Borrowed Time

by Tracy Clark

  “We got to make this quick, Charlie,” I said, an annoying whine to my voice. “I’m starving and the White Palace is clear across town. I want my chicken and waffles.”

  Whip frowned. “Hold your horses, will ya? I got business to take care of. Cop a squat or go play with a tire iron, or something.” He pointed to a greasy folding chair sitting in a dark, oily corner. I shot him a look. Like hell I would. These were good jeans.

  A fat man in blue overalls waddled out of a back room and walked our way. He recognized Whip halfway to us and began to grin through a row of crooked yellow teeth. “What the hell? Old Charlie Mayo? What the fuck you doing here, man?”

  Whip and Leon hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in ten to twenty, each backslapping the other like they were long-lost brothers. Nothing bonds men like sharing a communal prison urinal. Leon saw me and the smile disappeared quick. “Who’s this?”

  Whip grabbed me around the waist, squeezed. “This here’s my gal, Brandi. Don’t mind her. Had to bring her. She wouldn’t fit in the trunk.”

  I smiled, waved, fluttered all five fingers like an idiot, then sighed again as though I would rather be anyplace but here. I turned to catch Buddha staring at my behind. Seriously, he was three hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. He couldn’t possibly be Leon’s idea of muscle. All you’d need to do is whack him in the kneecaps and he’d topple over like a redwood.

  Leon kept his eyes on me; they narrowed suspiciously. “Shoulda called first, though. I got business being done.” He slid a chubby hand into his pocket. There’d be a gun inside. Buddha had one somewhere, too. “Don’t let folks I don’t know just walk up in my place like this.” He slid an angry glance toward Buddha, who didn’t have the good sense to realize he had a chewing out coming later.

  “Look, Leon, I said she was cool, all right? She’s with me, and you know me. Would I barge up in here bringing you trouble?”

  Leon didn’t look convinced. I pictured my gun sitting all nice and comfy in my lockbox at home. My decision not to bring it was purposeful. I couldn’t have it on me, in case I was searched, and I couldn’t leave it in the car, in case someone decided to hot-wire it and take a joyride at my expense. So here I was, gun-less, and if Leon didn’t lighten up quick, Whip and I were going to have a problem. I struck an impatient pose, foot tapping, arms folded, eyes wandering. Hopefully, Leon would assume I was bored and impatient to go, but I was really looking for a way out of here in case we had to make a run for it. Buddha stood blocking the front door. There didn’t appear to be a back exit. Great.

  Leon still wasn’t buying it. He was a career criminal, who didn’t trust nobody, no time. I rolled my eyes, turned my back to him to pace around a bit, but I didn’t go far. I stayed close.

  “So what do you want?” Leon asked.

  “Got me a little issue, brah,” Whip said, his grammar devolving with each passing exchange. “I picked up a shadow gig, some player’s sidepiece. I saw one of your cars hanging on her. I need to know who rolled out of here in it.”

  Leon’s brow furrowed. “One of my cars.” It was not a question.

  Whip scanned the dingy garage, specifically the cars sitting in the bays. “I saw the decal. It said ‘Fleet’ right on it, plain as day.”

  I slyly studied the cars, each one with a small decal in the back window on the passenger side. The decal matched the one I’d seen speeding out of the marina lot. Leon had feral little eyes, watchful, like a predatory animal waiting for a gazelle to come up lame. He nodded slowly. “Good eyes.”

  “Hell yeah, when somebody’s paying me. Look, I can’t have nobody messing with my money. I need to know who to lean on. This job pays twenty large, and there ain’t no way I’m letting whoever it is screw that up.”

  Leon glared at me. “You never mentioned having no woman when we was inside.”

  “Why would I? This ain’t no love connection. Quit playin’, man. Are we solid, or not?”

  Leon faced Whip, the look on his face hard as granite. “I ain’t seen you since you got out. I don’t know what you’re into these days, who you’re rolling with. You said you had a line on some cooking thing and you were going straight.”

