Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1)

by James, Harper

  Evan supposed it made perfect sense but there was one small matter that was giving him a problem.

  'And I'm meant to help you in setting up this deal? Breaking I don't know how many laws in the process.'

  She shrugged and as much as a shrug can say anything, it said: it's your choice.

  'The door's right over there.'

  That's what came out of her mouth. What Evan heard was: good luck finding Sarah.

  He felt like throwing the glass of water in her face.

  Chapter 35

  He knew when he was beaten. There'd never really been any doubt that he'd do whatever it took. He wasn't about to just up and walk out, even though it was a very different kettle of fish to when she'd first come to see him. Well, actually it wasn't—it was exactly the same, it was just that he'd been let into the secret now.

  He picked his jacket up off the bed and pulled it on. He remembered the other thing he'd wanted to ask her. It felt as if he'd been in the room with her for about three weeks. He got his wallet out again and pulled out the other piece of paper he'd found in her diary.

  'What's this about?' he said, holding it out to her.

  She took it from him. 'Where'd you get this?'

  'Same place as the photo.'

  'Remind me to keep everything under lock and key when you're around, will you?'

  'Says Little Miss Trustworthy.'

  'Anyway, it's not important.'

  He shook his head. 'Were you aware that's the answer you give to every question you're ever asked?'

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Maybe you shouldn't ask so many questions.'

  He started to point out that he wouldn't get very far in his job if he didn't ask lots of questions but she talked over him. It made him feel like he was married again and his next turn to talk wasn't until next week.

  'Questions about things that don't concern you.' She put her fists on her hips. It made her look pissed, just like it was meant to, but he wasn't sure if she knew how much it hitched her breasts up and pushed them towards. Body language mixed messages, he thought, and considered reaching out and squeezing one of them playfully with a cheery Parp, Parp.

  'Did I ask you to rummage through my personal belongings and interrogate me about everything you find?' she carried on. 'Did I?'

  He really didn't know what to say to her. No answer would’ve worked, so he didn’t try one. He just wanted to get away from her.

  'No. I didn't think so,' she said in that supercilious tone of voice that took him straight back to when he'd known her years ago.

  He took the piece of paper back from her.

  'I'll keep it anyway. I'm sure I'll find out the significance at some critical point in the future when I'm being attacked by another couple of Mexican hit men.'

  He studied it again, making sure his lips didn't move as he read it.

  'MacQuaid's is obviously another bar.' He looked at her expectantly and she nodded wearily.

  'It's one of the places I used to meet Dixie. Okay. Happy now?'

  'Who's 'J'?'

  She just shook her head.

  'Okay, I'm going to assume that two days ago you had to meet somebody called 'J' at MacQuaid's. Either that or you sent somebody else to look for him there.'

  'Jesus Christ, Evan. Why's everything got to be connected to everything else? I suppose if you'd found my grocery list you'd be expecting to get it all served to you for your dinner in one go. It's just a few notes to myself.' She sounded almost as sick of talking to him as he was of her.

  He didn't believe her for a second. He laughed, putting the piece of paper back in his pocket. 'That's an even worse assignment than I got. At least I got a whole name. Some other poor sap had to go in and say pardon me, I'm looking for somebody called 'J'?'

  'I have to use the bathroom,' she said, not bothering to respond to his complaint. 'You don't have to wait for me. You've got work to do.'

  She gave him a tight little smile.

  For once in his life, he bit his tongue and headed off to try to find the elusive Dixie. Sadly, he got the impression that if he just sat still long enough, Dixie would find him.

  Ellie went into the bathroom and waited until she heard him close the door before coming back out. Her eyes flicked all round the room and came to rest on the water glass that he'd left on the nightstand. She crossed to the closet and found a plastic laundry bag in the bottom. She carefully picked up the water glass, dropped it into the laundry bag and put the whole lot in her handbag.

