“I’m okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, each biker zip-tied, Brack was still talking with the police uniforms when an unmarked sedan pulled in. The clean-shaven man who got out had salt and pepper hair, wore a short-sleeved shirt, and fingered a Glock clipped to his belt. As if obvious that Brack was responsible for the disturbance, the detective came directly to him and introduced himself.
“I’m Detective Nichols. I understand these men on the ground assaulted some people. By the looks of it, the wrong people.”
“That about sums it up,” Brack said, not used to such directness.
“So that’s your statement, Mr. Pelton?”
The uniforms must have given him Brack’s name. His guess was he’d already been checked out. That must have proven an interesting database search.
“Not exactly,” Brack said, “but it’s close.”
Nichols said, “What is it, exactly?”
Brack opened his mouth to speak, but Tara interrupted. “These three men attacked me and my brother for no reason.” She indicated the small man nursing his bloody nose. “If Mr. Pelton hadn’t arrived here when he did, it might have been us on the ground instead of them.”
Detective Nichols nodded. “I see. Well, I didn’t mean to sound like I had everything all figured out. Will you be pressing charges, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
After taking Tara’s statement as well as everyone else’s, the officers hauled the bikers away and the looky-loos moved on. Tara tended to the fellow she referred to as her brother and Detective Nichols spoke further with Brack.
“I ran you through the system, Mr. Pelton. This is exactly your M.O.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you think my modus operandi is, exactly?”
He smiled. “Sure. You’re like Sherman marching across Georgia. Exactly.”
Brack’s turn to smile.
“That’s pretty accurate.”
Nichols said, “It’s my job to make sure Atlanta doesn’t burn. So I’m going to say this as nicely as I can. I don’t want to see you again in this capacity. If I do, I will have you escorted to the city limits.”
“But I just got here.”
“And already I have a mess to clean up.”
“They started it.”
The detective rubbed his chin. “Knowing these men the way I do, I’d say you’re right. But going after them this way will only put yourself and your friends at risk. Let us do our jobs.”
Brack wanted to point out that if they’d been doing their jobs, those men wouldn’t have been on the street to put everyone at risk. But his observations wouldn’t help, so he lay down by his dish, metaphorically speaking, and accepted his first warning, knowing there would be more.
After Nichols left, Brack said to Mutt, “Taking a wild guess, I’d say these guys might have something to do with threatening Cassie.”
“I think you’re right,” said a familiar voice.
Brack turned to see his favorite Charleston Channel Nine news girl. Except she no longer worked for Channel Nine in Charleston and now lived here in Atlanta. Darcy Wells was slender, blonde, and driven. And beautiful.
He stood dumbfounded in her presence. Like just about every other time he’d had anything to do with her.
In tow behind her was a cameraman.
“Mr. Pelton,” Darcy Wells said, “you’ve been in town all of about twenty-four hours and the police are already on the scene.”
“The bikers started it,” Brack said, trying not to sound like a whining kid.
“Darcy!” Mutt interrupted. “How you doin’, sweetie?”
Darcy gave Mutt a hug and a peck on the cheek. “It’s been a long time.”
Brack turned his face to receive the same greeting.
She handed him a business card instead. “Put my number in your phone. As usual, you’re going to need my help.”
Staring at the card, which bore the job title of Senior Correspondent for the local affiliate of a national TV network, Brack said, “How’s the hubby?”
Darcy’s ex-boss, Brack’s aunt by marriage, had let him know that Darcy’s wedding was coming up soon. Brack was merely needling her.
“George,” Darcy said to her cameraman, “this is my old friend, Mutt. He runs the bar here.”
George shook Mutt’s hand. “And who’s the new gun?” he asked.
Darcy winked at Mutt, then gestured to Brack. “This here’s Opie. He brings trouble with him wherever he goes. And now he’s in our city.”
Raising the camera to his shoulder, George said, “Smile, Opie. You got a face for the camera. I have a feeling we’re likely to get a lot of copy out of you.”
“What George means,” Darcy said, “is you’re the first one to stand up to Vito’s men.”
“I had help,” Brack said, nodding to Tara, who’d been focused on her brother, her uninjured arm around his shoulder.
George swung the camera to get her on film.
Brack stepped in between Tara and the camera. “You put her on TV or any other form of media, George, and you will find out what your equipment tastes like.”
“And he doesn’t mean your camera only,” Darcy said. “I agree. Vito’s men will describe her to him, but there’s no reason we should help them out with a picture.”
“This is warm and cozy and all,” Tara said, “but who are you people?”
The three Charleston acquaintances turned to her.
Brack read from the business card still in his hand. “This is Darcy Wells, Channel Six News Senior Correspondent.”
Darcy added, “We’re all old friends.”
“Why don’t you ditch George here,” Mutt said. “I’ll close down for the night and we can all go to my house and talk.”
George said, “She’s not ditching anyone.”
“Let me shoot my clip,” Darcy said. “George will have to work on editing. Brack, you want in this or not?”
Brack thought about it a few seconds, then said, “Sure.”
