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Kelvin shed his clothes, trading French cuffs and tailored suit for soiled and patched jeans, a Texas First tee shirt with ripped off sleeves, and scuffed steel-toed boots. He tugged a black knit cap over his bald head, hoping it wouldn't itch and drive him nuts, and pulled on a sleeveless denim vest with an assortment of badges. The patches were legit, from his crazy motorcycle club days, even though the club had long since disbanded. He hoped they'd add to his cred.
Hercules sprawled on the bed, soaking the cover with dog drool and thumping his tail each time Kelvin turned his way.
"What do you think?" He posed, flexing his biceps so the tats of snakes undulated along his arms.
The dog wagged, stood up and shook his 240-pound tan torso, black muzzle spraying drool across the room. His collar tags jangled, bed springs squealed and the headboard thumped the wall like a seedy hotel room’s amorous neighbor. Kelvin smiled wistfully at the thought, knowing he'd had his last taste of Sunny. If not for her pillow talk last week, he wouldn't have connected the dots that brought the Doctor within reach.
"Only good times ahead. New apartment and better class of neighbors and clients, just you wait, Hercules. Maybe even a doggy girlfriend for you." He'd counted the wad of cash three times, and had the $10,000 stashed in a yellow sock and locked in the top desk drawer at his office. You couldn't deposit that much cash without pointed questions being asked and paperwork required. Time enough later to figure out how to manage the windfall.
To reap the full rewards, though, he had to pay in blood—not his own, but innocent blood. He walked to the bed and opened his arms to Hercules, welcoming the heavy heat against his chest when the Mastiff leaned into his embrace. They'd been together six years. He'd want to kill anyone who offered to hurt Hercules. So would anyone with half a heart. Something must be broken inside of Sunny. Now, he'd have to play a gruesome price to buy the trust needed to gain insider access to the dogfight ring.
"Not you, boy. Never you." Kelvin thumped his palms on the dog, and Hercules panted happily.
It'd only take a couple to satisfy them. Surely, he could wrangle up a couple of strays. Besides, people who let pets wander didn't deserve to have them. He told himself it'd be only a day or so before he called in the authorities, not enough time for anything bad to happen to them. Kelvin didn't know if he could live with himself otherwise.
But he had no choice.
His phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. Kelvin hurried to the adjoining bathroom vanity where it charged next to the sink, and recognized the sender.
"Got the location and the time." Sunny quickly rattled off directions, and he scribbled them down. "Here's the deal. You deliver three animals to the location today. Better hurry, before the storm hits. There's dumpsters on the property. Put 'em inside one of those."
"Dumpsters? I thought they were supposed to be alive?" His stomach tightened. "That doesn't give me much time." He unplugged the phone and carried it back into the bedroom, and sat beside his dog.
"Yes, alive. Open the lid and drop them in. You can toss some hot dogs if you want. With all this rain, there should be plenty of water to drink. It's not like they'll be in there for long."
He closed his eyes. If Sunny had been in the same room with him, he would have smacked her, never mind he'd never struck a woman in his life. He'd make an exception in her case.
She must have read his mind. "Hey, this isn't some sweet-and-fluffy Disney adventure, Kelvin. I'm the messenger. If you don't have the stones for it, my guys won't let you inside."
"Right, I know." He stroked Hercules, imagining reproach in the dog's eyes.
"This is a test. You won't see them, but they'll be watching your every move. I want the rest of my money, what's coming to me." Her voice turned fierce. "So don't mess up. That would reflect poorly on me, too."
"Yeah, whatever." This was his party, and he had the most to lose. He knew what the dog men did to fighters that disappointed, and could guess his fate, should he fail in any of myriad ways. "Maybe there's another way."
She blew out breath with exasperation, and he imagined Sunny tossing her neon locks. "Figured you'd try to weenie out on me. I need the money, Kelvin. I've got plans, gotta get the hell out of this stinking place and start over. You can't trust anyone here. It's all empty promises, lies and disappointment."
God, she'd played the victim card again. In her world, everyone was out to get her. "Sunny, hear me out. That referral I pitched your way, over to that old renovated Victorian, 205 Rabbit Run Road? I'll double your fee.”
Combs’s text had been insulting. Detective Combs now. He hadn't been so high and mighty last year after his demotion. Combs came to Kelvin begging for a job. Kelvin strung the cop along for a while, figuring Combs would still have inside connections even as a tainted ex-cop that could prove helpful with Kelvin's clientele. But once reinstated, Combs no longer had the time of day for Kelvin Quincy. Until now.
Sunny laughed. “Figured it wasn’t worth much or you’d do it yourself.”
He grit his teeth. He couldn't let anything distract him from nailing the Doctor’s drug ring, but couldn’t tell Sunny that. At the same time, Combs knew Kelvin never turned down a job. Doing so could make the detective suspicious, when Kelvin couldn’t afford cop noses in his beeswax, so he’d referred the job to Sunny. “You already agreed to take the job, Sunny, I’m just sweetening the deal.”
She waited a beat. “I’m playing with you. Already on the job. I never turn down a bonus.”
The P.I. job would keep Sunny out of his hair until he could figure a better way to manage this whole thing. Maybe he'd send the Doctor to the designated spot, and let Combs know. The detective would owe him. He’d heard Combs was a stand-up guy willing to share credit. Kelvin wouldn't have to mention the $10K socked away, literally.
"As for this deal, Kelvin, I won't let you back out."
He laughed so hard, he shook the bed. Hercules sneezed, joining in with a doggy laugh, and his collar tags jingled again. Kelvin was many things, but he was not a dog killer. Drop in a dumpster? Sheesh. "Sunny, what kind of leverage could you possibly have?"
"I took care of BeeBo, like you said. Squashed him flat. So to speak."
His shoulders tightened and he stopped laughing. "What do you mean?"
She drawled, voice dripping with treacle and seeming to enjoy every word. “Got word about BeeBo asking questions, sniffing around. I did my own sniffing, and sure enough, it smelled to high heaven like bacon.” The honey turned to brimstone. “BeeBo’s cousin turned me on to his little game. We go way back.” She giggled. “Then when BeeBo called me to help out with his undercover sting, I couldn’t resist fixing our problem. The poor simple soul had a little accident with his gun."
He leaned forward, and shouted into the phone. "You shot him? Are you crazy?" His voice raised an octave and he leaped to his feet. "You crazy bitch. If he’s undercover, a suspicious death won’t help our cause.” Murder had never been part of the plan. He was supposed to be one of the good guys.
"Don't take that tone with me. I'm not stupid, I quizzed him first. He hadn't reported to his handler, not yet, but was going to. I couldn’t wait. He'd already been out to the site. Had a kitten he must've pulled out of there. I hate cats." She sniffed. "I'm still so stuffed up with allergies I can't breathe. If I hadn't taken care of business, you and me and the Doctor wouldn't have any business."
Kelvin pulled off the black stocking cap and threw it across the room. "That's dandy. That's it, Sunny. I'm out. Bad enough this deal involves murdering dogs. But you killed a man. They'll never buy that a gun guy like BeeBo got careless. You're on your own." He'd call Combs, come clean and the devil takes Sunny and the Doctor and the whole shitty mess.
"Before you click off, hon, you should know about my insurance."
He hesitated. She sounded positively gleeful, and he couldn't bring himself to disconnect. Not until he knew what the witch planned. "What? What insurance?"
"The police investigation will turn up a rabies tag that doesn't belong to one of BeeBo's dawgs." She drawled the last word, the way BeeBo would have said it. "Now, you give that big old Hercules-boy a pat for me, y'hear? Always loved the way he jingles his collar."
