by DJ Steele
Night Moves
DJ Steele
Contents
Also by DJ Steele
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by DJ Steele
DECLARED DEAD
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Dead Ringer (eBook short)
NIGHT MOVES. Copyright ©2021 by DJ Steele. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher/copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact Switchback Press, [email protected].
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NIGHT MOVES is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Edited by Chuck Barrett
Cover by Chuck Barrett
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FIRST EDITION
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ISBN: 978-0-9985193-6-4 (Print)
ISBN: 978-0-9985193-7-1 (Digital eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020949054
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Steele, DJ.
NIGHT MOVES / DJ Steele
FICTION: Thriller/Suspense/Mystery
Created with Vellum
For Kates
NIGHT MOVES
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“Workin’ on mysteries without any clues,
workin’ on our night moves.”
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—Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band
Chapter One
Washington, D.C.
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There are no undoes in life.
That bit of wisdom cost her 150 dollars.
This waiting game allowed her too much time to contemplate what had compelled her to take over a business she knew nothing about—from a man she hardly knew. Her thoughts told her it was guilt.
But why should she feel guilty? She didn’t pull the trigger.
Julia Bagal fought hard to convince herself that she was not responsible for Fly’s death, but that stain of guilt was still there. No, she didn’t pull the trigger. However, in her mind, she should have reacted faster. She should have seen it coming.
Her mistake.
She took in a deep breath and slowly let it escape through her nose. The knot in her stomach tightened. She sucked in another breath with too much force causing her to cough.
"You okay?" asked the woman passenger.
She nodded, fist covering her mouth until the cough subsided. She took a swig of water from her Hydro Flask. The cool liquid soothed her throat. After a few more sips she returned the flask to the cupholder in the console.
The two women were sitting in her RAV4 parked across the street from a cheap run-down two-story strip motel where all the doors faced the parking lot. Weeds muscled through cracks in the aging concrete lot. The seedy motel didn’t look like a place where people slept when they paid for a room. A forgotten section of town where abandoned buildings fronted both sides of the street. Several buildings covered with faded graffiti and profanities. Kids called it street art, she viewed it as vandalism.
Within an hour, the fall morning sun was hidden behind dark clouds. Julia checked and rechecked the address. She scanned the riffraff walking the streets. This was a good place to get mugged, she thought. Her hand pressed the car's lock button, again for the third time.
"How much longer we gonna sit here waitin’ for ‘em to leave?" quipped Laquita in her distinctive southern drawl.
Hiring the woman in the passenger’s seat was probably a mistake. Before the ink was dry on the contract to purchase the former owner’s business, Laquita showed up inquiring about a job. She claimed she had worked for Fly, even though Julia never found any records to prove it. The woman asserted that Fly paid her under the table to keep things simple. Julia was wary their personalities might clash. Laquita reminded her of an annoying coworker from her last job. She was hesitant but didn’t challenge Laquita’s assertion that she had investigative experience. If anything the woman told her had even a hint of truth, she could use her help. She decided to give her a week to see if Laquita was a good fit for her new business.
Julia was working on getting her license to be a private detective. Her Master's in accounting did nothing to prepare her for this daunting career change. Online classes for criminal law took time. She needed to eat. She considered this case just like her first case, on-the-job training. And more often than not, trial and error.
Her first case was to follow a recycling truck. The client, an elderly woman, was convinced the truck hauled the recycle cargo to the local landfill and not to a recycle plant. After following the Think Green recycle truck all day, Julia was certain she had spent more on gas than the fifty dollars the old woman paid her. That was three weeks ago.
Julia shot Laquita a hard stare. Annoyed, Julia said, "I thought you knew how this worked. You have done stake outs before, right?"
The dark-skinned woman appeared amused. "Lotsa times. And hookers are on the clock."
"I saw her when she opened the door. She didn’t look like a hooker."
"Uh-huh." Laquita slurped her fountain drink. "And how we know that’s her husband up there? That wife never gave ya no picture of him. Kinda strange not to have a picture of your man, don’t ya think? All ya got was her husband would be meetin’ some woman at this dumpy motel."
