“You’re later than I expected,” Jess called out from the kitchen as I walked through the door. “You get your guy?”
Her question took me by surprise since the only “guy” on my mind wasn’t a guy at all. I’d left the courthouse and run by one of the bars highlighted on a map in the stack of supposed clues I’d picked up from Cantoni’s contact. The place didn’t open until nine, which didn’t compute in my world, since drunks will drink any time of day.
I stalled, instead stopping to pet Cash, who jumped up and placed both his front paws on my chest and licked my face like he hadn’t seen me in weeks. I got it. We hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours since he’d adopted me. “I’m sorry, buddy. I promise I would be with you if I could. I’ll be gone tomorrow too, and probably the next day. You can blame your other mother for not being able to get me out of jury duty.”
“Oh, sure, blame the cop. Everyone does.”
Jess was standing right behind me now, a fake scowl on her face. “Did they not finish picking today?”
“Oh, they finished all right.”
Her scowl morphed into amazement. “No way.”
“Yes, ma’am. Meet Juror Number Twelve. No one seemed to care that I live with a cop, that I catch criminals for a living, or that I hated being there more than I hate fries without ketchup. I guess the choices in front of me were so bad, I seemed like a good prospect in comparison. Hard to believe, huh?”
“Impossible. Which court were you in? Did you get into any evidence today?”
“Judge Bowser. Opening statements only. Evidence starts tomorrow, bright and early.”
“Come eat and tell me all about it. I made spaghetti. Don’t get too excited—the sauce is from a jar.”
I didn’t know there was any other kind. Besides, I was starving and would’ve eaten five-day-old Thai food at this point. But before we adjourned to our gourmet out-of-a jar dinner, I had to clear something up. “Thanks for making dinner, but you know I can’t talk about the case, right?”
She laughed and tugged me toward the kitchen. “Right.”
I dug in. “I mean it.”
“You crack me up when you try to be all law-and-order. Come on. Dish.” She kept walking.
“Jess…”
She stopped and turned to face me. “Wait a minute. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Well…” I wavered for a second. For the first time since I’d moved in, I had the upper hand. Don’t get me wrong. Life with Jess had been a breeze so far, but I’d spent the first few weeks of it recovering from a gunshot wound and the time since trying to get into the groove of working like a normal person, something I’d never tried before. The upshot of it all meant Jess was basically supporting me and I had no power. If hanging on to little bits of information about the case and my clandestine search for Teresa Perez were what I needed to give me a boost, I planned to grip tight, even though I knew I was being petty. “Of course I’m serious. Besides, you’re a detective. If you want to know something about the case, you can detect it for yourself.”
“Okay.” She pivoted and strode off to the kitchen without another word. I stood in the living room and stared at Cash, who cocked his head as if to say he didn’t have a clue what to make of her reaction either. I signaled for him to follow, and we took off toward the smell of an amazing dinner to which I was no longer sure I was invited.
Jess was feeding pasta into boiling water, and in a sea change from moments ago, she didn’t even look up when I walked in. If I didn’t know her better, I would’ve thought she was pouting, but Jess didn’t play games. If she was pissed, she said so. Still, a childhood spent with a drunk dad and petulant mother doesn’t come without some baggage, and right now I carried the guilt of having maybe possibly hurt her feelings. I slid my hands around her waist and kissed the back of her neck, making sure to find the magic spot. “Hey, babe, dinner smells wonderful. You want me to open some beers?”
She turned in my arms, her eyes black with desire. She pulled me tight against her and gave a little grind against my thigh as she leaned in close, her breath hot against my skin. The heat trailed up my neck and threatened to explode just as she whispered in my ear, her words killing the mood. “The prosecutor is new. Well, new to state court. She used to work at the U.S. Attorney’s office. The charge is murder. I know every last detail about the evidence, and the whole thing’s pretty open-and-shut, if you ask me. You want me to tell you what I know about your top-secret case?”
I play-shoved her away and Cash nipped at my ankle. She pointed at him. “See, even your dog is on my side. The only thing I don’t know about your super-secret case is how the hell you got picked for the jury. Did you tell them we live together?”
Her eyes reflected the slightest hint of insecurity, like she wasn’t quite sure if I’d been willing to admit our relationship to a bunch of what to me were virtual strangers. I pulled her back against me. “Of course I did. I gotta figure either they didn’t care or there were too many crazies seated in front of me they had to strike first.”
“You probably just confused the hell out of them.”
“I guess.” I pulled a couple of plates out of the cabinet—my small contribution to homemaking. “Say, when you said it was open-and-shut, how does that translate in terms of days? Two, three?”
“Oh, so now you want intel from me?”
“Come on. I’m trying to plan my life here.”
She drained the pasta and it slid neatly into a big red bowl. “Well, Judge Bowser runs a brisk court—long days and short breaks, but even so, you’re looking at a couple of days at least for the state’s evidence. If you find the guy guilty, you’ll probably be there all week.”
I groaned.
“Sorry, pal. But hey, no matter how late he makes you stay Wednesday, keep the evening open. I have plans. Special plans.”
