by Kevin Sivils
When the wheels started to turn, Heat knew Blondie had made her decision. “Are you hungry?” he asked, smiling pleasantly. "Let's move, get a booth, and let me buy you something to eat. Then we can commence negotiations. How does that sound?”
CHAPTER SIX
HEAT FINISHED THE LAST of his soft drink, having switched from beer to coke upon moving to a booth. He watched Blondie devour a hamburger and fries while he played with a salad, still full from stuffing himself with pizza. The two talked about nothing in particular, just the usual for sports-minded Houstonians. Things like would the Texans ever win a Super Bowl, the fact the Rockets needed a legit big man, and the pitching staff of the Astros. Blondie impressed Heat with her knowledge, but he passed it off as a necessary skill for her line of work when a customer just wanted to talk. Then again, he mused to himself; maybe the girl was a real sports fan who, like so many others, used sports as a distraction from her life's drudgery.
Blondie finished the last of her meal, dabbed at her mouth in a dainty, ladylike manner with her napkin, smiled, and then put her business face on.
“$1500.”
Heat laughed. “The bidding starts at $500.”
“You said you’d pay for a night,” Blondie fired back.
“Okay, I’ll go as high as $800, but not a dime more unless I like what I hear.”
“I have expenses,” Blondie pointed out.
“I seem to recall pointing out there would be a lot less effort involved on your part.”
“You’re paying for my time,” Blondie reminded him. “I can’t help it if all you want to do is talk. It’s your choice.”
“It was nice talking to you,” Heat said, waving at the waiter for the check. “But I can find another working girl just by going back to the bar who will tell me what I want to know at the price I’m willing to pay.” Handing his debit card to the waiter, Heat's expression turned sour. "Or I can use that credential in my wallet and make this one big hassle for you, one that involves bail, calling your lawyer. Instead of making some easy money and having plenty of time to find another john for the evening, you could spend some of your hard-earned money."
Blondie glared at Heat, making the lines around the corners of her eyes stand out, confirming she was closer to her early 30s than her 20s.
"Fine. Half up front."
“See, that wasn’t too difficult, now was it.”
Heat eased the envelope of cash from his back pocket and opened it beneath the table. Without looking, trusting to touch, he counted out four bills before returning the envelope to its hiding place. Slowly, watching Blondie as he did so, Heat slid each one-hundred-dollar bill across the table. Her eyes never left the table until all four of the bills were in her possession.
“What would you like to know?”
“A gentleman whose affairs I’m looking into spent a lot of money in this place,” Heat explained. Waving his hand in the direction of the rest of the restaurant, indicating Blondie should take it all in, he added, “now, this is a nice place. But, explain how this gentleman dropped between two and five thousand dollars on any given visit? Even if he bought the most expensive items on the menu, enjoyed the company of a female companion, and drank the best booze, I don't see how he could spend that much. Any ideas?"
Blondie chuckled and stood up, leaning over to give Heat a good view. “Let’s go for a little walk. I think I’m about to earn a nice bonus.”
“YOU SEEM DISTRACTED tonight.”
Amy looked up from her drink to see his handsome face smiling, his brown eyes showing hints of concern.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I guess I am a bit distracted. It hasn’t been a good day at all.”
Ben reached across the table and took Amy’s hand in his own, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “Tell me about it.”
“One of my bosses was murdered last night.”
His eyes wide in surprise, Amy watched as her date sat up straight and leaned back, away from her. “Wow. That’s awful. You should have said something. I wouldn’t have been offended if you’d begged off tonight.”
Amy rewarded him with one of her heartwarming smiles and put her other hand on top of Ben’s. “That’s sweet, but I really don’t want to be alone.”
“Well, I’m happy to be here. Do you want to talk about it?”
The sad expression returned, chasing the warm smile away as Amy looked down at the table again. “I don’t know much. Just that it was horrible, I mean, the way he died.”
“Random shooting?”
