Pride, page 3
“What did he say?” I moved farther away from the commotion. “And what happens if they are looking at him?”
“Where are you?” A shouting match between a store owner and another junkie prompted that question.
“Downtown. I’m following up on something.”
I heard him sigh. I guess I should be grateful he was trying not to tell me to go home and wait for him to take care of me.
“I’m fine, David. I need to follow up on leads if I’m going to solve any cases.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not particularly.” He wouldn’t believe me if I said no. It wasn’t a lie. This area wasn’t physically risky, but it played hell on your emotions to see so much misery and not be able to do anything about the injustice. “I’ll be fine. I’ll make dinner tonight.”
“Are you cooking?” he asked. “I mean, is dinner takeout? Should it be takeout? Should I cook?”
“Very funny.” I couldn’t deny my skills were more on the ordering side of the equation. “I’ll make a salad. You bring the wine.”
“Maybe I’ll have some answers for you by dinner,” he said. “Be careful, okay?”
I felt the old familiar rush of defensiveness. I knew how to take care of myself. I managed for years before he came along. Yes, I ended up beaten and in the hospital more than once, but I was still alive and fully functioning. I pushed the annoyance away; he didn’t mean I wasn’t capable. He cared. “I will. See you later.”
I texted Guy again immediately. No answer and not one Harley in sight. I stood on Cordoba wondering whether to turn toward the more commercial side of downtown or head east and hope the side streets would be more useful to me. I couldn’t ask anyone if they’d seen the Angels without raising some suspicions.
A rumble sounded behind me. I pulled out my phone and pretended to be checking the GPS for directions. I held it up and turned slowly in a circle; no need to worry about this lost tourist.
Four Harleys cruised past me, attention on the road. They turned east on Cordoba and the last rider scowled at me. Guy.
If he thought a dirty look would stop me from following, he forgot who I was. Yes, the glare might be a warning, but I would be careful not to be caught by his buddies. I would track him down and take thirty seconds. Okay maybe a minute. The point is I’d be fast. Of course, I couldn’t chase four motorcycles down the street for long. Fortunately, they turned and entered an alley a few blocks down. I decided to leave my car where I parked it and walk.
There was a slight risk they did notice me, so I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist. Now I looked like I belonged a bit more in my teeshirt and jeans. I pulled my hair out of the ponytail and messed it up a little as I walked toward the alley between a small grocery store and a tattoo studio. Time to pull on my slightly screwed up chick persona.
7
The alley smelled of damp earth, pee, and something rotting in the corner. I kept to the center of the gravel paving and listened for evidence of Guy’s team. It did exit out to Hastings at the other end, so I had a second escape route. About halfway down, it split into a cross-alley. It’s like whoever designed this area made it for illicit activities. I mean, why did you really need this many alleys?
At the intersection, I saw Guy standing guard. His buddies were doing something behind a dumpster; nothing violent, yet.
He didn’t look my way, maybe on purpose. I didn’t want to attract any other attention, but I wasn’t going to leave here without talking to him.
I stood waiting for a few minutes, long enough to be sure Guy had seen me and purposely looked away. That, or he was a lousy lookout. I coughed, but he didn’t react.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket and dropped them loudly. Then I swore.
Guy turned and glared at me. He cocked his head to send me back toward the entrance. Then he turned and said something to his companions.
He moved toward me as I backed toward Cordoba.
“Far enough,” he said.
We were in the shade of a lean-to beside the back door of the tattoo studio. He came at me faster than I expected and for a second, terror stuck me in place. Then I remembered it was Guy, not some random biker.
“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”
“Why don’t you take the hint? I’m busy. And these guys won’t take kindly to me talking to you.”
Why did he think I’d taken the time to disguise myself? “They’re occupied for a while, and this won’t take long.”
“Things are different now. If they figure out who you are, I’m dead.”
Normally that would be figurative, but I had no illusions about it being literal. He’d never been worried about it before. “Why? I’m just a chick looking for a score.”
“No. You are a cop’s girlfriend.”
Oh. I hadn’t even thought about that being an issue. But I couldn’t let him fob me off because of David. “He doesn’t know what I’m doing. We’ll be quick, and he won’t even find out I’m here. What did you tell them?”
“I needed a piss.”
“Okay, I need information about a guy named Alan Blackhouse.”
“I said no.”
He didn’t walk away though. “Do they think you have prostate problems?”
“Maybe I decided to have a smoke, too.”
“So, Alan Blackhouse?”
“Charity, this is too dangerous. Not just for me. Are you sure your boyfriend doesn’t know about me?”
“He doesn’t need to,” I said. “So, we don’t have an arrangement anymore?” He stared at me, and I realized what that might sound like to him. “Tony is fine now. I guess if you don’t need me to help with him, you can walk away.” No way I’d leverage the kid.
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
We wouldn’t have much more time. Whatever was going on behind the dumpster wouldn’t take much longer. “I don’t believe you. He hangs out in some of the same places you do.”
