Redemption (26 page)

There’d also be no trial. No questioning Bo. No judgmental jury. “How did he die?”

“A guard found him slumped over in a hallway.”

“Are they sure it wasn’t suicide?”

“No, he overdosed, and there were signs of a struggle.”

“So someone slipped something in to him. Happens all the time.” Time behind bars taught a man things.

Walter shook his shaggy head. “Lucky, he had a hypodermic needle sticking out of his neck.”

He’d been killed the same way Bo had nearly died.

Killed. In jail. While awaiting trial. Oh hell no. Not again. No more looking over his shoulder. “I want to see the body.”

“I thought you might. Make whatever arrangements you need to. Your flight leaves at noon.”

“What about…”

“By ‘your’, I meant yours and Bo’s.”

***

“It’s kinda cool in here. Keep that lab jacket on.” Lucky’s guide opened a heavy metal door onto blackness. Cold filtered out into an already chilly room. “You ready?”

“Yes.” Lucky’s heart rapped a sharp beat inside his chest.

The man turned the light on in a walk-in cooler. Open shelves lined either side. In the middle of the floor sat a sheet-covered gurney. “We got just the one right now, so we didn’t put him on a shelf.” The attendant pulled the sheet down a few inches and unzipped a body bag, revealing a familiar face.

Stephan Mangiardi appeared asleep except for the slight bluish cast to his lips. No foul stench filled the air. No blood marred Stephan’s waxy skin as Lucky had seen on many other victims. No. Not victim. This man wasn’t a victim. After all the lives he’d ruined, he’d gotten his payback. And high time.

“The body doesn’t decompose in here, so he’s still pretty much the same as when they found him. Lividity has set in, so if you roll him over, his backside will be red and purple.” The attendant spoke in a dull monotone, suitable for working with the dead.

The dead gave Lucky the heebie-jeebies. If he were doing this guy’s job he’d have lost his fucking mind years ago.

Aversion to death or no, he’d seen enough lifeless bodies to learn how the process worked, and looking at Stephan’s naked backside wasn’t happening. No way would he ever admit how much he appreciated Bo at his back, not speaking, not asking the zillion questions his pharmacist’s mind probably wanted to. No, he was here to help Lucky lay ghosts to rest.

“Okay to touch?” Not that Lucky wanted to put his hands on Stephan, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

“I’m afraid you can’t. We’re not finished with the autopsy.” The guy shrugged. “Holidays.”

Any moment now Stephan might open his eyes and spring off the gurney. Lucky stared at the man’s chest. No steady rise and fall. But still… “How can I be sure he’s really dead?”

The guy pulled the sheet down farther and unzipped more of the bag. An incision ran from under Stephan’s ribs to his groin. “I don’t think he stands much chance of still being alive with his internal organs gone.”

“Oh.”

Stephan Mangiardi was well and truly dead.

Bo asked, “They find who killed him?” How fitting for Stephan to die the same way he or one of his men had tried to kill Bo. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone intended a message.

But who? And why?

Then again, Stephan made many enemies. Word of his arrest traveled.

“Not that I’ve heard.” The attendant re-zipped the bag.

“Thank you.” Bo tightened his hand on Lucky’s shoulder and led him away.

The nightmare was over.

Or maybe, because of the doubts Stephan placed in the collective mind of the SNB, it had just begun.

***

Damn, paperwork. Lucky hunted and pecked his way through a report before giving up, bleary-eyed.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Bo hip-checked Lucky out of the way and took a seat. Soon his fingers rat-a-tatted across the keyboard of Lucky’s laptop. “I’ll get the basic ideas down and you fill in the blanks, okay?”

Worked for Lucky. What worked better was not being in a borrowed office at a God-forsaken jail late on Christmas Eve, tying up loose ends while a coroner’s assistant sat across the way, glaring and checking his watch because he’d rather be home with the family.

Join the club.
But at least Lucky and Bo were spending Christmas together. Sort of. And wrapping up the biggest case of Lucky’s career. Yeah, taking down the Mangiardi organization was worth a mention on his next annual review.

“I think that’s about it unless you’ve got anything to add.” Bo stood and stretched.

Lucky scrolled down the document, pretending to read. “No, that’s pretty much everything. And if we think of anything else we can always add later.”

Their escort hopped up and sprinted for the door, jangling his keys. So much for dedication to the job.

“So, you ready to head for the airport, or are you hungry?” Their flight wasn’t for another five hours, and then two hours from the airport to the house with holiday traffic. No matter how fast they drove, they wouldn’t make it home in time to make Christmas dinner in their new home, not with most grocery stores closed. Plus, they’d need sleep. Lots of sleep.

“What’s open on Christmas Eve?”

Yeah. What indeed? He and Bo faced each other, and at the same time, blurted, “The Waffle House.”

Christmas Eve. Assorted Lucklighters and other hangers-on would be awake in a few hours, two time zones earlier. The little ones always opened their presents and ate a light breakfast before Mama shooed them out of the kitchen to fix Christmas dinner.

She’d have ham, turkey, sweet potato soufflé, green bean casserole, corn, and homemade yeast rolls. For dessert she’d serve pumpkin pie, and blackberry cobbler made with last summer’s canned blackberries. All rounded off with freshly churned butter and a tall glass of sweet tea. Lucky’s stomach grumbled.

