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THE LIST WAS LONGER than Heat had expected. In fact, there were probably a few names missing from the time before Amy had taken over as the receptionist, office manager, and girl Friday for Pfeiffer and Heatley Investigations. The previous help had not been near as professional in their record keeping.
“Amy,” Heat bellowed from the comfort of his creaky office chair.
His petite assistant appeared in the doorway, a scowl on her face, made more meaningful by the puffy eyes and running mascara. Amy had been crying quietly at her desk.
“You could use the intercom.”
It was Heat’s turn to scowl back. “Why? That would mean taking my feet off my desk, leaning forward, which makes the chair squeak, and then I have to listen to you complain about it.”
Amy's response was to cross her arms across her chest, tilt her head slightly to the right, and to start tapping the toe of her right foot. None of which ever phased Heat in the slightest, a fact that perturbed the young woman to no end.
“You’re here,” Heat mumbled, moving on to what he wanted to talk about. “You look at this list?”
“Sure, why?”
“If you had to pick five deadbeats that would concern you if they threatened you, which five would it be?”
Three quick steps brought Amy to the corner of Heat's desk, where she promptly pushed his feet over six inches and sat on the edge. "Give," she said, motioning for Heat to hand her the list. Picking up a cheap Bic pen off the desk, Amy marked the list quickly and made a few notes.
"These five were pretty scary," Amy said, handing the list back. "None of them scared Wolf, except this one. This guy got under Wolf's skin, made him paranoid for a couple of weeks."
Scanning the list, Heat’s eyes stopped on the name with the words “bad dude” written in Amy’s perfect cursive next to it. Next to the man’s name was the name of their client.
"I remember that name," Heat mumbled. It took a lot to scare Wolf. In fact, it was one of the things the partners had argued about. Heat had repeatedly told his partner to be more cautious. The arguments followed a pattern.
“I can handle myself, Heat. Leave it alone, will ya?”
“Wolf, just be more aware of your surroundings, that’s all I’m asking,” Heat would reply. “If you spot a threat first, it gives you, no, it gives us, the upper hand.”
“Most of these guys are all talk,” Wolf would say, brushing off Heat’s concerns.
“You’re right. It’s that rare one who has the stones to carry out his threat that worries me.”
Heat looked up from the list and noticed Amy had vanished. The sound of her quick steps announced her return, a thick file in her hand.
“Here’s the file.”
Amy handed her boss the file and retreated to the safety of her desk. Heat would be lost in the file for hours. She might not see her boss again for days.
For a brief moment, she wondered if updating her resume would be a good idea or not. If the killer was good enough to kill Wolf, the same was true with Heat. That Heat wouldn't rest until he found the killer was a given. Amy just hoped the police got to Wolf's killer before Heat did.
—-
“YOU GET THE FILE?”
Garcia’s voice was garbled as it came through Heat’s cell, “Yeah, thanks, Heat.”
“Need anything else?”
“Not at the moment. But Heat, a word, man.”
“I know, stay out of your way.” Heat paused for a moment. “I plan on it, in fact, you and Boucher will never see me, how does that sound.”
Garcia winced at the private detective’s words as Heat ended the call.
“He’s not gonna listen to reason, is he?”
“No, Elijah, I’m afraid he ain’t.”
Boucher reached across his desk for the freshly printed list of names. “Given this list is all men, it’s probably safe to say some of them have records for assault or spousal abuse. Might as well start with those.
“Elijah?”
Boucher glanced up from the list of names and stared at his partner.
“How come Heat never took on women as clients? Always worked for the husbands looking to find dirt or if their ole lady was steppin’ out?”
“They took other kinds of cases besides potential divorce cases," Boucher replied. "But now that you mention it, you're right. Wolf always handled the female clients.” The creole shrugged his shoulders and returned his attention to the list of names. “You’d have to ask Heat that one, Miguel.”
—-
HEAT LISTENED TO MICK Jagger crooning to some unsuspecting young woman that he was stalking her as the grinding guitar work of Keith Richards filled the cab of his old F-100 truck. His cars might look battered and worn, but they all ran like tops, and the sound systems were custom and expensive. He eased onto the onramp to I-10 and came to a stop. It was rush hour, and nobody in Houston expected to get anywhere fast on the Katy Freeway. Love is Strong finished on the CD player, and Heat turned down the volume until he could barely hear You Got Me Rockin’ in the background.
He had a lot on his mind and needed to think. Moving slowly on I-10 in the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the direction of Houston's so-called energy corridor for a while would let Heat clear his mind. He'd sent Amy home early, not wanting to deal with her. It wasn't that Heat didn't understand why his assistant was upset, he did. Wolf had helped get Amy clean and out of the life they had found her in. She had every right to be angry, to cry, and be emotional.
Heat just didn’t have time for that. He had forty-eight hours, less now, to catch who killed his partner. After that, the trail would likely go cold.
Boucher and Garcia had been right to question him. Things between the two had gone south. The reasons were simple. Heat was tired of Wolf sleeping with some of their female clients. It wasn't professional, and it created problems neither of them needed.
Then there was the matter of the missing money. It had taken the forensic accountant they used on occasion to find it, to confirm Heat’s suspicions. Wolf had been skimming.
Digging through your partner's bank statements was one of those things that could be hard to explain. So, Heat had turned to a high school kid he knew for help. He'd helped the kid's old man get out of a tight spot, and the kid had offered to return the favor if Heat ever needed any "off the books computer work done."
More than once, the kid had come through. And there had never been any issues with the hack to come back to haunt their firm. It was an easy decision to put the kid on retainer. It was an even easier decision to pay him in cash to keep his mouth shut about this particular hack.
Wolf, it seemed, had bigger problems than a taste for the ladies.
