Or maybe she was being set up. Apparently, that’s what she thought. I just needed to think like her and follow the trail. I knew exactly what I’d do first. I’d confront the son of a bitch who set me up to take the fall. I’d already been to Yuri’s house. On my own, I didn’t have the muscle or the firepower to get him to talk. Time to pay a visit to his baby brother.
*
I made a pit stop at my place to fire up the Toshiba and get an address for the Russian’s brother. I debated calling it a night—I was only two days into my week, after all, but a strongly worded note from my landlord taped to the door convinced me to push through the night. I’d rather confront an angry Russian than an unpaid landlord any day of the week. I rushed to get the address and didn’t bother changing. Ten minutes later I was back in the Bronco, headed uptown.
It didn’t take me long to realize I was being tailed again. The car was bigger, the driver more practiced, but once we reached Andrei’s neighborhood, I had no doubt. Cars didn’t circle the streets in this high-priced neighborhood without drawing too much attention from the highly paid, highly vigilant local police force. I purposely dragged out the journey, but I couldn’t shake him. I spotted a home with a circular front drive and decided it was time for a game of chicken. I whipped into the drive and sped back in the opposite direction. Within seconds I closed the distance between us and my bumper kissed his. I couldn’t see his expression through the tinted window, but I knew if I were in his position my next move would’ve been to stride over and put a gun against my window. I waited for the confrontation with the long Colt in my lap.
The sedan’s engine roared to life. I raised the gun. The car lurched slightly forward, then took off in reverse, screaming backward down the street. I’d won, but my victory was short-lived. Porch lights flickered on, and I registered I only had a few minutes before cops showed up. I whipped back through the drive and took off the in the opposite direction.
The distraction messed with my sense of geography, but I roughly calculated Andrei’s house was two blocks away. I parked the Bronco at the end of a close-by but still dark street and doubled back on foot. I did my best to keep out of sight. Not an easy feat, especially when my cell phone rang at the loudest setting. I ducked into a tall row of bushes and glanced at the screen. Jess again. I flipped it open and answered on the move. “What?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Why are you stalking me?”
“Excuse me for trying to save you from yourself. I think you’ve bit off more than you can handle with this job.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I was barely listening. My long strides had me almost to Andrei’s house. I could tell from the outside Andrei Pretov didn’t live as good as his brother, but it was a damn sight better than my digs. Doubt he had a landlord hovering with an eviction notice. Time to kill this call and get to business, whatever that was. This time I wasn’t checking my firepower at the door.
“Luca, are you there?”
I perked up. Jess didn’t call me Luca unless we were naked, and then only when she was about to come. “Seriously, Chance, what do you want?”
“Where are you?”
Her tone was urgent. Maybe she was ready to for me to repay my earlier favor. After I paid Andrei a visit, a romp with Jess would be a great way to burn up some of the adrenaline from the evening. “Andrei Petrov’s, but I can swing by after. Maybe we can—”
“Shit. Don’t go in. Do you hear me?”
I did hear her, but what I saw outside Andrei’s house kept me silent. I recognized the herd of black-vested men gathering across the street for what they were. I didn’t need a SWAT team overhearing my conversation. I clicked the phone shut and shoved it in my pocket, not wanting to risk even a text for fear they’d spot the light from my cell. I’d follow Jess’s advice for once and get the hell out.
I figured more of them might be gathering in back, so I ducked into the neighbor’s bushes. I’d wait until they made it into the house, then double back to the Bronco and call it a night.
At least that was the plan.
I watched the front door, anxious for the raid to get started. At the twenty-minute mark, my sore knee and the damp chill in the air almost had me convinced to call it a night. I tossed a mental coin, but a loud creak and a steady whir interrupted my game of chance. Andrei’s garage door was opening.
I couldn’t see the driveway from where I was, but something drew me to it. I bent in half and dashed back over to Andrei’s side of the property. Smashed up against the bricks, I slid along the wall until I could make out the car pulling into the garage. I only caught the backside, but I knew the plate number by heart now. Was she inside? Only one way to find out. I didn’t give it another thought before I stepped into the shadows of the oversized garage.
Clean garages make crappy hiding places. I stood taller than anything in the place, and even the forty-watt in the fixture above would be enough to reveal my presence as soon as the passengers stepped out from behind the tinted windows. Timing was the only thing on my side. The moment I heard the car door click, I hunkered down. Diamond and her entourage exited the car. She was still dressed in the black leather bustier. I stopped breathing, only partly to keep from making noise.
Diamond and friends whispered quietly and then entered the house. I didn’t even consider my options. With a raid poised outside, this would be my only chance. If the cops got her first, there’d be no bounty for me. I tested the knob on the door from the garage to the house and breathed a sigh of relief when it turned in my grasp. I pushed it open and eased into the pitch-black space. My ears picked up the sound of whispered voices before my eyes could adjust to the dark.
