Racked (A Lt. Jack Daniels / Nicholas Colt mystery) (4 page)

Then I reminded myself that she probably wasn’t thinking straight after the emotional trauma she’d been through. I debated for about five seconds, and then I followed her outside.

But before I did, I noticed something behind the bar, and grabbed it to take along.

THE COP

2:40
P.M.

I
stood at the side of the door to the billiards room, hoping the wall was thick enough to absorb the blast if Bugsy fired his shotgun.

“It’s over,” I said. “There’s nowhere for you to go. You need to surrender now, while you still have the chance.”

No response.

I could have stayed there and guarded the door until the locals arrived. It would have been the safe thing to do. The prudent thing. But I knew there was a window in that room, and I was afraid he might try to escape through it. A long jump, but there might have been a way to climb down. I wasn’t familiar with the building, so I didn’t know.

I kept telling myself he was just a thief, not worth risking my life over, but I knew that wasn’t exactly true. He’d started out a thief, but his list of charges now included false imprisonment and aggravated assault. He could do thirty years. He was a violent criminal, and if someone didn’t stop him he would continue on his merry violent criminal ways.

“Last chance,” I said. “Put your gun on the floor and walk out with your hands behind your head.”

I gave him about thirty seconds, and then I reached over and tried the knob.

Locked.

Then I heard glass shatter. The window. He was going for it.

Luckily, I’d decided on a comfortable pair of Nikes for the drive from Jacksonville to Dade City. I stepped back and drove the sole of the right one into the wooden door, a few inches to the left of the lock mechanism.

The jamb splintered and the door swung inward and I aimed my revolver into the room and said, “Freeze!”

THE PRIVATE EYE

2:42
P.M.

M
olly went to her car, and I went to the side of the building, back against the wall. I stealthily peered around the corner to where I had parked my ’96 GMC Jimmy, under the window to the pool room. I liked that spot, because I could keep an eye on my car while shooting stick. Not that I was worried anyone would steal it, but I was fond of the old beater and I didn’t want anyone messing with it.

Today my car had company. There was a red Buick parked behind it, the engine running.

The bad guy’s car. And on the ledge above it—

Bugsy, looking to jump onto his own roof.

A long drop. A dangerous drop.

I could have maybe run for my car, gotten my gun, and shot it out with him. Or waited for him to get away, and given chase. But I wasn’t feeling any particular need to put myself in harm’s way at that moment, so I just hid behind the corner and raised the super soaker filled with fake Halloween blood.

It shot at least twenty feet, and soon the top of his getaway vehicle was covered with slippery red liquid.

Not something I’d want to land on.

I heard Jack yell, “Freeze!”

And then Bugs Bunny jumped.

THE BAD GUY

2:43
P.M.

A
s soon as the bitch cop yelled, I leapt through the air like some sort of incredible super villain, aiming directly for the roof of my stolen car. A long way down, but I figured the impact would be minimal if I kept my ankles together and my knees bent. Then I could roll off the roof and slide into the driver’s seat and haul ass. Next stop, Mexico. I’d live like royalty if that ring from the safe was as pricey as that bartender said it was.

My feet hit hard. But rather than sticking, my sneakers slid and I flipped and suddenly I was upside down with the pavement speeding toward my face like a freight train.

Oops.

THE COP

2:43
P.M.

I
watched the bandit jump and ran to the window, peering down and seeing him on the sidewalk, his arms and legs bent at impossible angles, the shotgun lying off to the side.

Bugsy was covered in red.

Colt walked up to him, carrying—
was that a squirt gun?

He waved at me, then used the super soaker to push away the shotgun out of the robber’s reach. A smart move, but perhaps unnecessary, considering all the blood.

“Is he dead?” I yelled down.

“I don’t know. It’s a sticky situation.”

Why did every private investigator I know think he was a stand-up comic?

“Colt! Would you stop with the jokes for a minute and take his pulse?”

“I’d rather not touch him. Anyway, if it matters, most of this blood isn’t his. He seems to be breathing. And he dropped a pack of Chiclets. Wait, nope. Those are his teeth.”

“I’ll be right down.”

THE PRIVATE EYE

2:46
P.M.

W
hile Jack waited for the police to arrive, I went and found Molly. She was leaning into her car, digging through the glove compartment. When I reached her, she was holding a pack of Marlboros.

“Can I bum one of those?” I said.

She handed me one, took one for herself. I lit hers with my Zippo, and then I lit mine and inhaled deeply. It sure beat chewing on bar straws.

“I really don’t need a babysitter,” she said. “You should be helping Jack.”

“Jack’s got the situation well under control.”

“I want to be alone, Nicolas.”

“We just saved your life. I’m sure you’ll want to thank us later on, once you get your head on straight.”

I heard sirens in the distance.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate it. I really do.”

She broke then, started sobbing into the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She was shaking. “Oh my god. He could have killed me.”

She leaned into me, pressed the side of her head against my chest. I put my arm around her.

“You’ll need to talk to someone,” I said. “A counselor. Don’t worry, we’ll get you set up with everything you need.”

She stepped away from me, took a nervous drag on her cigarette. “Oh my god,” she said. “He made me open the safe and he got Anil’s ring.”

Anil Sircar had bought Kelly’s Pool Hall a few years ago, after Kelly O’Conner, the original owner, dropped dead one night delivering a pitcher of beer to a table. Anil and his family were from India

Anil had bought a very expensive ring for his wife. He’d shown it to me. He’d been planning on surprising her with it on their upcoming anniversary. It was from the sixties, I think he said. The diamond solitaire was almost six carats, set in platinum, and there were more diamonds all around the band. It was gorgeous.

I was apparently in the wrong business. I needed to quit the private eye game and open a restaurant bar.

“He took the ring?” I said.

“He took everything,” Molly said.

“What are you talking about?” It was Jack. She’d snuck up behind us. “There was jewelry in the safe?”

Molly nodded. “A ring. He put it in his bag, along with all the money.”

“I checked the bag,” Jack said. “And so did the officers who just arrived. There was no ring.”

THE PRIVATE EYE

11:51
P.M.

A
n ambulance transported Rey Aquino to Hallows Cove Memorial Hospital. He was in stable condition, but they were keeping him overnight for observation. Molly, tough girl that she was, refused any sort of treatment, and the EMTs sent her home with instructions to contact a psychological counselor if she started experiencing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I talked Lt. Daniels into spending the night in Hallows Cove. She’d checked into The Parkside Motel, and now she was back at Kelly’s Pool Hall, sitting at the big booth in the corner with Anil Sircar and me.

The place was swarming with vampires, Jasons, Freddy Kruegers, and a bunch of other gruesome characters. Ironically, there wasn’t a single Bugs Bunny in sight.