“No,” Amy whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks, smudging her mascara. “Wolf was beaten to death.”
“Angry ex-husband pissed off over your boss for providing proof of indiscretions in the divorce?”
“Don’t know,” Amy answered. “I do know my other boss is looking into it. He’s not going to leave it up to the cops. I know he spent a couple of hours looking at financial records. You know, follow the money.”
“True,” Ben said, nodding as if Amy’s statement made sense. His expression turned thoughtful as he took Amy’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently before setting it back down on the table. “I don’t want to seem insensitive, but are you and your other boss sure you want to know why he was killed? It’s not like as private investigators your bosses don’t stick their noses into business some pretty bad people don’t want anyone poking around in. Maybe Wolf stuck his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.”
He watched the features of the pretty young woman sitting across from him. Her skin was perfect, its shade ever so slightly brown. She possessed brown eyes. Eyes a man could fall into forever. The shape of which gave one the impression there was something unique about them, not entirely Asian and but neither were they European. Amy was an exotic beauty, the kind so typical of Amerasian mixed-race children. She possessed features of both races, and the combination was stunning.
"Maybe," Amy answered sadly. "But Heat thinks it has to do with money. Wolf had been burning through money like crazy, and there was no explanation for it."
“Money from the business?”
“Some,” Amy confessed. “But a lot from Wolf’s own personal accounts, too.”
“Gambling debts?”
“Maybe,” Amy said after a moment’s thought. “But why would they kill Wolf? He can’t pay what he owes if he’s dead.”
"Could be whoever did it, if that's what it is, thinks they can get the money from Heat. Or maybe, they just decided to write it off as a loss, and it was worth it to kill your boss to make collection easier from other clients who don't pay up." A sympathetic expression appeared on Ben's face as he spoke in a softer tone. "I mean, if you don't kill someone once in a while, the threat of violence probably loses some of its impact, you know? A guy might think he can handle some bruised ribs and a black eye, so he welches on what he owes. The same guy pays up if he believes he might wind up dead."
CHAPTER SEVEN
“FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET a warrant from a judge and go for it.”
Boucher and Garcia glanced at each other, surprised their Captain had agreed to their request so quickly.
“What, you want me to do your jobs for you?” Captain Browning exclaimed. “It’s a murder case. Figure out how to prove to the judge you need to look at the financials. It should be easy. Get your warrant and get the records, now go, get, I got things to do.”
The pair hurried out of the office and made their way back to their desks in the detective's bullpen.
“Heat ain’t gonna like us snoopin’ round in his business accounts,” Boucher drawled.
“You heard the Captain. It’s got to be done. Heat might not like it, but he’d do it.” Garcia paused, watching Boucher checking himself out with a small pocket mirror he kept in his desk. “My hair is not having a good day,” Boucher mumbled to nobody in particular.
“Elijah,” Garcia barked. “Get the paperwork done so we can find a judge.”
Ignoring his partner, Boucher continued to primp, a
djusting first one strand of hair and then another before moving on to inspect his perfectly groomed mustache. “You know, we could sit back for a day, then obtain the warrant and get the records.”
“C’mon now, the clocks runnin’, Boucher.”
Satisfied with the extent of the minor repairs made, Boucher brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder and returned the mirror to its place of residence in his desk. Looking his partner in the eye, he made his pitch.
“You gotta figure Heat's already been through the financials for their firm. Then, if Wolf didn't trust him with the password to his personal accounts, Heat's done gone and hired that teenage hacker of his to get all those records. Including records we wouldn't be able to get with a warrant, see?”
“Maybe,” Garcia conceded.
“So, I figure we wait twenty-four hours, then we get a warrant for financial records, including any Heat got, legally and illegally. Besides, Miguel,” Boucher continued, leaning back in his chair and intertwining the fingers of both hands behind his head, “if we give Heat a little lead time, he might do our job for us. Much faster than we could otherwise.”
“How so?”
