“Of all the bars on Whiskey Row, why did Billy have to go into Mr. Nasty’s?” Doug said. “He could have gotten a beer someplace else and eliminated the hassle.”
The three men halted their conversation, pausing to watch Hailey coming toward them, their silence a momentary acknowledgment of her approach. She felt a small twinge of discomfort as they gave her the head-to-toe once-over.
Doug looked past her, his eyes coming to rest on the Hog. “That’s a beautiful machine you’ve got there.” He said, as the other two quickly nodded in agreement.
She smiled, enjoying the compliment and glad for the deflection of attention from herself. “Thanks. My uncle actually restored it himself.”
“Nice job.” The man with the ZZ Top beard said.
“Hey, let’s ask her,” the bald man nodded in Hailey’s direction as she got closer. “Excuse me, but could you answer a question for us?”
Hailey stopped, unsure how to proceed. “Um…I guess so, sure.”
“As a biker, would you hide your colors, just because someone tells you to?” he asked. “Or do you stand up for yourself?”
Doug interrupted. “Our friend was harassed for wearing his club patch in this bar on Whiskey Row last night,” he explained. “A patron didn’t like the patch showing and started a fight.”
“Really? Where was this?”
“It was at Mr. Nasty’s Saloon.”
“I was there last night, next door, at The Rat’s Nest,” she said. “There were a lot of bikers in there, but I didn’t see anything like that. Everybody was being cool.”
“It happened right before closing, some drunk cowboy took offense to my friend’s colors, started a fight in the bar.”
“Really,” she said eyes wide in disbelief.
“Yeah, the cops had to break it up. My buddy got hauled in for assault.”
“Well, that’s not good.” She said.
“By the way, I’m Doug…and you are?”
“Hailey,” she extended a hand and he took it, giving a firm handshake. “So, this guy tells your buddy to take off the jacket and your friend lays him out, right? That seems like a bit of an over-reaction.”
ZZ piped up. “But, this cowboy just kept pushing Billy.”
“Well, the guy did deserve it, but now Billy’s screwed,” Doug said. “He should’ve told the guy to go pound sand. He didn’t have to mop up the bar with him.”
He noticed the look on her face change to one of skepticism
“Yeah, it may not be a biker-like thing to say, but I don’t believe in getting all worked up about stuff like that,” he smiled. “I guess I’m not your average biker.”
That’s for sure. You’re way cuter. She suddenly flushed at the unspoken words. Oh, shit! Did I say that out loud?
She quickly recovered. “But how do you stop people from giving you crap all the time unless you do something about it?” she questioned.
“I didn’t say do nothing. It’s okay to protect yourself,” he said. “But if somebody screws with you, you have to know when to let it go. Pick your battles, I say.”
She thought that one over for several seconds, and the correlation to her own life was not lost on her.
“There is a price to pay,” he said. “You have to decide when getting pissed off, or getting revenge, costs more than its worth. Believe me, I know.”
“Really, how so?” She detected a story behind the statement.
“Well, let’s just say that for a long time, if somebody screwed with me, I landed on them with both feet. I did a lot of stupid stuff I’m not proud of and got into a lot of unnecessary trouble,” he said. “I finally realized that I’d become someone I didn’t like very much.”
“What did you do?” she asked. “How did you stop?”
“That’s a long story,” he said, smiling. “For another time, maybe?”
She smiled a wary grin. “Maybe.”
She found herself very comfortable in the presence of the three men, the admission jolting her system. Why am I not afraid of these guys? She was taken aback by her non-reaction to the presence of these large men most people would instinctively fear. She could feel the question bounce around in her head as she stood there. For some reason, these men don’t scare me. How bizarre.
Reaching in his jacket, Doug pulled out a wrinkled flyer, handing it to her. “We’re heading over to Petey’s Place tonight for bike night,” Doug said. “Good food and dollar drafts. You should come by and check it out.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.” she said, refolding the piece of paper and putting it in her back pocket.
“See you later.” he waved and turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called, the trepidation clear in her voice.
He turned back, catching her eye.
“Good food, huh?” she asked.
“Nothing fancy, but the pastrami rocks,” he said. “You come and I’ll buy. How’s that for a deal?”
“Are you hitting on me?” she said, voice a little anxious.
“No,” he said, his tone firm. “But if I did, would that really be so terrible?” The mischievous glint in his eyes reassuring her.
His warm demeanor comforting, she managed a small smile. Recalling her failure last night, she searched herself, finding a tiny shred of confidence. When in doubt, go with humor. “I’ll let you know after I taste the pastrami.”
An amiable smile appeared across his face. “Fair enough. Hope you can make it.”
She let him open the door for her as his two buddies started up their bikes.
Called by his friends, Doug walked back to the bikes while he donned his black clamshell helmet. Watching him throw his leg over the saddle of a classic Electra-Glide, she felt that tingle in her limbs again.
He’s hot! She observed as he fired up his bike, the bright red machine coming to life with a predatory growl.
She turned back to the counter as the three bikes rolled down the lot into the street beyond.
