Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1)

by C. Mack Lewis

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.

  –Heraclitus

  Jack grabbed a dishtowel and gently draped it over Jeni’s midsection, covering her where her mini-skirt had come up and she was partially exposed. Jack held the baby as her tiny fists beat against him, splattering rips and reams of blood across his face as she wailed at full volume.

  Enid.

  His mind struggled to get hold of the fact that Enid had been here. Covered with Jeni’s blood.

  Jeni stared past him, empty.

  The same nightmarish helplessness washed over him like so many years ago when he’d found his mother’s lifeless body dangling, dead-weight heavy, from the noose. He was too late. Again. There was nothing to be done except call for more people to come share in his helplessness.

  His mind flashed back to all the nights he woke up drenched in sweat, his grandmother soothing him with soft Apache words he didn’t understand. For years, he was haunted by the same nightmare. His mother lay at the bottom of a deep dark well. Winged demons lunged downward, landing on her frail body, their filthy talons digging into her flesh as they clawed at her over and over. He stood looking down into the well – helpless and horrified. The nightmare was bad but the feeling that came with it was worse.

  And now – it was here.

  The nightmare was here, in this kitchen, looking up at him with merciless eyes. Nauseous, Jack turned away and saw Jeni’s bloody handprints hanging on the wall.

  Like she’s trying to reach out to me.

  Jeni had called him, left a message for him to call back. That was yesterday.

  Why didn’t I call?

  He remembered the day like it was a million years ago.

  Yesterday.

  The best day of my life.

  Despite everything – Enid missing, his house gone, everything he owned gone.

  Eve loves me.

  I love Eve.

  Jack stared down at Jeni with her “I’m Your Angel” T-shirt, bright bubble gum lipstick and daisy tattoo peeking out from under the dishtowel.

  This is my fault.

  Why? Why is this my fault?

  It is.

  He rubbed his nose and felt something warm and liquid. He drew back his hand and was surprised to see his fingers wet with blood. The baby’s wails broke through and he found himself staring at her, trying to piece his jumbled thoughts together.

  Jack tried but couldn’t remember the baby’s name. Like a physical pain, like a lead weight in his gut holding him down to this moment that –

  I could have stopped…?

  That same feeling – horrible gnawing animal in his gut clawing its way up to his throat. A wave of self-loathing rushed over him. He pulled out his cell phone and made his way to the front door, dialing emergency services. He leaned against the front door and slid down until he was sitting with Jeni’s baby cradled in his lap.

  A Hispanic woman edged toward him, scared but determined, holding a broom toward him like a weapon. Neighbors gathered behind her as if she and her broom would keep them safe.

  Distant sirens sounded.

  Jack waited for them to arrive, his mind floating back to the previous day.

  It was an eternity ago.

  He’d spent the day with Eve. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman – and all he wanted was more.

  He’d finally torn himself away and left to go looking for Enid. His time with Eve had left him feeling elated and free – like he’d slipped some bonds and floated upward toward something he didn’t even know existed.

  Jack had called Detective Orlean and left a message – an apology for not meeting him at the coffee shop. He hardly recognized his own voice – it was filled with warmth. He’d been so happy, he could even think of Detective Orlean as a friend. The world looked different. The Phoenix streets looked lovely and inviting. Hookers and junkies couldn’t even mar the magically transformed landscape.

  The sirens got louder. He looked up and was shocked to see Ernie pushing his bike up Jeni’s walk toward him.

  Jack jumped to his feet, handing the baby to the Hispanic woman, who grabbed at her eagerly.

  Ernie said, “I saw Enid take off up the street – I couldn’t catch her.”

  Jack got his business card, shoved it into the Hispanic woman’s hand. “I’ll be back.”

  He hustled Ernie to his car and reached the corner before the first police car screamed up the street.

  “Which way?” Jack said.

  Ernie pointed to the right, scared. “What happened? Is she all right?”

  They drove through the neighborhood, both looking for Enid. Jack was relieved to see the road was through a winding neighborhood with no turn-offs and, if she’d taken the last turn, she would have been like rabbit in a run.

  “There.” Ernie jabbed excitedly and jumped out of the car before Jack could stop.

  Enid lay in a driveway, her face a sickly white. Jack lightly slapped Enid’s face and she came to life, giving him a washed-out version of her usual glare.

  “Come on,” Jack said, trying to help her to her feet. She shoved him away but was too weak to resist when he picked her up and dumped her into the backseat of his car.

  Jack drove out of the neighborhood. He paused at the turn to Jeni’s street, which was now swarmed with cop cars.

  Enid said, “I can’t go back.”

  Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Her eyes shone with desperation. Whichever way he cut it, those eyes spelled trouble.

  Jack gripped the wheel, unsure.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  But which is the stone that supports the bridge?

  Why do you speak to me of the stones? It is only the arch that matters to me.

  –Kublai Khan

  Bud watched as Jack walked from his parked car. His white shirt was blood-splattered and he was gripping Enid’s arm, and a boy was tailing them. Mrs. Lopez, who had given him Jack’s card and had been talking with a CPS official, began hissing, “That’s him. That’s him.”

