Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (3 page)

shook his head. Why did he think he could do it? At the

last minute he’d balked and when it was over, he’d come

clean with his boss, Cooper, and the police. The D.A., an

asshole named Kelvin Lucas who had indicted his dad, had

wanted to nail Wesley to the wall. But his attorney, Liz,

had managed to persuade the D.A. that Hol is Carver was a

bigger fish. Since Wesley stil owed The Carver a shitload

of money, it was in his best interests if The Carver went to

jail for a long time.

On the other hand, The Carver could probably pul strings

no matter where he was. If he found out that Wesley had

turned on him, he might have the rest of his name and his

address cut into Wesley’s skinny body.

Once inside the lobby, Wesley slowed his pace so as not to

attract attention from the security guards, and joined the

line of bored people going through a metal detector. He

jammed his hands in his pockets, trying to calm his nerves,

but his brain was firing like a machine gun. Sweat trailed

down his back, and behind his glasses his left eye ticked

nervously. It was the OxyContin—or rather, the lack of it—

kicking in.

He was really making an effort this time to stay away from

the stuff. The Percocet he’d pinched from Carlotta’s purse

and the two refil s he’d gotten had bridged the worst of his

withdrawal symptoms, but he had only one pil left. He

fingered the capsule in the corner of his pants pocket,

yearning to swallow it, but drawing some comfort from its

mere presence.

He’d hardly left the house the last couple of weeks except

to go to ASS, Atlanta Security Systems, where he was

poking around in his dad’s trial files under the guise of

doing community service for hacking into the courthouse

computer. So he’d definitely noticed that the house was

being watched. The first appearance of the black SUV at

the curb in front of the town house where he and Carlotta

lived had nearly made him piss his pants. He’d gathered up

anything that could be used as a weapon: a hammer, a few

butcher knives, a cast-iron skil et, even a can of hair-spray

from Carlotta’s bathroom. But when no one had emerged

from the SUV with guns drawn to storm the place—the

vehicle had simply left and returned at different hours of

the day—he’d wondered if someone was looking out for

him. Maybe Jack Terry had sent a fel ow cop to patrol the

house, at least until Wesley could strike his deal.

He pivoted as the line moved forward, looking for signs of

trouble. When he was two people back from reaching the

detector, he spotted Mouse, The Carver’s head henchman,

entering the front door of the building.

Wesley almost swallowed his tongue and pecked on the

shoulder of the stout woman in front of him. “I’m late for a

meeting. Would you mind if I go ahead of you?”

The woman frowned. “We’re all in a hurry. You’re gonna

have to wait your turn like everybody else.”

He hunched his shoulders and tried to look inconspicuous,

but Mouse noticed him and came charging toward him.

The woman was chatting with the security officer, taking

her sweet, fat time.

“Hey, could you put some wheels on it?” Wesley said,

moving his hand in a rol ing motion. His heart was

gal oping like a racehorse’s.

She frowned, but lumbered through the metal detector.

Mouse lunged for him and Wesley practically humped the

woman trying to get through the narrow opening behind

her. He felt a tug on his shoulders as Mouse grabbed the

neck of his jacket to yank him back. Wesley held his arms

behind him and walked out of the garment.

He looked back to see Mouse glaring at him, holding the

jacket. Wesley gave him a little salute. No way was Mouse

walking through the metal detector—the man probably

had weapons stowed in his cheeks.

“You have to come out sometime,” Mouse cal ed.

Wesley swallowed and continued walking across the lobby

and down a hall to the elevators. Liz Fischer, his attorney,

was standing to the side, checking her watch. She was a

triple threat—beautiful, blond and bossy. When she

glanced up, her red mouth lifted in a chiding smile. “I was

just getting ready to call you. It wouldn’t look good for you

to arrive late for your own plea bargain.”

“It took longer to get here than I’d planned.”

She frowned. “I thought I told you to wear a jacket.”

“Sorry—I forgot.”

She sighed. “Oh, wel , at least you wore a tie. But you’re

sweating like a pig.”

He wiped a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s summer

in Atlanta, and I rode my bike here.”

“So why are your hands shaking?”

“I’m nervous, okay?”

She gave his shirt a little pat. “Shake it off. You need to

make a good impression on the D.A. Otherwise he might

worry that you’l renege on your agreement to testify

against Hol is Carver.” She glanced at her watch. “We

should go. This wil be over soon, and we can all get back

to normal.” Her fingers slid inside his shirt to stroke his

bare skin and the tip of her tongue appeared.

Wesley swallowed. He missed banging Liz—her body was

to die for—but at the moment, he’d rather have a hit of

Oxy. Inside his pocket he turned the last Percocet capsule

over and over, telling himself he’d save it to celebrate

after the meeting ended. Maybe he’d just chil in a men’s

room and outwait Mouse.

He fol owed Liz onto the elevator, his pulse clicking as they

climbed floors. When the elevator doors opened, he broke

out into a fresh sweat. “Wil Lucas be in the meeting?” he

asked as she led him down a carpeted hallway.

“He could send an assistant, but since it’s you, he’l

probably put in an appearance.”

“You mean since I’m Randolph Wren’s son?”

“That’s right.” She stopped at a frosted glass door, rapped

sharply, then pushed it open.

Wesley fol owed her inside, thinking in that respect, Liz

wasn’t so different from the D.A. She, too, was interested

in him because of his dad. He’d recently discovered that

not only had Liz been his father’s attorney, but she’d also

been his mistress.

Like father, like son.

Kelvin Lucas, an amphibious-looking man, sat at the end of

the table, his hands steepled with authority, his expression

smug. At the sight of the man who had targeted his father

and reneged on a deal he’d made with Carlotta in an

attempt to lure their dad from hiding, bile backed up in

Wesley’s throat. He didn’t want to be in the same room

with the bastard, but he tried to keep his abject loathing of

the man from his expression.