  Chapter 36

  Chico heard the ping of his phone. He looked at the message and laughed out loud, despite himself: I've lost him. We met up with a guy called Evan Buckley. The two of them gave me the slip. What do you want me to do? He knew Dixie's hand at work when he saw it, although he wasn't sure he knew what he was trying to achieve. He ought to feel insulted that Dixie thought it would fool him. Unless he'd sent it as a joke.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. The whole situation made him sad more than anything; he was really going to miss the guy. After his initial rage had subsided, he'd started thinking about all the good times they'd had—or at least he'd thought they were good times—and how things were going to be very different in future. He'd miss the humor, although now he thought about it there'd always been a hard caution in his eyes even when he was laughing. He'd miss the confidence, the loose, wary way he had of carrying himself and the fact that you only had to tell him something once. And every time he looked at Ricardo he'd think it all over again. He opened his eyes and looked at his shredded palm and laughed softly to himself—if he'd been a younger man he'd have been reminded every time he knocked one out too. He shook his head at how much things had turned around in the space of a few days.

  It was obvious Dixie had done something with that idiot Crispy. It made him wonder why he kept him on. How had he ever thought Crispy was up to the job? Had Dixie killed him or just put him out of action somehow? It didn't really matter one way or the other. The end result was the same—Dixie was out there without his minder. The fact that he'd done something with Crispy and was using his phone also meant he knew Chico was keeping tabs on him.

  Or did he? Was he jumping to conclusions based on what Alvarez had told him? It was the reference to the investigator that puzzled him. Ellie had claimed that Buckley told her he was looking for Dixie. Chico was well aware that the golden rule was don't believe a word the bitch says, but now Dixie—if it was him who sent the text—had brought Buckley into it again. Who the hell was he? Was he was working with Dixie? Or with Ellie? Or were all of them in it together? It made his head hurt thinking about it all.

  He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere just sitting around thinking about it. He had to make something happen. There was no reason why he shouldn't carry on with the texting game. He needed to think of something to say that might worry Dixie (although that was easier said than done). He leaned his elbows on the desk and dropped his chin to the heel of his hand and stared at his phone.

  It came to him in a flash of genius. He tapped away with one finger, a satisfied smile on his lips, and after a couple of minutes sent a reply that he hoped would give Dixie something to think about: No problem. Come back here. We've got Ellie. We're picking up the money now.

  He couldn't help laughing to himself as he hit send. Two can play at that game. Like all good lies, it was as full of the truth as it was full of shit. It would give Dixie a couple of things to think about. It would be interesting to see what he would do. Come back to rescue poor Ellie? Not if he had any sense. But the fact that Dixie was out there on his own, most likely going after the money himself, meant they had to get things moving.

  He opened his desk drawer and got out the piece of paper that Ellie had scrawled the details on. The writing was shaky which wasn't surprising since she'd almost had a breast sliced off, but it was still perfectly legible. He imagined that would make most women's handwriting suffer. He must be getting old; back in the day he'd have
just got on with it, rather than give her a little scratch. He swallowed thickly. Well, maybe not so old, he thought, feeling something stir appreciatively south of the border.

  He almost felt sorry for the woman whose name and address was written on the paper. She had a nice name, an old fashioned biblical name, the sort of name he'd have given his daughter if he'd had one, although he knew his wife would have insisted on Maria. (Ricardo would never know how close he came to being called Jesús.) Chico was something of an Old Testament man himself, particularly when it came to crime and punishment. There were some great ideas in there that had sadly slipped out of favor—the death penalty for bestiality, for instance, or for being light in your loafers, had a lot to recommend it, although death for screwing a woman on the rag was a bit harsh.

  He tried to think back to his studies at the seminary, tried to remember what the name meant in Hebrew. Was it princess? He couldn't remember, it had been almost fifty years ago, but it didn't sound right. Maybe something else, then. It didn't matter. He laughed to himself and wondered if any of those old Hebrew names meant stupid or dead meat. She probably had no idea what she was getting herself into when she agreed to look after a bag for her friend. She'd have caught on pretty fast if she'd looked inside, that was for sure. She was collateral damage, that's all, which was the Army's fancy way of saying: Into each life some rain must fall.