“You want ’em to know we’re comin’ for ’em?” Mutt asked.
Looking at his friend, Brack said, “You’ve been here less than a year, and you already forgot how we roll?”
Tara said, “Now what’s he talking about?”
Mutt smiled. “Opie’s just remindin’ me that when we ride, it’s full throttle the whole way.”
Darcy’s eyes widened and she rubbed her hands together. “Along with a trail of headlines for me to scoop up.” She stopped with her exaggerated elation. “Except these bikers aren’t like any bad guys you’ve encountered in Charleston. And before you go all Semper Fi on me, I’m saying the only cause these guys fight for is themselves. Sometimes for each other.”
To Mutt, Brack said, “Just like back in the sand dunes, eh, Marine?”
“Oo-rah.”
“You guys are crazy,” Tara said. “Those bikers have beat up a lot of people. They’re nasty. We got lucky tonight. They’ll be back, and when they do, who’s going to watch my brother then?”
“I can take care of myself,” Darnel said.
“Not against flying bullets,” Brack said.
Darnel turned a few shades lighter.
Mutt said, “Tara, I’m sorry ’bout this happenin’ to you an’ Darnel. And right outside my bar. Why don’t cha take the night off and get your brother home? Let Darcy, Opie, and me talk about what we gotta do next.”
“No,” Tara said. “Whatever this is, I want in.”
George began filming the scene, avoiding them for the time being.
Darcy put one hand on Mutt’s shoulder and the other on Brack’s as she stood between them and spoke to Tara. “These two don’t look like much, but this is what they’re good at. The police have to follow rules. These two have only to avoid getting arrested. And killed. Give us your number and I’
ll make sure we get in touch.”
Tara handed out several business cards.
Brack read his aloud. “Piedmont Wildlife Preserve?” Must be what Mutt meant by her working with animals.
To Brack, Darcy said, “That should make you feel right at home.”
Chapter Four
Friday
It was after one in the morning by the time the group split and Brack led Darcy to his car. George had gotten his footage and headed back to the network for editing.
She said, “Porsche?” Two syllables. “I heard you were getting soft.”
He opened the passenger door. She got in, lowered the visor, and opened the mirror. As he approached the driver’s side, he watched her apply a layer of lipstick. She was as striking as ever. He got in the car, not believing she was again sitting beside him.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“You haven’t changed a bit. Except your hair’s a little shorter.”
“I was serious about your getting soft. My trainer is the best. Let me give you his number.”
He’d just confronted three bikers with weapons and she’s telling him he’s getting soft. Like old times.
His flat-six motor growled to life.
Mutt pulled up beside them in his Cadillac convertible. Brack had given him the car a year ago as a thank you for helping him stop a killer. He said, “You two look good together.”
Darcy said, “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Mutt sped away and Brack followed. After a few short miles, they pulled into the darkened driveway of a home in the Brookhaven area of the city. Darcy commented on the homes here going for high six-figures. She got out and stretched. Brack wondered why they hadn’t gone to Mutt’s house like he’d suggested.
Cassie greeted them at the solid wood door of a very nice one-story house, wrapping Brack in a hug, letting go, and then hugging him again. “I tol’ Mutt to bring y’all here. I’m so glad you ain’t hurt.”
Cassie’s awareness of what happened tonight suggested to Brack that she hadn’t told him the whole story and probably knew more than she let on. He wondered if she knew that tonight’s confrontation went down in front of the bar she also wasn’t supposed to know about.
“Calm down now, woman,” Mutt said.
She kissed him. “You hush up. They look hungry.”
Darcy appeared about to object, especially considering the hour.
But Brack said, “Cassie makes the best lowcountry cooking you will ever eat.”
They sat around an antique wooden kitchen table while Cassie warmed up shrimp and grits from her restaurant. She also pulled out a container of coleslaw that was both sweet and spicy.
After they ate all the leftovers, Brack expanded his belt a notch.
“There will be more of those guys, you know.”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” Mutt said.
“Three guys with knives and batons and who knows what else isn’t ‘nothin,’” Brack said. “You sound as stupid as I do half the time.”
“Wow,” Darcy whispered. “You have made some progress.”
“I read a few books too,” Brack added sotto voce.
Mutt, who hadn’t heard Brack’s exchange with Darcy, said, “What you talkin’ about, Opie? They was three road-hog wannabes on mopeds afraid of their shadows.”
Brack tossed his napkin on his plate. “And we’ll have to get through them, and probably more, to get to Regan.”
Cassie put her head in her hands. “I just want my sister back.”
Brack stood. “Now we’ve got to find out why Vito is sending out his goons to discourage us.”
“We’ll start bright and early,” Darcy said.
He had a feeling that meant he would get less sleep than he wanted.
Later that morning, Brack’s phone buzzed. He fumbled for it, forgetting he was in Mutt’s spare room that he shared with Shelby. He checked the time and the caller ID before picking up.
“You really haven’t changed a bit, have you?” he said. “Up and at ’em early.”
