You Can Run

by David Banner

  “Wow . . .” Taylor answered.

  “You don’t want this, believe me,” the woman insisted. “That business of his. It has a lot of high-profile clients, most of them members here. They’re not the kind of people you want on your bad side. They’re all money and no morals. Don’t go poking around.”

  ‘”I’ll be careful,” he answered.

  “You’ve always been an idiot,” she scoffed, her patience with the man running short.

  “Tybee Island, you said?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Thanks.” He stood.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You still saving up?” he asked, his eyes focusing on the wad of cash in her boot.

  “Yep. Still waiting for my ship, I guess.”

  “If he comes back in, will you—”

  “Not really in my job profile to come reporting you. Take my advice and stay away from this. Believe me, that’s what I’m going to do.” She brushed past him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  TUESDAY, 4 PM

  VIRGINIA

  It took less than two minutes for the detective to finish off her bright blue drink. It was neither good nor bad, nor did it hold the kick she assumed it would when she saw it. Just like most other things in Savannah’s suburbs, it was mostly flash with no substance. She placed the glass back on the bar and turned her attention to her surroundings.

  While she’d only been in a handful of gentleman’s clubs, she had to admit to herself that this was probably the most cared after one. A group of about six men cleaned and scrubbed the walls and floors, making sure everything was polished to perfection. Sparkling chandeliers hung above every table, though they somehow managed to cast virtually no light. Still, they shone like a new penny.

  “Have you seen all you needed to?” the bouncer said, stepping up beside her.

  She turned to him, his large frame and deep voice doing little to intimidate her. His suit, navy blue and obviously expensive, caught her eye, though. She’d seen one similar to it once before, the same speckled weave patterned throughout its fabric.

  She thought about him, about Ryan. She’d actually managed to convince herself that spending her life with him was the right thing. But like so many other well-laid plans, it seemed the detective was prone to forks in the road.

  “Your suit,” she said. “Knight and Sword, right?”

  “Yes,” he answered with a tone virtually free of emotion. “Have you seen all you needed to?”

  “I think so.” She headed for the door. “Tell the guy I’ll be waiting outside.”

  “I don’t relay messages.”

  Thick southern air filled her lungs as she stepped outside. What began as a cool day had now morphed into what in the South is referred to as the Devil’s armpit. The humidity seemed to have spiked by at least fifty percent, causing her shirt to immediately stick to her body and her brow to dampen. That’s the thing about the South. You never can tell about the weather.

  “Shit,” she said, fanning her shirt against her chest.

  Virginia stepped toward her car and leaned against the hood. Her mind raced a hundred miles an hour thinking about the case. Three bullets. Did it mean anything? Was it a message or a signature? And what about Taylor? Was he really telling her everything he knew, and could he be trusted? The truth was she had no idea, but she knew enough to keep him close.

  Her phone sprang to life in her pocket, the sudden vibration sending a wave of shock through her. Her body tensed then released as she pulled the phone from her pocket and brought it to her ear.

  “Hello?” she asked after seeing Jacob Hindle’s name appear on her screen.

  It was very likely bad news. But then again, what else is to be expected when you’re a detective? If things are good, no one calls. Its only when things go bad that people call. And this time, things seemed to have gone even worse than she was prepared for.

  “Again?” she asked. “Where?”

  There had been another shooting. This time, the victim was an elderly woman on the other side of town. She worked in the same office for the last twenty years and was only six months away from retirement when the murders known as Bonnie and Clyde made an appointment with her, an appointment for murder.

  Virginia took down the address and placed the phone back in her pocket. Virginia looked at the door wondering how much longer the young journalist would speak to his source. She wanted to wait, to hang around and see if anything useful came from the meeting, but she couldn’t. This was her case and she had to see to it.

  Virginia climbed back into her car and turned out of the parking lot. It would take thirty-five minutes to reach the crime scene on a good day. But this was no good day. This was Tuesday during rush-hour traffic. It would take Virginia Nixon just over an hour to reach her crime scene.

  She tried not to think about the case, to not overthink it or let herself stitch too much together before actually visiting the crime scene. Her mind wandered back to Taylor, back to his article. She reached into her backseat and pulled out the printed copy.

  Was there something there? Something she was missing?

  In her rearview mirror, she caught sight of a red sports car speeding down River Street Road. The driver was riding the side lane, doing his best to dodge the traffic. Virginia sighed. It was illegal, of course, and technically, she could have chased behind him, forced him over, and arrested him. But that wasn’t her job. She had only one thing on her mind. She needed to find the murderers before they had the chance to strike again.

  “Game on, Virginia Nixon.”

