by Jory Strong
“Ha ha.” She got up to turn the second batch of pancakes and stayed next to the stove.
He slapped one hand over his heart and raised the other. “Seriously. Boy Scout Promise.”
“Were you even a Boy Scout?”
“Of course I was.”
“Yeah right,” Braden said. “For all of three months. And it was Cub Scouts.”
“Whatever. That’s not the point.” He looked at Tyler. “Tell her I’m not bullshitting about Grandma M.”
“He’s not.”
“Okay, give me an example of this famous sight.”
“There was the time she warned Lyric’s parents about going on that expedition in Colombia,” Braden said.
Shane claimed the last piece of bacon. “That’s a good one.”
Tyler added syrup to his pancake. “I like the hitman story.”
Braden took the syrup bottle from Tyler. “Yeah, that’s probably a better one.”
“Okay, here goes,” Shane said. “This involves Bulldog. He took a job in Atlantic City. One of the casinos there thought something hinky was going on at the blackjack tables. Almost every day a group of people who looked like they didn’t have much money would come in and mostly play at the same three tables. They’d lose a bundle. But the funny thing was, every day, three to six people would come in and play at those same three tables, and adding it all up, would win just about what the other players had lost.”
Madison set a fresh batch of pancakes on the table and reclaimed her chair, totally intrigued. “Let me guess, they were laundering money.”
Braden grinned. “Maybe you ought to work for Crime Tells. How’s your poker game?”
“Better than mine,” Tyler said.
Both Braden and Shane smirked. Shane said, “Back to the hitman story. And yeah, you’re right. They were laundering drug money in exchange for cash or product. It was actually a good scheme, but to get away with it they needed way more fresh faces at the table.”
“That’d only go so far,” Braden said. “What they really needed was to be willing to let the money ride at the casino or trust the losers to play at other tables and not try to cheat them, or at least change things up so it wasn’t obviously money in, money out.”
“True.” Shane snagged another pancake. “So the casino got suspicious. They called Bulldog. He agreed to investigate. But one of the blackjack dealers involved somehow found out about it—something that came out afterward. He told the guys he was working for and they ordered him to find out when Bulldog was showing up. He did, and they arranged a hit.”
“Only Grandma M had a premonition while he was traveling,” Braden said.
Madison leaned forward, pancake cooling on her plate. “What’d she see?”
Shane said, “The first two letters of a New Jersey license plate on a black car parked behind a yellow one about a block away from a street sign. That image was followed by flashing lights, a coroner’s van and Bulldog—with most of his face and head missing.”
Madison shivered. The hair on her arms rose. “She called and warned him?”
Shane nodded. Braden said, “She had to wait until his plane landed. She says it was close to being the longest three hours of her entire life.”
“Then what happened?”
“Bulldog called in a favor. The cops found the car where Grandma had seen it. The guy waiting for Bulldog had a gun and a couple of felony convictions, so back to jail, do not pass Go or collect two hundred dollars. He lawyered up. It didn’t matter. Bulldog got to the casino and figured out how the three dealers were tipping the winning players so they’d know when to bet big. That caused a race to confess and cut the best deal.”
Madison put butter and syrup on her pancake. “How’d the gunman know where to wait for Bulldog?”
“Easy,” Braden said. “The hotel sent a car for him. The driver pretty much always traveled the same route.”
They polished off the rest of the breakfast.
Tyler asked Braden, “You going to be around today?”
“Yeah. Don’t have anything that’ll take me too far.”
“You mind keeping the girls?”
Braden grinned. “Returning them means I get invited to the next meal, right? As long as Madison’s cooking, taking on some responsibility would be a yes.”
Tyler glanced at Madison, silently asking if she wanted to slave over the stove for another meal.
“You’re invited,” she said.
Braden pumped his fist.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
Tyler stood. “Ready to head to Reno?”
“Definitely.” Though they stayed long enough to clean up after breakfast, then left with an exuberant Kiki and Daisy at the end of their leashes.
Madison snickered when she saw the jacked-up monster truck parked behind Shane’s Rubicon. “Overcompensating much?” she asked Braden.
He grinned. “You’re in a better position to answer that one. Until little brother had his bad run of cards, the truck belonged to him.”
She turned to Shane. “Really?”
“What can I say? Boys and their toys.”
Braden lifted the wriggling dachshunds into the truck. “Now that I’ve got the babe-magnets, I think I’ll take them someplace where the scenery is more interesting.”
They got in the Jeep, Madison up front, Tyler sliding into the back. “Tell me some more sight stories,” she said.
And they did, most of them involving Grandmother Maguire, but more than a few about Lyric and Braden.
Tyler’s phone rang as they hit Stockton.
“Possibly a Modesto number,” he said, quickening Madison’s pulse.
Shane changed lanes, moving to the far right and slowing to the speed limit.
Tyler answered. Listened. Said, “Madison is with me. We can be there in thirty-five, forty-five minutes.”
