“She left everything to you.”
“What does that mean?” Nathan asked.
“It means we’ll get you a lawyer to handle it, but you should be able to stay in the house.”
“But I’m a minor, aren’t they going to force me into a foster home.”
Kent patted Nathan on the back. “Normally, yes, but with my lawyer, not so much. He’ll get someone to act as an estate manager to deal with the money until you are of age and someone else to be your legal guardian.”
“I don’t know anyone though, who would do that for me?”
“Oh please,” Kent said, ruffling Nathan’s hair. “I’ve got enough kids under my protection they might as well call me Mother Goose.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said, although not all that enthusiastically.
Kent understood the reason why though. Nathan had probably been promised a lot of things by a lot of people. All of which had let him down until Tanya and now Kent. As a matter of fact, he had a nice trans girl that Nathan might want to meet. She could teach him the ropes on how to move on with your life.
“What’s that?” Nathan asked.
There was a card envelope with Nathan’s name on it.
“Looks like Tanya wrote you.”
Kent handed Nathan the card. He hesitated to accept it. “You don’t have to read it now,” Kent explained.
“No,” Nathan said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. I want to read it. You go through the other stuff, please.”
Kent watched as Nathan opened the envelope. A beautiful flowery card emerged. Nathan opened it, and began to read it. Tears burst to his eyes as he swayed unsteadily. Kent helped him to sit down on the thinly carpeted floor. There Nathan bawled and bawled.
This was not the time to press the kid on what the note contained. Besides, Kent seriously doubted if anything probative was in a Thomas Kinkade notecard.
Instead, Kent went back to the deposit box.
There he found a life insurance policy, also with Nathan as the beneficiary. Looks like Kent was also going to have to find the teen a certified financial planner. That policy was going to make an excellent college fund. There were a few other legal papers. The deed to the house. The pink slip to the car. The usual stuff you’d find in a safety deposit box.
Once he had rummaged through all of the papers, he found a false bottom to the box.
Interesting.
What was Tanya hiding?
Kent wiggled the metal and it popped out. Inside lay a very long strand of pearls with a “B” dangling from the apex. Kent was no jewelry expert but this necklace was not just expensive, but priceless. A work of art really.
“What’s that?” Nathan asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Kent stated. “You don’t recognize it?”
Nathan shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen it before.”
Odd. Or at least one more odd thing about the case. Out of all the things he expected to find in Tanya’s security deposit box, a seemingly rare, antique necklace was not one of them.
Ah, just one of the perks of his job. Never a dull moment. Okay, there were lots of dull moments, not just today.
Kent looked down at his watch. “We’ll get you some dinner then I’ve got to head out.”
“But I can stay at home tonight?” Nathan asked.
“Yes,” Kent answered. “I’ll call the lawyer on our way over to your house. I can put it on speaker if you’d like to join in the conversation.”
“Yes, I’d like that very much,” Nathan said with a vigorous nod.
Kent was glad he could fulfill his promise. In his line of work that was sometimes sketchy.
Just ask Nicole. Speaking of Nicole he could hardly wait to see her anti-makeover.
* * *
Nicole could barely breath her new jeans were so tight. And low. Seriously you should not need a Brazilian wax just to wear a pair of pants. She also teetered on five inch stilettos. Because nothing went better with stone washed denim than stripper shoes. She was used to wearing heels, but come on.
And the top, if you could call it that. There wasn’t even enough fabric to cover her bra, but Nicole guessed that was the point. Her pink bra straps completely showed and even the lace of the cup stuck out from under the black, skin-tight top.
Normally Nicole wouldn’t be caught dead outside looking like this. She hadn’t even looked in the mirror at home for fear that she would burst out into tears, ruining the elaborate make-up.
So in she walked to the bar, not knowing exactly what she looked like. She hefted open the heavy bar door. The place smelled of buffalo wings and smoke. Even though the city banned indoor smoking, even in bars, that didn’t stop these bikers.
Maybe she’d turn them into the health department once she was done with the stake out.
Making sure she didn’t trip on the door jam, Nicole stepped into the bar. All heads turned in her direction. The woman mostly sneered, the men mostly leered.
Nicole responded to none of them.
Instead she headed straight for a stool at the middle of the bar. She perched there, waving down the bartender.
“Well, hello there,” he said, leaning in, not even hiding the fact that he was staring straight at her cleavage which Nicole had to admit was on ample display.
“Scotch. Neat,” Nicole replied, giving the bartender no room to think she was interested in him. It was bad enough she was going to have to flirt with a bunch of yokels tonight. The bartender was not one. He had already been cleared. He was not Buzz Kill.
Taking her drink, Nicole took a sip. The alcohol burned a path down her gullet. Who drank this stuff for pleasure, let alone knocked back a whole glass like the flabby guy at the end of the bar?
She was going to nurse this drink for the rest of the night. She had to be alert, at her best if Buzz Kill did indeed decide to take the bait tonight.
Her phone buzzed in her chest pocket, because Lord knew she couldn’t fit it in the back pocket that was practically glued to her ass. And apparently biker chicks didn’t carry purses, so her chest pocket it was.
