“Hey, I’m trying to help here,” I appealed, attempting to change my approach, though in a halfhearted sense.
“Well, you definitely aren’t. Helping, that is.”
My bid at toning down my temper didn’t last, and I snarled my reply. “Yeah, well you don’t appear to be helping all that much either.”
She tossed back a shock of platinum blonde hair and fixed me with her hard gaze once again. Physically, she was really closer to Felicity’s height than mine, but wearing her ever-present designer heels, she came right to eye level with me. The stature elevating shoes along with her reputation for relentlessly tearing apart cases—and even other attorneys if necessary—until she came out on top are what had garnered her the nickname “the pit bull in high heels.” She would instantly feign annoyance anytime she heard someone call her by the moniker, but secretly, I think she actually liked it.
After a pause she punctuated her cold stare with a calm but brutally caustic reply, “That’s because I’m out here dealing with an asshole instead of being allowed to do my job.”
“Listen, I…”
She cut me off before I could finish. “No. Just shut up and YOU listen for once. If that last comment had come out of any other client’s mouth, I would have packed my briefcase and headed home. But, I’ve known you way too long, and I know that you’re actually a pretty nice guy. I’m writing this all off to the stress you are under, but believe me, I’m only going to write off just so much.
“Besides, the reality of the situation is that I’m representing your wife right now, not you. So, I suggest you count yourself as damned lucky I’m still standing here.”
“Yeah, but…” I started.
“I’m not finished,” she spat, cutting me off. “Now, what you need to do is start listening to me and stop acting like some kind of maniac. You sure as hell aren’t making any friends right now, and you’re trying my patience to say the least.”
“But why can’t I see her?” I demanded, still trying to circumvent her tirade.
“That’s easy. I could have told you that on the phone if you’d bothered to ask. The short list is A: She’s under arrest for two, and quite possibly three counts of first degree murder; B: You aren’t her attorney, I am; and C: Right now you’re acting irrationally and the police have some genuine concerns for your mental stability, as do I.”
“Bullshit. I’m fine.”
“Then like I said, start acting like it and listen to me for a change. Go home. Sit on your hands. Don’t talk to anyone, especially not the press, and just wait for me to call you. End of discussion. Is that clear?”
I shook my head. “I can’t, Jackie. Not right now. Not after what they did to the house.”
“What they…What did they do to your house?”
“It’s trashed. They totally wrecked the place.”
Now it was her turn to do the head shaking. “Did they destroy anything?”
“No…I don’t think so…Not that I could see, anyway, but it looks like a tornado went through it.”
“Did you happen to notice what they took?”
“Some of Felicity’s clothes, my handgun, and some of my books on Voodoo for sure,” I rattled off my own short list. “I tried to tell them the books were mine…”
“Are they?”
“Yes. I just bought them. And, checked some out from the library.”
“The books from the library shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll just have to contact the branch where you checked them out, and that should be enough to get them disallowed. What about the books you purchased? Do you have proof of when you bought them?”
“Yes. I have the receipts.”
“Then don’t worry about it, they won’t be an issue. Anything else?”
I nodded. “I know there was other stuff, but I can’t remember what. They gave me a voucher, but I haven’t really gone over it…”
“Great…Okay, fine. We’ll address that later. Have you got your cell phone with you?”
I rummaged in my pocket to check then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay, why don’t you go find someplace to get a cup of coffee, and I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
“Are you…”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she interrupted, finishing the query for me. “Now just go and let me do what you’re paying me for.”
“Yeah, okay,” I answered with a nod.
Her enumerated reasons for keeping me out of the loop had effectively shut me down for the time being. On top of that, my befuddled emotions were now batting me back into depression territory. I knew I was probably shifting back and forth between sounding insane and coming off like a frightened child, just like she said I was, but I couldn’t help it. I was still trying to get a handle on what was happening, but that handle kept staying just out of my grasp.
“You’ll call the minute you know something, right?” I asked, desperate for reassurance. In fact, my voice had an almost pleading tone to it.
“Yes, I’ll call. Now go.”
I gave her another nod then turned and started toward the front door of the building.
“Rowan,” she suddenly called after me.
I stopped and turned back to face her with a questioning look.
“Just coffee, no booze, okay?”
I involuntarily screwed my face into a confused expression then said, “You know, it’s not like I have a drinking problem or something.”
“I didn’t say you did, but I know you, and in your present state, if you drink you’re definitely going to be a problem. Trust me. No alcohol, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” I gave her a nod then started to turn back toward the door but stopped myself. “Wait, Jackie…”
“What?” she asked, her voice sounding strained as she tried to hide her obvious aggravation.
“I forgot to tell you. My father-in-law is taking it upon himself to send his own attorney down here with orders to take over the case.”
“Do you know who the attorney is?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Do you want his attorney to take over?”
“No.”
“Then as long as Felicity is of the same opinion, don’t worry about it. Just let me handle it.”
“It’s possible Shamus, her father, might show up himself.”
