Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1)

by C. Mack Lewis

  Enid sat in the backseat of Detective Orlean’s car, staring at the back of Chip’s right ear. He had a mole that was in the shape of a tiny pumpkin and she weighing the consequences of leaning up and kissing it.

  Detective Orlean and Detective Jenson had gone into the girls’ home with a warrant, and Enid was under strict orders to stay in the car with Chip, which was a fantasy come true. She kept trying to think of something cool to say but, instead, sat in dazed silence – staring at his delicious pumpkin mole, terrified of saying something stupid.

  I wonder if our kids will have pumpkin moles?

  Chip said, “Where’d your dad go?”

  “Oh, uh…” Enid made a show of looking around like she cared. “Dunno.”

  Chip returned to staring out the window with a dreamy look that she could see in the partial reflection of his face in the rearview mirror. Periodically, he would scribble notes in a notebook as Enid tried to figure out a way to start a conversation that would somehow make him fall in love with her.

  After much thought, Enid said, “What are you writing?”

  “A book.”

  “What kind of book?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “A love story?”

  “Not really – but yeah.”

  Enid leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”

  “I don’t have it all fleshed out yet.”

  “Are you the main character?”

  “I guess you could say – I’m all the characters.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl you – your character – falls in love with?”

  Chip gave her a quizzical look. “How old are you?”

  “Why does everybody keep asking me that?”

  “Are you a writer?” Chip said.

  “Me?” Enid said, “No way! I mean – I wish.”

  “What do you want to do?” Chip said.

  “Now?” Enid said, imagining them kissing.

  “For a career, I mean.”

  “Oh,” Enid said, disappointed. “I’m not sure. Something exciting – that will make me rich.”

  Chip laughed.

  “What?” Enid said.

  “Nothing. I mean, well, I quit med school, which probably would have been a more stable career choice and now – ”

  “Could you write me into your book?”

  “It’s the unexpected that makes characters more interesting – tell me something about yourself – unexpected – and I might.”

  “Can my name be Veronica?”

  Chip wrote the name. “Isn’t that what you said your name was the first time we met?”

  Enid said, “What if I told you I was a time traveler?”

  “Weird. Not super original. What else?”

  “What if I told you I’ve traveled back in time and – ten years from now – you and I…”

  Chip looked at her expectantly. “What?”

  “You’re hopelessly in love – with me.”

  Chip raised his eyebrows, writing. “That’s interesting. Why am I in love with you? Why is it hopeless?”

  “Why not?”

  “The devil is in the details – tell me more.”

  Tweaker stuck her head in the window. “Is this your boyfriend?”

  Enid and Chip jumped.

  Enid said, “Jeez, Tweaker! What the heck? You tryin’ to scare us to death?”

  Tweaker got in the backseat, shoving Enid over. “Doctor Buttwipe disappeared and the word on the block is you sliced off his thing and put it in a blender and made him eat it. Is it true?”

  “Gross,” Enid said.

  Tweaker eyed Chip, “You’re even hotter than E –”

  Enid elbowed Tweaker. “This is my friend, Chip.”

  Tweaker said, “You’re not…?”

  “Shut up!” Enid said.

  “Sheesh, just askin’,” Tweaker said.

  Chip stuck out his hand, “Chip. And you’re – Tweaker?”

  Tweaker shot Enid a “you lying dog” look and shook Chip’s hand. “Are you guys casing the joint? ‘Cause it’s bad timing – there’s a diaper-load of cops in there tearing the place apart.”

  Enid said, “Did they find anything?”

  Tweaker said, “Say, where’d you go that day? You took off – ”

  Angry, Enid said, “I didn’t take off! You left me there with that doctor – who freakin’ drugged me.”

  Tweaker said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Can you excuse us a few moments, Chip?” Enid said in her most regal tone.

  Chip got out of the car and walked away.

  Tweaker said, “Is that the guy you were talking about? Gawd, I could fry eggs on his – ”

  “Remember the party – when we first met?” Enid said.

  Tweaker’s eyes stayed glued to Chip. “Me wanna take a bubble bath in the deep blue of his eyes. Hey, if he’s not your boyfriend – ”

  “Tweak!”

  “What?”

  “The party – you remember?”

  “Whaddya think – I ride the short bus?”

  Enid said, “Bones told me to run. Why’d she say that?”

  “How should I know?” Tweaker pushed Enid to the side, her eyes following Chip. “Pardon you, you’re blocking the view.”

  “That doctor drugged me and I woke up in a room where some creep tried to kill me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tweaker grinned.

  “The only way I got out was – ” Enid’s voice trailed off. She didn’t like to think about it – much less say it aloud.

  “You serious?” Tweaker examined her face, unsure.

  “That doctor drugged me.”

  “I had a session with that creep plenty of times. Why would he drug you and not me?”

  Enid said, “Do girls disappear from here a lot?”

  “Girls are always coming and going – there’s nothing weird about that.”

  “You ever stay in touch with the ones that leave? Do they ever come back?”

  “No. I guess not.” Tweaker reached for the door. “I gotta go.”

