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HEAT FINISHED THE LAST of his soft drink, having switched from beer to coke upon moving to a booth. He watched Blondie devour a hamburger and fries while he played with a salad, still full from stuffing himself with pizza. The two talked about nothing in particular, just the usual for sports-minded Houstonians. Things like would the Texans ever win a Super Bowl, the fact the Rockets needed a legit big man, and the pitching staff of the Astros. Blondie impressed Heat with her knowledge, but he passed it off as a necessary skill for her line of work when a customer just wanted to talk. Then again, he mused to himself; maybe the girl was a real sports fan who, like so many others, used sports as a distraction from her life's drudgery.
Blondie finished the last of her meal, dabbed at her mouth in a dainty, ladylike manner with her napkin, smiled, and then put her business face on.
“$1500.”
Heat laughed. “The bidding starts at $500.”
“You said you’d pay for a night,” Blondie fired back.
“Okay, I’ll go as high as $800, but not a dime more unless I like what I hear.”
“I have expenses,” Blondie pointed out.
“I seem to recall pointing out there would be a lot less effort involved on your part.”
“You’re paying for my time,” Blondie reminded him. “I can’t help it if all you want to do is talk. It’s your choice.”
“It was nice talking to you,” Heat said, waving at the waiter for the check. “But I can find another working girl just by going back to the bar who will tell me what I want to know at the price I’m willing to pay.” Handing his debit card to the waiter, Heat's expression turned sour. "Or I can use that credential in my wallet and make this one big hassle for you, one that involves bail, calling your lawyer. Instead of making some easy money and having plenty of time to find another john for the evening, you could spend some of your hard-earned money."
Blondie glared at Heat, making the lines around the corners of her eyes stand out, confirming she was closer to her early 30s than her 20s.
"Fine. Half up front."
“See, that wasn’t too difficult, now was it.”
Heat eased the envelope of cash from his back pocket and opened it beneath the table. Without looking, trusting to touch, he counted out four bills before returning the envelope to its hiding place. Slowly, watching Blondie as he did so, Heat slid each one-hundred-dollar bill across the table. Her eyes never left the table until all four of the bills were in her possession.
“What would you like to know?”
“A gentleman whose affairs I’m looking into spent a lot of money in this place,” Heat explained. Waving his hand in the direction of the rest of the restaurant, indicating Blondie should take it all in, he added, “now, this is a nice place. But, explain how this gentleman dropped between two and five thousand dollars on any given visit? Even if he bought the most expensive items on the menu, enjoyed the company of a female companion, and drank the best booze, I don't see how he could spend that much. Any ideas?"
Blondie chuckled and stood up, leaning over to give Heat a good view. “Let’s go for a little walk. I think I’m about to earn a nice bonus.”
—-
“YOU SEEM DISTRACTED tonight.”
Amy looked up from her drink to see his handsome face smiling, his brown eyes showing hints of concern.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I guess I am a bit distracted. It hasn’t been a good day at all.”
Ben reached across the table and took Amy’s hand in his own, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “Tell me about it.”
“One of my bosses was murdered last night.”
His eyes wide in surprise, Amy watched as her date sat up straight and leaned back, away from her. “Wow. That’s awful. You should have said something. I wouldn’t have been offended if you’d begged off tonight.”
Amy rewarded him with one of her heartwarming smiles and put her other hand on top of Ben’s. “That’s sweet, but I really don’t want to be alone.”
“Well, I’m happy to be here. Do you want to talk about it?”
The sad expression returned, chasing the warm smile away as Amy looked down at the table again. “I don’t know much. Just that it was horrible, I mean, the way he died.”
“Random shooting?”
“No,” Amy whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks, smudging her mascara. “Wolf was beaten to death.”
“Angry ex-husband pissed off over your boss for providing proof of indiscretions in the divorce?”
“Don’t know,” Amy answered. “I do know my other boss is looking into it. He’s not going to leave it up to the cops. I know he spent a couple of hours looking at financial records. You know, follow the money.”
“True,” Ben said, nodding as if Amy’s statement made sense. His expression turned thoughtful as he took Amy’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently before setting it back down on the table. “I don’t want to seem insensitive, but are you and your other boss sure you want to know why he was killed? It’s not like as private investigators your bosses don’t stick their noses into business some pretty bad people don’t want anyone poking around in. Maybe Wolf stuck his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.”
He watched the features of the pretty young woman sitting across from him. Her skin was perfect, its shade ever so slightly brown. She possessed brown eyes. Eyes a man could fall into forever. The shape of which gave one the impression there was something unique about them, not entirely Asian and but neither were they European. Amy was an exotic beauty, the kind so typical of Amerasian mixed-race children. She possessed features of both races, and the combination was stunning.
"Maybe," Amy answered sadly. "But Heat thinks it has to do with money. Wolf had been burning through money like crazy, and there was no explanation for it."
“Money from the business?”
“Some,” Amy confessed. “But a lot from Wolf’s own personal accounts, too.”
“Gambling debts?”
“Maybe,” Amy said after a moment’s thought. “But why would they kill Wolf? He can’t pay what he owes if he’s dead.”
"Could be whoever did it, if that's what it is, thinks they can get the money from Heat. Or maybe, they just decided to write it off as a loss, and it was worth it to kill your boss to make collection easier from other clients who don't pay up." A sympathetic expression appeared on Ben's face as he spoke in a softer tone. "I mean, if you don't kill someone once in a while, the threat of violence probably loses some of its impact, you know? A guy might think he can handle some bruised ribs and a black eye, so he welches on what he owes. The same guy pays up if he believes he might wind up dead."
