Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (11 page)

“
I
t’
s your fault I have no time to look for a wife
,”
the detective told her that night, when he found the Ferrari plunked in his garage. 
I’
ve never seen such exquisite upper-crust family dysfunction as I did when they argued.

When the blonde babe steps within inches, I act like
I’
ve just left the me
n’
s room.  Keeping my head down, I bump into her, giving her my head-on body frisk.

“
Oops, sorry
,”
I say.

“
Watch what the fuck yo
u’
re doing
,”
she snarls, giving me a shove. 

Have I startled my lady?

I glance toward th
e“
ladie
s”
sign to the right of the door.  I tremble thinking what my daddy would say. 
I like ladie
s—
cooked.  Maybe sau
té
ed.  Mostly, I prefer them raw.
 

“
Sorry
,”
I say, stepping directly back into her air space and patting her shoulder like w
e’
re besties.
 “
You okay
?
”

“
Back off, you fuck
!
”

“
Sure
.
”
 
Obliging her, I head back to my post in the dining room, park my ass behind the faux ficus, and resume watching His Lordship, Detective Hawks.

Nick LaFiglia finally ambles to the cash register.  He would
n’
t hurry even if I gasolined his ass and set a match to it.  Now ther
e’
s a
real
bastard, Nick LaFiglia. 
I’
ve no taste for male meat.  Too raunchy compared to female sweetmeats.  One day, though,
I’
d like to chop up Nicky and serve his ass as pa
té
to his patrons.  I check my urge to laugh out loud.  Daddy would love
that
idea, and who knows?  For his part in my mothe
r’
s death, I think LaFiglia will eventually end up in Dadd
y’
s stewpot.  Ha!  Kidding.  Anyway, Dad does
n’
t cook anyone.  He likes his meat raw.

“
Detective Hawks
,”
LaFiglia says
,“
how was everything today
?
”

“
I
t’
d be better if yo
u’
d get your ass moving, Nick
,”
His Lordship says
,“
so people like me can go do our jobs and take bastards like you off the street
.
”

Ha-ha.  What humor.  Gotta love Detective Hawks, who knows Nick
y’
s rap sheet like the back of his hand.  Gotta fear him, too, though.  H
e’
d make a wicked-badass criminal.  Man never stops once he locks on to his quarry, which is why I watch him at a distance.

Feeling the delicious little niggle of fear tugging at me, I slide back, snugging myself deep into my favorite spot behind the leafy ficus, and wait.

* * *

“
Hey, Detective Hawks, wha
t’
s up, bro
?”
Wes Gillam says, thumping me on the back.
 “
Missed you for breakfast
.
”

“
Blame Meyers
,”
I say, still pissed the captain socked me with mentoring DeeDee Laws, busting up me and my former partner. 

Wes checks to make sure DeeDe
e’
s nowhere in sight and then lowers his voice.
 “
You need any more help, let me know
.
”

“
Sure thing
,”
I say, thanking him for helping out last night and wishing I was heading out with Wes this morning, instead of with DeeDee.

Wes, happily married but as dirty minded as the next guy, says
,“I’
d be happy to help you sweat that little hottie from Oma
r’
s
.
”

I do
n’
t laugh.  Wiry Wes, o
r“
Tiger
,”
swung by Oma
r’
s last night.  I told him to get there early, before I arrived, and keep an eye on Oma
r’
s dancers.  I was going to go warn them about the murders in the alley, so I asked him to hang around for a drink afterward and meet me.  His leer tells me he mus
t’
ve liked watching Alaina dance, that and the fact that when DeeDee and I walked in, I saw him salivating.

“
You fit in with that crowd of lechers
,”
I say, dragging his prurient mind off her.

“
Heh
,”
Wes goes.
 “I’
d like to fit in a few orifices on he
r
—”

“
Lay off
,”
I warn, jokin
g—
maybe.  If I have my way, Wes is getting none of
that
.  Not that
I’
m worried.  When I go over for Saturday night barbecues, i
t’
s like the old woman who lives in the shoe at the Gillam
s
’ house.  Kids pour from the rafters, and Delila
h’
s like a baby-making factory.

“
Glad to help out
,”
he says.  Not big on conversation, he gives me anothe
r“
Heh
.
”

“
I can handle it, Tiger
,”
I say, feeling jealous as hell and clueless as to why. 
I’
ve only seen Alaina one damn time.  Sure, she was naked, mostl
y—
reason enough to get excite
d—
but the effect she had on me was immediate.  Intense. 