  He turned to look at Juan and José and felt another twinge of pity for her. She didn't deserve these two. José in particular, leaning against the wall, picking at his nails with his knife. There was something evil that lived behind his eyes, something you didn’t want to look at.

  'Go see this woman,' he said, giving Juan the piece of paper, 'and get my money back.'

  'I thought Ellie was getting it.'

  Chico shook his head sadly like Juan was a dog he couldn't teach to beg. 'You didn't really think I'd let her go and hope she'd get it and bring it back like a good girl, did you?'

  Juan's face creased into a frown. 'So why did you let her go?'

  'Because she's our best chance of finding Dixie, dickbrain,' Chico said, forgetting about the cuts on his hand and slamming his palm on the desk. It started to bleed again. 'She might not want to give the money back, but I get a feeling she's happy to hand him over—or kill him herself if she gets the chance. If they're in this together, she doubles her share at the same time.'

  'What about the friend?' Juan waved the piece of paper at him, a look of hopeful expectation on his face. José stopped picking at his nails.

  'What do you think?'

  Juan's face split into a massive grin. He drew his finger across his throat. José sniggered obscenely behind him, the sound of the knife snapping shut loud in the room.

  'Knock yourself out,' Chico said, 'but don't let him'—he gestured towards José with his chin—'stretch it out too long. She hasn't done anything to deserve that.'

  Chapter 37

  Dixie had just parked up in the parking lot at the front of MacQuaids when he saw Jackson crossing the street on foot. He got out and went to meet him.

  'No car?' Dixie said.

  'I didn't bother bringing it,' Jackson said. 'I've got two years worth of beers to catch up on.'

  They went inside and took a couple of stools up at the bar. Jackson ordered a beer and raised a questioning eyebrow at his brother.

  'The usual,' Dixie said and Jackson ordered him a coke.

  'You shouldn't drink so much of that crap. Makes you fart, rots your teeth. Makes you hyper too.'

  Dixie smiled. 'I need all the hyper I can get at the moment.'

  'Things are bad?'

  'Could be better.' He took a sip of his drink. 'Anyway, you don't want to hear any of that. What about you?'

  Jackson shook his head. 'I'll tell you another time. So tell me, what's going on with Ellie? You didn't get back together with her did you?'

  Dixie laughed out loud. 'God, no. After the way it ended?'

  'Not the forgiving kind?'

  'Uh uh. You know what it's like. Women are so unreasonable.'

  'Amen to that,' Jackson said, clinking his glass against Dixie's coke, before taking a long swallow. 'What was it she called you again?'

  Dixie grinned. 'A cheating dickweasel.'

  Jackson nodded and tried the word out in his mouth. 'I like it. I don't think anybody's ever called me that.'

  'What? Not even in the joint?'

  For a second Dixie thought he might be wearing a beer in his lap even if he couldn't drink one, but Jackson just gave him that sideways grin he knew so well. The one that said: you got away with it this time . . .

  'Anyway, she got together with Ricardo straight after,' Dixie said.

  'You're joking.'

  Dixie shook his head. 'You must have heard. It was before you went away.'

  It was Jackson's turn to shake his head. 'I didn't know that.'

  Dixie saw that Jackson's glass was empty. He nodded at it.

  'That one barely touched the sides.'

  Jackson grinned at him. 'Didn't you hear me earlier? I've got a lot of catching up to do.'

  Dixie ordered him another beer but didn't bother getting himself another coke. Jackson was right about rotting your teeth.

  'Is she still with him?' Jackson said.

  'No, he ditched her.'

  'There must be something about her. Poor personal hygiene, maybe? In the toilet area?' He pointed a finger at his crotch and raised his eyebrows, a stupid grin plastered across his face.