“Heat doesn’t have to waste time with things like warrants,” Boucher explained. “You know, things like reading a suspect their rights, respecting those rights during an interrogation, those sort of politically correct things you and I have to worry about nowadays.”
“I hear you, Elijah, but Wolf ain’t a cop. I'm not in favor of bending the rules like that for non-cops. Even if the vic is a friend.”
"Ex-cop, Miguel, ex-cop. Don't forget that. Wolf and Heat used to be on the job." Boucher leaned forward and whispered. "Don't forget those few cases we closed with a little off the books help from Wolf and Heat. Confessions that were illegally obtained but let us know where to look so we could make the case stick. Beatdowns that were needed to find things out. We owe it to Wolf, to Heat."
Garcia considered the idea. “Okay, but we need to keep an eye on Heat then. Make sure we don’t have to clean up a mess we could have prevented if we’d done the heavy lifting ourselves.”
“Let’s go,” Boucher declared, grabbing his jacket as he stood up. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll get the warrant paperwork done.” He winked at his partner. “But right now, Missus Boucher’s baby boy has a hot date with a local beauty.”
From the isolation of his office, Captain Browning watched his two best detectives leave, no doubt without getting the paperwork done for the warrant they wanted. From the look on Garcia’s face, Boucher no doubt had begged off on doing any more work so he could spend time with his latest conquest.
“Boucher,” Browning mumbled, looking back down at his mound of paperwork. “If you ain’t careful, Missus Boucher's baby boy will wind up in the morgue cause of some angry boyfriend."
“WHO WOULD HAVE EVER thought,” Heat mumbled in amazement.
"I know," Blondie chuckled. "You don't see many basements in Houston. But this was an industrial building of some sort, and they had to have it. Then, for obvious reasons, the new owners saw the opportunity it presented when they took a look at the building as a restaurant location."
Heat slipped his arm through Blondie's as he began to walk around the underground miniature casino.
“Does Vice know about this place?”
Blondie couldn’t restrain from laughing, “You’re asking me? You’re the cop.”
“I never said I was a cop,” Heat mumbled. “You assumed that because I said I had a detective’s credential.”
Blondie’s mouth dropped open as she yanked her arm away from Heat. “You lied to me! What was all this about legal trouble?”
Heat grinned, retaking Blondie's arm in his. "Keep your voice down. I know people, you know, the kind of people who could cause you legal trouble."
“Explains the money then. I had you figured for a corrupt cop who was looking to shake someone down.”
His expression went from amused to serious in a flash. "My partner was murdered last night. Beaten to death if you want to know. He dropped a lot of money here in the weeks before he died, and I want to know why."
Something about Heat’s demeanor gave the attractive blonde reason to give pause. “Well, it’s your money.” She smiled. “C'mon, let me show you around.”
Heat let Blondie lead him around, smiling at some of the men who seemed to recognize her and ignoring women who shot daggers at her with their eyes. “I like roulette myself,” she commented, smiling at Heat and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Want to get some chips so we can play?”
"Sure, why not. Give me a chance to see if I can shake a few things loose." Heat extracted five hundred dollars from his wallet, noted it was now empty and handed the money to his date for the night.
With a smile, Blondie stuffed the money down the front of her dress and headed for the house bank to buy chips, leaving Heat unsupervised and to his own devices for the time being. Extracting a picture of Wolf from his left pants pocket, Heat transferred it to his shirt pocket, making it conveniently ready to display at a moment’s notice.
Gravitating towards the blackjack table, Heat kept one eye on Blondie and his money while taking in everything there was to see in the illegal casino. It took Heat less than a minute to spot the hired muscle spread discretely throughout the venue and the two pit bosses who watched all the gaming.
Young women dressed in short skirts and revealing tops balanced themselves on three-inch heels as they plied the clientele with free booze and cigarettes. Something seemed off about the young women, all of whom were pretty with killer figures. Noting Blondie heading in his direction, Heat realized what was off.
