9 The Hitwoman's Downward Dog

by JB Lynn

  "I know you're worried about her," Harry soothed, "but we both know she's very good at getting herself into trouble and even better at getting out of it."

  I nodded, finding his words oddly comforting.

  "You're not going to be able to concentrate on work while worried about your friend. Why don't you go home?"

  "Really?" I asked, like cutting out of work early hadn't been my plan all along.

  He smiled. "Of course. Will you call me once she shows up?"

  I nodded, thinking the best chance Armani had of showing up was me finding her.

  "Good. Take these." He thrust the box of tissues into my hands, which almost caused me to drop the note with Medd's info. "You look like you need them."

  Offering him a watery smile of thanks, I walked out of Insuring the Future.

  Zeke sat in his sports car, windows open, watching my approach warily. "What happened?"

  "Nothing." I climbed into my seat.

  "Then why the tissues?"

  "My boss thought I needed them."

  "Nice boss," Zeke muttered, putting the car into drive.

  "Not particularly, but he's been better ever since Armani set him up with the woman he married."

  Zeke shook his head. "She's really pushing that psychic matchmaker thing?"

  "Apparently."

  We rode in silence for a few minutes until I finally asked, "Where are we going?"

  "To meet Whitehat."

  "Where?"

  "Old warehouse. It's not far."

  "What do you think she wants from us?" I asked nervously. I was way more comfortable taking orders from the local mob boss than I was the icy woman who seemed to know too much about me and those I care about.

  "Dunno," Zeke replied. Taking his right hand off the steering wheel, he patted my knee reassuringly. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it together."

  I knew he said it to make me feel better, but I still quipped, "It's not like she'll give us any choice."

  Zeke's chuckle was bitter. "Mind if I ask you something?"

  I tensed, but said, "Go ahead."

  "How'd you end up working for her?"

  I shook my head, unwilling to reveal my murdering ways and how she used the information about my misdeeds to blackmail me. "It's complicated."

  Zeke sighed. "It always is."

  I was grateful that he didn't push harder for an answer. That was one of the things I liked about Zeke, his willingness to respect boundaries, even when he didn't necessarily agree with them.

  He parked in the parking of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. "Here we are."

  "Creepy," I declared.

  "Private," he countered, getting out of the car.

  I followed suit, even though I didn't see anyone else around. "Now what?"

  "We go inside."

  I looked dubiously at the closed-up warehouse. "You do remember that the police confiscated my tire iron, right?"

  "Relax," Zeke said even though it was clear he was tense. "Whitehat's dangerous, but not in a physical way."

  Remembering the body her people had once left in the trunk of my car, I was tempted to disagree with him, but in order to keep him safe from that side of my life, I kept my mouth shut. Grudgingly, I shuffled toward the warehouse door.

  "Just follow my lead," Zeke urged.

  We stepped inside the dim space and paused to let our eyes adjust to the lack of light.

  A strange scent tickled my nose. "It smells funny."

  "It was a pickle warehouse," Ms. Whitehat explained, emerging from the shadows. As always she was dressed in an impeccable business suit. Like usual, she looked out of place in her surroundings. "Thank you for coming."

  It was the first time I remembered her thanking me for responding to one of her orders. "Do you know where Armani is?"

  Zeke jabbed an elbow into my ribs, reminding me I was supposed to be following his lead.

  Ms. Whitehat watched the silent communication with interest, pursing her lips. "I do not."

  "Then why are we here?" I demanded angrily.

  "Shhh!" Zeke urged.

  I glared at him before turning my attention to the woman who was pulling our strings like we were her puppets to play with.

  "I understand you're worried about your friend," Whitehat said slowly. "I have some information I need to convey to you."

  "A phone is really helpful for that kind of thing," I groused.

  Zeke, apparently deciding I was a lost cause, moved a step away from me.

  "There is a police officer, a Detective Joy Gilbert." Whitehat held my gaze as she spoke.