  At the first sight of Enid, the image of her in his dream punched through his consciousness. Bud glanced at her hands, half expecting to see the bloody bra dangling from her fingers.

  “Detective Orlean,” Jack said. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

  Several hours later, at the station, Bud stared at Enid, who looked pathetically young as she rubbed her hands, which seemed to be bothering her. They’d been in the interrogation room for two hours hashing out her timeline since she’d arrived in Phoenix, especially once she’d gotten to Jeni’s apartment that afternoon. He’d had a short talk with Jack, who was lodged in another interrogation room.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” Enid said.

  Bud nodded, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to nod but not able to help himself. “Is there anything else you can remember?”

  Enid shook her head.

  Bud stood. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Don’t I get one phone call?” Enid said.

  “You’re not under arrest.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Once in the hallway, Bud nodded at Jenson, who had watched the interchange behind a two-way mirror. They walked down the hall and stood outside Jack’s interrogation room. Through another two-way mirror, they watched as Jack drained the last of the coffee and tossed the styrofoam cup into a trash can like he was playing basketball.

  Jenson said, “Outlandish story.”

  Bud said, “That’s the trouble. Makes me think it might be true. I sent the key to the lab – try to lift some fingerprints.”

  “What about the girl?”

  Bud sighed. “Let’s start at the girls’ home. Talk to the psychiatrist, the owner – ”

  “Vivian Hargrove owns the place,” Jenson said.

  “I don’t like coincidences,” Bud said. “They have a funny way of not being coincidences.
Any theories on how this pile of bricks fit together? Or is any of it even related?”

  Jenson shrugged, “Not yet.”

  “Daniel Hargrove – a cold case we’ve been working for years. Now this guy,” Bud nodded toward Jack, “is dating our prime suspect – Eve Hargrove.”

  “I certainly hope Chip’s not batting sloppy seconds with a sociopathic killer.”

  Bud shot him a look.

  Jenson smiled pleasantly, “You can pick the tile in your out-house but you can’t pick your relatives. And you definitely can’t pick who they decide to sleep with.”

  “Chip’s fine. He’ll be – fine,” Bud said, his voice sounding anything but sure.

  Jenson said, “Then, Jack Fox, the guy who is dating the prime suspect of our favorite cold case – his daughter – who he didn’t even know existed until earlier this week – ”

  Bud said, “Comes to town with a gun that ends up in the murder victim’s sink – and the kid is on the premises when Jeni Hargrove is murdered but supposedly hears nothing and sees even less.”

  “And this occurs two days after her father gets the bright idea of sending Enid undercover at Vivian Hargrove’s home for wayward girls, which is Hargrove family member number-four. Then Enid claims she gets drugged and abducted, and only manages to escape by strangling a man to death with her bra – ”

  Bud said, “Dennie Dutter shows up duct-taped and delivered to us care of the Arizona Canal.”

  “Not to mention the whole story Fox fed us about his high-speed chase with Laura Hargrove – number-five on the Hargrove clan and counting.”

  Bud said, “Fox says he was on a date with Eve but ended up in jail the next morning with his house torched and Laura Hargrove in the hospital under suspicion of arson. Fox claims he had no clue where Enid was – why wasn’t he out looking for her? In fact, do we have a Hargrove family member that isn’t tangled up in this mess?”

  “Voilá!” Jenson said with a flourish. “What could be more straightforward?”

  “I’ve seen hair in public shower drains less tangled.”

  Jenson smiled, tapping his lips with his fingers.

  Bud gazed through the mirror at Jack. “We have four – no, five – separate – or not-so-separate incidents, and the person who shows up the most is Vivian Hargrove.”

  Jenson said, “Daniel’s widow, mother to Jeni, Laura and Eve – and she owns the wayward girl place.”

  “See if you can get a search warrant for the home. In the meantime, I’ll do Q&A.”

  “Fun, fun.” Jenson gave a jaunty nod and headed down the hall. “Let me know if anything emerges.”

  “Hopefully not another corpse,” Bud said before he went into the interrogation room.

  Jack looked up. “How’s Enid?”

  Bud sat down. “Scared but she’ll be okay. How are you doing? Would you like some more coffee?”

  “Cut the crap with the good cop bonding shit. I’m too tired.”

  Bud said, “Why didn’t you go looking for Enid yesterday – when you knew she was gone?”

  “I’m a bad father.”

  Bud stared at him. Jack’s face was impassive and Bud wondered if he was thinking about his own father. “Jeni told me that she hired you to find her biological mother?”

  Jack looked at him in surprise. “Her grandmother is alive and kickin’ and as mean as medieval rat’s piss.”

  “Then Eve Hargrove tried to hire you to drop the case Jeni hired you to do?”

  “She asked politely. I declined politely.”

  “Did you sign a contract with either one of them? Did they pay you any money?”

  “Jeni signed a contract but didn’t pay me. Eve didn’t sign a contract.”

  “But she paid you?”

  “Not relevant.”

  “Humor me.”

  “She and I are seeing each other. I talk to her before I answer any questions regarding her.”