He leaned forward, his hair brushing her arm. “That was Alma Escobar, apartment twenty-one. Last week a lawyer showed up at her door with an envelope to hold for you. He paid her a thousand bucks, with the promise of another thousand when she handed off the envelope. He told her that she had to give it to you directly, and that you would be with someone from Crime Tells.”
Shane whistled softly. “Whoever Bio-dad is, he’s confident.”
They exited at the next ramp. thirty-nine minutes later Alma opened the door holding a chubby-legged boy sucking a fist.
Chapter Ten
Madison looked beyond Alma, who was probably only a few years older than her mother had been when she lived in this apartment. She strained for a memory of the place, for some recollection of being held in the doorway as this child was being held. There wasn’t even a glimmer of something from her own past.
“I need proof of who you are,” Alma said.
Madison provided it by pulling out her driver’s license.
Alma nodded. She took an arm off the toddler, reached for something out of sight, her hand returning with a business-sized envelope.
“The lawyer said to tell you that you’re close to the end.”
Madison took the envelope, feeling the press of a key against her fingers.
“What was the lawyer’s name?” Tyler asked.
Alma shook her head. “He said you might ask but not to tell you, not if I wanted the rest of my money.”
“What about a description? That’s not the same as a name.”
“No. Sorry.”
She stepped backward and closed the door without them trying to stop her.
“You’re losing your touch,” Shane told Tyler.
“Like I could compete against a thousand bucks paid out in cold, hard cash.”
“You’re not looking in the mirror if you believe that,” Madison said, grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him forward for a kiss.
Tyler returned it and was smiling afterward. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“And yet again, he gets his ego stroked.”
�
�Poor baby.”
She hooked her hand in the front of Shane’s jeans.
He grinned and let her tug him in.
She wriggled her fingers against taut abs. “Consider my hand placement as an indication of where your ego lies in relation to Tyler’s.”
“Works for me,” he said, swooping, and there was added heat because her lips were still wet from Tyler’s.
Shane’s tongue stroked hers. Deepened the kiss, extended it into a moan that slid into a sigh of frustration before he ended it.
She pulled her hand from his waistband. Opened the envelope then tilted it. A key dropped onto her palm.
Shane picked it up. “Belongs to a car or truck.”
She pulled a Stanford brochure free of the envelope.
“That it?” Tyler asked.
Madison widened the envelope, showing him there was nothing else.
Opening the brochure, they could all see that there were letters and numbers highlighted in green.
Shane rolled the key between his fingers. “I’m guessing we’ll be looking for a car parked on campus. I’m also guessing that Alma has already made the call so the next clue can be put in place. Keep going to Reno? Or head to Stanford?”
“Reno. But I want to stop by Mr. Bergdorf’s apartment to see if he recognizes the woman who went by the name Suzanne Turner.”
They took the stairs.
The old man didn’t answer his door.
“We can come back if we decide it’s important,” Shane said, handing her the car key.
She put it with the brochure, folding the envelope and jamming it into a back pocket.
They returned to the Jeep.
From the backseat, Tyler said, “We could get Braden or Lyric looking for the car. It’s not like they’d need the key to get into it.”
Shane glanced at her. “Want to farm it out? Or do it ourselves?”
“Let’s do it ourselves,” she said, wanting more time with Shane and Tyler.
“Anyone up for a bet?” Shane asked.
Tyler groaned. Madison said, “What’d you have in mind?”
He hit the trip reset, returning it to zero. “A hundred bucks says we’ll see a red Porsche, traveling either direction in the next twenty miles.”
“You’re on.”
“Tyler?”
“I’m in.”
Madison was ahead by three hundred and seventy-five dollars when Shane pulled the Jeep into the Gold and Silver Casino’s parking lot.
“Should I take your car keys,” Madison asked Shane. “In case you get sucked into a game?”
“Not even tempted. I’ve got to win my money back from you.”
They entered the casino, weaving through banks of slot machines being played by senior citizens, then past blackjack tables, most of them with only two or three players.
In the area roped off for poker, all of the dealers were men.
Madison called Tanya’s cell.
“You’re here?” Tanya asked.
“Yes. Right next to the ropes.”
“I’m in the smoking lounge near the Pai Gow tables.”
They reached it a few minutes later.
Madison’s pulse did a quick leap at spotting a blocky blonde, but settled when Tanya looked up from her cell phone.
“Thought for minute…” Shane muttered.
Tyler gave a small nod. “Me too.”
Tanya was no longer scrawny, the way Mr. Bergdorf had described her, but the face didn’t match the one belonging to Suzanne Turner.
They joined her, introducing themselves.
Tanya fished out a cigarette from a pack on her thigh. She put it between her lips and used a lighter to fire the end, her eyes never leaving Madison.
“It’s you all right,” she finally said.
Madison scrolled to the picture of the girl whose real name might not be Suzanne Turner. “Do you recognize her? From when you hung out with Desiree?”
Tanya shook her head. “No. Who is she?”
Share the information or not?
Madison glanced at Shane.
He gave a tiny shrug. It was her call.
Tanya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Her name is Suzanne Turner,” Madison said. “We think she might have had something to do with convincing Desiree to give me up. This picture came from my adoption file.”
