Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

“Sex on the Beach,” she corrected. “First lesson, never drink anything that Abe drinks.”

  Jake braced his head with his hand. “Yeah, I got that. Adonis tried to warn me.”

  Peyton laughed. She picked up a scribbled note that had been taped to her counter. “What does this say?”

  Jake squinted at it. “You’re out of drink umbrellas. He wants the ones that are pink and orange next time you go to the store.”

  Peyton pulled out a drawer next to the stove. “They’re right here.” She held up a paper umbrella for him to see.

  “Silly me,” he said in the most dead-pan voice. “How could I miss that?”

  Peyton pulled out a pan from beneath the stove. “How about I make you pancakes this morning?”

  Jake blinked at her. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I make a mean flapjack.”

  He picked up his mug and took a sip. “Sounds good to me.”

  After breakfast, she took a quick shower, walked Pickles, and then returned to the house to find Jake napping. She sent a quick text to Abe, telling him she needed to talk. He sent one back telling her to come to the lab, he was finishing up some work. Abe was the only one she knew who worked on Sundays as often as she did.

  She drove over to the lab. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. A little breeze blew across the parking lot, making the eucalyptus trees bordering it sway. They gave off a clean, menthol smell that wafted over her as she walked to the back door, placing her sunglasses on top of her head. The guard smiled as he opened it for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping into the brilliantly lit, sterile hallway.

  She wandered toward Abe’s new lab, pushing open the door and peering inside. The coroner’s office had moved him from the basement when another M.E. retired and gave him a state of the art facility to work in. He’d been so proud, he’d smuggled champagne in and they’d celebrated in secret one night while he worked.

  A body sat on the metal table in the center of the room and Abe was bending over it, staring at something in the chest cavity.

  She grimaced and looked away. Someone who saw as many dead bodies as she did should be used to them by now, but she wasn’t.

  “Abe?”

  He looked up, his dreads swinging, and then reached for the sheet, covering the corpse. He was always thoughtful that way. “Hey, soul sista’.” He went to his sink and briskly washed his hands. “Give me a minute.”

  She waited by the door until he came over and pulled her into a bear hug. “What’s going on, baby girl?” he said, kissing the top of her curly head.

  “Can we talk somewhere else?”

  “Yeah, let me buy you a soda.”

  He led her back into the hallway and toward the far end, pushing open another swinging door. It opened on a small cafeteria with a bank of vending machines and a few tables, surrounded by blue plastic chairs. Pulling a few bills from his pocket, he fed them into the machine and pressed a button. A can dropped into the tray at the bottom and he fished it out, passing it to her.

  She took it and wandered over to one of the tables as he inserted another bill into the machine. Once he had his can, he took a seat across from her and propped his feet on another chair.

  “What’s up?”

  She fingered the rim of the can. “Should you leave that body like that?”

  “He’s not going anywhere. I’ve got a little while before he gets ripe.”

  Peyton flinched. “Lord, Abe, that’s morbid.”

  Abe held out his long fingered hand. “It’s the job I do, sweets.” He took a sip of his soda. “How’s your roommate?”

  “Hung-over. Why’d you let him drink your concoctions?”

  Abe shrugged. “He’s a big boy. We couldn’t find the umbrellas though.”

  “They were in the drawer by the stove.”

  “Didn’t look there. Anyway, we won $50 off him at poker last night.”

  “He doesn’t have $50 to spare, Abe.”

  “He’s got a real understanding landlord, I hear,” he answered with a wink.

  Peyton rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help her smile. He was so damn endearing. She took off her sunglasses and laid them on the table next to her drink.

  “Stop stalling. What’s up?”

  She twirled the glasses around by the ear piece. “Devan asked me to move in with him. Well, he didn’t come out and ask me, but he hinted at it.”

  Abe dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. “For the love of all that is holy, Peyton. Really? Why aren’t you packing? You have no idea what I’d do to park my bags in that condo.”

  “I have some idea,” said Peyton wryly.

  Abe laughed. “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “You’d think about it? What is there to think about, girlfriend? When a gorgeous, rich man asks you to move in with him, you don’t do no thinking.”

  She sighed and dropped her head on her arms.

  Abe reached over and placed his hand against her elbow. “What’s wrong? I thought you were crazy about D.A. Delicious.”

  “I am,” she mumbled into her arms.

  “Dish,” he commanded, swatting her.

  She lifted her head. “I want to be excited, I really do, but all I can think about is wandering around, afraid to touch anything. He’s got these lamps that look like barnacles. I would be afraid to turn them on. And a white shag rug? With Pickles?”

  Abe grimaced. “I’m beginning to see.”

  “What do I do?”

  Abe ran his tongue over his teeth in consideration. “I wish I knew. I think you’ve got to talk to him. Tell him just what you told me. Maybe he’d consider moving into your place…”

  When Peyton gave him an arch look, he bopped his head to either side, sending his dreads dancing. “You’re right. Stupid thought. Anyway, you’re gonna have to talk to him, sweets. Tell him why you’re hesitating and ask him to give you some time.”