None of the young women were smiling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIKE THE RESTAURANT above, the casino below was expensively and tastefully decorated. The dress of the dealers, game operators, and pit bosses reflected a 1920’s Prohibition theme, giving the casino the ambiance and feel of a speakeasy. Powerful air conditioning and ventilation systems removed the cigarette and cigar smoke from the air but left a faint residue that burned and irritated Heat’s eyes. He could smell the different varieties of tobacco, however faint, in the air he breathed.
Not wanting to babysit Blondie, Heat gave her a "bonus" of one hundred dollars in chips to play as she liked. Like a heat-seeking missile, Blondie made her way to the roulette wheel. Heat sat down to play blackjack.
Thirty minutes passed, and Heat had broken even, playing conservatively and betting even more so. A crowd had gathered around the roulette wheel with Blondie at the center of it. Heat shook his head. The cute blonde might be up now, but by the time he was ready to move to another table, Heat was confident Blondie would be bust.
The House always wins.
Still, Blondie's winning streak had the desired effect. It drew other gamblers to the roulette table to watch, including the other two players at the blackjack table. With a dealer change coming soon, Heat figured it was as good a time as any. He tossed a hundred dollars’ worth of chips on the table as he collected his chips. A generous tip by any stretch of the imagination.
“Thank you, sir,” the dealer cheerfully replied, collecting the tip. “Please, come again.”
“My pleasure,” Heat answered, looking closely at the woman’s face. She looked to be in her late fifties, possibly early sixties. While life had left its mark, the woman did not bear the signs of wear and tear a life of hard living would leave on a face.
He took a chance. “Helping out with the grandkids private school tuition?”
At the mention of grandchildren, a broad smile broke out on the woman’s face. “My son-in-law works at a plant in Baytown. He got hurt and can’t work for a while. Workman’s comp helps a lot, but without the overtime, they’re hurting. So, I take a few shifts a week to help out.”
Heat returned her smile. “That’s what grandma’s do.”
Another hundred dollars in chips appeared on the table, Heat’s hand
partially covering it. “I need you to look at a picture. All you have to do is look. If you’ve seen the person in the picture, great. If not, the chips are still yours.”
A loud groan went up from the roulette table, and Blondie's voice could be heard using language no lady would utter. Everyone laughed in response, and the crowd began to break up, the gamblers each going their own way, the shared moment over.
Taking a picture of Wolf from his shirt pocket, Heat sat it down on the table and made a show of patting his pockets with both hands while grandma took a good look. He pocketed the picture and stood up, a smile on his face.
“I’ve seen this man a couple of times.”
“Did he lose?”
“Sometimes. Other times he won. But I never got the feeling that was why he was here.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He wasn’t having fun.”
HIS PLANS TO SEDUCE Amy put on hold, Ben politely dropped her off. He ended the night with an appropriate kiss. Just long enough to give a hint of passion and desire, but not so long as not to be chaste.
The seduction had been planned to be a test. To see if Amy Nguyen was, in fact, the girl he was looking for. If she had the tattoo on her left hip, a branding mark, so to speak, with the accompanying skills such a girl would be expected to have.
It was a disappointing conclusion to the evening, but Ben couldn't afford to force himself on his target. Not yet, not until he was sure. He had two more weeks to finish the task. Ben could afford to wait a few days and they had agreed on another date for Saturday night.
Ben smiled in anticipation. He liked expensive nights out on the town. He'd show Amy a great time all under the guise her week had been horrible, and she deserved it. She'd be putty in his hands when it came time for the kiss goodnight.
WISHING SHE HAD MORE clients like the man whose money she was losing, Blondie realized she didn’t even know his name. She laughed to herself. He didn’t know her name either. Not that Blondie would have told her client her real name. She had lots of names that she used with her clients. For that matter, if the client wanted to and was a regular, he could give her a name that only he called her. Keeping her real name a secret was one of the ways Jenny Boudreaux kept her sanity.