Chapter Twenty
The noise of the Café St. Michael faded into the background as Smith and Mendoza slid into the booth and looked for the waitress.
“I’m taking some heat about this Stone case,” Mendoza said. “The Sheriff’s concerned about even a hint of a serial killer loose in his county.”
“Same here. We’re both getting pressure from above to solve these cases,” Smith said. “I, for one, don’t much care for being told how to do my job.”
Mendoza nodded in agreement, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Politics: the bane of effective law enforcement.”
Pulling out his notebook, Smith began to think aloud. “Grady was clean, nothing more than a few traffic tickets,” he said. “What do you have on Stone?”
Mendoza pulled out a similar notebook and flipped a few pages before speaking. “Stone had previous arrests for simple possession, drunk and disorderly, the usual. He had arrests, but no felony convictions. The latest one, December of 07’, was for assault with a deadly weapon. He smashed a beer mug in some guy’s face at a bar. His public defender got the guy to drop the assault charge, pled it down to disturbing the peace.”
“What did he do for a living?” Smith asked as the waitress approached. They tabled the discussion until she took the orders and retreated toward the kitchen.
“Says here he was a diesel mechanic for a waste disposal company,” Mendoza said, a pitiless smirk on his face. “So I guess somebody took out the trash.”
Smith groaned at the bad joke. “Very funny. Grady was a student, rich, privileged, Stone was pretty much a garden-variety dirtbag, then we have this mystery woman,” Smith opined. “I don’t see them having tea together.”
“I can’t see how they’re connected to this mystery woman, as you called her, either,” Mendoza groused. “But they must be, somehow. We just have to figure out how.”
“Well, I can tell you this; Stone obviously knew his attacker prior to the night of the murder. A slug in the knee is pretty personal,” Smith said. “I thin
k she may have a bone to pick with Stone in particular. An old girlfriend maybe?”
Mendoza flipped a few more pages in the notebook. “I talked to his neighbors. They weren’t very forthcoming, but after some ‘gentle persuasion’ they told me no women were regulars that they knew of,” he said. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t have some skank in the wings somewhere.”
“Grady had some dope on him, maybe there’s a connection to this mystery woman through the drugs.” Smith said.
“Well, we did find some pot and a couple of handguns in Stone’s place, but the quantity was too small to indicate dealing. Besides, your guy lived almost four hours away. Not exactly a convenient setup for dope shopping.”
“Somehow these two men knew the same woman,” he said.
Mendoza added, “And pissed her off in a big way.”
The food arrived, Mendoza diving in.
“So, what’s next?” Smith asked between bites.
“I have to be in court Monday and Tuesday.” Mendoza said. “So, you’ll be on your own for the two days.”
“We should have some forensic results in pretty soon,” Smith said. “I’ll keep following up with the lab and see if I can’t find out something about this mystery woman. I’ll let you know if I get anything.”
“Another thing,” Mendoza interjected. “What’s with the playing cards? I thought that stuff only happened in the movies.”
“Normally, I’d say you’re right. This is the first time I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Smith said. “There are some really twisted people out there.”
“I guess,” Mendoza agreed. “I read somewhere that the experts are saying the instance of female serial killers is on the rise. These murders are increasing in both number and violence. The women come from all walks of life and all kinds of circumstances. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”
“I think this one has a reason. A very specific reason,” Smith said. “We just have to figure out what it is.”
“Well, people usually commit murder for a very small number of reasons,” Mendoza said. “Most often it involves money…but, sex can also be a pretty strong motivation to kill, or they kill to cover-up another crime. It’s almost always one of those three, money, sex or cover-up.”
“And, at this point, we don’t know which it is,” Smith said. “And we need to know…now.”
“It’s so frustrating!” Mendoza thumped his fist lightly on the table. “Nothing leads anywhere.”
Smith threw him a sideways smile. “Welcome to my world.”
Getting his emotions back under control, Mendoza continued. “I’d have to say this is unquestionably one of the weirder cases I’ve worked on.”
Smith smiled again. “Oh, speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask, how long have you been a cop?”
“Going on twelve years, and you?”
“Almost nineteen,” he said. “And I must admit, especially with this one, I still get surprised some times.”
“I don’t know about you,” Mendoza said, heaving a sigh of exasperation. “But I could live without this kind of surprise.”
Smith paused and sipped his coffee, the steaming brew heating a path all the way down to his stomach.
“I hear you.” He turned back to his plate. “So, got any brilliant ideas?”
“I have one, but you might not like it, more accurately, your Chief might not like it.”
Smith figured he knew where Mendoza was leading, as he had already considered it himself. “At this point, I’m already so far out on a limb it doesn’t really matter. Let me hear it.”
Mendoza sipped his coffee and cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s time to lean on the Senator and find out what his son was really into,” he said. “That’s where the answers are. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I thought so too,” Smith said. “I’ll call Grady and see what I can find out.”
“I don’t envy you that conversation. Your Chief is going to go nuts,” Mendoza said. “Let me know how it goes. I’ll talk to you later.”