She took out her phone and looked at the caller ID. Her captain. Answering it, full well knowing it wasn’t Glick, “Yes?”
“Enjoying yourself yet?” Kent asked.
“Ya, just a ball,” Nicole answered.
“You look hot though,” Kent said. “I think we may have a new role playing scenario.”
“Keep dreaming. I’m going to be a dark-rotted bleach blonde for about seventy two hours,” Nicole said into her small Bluetooth earpiece.
“Three days, there is a lot that we could accomplish in three days.”
“I thought we were trying to catch Buzz Kill.”
“Oh, we are,” Kent responded. “You’ve got one coming in from nine o’clock.”
Nicole turned her head to find the chubby guy from the end of the bar walking toward her. He definitely wasn’t Buzz Kill.
Before he could even sit down, Nicole said. “Never going to happen.”
The man frowned, as if it took him a few seconds to process what she said, then without a word turned around and walked back to his stool and ordered another drink.
* * *
Kent watched as the poor man that Nicole had unceremoniously rejected tilted his glass back and drank the whole thing in one gulp. He felt slightly sorry for the guy, but come on. What was he thinking? Nicole, even roughed up the way she was, was way out of his league.
Sure she had a blonde that only came out of a bottle with roots over an inch long and make up that added a decade to her smooth features. So that was what she was going to look like in her forties. Not bad. Kent had gotten lucky. Nicole was going to be a looker into old age. Even the temporary wire tattoos on her arms and tramp stamp on her lower back that peeked out each time she leaned forward, separating her leather vest and super low riding pants, did nothing to distract from her beauty.
He’d meant it. This was a good look on her. And the
rest of the bar seemed to think so. All of the single guys were checking her out and quite a few guys who’d come in with someone else were looking to upgrade.
They all were taking a minute though after watching her toss aside the chubby guy. Normally on a stake out like this you wanted the bait to be inviting, but in this instance, Lucky 37 wasn’t at all intimidated by a strong woman. If anything he was attracted to them. Nicole so fit the bill.
Kent breathed in through his nose, forcing himself to calm down, but each time he thought about taking down Lucky 37 tonight, his heart rate went up. He wanted this guy, for so many reasons.
Not the least of which was to ask Lucky, why help me? Kent always preached how serial killers were so much more complicated than people gave them credit for, and Lucky 37 was the perfect example. Something about their near meeting had sparked something in the man. Kent wanted to know exactly what it was.
Plus if Lucky 37 had picked up two separate serial killers in the space of a few weeks, how many other active serial killers had the man identified in the dozens of towns he had stalked?
Lucky 37 could be a treasure trove of information if they could capture him alive.
But once again, Kent was getting ahead of himself. First they had to lure him.
And that was Nicole’s job. She took another sip of her drink, spinning a little in her chair, bouncing her toe to the Lynyrd Skynyrd song blasting from the jukebox.
She was playing her part perfectly.
But would Buzz Kill bite?
* * *
Nicole could feel her eyes glaze over as her latest suitor waxed poetic about his Harley. You could only hear so much about chrome foot plates before you just wanted to scream.
“Not him,” Kent said in her ear.
“Ya, sorry, but not feeling it,” she told her would-be suitor and turned away to finalize the conversation.
She had a small camera in her American flag pin on her lapel. Jimmi was on the other side, doing facial recognition and background checks on anyone who came up to her. They had the sketches from Kent and Nicole’s first brush with Buzz Kill to compare to.
So far three strike outs. This was going to be a long night.
And what if the note on the bill last night didn’t mean that Buzz Kill was on the prowl tonight?
The only way they were going to know was to play out the night. It was getting late though. Pretty much all the rest of the patrons of the bar were falling down drunk or leaving.
The bar closed in ninety minutes. Not much time to hope Lucky 37 would show up.
Another man approached. It really was hard to tell the difference. They all had greying, scraggly hair, pulled back into a ponytail tied off by a leather band. They all had on denim shirts, covered by a leather vest and then way too tight leather pants. The only difference was how far over their bellies hung.
This one was pretty fit though and had added black leather fringe to his vest. A little bit of a showman. She didn’t turn away when he sat down.
He certainly had swagger. He didn’t seem to be intimidated at all by her or her off-handed rejection of nearly half a dozen other guys.
This was the best fit to Lucky 37’s profile so far.
She sat up a bit straighter.
“Don’t look too interested,” Kent said in her ear. “Draw him out.”
Nicole slouched back down a bit, using a straw to swirl her Scotch. She tapped it a few times on the side of the glass, then brought it to her lips and sucked on it.
That got the new guy to lean in. “I’m Damien. You must be new to town.”
Nicole shrugged, signaling to the bartender to refill her glass.
“Let me get that for you, darlin’” the man said, beer on his breath. He threw a ten on the bar. Big spender. “Keep the change,” he told the bartender.
Nicole let him think he’d impressed her. Because you know a four-dollar tip really turned her crank. Not.
“I’m Nicole, and you’re from around here?”
“Born and raised,” the man said. “If you want I can show you the sights.”
