by K. J. Larsen
“Charlie’s been hurt before.”
She took a long hard gaze south from my red-scoop necked tee to my crimson red toenail polish. “Perhaps if you dressed differently Charlie wouldn’t call you a tramp.”
“Perhaps Charlie will have to get over it.”
She chuckled softly. “Why don’t you come back in the morning. Charlie’s working late tonight.”
I blinked back the tears. “Gee, Grandma, I don’t want to lose a great guy like Charlie. I really need to talk to him tonight.”
She hedged. “Charlie doesn’t tell me where he goes.”
“But you know,” I said encouragingly. “Help me find him so we can get things straight between us.”
“You didn’t hear this from me.”
I zipped my lips and threw away the key.
She whispered. “Charlie had a telephone call this afternoon and I listened in. Sounds like a security job. My Charlie moonlights a lot.”
“What did the guy say?”
She thought hard. “Something about a truck and needing some extra back up.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe it started with a C.”
“Kids First?”
“That’s it.”
Bingo.
I threw my arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “You may have saved our very special relationship.”
She looked small and vulnerable in the porch light. “Charlie is one in a million.”
“Thank God.”
I ran down the steps, guilt gnawing on me. Charlie’s grandmother had built a fragile happiness around her piece-of-shit grandson. It was about to crumble around her.
I waved one more time to Grandma from the car and pulled into the street.
“Okay Max, you can come up and join the party.”
He scrambled over the seat with a lumpy yellow pillowcase.
“I found a few treasures in Charlie’s room.”
I pulled over beneath the closest street light and Max emptied the bag on the seat between us. A string of pearls, a diamond brooch, assorted other jewelry, a scattering of precious stones, and nine Rolex watches sparkled in the light.
“Charlie’s one in a million,” I said.
Max thrust a fist in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled wad of paper. “This was in the garbage with a hundred Starburst wrappers.”
“Poor Charlie. There’s no Starburst in the clink.”
“The note says 9:30 W. That could be Wednesday.”
“As in today…”
Max sighed. “It’s not enough. It means nothing.”
The clock on the dash read nine twenty-five.
“It means we’re nailing Eddie Harr but we’ll have to hurry. You drive and I’ll hail the troops. The cops won’t wanna miss this one.”
“You’re insane,” Max said.
I kissed Max on the cheek as I climbed over him and commandeered the passenger seat. “Admit it, I grow on you.”
“Like a fungus,” Max smiled. “Where to?”
“Eddie’s warehouse. They’re sending out a shipment.”
Rocco didn’t pick up the phone the first time I called. Or the second. I punched redial and my brother answered. He was short of breath and out of sorts.
“This better be important.”
“Maria’s gotta be knocked up by now, bro.”
“Good-bye.”
“Wait! I need your help.”
“Are you hurt, Caterina? Is your life in danger?”
“No, but—”
“Later.”
“Don’t hang up, Rocco! Charlie tried to kill me today.”
He expelled a breath. “Dammit, Cat, are you okay?”
“I think so. Charlie’s at the Kids First Project warehouse and they’re loading assault rifles. Call the captain. Eddie’s goin’ down this time.”
“Get out of there. Where’s Max.”
“Uh—he can’t talk right now.”
Rocco muttered something to Maria and she took the phone. “Rocco’s getting dressed. He’s calling the captain.”
“Gotcha!” I tossed my cell phone on the dash and grunted with satisfaction. “Backup is on the way.”
Max raced across town toward the warehouse. My phone blasted. “Here’s A Quarter, Call Someone Who Cares.”
“That’ll be Rocco. I’ll put the phone on speaker. Bro, are you on your way?”
The rigid voice on the other end was happy as a heart attack.
“Caterina, this is Captain Maxfield.”
“Bob! We got Eddie dead to rights this time.”
“What we got, Caterina, is to get you to a doctor.”
“I’m a little beat up but don’t worry. I’m healing just fine.”
“A head doctor.”
Max snickered.
“That’s cold, Bob.”
“We’re still dodging a lawsuit after your last hot tip. The city of Chicago’s lips are firmly attached to Eddie Harr’s ass. I want you to leave him alone.”
“Eddie Harr killed my dear friend.”
“Polansky? You met that woman once.”
“We hit it off. We were practically sisters.”
“Listen to me. Forget Eddie. I don’t care if he wheels a nuclear tomahawk down Main Street. Walk away and call your shrink.”
I crammed the phone in my pocket and slapped a hand on Max’s mouth to muffle the gales of laughter.
“Now that was rude. Who needs the Chicago PD anyway? We’ll bring Eddie and Charlie in ourselves.”
Max choked.
“You’re the super spy, aren’t you? You can kill with your bare hands.”
“You do need therapy.”
“I thought you were good.”
“I’m the best but I’m doing the math. We’re way outnumbered and the bad guys have a hell of a lot more weapons. I’m not opposed to back-up.”
I hauled out my phone and searched for a number.
Max hid a smile.
“I’m calling Special Agent Larry Harding of the FBI. We’re buddies.”
“FBI? You didn’t mention him before.”
“He’s a schmuck.”