  Whip frowned. “That didn’t pan out like I thought. You know how it goes. But I got this good thing going now and I mean to keep it lucrative. All I want is the asshole in the car. When I find him, I guarantee you he won’t be coming back here to complain about a damn thing. Twenty grand ain’t no joke, and I got big plans for it. I’m getting Brandi here started in the stripper business.”

  I stopped pacing, turned, and shot Whip a withering look. I forgot about chewing the gum and about Buddha watching my ass. “Yeah,” I said, recovering quickly. “I hear you can live sweet just on the tips.”

  Whip flicked a thumb my way. “See? She’s destined for the pole. C’mon, man. You owe me. Who kept you from getting your ass kicked inside? You’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for me, and you damn well know it.”

  Leon thought it over. Buddha stood there, mouth breathing.

  Leon cocked his head. “Buddha, pat his ass down.”

  I drew in closer. Our eyes met. Whip shook his head almost imperceptibly and I stood down. I watched as Buddha turned Whip’s pockets out and felt around his body for anything that shouldn’t be there, like a wire or a gun. Whip held his arms up and took it.

  “He’s clean,” Buddha announced.

  “Now her,” Leon said.

  “Hey, back up,” Whip barked. “Nobody puts a hand on her.”

  I took a step back, my eyes on the walking mountain as he headed straight for me, a lecherous gleam in his eye. All I had on me were earbuds and gum. I put my arm out to block him. “No way. He don’t touch none of this till he pays up front.”

  Buddha stopped. Leon froze. The garage got real quiet.

  Leon turned to Whip. “Your woman’s a pro?”

  Whip looked at me, stymied. He hadn’t seen the turn coming. He straightened his jacket where Buddha had manhandled it. “She ain’t my only woman.”

  Leon laughed. He laughed so hard, he doubled over with it, slapping his hands against his chubby little knees. “You’re a pimp, Mayo?”

  “And I’m his number one.” I jabbed an angry finger at Buddha. “So that means, he or whoever don’t get to touch any of this, unless I see some serious money somewhere. Tell’em, Charlie.”

  Whip cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable with where the conversation had gone. “Yeah, that’s right. She’s number one ho.”

  Buddha slyly dug his hands into his pockets. If he came out with money, I was going to flatten him, Leon or no Leon.

  “Hands out your pockets, Buddha,” Leon said. “Take a look at her. That’s top-notch right there. You ain’t got nowhere near enough for that.”

  “That’s right,” Whip said, eyeing Buddha. “You can’t afford none of my girls, so back the hell up.”

  Buddha abandoned his pockets and took a step back, but shot Whip a look full of malice while he did it.

  Leon eyed me, amused. “A pro? I’ll be damned. High quality, though. Slim, good lookin’, mighty fine.” He turned to Whip, standing shell-shocked next to him. “How much?”

  I cursed inwardly. I started this. It was my fault. I took the gum out of my mouth, tossed it aside, then stuffed Whip’s earbuds into my pocket, ready for a fight. Whip’s expression hardened and he turned to Leon, towering over the portly little man. “That one’s mine, all day, all night. Nobody in here, not him, not you, touches a hair on her head. We clear about that?”

  Leon tried staring Whip down, but backed away after a time, chuckling lightly. “Just jokin’, man. I hear you. Your girl. Got it.” Then his smile disappeared. “But this thing we’re doing here now? It makes us even. You come back around, looking for more, and Buddha do what he do. You understand?” Whip nodded but didn’t speak. “We do this in the office.” Leon cocked a thumb at me. “She stays here.”

  I watched as Whip and Leon disappeared ou
t back. My eyes locked on Buddha and stayed there. I kept well beyond his reach, eyeing the office door, unable to get to it for the big man blocking my way. I glowered at him, calculating the risks of taking a run at him. He’d likely knock me out cold, but not before I got a good lick in. We stood and felt each other out, circling; muffled voices came from the office. Buddha’s eyes wandered south again, lingered.

  “In your dreams,” I hissed when his eyes traveled up to mine again.

  “Never met a choosy ho,” he said.

  I sneered. “Till today.”

  We were still locked in silent combat when Whip finally came back, all smiles, with Leon’s arm around his shoulder. I took their camaraderie as a good sign. When we were safely in the car and away, I turned in the passenger seat and socked Whip in the arm, hard.

