Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (34 page)

“
Right, Blaze.  No problem
.
”
 
He grabs the pizza box and drags me, still stunned h
e’
s being so cooperative, from the kitchen.
 “
Le
t’
s do what we can. 
I’
ll even pick you up after work
.
”

“
No
,”
I say
,“
not in that Coke truck
.
” 

I’
m aware i
t’
s being stripped by the skinheads, even as Stoke and I are speaking, and that pisses me off all over again.  Sorry for the owne
r’
s loss, but needing to make sure Stoke leaves, I rub salt in a festering wound.
 “
H
e’
s picking me up.  He said h
e’
d make sure I got home after work at Oma
r’
s
,”
I add, remembering his promise and my response to what
I’
d mistakenly perceived as Aida
n’
s advances.  How could I have been so stupid?  I thought he wanted me when we were parked in front of Stok
e’
s, but I behaved with as much willful abandon as the alley cat my mother accuses me of being.  Stoke does
n’
t need to know about my shame, though.

As he pulls me into my tiny living room, I feel a slight tremor shake his body, like
I’
ve stepped on a slumbering crocodil
e’
s tail.  His hand tightening on mine is my only clue that
I’
ve made Stoke angry.

Do I care?  No.  As of tonight,
I’
m firing my self-appointed Robin Hood. 
I’
m taking care of myself.  I do
n’
t need anyone, except maybe Aidan, and I have to be honest with myself: needing him is more of a bad case of
want
.  I
t’
s just me acting like silly Cinderella and believing my prince will rescue me from my life of drudgery.

I
t’
s a dream, tha
t’
s all, a fairy tale I ca
n’
t afford to believe in, same as imagining
I’
ll ever get a call from the Rockette
s—
if I ever do finish my video.  The only thing
I’
m sure of, and right now even that is in jeopardy, is that I will graduate college and pursue a career in law enforcement.

“
Stoke
,”
I say, pulling free
,“
we can work for an hour, but then yo
u’
re going home. 
I’
m serious.  And you do
n’
t need to show at Oma
r’
s.  Aida
n’
s made plans to bring me home
.
”

His heavy brown eyes take on a Basse
t’
s droopy-eyed sadness.
 “
But what about finding Angi
e’
s killer
?
”

“
We can work on that some other time
.
”

“
What about your jump-the-line video
?
”

“
Some other time
,”
I repeat, tossing my textbook in the living room floor, along side the pizza. 

“
What abou
t—?
”

“
No.  Stoke, I said
no
. 
I’
m riding home with Detective Hawks.  Tha
t’
s final
.
”

“
He has a partner.  Why ca
n’
t
she
drive you home
?
”

Good point.
 “
I guess he wants to drive me so he can ask me more questions about Ang
,”
I say, searching my brain. 
When did I tell Stoke about Aida
n’
s partner, Officer Barbie?
 

“
One more thing
,”
I say.
 “
When you leave, take that Coca-Cola truck if i
t’
ll still start.  And do
n’
t bring it here agai
n—
ever
.
”
 
I stare hard to reinforce my point.
 “
Ther
e’
s consequences to stealing
,”
I add, wiping my hands in
a“
done with that lifestyl
e”
gesture.
 “
I realize it, even if you do
n’
t
.
”

Stok
e’
s expression keeps darkening.  I see the anger lingering behind his hooded gaze, and something even darker, which I pick up on only because
I’
m Berta Colb
y’
s daughter. 

“
Is that big o
l
’ cop making Blaze turn sweetums on Stoke
?
”

Mocking Professor Levi
n’
s one thing, but mocking Aidan is definitely the wrong move.  Biting into a pizza slice and moaning like
I’
m having sex, I shoot back
,“
No, he makes me feel a certain way
believe me
that goes beyond sweetums
.
”

The remark pisses him off, but tonight I could care.
 “
If w
e’
re gonna study
,”
I say, standing my ground
,“
w
e’
d better get busy.  
I’
m going to work, and you my friend?  Yo
u’
re leaving when I say tonight
.
”

“
Wh
o’
s gonna make me?  You
?
”

The taunt makes my hand itch to use my shiv on his face.  I feel inside my hoodie pocket for my shiv.  My razor, always reserved for cutting, is there, too.  In the right circumstances, I could be persuaded to use it on someone other than myself.

“
Stoke, do
n’
t come any closer
,”
I warn, when he steps toward me.
 “
I told you not to touch me agai
n
—”

Chapter 30

I spent the time after leaving Bite Do
c’
s office thinking about Megalo Do
n’
s motive. 
I’
m starting to feel obsessed.  Not a good place for a homicide detective to be.  Getting ready to look at Megal
o’
s third victim, I know
I’
ve got to pour on the heat and accept the stress I kno
w’
s coming, the anxiety and lack of sleep that working a homicide demands.