“…front window…on my signal…we need him alive…”
Footfalls faded and the voices grew distant. I leaned forward, straining to hear more, and my still-sore knee smacked metal. Hard. I smothered a yelp, but I couldn’t haul back the resounding crash. I fumbled for the doorknob, figuring my best bet was to get back to the garage, but stopped short when I felt the press of cold metal in my ribs for the second time that night.
I took my time considering my options. If my knee held up, I had a decent chance of getting off the first shot with a quick turnaround. Of course, the blast from the Colt would echo down the block and the cops would bust in for sure. Problematic, sure, but whoever was holding a gun on me faced the same issue. If it was Diamond’s friend, he might not know there was a SWAT welcome committee out front.
I decided to give diplomacy a try before blowing a hole in this guy. “The place is surrounded by cops.”
“Is that so?” Her voice was quiet, but cocky. I heard a slight smile.
“It is.” If I didn’t have a gun in my side, I would’ve laughed at the echo of our earlier conversation.
“My friend here’s going to take your gun. Don’t fight him or I’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”
This was ridiculous. I couldn’t count on one hand the number of times I’d been bested in a fight, but this luscious blonde had managed to get my gun from me twice in one night. I gave it up, stalling for time. I could take the three of them, hand to hand, if I got the chance and a fist fight wouldn’t be as noisy. It suddenly occurred to me the cops weren’t the only ones we should keep quiet for—if Andrei were in the house, surely he’d be showing up soon.
“Turn around.”
I did. My eyes had finally adjusted and I saw Diamond and Wounded Guy. The way Diamond held the Glock in her hand told me her résumé hadn’t been fully revealed. I glanced around, but didn’t see anyone else. Their friend must have gone to round up Andrei. If I could get Diamond alone, I’d narrow my odds. “I was serious about the cops outside.”
Worked like a charm. She nodded to wounded guy. “Change of plans. I’m going in. I need three minutes’ lead time, then give the signal.” He didn’t move, obviously reluctant to follow her cryptic instructions. Her tone was firmer the second time. “Go. Now.” He shook his head, then headed back
into the house.
Signal? Going in? My curiosity threatened to distract. “What now?” I asked.
“Where’s your car?”
“Couple of blocks away.”
“Let’s go.”
Perfect. I’d have five minutes, ten tops, to work out a plan. As soon as we put some distance between us and the house, I’d make a move. Once I had her in cuffs, it’d be a ten-minute drive to the jail.
I was a purposely docile captive, and we made good time. We were steps away from the Bronco when I heard a shout. “Stop. Police.”
I knew the voice, but wasn’t used to obeying the speaker. I silently cursed myself for telling Jess where I had been. No doubt she’d headed right over when I disconnected the line. I wondered why, but cared more about the fact she was messing with my business. Diamond’s gun nudged against me, but I risked speaking. “It’s okay, Chance. I got this one.”
“Sure, Bennett, I can tell you have the situation completely under control.”
She had a point. I still held out hope, though. I’d used the steps from the house to plot out my strategy, which involved concealed firearms in the Bronco and lots of luck. Jess’s sudden appearance signaled luck was in short supply. I started to respond, but Diamond cut in. “Officer, I strongly suggest you let us go on our way. Maybe you can be of some assistance at Mr. Petrov’s house.”
Jess wasn’t easily dissuaded. “I think I’ll stay here. I know who you are, and I strongly suggest you put your gun down.”
“If you know who I am, then you know I won’t do that. I won’t hurt her. She’s going to help me out, and then she’ll be free to go.”
I didn’t like being the object of a discussion I didn’t understand. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
They continued their debate as if I wasn’t there, but neither was willing to give in. Finally, Jess directed a comment my way. “Bennett, remember what I told you about that plate you asked me to run?”
“Yeah.”
“I followed up on it. Got a call from a fed who told me to butt my nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”
Jessica and I had a common trait. We hate to be told not to do something. She wouldn’t have let that go. I tried not to dwell on the fact I was surrounded by women with guns, and asked, “So, what else did you find out?”
Jess shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Bennett. I don’t think you’re going to get much for this one. Is she, Agent Collier?”
Agent Collier? A rush of images flooded my brain. Some real, some imagined. Diamond in couture, posing beside Yuri Petrov in the society pages. Diamond in a g-string, pole-dancing for a dollar-waving crowd. Diamond with a hard edge in her eye, standing close enough to kiss. Not a single one of these pictures jived with the title “Agent Collier.”
“If she’s a federal agent, why are you holding a gun on her?” It was the only thing I could think to say, but Jess looked at me like I was too stupid for words. She shifted her gaze to Diamond’s gun, still shoved up against my ribs. Duh. My next question was directed at Diamond and it was much more intelligent. “If you’re a federal agent, why are you holding a gun on me?”
She let her hand drop, and Jess lowered her gun. Diamond spoke first, and her question was directed to me. “You want that bounty or not?”
I started to point out she was answering a question with a question, a trait that usually annoyed the hell out of me. It seemed petty to be irritated in the face of a fifty-thousand-dollar haul. It also seemed stupid to question her motives. I gave the only answer that made sense. “Sure.”