  'This is where it gets interesting though,' Dixie said ignoring the puerile comment. 'She was so pissed when Ricardo gave her the push for some mamona as she called her, that she came to see me—'

  'You're kidding. Not to get back together?'

  Dixie laughed again, gave a don't-be-ridiculous flick of the hand. 'No way. She had a proposal she wanted to put to me. Strictly business. As I said, she was really pissed at Ricardo and she wanted to find some way to get back at him. Plus, she wanted out. She didn't like the fact that when they were together Ricardo started taking her along on the deals and now it was a regular thing even though he'd dumped her—'

  'So her nasty little mind came up with an idea to kill two birds with one stone.'

  'Exactly. She said she wanted to bury the hatchet with me, forget about all the trouble that happened between us—'

  'Ha. Fat chance.'

  '—that there was one last deal that she was going along on—'

  'And she thought it might be a great idea if somebody was to rip them off. I assume that's where you come in. The go-to guy for ripping people off.'

  Dixie nodded. 'You got it.'

  'So what happened?'

  'We did it.'

  Jackson did a spit take, nearly slopping his beer down his shirt front in his surprise. 'You did it? Just like that? After what happened last time?'

  Dixie shrugged. 'It wasn't as if I had a week to think about it. She didn't give me any notice. I went for it.'

  Jackson shook his head in amazement.

  'What happened?'

  'They had this deal arranged with Alvarez—you remember him?' Dixie said. Jackson nodded in an I'm not likely to forget way. 'I was already waiting there when they arrived. They went in, came out again and I tailed them. Ellie was driving. I don't know if it was luck that they needed gas or if she drained the tank first to make sure they did, but they stopped at a gas station.'

  Dixie's mouth was dry as old Larry with all the talking. He took a small sip of his warm coke and looked over his brother's shoulder at a guy standing a few feet away. He looked to be about sixty, lean and wiry, wearing a ragged M-65 field jacket. Under the jacket, his shirt was buttoned wrong so his collar stuck up on the left side. The jacket itself was covered with patches, not all of them sewn on straight. They were the sort of things he'd seen Vietnam veterans wearing before: I'm sure to go to heaven because I've spent my time in hell circling a map of Vietnam was one you saw all the time, but there were other, more infla
mmatory ones: If you haven't been there, shut your mouth and Viet Cong Hunting Club.

  The guy was looking right back at him, his head cocked to the side and a slight frown on his face, as if he was trying to place him. Maybe he'd overheard what they'd been saying, the talk of deals and ripping people off. Dixie gave the guy a small nod, the sort of nod you give to strangers when you sit down at a bar next to them. The guy looked away and picked up his drink.

  'Who's that?' Jackson said, turning to look, but the guy had turned his back to them now.

  'It's nothing,' Dixie said in a quieter voice. 'As I was saying, they stopped for gas—'

  Jackson held up a hand. 'Let me guess. Ricardo went to the men's room.'

  Dixie nodded, a frown creasing his forehead. 'How did you know?'

  'Everybody knows the little prick never misses a chance to go look in the mirror. It's his favorite pastime after playing with himself.'

  It made sense to Dixie now. 'Ellie probably figured he'd do that. The other guy was filling up. I snuck up on him and brained him with a baseball bat and Ellie took off.'

  'You let her take the money?'

  'We didn't want to waste time moving the bag between cars. Ricardo might have come back out any second.'

  Jackson shook his head in an irritating way. 'Still risky.'

  Wait until I finish the story, Dixie thought, knowing some wise-after-the-event wisdom would be coming his way.

  'I'd rented a self-storage unit. She was meant to take the money there until we could meet up.'

  The first hint of a told-you-so smile appeared on Jackson's lips.

  'Meant to? As in, she didn't?'

  Dixie shook his head, his jaw clenched like he was having trouble getting the words out. 'She took it there, no problem. I went there this morning.'

  'And?'

  'And the bag's there. Unfortunately, it's—'

  'Empty.'

  'As a politician's promise.'