  Peyton leaned her head back and blew out her breath. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” He looked at the watch on his arm. “I better get back to my stiff before he grows some mold.”

  Peyton stood up and leaned on the table, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, staring into his caramel brown eyes.

  “Always, baby girl.”

  “And keep your cards and booze away from my roommate.”

  Abe waved a hand. “Like I said, he’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.” He pushed away from the table and stood up, grabbing both of their cans. He dumped them in the recycle as he escorted her to the door. When they were in the outer hallway, he draped an arm across her shoulders and headed toward his lab.

  “You’ll figure it out. Just do what feels right, okay?”

  She gave him a squeeze, then released him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. Bye, sugar-lips.”

  “Bye, baby cakes.”

  He disappeared into his lab and she continued toward the back door. When she reached it, she pushed it open. The security guard gave her a brief nod.

  “Thank you,” she said, starting toward her car.

  “No problem. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  She smiled back at him. “I’m gonna try.”

  A car engine roared to life at the end of the parking lot. Since it was Sunday, there weren’t many cars parked out back today. She noted that it was an older model Lincoln as it accelerated toward the street. Sunlight glanced off its windshield and she reached for her sunglasses, then remembered she’d left them on the table in the cafeteria.

  Turning around, she jogged back to the door. “Forgot my sunglasses,” she said with a laugh.

  The guard began to slide off his stool to open the door, but she waved him back.

  “I’ve got it,” she said.

  She heard the wheels on the car squeal just as she pulled the door open. Something slammed into the door above her head and instinctively she du
cked, dropping to her hands and knees, then covering her head. What the hell!

  The guard made a strangled sound and fell off the stool, landing in front of her. She glanced up to see a bloom of red spread across his upper chest, just as she heard another pop. A bullet slammed into the side of the building and another one splintered the guard’s podium.

  Peyton grabbed the guard’s uniform shirt and tugged. “Come on,” she shouted, keeping her head down as she angled her body inside the doorway.

  The guard rolled to his side with a groan of pain and inched across the ground as Peyton pulled on his arm. They collapsed inside the building and she let the door slam shut.

  “How do you lock it?”

  The guard sank against the wall, his face contorted in pain. “Panic button,” he said, lifting his hand enough to point to the wall above her head.

  Peyton lunged to her feet and threw up the plastic cover, slamming her hand over the red button. The sharp shriek of the siren echoed in the white hallways and the lock on the door engaged automatically.

  Peyton dropped beside the guard, pressing her hands to his chest. Blood had flowed down his arm and was pooling beneath him. “Abe!” she shouted above the screaming of the siren. “Abe!”

  The guard was panting hard, sweat breaking out on his forehead and rolling down his temples. Peyton pressed harder.

  “Abe!”

  She heard someone running and then Abe was skidding to a halt beside her.

  “What the hell…”

  “He’s been shot.”

  Abe pushed her away. “This is my area.” He pulled the guard flat and removed his white lab coat, pressing it over the wound. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, digging into her jeans pocket after her phone. Her hands were slick with the guard’s blood as she thumbed it on and dialed 911, then she reached into her jacket after her gun.

  “Who the hell are you calling?”

  “I’m calling for backup. I’m sure you don’t want to hope that door is gonna hold.”

  Abe’s dark eyes lifted to her and he swallowed hard.

  * * *

  The parking lot behind the Medical Examiner’s building was filled with police cars, ambulances, and one massive fire engine. Police in plain clothes and uniforms roamed the area, measuring out distances with a wheel or standing in small pockets, talking to each other.

  Jake didn’t immediately get out of the car as Marco pulled to a stop and threw the Charger in gear. Throwing the door open, the larger man looked over and gave him a scowl.

  “You coming?”

  Jake glanced at him, then searched the area for Peyton.

  Marco didn’t wait. “Let’s go!” he said, climbing from the car and striding across the asphalt.

  Jake reached for his camera case and opened his own door, climbing out. He followed Marco and then came to a stop when he caught sight of Peyton. Blood stained the front of her clothes, but Marco didn’t seem to care, pulling her into an embrace and kissing the top of her head.

  Jake wasn’t sure what he felt. Relief, sure, but there was a bitter, dry feeling in his mouth and his stomach felt like it was knotted. He could see a person on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. Abe was bending over him and another paramedic was fussing with tubes hanging down from the ceiling of the vehicle. An oxygen mask obscured the man’s face, but Jake tried to reason that he wouldn’t need oxygen if he wasn’t alive. Outside of the ambulance, all was chaos and motion – cops, firefighters and paramedics moving around, talking into radios, and motioning back and forth.

  Peyton glanced around Marco and saw him. She extricated herself and crossed the parking lot. “Jake, I need you to take pictures. Start over there at the back of the parking lot where the markers are. Get some shots of the casings, then come back here and shoot the building.”

  Jake’s eyes involuntarily tracked a path to the red-brown stain covering her shirt front and pants. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He felt like retching, a static buzz was in his ears.

  “Jake?” she said sharply.

  He blinked up into her eyes.