  I knew Joy. Whitehat had once asked me to protect her from making the same kind of mistake I'd made. I'd done what she asked, but my solution to the problem had only been temporary. It had been enough for Whitehat at the time, but apparently things had changed.

  "I can't—" I began.

  Whitehat held up a hand to silence me. "Please allow me to finish, Miss Lee."

  I nodded tightly.

  "Detective Gilber is missing. The last person she spoke to, according to her phone records, was a Miss Armani Vasquez."

  A chill skittered down my spine. It couldn't be a coincidence that they were both missing at the same time.

  "That's why I sent Zeke to the Vasquez residence. I'd hoped she'd be able to provide some information about what she'd talked to Gilbert about. You don't happen to know, do you, Miss Lee?"

  I shook my head. "Not really. Maybe Armani was trying to set her up with someone."

  "Set her up?" Whitehat's tone was as sharp as the tip of a blade.

  "A date," I explained hurriedly. "She sees herself as a kind of psychic matchmaker."

  Whitehat huffed her frustration.

  "When did they talk?" I asked curiously. "My aunt told me Armani had called yesterday evening, but she didn't call again or return my calls this morning."

  "Last night around eight."

  "And when did Joy—Detective Gilbert disappear?"

  "She missed a midnight meeting."

  "So sometime between eight and twelve," I murmured.

  "Exactly. I understand you're insisting on looking for your friend."

  I shot Zeke an accusatory look.

  He raised his hands in surrender. "It wasn't me."

  "If you find her, you may find Joy. If you do, you must protect her," Whitehat ordered. "It's imperative nothing happens to her."

  "Too late for that," I muttered.

  "Thank you for your help, Zeke. If you'll go wait in your car, Miss Lee will join you in just a moment."

  Zeke gave me a look, silently asking if I was okay being left alone with the icy woman. I nodded.

  He hurried out of the warehouse.

  Ms. Whitehat waited until he was gone and then walked closer to me, her high heels clacking against the cement floor, the noise echoing like staccato gunshots in the silence.

  "You blame me for this?" I guessed aloud.

  She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.

  "Because I didn't do a good enough job saving her from Lucky O'Hara the first time," I elaborated.

  "No. You did the job that was asked of you at that time. The reason I didn't call you with the information was I wanted to give you this." She opened the box and held it out to me so I could see the contents.

  I stared at the black .45 sitting on a mound of white tissue paper. I couldn't help but smile at how odd the gun looked against the flimsy paper.

  "You may need it," Whitehat said. "If the O'Haras are involved."

  "We don't know that Joy and Armani were taken by the same person," I said. "Up until now, I'd been operating under the assumption that her serial killer boyfriend took Armani."

  "Serial killer?"

  "It's just a figure of speech."

  Whitehat nodded as though she understood, but I wasn't sure I was making much sense. "Take the gun. You may need it and with Mulligan wrapped up in..." She trailed off, leaving me wondering what she'd been about to say.
"Take it." She shook the box at me.

  I removed the .45 gingerly, admiring its weight.

  "But it would probably be best if Zeke didn't know you have it," Whitehat suggested. "He doesn't have the stomach for violence."

  Nodding my understanding, I checked to make sure the safety was engaged before sticking it into the waistband of my pants.

  "He knows how to get in touch with me if you find Joy."

  "You don't trust me with that information?" I asked.

  "Not yet," Whitehat said. "Find the detective alive and return her safe and sound and I might change my mind." Spinning on her heel, she marched away from me, heels striking the floor so hard I half-expected to see sparks fly from her shoes. "Be careful, Miss Lee," she urged before disappearing into the shadows.

  Chapter 4

  "You okay?" Zeke asked the moment I emerged from the warehouse. Sitting cross-legged on the hood of his car, he looked a lot like the teenage boy I'd first fallen for.

  "I'm good."

  Without another word, he hopped off the car and got behind the steering wheel.