“He’s not going to get any farther than you have, so like I said: Don’t worry, just let me handle it.”
“Okay…And, Jackie…Thanks.”
“Yeah,” she replied as she turned, calling over her shoulder, ”You know the old line about the bill, right?”
I watched her disappear into the elevator then continued on my way through the front doors then out onto the sidewalk. The wind was picking up, whipping along the street as it cut its way between the buildings. I could feel the encroaching cold as a burning sting against my cheeks, but even so, I didn’t bother to zip up my coat, simply leaving it wide open to the wintry chill.
I knew I had to do what Jackie said, but I couldn’t get excited about climbing into my truck and putting any more distance between Felicity and me than there already was. While I’m certain “the pit bull” would have been happier if I would at least go a few blocks away, I set my sights on the small diner directly across the street which boasted the bizarre name, Forty.
Residing just to the side of the entrance to City Hall’s parking lot, I knew for certain the place was a hangout for cops. Not just because of its proximity to the station but also due to the fact that I had once commented to Ben about the odd name. In response he had explained that 40 is the Saint Louis city police radio code for a meal break.
Even though I wasn’t holding members of the local law enforcement community in very high regard at the moment, I decided I could bear sitting at the lunch counter with a cup of java. As long as I kept to myself, I figured I should be okay. After waiting for a pair of cars to pass, I stepped out onto the asphalt and jogged across the street.
I had only been sitting at th
e counter for around ten minutes, my hands wrapped around a ceramic mug and eyes gazing unfocused at my reflection in the black liquid, when the hair on the back of my neck began to prickle.
Amid the drone of chatting patrons, sizzling grills, staticky radios, and even ringing phones, a painful sound pierced my ears, launching me back out of the depression and square into the middle of anger once again.
“Yo, Carl,” Ben Storm’s voice called to someone behind the counter. “Ya’ got that order I called in ready yet?”
CHAPTER 10:
“Heya, Storm, yeah…” the man replied. “Got yer eats right here.”
I shot a quick glance in the direction of the voices and saw Ben standing near the register only a dozen or so feet to my right. He was angled away from me, and given his relaxed posture I got the impression that he hadn’t seen me when he came in, even though he had to have passed within two or three feet of me at the most.
“Lessee, I got a Reuben, two bacon cheeseburgers, and a chicken salad on wheat.” The cook listed the order while parking a large sack on the counter between them.” With a chuckle he added, “You hungry or somethin’?”
“Not really,” Ben responded to the joke. “This is just a snack ta’ get me through.”
“Yeah, right, you sure you don’t want any fries or some drinks wit’ dat?”
“Nahh, this is good.”
The logical side of my brain was telling me to keep quiet and shrink into the shadows. This diner was literally right next to the last place on earth I needed to get into an altercation with him. And, considering the clientele here, being right next to police headquarters was for all intents and purposes just like being in the squad room itself. Of course, those were just the facts I should be paying attention to. The truth is, I had a terrible habit of allowing my emotional half to override the practical aspect of my personality, and that was when I usually got myself into trouble.
I tilted my head forward and struggled with the two sides as they competed for dominance over my actions. For the moment, I had myself nailed down, and I was fairly certain I could stay that way for a bit. The problem was, I didn’t know exactly how long that bit would be.
“Okay, so what’s the damage?” Ben asked.
“Seventeen-thirty-two,” Carl replied.
He handed him the money while adding, “Jeezus. You tryin’ ta’ retire early?”
“Yeah, I wish. Lemme get yer change.”
“Keep it,” Storm told him and then quipped, “Buy yourself somethin’ nice.”
“Yeah, funny. Thanks.”
“Not a problem. Catch ya’ later.”
“Not if I’m careful.”
“Uh-huh. Who’s funny now?” Ben chuckled, reaching out and grabbing the bag of sandwiches. “Later.”
“Yeah, later.”
I immediately shifted in my seat, trying to remain inconspicuous but not actually look like I was hiding. The stool directly next to me on my right was currently empty, which would give him a clear view of me when he turned this way to leave. The seat on my left, however, was filled with a uniform clad patron, and I was concerned that too much fidgeting would just attract unwanted attention from him. If that happened then I definitely wouldn’t have a chance of going unnoticed.
Of course, it didn’t help at all that my anger was steadily rising, effectively nudging the pragmatic approach to the situation off into the wings. If Ben didn’t get out of here soon, I wasn’t going to be hiding; I was going to be up in his face.
I shut my eyes and kept them squeezed tight as I endeavored to slowly breathe my way through this, grounding and centering my energy in order to keep calm. Surprisingly, the bid to maintain control actually seemed to be working, and I could feel my shoulders start to relax as I continued the practiced breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth, all the while visualizing a solid connection with the earth.
Hopefully, I only needed to keep this up for another minute or so and it would all be moot. Once he was gone I was certain the surge of negative emotions would subside. I waited, focusing on my breathing as I listened for the door. The rattle of the bell finally hit my ears just as I was letting a slow stream of air out between my lips. I was actually beginning to think I might make it through this without incident. Of course, it was at right about that moment when I was blindsided.