“Lots of people do,” he said. He looked back to the cross alley. “You got a picture?”
I dug around for my phone in my jacket pocket. I had one decent photo Glenda gave me. I found the email and waited for the image to load.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Guy asked as the very slow Wi-Fi dealt with the file.
“I’m working for his wife.” I turned the phone to him as soon as the photo appeared. “Him.”
“Yeah. I see him around. And now you’ve crossed the line into way too dangerous. You need to drop the case. I mean it.”
Why did every man in my life want to stop me from doing my job? It couldn’t be my sex, or there would be other signs. Of course, the other side of the question was, why did I keep getting into situations that made men in my life tell me to drop it? “Did you see him at Sila two nights ago? I know you guys hang out there.”
“We do some business with people in Sila,” he said. “For someone you don’t want to meet.”
“And Alan?”
He clearly wanted to walk away, but something kept him standing with me. “Same, I think.”
He was staying because he knew I would just go to the club. I figured he was balancing the danger if I turned up there, and wondering if he’d told me enough to make me realize he was right. Well, he could keep hoping that. “What exactly does he do when he’s there?”
Guy took a step closer. My back pressed against the fence. I had nowhere to go no matter how much I wanted to run. I clenched my fist and reminded myself this was Guy. He wouldn’t hurt me. And if he wanted to? Well, I was a cop’s girlfriend.
“He hangs out with someone who is working with a big shot. No clue what he does, maybe he’s a wannabe, but this big shot? He does the kind of business we don’t touch.”
“What’s the big shot’s name?” If Alan was getting in with someone who scared Guy, maybe I should get Glenda away from him and not wait for proof.
“You don’t need his name.”
I could find out without him. If I kept digging, I would do it quietly. No reason Mr. Big Shot needed to find out anything about me. But if I didn’t know who he was, I couldn’t avoid him. “So, someone who deals in really ugly stuff. That narrows it down. People, right? I don’t mean the regular hookers you guys run. Kids? Trafficked women?”
“Charity, what if I dropped a dime on you to your boyfriend?”
“And your boss might order you killed too,” I said. “Russian?”
“They are complete assholes. They don’t care that everyone knows who they are. Like they can’t be touched.”
So, I’d hit it right. To be fair, there weren’t that many options. “Okay. Thanks, I’ll be careful.”
“Be more than careful,” he said. “Stay away.”
“You can help by answering my texts, so I don’t have to come looking for you.”
A shout came from the direction of the dumpster. Guy’s friends were looking for him.
“Get out of here,” he said, then strolled back to the alley without looking back.
8
As soon as I dropped off the car and started walking home, it hit me how much of a risk I’d taken — chasing Hells Angels down an alley in an area of town where a woman’s scream would result in turning the music up rather than a rescue attempt. Good thing I didn’t think things through. Getting things done meant taking risks.
David would kill me if he found out. Then he’d go find Guy and make him pay for putting me in that situation. Not with violence, but Guy didn’t live the kind of life that kept him off the cops’ radar.
When I got to the security gate, I remembered about dinner. I needed to go buy the ingredients for a salad or grab a pre-made one and some extra protein to make it look like I’d done the assembly. But I didn’t have the energy to go back to my car and head out grocery shopping. The only stores within walking distance came with premium prices and little choice unless something was organic and only handled by virgins on a full moon. My only option was to order something from my local restaurant.
I started shaking as soon as my door closed behind me. This was stupid. I’d done riskier things and never freaked out. I poured water into the coffee maker and pressed the power button. Yes, it was too late for caffeine, but these single serving ones made hot chocolate and tea as well. And I needed something comforting. And being inside my home didn’t stop the shakes. So, that’s why I needed hot chocolate, and four cookies.
When I stopped reacting, I called the restaurant and ordered dinner. I ran upstairs and showered off the smell of the alley. The delivery guy beat David to the door by two minutes, so I had no chance to pretend the food wasn’t takeout.
“I thought we’d have a night in,” David said. He placed a chilled bottle of pinot grigio on the counter and shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s too cold to head up to the patio, and I have some info that you probably don’t want the neighbors hearing.”
“About Alan?” I opened the salad cartons and put the contents in bowls. Too many meals eaten from the takeout containers made me feel like I was well on my way to slobhood.
“Yeah. How was your day?” He grabbed cutlery and wine glasses.
“I got a few tips,” I said. No details, or I’d be blabbing everything. “Follow up tomorrow. Unless your stuff is better.”
“I heard back from the RCMP.” He poured the wine and started digging into the seafood salad.
Was he drawing out the information because it was good? Or because it was nothing and he just wanted to milk the story?
“What did they say?” I wasn’t planning on denying him the pleasure of controlling how he wanted to share the story. Mostly because doing so kept me off the hook for the whole truth about my day.
“They don’t have much in the way of real proof. You think your client might be okay with rumors?”
“I think she wants something she can use. Her gut is telling her something is wrong.”
David nodded and continued eating. I picked through my greens for the good bits: scallops, salmon, shrimp.