  I appreciated that he didn't ask what Whitehat had wanted to talk to me alone about. I didn't know if that was a con man thing to not ask too many questions or if it was a Zeke thing, but it was definitely appealing.

  "Where to?" he asked after I'd buckled my seatbelt.

  I read him Ike Medd's address.

  "Ugggh," he groaned. "Worst neighborhood in town."

  I nodded, wondering if he said that because of the crime rate or because it was where he'd been raised. Either way, I couldn't see him wanting to return there. He was a higher class of criminal than those who resided there and he'd sent his drug-dealing family to prison when he was a kid, but that didn't mean some of Zeke's relatives who'd disowned him weren't still there.

  "Maybe we should go get your car," he said.

  "Okay." I tried to ignore the disappointment I felt as I realized he was going to leave me to deal with Ike Medd by myself. Not that I'm incapable of taking care of myself—after all, I had gotten paid to kill people (only some of which I was actually responsible for). I had experience with dangerous situations. It's just that it would have been nice to have back-up.

  We drove to Armani's house in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

  There was less of a crowd now. The police cruisers had left and only a crime scene technician van remained outside her house. The neighborhood adults had all retreated to their homes, peeking out behind their curtains instead of making a show of their nosiness. The neighborhood kids had congregated in the street for a game of soccer, but they too kept an eye on the Vasquez door.

  Zeke parked behind my car.

  "Thanks," I muttered, unhooking my seatbelt and jumping out of the car before he could deliver whatever excuse he'd cooked up for not accompanying me. He might be a con man, but I wasn't a sucker.

  Climbing into my car, I bent over to tuck the gun Whitehat had given me under the driver's seat.

  The sound of the front passenger door opening had me jerking my head up with surprise. I smacked my chin against the horn, causing it to blare for a millisecond, startling me more.

  Zeke settled into the seat beside me.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  He tilted his head the way my dog, DeeDee, does when she doesn't understand something I've said. "Sorry?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  Worry lines furrowed the spot between his eyebrows. "We're going to check out Ike Medd's place." He spoke slowly, as though worried I wouldn't understand what he was talking about.

  "I thought you weren't going."

  "Why wouldn't I go?"

  "Because you brought me here."

  He shook his head. "I think my car would attract unwanted attention in that neighborhood, but no one will look twice at your heap of junk."

  "Oh."

  "You thought I was going to let you go alone?" He shook his head, dismayed. "I know lots of people let you down, Maggie, but I'm not one of them."

  "I know." I ducked my head, embarrassed that I'd thought the worst of him. Starting my heap of junk, I eased away from the curb. The kids parted like the Red Sea to let us pass.

  "So you really think this boyfriend of Armani's is a bad dude?"

  I nodded. "Gave me the creeps from the moment I met him. There's something about him that's just evil. And before you go telling me I'm paranoid or something, keep in mind that Marshal Griswald agrees with me."

  "How are things going with him and Susan?" Zeke asked mildly.

  I felt the urge to giggle hysterically. "How can you go from talking about a serial killer one moment to my aunt's love life the next?"

  "As far as you know, he's not a serial killer," he admonished gently. "And I like Susan. She deserves some happiness after taking care of the rest of your family for all these years."

  "She does," I agreed. "And I like both men who have fallen for her, but the stress of being part of a love triangle is too much for her."

  "Be easier for you if she went with Bob," he remarked.

  I glanced sideways at him, wondering what he'd meant by that. How much did he know about my illegal activities?

  "Then again," he continued, "Griswald strikes me like the strong, silent type and she could definitely use that support."

  I nodded. "She's just got to choose. This limbo they're in isn't good for anyone."

  We spent the rest of the ride to Medd's residence reminiscing about all the lovers my Aunt Loretta (Susan's sister) had over the years.

  Our good mood dissipated as we pulled up to the address. Trepidation made my heart beat faster as I parked in front of the dilapidated apartment building.

  Even in the broad daylight it looked like the kind of place a mugger, or strung-out addict, or horror movie villain could jump out around a corner and with a single blow gut you like you were an overstuffed piñata.