However with that lecherous grin, the only sights Nicole was certain this guy wanted her to see were the inside of his bedroom and his pants.
“I’ve got a Harley out there with two helmets.”
“Oh, not so easily, my man,” Kent said in her ear.
No kidding.
“A little fast for me,” Nicole said. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“What do you want to know?” the man asked, leaning over, practically drooling on her vest. His hand reached out and laid on her leg.
Nicole guessed since she didn’t reject him out of hand he felt like he would eventually make the score. Which meant in the past he had.
Did this really work on other women? Did they have such low self-esteem that they went with any guy that showed them the least bit of attention?
Guys would screw anything. Seriously. Anything. She saw some of the women that had walked out of here with guys on their arm. Not attractive was the nicest adjective she could come up with. Downright hideous was more the reality. Come on, if you get your front teeth knocked out in a bar fight, get a bridge, girlfriend.
Nicole wasn’t being arrogant in the least to know that she was the best thing in this bar. And this guy thought she’d just walk out with him after a lame invitation like that?
“Sorry, we can’t seem to find this guy,” Jimmi said in her ear.
Kent must have been monitoring the same channel. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s not in any database. No state driver’s license picture. Nothing in the military banks. Nothing. He’s a ghost.”
Nicole tried not to let any emotion cross her face. That sounded like the description of Lucky 37.
“Try every state,” Kent said.
“But he said he was from here,” Jimmi retorted.
“The guy is trying to get laid, he’ll say anything. Check across the fifty states plus Puerto Rico and Guam.”
“On it,” Jimmi said.
“Nic, play it forward, but I think Lucky 37 would have a slightly more sophisticated approach.”
Was he just saying that to calm her down or did the profiler really believe that?
Either way, she needed to play along.
Nicole wasn’t great at small talk under the best of circumstances and this? This bar, meat market small talk, she was horrible at.
“Ask him how big it is,” Kent suggested in her ear.
She was so used to this out-of-body instructions, she simply repeated the words. It wasn’t until the man’s eyes dilated and his cheeks flushed that she understood the double meaning.
“Your engine, how big?” Kent asked in her ear.
Damn, why was Kent a better flirt than she was?
She purred the question.
“Pretty damn big,” the man responded.
“Your Harley engine,” Kent and then Nicole clarified.
“Oh, that,” the man said sounding just a little disappointed. “Over 100 cubic inches. The largest allowed by law.”
Of course it was. Compensating much?
“What kind of rides do you like to go on?” Kent asked in her ear.
The profiler was brilliant with double entendres. Why couldn’t she think up stuff like this? She was a heterosexual chick after all. Nicole passed on the words though since they were way better than anything she was coming up with.
“Oh, I like a lot of different rides, but my favorite is a Hog rally.”
“Not a wing ding?” Kent asked in her ear.
When Nicole repeated it, the man spit on the floor. “Hell, no. I ain’t no Goldwing rider. Fucking pussies.”
The man pushed away from her, taking his hand off her thigh. She was losing him. Nicole didn’t even wait for Kent’s instructions.
“Sorry, just needed to be sure I was talking to a guy who could fulfill all his promises.”
That got him back into the seat. Although he did
n’t put his hand back on her thigh. At least not yet.
“So tell me about your bike,” Nicole suggested knowing that these guys couldn’t resist.
But the guy didn’t. Instead he put his hand back on her leg. “How about I show you? Actions speak louder than words, right, Nicole?”
“Go with him,” Kent said in her ear. “I’ll be a few steps behind you.”
Nicole squeezed Damien’s hand. “Let’s go see that big engine of yours.”
“Okay,” Kent said. “You might want to leave the ad libbing to the experts.”
Darn and she’d thought that was a good one too.
She allowed Damien to lead her out the back exit of the bar.
“I think you’re going to like us,” the man stated as he swung open the large metal door.
“Us?” Nicole asked not sure if she’d heard him correctly.
“Ya, me and my buddies.”
Crap, this wasn’t Lucky 37. It was just some date rape perv. Another figure emerged from the shadows as Nicole’s vision blurred. She wasn’t drunk. She’d barely had a glass and a half. No, she’d been dosed with something?
GHB? Did it matter? She needed to get out of the situation before she lost any more of her faculties.
Before she could get ganged up on two to one, she threw an elbow up into her “date’s” solar plexus then planted a stiletto heel into his foot. He groaned, falling back and away from her.
She was off her game, so the second guy was able to land a backhanded blow to her face. Blood gushed from her nose. She didn’t have time to check as the second man charged her.
Nicole flattened her palm and hit the guy’s chin, snapping his head back. She followed with a kick to the groin. The guy crumpled to the ground.
Unfortunately her head was spinning as well and she was having a hard time staying upright. Her “date” had recovered and grabbed her from behind. Nicole didn’t even bother to struggle. The fact that many wanted to ignore was that men were in fact, stronger than women. Pound for pound men had more muscle fibers than women.
Kent had taught her that. And don’t try to compete with them in a power struggle. It would be futile and waste her energy, which she had very little of at the moment.
The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection) Page 68