8 Bodies is Enough--for Amazon

by Stephanie Bond

  Chapter 13

  WES DUCKED TO AVOID a turd being flung through the air. He thought the holding cells in Atlanta were scary, but they were nothing compared to the holding cells in Clark County, Nevada. His cellmates ran the gamut from drunks to punks, from streakers to tweakers. At any given time, someone was singing or screaming or banging their head on the wall. One guy sat in the corner holding imaginary knitting needles, allegedly making a sweater for Hugh Grant.

  The poop tossing, although gross and disturbing, was appropriate for the occasion, however, because no matter how Wes sliced and diced his situation, he was in deep shit.

  Underage in a casino? Check.

  Using a fake driver’s license? Check.

  Placing bets with counterfeit money? Check, check.

  But even more scary than the charges pending, was the knowledge that he’d paid off his loan shark with counterfeit money. No wonder Mouse had been calling.

  “Wes!”

  He turned his head to see Chance standing on the other side of the bars, craning. Wes bolted up and went over. “Hey, man.”

  Chance’s eyes bulged. “You’re counterfeiting money?”

  “No.” He glanced around. “Keep your voice down. Wait—how’d you know about the money?”

  “Because my buddy Nick just called me screaming that you stiffed him with five fake Franklins, and now his bank is all over his ass.”

  After registering mild surprise a criminal like Nick would use a bank, he winced—The Carver wasn’t the only bad dude he’d paid with the phony baloney.

  “What were you thinking, man? Even a dumbshit like me knows counterfeiting is federal. That’s serious fucking time.”

  “As opposed to dealing drugs?” Wes said dryly.

  “Man, the U.S. government doesn’t give a rat’s ass about a two-bit pill pusher. But they ain’t playing when it comes to their dough.”

  “I didn’t know it was fake.”

  “Where the freak did you get it?”

  “I can’t tell you. Can you smooth things over with Nick?”

  “I covered the five hundred.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “But you got worse problems. Dillon Carver is out to get you.”

  Wes’s knees felt rubbery, so he held on to the bars. “Before I left town, I paid off my debt to The Carver with some of that money.”

  “So I heard. Dillon said you got him in a world of trouble with his dad.”

  “So I have a beating coming if I ever get out of here?”

  “A beating? Wes, Dillon put a hit out on your scrawny ass.”

  Wes swayed. “A hit?”

  “Yeah, man. This is for real.” Chance looked past Wes. “Is that guy pretending to knit?”

  Wes snapped his fingers to bring Chance back to the crisis at hand. “I thought I saw Leonard outside the hotel.”

  Chance’s eyes popped. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “No. But do you think Dillon sent him to smoke me?”

  “If it’s Leonard, he didn’t come to Vegas to see Britney Spears.”

  Wes jammed his hand into his hair. “What should I do, man?”

  “Stay in as long as you can. The freaks in here are better than what’s waiting for you out there.”

  Wes nodded. “Meanwhile, if anyone asks, I got the fake bills in a poker game back home, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Visiting time is over, ladies,” a guard said, walking up to the door. “Wren, your lawyer is on the phone.” The guy leered. “She sounds hot.”

  “She is,” Chance said, “and Wes balls her all the time.”

  “Hey,” Wes said, punching Chance’s arm. “I don’t anymore. And this isn’t the time to talk about hot ass.”

  “It’s always time to talk about hot ass,” Chance said.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Hannah you said that,” Wes said as the guard unlocked the door.

  “Don’t do that,” his buddy said, back-pedaling. “She and Carlotta are on their way down.”

  “Stand back,” the guard shouted to the masses. He clanged a baton against the metal to clear enough space for Wes to get out.

  “I’m not talking to Carlotta. And keep your trap shut.”

  “I’m as silent as the grave.”

  Wes sighed. “Did you have to mention the word ‘grave’?”

  “Sorry. Hang in there.”

  When they got to the end of the hallway, the guard sent Chance in one direction and led Wes in another. Wes’s feet felt like buckets of cement as he walked into a room lined with phone banks.

  “Number three,” the guard said. “You got ten minutes.”

  Wes picked up the grubby handset. “Liz?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Wes. Carlotta called, said you’d been arrested in Vegas. She said you wouldn’t tell her why. Did you get caught soliciting?”

  “Uh, no. I got caught with counterfeit money.”

  The silence on the other end caused his intestines to cramp.

  “Liz?”

  “Wes, don’t say another word, not to anyone. Are you still in holding?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the police plant people in holding all the time to get arrestees to talk. Also, your phone calls are monitored. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “I’ll be on the next plane out. Sit tight.”

  As if he had a choice, Wes thought as he trudged back to holding. When the door opened, he caught a turd on the side of his face.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 14

  “I CANNOT BELIEVE you didn’t take a picture of your mother,” Hannah said, honking at someone who tried to edge in front of her in the evening traffic. As a bonus, she gave them the finger.

  “I blanked,” Carlotta said. “I was too busy soaking in the news that she’s alive, has dementia, and another daughter.”