Maybe
I’
ll call he
r
—

The hell?  Did I just add Alaina Colby to my booty call list? Or is there something different about this one?

Chapter 8

Nick LaFigli
a’
s finally figured out he needs my money to keep Arne
e’
s running.  He ambles to the register.
 “
Detective, sorry to keep you waiting
.
”

“
Yeah, right
.
”

I’
d be pissed to get this kind of crappy service anywhere else.  Here, however, you suck up your anger and wait on Nick.  The foo
d’
s that damn good, fortunately.  It gives me more than one reason to come here.  Today,
I’
m keeping an eye on Nick.  I want to see what he knows about the latest vi
c’
s body we found in the alley.

Nic
k’
s not your average restaurant owner.  Or maybe he is.  H
e’
s gone straight, he says.  I have my doubts.  Arne
e’
s screens employees well, but i
t’
s easy to hide a criminal background by working in a kitchen.  Nic
k’
s changed his identity more than once.  Who knows how many times?  Now h
e’
s Nick LaFiglia, entrepreneur and reformed thug, who owns swank river front properties, and Arne
e’
s.

“
I hear you found another vic in the alley last night
,”
he says.
 “
Wha
t’
s this make your body count now?  Two?  Three
?
”

Nick knows already?  The vic, whose corpse we pulled from behind Oma
r’
s last night, used to waitress here.  Word travels fast in Newport, especially when yo
u’
re talking murder, so
I’
m not too surprised.  I look him square in his eyes.
 “
Wh
o’
s to say whoever murdered her is
n’
t working here?  Wh
o’
s to say it is
n’
t one of your thugs
?
”

“
No need to be uncivil
,”
Nick says.
 “
Thanks for your business.  Now, do me a favor.  Go crawl back under the rock you came out from unde
r—
Detective
.
”

“
Wh
o’
s to say her murderer is
n’
t you, Nicky
?
”

Nick does the usual perp dance.  Looks cocky.  Shoots me a shitfaced flat-eyed grin.
 “
You pull anything concrete from the rive
r
”
—
he smiles at his own stupid jok
e
—
“
you let me know
.
”

“
Yo
u’
ll be the first
,”
I say.
 “I’
d love to send your ass back up the river, and
I’
m not talking the Ohio
.
”

“
Other than running all over Newport chasing your ass
,”
he says, giving me a narrow-eyed stare that would make even the meanest criminal run for cover
,“
how goes everything in your personal life?  I hear dic
k’
s get all the pussy
.
”

“
Great, Nick.  And you?  Made any more kiddie porn lately?  I hear i
t’
s a booming business on the Internet
.
”

Nick never answers my questions, which is the reason I keep asking them.
 “
Glad you enjoyed the food
,”
he says, and then shoves a takeout order in a go-bag at me.
 “
Cinnamon and pecan rolls, fresh-baked.  Just for you, Detective Hawks
.
”

I laugh.
 “
No arsenic
?
”

If he could get by with it, the rolls would be laced with enough arsenic to kill an elephant.  Even if his thick-lipped smile is
n’
t squeezing back the evil lurking behind his darting gaze, I know Nick.  His rap sheet is a how-to crime manual.  Vice.  Murder.  Extortion.  Back in the day, LaFiglia ran a child porn factory out of Oma
r’
s, which is why
I’
m here, watching Nick
y’
s ass.  Although Nick no longer owns the building, bodies keep piling up in the alley behind it.  Not that being the buildin
g’
s former owner makes Nick a suspect in last nigh
t’
s murder.  It does
n’
t.  But I keep doing my mat
h—
three bodies so fa
r—
and keep coming to Arne
e’
s every day to check in on our Nicky.  It irritates the piss out of him, knowing
I’
m waiting to see if h
e’
ll fuck up.

Apparently, he wo
n’
t this morning. 

“I’
ll wait for my partner outside
,”
I say.
 “
I do
n’
t like you, Nick, but I would
n’
t wish her off on you.  Sh
e’
s mean.  Look out for her
.
”

“
Oh,
I’
ve had my eye on her
.
”

Poor bastard.
  Nick likes blondes.  I hear h
e’
s sported more than one Miss Teen America as his appendage, pedophiliac bastard.  Sh
e’
s a bit older than Nick likes, but
I’
m certain DeeDe
e’
s not the package he wants to toy with.
 “
Stay clean, Nick
,”
I say, taking the offered go-bag with the pecan cinnamon rolls. 
I’
m vigilant about not taking bribes, but I want to keep communication with LaFiglia open.