  She read the last line of Taylor’s article over and over again. Not only had she read the words, but so had the rest of the city and so had the murderers. She turned up the music, pulled her car onto the side ramp, and sped through the traffic. It was illegal, but like he’d said, game on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TUESDAY, 5 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “Detective Nixon,” a young blonde reporter said as she stepped out of her car. “How are you handling the investigation into the new serial killer duo? What can you tell us about Connie and Clyde?”

  “No comment.” She marched past the woman, turning her body inward to avoid hitting the outstretched microphone.

  The office, old and a little more worn than most of the businesses around it, was crawling with people. Forensics, reporters, police, and a crowd of spectators who had stopped to watch the aftermath of the gruesome murder. Lakewood Heights was known as one of Savannah’s most violent neighborhoods, and this crime was no exception.

  Virginia walked slowly toward the building, trying to stitch the crime together in her mind, when she ran across a young brunette. Her hair was brushed back into a high, tight ponytail. Virginia assumed she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. She was cute, with large dimples and bright pink sneakers. Virginia wondered for a moment why she’d chosen such a career, something she also wondered about herself from time to time.

  Police work of any kind was difficult. But forensics was something the detective never had the drive for. She preferred talking and conversation above computers and microscopic evidence. She stepped closer toward the young woman and watched as she inspected what may or may not have been a shoe print.

  “Did they find her on the street?” Virginia asked.

  “Doesn’t seem like it.” The young woman stood to her feet. “The office door was open but nothing was taken. Looks like they marched her into the street before shooting her.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Not yet. Looks like it was just a preference. Like maybe they were trying to make a point or let people see.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “I don’t know.” The woman shrugged. “I heard another of the officers talking to people, but I’ve been working on evidence. Forensics.” She pointed to the large-print word on her shirt.

  Vee couldn’t remember if the two women had met before. Lakewood Heigh
ts wasn’t really the detective’s side of town, though much like today, there’d been a few times when her cases brought her south of Savannah’s city center.

  “Right,” Virginia said as she looked down at the elderly woman’s body. “I’m gonna go poke around.”

  “Sweet,” the young woman said, bending closer to the street and getting back to her footprint.

  Virginia headed into the small office and began sorting through things. There wasn’t much to be seen, just some old shag carpeting and a few pictures hung on the wall. She stepped closer, her eyes focusing on a picture of the old woman’s younger days.

  She sat a large wooden desk. A loose bowtie hung around her neck and a bright green polyester jacket wrapped her body. The outfit, the hair, the makeup . . . it was all hideous, though she assumed that for the time, it probably looked quite fashionable.

  But that wasn’t what caught her eye. Right there in the back of the frame, just out of focus, was a company logo. Miller, Maynor, & Mont. The name caught her eye immediately. Could this be the same Maynor she’d heard about? The same Maynor who had now popped up in her investigation more times than could be considered coincidence?

  “What do we know about the vic?” Virginia asked another officer, one she was much more familiar with.

  Kelly Shaw was six feet, two inches of pure muscle. He’d been on the force for about four years now, and not one of those years had managed to pass without Virginia finding herself in his bed when the Georgia sun came out to shine. It wasn’t a common occurrence, only happening about twice each year. Still, nearly every time the two met, there was heat between them.

  His dark brown eyes and jet black hair made him hard to pass up, especially when she’d had a particularly stressful case, such as the one she was working now. The lack of real evidence got to her, the lack of clues left behind or mistakes by the killers. Connie and Clyde, whoever they were, seemed to know what they were doing, and that worried Virginia more than she cared to admit.

  “Sixty-nine years old,” he began, his dark button eyes landing on the detective. “Three kids, four grandkids. The family says she was only a couple of weeks from retirement. We checked her books. There’s an appointment listed for Connie and Clyde. No last name.”

  How crass, she thought. What kind of self-involved murderers would use their own name to make an appointment? Who would do such a thing? Was this just another game? Was it just another thing to taunt the detective?

  “What about her past?” she asked.

  “Used to work for a company called Miller, Maynor, and Mont,” Kelly answered, a half-smile creeping across his face. “You look nice.”

  “Any idea what they do?” she asked, ignoring the compliment.

  “Lawyers or accounting . . . something like that. It was a long time ago, though. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” she lied. “I’m gonna check out the rest of it.”

  Virginia turned, feeling Kelly’s eyes on her as she walked away. It was a good feeling, just one she didn’t have time for. Not today, anyway. She needed to find Taylor. Sure, it may seem like the wrong thing to do when she had an entire police department at her back, but she needed this thing to go quickly and she needed to know if his contact had anything useful to say.

  “Maynor . . .” she muttered to herself as she climbed into her car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  TUESDAY, 5 PM

  CONNIE

  She leaned back in her seat as a slow smile crept across her face. Her husband pulled his hand back from between her legs, wiped it dry, and placed it on the steering wheel.

