Checkered Crime: A Laurel London Mystery (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Jax had me drop him back off at the Windmill before I could get him to listen to me about the boxes. There had to be something illegal in there. Why else would Nicoli drive up to the dock in a boat and not a car? Why would they exchange heated words?

Jax did say that he had some things he needed to investigate down on the docks since Trigger had told me not to pick him up. So maybe Jax did know about the boxes. Hell, he
was
with the FBI and I was sure they weren’t going to tell
me
everything they knew.

At least we had a plan in place and it made me feel a little bit better.

I would nose around the hotel and try to see if I saw Trigger come back and who he was talking to. Jax said that anything would be good. And I could be nosey, no problem.

I pulled into the Airport Hotel parking lot and grabbed my bag off the passenger seat. I pulled out my K-Mart, on sale, big-framed sunglasses that took up half my face as if I was undercover. Somehow it made me feel better.

I flung my bag over my shoulder and walked right through the sliding doors.

The atrium of the lobby was amazing. The domed ceiling was like a painting by  Michelangelo. The large pillars and over bloomed flower pots adorned all crevices of the lobby. Marble flooring faded into the marble walls and the shiny gold plated décor stood out.

“Miss, may I help you?” The concierge stood at her podium smiling from ear-to-ear. She held a clipboard close to her chest. “Your name?”

“Umm…,” I stammered, unsure of what to do.

“Are you staying with us?” She asked in her petite voice, head slightly tilted to the right, brow cocked.

“I’m not registered yet.”

“I can help you with that.” She stepped out from behind her podium with her clipboard still in hand. “If you would like to follow me.”

“Well, I have some special circumstances that need to be accomodated.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to figure out what room Trigger was in, but I wanted to be close to him if possible.

“I’m sure we can accommodate.” She placed her clipboard on the stand. “Let’s start out by the type of room you would like.”

“It’s not that type of accommodations. I’m undercover,” I leaned in closer, “for the Federal Bureau of Investigations.” The words dripped out of my mouth like it was something I said every day.

The woman’s eyes popped open in delight, encouraging me to go on.

“And there is a man that I’m tailing that is staying here.” I made muscle arms. “He has a distinct tattoo of an eagle.”

The woman waved her hands in the air. “Headless eagle,” she corrected me. She leaned forward. Her eyes shifted side-to-side before they bore into me. “I know exactly who you are talking about.” She did a vertical and horizontal assessment of Trigger with her hands.

“That’s him,” I confirmed. “Anyway, I need to watch him. Watch his moves while he is here. Which means
—
”

“You need a room near his?” Her eyes narrowed. “This is exciting,” she squealed.

“Shhh…,” I put my finger up to my mouth. “No one and I mean
no one
other than you, me, and the FBI can know about this super secret job.”

She did the Girl Scout cross-my-heart sign.

“I can put you across from him in the Penthouse Suite B.” When she saw me taking out my money, she tapped my hand and shook her head. “I don’t know what that slimeball did, but I do know I don’t want my hotel’s good reputation associated with thugs. You can use the suite free of charge as long as you need it.”

“Wonderful.” A sigh of relief swept over me. I was glad I was going to be able to come and go as I had pleased, without paying for a room.

“In fact, a woman checked into his room yesterday and she hasn’t come out this morning.” There was a suspicious tone in her nature. “We had a call on them last night. First they were yelling, then they were you-know-what,” she winked, “then they were yelling again. He tried to pay off my security guard to kick the people out next to them. Unfortunately, the other guests left before we could resolve the situation.”

“Woman?” I reached for a piece of paper and her pen, “May I?” I asked before she gave me the go ahead to take it. “What did she look like?”

The concierge described a woman with long black hair, tiny waist, enlarged boobs, sky high heels, and tight leather pants while I took notes. “Lots and I mean lots of makeup. You won’t miss her. She doesn’t look like anyone around here.”

“Great.” I tapped the piece of paper. I wasn’t sure of what I needed to ask next, but I couldn’t wait to get to the room so I could get my game plan together. “Did she have chopsticks in her hair?”