“
Always, Soul Brother.  Always
.
” 

I feel the sting of his words against my back, but do
n’
t turn.  His use of my closest friend
s
’ nickname for me catches me off guard.  Smiling, I recover.  Bastar
d’
s letting me know h
e’
s keeping an eye on me.  I hang with my friends at the Shipwreck, a downtown dive where we put down some blues on Friday nights.  In between, I spend most of my off duty time overseeing the rehabbing of Hawk
s
’ Opera House. 
I’
ve seen Nick hanging around both places, keeping tabs.  Ther
e’
s no law against tailing cops, so long as Nick does
n’
t get too personal. 

“
Screw you, LaFiglia
.
”

“
Yo
u’
re not my type
,”
he says.

“
Yo
u’
ll know better when
I’
m sliding my dick up your ass
,”
I say, searching for DeeDee.
 “
Hang around and find out
.
”

“I’
m not going anywhere
,”
Nick says, rattled, which is exactly what I want.  I figure, if I keep the heat on long enough, h
e’
s bound to give me something.

As
I’
m leaving, I feel the gazes.  Everyon
e’
s trying to figure who DeeDee is and whether sh
e’
s my latest.  Only her presence with me keeps the gossip to a low roar.  I admit, sh
e’
s gorgeous, but sh
e’
s also a rookie investigator with NP
D’
s finest.  Investigator Laws deserves respect for that.  The rest sh
e’
ll have to earn.  Before long, the
y’
ll all figure out sh
e’
s Mayor Law
s
’ daughter, and then the Newport matchmakers will show me no mercy.  I plan to be done with DeeDe
e—
and with Megalo Do
n—
before that happens. 

I walk on outside and stand on Arne
e’
s wrap-around porch.  Looking down the steps leading to the street, I check the area.  No unusual activity.  No suspicious box trucks hauling drugs from the barges trolling lazily up and down the Ohio River.  In NPD, w
e’
ve got a saying. 
Murder and drugs go together like Arne
e’
s omelets and toast.

“I’
m ready to roll, Aidan
.
” 

I turn when she walks up behind me.  Big innocent blue eyes sparkling like sun-kissed morning glories, she gazes into my eyes.  I groan.  Last thing I want is an infatuated rookie
I’
ll have to drag around and explain.  The Newport mayo
r’
s daughter, no less.  Feeling my mood darkening, I try to control it.  I
t’
s not DeeDe
e’
s fault I fixated on Alaina Colby the second I saw her.  I ca
n’
t stop thinking about her dark wild beauty, ca
n’
t explain my attraction.  I
t’
s there, lodged in my gu
t—
or a few inches lower.  For now,
I’
m enjoying the torment thinking about her stirs in my overactive groin, but I also hate it.  Do
n’
t want to be feeling this, whatever
this
is. 

“
You ready
?”
DeeDee asks.

“
Hell yes. 
I’
ve been standing out here for an hour
,”
I say, patting my pancake holster.  My extra, a Colt Cobra .38 Special, lies snugged against my rib
s—
hidden.
 “
Wher
e’
s yours
?”
I ask, patting my Glock, a 40 caliber hog, secured to my bel
t—
not hidden at all and, in fact, left on purpose in plain view. 

She turns more pale than usual, but does
n’
t answer. 

“
Wha
t’
s wrong
?”
I ask.  Some cops are sensitive about where they keep their throw-away.
 “
What happened in there?  You see Megalo Don
?
”

She does
n’
t smile.  I
t’
s been my experience a woman will talk when sh
e’
s ready, but this is
n’
t about her ego.  I
t’
s about survival.
 “
Always check each gun before holstering it
,”
I lecture, trudging ahead.
 “
A full clip and chambered round could mean the difference between living and dying
.
”

Again, she says nothing.  I shrug.  Sh
e’
s a rookie, not a child.  Sh
e’
s paid her dues on the firing range and knows her guns, or she would
n’
t be here.  She either gets what
I’
m trying to teach he
r—
or not.

“
I met the cashier on the way out
,”
she says, recovering from whateve
r’
s turned her so edgy.
 “
Surly old boy.  He gave me a treat
.
”
 
She holds up a bag of pecan cinnamon rolls.

“
Rookie, yo
u’
ve got a lot to learn
,”
I say, laughing.

Proving me wrong, which
I’
m getting used to, she tosses the bag into the trash can, in full view of Arne
e’
s cameras.
 “I’
m not taking his stinking bribe
.
”