Hound Dog Blues

by Virginia Brown

  “We can hide,” Cami said.

  “No we can’t. Unless you want me on your shoulders. We’d never fit. There’s an exit here somewhere. It’s probably marked Men.”

  It wasn’t marked at all. That had to be a safety violation. Not that she’d be picky about it. Freedom beckoned. Cool air that smelled of car fumes and asphalt swept in when the door swung open. The sound of traffic flowed past, and in the distance—sirens wailed. Oh joy.

  “Hurry!” they both said at the same time again, and clambered out onto the metal grill of the fire escape. Harley froze. It was the height thing. Even the second story seemed like the top of Lookout Mountain.

  “Come on,” Cami said, grabbing a metal rung to swing her feet onto the rickety, tiny tiny steps that looked far too fragile to hold the weight of a crow, much less a hundred and twenty pound woman. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  Harley crouched motionless. “Go without me. I’m fine here.”

  “Harley, I hear sirens.”

  “Take my bike keys. Remember to put your feet down when you come to a stop.”

  “No.” Cami looked pale in the distorted glare of passing headlights. “I can’t drive a motorcycle. You have to come.”

  She might have clung to the cold metal grill all night, but Cami played the trump card: “I put a Reese’s in your backpack. You can have it when you get down.”

  Harley caved. “Fine. But you better not be lying. I have the stun gun.”

  She closed her eyes and turned to go down backward. If she didn’t look, it couldn’t scare her. One shaky foot at a time, she felt her way down with Cami urging her on, until she finally stood on solid ground that tilted a little bit. The earth steadied after a moment. The smell of tar had never been so sweet. She looked up.

  “Give me my chocolate.”

  Wordlessly, Cami dug into Harley’s backpack, and then held out a Reese’s. Harley crammed it all into her mouth. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it, either.

  There wasn’t much time to waste. The sirens sounded really close now. All they needed was for Bobby to show up. Protective custody would seem like Club Med by the time he finished with them. He had no sense of humor about these things.

  “What now?” Cami wanted to know when they stopped at a red light. Traffic whizzed by on Highland as they waited in the left turn lane.

  “I’m thinking.” That wasn’t quite true. She was still shaking too much to think clearly. It had been a close call, and no doubt poor Mr. Grinder would turn in his notice tomorrow. Of all the things to keep in good working order, a panic alarm, in what used to be a broom closet, would not have been her first choice. But Lester Penney had never been the brightest bulb in the pack, in her opinion. Tootsie would just love this story. If she ever told him.

  “We used to have nerves of steel,” Cami said sadly. “We’re getting older.”

  “I prefer to think of it as getting smarter.”

  “Recent activities not counting, of course.”

  “Of course. We’re much smarter than when we used to steal your dad’s old truck so we could ride around at night.”

  Sounding muffled by her helmet, Cami laughed. “Not too much. We were pretty creative then. I always thought it was brilliant of you to use Dad’s big Craftsman screwdriver to shift with when he caught on to us and started taking the gear shift into the house at night.”

  “It worked. Improvisation was my strong suit then. Now I’m into peace and quiet.”

  “Right. I can tell.”

  “Recent activities not counting, of course.”

  The light changed and Harley gave the bike gas, so that Cami had to hold on to the safety strap and any talking ceased for the moment. They were headed toward Jackson Avenue, so she had obviously made a decision on some level. Traffic thinned out close to Summer Avenue, and then picked up again when she hit the eight lane thoroughfare. She’d planned on getting to the Jackson Avenue warehouse by the back way, but maybe she’d made a wrong turn. Better planning would have helped.

  At the next stop light, Cami leaned forward again. “Are we going the right way?”

  “I don’t think so. Damn.”

  “Why don’t we get on the Interstate?”

  “We’d be road kill. All those eighteen-wheelers own the road.”

  “Hey. Is that Vanna?”

  Harley’s head snapped around, and she caught a glimpse of a familiar lime-green VW van turning a corner. All thoughts of Trumble’s nephew and the warehouse evaporated, and she did a U turn right in the middle of the road that made both tires and Cami squeal. She then gave the bike gas and roared off in pursuit. The van turned and she followed, taking the narrow roads at a faster rate of speed than was advisable.