Special Agent Harding’s telephone went directly to voicemail and I left a message. “Hey, Larry, this is Cat. Cat DeLuca,” I added to be clear.
“Yep, you’re buddies alright,” Max said.
“Eddie Harr is shipping arms tonight. I’m on my way to the Kids First warehouse. I need back-up. Please hurry.”
I listened through the delivery options and marked it Urgent.
“Does your buddy like you enough to drag his team out in the middle of the night to save your admittedly fine ass?”
“Harding is…uh…”
“He doesn’t like you at all, does he?”
“Nope. Not even a little bit.”
“Then he won’t be coming.”
“Probably not.”
“We’re running short on back-up. Shot down by your brother, Chicago’s finest, and the Feds.” Max hauled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
Max winked. “Babe, I’ve got friends in low places.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Max drove slowly past the Kids First Project warehouse. At the back of the building the loading dock was lit up like Wrigley Field. A big ass black and silver semi was parked in the distribution bay. I counted four beefy guys covering the truck. One, I was guessing, was Charlie.
Max parked Tino’s Buick down the street and cut the lights. He reloaded the Colt 45 in his shoulder holster and tucked a backup around his ankle. I pulled the 9mm from my gold Chanel shoulder bag and checked the safety before jamming it in the back of my pants.
“I counted eight vehicles,” I said.
“One guard smoking in front.”
I missed the smoker. “Can you take him down?”
“With my bare hands.”
&
nbsp; Max reached over and pinned his hand on my knee. “I’m going in alone.”
I flung his hand off me. “The hell you are Max. We’re a team.”
“Wrong, Cat. I’m your bodyguard and you’re staying here.”
I saw a glint of shiny silver handcuffs in his left hand. “Then you’ll want to keep an eye on this body.” I kicked open my door and escaped outside.
Max swore and clambered out after me. “Okay, fine, but this is just recon, not an attack. Stick with me.”
“I’m on you like paper on taffy.”
We darted across the parking lot and weaved though a scattering of cars to a green BMW with a fresh bullet hole in the back window.
“Nice shootin’ Tex,” I mouthed.
Max pressed an index finger to his lips, cueing me to silence.
I punched his arm. The hired gun leaned against the BMW’s hood a few yards away. I wasn’t blind or stupid.
Max motioned for me to wait. Before I could mouth a protest he edged around the Beemer. I slid around the other side and hunkered down behind the front tire and peered cautiously over the hood. The muscle had a large flat face and an unlit cigarette hung from his mouth. He struck a match and thick lips and a honking huge schnozzola flickered in the firelight. It wasn’t pretty.
A shadow caught the corner of my eye. Max charged from behind, hooking an iron arm around the thick beefy neck, locking him in a choke hold. Schnozzola gasped, kicking his feet as his air shut off. I rocketed in as he went down and sucker punched him with the butt of my pistol.
“You know he was already out cold.”
I blew on my pistol. “It was a team effort.”
Max made a face. “So much for the recon mission.”
We dragged the dead weight around the side of the building. Max grabbed my hand and we ran to the front entrance. I fumbled in my pockets and for a few nail-biting moments a spotlight above the door lit us up like the Fourth of July.
I set the tension wrench in the lock, pulled the pick, and hauled Max through the door.
“Impressive.”
“Stick with me, babe,” I said. “I’ll show you my magic.”
Max snatched a peppermint candy from a bowl on the counter and popped it in his mouth. His eyes followed a trail of framed pictures on the wall. Eddie Harr grinned at us in a dozen.
Max whistled softly. “Damn. How does somebody get in the White Sox dugout?”
I tugged his sleeve. “What do you care? You’re a Cubs fan.”
We passed through the reception area and moved quickly through the corridor to the two doors at the end of the hall. There were voices behind the door leading to the warehouse and a forklift whined at full throttle.
Max listened. “There’s at least three guys plus one on the forklift and four outside back.”
“We can take them down.”
Max grabbed my neck and knuckle-rubbed the top of my head. “Recon, sister. We’re after something that’ll force Captain Bob to reconsider.”
I jiggled the knob to the volunteer’s workshop and a bell on the other side of the warehouse wall screamed. I jumped.
“Nerves of steel,” Max grinned.
The sound of heavy work boots plonked our way and a voice growled into the telephone.
“This is Burt.”
The message from the other end was brief.
“Dammit,” Burt swore and slammed the phone down. He whistled and hollered and the machines turned off.
“We got company,” Burt bellowed. “That damn woman is back and she brought her boyfriend. Find them!”
Max cocked his head. “They know you?”
“Oh shit,” I said.
“And move this rig outta here,” Burt roared.
The giant diesel rumbled to life, gears gnashing in a rush to exit with Eddie’s cache.
“We may need more bullets,” I said.
Max grabbed my hand and we ran back through the twisted corridor, my ragged breath barely audible above the loud clacking of my shoes.
Behind us the door to the warehouse blasted open. “They’re here!” Burt’s voice shouted.
A stampede of rushing feet pounded the hallway and my feet flew faster.
“You know that magic you promised to show me,” Max shouted.
“Yeah?” I gasped.
“Now would be a good time.”
