Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (30 page)

can tel Hannah that I’m looking good.”

“Uh, about that. She might be interested in going out with

you if you’d be wil ing to pay for finishing the tattoo on her

back.”

“I’m in if I can watch.”

Wes smiled at his friend’s predictability. “I’ll let her know.

Anything you need that I can pick up on the way over

there?”

“Yeah. Get me a Coronary Bypass Burger from The

Vortex.”

Wesley winced. The Bypass Burger was a cardiologist’s

nightmare: a ginormous hamburger topped with a fried

egg, three slices of American cheese, four slices of bacon

and served with a bowl of mayo. For those who were

skinny, brave, or terminally il , the Double Bypass Burger

offered an extra jolt of cholesterol by exchanging the buns

for gril ed cheese sandwiches.

“Whatever you say, Richard Simmons.”

“Who?”

“Later, man.” Wesley ended the call and pedaled to The

Vortex in Midtown, weaving through waning rush hour

traffic that was giving way to people coming in from the

’burbs to go to the Fox Theatre or just to cruise Peachtree

Street between the blocks of Twelfth and North Avenue.

He locked up his bike next to a line of motorcycles in front

of the restaurant that had a reputation for great gril food

and leather-bound servers. He felt a pang for the

motorcycle he’d had to sel , but consoled himself with the

promise that he’d have another one someday.

Wes walked inside, assailed by the sounds and scents of

fun times and good food, then went to the bar to place a

to-go order of two Double Bypass Burgers with Tater Tots

on the side. He wasn’t hungry now, but he knew he would

be when the Oxy wore off. While he waited, he nursed a

Coke and caught some footage from a World Series of

Poker tournament that was playing on a TV over the bar,

mentally calculating the best hand possible for each player

and the odds of getting the “nuts.” During a commercial

he glanced around, then his stomach dropped.

Across the bar, Meg Vincent sat at a table with a preppy-

looking older guy, sharing a plate of nachos. Their heads

were close and they seemed deep in conversation.

Unreasonable jealousy whipped through him, fueled by

anger over her earlier dismissal. She’d told him he could

be her boyfriend, but she obviously already had one—

what a poseur. He set his Coke on the bar and walked

over, gratified when she looked up and did a double take.

“Wesley…hi.”

“Hi.”

“Um…Mark, this is Wesley, a coworker of mine. And

Wesley, this is Mark—a friend.”

Wes nodded at the guy, taking in his sissy plaid shorts and

sandals with a smile. “How’s it hanging, dude?”

“Er…fine,” her companion said. He looked to be in his mid

to late twenties.

Meg fidgeted in her seat. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting something to eat, same as you.” Jesus, she was

wearing lipstick for this goober.

“Would you like to join us?” she asked reluctantly.

“Nah, I’m getting takeout. I’m going to a friend’s place to

get ready for a big game tomorrow.”

“What sport do you play?” Mark asked.

“Cards,” Wes said, pushing up his glasses. “I’m going to be

in the World Series of Poker.”

“Someday,” Meg added wryly.

“I see,” Mark said. “Are you a Tech student?”

Wesley deflated a little. “No.”

“Someday,” Meg said, giving Wesley a pointed look.

Her attitude made him want to shout that he’d just left the

bed of a gorgeous older woman who thought he totally

rocked between the sheets, but at the last second, his

verbal filter kicked on. Plus the newly formed pussy-

whipped area of his brain reminded him that when he’d

been rocking between the sheets with Liz, he’d been

thinking about Meg.

“Order for Wesley!” someone shouted from the bar.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s me. You

kids have fun.”

“See you Monday,” Meg said.

He walked back to the bar, gritting his teeth. Dammit, why

were women such a conundrum? He picked up his order

and sauntered outside, knowing the couple could see him

through the window and wishing he had a Harley to mount

versus a Schwinn. A horn sounded and he looked up to see

a familiar Town Car in the mix of the vehicles that were

cruising by. Mouse’s fat face appeared through the

lowered window.

“Get in,” he cal ed.

Wesley sighed and jogged across a lane of traffic to the

car, then slid into the passenger seat. “You fol owing me?”

“Yeah.” The car moved forward. “Got a problem with

that?”

“Uh, no. What’s up?”

“You’re in,” the big man said. “The boss said I could bring

you on board.”

Wes didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.

“Okay…what now?”

Mouse flipped on his left blinker and edged the giant car

out far enough to cut someone off and make the turn he

wanted to make. “There’s a phone in the glove box. Take it

and keep it juiced up. Don’t turn it off.”

Wesley opened the big glove box and removed a box that

contained a prepaid cel phone and battery charger.

“Listen, I have to do community service in the mornings or

I go to jail. So I’m only available in the afternoons.”

“What about evenings?” Mouse asked.

“I’m on call for the morgue to move bodies.”

“We can work around it,” Mouse said in a congenial voice.

“It might come in handy having someone on the payrol

who knows how to move a body.”

Wesley swallowed hard. “So, how do I get paid? Is it a

percentage of my col ections?”

“It’s kind of like real estate,” Mouse said, turning left on a

side street. “The fee changes depending on the

transaction.”

“I need to know that I’m working toward clearing my debt,

man.”

“Don’t worry, I’l personally oversee your account.” Mouse

turned left again to circle back to The Vortex, then nodded

to the bag. “What’cha got in there?”

“Burgers.”

“Smel s good. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Wesley pul ed out one of the Double Bypass Burgers and

set it on the console. “Knock yourself out, dude.” Maybe

he could slowly murder the man with trans fats.

“Thanks.” Mouse pul ed to a stop in front of the

restaurant. “I’ll cal you.”