“Yes. Strange right?” Her eyes grew big. “They talk funny too. Some sort of northern accent.”

“New York?” I asked.

“Never been. Don’t know.” She squinted. “But I’ll be sure to let you know when I see someone coming and going.” She put her hand out. “I’m Tammy. At your service.”

“Thanks Tammy. Do you happen to know the woman with the chopsticks’ name?” I asked.

“I believe he called her Jenn.” She squinted like she was digging deep into her memory. “Yes. Jennifer. Jenn.” She confirmed.

I pulled the glasses down on the tip of my nose so she could see my eyes. I gave her a long theatrical wink. “What about that room?”

“Yes. That.” Nervously Tammy grabbed the two-way off her belt loop and whispered into the walkie-talkie. Within seconds a bellhop was eager and waiting.

“The FBI thanks you for being a wonderful citizen,” I said to her before I followed the bellhop to the elevator.

I made sure to throw the FBI in there for good measure. It seemed like the right thing to do and thank God she didn’t ask for an ID.

“Just a second.” I put my hand on the bellhop. He turned around. “Do you have a business center?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and pointed down another corridor. “Just down through there.”

“Great.” I rubbed my chin. “I’m with the FBI and I need to make a quick phone call.” I pulled out another theatrical wink as to tell him it’s all hush-hush. “Do you think we can go down there first?”

“Sure.” He changed directions and headed down the hall he had just pointed to.

The gold sign next to the door had Business Center engraved on it. I opened the door and peeked in.

“Good. No one is in there.” I turned toward the bellhop. “Do you mind, of course for the FBI, to stand at the door and don’t let anyone in here?”

“Yes ma’am.” He took his post like a good little soldier.

This FBI stuff was great to use.

I got on the FBI website and looked to see what their badges looked like. Jax flashed his so fast that I didn’t get a good look. And if I was going to play the part, I needed a fake badge. Only for the just-in-case-someone-asked-to-see-it situations.

I clicked on an image that I could easily print off and stick it in the Porty Morty lanyard pouch I used for work and just give a quick flash. Like Jax did to me.

I hurried when I heard the bellhop explaining that it would be a couple minutes to someone who wanted in the business center. I knew enough not to leave any evidence behind after I pushed the print button and cropped the picture to the perfect size of my lanyard pouch. With a few simple key strokes, I had erased the memory in the computer hard drive so if anyone came looking, there wasn’t a trace I was there. For good measure, I used the edge of my tee to wipe off any fingerprints on the keyboard.

Deep in my bag was my Porty Morty ID lanyard. I stuck the FBI badge in the clear pouch over top of my ID to make it nice and stiff so it did look official. I put it back in my bag, even though I kind of wanted to wear it, but didn’t need the attention at this time.

“You ready?” I asked the bellhop.

He smiled and walked ahead of me. There were only two doors on the penthouse level. One was mine and the other had to be Trigger’s.

“Here you go.” The bellhop opened the door and waited. “Will this be all?”

“Yes.” I smiled and waited for him to go, but he stood there. Straight as a stick. “Can I help you with something?”

“Just making sure you liked my service.”

He didn’t have to say another word. I knew exactly what he meant. I was going to have to pay him for his silence.

“If you need any information about anyone staying at the Airport Hotel, feel free to ask.” He smiled and folded up the hundred dollar bill I had given him.

“I see,” I said and lifted my head. My eyes met his eyes. We seemed to have an understanding about what was going on. “If I need anything, I’ll be sure to ask for…,” I glanced at his name tag. “Daniel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned and headed to the elevator just as the door to Trigger’s penthouse flung open.

I ducked a little behind the door in fear they would see me, only the woman didn’t pay a bit of attention to me at all. She proceeded down the hall. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight bun with chopsticks stuck in the middle and a black skirt suit topped off with red high heels. She was too busy putting something in her clutch to even bother with me and Daniel.

“Going down?” Daniel asked when she approached him.

“Yes please.” She didn’t look up from her clutch.

Daniel glanced over her shoulder and gave me a long theatrical wink.

Chapter Seventeen

Many times I had dreamed of doing nothing all day but sitting in a fancy hotel and being catered to. But the waiting was something I wasn’t good at.