  “And now this situation with Wes. How are you even conscious right now?”

  “Give me an alternative. My family is in full-blown crisis.”

  “People check out, turn their backs on their families all the time,” Hannah said. “Your parents did.”

  Her friend was giving her permission to walk away from everything and not feel bad. And didn’t some tiny part of her want to? Randolph might be on his death bed, and her mother might not even remember she’d ever been there. But Priscilla would remember, and Carlotta couldn’t leave her to the wind, no matter how much the little imp resisted. And she couldn’t abandon Wes, not when their family was on the cusp of reuniting.

  Or falling apart altogether.

  “You don’t have to make any decisions tonight,” Hannah said. “How bad is your mother?”

  “Hard to tell, she went back and forth between current day and the time before she and Randolph left. It was hard to watch her struggle. I got the feeling she knows she’s not okay.”

  “Did you ask her about the evidence your father said he had to exonerate him?”

  She nodded. “But either she didn’t understand, or she doesn’t know.”

  “Or she wouldn’t tell you?”

  “That’s possible, too,” Carlotta said. “She might not trust me.” What had Priscilla said? She doesn’t know you.

  “Your mother is awfully young for dementia, isn’t she?”

  “You would think so. But she’s certainly been through a lot—maybe the trauma triggered it.”

  “Wow, that doesn’t bode well for you—” Hannah stopped. “Er, sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay. But promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about this, especially Chance. I have to find the right time to tell Wes, and while he’s under arrest doesn’t seem ideal.”

  “Wonder what the shithead did this time?”

  “I don’t know. I hope it’s something minor, like underage drinking.”

  “But even something minor will violate his probation, won’t it?”

  “You’re probably right
. Maybe Liz can work her magic for him. She seems to have special powers.”

  “When you spoke to Liz, did she have an update on your dad’s condition?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I thought you were cordial to her under the circumstances.”

  “I haven’t been very cordial to Jack.”

  “That ass-sack deserves whatever you dish out.”

  “It was nice of him to come out here,” Carlotta said. “And to agree to meet me at the police station.”

  “It’s the man’s job—he’s a cop. It’s not like he baked you a cake.” Hannah slowed the vehicle and put on the turn signal. “Wow. Guess they don’t call this Sin City for nothing—look at the size of that police station.”

  The massive complex resembled a university more than a jail.

  “You can let me off here,” Carlotta said, gesturing to a crosswalk.

  “Okay. I’m picking up Chance. If he knows anything about Wes’s situation, I’ll pass it along.”

  “Thanks. But remember, not a word about…the other stuff.”

  Hannah pulled her hand across her mouth in the motion of closing a zipper—which would probably look good on her Goth friend, Carlotta acknowledged.

  She climbed out and headed toward the central entrance of the horseshoe-shaped facility, lit up like a tourist attraction. She looked forward to the day when she wasn’t familiar with so many different incarceration facilities.

  The lobby was jammed with bodies, people standing, sitting, and lying, waiting, she presumed, to see or be seen. A handful of uniformed officers walked around with clipboards answering questions, passing out forms, and generally trying to keep everyone in queues.

  Across the teeming room she saw Jack and, God help her, everything was instantly better. He was talking on his phone, but gestured her over. As she approached his tall, muscular form, she snapped the pink elastic bracelet hard against her wrist.

  He was putting his phone away when she reached him. “Hi. Another day, a different wig?”

  She’d forgotten about the blond wig. “I thought you liked blondes, Jack.”

  A corner of his mouth went up. “Touché. You look tired.”

  She wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the energy. “It’s been a long day, and I guess the time change is getting to me.”

  He nodded, and his face immediately turned serious.

  Her pulse jumped. “What’s Wes done now?”

  He glanced around. “I was hoping to find somewhere private we could—”

  “Just tell me, Jack.”

  The more he hesitated, the more worried she became. This wasn’t an underage drinking charge.

  “There are a few charges, but the most serious is placing bets with counterfeit money.”

  She blinked. “Is this a joke?”

  “I’m afraid not. And it’s serious, Carlotta.”

  “We deal with counterfeit money at the mall all the time. Anyone can get a fake twenty in the course of daily transactions—Wes probably didn’t even know he had a fake bill.”

  “It wasn’t a fake bill or two. It’s over twenty thousand dollars in fake hundreds.”

  She gasped.

  “This is a big-time federal charge, under the jurisdiction of the Secret Service.”

  She kept breathing, but there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room to supply her body, which needed an influx to keep up with this new pinnacle of stress.

  She had, it seemed, reached her breaking point.

  “Carlotta.” Jack’s voice sounded distant.

  The firm wall of his chest caught her and his arms enveloped her. “I got you,” he murmured.

  Once she let go of her tears, the floodgate opened—tears for her injured father, tears for her sick mother, tears for her confused little sister, tears for her troubled brother, tears for her compromised heart…tears for her entire broken and bruised family. She leaned into him and heaved great, noisy sobs she’d been holding back for what seemed like most of her adult life. He let her cry for several long minutes, even though she was sure she was causing a scene. When her energy waned, she quieted, drawing on his potency until she felt strong enough to stand on her own. When she pulled away, he had a white handkerchief waiting for her, and the smallest of smiles. “Better?”

