comfortable at a hotel, and the Sleepy Time didn’t really have bedbugs, despite what his mother had claimed.
So, she’d be there with Billy in the room right next door, so they could work on his case together.
The pictures racing through his mind made his gut burn. He had no right to be jealous. He had no claim to Beth.
Finally Beth exited the bar and made her way to the El Camino.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he turned the ignition key.
“Our friend in there was sure you were this Cagey Cajun character. He was trying to get me to admit it.” She laughed. “He even wanted me to come watch a fight on Friday night, so I could see for myself.”
“I don’t think that’s why he invited you.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or horrified that a kid barely out of high school was flirting with me.”
“You’re not going, are you?” That would be very, very bad. He could not back out of this fight. He’d signed a contract, and nothing short of death or hospitalization would get him out of it.
“Yeah, I’m going to a bar to drink beer and watch cage fighting.” She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“It’s not that gross.” He wanted to kick himself right after the words were out. It was much better if Beth continued to hate his chosen avocation.
“Are you kidding? I can’t imagine anything more disgusting.”
Now that stung. “How can you say it’s disgusting if you’ve never seen it?”
“So you’re a fan of MM…whatever?”
“MMA. Not exactly.”
“It’s glorified violence.” She shivered.
Mitch decided he better change the subject, even though part of him wanted her to understand that it was a sport, like any other, with rules and safeguards. Not like the bare-knuckle street-fighting h
e did when he was a kid. He still had scars from those days, when combatants threw more than punches. He’d been cut with broken bottles, chains, knives and two-by-fours. He was lucky he still had all his teeth.
He was lucky he hadn’t been killed.
MMA was downright tame by comparison.
“We’re out of bars,” Beth said. “Shall we call it a day?”
“I thought we were just getting started. Larry’s probably still in town, somewhere.”
“Unless he fled because he’s wanted by the police.”
“It’s more likely he’s hanging out with other homeless people, bragging.”
“You obviously have some idea of where to look.”
“I know where homeless people used to hang. I bet it hasn’t changed. But, hey, you’ve probably had enough of the seamier side of life for one day. Why don’t I drop you back at my mom’s. You can put your feet up, have a cup of tea—”
“Do I look like a tea drinker? Nothing doing. I know I can’t stop you from nosing around, but I’m not going to let you do it alone.”
He laughed. “You think you can keep me safe from trouble?”
“I’ve got a cell phone. I can call for help if I need to.”
“You won’t need to call anyone. We’ll be fine.”
“Just remember, if we find him, we back off and call the cops. No heroics.”
“Only if you want him to run for the hills.”
“You broke his nose! You don’t think he’d run from you?”
“The floor broke his nose.”
“After you slammed his face into it,” she grumbled.
“You aren’t seriously criticizing me for taking him down, are you?”
“I’m…” she paused “…okay, I guess I’m grateful. It was a brave thing to do. It was also stupid not to let Dwayne handle it. We could have hunkered down and waited for backup.”
“Only if we’d wanted Larry dead. Louisiana cops shoot first and ask questions later.”
“That’s a gross generalization. Look, Mitch, I don’t want to argue about this. It’s done. Just promise me you won’t go playing hero anymore. Because I assured Daniel I’d keep you out of trouble.”