Tanya took a long draw from the cigarette, exhaled. “I don’t know what to tell you, except I didn’t think Des would give you up. But then, I didn’t think she’d disappear like that either.”
Madison rubbed the cell against her jeans. “Why did her leaving surprise you?”
“We were supposed to meet up, kind of a moral support thing after a guy I was seeing ditched me, but she never showed. I went by her place a couple of times. I left messages but she never called. Finally I got worried enough to go to the police.”
Madison’s skin tingled. “You filed a missing persons report?”
“Yeah, for all the good it did. Lazy cops wouldn’t get off their asses. And I got plenty of shit for asking them to.”
“There’s no record of the report.”
Tanya snorted. “Fucking cops.”
“Do you remember who took the report?” Shane asked.
“You’re kidding me, right?” She took a long pull from the cigarette.
“Who gave you shit?” he asked.
“Friends. The bad kind to have, not that I was totally convinced back then.”
“The friends Desiree lived with before moving to Cantaloupe Springs?” Madison asked.
“The same. Most of them are locked up. Or at least they were when I finally decided to get my shit together.”
“So you never saw her again?” Madison asked.
“The third day after we were supposed to meet, I went by and her stuff was cleared out.” She touched her heart. “It hurt, you know? Her rent was paid up, she didn’t take trouble back to her place, so I knew she hadn’t been kicked out. Eventually I figured maybe she had decided she needed a clean start, a clean break from the old and she wasn’t sure she could do it if she had to say goodbye. Still, it was a slap in the face.”
“Do you know who my father is?”
Tanya shook her head. “Look, this isn’t pretty but it’s the truth. Des didn’t even know who he was, unless she lied about that. Back before she found out she was pregnant, she was all caught up in the party scene. That and doing what she had to do to keep from living on the street. She slept with whoever she had to sleep with. Been that way since she was thirteen.”
“She ran away from home?”
“Walked, more like. And no one came looking for her. Happens all the time. Fuck all those people who guess what’s going on and can’t be bothered to step up and do anything about it.”
“She grew up in Modesto?”
Tanya took a draw off the cigarette. Held the smoke, released it. “Sacramento. Some trailer park.”
“Do you remember the name of the park, a general location?”
She shrugged. “Close to where Highway 80 runs alongside Lincoln Highway. A couple of months before she disappeared we were driving to Reno. Out of the blue Des pointed and said, ‘I’m a hell of a lot better mother than she ever was. She cared more about her stupid pixies than me.’”
Most of the remaining cigarette disappeared on an inhale. Tanya held her breath, then vented the smoke through her nose.
“Des only started trying to get straight when she came off a high and realized she had a baby bump. The guy she was with kicked her out. And no offense, I told her to go to the clinic, handle the situation that way. I mean, she hadn’t even turned sixteen. She didn’t talk to me for a couple of months. That’s why it blows my mind that she gave you up for adoption. She’d gotten mostly clean to have you. We still went out, but she partied light because of you. As far as family goes, you were all she had.”
Tanya clenched her hand, gave two knocks above her heart. “But what do I know? She ditched
me and left without bothering to say goodbye.”
“Back when she would have gotten pregnant with me, were any of the guys she was hanging around with rich? From San Francisco?”
“Not hardly. Doesn’t mean she couldn’t have gotten knocked up after hooking up, but she wasn’t going around with anybody who had cash. Everyone was scrambling to get high the same as she was.”
“Can you remember her being with a drummer?” Madison asked. “Or hanging out with a band?”
“The only guys I remember her being with are the losers she shacked up with.”
Tanya polished off the cigarette and jabbed the butt into an ashtray. “I need to get back on the floor.”
“Thanks for talking to me,” Madison said. “If you think of anything…”
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
Truth?
Maybe.
Outside the lounge, Shane took one of her hands and Tyler the other.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Tyler said, “I think Bio-dad showed up, wanting to make amends—but Shane’s right—Bio-dad’s version of it included cleaning up old messes so the past wouldn’t be dragged into his future. I think he made an offer that was too good for Desiree to turn down, one that included a new start.”
Shane’s arm moved, swinging hers like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.
“Puts a new slant on Officer Grimes not being able to find a missing persons report,” he said. “Money and influence could have made it disappear.”
Madison nodded. “The same way Bio-dad made Bio-mom and me disappear.”
Shane squeezed her hand.
They stepped out of the casino.
Madison lifted her face to the sun, absorbing it through her skin. “When he sent us to Modesto, I don’t think he meant for me to learn who Bio-mom was. I think he wanted me to get a sense of how she was struggling, so he’d be the hero who made sure I ended up in a good place.”
“That could fit,” Shane said. “It fits even better if you look at how he handled it—a lawyer showing up, paying Alma to hand off a package. The promise of more money, but only if she keeps silent. It’s like a reenactment.”
Tyler touched his lips to her hair. “You okay with this?”
“Yeah, yeah I am.” Maybe she shouldn’t be, not after seeing the photos of Desiree holding her, but she couldn’t dredge up any anger and hate, or even a sense of loss for someone she couldn’t remember.