  "Home sweet home," Zeke muttered.

  I wasn’t sure if that was because Medd’s humble abode wasn’t the kind of place Martha Stewart would approve of or if he was reliving his own unpleasant memories of the neighborhood. "You can wait here," I offered, having traumatized him enough for one day by swinging the tire iron at his head.

  His response was to get out of the car.

  I scrambled out too.

  "Which is his?"

  I pulled the scrap of paper I’d scribbled Ike Medd’s personal information on and squinted at my chicken-scratch. "2C. Guess we won’t be peering in the windows."

  Zeke frowned. "I suppose that since the police confiscated your tire iron you don’t have any other weapons in the car."

  I thought of the gun Ms. Whitehat had provided, in its hiding spot beneath the driver’s seat. "Just Barry Manilow."

  Zeke looked at me the way people often look at my mother who lives in a mental hospital.

  "It’s a CD," I explained hurriedly. "If you break it, it’s sharp and could cut someone. Want it?"

  Instead of answering, Zeke marched resolutely toward the front door of the apartment building. I hurried to catch up with him.

  As we drew near, I saw that the door wasn’t closed completely because someone had splintered the wood surrounding the lock.

  Silently I followed Zeke through the doorway and up a flight of stairs, taking care to avoid the sticky pile of who-knows-what on the third step from the top.

  Half the hallway bulbs were burnt out, making the walk to 2C eerily dim.

  My stomach roiled, but I wasn’t sure if it was because the place reeked of rotting garbage and stale pot smoke or plain nervousness.

  Pausing outside of 2C, Zeke and I stared at one another.

  "Now what?" he whispered.

  "We knock." Before he could protest, I rapped loudly on the door three times.

  I held my breath, straining to hear sounds of movement in the apartment. All I heard was a TV droning in the next-door unit.

  I reached for the doorknob. Miraculously it turned and t
he door slowly swung open.

  "You can’t go in there." Zeke grabbed my shoulder to prevent me from stepping inside.

  I shook him off. "You stay here."

  "And do what?"

  "Be a lookout. Warn me if someone’s coming."

  "How?"

  "I dunno. A secret signal."

  "Like what? A bird caw?’

  I nodded.

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, Zeke called, "Caw! Caw!"

  I winced. "That sounds more like a hamster on crack."

  "I have no doubt there are rats on crack in this building." Zeke shuddered at the thought.

  I stepped inside the apartment, wrinkling my nose against an overwhelming scent of chemicals, no doubt to cook drugs with. At least I hoped that’s what they were and not embalming fluid or something else disgusting a serial killer keeps on hand.

  For a deranged psycho, Ike Medd kept a tidy home. His living room looked like something out of an Ikea catalog, simple and clean, without much personality.

  I tiptoed farther inside, doing a quick scan of the bedroom—bed made, with nary a piece of clothing out of place. The same was true for the kitchen with the exception of a magazine beside the coffeemaker.

  It was the most personal item in the entire place, so I picked it up, fully expecting it to be a girlie magazine or gun owner’s periodical or maybe that Japanese cartoon cat thing.

  It was something even more shocking.

  A yoga magazine!

  I was so surprised as I opened it to a dog-eared page featuring human pretzels that I didn’t register the strangled sound coming from the hallway.

  It grew louder.

  "Caw! Caw!"

  Chapter 5

  Grabbing the magazine since it was the only thing I’d spotted that revealed anything about Ike Medd, I raced toward the exit door. I skidded to a stop just before I cannonballed into the hallway.

  I strained to listen. I could hear two men talking. One of them was Zeke. It sounded like they were close to the stairs. I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the thumping of my heart.

  I peeked around the corner.

  Zeke and two men whose faces I couldn’t make out because their backs were to me were arguing. Zeke was doing a lot of out-of-character hand waving, which I guessed was meant to keep their attention on him while I made my escape.