She ignored Laquita, raised the high-end camera she acquired as part of the transaction when she took over the business. The camera had more functions than she could wrap her head around, but the zoom on the lens made it appear like she was standing next to the motel door.
She wasn’t an idiot. When she asked the client during their meeting for a photograph of her husband, the woman got emotional.
"I found a text she sent him," the wife’s voice broke. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Her head hung low. "I don't mean to cry. It's just that I don’t deserve this. Please, just get photos of my husband entering and leaving the room with her."
It was the substantial amount of money the wife placed on her desk that stopped Ju
lia from pushing for more information. She knew the location and time, after all. What else did she need?
"I did tell you she paid me a big deposit and I really need the money."
"I reckon you right 'bout needin’ the money, 'specially after you followed that damn recycle truck all over town for fifty bucks. We ain’t exactly solvent right now."
Another mistake was sharing with Laquita how much the old woman had paid her. She was frustrated. She vented. Laquita laughed so hard she fell out of her chair. In her embarrassment, Julia almost fired her that day.
"I got 'bout ten mo minutes and then I’m gonna pee in my pants." Laquita squirmed in her seat.
Julia lowered the camera to her lap. "Why’d you buy that giant Coke when you knew we were gonna be sitting in the car for God knows how long? You’re the one who was supposed to have experience with this sort of surveillance."
"Wow. You got a burr up your ass or somethin'?"
Julia chided, "I assumed we’d be waiting awhile. That’s why I don’t keep drinking water. You, on the other hand, act like these assignments only take a few minutes. What’s the longest time you’ve waited to get the information you needed?"
"Alrighty, Miss College Degree." Laquita put her drink in the console holder and faced her. "I don’t git why we gotta stay here. We got photos of ‘em. You got photos of the husband when he got outta his car and photos of that woman when she opened the door and let him in."
"The client instructed me to get photos of them leaving together. Maybe catch them kissing good-bye or giving each other a hug. I told you why I needed to hire you, you were the one who claimed to have previous experience. At least that’s what you told me."
She had a feeling Laquita was not going to work out. She should have found out what she meant when she told her she was paid under the table. Desperation makes people do stupid things and Julia felt pretty stupid right now.
"What did that wife who hired you look like?" Laquita squirmed again in her seat.
"What?"
"That wife. Was she fat? Ugly? Old?"
A visual image of the client flashed in Julia’s mind. "Maybe around my age. Late twenties. An attractive woman."
"How was she dressed? Uptown? Like ‘em Amish people? Or on her last dime?"
Julia didn’t think how the wife was dressed had any significance. The young woman's outfit was a tailored navy-blue blazer with a matching skirt. Low heels. Professional business attire. A client who could afford to pay.
"You know Laquita, maybe it’d be better if we just don’t talk right now. Besides, I need to be ready to snap photos of them together when they come out if I want to get paid. And if I don’t get paid, I can’t pay you."
She hoped that would shut Laquita up. Her mind was made up, this would be their last assignment together. Right now, she wanted that ass-hole cheater to come out with the woman so she could wrap up this job and end the misery of being trapped in her car with Laquita. Her stomach growled.
Julia raised the camera and pointed it toward the door the husband had entered. She focused the lens on the large window. The curtain was pulled tight. She scanned the other rooms. Fifty-five minutes did seem like a long time for him to be in the room with this woman.
But, what did she know about two people in a mad passionate relationship? Her love life at this point in time lacked the unbridled sexual passion she could only dream about. There was one man she met who made her heart race whenever she was near him, but the timing and conflicts from both their lives interfered.
Practical Julia.
She hated practical Julia.
The camera caused a cramp in her back. She started to lower it to her lap. Then stopped. A movement caught her eye. It was the room next door.
A tall woman had moved the curtain back just enough to see outside. Julia focused the lens. The woman gave a furtive glance at the parking lot. Julia was guessing the woman heard something and was searching for the source.
Laquita kept crossing and uncrossing her legs.
"I’m gonna find a place to pee before I wet myself." Laquita was now holding her crotch.