I parallel park my Buick, get out, and suck night air into my lungs.  Maybe i
t’
ll help me stay awake.  I
t’
s closing time for the bars, so I wade through the student revelers out looking for a thrill and the chance to post selfies, along with their Facebook status:
I was at the Brass Ass tonight.

“
Detective Hawks
,”
Kliebold Bucks, says, greeting me.  A bouncer, he and I go way back.  H
e’
s sitting on a stool outise the Brass Ass.
 “
Yo
u’
re starting to be a fixture around here
.
”

“I’
d give my left arm not to have to be here tonight
,”
I say, glancing at the down-at-the-heels Brass Ass.  A star above her entry pins the f
aç
ade of the Ass into Newpor
t’
s night sky.

Decades ago, the iconic strip bar attracted me
n—
and mone
y—
from all over the U.S.  Today, it sits sedately among revitalized historic buildings showing off hip roofs and sand-blasted brick walls.  Girls once came here and poured their naked bodies like nectar into the gazes of lusting strangers.  A few were immortalized in
Hustler
magazine as nude models.  Nowadays, few co-eds want photos of themselves posing naked ending up on Facebook. 

I think of Alaina Colby.  I do
n’
t fault her for her choice of part-time work.  Like the perverts that haunt Oma
r’
s, I also enjoyed seeing her half naked when I went to warn her and the other dancers to be careful. 
I’
m way off base, but I hope she finds a means of support.  I
t’
s a high risk lifestyle.  Ther
e’
s a whole world of crime associated with being an exotic dancer, one most coeds are
n’
t aware of, until i
t’
s too late.  One of the big  problems is that dancers are targeted by dealers, who introduce them to drugs and then pimp them out.  Once the girls are hooked, their lives are lost to the drugs.  The
y’
re also often out alone at night, or in places they should
n’
t be, so the
y’
re easy targets for murderers, like Megalo Don.

Cutting left across the sidewalk, I bowl through the As
s
’ side parking lot and into the back alley that ribbons between Monmouth and Orchard. 

A frenetic panorama greets me.  Several Crown Vics are nosed diagonally into the alley, blocking both ends and bathing the night in an eerie red and blue from flashing light bars.  NPD deputies are working the scene, blocking rubberneckers and questioning everyone to identify witnesses.  I doubt ther
e’
ll be any.  I glance up.  Cameras once mounted the buildings above this alley, but the soft economy has gutted business owner
s
’ budgets.  The money once spent on surveillance back here is now saved for cameras for the more heavily trafficked front entries. 

I give the rooftops another quick scan and take a wide-angle mental photograph of the crime scene. 

“
Get the big picture, son.  Keep your eye on the mouse, not the cornfield yo
u’
ve found him in.  Think like a Hawk
.
”

That line rarely made me laugh. 
Think like a Hawk.
  Da
d’
s not my biological father, so to make up for that he sometimes overdoes his role as advice giver.  Following it now, I start taking mental photos and imagining what things down here look like from up above. 

This is my first pass at the scene, so I do
n’
t take notes. 
I’
ll walk the grid here with Captain Meyers and DeeDee, or with Wes if h
e’
s lurking nearby, and then write everything down later on.  For now, I start by taking in the crime scen
e’
s periphery.

A darkened alley, i
t’
s lit up by a jaundiced glow from security lights mounted above doors, rear entries to the businesses along the alley.  These back entries are used mainly by service trucks or by drug dealers and others, like Megalo Don, to do their dirty work. 

More buildings with concrete block back walls.  Like Oma
r’
s, they also have no mounted cameras.  This scene, where Megalo Do
n’
s latest vic awaits my inspection, looks clean, no garbage or debris that usually plagues cities the size of Newport piling up. 

Finally, I zoom in on the alley floor and what al
l’
s squeezed between the building
s
’ walls.  Up ahead sits a dumpster shared by all the businesses and located at the opposite end of the alley from where
I’
m standing.  Tha
t’
s where all the action is, and ther
e’
s one helluva commotion going on around it.

Walking toward Oma
r’
s, I note the distance from here to that dumpster, about sixty feet.  I
t’
s April, so Kentucky temperatures can hover between cold and cold as hell, about forty degrees or lower.  Right now, forty is my guess.