“There’s something,” David said. “Andy didn’t, or maybe couldn’t, tell me much. Not unusual, we all keep things close until we amass enough to use.”
“By then you wouldn’t tell me because the information would be too sensitive.” I tried for a laugh, but it didn’t really work.
“Andy won’t endanger a case for a favor,” he said. “But maybe you can give him what you found.”
Nice try. This was my case and I’d keep it that way. If this Andy guy couldn’t give me anything, fair play. He had his job and I had mine. “Nothing much yet,” I said. “Just some places he visits. People he might meet there. You know how it is this early.”
He took our empty bowls and put them in the sink, then topped up my wine. “Andy wants you to back off.”
“And what do you think?” The RCMP could actually kick me off a case, but not until I got in their way. I didn’t plan on giving them that opportunity.
“The cop in me says you should leave this to the professionals.”
“So what exactly did he say?”
“This is too dangerous. You might destroy a year-long investigation for a bit of marital strife.”
“Everything is dangerous,” I said. “Walking down the street is dangerous in some places. And this isn’t an argument taken too far. My client could be in danger, right? Or, am I reading this wrong?”
“What kind of places are you hanging out?”
I would not to let him push me into that fight. “What kind of investigation? If you want me to let my client go and wait for the professionals to deal with the danger, I need the details.”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to back off. I said the cop in me did. I know better than to tell you to stop. I prefer it if I’m not in the dark about what you’re up to, but you’ll go into stealth mode if you think I’m trying to butt in.”
Still no details. But I got the feeling he guessed I wasn’t at home doing Internet searches today. “What exactly did this guy say they had on Alan? Rumors work for me,” I said.
“They think he’s money laundering for one of the local gangs. A big one,” David said. “I can guess. We are aware of the players.”
I could guess too, but David would have more specifics than just the gang. “Who?”
“I’m not going to help you get involved.” He wouldn’t even look at me.
So, there it was. He promised to stop protecting me, but this was his loophole. “I’d be safer if I have all the information. Do you want me finding out by stumbling into a situation? I am not giving up.”
“We need to end this right here.” He picked up his jacket. “Charity, I agreed to let you do your job. Of course I did. And I know you are going to keep looking. But you can’t ask me to send you off to be hurt.”
“You’re leaving?” How was I going to get him to spill if he left? That was better than the thought at the top of my mind. Was he going to come back?
“I’m going home. I’m too tired for an argument tonight. I’m not sure if I can avoid one if I stay.”
He headed out and I didn’t get a chance to say I would let it drop.
9
I didn’t sleep well when I finally gave up the useless search and went to bed. Something I’d never felt before kept me too wound up to relax enough to drop off. When Jake was away from me, it didn’t make any difference. I never thought he’d stay away. I never worried that I’d said something that would end our arrangement. Of course, I never saw the end coming either. With David, my gut twisted and burned at the thought we were through. And maybe the difference was that Jake and I only had an arrangement, one with fun and friendship, but not the big scary love word.
David hadn’t called and I was too stupid to reach out. And he wasn’t innocent in this. He’d brought the RCMP into my case. They would shut me down fast and put me in a cell if I kept investigating. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but I couldn’t let anyone sideline me. And so far, that was the only thing happening. I had nothing. It made me sure that there was something to find, because no one was that private no matter how hard they tried. Someone must have posted something about him somewhere.
Over breakfast an idea had filtered up through the fog and bitterness. I needed to talk to Alan Blackhouse.
I needed a cover story, and I needed to let my client know what I was going to do.
It was after nine, so Glenda should be alone in the house. If Alan was using the Investment Adviser cover, he would keep normal business hours.
I called, and Glenda confirmed she was alone.
“Your husband is pretty private,” I said. I wasn’t going to tell her the RCMP were looking at him. That would get me and David into all kinds of trouble. “I need to meet him.”
“No. He’ll want to know who you are and…”
“I have a cover story all worked out,” I said. “He won’t know I’m working for you.”
She didn’t speak when I paused. I heard Nora in the background singing some kids’ song, high and repetitive.
“I promise he won’t know. I wanted you to hear it from me. And if he tells you about this investigator, you need to act surprised.”
“What’s the story?”
“I’ll tell him I’m looking into an adoption for a wealthy client, and I want his opinion of the agency you used.” It should be good. I didn’t need any new IDs. My own read Private Investigator. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t ask?”
A long pause in which Nora switched songs.
“I don’t think so, and he did everything with the agency, so it makes sense that you would talk to him.”
“Good. If he asks, I’ll say I found his name when I searched adoption records.” Even if they were sealed, I would be able to rely on his probable assumption that a PI would be hacking records anyway. We do, don’t get me wrong.
“Okay. Please, be very careful. He has a temper, and I don’t want him to come home angry.”
So there was some violence? “Do you know the name of the agency?” She was smart, and she knew there were ways to get out of an abusive relationship. Maybe hiring me was the first step on that path. I’d leave counseling her to get out until after I closed the case, because if she wasn’t ready to leave, no one could make her.