She delivered the words “special plans” with the same sexy smile she’d used to try to seduce me for information. I was super tempted to give her anything she wanted. But my libido would have to wait. “I may have to work every night this week.” I pointed at the pasta. “I’m going to have to go out after dinner tonight.”
“Really?”
Her disappointment almost made me take it back. Almost. If I was going to run down these leads on Perez, I had to strike now. I’d never expected her to stick around. A smart villain would have left the scene of her last crime and not looked back. Perez was smart, but she was also greedy. If she’d stayed in the area, it meant there was some lucrative reason for her to be here, and I was going to find out what it was. Of course I didn’t plan to tell Jess any of that. “Gotta earn my keep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jurors only make a few bucks a day. Did you know that? I mean, what’s the point of paying us at all?”
She sighed and passed me a hunk of garlic bread. “Sure, Luca. Eat your dinner. You’re going to need it if you’re going to work at night and get up early to be a good citizen.”
I did my best to ignore the edge in her tone and ate the spaghetti. Three bowls of it. It tasted amazing, but then it sat like a rock in my belly while I tried to process the change in mood between us. Jess was pissed. Mildly pissed, but still pissed. It was pretty out of character for me to obsess about work, so I got it, but telling her what I was up to wasn’t likely to change her mood, so I didn’t bother. She’d come around when I found Perez, and if all went well, that would be tonight.
*
I spotted the SUV three streets away from the house. The driver was careful to stay just far enough back, but I’ve tailed enough cars to be able to spot when I’ve got a shadow of my own. Besides, I’d kind of expected I might be followed. Whoever had provided me with the envelope full of Perez likely had a vested interest in finding her. Mexican Mafia, the feds? I didn’t have a clue, but I was happy to do their dirty work if it meant I got to see the look on her face when she got caught.
When I turned into the drive for Shorty’s, the SUV shot past on the main road. I waited in the parking lot, thinking they might double back and I could confront my silent partners, but after fifteen minutes of lonely, I gave up.
For a Monday night, the place had a decent crowd. I spent about an hour at the tables, with nothing to show for it but a lighter wallet. I’d never been much of a pool player, but I was trying to blend in. I’d gotten nowhere with my subtle questions, so I retired the cue stick and took a seat at the bar.
The bartender was a big, burly chick who went by Fred. Her real name was Freda and she’d owned this place for over twenty years. I don’t remember exactly how old I was when my dad first brought me here and set me up with a cherry Coke while he lost grocery money playing eight ball. In a best-selling novel or TV movie, the whole situation would have been sentimental. Freda would’ve been like a second mother, sneaking me food and listening to my stories while my sad dad tried to strike it rich to give us a better life. In reality, Fred bullied my dad to pay for my one Coke—no free refills—and my only meal on those nights was the single cherry at the bottom of my glass. Dad eventually gave up pool as a source of income and took up poker at Bingo’s place. I’d been back here over the years, looking for deadbeats, but I doubted Fred had a clue that I was the same scraggly kid who’d hung out at her bar.
“Whatcha want?”
Fred’s eyes bored holes into me, and I knew her question was more about telling me I couldn’t just sit here without ordering something rather than trying to find out how she could assist me. “Beer. Draft.”
She jerked her chin and tapped a perfect pour. “Three bucks.”
I slide a five across the bar with Perez’s picture on top. No sense being cagey. She slid the bill out from underneath the photo and started to walk off. “Hang on,” I said. “Aren’t you even going to look?”
“Don’t need to. You drink that and head on out of here.”
She acted all nonchalant, but her eyes shifted to and away from the photo twice before she ordered me to leave.
“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”
“What makes you think I’d tell you if I had?”
“You let her hang around here, you’re in for trouble. Real trouble.” I leaned in close. “Of course, maybe that’s what you’re looking for. Maybe you and she are, you know.” I twisted fingers together in a mock display of simpatico. I was reaching here, but sometimes you have to get a rise out of someone to get the truth.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I knew exactly what I was talking about, but before I got to make my point, I heard a click behind me, real close to my ear. It wasn’t a gun. Worse, it was a knife. I could see the glint of steel out of the corner of my eye. Damn, I hate knife wounds, especially when you see them coming. Slow-moving, personal, and painstaking. I’d already taken a bullet because of Perez, and getting stabbed wasn’t part of my plans. I slowly held a hand in the air. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe you could fill me in.”
Fred shot a look at Knife Wielder, and the blade clicked shut. I turned my head just enough to see Fred’s protector and tried not to laugh at the short, scrawny dude. Knife or not, I could take him, but instead I sat quietly and waited for Fred to talk. She didn’t have a lot to say.
“Bitch moved on.”
“Any idea where?”
“Nah.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Dunno.”
I motioned at the other losers in the bar. “She hang with any of these folks?”
“I wasn’t her babysitter.”
Yet you were glad when she left. Fred knew more, but I wasn’t going to get it straight from her. It was late and I had to be up early. Time to move along and approach this from another angle. I emptied my glass, climbed off the bar stool, and made my way to the door.