"No," protested Julia. "What if they come out of the room and see you?"
"See what? A Black woman in this part of town?" Laquita burst out laughing. "You fer real? A white woman sittin’ in a parked car with a camera glued to her face is what sticks out like a neon freaking sign."
Laquita pulled the handle and pushed the car door with her shoulder.
"Stop," Julia demanded, grabbing Laquita’s arm with a shake. "It’s him."
Laquita quickly closed the car door.
The husband stepped out and slowly closed the motel door. Facing the door, he paused a moment, then turned and looked in their direction.
Julia and Laquita both held their breath and slid down in their seats. Julia had parked across the street where she had an unobstructed view of the motel room. Good choice for long distance photos, bad choice to avoid being spotted. Even though he had sunglasses on, she knew he was staring at her. She could feel it.
"Shit," mumbled Julia, "I think he might have seen us."
"You think we been made?" Laquita kept her head lowered.
"I don’t know for sure."
"He’s now moving toward the stairs. Maybe we got lucky."
Laquita had slipped so far down in her seat, she was almost under the dashboard. Julia was amazed the tall Black woman could bend her legs like a pretzel.
"What should I do? What the hell do you do when a subject spots you?" Julia needed advice. Speak Laquita.
The silence in the car lasted a mere second, but Julia panicked. "Dammit, what should I do?"
"Crank the car and ease away," Laquita lowered her voice. "Act like ya don’t know he spotted us."
"That’s your best advice?"
"You got a better idea?"
The husband zipped his leather jacket, shoved his hands in his pockets. The ball cap brim pulled so low the sunglasses weren’t necessary. He continued down the walkway toward the stairs. Funny. She didn’t remember the limp when he arrived and walked upstairs to the motel room.
In her peripheral, Julia studied the motel door as she eased the car away from the curb. No sign of the woman.
Things weren’t working out with her new business venture. Her mind sorted through what she had to do. Convince the client she had enough proof her husband was cheating and collect the rest of her fee.
That wasn’t the biggest issue on her mind.
She knew now, she had to fire Laquita.
Chapter Two
The vibration on her nightstand buzzed in her ears. Julia fumbled for the phone and pulled it in front of her, screen displaying the incoming call from an unknown number. She moaned. Exhausted from a restless night, her eyelids sagged. Squinting, she read the time on her phone, 7:15 a.m.
During the night, she’d had another one of her recurring nightmares. Always the same. She was a small child. Running. Flames leaping toward the sky. When she tried to yell, her voice was gone.
Luckily, the nightmares that invaded her dreams weren’t that frequent anymore.
Her phone vibrated again on her wooden nightstand. This time she didn’t bother to see who was calling. She held down the power button and turned it off.
They could talk later, after she got to work.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched her arms upward until she let out a loud yawn. She stood and started shuffling to the kitchen when she remembered her gun. Her sleeplessness was making her careless. Earlier when she woke from the nightmare, she slipped her gun under the pillow next to her in bed.
She retrieved the gun and put it back in the nightstand drawer.
What she needed was caffeine to reboot her foggy brain. Yesterday had been a long trying day and her nightmare last night had interrupted her sleep.
She made a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table while she drained the hot liquid from her mug. She fought the urge to crawl back in bed. The pro
blem with being self-employed, you don’t work, you don’t get paid. She rubbed her eyes and yawned again.
One cup of coffee wasn’t going to cut it. She decided to get dressed and stop by The Brew House on the way to the office. Their coffee was much better than what she made at home.
It was important to be alert today and not find another excuse to do what she knew was inevitable.
Yesterday she had planned to tell Laquita she wouldn’t be able to keep her employed when they got back to the office. But every time she thought about it, she chickened out. Knowing she should fire her was one thing. Breaking the news face-to-face was another. She decided one more day wouldn’t hurt.
She and Laquita were shaken by what had happened at the motel during the stakeout. Laquita had been right. It was a mistake not to get a photo of the cheating husband when the wife hired her. The simple contract she had the wife sign was a boilerplate the previous owner had used. Nothing more than something he found on the Internet.