  “I need you to take pictures.” Her brow lowered in a frown and she reached toward him. Splatters of blood dotted the back of her hand. Jake simply stared at it. “Are you all right?”

  “Peyton,” called Captain Defino. “I need you to give a description of the car, so we can get an APB out on it.”

  “All right, Captain,” Peyton called over her shoulder. She turned back to Jake. “Jake?”

  He shook himself, then took a step back, moving toward the markers she’d pointed out at the far corner of the parking lot. He could see her watching him from the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t answer her. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

  “I’ll talk to him,” he heard Marco say.

  He set the camera bag down by the marker and hunkered over it, unhooking the latch. The smooth plastic of the camera body gave him something else to focus on, until Marco’s shoes moved into his line of sight. He hunkered down in front of Jake and put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

  “You okay?”

  Jake closed his eyes and gripped the camera tighter. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “You have to compartmentalize it. Store it away.”

  Jake looked up into Marco’s handsome, grim features. The ambulance rumbled to a start and the lights whirled on the top of it. Jake’s attention was snagged and he watched as the paramedic closed the back doors. Abe’s dark head could be seen in the rear window. “She could have been killed. She left the house this morning, and an hour later, she could have been dead.” He motioned at the cops. “They could be asking me to take pictures of her corpse.”

  “I know that, but you’ve got to focus on the fact that she’s all right. She’s not even hurt. And the guard, Abe thinks he’s going to make it. This is a one-time thing, it doesn’t happen all the time.”

  Jake gave a bark of laughter, then jumped when the shriek of the siren rent the afternoon. Marco looked over his shoulder and watched as the ambulance pulled around the side of the building, carrying the wounded guard to the hospital.

  “It only takes one bullet.”

  Marco turned back to him. “What?”

  “It only takes one bullet and it’s over. How can she do this? How can you?”

  “Because if we don’t, they win. If we don’t go after these guys, what happens to the rest of the City? And in order to get convictions on these scumbags, we need evidence, Jake, we need photos. If you want to protect her, help her put these bastards away for good.”

  Jake hugged the camera to his chest. “All right, you win. I’ll take the pictures.”

  Marco slapped his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “Let me know if you need anything.” He started to turn away.

  Staring out over the chaotic scene, Jake’s thoughts snapped into focus. He looked down at the spent shells, then back to the building. Even from here, he could see the holes made by the bullets.

  “Adonis?”

  Marco swiveled back around.

  “Someone followed her here.” He rose to his feet. “Someone watched her leave the house.”

  Marco’s expression grew even grimmer.

  “Someone knows where she lives and I think we both know who that is.”

  “Shit.” Marco’s hands flexed into fists. “It was Venus.”

  Jake nodded. “Who else?”

  Marco clenched his jaw, then turned away, striding toward the captain who was instructing some uniformed officers in cordoning off the area. Jake watched Marco and the captain begin a heated discussion. Impulsively, he lifted the camera and captured them. Then he panned over. Peyton was talking with a sketch artist, pointing around the parking lot. Jake snapped the shot, then looked into the viewfinder as it loaded the image for him. She looked small and fragile against the backdrop of so much action, cops moving back and forth, their bodies a blur of color around her and she the only solid th
ing in the frame.

  He drew a deep breath, then turned back to the spent shells, lifting the camera to focus it.

  * * *

  Peyton glanced around the crowded street. North Beach was always a bustle, but once darkness fell, all manner of creepy crawlies came out. Prostitutes hawked their wears on the corners, johns pulled up in fancy cars and rolled down windows, hiding behind the high tinting on their windshields. Servicemen wandered from bar to bar, shaking off a week of obedience in the raunchiest way possible. Strip joints and dance clubs, bars and poker rooms, whores and pimps – a shadow world hiding their desperation behind neon lights.

  Venus had said she owned this corner. Her regulars knew where to find her and the other whores knew to stay away. El Griego had held it with an iron fist, but since his death, Peyton wasn’t sure who ran the show. Especially now that they didn’t know where Venus had gone. Peyton didn’t like to speculate what that might mean, but as they trolled the streets looking for her, she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She hated to think that Venus had sold her out, but it seemed pretty obvious in her disappearance. Not only that, but Peyton was beginning to fear she might be dead.

  Finally Marco suggested they shake down the girls working her corner. Peyton wasn’t sure that would work – they were homicide detectives, not vice, but she didn’t have any other suggestions, so it was worth a shot.

  She could see Marco strolling down the street ahead of her. They had parked around the corner, then decided to approach Venus’ spot from opposite directions. Peyton hung back and let Marco arrive first. A whore with brilliant red hair turned toward him immediately. In one hand she held a cigarette, while the other was covered with a black lace glove. Her hair was piled on top of her head, trailing down her back and over the rise of her breasts, which strained at the leather bustier she wore. A short skirt barely covered her ass, ending in fishnet stockings and five inch heels. She was already a tall woman, but in the leopard-print sling-backs she nearly topped Marco.

  Marco stopped before her and Peyton could see the whore’s head dip as she looked him up and down.

  “Just keep walking, handsome,” she said in a drawl. “You’re either a cop or gay.”