We both looked at Jess. She shrugged and holstered her gun. She waited until we were in the Bronco before she turned and walked away.
I leaned forward to place the key in the ignition, but Diamond’s hand on my arm stopped me. “We need this to look like the real thing.” She slid her hand inside my jacket and roved around. Her soft hand brushed my breast before she found the handcuffs she was looking for. She fastened her seat belt, then clicked the cuffs on her wrists.
I drove slowly. Tomorrow, I would collect my fee from Hardin. Tonight, I would pay myself a little bonus.
The Economics of Desire: A Cautionary Tale
Jeane Harris
I.
“I call it the Lesbian Starter Kit.”
“Cute. What’s in it?”
“Everything the budding young lesbian needs to acquaint herself with our culture.”
“Which is?”
“Okay, we got your Changer and the Changed CD, Rubyfruit Jungle, an ‘Amazon’ button, a pair of women’s symbol earrings, and a ‘See You Next Year’ bumper sticker from Michigan. Pretty cool, huh?”
“You can sure tell you’re a seventies dyke, Flynn.”
“Fuck you, Dee. I’m a sixties dyke.”
“Get real, you’re an old dyke—and if you’re trying to impress this sweet young wanna-be lesbian—what’s her name?”
“Stefanie.”
“Stefanie, then you better wise up—nobody listens to Cris Williamson anymore, no one reads Rubyfruit Jungle either.”
“Well, if they don’t, they should. The young ones need to remember our herstory.”
“God, listen to you. ‘Herstory’? Nobody says herstory anymore. It’s so eighties.”
“Well, at least I’ve moved up a few decades. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know anything about lesbian culture.”
“Ah, but she will—eventually she’ll meet other lesbians, go to bars, parties, festivals, and then she’ll realize how clueless you really are.”
“Fine. What should I buy her?”
“That’s a good question—one I bet you’ll be asking yourself a lot over the next four or five years.”
“What are you talking about—four or five years?”
“That’s usually how long your relationships last.”
“Not this time. Stephanie’s perfect for me. We never fight. In fact, I get along with her better than I’ve ever gotten along with anyone. Except you.”
“Where did you get the idea that we get along? You know, Flynn, I swear you’re getting a Southern accent. We’ve got to get you out of Memphis before you actually start to like fried okra.”
“Gotta go where FedEx sends me, Dee, and Memphis is the headquarters. Anyway, what’s wrong with fried okra?”
“If you have to be told what’s wrong with it, you’re beyond hope. Look, if you feel compelled to buy this woman something, get her a Melissa Etheridge album—the first one. It’s got a lot of lesbian angst. Buy her a lesbian novel written in the last decade. Hell, get her a tattoo or an eyebrow ring. Better yet, give her a dildo.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. She’s dumping her boyfriend to be with me, and I give her something shaped like a penis.”
“Give her one that looks like a dolphin if she’s that sensitive about phalluses—is it phalluses or phalli?”
“Would you shut up about penises, please?”
“That’s what hip young lesbians are into these days. Not dried-up lesbians like Cris Williamson or Rita Mae Brown.”
“God, Dee, the Lesbian Starter Kit could turn out to be expensive. All that stuff—it could run me fifty or sixty bucks.”
“Honey, in a few months fifty or sixty bucks will sound like a bargain to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s young, right? Still in school? Doesn’t have a job yet?”
“She doesn’t know what she wants to do. Maybe go to art school. Maybe start her own business.”
“And didn’t you just get that big promotion?”
“You know I did.”
“So you’ll help her out financially?”
“Sure.”
“Sucker.”
“C’mon, Dee. It’s not about money.”
“Not now. But it will be. You’ve already spent a lot of money on her, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you two went to Hawaii.�
��
“So?”
“Who paid for the plane tickets and hotel and food?”
“What’s your point?”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“What if I did? What’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing.”
“I can’t believe you’re doggin’ me like this, Dee. Don’t you want me to be happy and have somebody in my life?”
“In your life, Flynn. Not in your bank account.”
“Look, never mind, okay? Just forget I mentioned her to you.”
“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Why is everyone so convinced that she’s going to hurt me?”
“Aha, so I’m not the only one. Who else?”
“Never mind, Dee. Let’s not talk about it, okay?”
“Okay by me. Forget it.”
“Fine, it’s forgotten. Let’s just move on to some other topic.”
“So—you gonna market these Starter Kit things?”
“Why?”
“You could package them, sell them on the Internet. I bet you could make some money.”
“You really think so?”
“Not really. But with this new girlfriend, you’re going to need a lot of money.”
II.
“Nora’s doing what?”
“Selling her RV.”
“What the hell for?”
“To buy a ring. Actually two rings—one for her, one for what’s-her-name.”
“Nora’s selling her RV to buy a couple of rings?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe it—she saved up for ten years to buy that thing. I’ve never known her to want anything like she wanted that RV.”
Women of the Mean Streets Page 6