  “That’s for ‘stripper,’” I said, patting down my hair, fixing my shirt.

  “Quit your bellyaching. You got him thinking I’m a pimp. What’s worse? Besides, I got you a name.” He shot me a satisfied grin. “Want to guess?”

  I frowned. “Does it look like I want to guess?”

  “You know you’re the one who brought up hookers. I almost had to go up against the Buddha.”

  “You mean, I almost had to.”

  He grinned. “Lucky for you, he was priced out of the market.”

  “Whip!”

  “All right, all right. It’s Darby. Leon says he was sent to pick up a car, no questions asked. I couldn’t get the name of the person who ordered it, not without it looking funky, not after me telling him all I wanted was the driver. Leon says he owns the shop, but he likes to play things big. For sure, somebody else owns it and they’re pulling his strings.”

  “Darby works for Nick Spada. If he was sent, he’s likely the one who sent him.”

  “Spada? The insurance guy? You said you didn’t find anything on him.”

  “Nothing popped, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something there. I just didn’t find it.”

  “So now what?”

  “If Spada sent him, then that means he has Darby looking out. If that’s true, then he’s got something to worry about, which means there’s something he doesn’t want me to find.”

  “But why would Spada want to kill Ayers? He was helping him out of a tough spot, wasn’t he?”

  I sat back in the seat, thinking. “Was he?”

  Chapter 26

  I headed back to the marina to find the office not only closed, but shuttered. Cap was likely still locked up, which was probably good for him. I wouldn’t want to be him when the women at the marina found out what the old man had been up to. I walked over to Reese’s boat and found him on the top deck, sunning himself on a chaise. I’d been right about him. Cap would take the lion’s share of what they both had coming. Reese would likely skate. I stood watching him from the promenade as he lay there, seemingly unconcerned with the predicament he was in, along with his cohort in crime. How would he react if someone took secret photos of his naked body and posted them everywhere? After a time, Reese caught me watching and shot up from the lounge.

  “It’s you. You don’t know who you’re messing with, girl,” he yelled over the distance separating us. “Do you know who I know? And Meachum’s not even your real name. I’ve filed a report. Impersonating a police officer is a crime. You’ll go down for that.”

  I let “girl” go. It was misogynistic and also harkened back to a time of subjugation when black men were always “boy,” no matter their age, and full-grown women, no matter their color, were always someone’s “girl.” Had I been closer, things might have been different, but standing a good distance away from Reese, the slight wasn’t worth the shoe leather. There would always be men like Reese. His ignorance wasn’t my immediate problem.

  I let his vitriol hum along, tuning it out. I’d thought maybe the back room held a secret that might be related to Tim’s death, until Renault called to dash my hopes. All Cap and Reese captured were naked women. It was good the two were out of business, but it didn’t get me any closer to where I needed to be.

  Reese shook his bony fist. “I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.”

  I turned my back on him and walked away. He didn’t like it. The threats continued at a high decibel. He probably wasn’t used to being ignored, which made me like ignoring him all the more. The Magnifique was still locked and dark. Darby had been Johnny-on-the-spot while Tim was alive, always around, hovering. Now that Tim was dead, he was gone. What’d that say? Tim hadn’t needed a minder or a babysitter, and even if he had, I was sure he wouldn’t have picked Vincent Darby, a man it didn’t appear he knew that well. What had Darby been watching out for?

  I lodged my business card in between the grating on the locked gate as a calling card, then headed back to Peter Langham’s place, which Darby now called home. I felt like the tiny ball inside a pinball machine, back and forth, up and down, bouncing off lies and dead ends, slammed doors and stony faces. And I wasn’t even sure at this point what I was doing it all for. My client was still MIA, which was beginning to freak me out. Did Jung know more about Tim’s death than he was letting on? He’d lied to me before. He’d lied to me a few times now. I only had his word for it that he and Tim were close. And, truthfully, I didn’t know a great deal about Jung. Could he have killed Tim? Would he have hired me if he had?

  The door opened the second I rang the bell and I stumbled back, startled.

  “What do you want?” Darby said. It wasn’t a friendly greeting, far from it.