I had propped the door open with my shoe and pushed the couch in clear view of Trigger’s door so I didn’t miss anyone coming and going. The only person I saw was the hotel maid, who also gave me the theatrical wink. Everyone was onto the fact that I was there with the FBI to keep tabs on the other penthouse. Everyone but Trigger, hopefully.

The day was dragging on. I had positioned myself on the couch every which way, even upside down, but nothing was going on. I wasn’t sure what Jax wanted to me to do.

I pulled the lanyard out of my bag to get a look at my printed off badge and a piece of paper was tangled up in the string. I opened it.

“Louisville!” I jumped to my feet.

It was the address that I had found in the orphanage office in the envelope with my name on it. I checked my watch. It was lunch time. If Trigger kept to his time of getting picked up at five o’clock, there wouldn’t be any action for a while and since I was in Louisville, I might as well go check out the address.

I shut the door behind me and headed down to the lobby where the concierge was ecstatic to see me.

“Today the woman was picked up in an old beat up truck.” She smiled and showed me a picture on her camera phone that she had taken. “Did I do good or what?”

“Who was driving?” I asked when I noticed the truck was similar to Derek’s.

“A guy I didn’t recognize.” She bit her lip. “Shoot. I guess I should’ve gotten his picture too.”

“No, you did great.” I shrugged off the fact that it wasn’t Derek. It couldn’t have been. His truck was dead and he wouldn’t know Jennifer anyway. I scribbled my phone number on the top of a piece of paper on her clipboard. “Can you text me that picture though?”

I didn’t know why I asked her to do that, but it seemed like the official FBI thing to do.

“Yes,” she squealed. “Is this evidence?”

“It just might be.” I patted her on the arm. “Good work. Let me know if something comes up. I have to run an errand.”

We said out goodbyes before I jumped into the Old Girl.

“5937 Briar Street.” I used the cool GPS feature on my new phone to maneuver the streets of Louisville.

The further I drove, the shadier the neighborhoods got making me a little happy that I wasn’t raised on these streets. With my skills, there would have been no way I would have made it out of here without going to jail.

“59, 59, 59,” I repeated as I drove slowly past all the worn-down houses and tried to find the house numbers on them. “593…,” I squinted to make out the hand-painted numbers on the chipping overhang on the one that should be the right house.

“5934.” I pulled the Belvedere up to the curb wondering if I should go up to the door or not.

It wasn’t like it was a guarantee someone who knew me or my past still lived there. Twenty-two years was a lifetime ago for some people. I wrangled with the thoughts in my head, trying to sort through it all.

What if my mom had been a teenager? She’d only be in her late thirties.

A slamming car door caught my attention. A teenage boy with his pants hanging past his butt cheeks was walking away from a late model Chevy Camaro.

“V-6. Manual five speed?” I hollered out to the kid, grabbed my bag, and slammed the Old Girl’s driver’s door behind me. I had to get his attention somehow.

He looked around. His sandy-blond hair flipped behind his shoulder, exposing large gauge earrings in his ear lobes.

“Let me guess.” I walked around the car. “1992?”

“I wish.” He rubbed his hand down the side of the off-white Z-28. “Close. 1991. Though there wasn’t much of a difference.” He walked closer to me. His eyes slid from me to my car then back to me. “In 1992, GM made a major effort to tighten the f-body, with more welds, seam filler, caulking and so forth. The '92s are the quietest and tightest of the 3rd gen line. Not to mention they painted the grill to match the car on the ‘92s.”

Okay. That was way more than I needed to know about his car. I was just trying to make idle chit-chat to get some deets on the house.

“You have a cool car.” He jerked his head back doing the cool thing.

“Thanks.” I smiled. Thank goodness I knew a little about cars. It was all because of Derek. He constantly worked on cars at the orphanage. “Hey, do you know who lives here?” I pointed to the house at 5934.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m seventeen and nobody has lived there since I was born.”

“Hmm.” I looked back at the house. It was run down, but it didn’t look abandoned run down, if there was such a difference.

“Someone pays the bills because the electricity works.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.