Next to Lucas sat a petite, bookish-looking woman who

stood and introduced herself as Cheryl Meriwether,

Assistant District Attorney. She seemed skittish and kept

sliding her glance toward her boss.

“Well, shal we get started?” Liz suggested, indicating

which chair Wesley should occupy.

He lowered himself into the seat unsteadily. The room had

a sterile smel and rang with the white noise of

incandescent lights buzzing overhead.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at Wesley. “Wel , Wren, you can’t

seem to stay out of trouble…just like your gutless father,

wherever he is.”

Wesley bit down on his tongue to keep from blurting out

the fact that his father had made contact with Carlotta at a

Florida rest area a few weeks ago, and was planning to

resurface as soon as he could prove his innocence.

Under the table, Liz’s hand closed over Wesley’s knee as a

warning for him to keep quiet. Liz didn’t know about his

father’s reappearance. Carlotta had told him to keep it

quiet. But he heeded Liz’s advice out of necessity because

his head was suddenly throbbing and he was having

trouble focusing.

The lawyers opened with legal small talk to set the stage

for their negotiation. Wesley zoned out, studying the

books on the bookshelves, the fly trapped in the light

fixture, his untied shoelace. He just wanted this meeting to

be over. The Percocet capsule was burning a hole in his

pocket, calling to him. He tried to concentrate on what

was being discussed, catching occasional phrases.

“…deserves to go to jail…”

“…Hol is Carver is a menace…”

“…might skip town like his old man…”

“…trumped up charges…”

“…testify if case goes to trial…”

“…give a written statement…”

His mouth was cottony, and his pulse pounded in his ears.

Sweat trickled down his temples.

“Wesley?”

He blinked and focused on Liz’s face. “Huh?”

“District Attorney Lucas asked you to tel us what

happened.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“I’l decide after I hear your story,” Lucas said.

“Okay,” Wesley mumbled. His tongue felt thick in his

mouth. “Okay.”

Liz’s hand was back on his jumping knee with an

encouraging squeeze.

“Could I have a glass of water?” he croaked.

A.D.A. Meriwether left the room and returned a few

seconds later with a bottle. He took it with one hand, then

stuck his other hand in his pants pocket, wedging the

Percocet between his fingers so he’d be able to slip it into

his mouth unnoticed. He set the bottle between his legs to

twist off the top, but his hands were shaking badly now.

The white pil popped out from between his fingers and

flew under the table where it bounced twice on the carpet

before landing next to Lucas’s ugly brown wing-tip shoe.

At least no one else had noticed. But Wesley had to

exercise restraint to keep from leaping under the table and

pouncing on it. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a

drink, sloshing water down the front of his shirt. He

couldn’t take his eyes off that pil .

“We don’t have all day,” Lucas intoned.

“Wesley,” Liz said, tapping the table to get his attention.

He looked up.

“Tel us how you got involved in the body-snatching plan.”

With great effort, Wesley brought his mind back to the

matter at hand. “I was leaving a friend’s house, and a guy

came up to me and said he worked for The Carver, that he

had a job for me. He knew I worked for Cooper Craft

moving bodies for the morgue and that Coop was going to

Florida to pick up that celebrity, Kiki Deerling, and bring

her back to Atlanta. He wanted me to help them steal the

body—to let them know where we were on the road and

to keep Coop preoccupied.”

“In return for what?” Lucas asked. Beneath the table, the

D.A.’s foot moved, covering the capsule.

Wesley wiped his hand across his mouth. “In return for

erasing my debt.”

“Which is how much?”

He thought hard before tel ing the truth. “About twenty

grand, give or take.” It sounded even worse when he said

it aloud.

“Why did Hol is Carver want the body?”

“His son, Dil on, sold heroin at the party where the girl

died. He was afraid the drugs had kil ed her and that he’d

be charged with murder.” Ironically, as it turned out, the

starlet hadn’t taken any drugs, so it had all been for

nothing. Coop would probably never ask Wesley to work

for him again. Wesley hadn’t realized how much he

wanted the man’s respect until it was too late.

“What were they going to do with the body?” Lucas

shifted forward and his shoe pressed down where the

Percocet pil had landed.

Wesley made a strangled noise in his throat. “Uh…I didn’t

ask.”

“My client was afraid for his life,” Liz interjected. “He felt

as if he couldn’t say no.”

“Funny,” Lucas said, “I heard your client say he agreed to

help carry out a felony in return for twenty thousand

dol ars. Who is the man who approached you?”

He looked at Liz before he spoke and she nodded. “Tel

him.”

Wesley’s throat convulsed from wanting that damn pil .

“His name is Leonard.”

“What’s Leonard’s last name?”

“We were never properly introduced,” Wesley said drily.

But he could ask his probation officer, E. Jones. The thug

was her boyfriend, although she had no idea what kind of

stuff the man was mixed up in, including moving drugs for

Wesley’s friend Chance.

“So how do you know this Leonard actually works for

Hol is Carver?”

Wesley scratched his neck in irritation. “Because he said

he did.”

“He could’ve been lying.”

“I don’t think so. He knew I owed The Carver money.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. This Leonard character

could’ve been using The Carver’s name to pressure you

into something he wanted done.”

Wesley scoffed. “That makes no sense. The Carver and his

son were the ones who didn’t want the body autopsied.”

Lucas spread his hands. “I’m just tel ing you what a

defense attorney wil say. From where I sit, you got

nothing on Hol is Carver that can be corroborated.”

Wesley looked at Liz, at a loss.

“What about calls between Hol is Carver and the

celebrity’s publicist?” Liz asked Lucas. “They were the

masterminds of the scheme.”