  “I have a few more questions. About the marina, about Tim Ayers.”

  “If you’re not off my property in five seconds, I’m calling the police.”

  “You mean Peter Langham’s property, don’t you? He owns this house, and your boss owns the boat you’ve been squatting on, and the car you’ve been driving. And I don’t think you’d really call the police. Not given your past experience with them.”

  Darby drew in closer, his eyes gone stone cold, ugly. He wasn’t the least bit attractive now. This was the harder side of him, the side not trying to put on a friendly face; the side that coldheartedly scammed people out of their hard-earned money and then did time for it. This was the criminal, the con, the crook. Maybe he’d figured out how to defraud Tim? Somehow piggyback off his settlement? Skim some off the top? Maybe Tim caught on and that led to their confrontation?

  “You lied to me,” I said, my eyes steady on his. “You were keeping tabs on Tim. You’re still keeping tabs on his boat, on me. What is it you think I’ll turn up?”

  He stood there, barely breathing, no response, frigid cold emanating from flat, icy eyes.

  “What happened between you and Tim Ayers?” Darby gave me nothing, and it was beginning to rankle. “Did you break into Tim’s boat? Where’s the painting you took away? Why’d you take it?” I searched his face for a reaction, but got nothing. “Where’s Jung Byson?” Darby didn’t even blink. It was a little chilling. “Who’s Peter Langham?” I said, pushing.

  There was no way he would answer—I wouldn’t have—but I wanted to see whether he’d panic, hold firm, or come apart. Darby’s warning gaze was as sharp as knives now. He didn’t look like someone you should turn your back on, and so I didn’t. I kept a fair distance, watching every twitch. He glanced over my shoulder, his eyes surveying the street, possibly checking for witnesses.

  “You’re fishing.” He managed a slow smile, but I could tell I’d gotten through. What had gotten under his skin? The mention of the missing painting? Langham? He checked the street again. When he turned back, I was still there. “Tim got drunk, hit his head, and went over. That’s it.”

  “How do you know he hit his head?”

  Darby’s eyes smoldered, and not in a good way.

  “It wasn’t in the papers. You didn’t have access to the police report, as far as I know. So how’d you know?”

  The door opened a crack. I took another step back and waited, but Darby didn’t step out. He loo
ked like he wanted to—his breathing was quick now, his face a sheet of stone, a tiny vein in the side of his neck pulsed to beat the band—but he eased the door closed again, his hand on the knob. It wouldn’t have taken much to put him back behind bars; by his restraint, it was obvious he didn’t want to go.

  “I think you know what happened to Tim,” I said. “I intend on proving it.”

  Darby made a sound, low, almost like an animal’s growl. I moved my hand closer to my holster, took another step back.

  “I see you following me or hanging around where I hang around and you’re going to regret it.” He issued the threat through clenched teeth.

  I was mindful of the door’s position, gauging his level of irritation. It looked high. I had no way of knowing, however, how impulsive he was, how much of a temper he had. Prodding him might shake something loose that he didn’t intend to let go, or it could backfire. Back away or keep going? I stood there for a moment, thinking it over. It didn’t take long. I’d never been good at backing away from a fight.

  “What’d you do with the photos you took of me? Who’d you show them to?”

  I’d stopped breathing a long time ago, but I kept my wits about me, my weight distributed evenly on the balls of my feet in case I had to make a run for it.

  “I see you again, I’ll break you in two,” Darby said.

  It looked like he meant it, and the eerie silence that followed the threat was enough to stand the hairs at the back of my neck on end. I had no problem believing that this man, this con, this pretty boy, could kill a man if properly motivated, even a dying one, though that would take a special kind of evil. The corners of Darby’s mouth flicked upward, and he cocked his head. “You’re still here?” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Your funeral.”

  When the door slammed in my face, I let out a long, deep breath, and shook my hands out to get the ice from my fingers. My heart thumped so loudly, I could hear it echoing in my ears. My funeral? Bah. If I had a nickel for every time somebody planned my funeral, I’d be up to my ears in Jeffersons. Still, I had to admit, the delivery had been horrifying.