  Enid grabbed her arm, “What are you hiding?”

  “Get off! You lied about Chip – you’re probably lying about getting drugged.” Tweaker jumped out of the car and headed to the school.

  Chip got in the car. “What was that about?”

  “She thought you were my boyfriend. Says we have chemistry.”

  Chip laughed.

  Enid gazed at him, perfectly serious.

  Chip’s laughter died and, with a nervous twitch of his cheek, he turned back to scribbling notes.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  No lover, if he be of good faith, and sincere, will deny he would prefer to see his mistress dead than unfaithful.

  –Marquis de Sade

  Jack fought the urge to call Eve, knowing that if he did – he’d do his damnedest to get with her. He was scheduled to pick up Enid in two hours and he wasn’t going to take any chances. Driving to his office, he’d impulsively decided to drive to Laura Hargrove’s house instead. He tried to convince himself that it might prove productive to the case and tried to ignore the nagging hope that Eve would be there. He checked his rearview mirror for Frank Ficus’s sedan, which was nowhere to be seen.

  The address that Rachel had given him for Laura was a modest neighborhood compared to where Eve and Vivian lived. Jack parked up the street from Laura’s house, which looked out of place among the Southwestern homes surrounding it. It had a pale yellow façade with an old-fashioned porch, and its flowerless trellis seemed more like a New England beach cottage than the rows of adobe and low cinderblock houses that were a common sight in Phoenix.

  Jack hunkered down to watch Laura’s house. He’d long ago gotten accustomed to the long boring hours of a stakeout, and two hours felt like a walk in the park.

  His mind drifted back to Eve – the flash of her eyes in the moonlight, the feel of her hands.

  A barking do
g shook him from his revelry. Eve’s car turned onto the street and pulled into Laura’s driveway. Jack watched her with hungry eyes, taking in every detail of her appearance, from her elegant slacks to her light, clingy blouse that accentuated the smallness of her waist. She had a key and disappeared through the front door.

  Jack got out of the car and, watching for neighbors, he walked toward the house and slipped around the side where he was shrouded from view by high shrubbery. He edged his way toward a window that looked into the living room. He could see but not hear.

  Laura sat on a flowery couch, her pale face splotched with the red of recent crying. Eve was pacing in front of her, making an argument.

  Jack watched as Eve touched Laura’s arm. Jack was startled to see Laura slap Eve away. Eve went down on one knee, pleading. Laura broke into sobs. Jack strained to hear their voices but couldn’t.

  Eve reached for Laura, who shoved her away. Eve jumped to her feet and said something that, from the expression on Laura’s face, was cruel. Eve stalked toward the door and Laura sprang after her.

  Laura threw herself into Eve’s arms and they kissed passionately.

  Jack reeled backwards, stumbling over a pail of tools that clattered noisily into a stack of empty pots. Jack ran to the car and got the hell out of there without so much as a glance backwards.

  At the first stoplight, Jack slammed on the brakes. He looked at his hands and realized that he was shaking.

  Eve and Laura?

  Jack clenched his fists to his head, thinking. He wanted to go back and hurt Eve – hurt them both.

  A car horn blared. He looked at the light, now green. He couldn’t go back. He didn’t trust himself. He needed answers – but not from her. Not yet.

  Jack turned left and headed for the person who he was going to get the truth out of if he had to beat her senseless.

  Within twenty minutes, he stood in front of Vivian Hargrove’s desk at the wayward girls’ home.

  She stared at him, indignant. Her office was full of framed photos of smiling girls.

  Jack said, “Who is Laura?”

  Vivian stood. “How dare you barge in here? First you try to pass yourself off as – ”

  Jack grabbed the edge of her massive oak desk, picked it off the floor and slammed it down. “Who is Laura?”

  Vivian jumped back, hand to her throat.

  The secretary appeared, alarmed. “Mrs. Hargrove?”

  Jack’s eyes never left Vivian. “The truth or so help me God.”

  Vivian looked at the secretary. “Call the police.”

  The secretary disappeared.

  Jack shouted after her, “Tell ‘em to haul ass – we got a missing child.”

  Vivian ran to the adjoining room, snatched the phone from the secretary and hung it up. The secretary stared at her, confused.

  Vivian shook her head. “It’s all right.”

  Jack appeared in the doorway.

  Vivian looked at him, suddenly old.

  The secretary said, “I’m calling the police.”

  Vivian said, “No. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  The secretary nodded reluctantly.

  Vivian returned to her office and shut the door behind her and Jack. She walked to a bookshelf, reached behind a book and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with shaking hands.

  Jack walked to the window. A group of girls were shouting as they played kick the can.

  Vivian blew smoke out her nostrils. “The Girls’ Home – it’s not a true orphanage. Most of the girls have one parent – some two – who don’t want – or can’t take care of them.”

  “Do they know that?”

  Vivian paused. “Sometimes.”

  Jack said, “Laura was one of those girls?”

  “Her mother dropped her off – never came back. After Eve – ” Vivian’s lips tightened. “I couldn’t have any more children. I gave Laura a better life – why did she need to know?”

  “Does Eve know?” Jack said.