  A single taillight winked as the van dipped into a valley, and the bike took the top of the rise like a ski jump, sailing through the air to land several yards away on hard asphalt. Cami hung on valiantly, though her fingers were making permanent indentations in Harley’s ribs. Good thing she wore a sturdy cotton tee shirt. It was taking a lot of abuse.

  She flashed her lights to get their attention, but the van kept going down the residential streets that wound in confusing loops and cul-de-sacs. Yogi should recognize her bike. He loved it almost as much as she did. Why weren’t they stopping?

  The warm night air was muggy but a lot cooler at nearly fifty miles an hour; Harley had goose bumps up and down her arms. And a sharp pain in her ribs where Cami kept digging in to hold on. Gunning the engine, she stuck close to the van as it screeched down narrow streets that had cars parked at the curbs, leaving barely enough room for one vehicle to pass. She lost sight at a four-way stop when a slow-moving station wagon got in front of her and she couldn’t get past it. Frustration tempted her to cut through a few yards, but she resisted until she got the chance to jump a curb at the corner.

  Just when she thought she’d lost the van, it suddenly reappeared right in front of her, making a sharp turn on a side street. She smiled grimly. A yellow sign warned Dead End, and the van braked. Now she had them, and she could find out just why the heck they were running from her.

  Leaping from her bike and leaving Cami struggling to hold it up, she reached the stopped van and jerked open the driver’s door. A cloud of fragrant smoke billowed out, smelling strongly of wacky weed. That might explain it. She pulled off her helmet and squinted through the smoke.

  “Yogi?”

  “Harley?” Eric’s face peered at her from layers of smoke. “Chiick. Was that you behind me?”

  “Who the hell did you think it was?” Disappointment made her cranky. Then it occurred to her that if he had the van, he’d seen Yogi and Diva. “Where are they, dude? The police don’t have them, do they?”

  “You mean Yogi? No, chick, they’re okay. I saw ’em just a little while ago. Why were you chasing me? I thought you were the cops.”

  “I thought you were Yogi and Diva, you idiot.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Sometimes he didn’t have a clue. “Where are they? And where’s my car?”

  Looking irritated, he said, “You don’t have to be so bitchy. Your car’s okay. I ran into Yogi at a store, and we switched vehicles, since you don’t want me smoking in yours.”

  She thought about that a moment. Maybe that was a plus. The police were looking for the van, not her Toyota. “Does Bobby know about this?”

  Eric shook his head. “Why would he?”

  “So where are Yogi and Diva staying?”

  “They didn’t say. But I didn’t ask. They’re okay, chick. Stop worrying so much.”

  Staggering a little, Cami reached the van. She wheezed, “Hey Eric.”

  “Chick, what happened to you?” Eric asked, staring at Cami.

  She’d pulled off her helmet and her hair was stuck to her scalp, looking like she had one of her black cats clinging to her head. She ran her hand through it, but it didn’t help much.

  “I’m Lucy Liu,” she said. “I’m supposed to look like this.”

 
Eric rolled his eyes, but was smart enough not to argue.

  “Listen,” Harley said to her brother, “try to stay out of sight, okay? With the van, I mean. If the police see it, they’ll stop you. And then you’ll be in jail for possession.”

  “Of what? You ought to know I don’t drive around with that stuff.”

  “Then what do I smell?”

  “Clove cigarettes. Or mandarin. I can’t remember. They make margarita flavor, too.”

  “I better not smell the slightest whiff of cloves, mandarin, or margaritas in my car, dude.”

  He rolled his eyes again and restarted the van. “Do something with your hair, chick. You look scary.”

  When they were once more on her bike, Harley sat there a moment. It was late. The need to check out the warehouse wasn’t as urgent now. Her biggest worry was apparently doing much better than she was, driving around in her car, oblivious to the mayhem their disappearance had caused. It figured.

  Cami tapped her on the shoulder. “What now, Kemo Sabe?”