Darcy’s voice sounded cheerful. “And you haven’t changed either. Sleeping on the job.”
“Just for that,” Brack said, “you can buy me breakfast. That is, if your fiancé will be okay with that.” He wondered if he was likely to meet the peckerwood, then he worried what he’d do when he did.
“Get your pants on,” she said. “I’m standing in the driveway.”
Five minutes later, Shelby ran out the front door. Darcy momentarily distracted him from relieving himself, but nature took over and he ran to the bushes.
Brack, on the other hand, felt confident he could not be so easily distracted.
Darcy’s hair was pulled up to keep the Georgia heat off her neck. She wore a nice cream-colored silk blouse with a skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees.
Who was he kidding? She looked great.
She gave him a onceover. “I see we need to get you acclimated to your surroundings.”
“What are you talking about?”
She pointed to his B-52’s t-shirt and cargo shorts. “This is not the island, Brack. This is the big city. We should at least dress the part.”
Funny, he thought. Mutt, of all people, had said the same thing.
“All I have to do is show up in my Porsche and I can get into any supercilious place I want.”
“Wow. Such ostentatious vocabulary so early in the morning. I almost forgot you went to college.”
Brack grinned.
She finished him off with, “In this town Porsches are a dime a dozen. Everyone’s got one. You’ll need more than that. And unless you have something else to wear, our first stop is to get you some decent clothes.”
He was about to argue with her when he remembered insults were her way of trying to help. So he said, “Okay.”
They fed Shelby breakfast together, and he enjoyed the attention.
After a walk around the block and another potty break, Brack put Shelby in Mutt’s house, and he and Darcy left in her five-year-old Honda Accord. When she’d lived in Charleston, she’d driven a new Infiniti convertible.
Brack said, “I see you’ve got yourself an undercover car.”
“How very observant of you,” she said. “Now, first things first. We need to take care of your appearance.”
An hour later, with twelve-hundred dollars’ worth of clothes and a professional shave and haircut, they were on their way.
“Where are we headed now?” Brack asked.
Darcy swerved to slide between an Escalade and an F-150, undaunted by no wiggle room. “You guys said Regan’s with Vito, right?”
“That’s the info Mutt has.” He grabbed the center armrest with his left hand and the grab handle above the door with the other in case traffic stopped in front of them, but it didn’t.
“I’ve got a line on some warehouses he owns.” She gunned the engine.
Brack swallowed hard. “Will we find Regan there?”
Slicing through another minuscule hole in traffic, she said, “Probably not. But I believe it’s good to learn everything we can. You never know when it might come in handy.”
Darcy was right, as usual. Brack had also assumed there might be trouble. His forty-five was now tucked neatly inside the waistband of his new khaki trousers in the small of his back. The untucked casual white silk shirt she’d picked out hid the evidence. He hoped he wouldn’t have to run. The Italian loafers needed a bit more break-in time.
Still early according to Brack-time, he slipped on his new pair of Persol shades and eased the seat back just as his crazy chauffeur braked for a red light.
She looked him over. “I forgot how well you clean up when you want to.”
“Thanks, I think.” Not that he had a choice. At least the barbershop she�
��d dragged him to was the real deal.
The light turned green. She smiled and floored it again.
As he held on for another round of automobile dodgeball, Brack realized Darcy had done for him the same as Cassie had done for Mutt. And she did so in only one hour. The image of a lamb being led to the slaughter came to mind.
Vito’s alleged warehouses were located on the south side of Atlanta, past the airport. Darcy pulled up to a guard shack and flashed her news credentials. The guard, an older gentleman apparently not used to having his nap interrupted, didn’t know what to do. Darcy asked for the manager.
The old man shook his head. “There’s no one else here at the moment.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, we really need to talk to someone. Do you have any contact information for us?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Unless you want to call my boss. His number’s all I got.”
Brack asked, “Do you get a lot of visitors?”
He chuckled. “You two are the first in the two years I been on this job.”
“No deliveries or pick-ups?” Darcy added.
“Nope. All of that happens at night.”
Darcy and Brack looked at each other. She turned back to the guard and gave him her made-for-TV smile. “Thank you, sir.”
He replied, “I seen you on the news, haven’t I?”
A mile down the road from the warehouse, Brack asked, “What’s next?”
“I’m going to work,” she said. “I suggest you do what you normally do and throw some rocks at the hornets’ nest.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She laughed.
He had missed hearing her laugh.
“It usually is,” she said. “But I think this time it’s warranted.”
“Wanna point me in the direction of the hornets?”
“Knowing you the way I do, and assuming you haven’t changed since I saw you last, I suspect you won’t have any trouble finding them.”
Her bringing up the last time they saw each other was not what he wanted to think about, but the imagery wouldn’t go away. A year ago she’d helped him find a killer. If he hadn’t fallen into his own pit of booze and women, she might have stayed with him. Instead, she moved here and was set to marry the peckerwood. And it was mostly Brack’s own fault. The more he thought about it, the madder he got at himself.
Big City Heat Page 3