  “I never told anyone.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  Vivian shook her head.

  “How’d you pull that off?”

  “I told him I had a daughter staying with relatives in another state. Once I got settled, I would go get her.”

  “Any of that true?”

  Vivian took a drag, shook her head.

  “Why would you go to all that trouble?”

  “Why does anyone do anything, Mr. Fox?” She stared impassively at the girls playing.

  Jack said, “Is there any way that Eve and Laura would know they aren’t really sisters?”

  “I destroyed the evidence.” Vivian stopped, flushing red. “What now?”

  Jack had an idea but he didn’t like it – made his skin crawl, but he was determined to find out. He walked to a photograph of a ten-year-old girl, traced his finger along the outline of her face. He turned to Vivian with an enquiring look.

  Her eyes flooded with relief. She smiled. “That can be arranged.”

  Jack forced a smile. He didn’t want to tip her off that he wasn’t for real so she’d close shop and disappear. He forced himself to play the cautious pedophile. “I’ll be in touch.”

  All smiles, she stubbed out her cigarette and came forward, hand outstretched in friendship.

  Jack pretended like he didn’t see her and turned to leave. He didn’t trust himself to stay. He felt like he was losing his mind.

  Her voice followed him into the hallway. “Let me know when is best for you, Mr. Fox.”

  In his car, Jack gripped the steering wheel, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. He wanted to lock himself away and think. He couldn’t go home. It was gone. Destroyed.

  He drove to his office, thinking about how good it was going to feel to get Vivian Hargrove locked up for the rest of her miserable life.

  Striding into his office, Rachel stared at him as he snapped instructions for her to research missing children, nationwide, 1990 to 1992. “Dig like you never dug, got it?”

  She nodded and he locked himself into his office. He lay down on the couch that creaked under his weight. He wanted to think but sank into a thick sleep and when he awoke, it was dark. He turned to his side and saw the papers Rachel had slipped under the door.

  He got up and flipped on the lights and found himself blinking at photos of missing children – girls staring out from the page with varying expressions. Halfway into the pile, he caught his breath. A young Laura Hargrove stared out from the page with her unmistakable smile.

  Lani Mulberry, 4, snatched from mall, St. Cloud, Minnesota.

  Hello Lani.

  Jack’s cell vibrated. A text from a blocked number read: Meet me outside Jeni’s apartment. Frank.

  Jack grabbed his keys and wallet and headed for his car.

  Jack drove past Jeni’s apartment. Her front door was crisscrossed with police tape. He saw Frank’s car and parked behind it. He got out and walked to the driver’s side where Frank was sitting at an odd angle, hunched over the console.

  Jack stopped. The street was empty. A dog barked and the distant highway traffic had the hum of an angry beehive.

  Shit.

  Jack scanned the empty windows. He might as well have been on Mars for how alone he was. Using his shirt, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He pulled the door open. Frank’s head, and the passenger seat, was covered with the dark muck and mess of blood and brains.

  Jack’s heart pounded. He ran his fingers through his hair, hating that he was here alone. He didn’t like that the police would know that Frank had sent him a text message. Everything about it stunk – like a dime-store novel setup.

  He got out his cell and dialed the only person who might be able to help him.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.

  –Voltaire

  “You�
�ve hit your quota on dead bodies, Mr. Fox,” Bud said as Jack shot him a “no-shit” look. “Why’d you call me?”

  “Not to pick up decorating tips,” Jack said, nodding to the grey walls of the interrogation room.

  Detective Jenson leaned against the wall, idly spinning a Rubik’s cube.

  Bud sighed. He wasn’t interested in wasting time with this jackass.

  Jack’s face changed. “I’m out of my depth. I need your help.”

  “How?” Bud said.

  Jack leaned forward. “I don’t like that Enid was in Jeni’s apartment with a gun when Jeni was murdered, and I definitely don’t like that somebody went to a lot of trouble to set me up for Frank’s murder.”

  Bud said, “Why do you think Frank sent you a text to meet him?”

  “I don’t think it was Frank.”

  “Who then?”

  Jack said, “I don’t know.”

  “You have any enemies?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anybody in particular?”

  “Nobody related to this.”

  Bud said, “Why was Frank tailing you?”

  Jack looked up in surprise.

  Bud said, “We have his notes.”

  “Frank didn’t keep notes,” Jack said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I worked with the slob – the only time he was forced to use paper was out of sheer necessity – in the stall.”

  “Maybe he picked up some good habits.”

  Jack laughed. “Not Frank.”

  “Why was he tailing you?”

  “You got his notes – you tell me.”

  Bud tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, trying to hide his impatience.

  Jack hesitated. “Most likely hired by the husband of a woman that I was involved with.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not involved with her anymore. Haven’t been for some time.”

  “I need a name.”

  Jack hesitated. “Petunia O’Donnell.”

  Bud started.

  Jack said, “You know her?”

  “No,” Bud lied, thinking of sad-sack Larry. Petunia was Larry’s wife, which meant Jack Fox was the man that Larry had been complaining about for the last year.

  Jack said, “You act like you know her.”