  “Damned if I know. Maybe we should go back to your house. Yogi and Diva are okay, and Eric isn’t riding my clutch, so all should be right with the world. Oh God.”

  “What?”

  “Yogi has that damned dog in my car.”

  Cami laughed.

  Morning came far too early. Light poked through the window where the shade didn’t quite reach, a splinter that fell right across the bed and into her eyes. Harley squinted and saw something move next to her on the bed.

  She came immediately upright and threw herself backward, forgetting that the bed was against the wall. Her head smacked so hard into unyielding Sheetrock that she saw stars. Grabbing her pillow to use as a weapon, she peered into the gloom for the intruder. Her ears rang and her heart pounded like a bass drum, but other than that, there was no sound. Nothing moved. The house was quiet.

  Maybe she’d been dreaming. It happened sometimes, one of those realistic kind of dreams where she thought she was awake but really wasn’t. Feeling a little foolish, she put down the pillow and scooted across the bed. To reassure herself there were no monsters or Friday the 13th kind of maniacs hiding under the bed, she bent over and peeked beneath the dust ruffle. Soft gloom hid a couple of packing boxes, but no serial killers. It was safe to get up.

  What was the matter with her? She’d let that guy spook her with his phone calls and silly threats. She knew better. Wiggling her toes in the carpet, she stood up and stretched, then bent to touch her toes, a sort of “rise and shine” routine guaranteed to give her an early heart attack but was good to get the blood flowing back where it should be.

  A sharp pain immediately clutched her ankle and she let out a yelp. Upside down, she saw a flash of blue eyes and furry tail. Aha. She hadn’t dreamed an intruder after all. Sam the cat put a paw out again to tap her bare foot.

  “How did you get in here,” she said, and turned to sit on the floor. Sam joined her, curling up in her lap like he belonged there. “You’re really a sneaky devil, aren’t you? I don’t like cats, by the way. Maybe you didn’t notice.”

  Or maybe he didn’t care. He was doing that purring thing again, a vibrating fur ball with a satisfied feline smile. This wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was almost nice.

  When Cami stuck her head in the door, Harley looked up. “We’ve bonded. It’s amazing.”

  Cami only smiled. “Coffee’s ready.”

  Three cups of coffee laced with French vanilla creamer later she was ready to face the day and a van load of tourists hyped up about the Memphis in May barbecue festival. Normally, she’d enjoy attending the barbecue billed as the world’s largest. It always drew a huge crowd from all over the country. Friday and Saturday were the biggest days. Harley considered it a sort of springtime Mardi Gras, with people dressed up in outlandish costumes and drunk as skunks. Since this was her first year as one of the sober people in attendance, she anticipated boredom, mixed with pulled pork sandwiches and cokes. No beer while on duty. Bummer.

  When she got in, Tootsie looked up and held up a hand to stop her while he finished a call. She stood at the desk sorting through the message slips he gave her, most of them unimportant.

  The last one said: “Your time is running out. I’ll call at noon.”

  There was no name, but she didn’t have to work hard to guess who’d left it. So he really knew where she worked. She wasn’t surprised.

  “What’s up, baby?” Tootsie wanted to know, eying her. “I don’t like the sound of that message, and the guy wouldn’t leave his name. And you wouldn’t know anything about the break-in here last night, would you?”

  “Maybe. It wasn’t really a break-in, more like a break-out. I have keys.”

  “Jesus, baby. What’s going on now?”

  She gave him a quick rundown, including the fact that Yogi and Diva were apparently okay, and ending with her phone stalker. “He’s probably just bluffing anyway.” She crumpled the message slip into a ball and tossed it into the trash.

  “So why did you want the stun gun?”

  “I’m just borrowing it until he stops calling. And until I check out that warehouse.”

  “Yeah, well, I did some more checking for you. It belongs to some guy named Norville Bates. Ever hear of him?” She shook her head. “I didn’t think so. He specializes in cheap knockoffs, Mexican imports, fake Chinese porcelain, statues, rugs, crap like that. I’m not so sure there’s a connection.”