  She wiped her face and blew her nose, then nodded.

  “So it’s not good news,” he agreed. “But it’ll get sorted out.”

  “Where could he have come into that much money?”

  “Not doing anything legal,” Jack said.

  “His friend Chance is into all kinds of shady stuff, but he’s no criminal mastermind. And he has a trust fund, so it’s not like he needs money.”

  Jack pulled his hand over his mouth.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you know if Wes has the skill and equipment to try his hand at printing it himself?”

  She touched her temple. “Maybe. He’s good at forging event tickets, press passes, things like that to get into places he can’t normally access.” She pressed her lips together, then said, “He might have created a few gala tickets for me in the past to, um…crash a party or two.”

  Jack gave her a wry smile. “Imagine that.”

  “But like I said, that’s in the past. And it was tickets to silly cocktail parties, not cash.”

  “Does he have access to software and sophisticated printers?”

  “His probation prohibits him from having computer equipment at home, but he spends a lot of time at Chance’s place. And there’s his job at the city IT office.”

  Jack grunted. “Let’s hope he wasn’t printing it at all, much less on city equipment.”

  She prayed he wasn’t that stupid. “I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s in holding, so let me talk to someone and see if my badge will get us some priority. Will you be okay waiting here?”

  She nodded and watched him walk away, pulling her heart along behind him like a battered tin can. She really needed to get over this man and figure out a way to become passionate about her fiancé.

  Carlotta pulled out her phone to see a handful of missed texts and calls from Peter. Feeling negligent, she dialed his number, dreading telling him about her latest family fiasco. He answered on the first ring.

  “Carly?”

  “Hi, Peter.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You sound like you’ve been crying. Is it Randolph?”

  “No. There’s no change in his condition. But I’m at the police station. Wes is in trouble.”

  He sighed. “What did he do this time?”

  “I don’t have all the details, but he’s been charged with passing counterfeit money—a lot of it.”

  Peter gave a little laugh. “There has to be a mistake. Where would Wes get counterfeit money?”

  “We’re trying to get to the bottom of it.”

  “We?”

  “Uh…Jack is here.”

  “I wish you’d called me instead.”

  “I thought Jack could help speed things along. He’s talking to someone now to see if we can see Wes. After that, I’ll come back to the hotel, and maybe you and I can have dinner?”

  “I’ve already eaten. I left you messages.”

  She winced. “I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy day.”

  “A crazy day of shopping?”

  “Um…yeah. Lots of…sales. Maybe we can get dessert when I get back?”

  “That would be good,” Peter agreed.

  “How was your day with clients?”

  “Nothing special. We’ll talk about it later.”

  She saw Jack heading back toward her. “I have to go, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Bye.” She disconnected the call just as Jack stopped in front of her.

  “I tried, but I’m told Wes doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Even me?” She didn’t pretend she didn’t feel slighted.

  “I’m thinking especially you,
” Jack said. “But honestly, he’s probably just following Liz’s instructions, not to talk until she gets here.”

  “Liz is coming out?”

  “So it seems.”

  “That will make—” Carlotta counted on her fingers. “Eight of us out here. Wow.”

  Jack winked. “Let’s hope eight bodies is enough to get the Wren family back on track.”

  She was starting to believe that would take an army. “Do you think Wes will be okay here tonight?”

  “He’ll make it. You’re not his mother, Carlotta.”

  She swung her head up, and her lips parted as the day’s revelations washed over her. She ached to tell Jack about the wonder of seeing her mother again, wanted to share with him the heartbreak of her condition, and the surprise of having a baby sister. But she couldn’t very well tell Jack the whereabouts of a fugitive and not expect him to act. That would mean guaranteed discharge from the force.

  So instead she said, “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  He nodded toward the entrance. “Come on—I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel and tell you some good news for a change.”

  “I hope this is about Johnson.”

  “It is,” he said, holding open the door for her to walk through. “And his name was Agent Johns.”

  “GBI?”

  “FBI, actually. Agents Wick and Green grudgingly confirmed he was watching your house in case your mother showed up.”

  “Doesn’t breaking into my hotel room constitute more than just ‘watching’?”

  He slowed his stride to match hers. “I agree, but when it comes to hunting fugitives, the feds can bend the rules. I guess we’ll never know why Johns climbed into the safe but apparently, he had asthma and suffered an attack. His death was ruled natural causes.”

  “And can I assume the FBI put someone else on my tail?”

  “Actually, Wick told me the bureau is standing down.”

  She hated to hear Johns had died such an untimely death, but at least she didn’t have to worry someone would follow her to her mother’s. “I’m curious, Jack—what will happen to my mother if she’s ever found?”

  “She could be prosecuted for aiding and abetting a fugitive, and possibly theft if the D.A. could prove she knew your father had embezzled money and she profited from it. But the real value would be to leverage her in the prosecution of your father.”