Wesley stepped out of the Town Car and jogged back to

the curb just as Meg and Mark were walking out. Meg

looked back and forth between him and the Town Car that

was pul ing away. Wesley rushed to unlock his bike, stuff

the remaining food in his backpack, and took off without

looking back, not caring that she probably thought the

worst of him.

Yeah, right.

21

Dusk was falling when Carlotta left the Atlanta Journal-

Constitution building. With everything going through her

mind regarding Wesley, her dad, Eva McCoy and The

Charmed Kil er, one more thing niggled at her: Coop. He

hadn’t returned any of her calls, and she hadn’t spoken to

him since he’d left her house after spending the night. She

was worried about him.

She used her cel phone to call him again, but it went to

voice mail and she didn’t want to leave yet another

message. On a whim, she called Moody’s Cigar Bar, and

June answered.

“Moody’s.” From the noise in the background, happy hour

was in ful swing.

“June? It’s Carlotta Wren.”

“Hel o, dear. I have some pictures for you when you have a

chance to stop by. I got an extra set printed of the photos

Mitchel took at Neiman’s, and there are some rather good

ones of you.”

“That’s nice of you. June, I’m actually looking for Coop and

I wondered if, by chance, he was there.”

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

Carlotta wet her lips. “Is he drinking?”

“No, dear. But he’s upstairs in the lounge with Mitchel .

And I’m worried about him—he seems troubled.”

Carlotta’s phone beeped to indicate she had another call

coming in. “I’l stop by there in a few minutes. See you

then.” She ended the first call and glanced at the screen to

see that Peter was calling. After running out on him last

night, she owed him some makeup time. She connected

the cal . “Hel o?”

“Hi, Carly. Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s a good time. Do you have plans tonight?”

“No. I was hoping we could get together.”

“Meet me for a drink? I have a bit of news to share.”

“Sure, where?”

Carlotta gave him directions to Moody’s and slowly

disconnected the call. She had mixed feelings about

introducing Peter to Moody’s because it was a place where

Coop hung out sometimes, a place where she and Hannah

had gone on more than one occasion to relax or to meet

someone they were trying to shake down for information.

But if she and Peter were going to date, she needed to

make an effort to fold him into her life. And other people

in her life needed to get used to seeing them together.

She arrived first, noting Coop’s vintage white convertible

Corvette in the parking lot. She smiled when she walked

through the entrance to the main level of the cigar shop—

the atmosphere never failed to warm her. A black

horseshoe-shaped counter dominated the room that was

lined with glass cases ful of cigars and smoking

accessories. An original tin ceiling and black-and-red

checkerboard linoleum tile floor framed the Art Deco

fixtures and swept customers back in time. The bar

attracted a mix of people and she wondered idly if Alicia

Sil s could’ve been a patron—ergo the cigar charm found

in her mouth. She made a mental note to check with June.

At this hour, the shop was ful of suited executives who

were looking for a stogie to take upstairs to the martini

lounge to enjoy with a sipping drink. Sinatra played

overhead. The scents of tobacco and cherry and wood

fil ed the air. Carlotta inhaled to draw the aromas into her

lungs, her tongue dry and her fingers itching for a dose of

nicotine.

Clerks manned the counter, helping customers choose a

cigar to suit their smoking level and their mood. Carlotta

spotted June tending to a customer in the rear of the shop,

past the set of stairs that led to the second-level lounge.

Carlotta waved, then asked one of the clerks for an

Amelia—the mild cigar that June had turned her on to

when she’d first come into Moody’s.

On the counter near her elbow sat the diorama that Coop

had made for June in a cigar box. Inside was a miniature

duplicate of the first floor of the cigar shop, down to

exacting detail of tiny cigars in the tiny boxes in the tiny

cabinets. The exquisite workmanship told her how many

hours Coop spent alone on his precise hobby. He’d once

told Carlotta that it kept him focused and his hands busy,

which had, in turn, helped him to stay sober.

She hoped that was stil the case.

Carlotta paid for the cigar, then walked upstairs to the

packed martini lounge. The bar sat immediately to the

right, with stools and comfortable upholstered chairs

opposite, then the room opened up to larger rooms with

tall ceilings furnished with mismatched couches and

enormous ottomans that patrons could sit on in groups.

Overhead fans kept the cigar smoke from being too

oppressive, and the eclectic decor kept the ambiance from

being too stiff.

She spotted Coop and Mitchel Moody at the far end of

the bar. Her gut told her the men didn’t have much in

common, but Coop was probably extending himself

because he was so fond of June. Coop glanced up and

waved, his face splitting into a smile that made her heart

squeeze. Mitchel turned around and beckoned for her to

join them. She made her way over to them and said hel o.

“Hey, no cast,” Coop said, gesturing to her arm.

She flexed her atrophied muscle. “I got rid of it today.”

“So you’re back to one hundred percent if I need you,”

Coop said, then added, “On a job, I mean.”

“All you have to do is call,” she said lightly, then turned to

Mitchell. “I see the two of you have met.”

“Yeah, getting to know each other,” Coop said. He wore

black jeans and a T-shirt, with faded Chuck Taylor

Converse tennis shoes. His hair had gotten long enough to

pul back into a low ponytail. She tried to maintain eye

contact with him, but he wouldn’t cooperate, puffing on

the smoldering cigar he held. So…he was avoiding her.

“You look a lot better than you did the last time I saw

you,” Mitch said with a grin. He wore jeans, a short-sleeve

shirt and athletic sandals. He also appeared to be a little

tipsy. In front of the two men sat a couple of glasses, half-

ful with clear, fizzy liquid.

She laughed. “No doubt. Are you enjoying your time off?”

“Oh, sure. Mom took me to the Aquarium and the New

World of Coke. And I’ve been catching up with old

friends.”

She seized the opening. “Have you seen the crowds

staking out Eva McCoy’s house?”

Mitch blanched, then laughed and picked up his drink.