I really should have felt him standing behind me. Any other time I’m sure I would have, but I suppose I was too busy concentrating on not flying off the stool and attempting to actually land the punch he’d avoided earlier in the day.
Either way, I knew my luck was depleted the moment I heard his voice coming at me from just over my right shoulder.
“What’re ya’ doin’ down here, white man?” Ben asked, a jumbled mix of concern, remorse, and even trepidation wrapped tightly about the words.
“Waiting,” I returned without looking up. I held my voice even, but there was no mistaking the disdain in my tone.
“Mind if I sit here for a minute?”
“Free country.” I took a sip of my coffee and struggled to contain myself as I felt my face flush with heated anger.
There was a thick tension between us as he placed the sack onto the counter then dropped his frame onto the stool and leaned forward on crossed arms. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and the growing thump reverberated in my ears amidst the rush of blood. I actually started counting the beats as we sat there, making it almost to fifty before he elected to speak again.
“You really shoulda stayed at home, Row,” he offered.
While my brain was debating whether or not to reply, my mouth disassociated itself from the process and ran off on its own. “Your guys didn’t exactly leave me much of a place to stay.”
“Yeah…” he grunted then paused a moment. “I heard a rumor. Sorry. They don’t usually do that.”
“Yeah, I know. Been there, got a t-shirt. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“So I guess I just get to be the lucky one then, huh?”
“I have a feelin’ it was a request from on high.”
“I pretty much figured that out too. Perfect opportunity to screw with the Witch, huh?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Seems like a pretty popular pastime for you cops today.”
He purposely avoided replying to the jibe, asking instead, “You need a hand cleanin’ up?”
“If you’re the one offering, then no.”
“Actually, I can’t…But, maybe I could get…”
I interrupted him. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Seems you can’t do much of anything these days.”
He sighed. “I’m not happy ‘bout this, Row.”
“Funny. Doesn’t seem to have affected your appetite.”
“Stop bein’ such an asshole, Rowan,” he returned. “It just so happens the Rueben’s for Firehair, an’ the chicken salad’s for your mouthpiece. And they ain’t on the department’s dime either.”
“Am I supposed to say thank you or something?” I made a show of reaching for my wallet. “Or do you just want the cash?”
“No. An’ put your fuckin’ wallet away…I just thought ya’ should know I’m tryin’ ta’ take care of Firehair best I can.”
“Like when you cuffed her?”
“I can’t have this conversation with ya’ right now.”
“Big surprise.”
He huffed out a heavy sigh and then paused for a moment before shifting in the seat and picking up the bag. “I better get these back over there before they get cold.”
“You do that,” I chided, and as usual I couldn’t leave well enough alone, so I quickly added, “When you placed the order, I sure hope you remembered to ask for plenty of arsenic. You wouldn’t want to miss a chance to poison her too.”
“All right! Fuckit!” Ben spat, dropping the sandwiches and slamming his fist down hard on the counter.
Pushing back, he stood up quickly. I looked over out of reflex and saw him reach to his
belt. With a tug he pulled his gold shield from it and then slapped it onto the counter next to the sack of food. In another quick motion, he shoved his hand beneath the folds of his jacket. I heard a quick snap, and a moment later he laid his Beretta alongside the badge and sandwiches.
He was attracting attention from plenty of others, and I started mutely chastising myself for allowing my mouth to countermand my brain.
Ben shot a quick glance to the side and shoved the items toward another cop as he barked, “Watch these for me, willya, Anderson?”
“There a problem?” the uniformed officer asked, starting up from his seat, as were several of the others who were within earshot.
“No,” Ben snapped loudly enough for all to hear as he grabbed me by the collar and yanked me backwards from the stool, causing me to spill coffee across the counter. “I just gotta go finish somethin’.”
“Hey!” I yelped. “What the hell are…”
“Shut up!” he ordered, whipping me around like I was nothing then shoving me toward the door.
“Yo, Storm, don’t kill ‘im,” one of the cops shouted across the diner, punctuating the comment with a laugh. “Way too much paperwork.”
“Hey,” another added. “At least the meat house is right across the street. Won’t have far to go to drop ‘im off.”
I knew from personal experience, the “meat house” he was referring to was the medical examiner’s office that sat immediately next door to police headquarters.
“You want me to call the paramedics for him?” yet another officer quipped.
“Everybody just stay put,” he ordered again. “This’s personal.”
“Goddammit, Ben!” I was growling as I continued my futile attempt to twist out of his grasp.
“I said shut up!” he shot back, shoving me through the now open door and out onto the sidewalk.
With a rough yank he guided me around the side of the building, pushing me along as we went.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I demanded, but my words seemed to fall on purposely-deaf ears.
As we rounded the corner, he gave me a final hard shove, sending me stumbling into the side of a dumpster. Free of his grasp, I wheeled around to face him, rage continuing to surge through me.
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 10