  “That’s an unusual request,” Bud said. “Like you’re covering for her.”

  “Humor me.”

  Bud was about to speak when he was hit with a bolt of chest pain that made him cry out. He gripped his chest and doubled over, struggling to breathe.

  “Jesus,” Jack said, coming around the table to Bud’s side.

  Bud tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he fell back into the chair.

  Jack headed for the door but Bud grabbed him, stopping him. Bud reached for the fanny pack, his hand falling from the zipper as he saw fuzzy dots in front of his eyes.

  Jack grabbed the contents of the pack and dumped the pill bottles onto the table. “What? Which one?”

  Bud pointed weakly to the lightning-bolt bottle. In a flash, Jack had taken out the nitroglycerin.

  “Open,” Jack said.

  Feeling like a child, Bud opened his mouth and Jack stuck the pill under his tongue. Jack watched him anxiously as the medication took effect. Bud’s breathing returned to normal and his color improved. He scraped the bottles off the table and jammed them into the fanny pack. He felt self-loathing that he had allowed Jack Fox to see him at his weakest.

  Jack sat down, tapping his fingers on the table as he stared intently at Bud.

  “Thanks,” Bud managed to mutter without looking at Jack. The word tasted like sawdust.

  “You want water?”

  Bud shook his head. He didn’t want to get up yet. He wanted to sit in the tiny grey room and feel the air conditioning blowing down on his sweaty neck.

  Jack said, “My dad had heart problems.”

  Bud looked at Jack in surprise. He’d never expected to hear Jack talk about his dad, considering all the infamous scandals that still stunk after all these years.

  “I knew him,” Bud said.

  “He was an asshole,” Jack said with a wry smile.

  Bud’s lip twitched, the closest he was going to get to a smile.

  Jack said, “Were you at the funeral?”

  Bud shook his head, remembering the stories that he’d heard over the years – of how Jack had overturned the casket and kicked the dead body, cursing him for killing his mother. From what he’d heard, it had taken three grown men to pull a teenage Jack away from his father’s dead body and get him out of the church. The widow, a cold blue-eyed little thing, had practically had a nervous breakdown and Bud always wondered at how Jack and his half-brother, Sam, had remained close. The last he heard, the widow cashed in the insurance policy for a good chunk of change and married a pseudo-cowboy from New York.

  Jack said, “I want to help you find Jeni’s killer.”

  Bud opened his mouth to say “no” but Jack leaned forward, eyes burning.

  “I can help you. I liked Jeni. She was – ” Jack’s voice faltered.

  Bud said, “She was a good kid. She might have gotten out but she always ended up falling for the wrong guy.”

  Jack looked away.

  Bud remained silent, hoping to get Jack talking.

  “And – he’s back,” Jack said with a smile.

  Bud smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. His detective instincts had kicked in – he’d recovered.

  “Let me help you,” Jack said.

  “I already have someone – ”

  “Your son?”

  “You and Chip – ” Bud shook his head in a “no.”

  “I’m a friendly guy,” Jack said.

  Bud paused, wondering if he should tell Jack that he and Chip were dating the same woman.

  Jack sniffed his armpit. “What? Do I offend?”

  Bud said, “Conflict of interest.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Bud paused, afraid he would regret his words.

  Jack said, “Is it Enid?”

  Bud shook his head, knowing that Jack would find out the truth eventually, but it wasn’t going to be from him. Bud said, “I’d like to take Enid out to the girls’ home.”

  Jack frowned.

  Bud said, “We’re in the process of getting a search warrant. We won’t have
Enid come in unless there’s a need. She can wait in the car with Chip. She’ll be safe.”

  “I need to be there.”

  Bud shook his head.

  Jack said, “I’m not leaving her – every time I blink, she disappears.”

  “I’ll personally deliver her back to you when we’re done.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to go?”

  Bud said, “Are you her legal guardian?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll need her guardian’s permission.”

  “Let me talk to her mother. And Enid.”

  “I’ll take care of her like she’s my own daughter,” Bud said, recalling his dream of Enid in the red dress, saving him from the end of the world.

  Jack remained silent for several moments. “Was it easy…?”

  “What?”

  “When you became a dad?”

  “When I became a father – Chip was a baby and didn’t know my mistakes from a hole in the wall. You do the best you can.”

  “What if your best – sucks?”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  Jack said, “I sent her undercover, she got drugged, kidnapped and may have killed someone – because of me.”

  Bud made a face. “Point taken. Every day is a new starting line.”

  “I’m seeing my own dad in a new light.”

  “How so?”

  “He was an asshole. He was never there – but – ”

  Bud waited.

  Jack laughed. “Shit. I’m getting soft in my old age.”

  Bud snorted, thinking of his own age. He stood up but caught the back of the chair, unsteady.

  Jack grabbed his arm, stabilized him. “Whoa, there.”

  Bud pushed him away. “Don’t talk to me about getting old.”

  “Point taken,” Jack said.

  Bud turning his back on Jack and left him standing alone in the grey room.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  If you don’t love me, it does not matter, anyway I can love for both of us.

  –Stendhal