Smith went back up to his hotel room and placed a call to Grady’s office in Tucson.
After wading through several layers of the Senator’s privacy protection, Smith finally reached his Chief of Staff and was told to stay by the phone as the Senator would call him back within the hour. Smith gave the man his cell number.
Sitting in the room, Smith began to formulate a list of questions for Grady. After about two hours, he was stalking around his hotel room checking his watch. The pacing was doing him no good, so he put his hat on and went downstairs to the café at street level.
He had just sat down when his phone rang, the voice belonging to the great man himself. “Detective Smith, this is Senator Dennis Grady. How may I help you?”
“I just have a few questions for you sir,” Smith cleared his throat nervously, knowing that Matarski was going to flip out when he heard about this invasion of the Senator’s serenity. “It’s about your son and his connection to a man named Jake Stone.”
“I’ve never heard of Jake Stone. Who is he?”
“He was a small-time criminal from Phoenix,” he said. “We believe your son’s death and this man Stone’s death are connected.”
“And what would my son have to do with someone like Stone?”
“That’s what we are trying to find out,” Smith paused, collecting his thoughts. “And if we knew what their relationship was, it might lead us to a suspect.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can be of any help. I’ve never heard of Mr. Stone before.”
“We believe the same person, most likely a woman, killed your son and also killed this Jake Stone.” Smith said.
“What makes you think that?”
“Several things, but I can’t go into all the details at this point.” he said.
“Do you know if Jason had a girlfriend?” Smith asked.
“Jason was popular with the ladies, he liked to circulate. He didn’t want to get tied down,” the Senator replied. “He didn’t have serious relationships with women. So, no, he didn’t have a steady girlfriend.”
“We are trying to figure out how both your son and this Stone knew this unidentified woman.”
“As I said before, Jason has…had…his own life,” he said. “His mother and I really don’t know who his friends are.”
“What did he do with his free time,” Smith asked. “Did he travel around northern Arizona that you know of?”
“Not by himself. He went wherever the team went, of course,” Grady said. “Outside of that, I don’t think he traveled at all. At least he never mentioned it.”
“Is there someone who could tell me more about who Jason’s friends were?”
Grady grunted in annoyance. “You might ask his coaches, or his professors.”
“Senator Grady, I apologize for being blunt during this difficult time, but did you know your son was using drugs?”
“That’s outrageous!” the Senator yelled. “My son was a star athlete! Where did you hear such a thing?”
“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but he had some marijuana in his possession when he died.” Smith said.
“I don’t believe it.” Grady harrumphed dismissively.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I saw it myself.”
“Assuming that’s true…and I’m not saying it is, what does that have to do with his death?”
“It could possibly be a motive for someone to kill him, if he owed them money for drugs, or if he was involved in a drug deal gone bad. We are looking at all possible scenarios.”
“I’m sorry detective, but I don’t think I can help you. This conversation is over.”
Smith listened to the silence as he realized that Grady had hung up on him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Afternoon breeze blowing warm and dry in her face, Hailey rode north on Williamson Valley Road toward her mother’s house, dreading the argument she knew would ensue upon her arrival. Tens
ion grating at her, she felt her stomach tighten to a hard knot as she got closer and closer.
Rounding a gentle bend in the road, she turned into the driveway and saw the stucco home of her childhood, her father’s favorite chair now noticeably absent from the front porch. I could use your help here, Daddy.
She parked the Hog in the shade of a massive oak tree growing along the driveway and opened the front door, knocking as she entered.
“Mom!” she called out. “I’m here!”
Her mother’s voice floated across the living room. “I’m in the kitchen, dear. Be right there.”
She moved into the living room and braced herself for “Hurricane Joanne”.
The guilt of her lie, even a lie by omission, had plagued her for months. She had told her mother nothing of her plans to keep the Hog, and now she needed to come clean. She didn’t need the stress of keeping the lie. After talking with the bank manager earlier in the day, Hailey knew the time had come to stand up to her mother, once and for all. She also knew her mother wouldn’t take the news well. She inwardly grimaced. This is going to get ugly in a hurry.
“Hello dear.” Joanne said as she stepped through the archway to Hailey’s left, drying her hands with a small towel.
Gaze settling on her daughter, she got her first look at Hailey’s clothes, the jeans and vest causing her face to pinch in irritation. “What’s that you’re wearing?”
“My vest and boots…” she hesitated briefly. “For riding. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…”
Color draining from her cheeks, her mother moved to the front window, pulling the shade aside and looking out to find the Hog sitting in the driveway. “Oh, no! You don’t mean you’re riding that motorcycle!”
Joanne turned to face her errant daughter, body stiff in annoyance. “I told you to sell that thing a long time ago,” the older woman chided, folding her arms across her chest and tapping a sandal-covered foot in annoyance. “Why didn’t you do it?”
“Because I didn’t want to,” Hailey answered, her tone matter of fact. “Uncle Greg left me the bike and I decided to keep it.”
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