  “There has to be. His car was in Mrs. Trumble’s driveway right before she was shot. There are two options I can see, one being that for some reason Bates shot her, and the other being that her nephew did it. Personally, I opt for the nephew. Archie must know Bates somehow. Maybe he’s an employee. Maybe he’s a friend or business partner.”

  “And maybe he’s a homicidal maniac, and you should stop messing around with this shit and tell Baroni about it.”

  “Bobby and I have communication problems.”

  “Then tell Jett. Call Crime Stoppers. Stay out of it, baby. It’s dangerous.”

  He was right. Here she was playing detective and getting nasty phone calls, putting herself in danger when she knew better. Cami wasn’t the only one who’d gotten too far into the Charlie’s Angels thing.

  “Look,” Tootsie said, leaning toward her and lowering his voice, “my new friend is a cop. Don’t look so surprised. You’re not the only one who appreciates a man in uniform, baby. I had him check out a few things for me. You know that necklace? It never made it to the evidence room. That doesn’t necessarily mean it won’t, you understand.”

  She thought about that. “But if it’s not there, where could it be?”

  “Who knows. Could be that it’s being appraised or delivered to an insurance company for identification. Or . . . .” He let it drag out suggestively.

  “You’re so trusting.”

  “According to Steve—my friend—it gets checked in and only authorized police can sign it back out.”

  “So, is this how you can find out so much stuff? Steve knows where and how to look?”

  “I never share trade secrets, baby. Just enjoy the perks.”

  “Right.”

  She had an excellent idea where that necklace was—and she bet Morgan did, too. Damn. She really hated what she was thinking.

  Of all days, she had a bunch of rowdy corporate guys away from home and family and set for fun, to take to the barbecue. Fate had a way of tormenting her at times. She fielded propositions and not-so-subtle pickup lines with her usual aplomb. Pointing to the can of Mace on her belt and wagging a stun gun usually worked fairly well. Most guys, no matter how drunk, responded to a sense of self-preservation.

  “Whassa’matter, baby?” one of them said, smelling like a brewery already, and it was only eleven in the morning. “Don’ you like me?”

  “I don’t know you. Step back, please. Regulations require that all passengers be seated and seat-belted.”

  “We haven’ lef’ yet. Still . . .” He hicc
upped. “. . . sittin’ in front of the hotel.”

  “And we’ll still be sitting here at five this afternoon if you don’t take your seat, sir. I can’t drive with you unseated.”

  He belched, not the response she desired. Maybe the walk down Beale Street would sober him up enough that he wouldn’t be arrested before he got back to his hotel, but it was doubtful. If he was this far gone before noon, he was hopeless.

  “Hey Bailey,” one of the other guys said, “get in and leave her alone. There’ll be more women than you can shake a stick at down on the river.”

  Harley hoped the women down on the river had sticks of their own. Bailey was trouble. He had a belligerent, bulldog kind of expression on his face that didn’t bode well for the future. It was obvious he didn’t like getting turned down, though he must have a lot of experience with it. He had one of those flat, pug noses in his fleshy face, a round head like a cue ball and with just about as much hair, and a single eyebrow that made her think of caterpillars. He probably didn’t get much action. Horny men were such a pain in the ass. Horny drunk men were downright begging for Mace.

  The urge to reach for her stun gun only increased when he sagged into the front passenger seat with the obvious intention of remaining. She considered insisting he sit in the back, but since he’d subsided into a sulky heap and all the other seats were taken, it’d be a mistake to make a big deal out of it. Bailey could very well be the guy who signed the checks for these little outings.

  She began to think she’d escaped disaster as they got near Beale Street. Bailey had said only a few words on the entire ride from East Memphis. The rest of the group were jovial and ready to party. Typical guys away from home and business.

  Traffic was a nightmare, but she’d expected that. It was always like this during Memphis in May, with Riverside Drive closed to traffic and the detours bumper to bumper. She’d get them as close as she could, then park the van in The Peabody lot and agree to a meeting time and place for their return to the Marriott. That left her with a few hours to kill.