We skidded into the lobby and I kicked the front door open, grabbed a shoe in my hand, and launched it across the asphalt. I grabbed Max and we ducked behind the counter. Eddie’s punks slid into the lobby and stormed out the door brandishing guns. For a moment they hesitated under the spotlight searching the shadows. There was a wild cry, someone snared my shoe, and they plunged into the night.
When they were gone Max brushed himself off. Giving a low throaty chuckle he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. “That was magic, Babe.”
“Oh yeah,” I said all cocky. “They think we got away.”
He looked at his watch. “Until they find the car. I give them three minutes. Maybe four.”
“Dammit Max.” I pushed him away. “Now what?”
He smiled. “That should put a couple hoodlums around the Buick about the same time Tino screams in with his team. Tino hates it when people mess with his car.”
My face broke in a giddy grin. “You mean Tino’s coming?”
“That’s what I call reinforcements.”
The farthest distance from the loading docks was a waiting room. We steered clear of the windows and waited for our back up. I hate to wait.
“What time is it?” I said.
“Two minutes since you asked last.”
“Call Tino.”
“He’ll be here.”
I sighed. “I’m getting a soda. D’ya want one?”
“Gimme Mr. Pibb.”
“Tough guy.”
I held out a hand. “I threw away a hundred dollar shoe,” I said.
“Anytime, gimpy.” Max burrowed deep in his pocket and emptied a fistful of change in my palm.
The vending machines were located in a small alcove down the hall. I limped there and pressed my face against the glass. I spun the sugar and carbs around. Cherry pies, Ho Hos, peanuts, candies, chips, corn dogs, pretzels, and Almond Joy. A veritable feast.
“What to choose?” I mumbled.
“Starburst,” a soft voice growled. I twisted around and almost gagged on the heart in my throat.
“Hey, Charlie,” I said to the gun in his hand.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said. “I don’t like hurting girls.”
“Then don’t.”
He shrugged, unconvinced.
I tore my eyes from the gun and took in his dirty blond hair, bug eyes, and pocked face. Charlie wasn’t pretty. There was toad somewhere in his genealogy.
I managed a sour smile. “So, big guy, why did you kill Rita?”
He shrugged. “Polansky had a death wish. Apparently so do you.”
I was quick to set the record straight. “See, that’s where you’re wrong Charlie. I want to live a good long life like your Grandma.”
Charlie growled. “You got no business talking about my Grandma.”
“And you got no business telling her I’m a hootchie. Your Grandma likes me. She thinks we’re engaged.”
Charlie sneered. “Girls like you don’t go out with me.”
“Did ya ask me, Charlie?” I inched closer.
He tightened his grip on the gun. “No tricks. Stay where you are.”
“Whatever.” I counted the change in my hand. “We’ll share a Starburst. I like the little bows you make with the wrappers.”
Charlie didn’t hide his pleasure. “You noticed?”
“I noticed other things about you too. You have a really hot car.”
“General Lee.”
“Take me for a spin in the General, Charlie. But lose the gun. Girls don’t like guns.”
Charlie mulled what I said in his thick delusional head.
“The boss wouldn’t like that,” he decided.
“He wouldn’t have to know.” I winked and moved a little closer, the Starburst in my open hand.
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You joking? The boss always knows.”
Maybe Charlie wasn’t as dumb as he seemed.
Where the hell was Max anyway? AKA my bodyguard. It might occur to him I could use some help here. I mean how long does it take to get a soda?
I stretched my neck in a big circle, snuck a peek behind me, and swallowed a scream. A big honker filled the doorway and the bulging eyes were pissed.
“Have a nice nap?” I said.
“You!” He tapped the red bruise on his cheek. The butt of my pistol was all over it.
“You did this, bitch.”
“Did not,” I lied and smacked my lips. They stuck. It was a hell of a night. No Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker, no Max. And me wearing one miserable shoe.
Schnozzola reached into his jacket pocket. I caught a glimmer of metal.
“A knife?” My voice rose in disbelief and a shudder sliced through me like a blade. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You can’t kill her,” Charlie said to my surprise. “It’s the boss’ call.”
I hooked two fingers. “Eddie and I are like this.”
He ran his finger along the blade, drew blood, and smiled.
“Sicko,” I said.
“I’ll hurt her just a little,” he said and Charlie, a team player, nodded.
Schnozzola lunged for me and I dove low. I rolled on the floor striking him in the knees. He went down hard and I clipped his arm with the side of my hand. The knife dropped and I swung my lone shoe and sent it skittering across the floor. I jumped on his big belly and pummeled him with my fists. He laughed and whacked me on the side of my head, tossing me off him like a salad. I jerked to my knees and plucked the 9mm from my jeans but Charlie punted the gun from my hand.
“You can’t bring a gun to a knife fight,” Charlie said and flung a Starburst bow on the floor. As if he ever followed any rules.
I hurtled to my feet and stomped Schnozzola in the groin. He recoiled in a ball on the floor.
I blasted to the closest big metal box and tugged it off-kilter with all my might. The vending machine crashed to the floor, pinning Schnozzola and splaying broken plastic and junk food across his chest.