A million questions run through my head, but only one matters.  Is the girl in that black trash bag by the dumpster Megalo Do
n’
s third vic?  She might have been frozen, like the other two, but I also wonder if this one will be thawed?  If so, sh
e’
s a pretty mess. 

I stride past a knot of deputies wh
o’
ve cordoned off the alley.
 “
Detective Hawks
,”
they mumble in greeting, but do
n’
t stop working.  Like I am, the
y’
re here to do a grisly job.  I do
n’
t stop to chat or ask what the
y’
re doing.  Do
n’
t need to.  But I can tell somethin
g’
s up from the looks they cast my way. 

It takes me about two seconds to figure out wha
t’
s wrong.  I spot a figure backlit by the flashing light bars and headlights.  If she gets tired working with NPD and decides to take up dancing at the Ass, DeeDee could add another fortune to the Law
s
’ famil
y’
s already engorged coffers with those long legs.  Sprinting forward, wondering who the third guy with her is, I recognize two of the other three men standing beside her.

“
What the hell are you doing
?
”
 
I storm up to DeeDee and shove a hand straight out, blocking the view of the
Cincinnati Enquirer
reporter standing with her.
 “
No, better yet, wha
t’
s
he
doing here
?
”
 
Dumb question. 
I’
m ready to mush Tim Stewart into the alle
y’
s floor, right along with his cameraman, who steps back when I thrust my body forward like a clenched fist.
 “
Get that camera out of here
.
”

DeeDe
e’
s giving Stewart the scoop.  Ever the star, she wants her face splashed on the front page.  Or maybe, having worked with him previously, she feels like she owes him a favor.

“
Aidan, Ti
m’
s a friend of mine.  I invited him her
e
—”

“
I do
n’
t give a damn
,”
I say, working to keep my voice low. 

Why did
n’
t I leave Bite Doc for later and haul ass here to my crime scene? 

“
In two seconds h
e’
s going to be a dead friend
.
”
 
I turn back to Stewart.
 “
Come in to the station tomorrow morning like everyone else, and get your information there
.
”

“
Screw you, Hawks
,”
he says.
 “
She invited me and
I’
m staying on my story
.
”

When I lunge toward him, several NPD deputies glance our way.  A couple of them run toward us.  Tim and his cameraman step back.  I signal two of the deputies.
 “
Escort their asses out of her
e—
to jail if you have to.  This scen
e’
s being processed, Stewart.  I do
n’
t have to tell you what happens if you contaminate my evidence
.
” 

Two of NP
D’
s beefiest shoot over and stand beside me, flexing brawny backs and arms.  

“
You ca
n’
t do this
,”
Tim says.
 “
She invited me
.
” 

“
I heard you the first time, but sh
e’
s not a reporter anymore, in case you had
n’
t noticed.  She now works for NPD, so sh
e’
s got no business inviting you here.  Now leave
.
” 

When Stewart and his cameraman do
n’
t budge, I order two officers we cal
l“
boot
s”
because the
y’
re always working the streets
,“
Arrest them
.
”

The boots turn and scuff a few inches of alley gravel in Stewar
t’
s direction.  He backs off, grumbling and cursing.  His photographer sprinting ahead of him to escape arrest, they find a spot and hover at the alle
y’
s end near the back of the Ass.

DeeDee glares. 
I’
ve trumped her decision to shoot her friend a breaking news story.

In exchange for what?  What have I gained?

Sh
e’
s even more pissed than her media cronies.  Miss Kentucky, spoiled scion of the rich Newport Laws family, glowers.  Ignoring her ugly pout and the man standing beside her, I grab her sleeve and pull her aside. 

“
What the hell were you thinking, inviting a reporter here
?
”

She turns, glances toward the third man
I’
ve yet to identify. 

“
Why are you looking at him?  H
e’
s not making the calls here tonight
.
”
 
I want to shake her, but
I’
ve laid all the physical force against her flesh I dare. 
I’
ll be lucky to escape a sexual discrimination suit, or worse.
 “
This is my crime scene
,”
I say, lawsuit and be damned.
 “
And I do
n’
t recall giving you permission to invite reporters
.
”  

“
Reporter
,”
DeeDee pouted
,“
one
of my friends, Aidan.  The othe
r’
s his cameraman
.
”

She has no defense, at least none
I’
m going to hear.  But bottom line?  Her mother is Newpor
t’
s mayor, Darlene Laws, so even if I file a misconduct report on DeeDee with Captain Meyers, nothing will happen.  She knows it.  I know it.  With my back to the stranger sh
e’
s been standing with, I ask
,“
What do you thin
k’
s going to happen when this story hits the front page
?
”