  “How do you feel?” He grinned.

  They’d done it. They had gotten away with the murder free and clear, just like every time before. The couple were on a high as they watched the police sort through the scene from across the street.

  Usually, after a murder, they would leave the area, but this time was different. This time, it was more personal. Connie wanted to see her former friend’s body as they peeled it from the sidewalk and placed it into a large black bag. She wanted to know the woman who’d wronged her would never again see the light of day. She wanted to know she would never have the chance to wrong anyone else.

  “Good.” She closed her legs and straightened herself up.

  It was a high she hadn’t felt before. Watching the detectives sort through the small office, then retrace the couple’s steps onto the street, gave her a sense of accomplishment like she’d never felt, and she knew it did the same for her husband. She could feel it. She could feel the heat and anger rising from his body and permeating the air around them. It was hot, dangerous, and more sexual than anything she’d seen before. But something else tugged from beneath those feelings, something she knew would eventually scratch its way to the surface.

  “There’s that detective,” Michael said. “The one from the article.”

  “Nixon,” Connie finished, her eyes locking onto the woman as she spoke to a young forensics officer. “What are they looking at?”

  “A shoe print, maybe?”

  “That’s not good . . .” Connie said.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He grinned. “A lot of men wear this shoe size. I’ll just toss them. It’s not like they have any video evidence.” He pulled a tape from the backseat. “I pulled the tape from her security system.”

  “Good move.”

  Connie stared at the detective from her parked car. There wasn’t much space between them, only a couple of car lanes, but it was still a little too close for comfort. She didn’t know much about Virginia, but she knew enough to know not to tempt fate any longer than she had to. Besides, she had seen all she needed to.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Yeah . . . I just wanted to talk to you. I need you to listen to me.”

  She could already feel her high dropping. It was more of the same and she was getting tired of it. Connie Miller was a self-made woman. No one had ever given her anything, and she’d never asked for a free ride. She’d gotten everything she had all on her own, and she knew how to handle herself. It just seemed her husband had a penchant for forgetting that.

  “Yes?” She kept her eyes focused on the crime scene across the street.

  “You need to listen to me.”

  “And you need to listen to me,” she snapped. “When you go off the rails, you endanger us.”

  “I’m in charge here. I’m leading this thing, and I can’t have you running off like some spoiled child in a shopping mall, just doing whatever you want,” Michael snarled.

  “Spoiled child . . .” The words crashed hard against her ears. “Are you serious?”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They’d always had such a good relationship, such trust and faith in one another. When had she let things take such a drastic turn? When had she gotten so lax in her life that she’d allowed a man to think it was okay to see himself as her superior? Her blood boiled.

  “The hell I am!” She slammed her hands against the dashboard. “You listen to me, Michael Miller. We’re in this thing together. I’m here holding the same guns you’re holding, firing the same three damn shots. This isn’t your thing. It’s ours!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” His nostrils flared.

  “Me?” she snapped. “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with me, baby. There never has been. But you . . . you’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place!”

  “How dare you say that to me?”

  “Because it’s the truth. Plain and simple. If you’d have been paying attention. If you’d have been—”

  “Connie!” He grabbed her wrist. “Stop it. People are looking.”

  “I don’t care,” she yelled louder, drawing a few eyes from across the street. “If you think I’m just playing along here, if you think I can’t make my own choices and that I’m just some puppy following its master, then you can do it by your damn self.”

  “Let’s just go.” He started the engine and d
rove away before attracting any more unwanted attention.

  The ride back to their crappy apartment was silent, the air thick with the heat between them. Connie thought about their years together, about the lives they’d lived before it all went to hell. Was it always this way? Had he always seen himself as the superior, and if so, had she been too complacent to notice? Her head filled with too many thoughts to process.

  It may have been that way before, she thought, but it sure as hell won’t be that way anymore. She was done playing the silent partner, and like it or not, her husband would see her side too.

  “I’m sorry . . .” he said as the car approached a red light then came to a slow stop.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s my fault.”

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he answered, his hand grazing her leg.

  “Yeah . . .” she replied, her mind focused on the future. “We will be.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  TUESDAY, 9 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “Headed out?” Chief Hindle asked.

  “Yeah,” Virginia lifted an envelope from her desk. “Research for tonight.”

  “Work never stops. We need to get these two.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Working on it.”

  “Any leads yet?”

  “I’m working a few now. Too early to know anything.” It was a lie, of course, or rather, it was a veiled version of the truth. Still, the detective had been around the block enough to know how her superiors felt about the idea of bringing a civilian into the investigation. While she wasn’t in love with the idea either, it was worth the risk if it could help get two killers off the street. Especially Connie & Clyde, since it didn’t look like they had any plans of stopping.