But he wouldn’t be enjoying Mama’s cooking. No, his meal today amounted to grits and eggs, a biscuit, and bacon, if Bo felt inclined to make a Christmas exception to healthy eating.

Lucky drove their rental car to the restaurant, parking lot surprisingly full at this hour. Where were these folks going? Why were they here and not home with their families? It wasn’t like Lucky to care about strangers, but he’d sometimes thought himself the sole lonely man on the planet on Christmas.

His phone chimed, and he parked the car, pulled his phone from his pocket, and peered at the screen. “Merry Christmas, Bro! XXXOOO” came from Charlotte.

He texted back: “Luv u 2.”

“You’re smiling. Must be your sister,” Bo said.

Damn, the man knew him too well. “Yeah.”

“Tell her I said hello. If we were normal folks, we’d just call her.”

Calling his sister hurt too much. The pain in her voice, the pity. Not being able to drive up to see her.

No, Richmond Lucklighter was dead. Or had been. No need hiding behind an alias anymore. Time for the dead to rise. But not here. Not now.

It’d take a few more functioning brain cells, and one hell of a lot of coffee, to pull off that conversation.

Bo cocked a brow. “Remember what we promised in the tunnel? To try one more time to reconnect with our families?”

The man never forgot anything, did he? “Yeah, but she’s with her boys, they’re enjoying Christmas. Now isn’t time for their jailbird uncle to show up on the doorstep.”

Bo pursed his lips. “When?”

“Soon, I promise. But just as well. I didn’t have a clue what to get them.”

“How old are they?”

How old were they? “In high school.”

“Video games.”

Damn. The last gift Lucky had given Daytona was a video game, the year he’d started college. And look where that’d gotten him. They hadn’t spoken since. Lucky got out of the car to end the conversation and dragged his feet to the restaurant.

Bo beat him there and opened the door. “Age before beauty.” He grinned.

Bo waited until Lucky strolled past and swatted him on the ass. Lucky whipped his head around, a curse on his lips. Bo gave him a grin and a wink. The Dimple said
hello
.

A grin and a wink. And an appearance of The Dimple. From Bo. Bo! Not Cyrus. Damn, having Bo acting like his old self was the best Christmas gift ever. No matter that curious eyes stared at them from the diner window. These folks didn’t know Bo and Lucky, and would never see them again.

Lucky laughed, wrapped his arms around Bo’s back, and buried his face in the man’s neck.

“What’s that for?”

Lucky pulled back and stared into bewildered brown eyes. A lump formed in his throat. “Nothing. I love you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too. But if you’re trying to get me to let you order bacon, put it out of your mind.”

Oh yeah, Bo was back. And if bacon was the price Lucky must pay, so be it.

Several heads snapped back into place on folks ogling them from tables, but no one spouted homophobic slurs. Lucky would let them live. He and Bo took the only vacant booth, and a waiter appeared a moment later. “Two decafs, two glasses of water to start.”

The man strolled off and Bo perused the menu. Lucky studied him, the way his eyes swept back and forth, the five o’clock shadow with a touch of lint clinging to his jaw. Even the dark circles under his eyes couldn’t make him less attractive.

Damn. Hooked. And maybe hooked wasn’t a bad thing.

“What’re you having?” the waiter asked when he returned with their drinks.

“Grits, no butter, dry wheat toast, and two soft scrambled eggs,” Bo said.

Never taking his eyes off his partner, Lucky replied, “I’ll have the same. And bring lots of those little packs of grape jelly.”

The waiter ambled away. Lucky shifted in his seat and a pinch to his thigh reminded him of what he had in his pocket. “I didn’t have time to wrap it, but I got you a present.” He dug the spirit totem out and dangled the hummingbird from the chain, much as Stephan Mangiardi had.

Stephan Mangiardi. Not Lucky’s problem anymore.

“My pendant!” Bo took the charm from Lucky’s hand, wonder on his face. “How did you get this back?”

“It’s all in who you know.” Nestor made an awesome ally. Now to keep him from ever becoming an enemy.

Bo’s smile fell. “I’m afraid I left your present at the house.”

Present? Cool! “What did you get me?”

“I’m not gonna tell you. That’ll ruin the surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Oh! Lucky grabbed his phone and scrolled through the pictures. Sappy yeah, but sometimes sappy worked.

He held up his phone to show the picture he’d taken before leaving for Texas of the Christmas cactus, its tendrils weighted down with pink blossoms.

“Wow. Look at those blooms!”

This would be the third year the plant had been a part of their holidays. And the third year they hadn’t spent a proper day at home. Lucky placed his phone on the table and took Bo’s hand. To hell with who didn’t like PDAs. They’d been shot at, kidnapped, held at gunpoint, shot up with drugs, and deserved to be out and proud.

And at the end of this trip, they’d be home.

Lucky’s phone chimed. And chimed again. And again. What the hell? On the tenth chime he glanced at the screen. “Merry Christmas!” came from Johnson. He scrolled up to a picture. And another picture. And another. He never should have given her a key to his house. She’d been in a decorating mood.

Bo grew serious. “Oh, hell. I can’t wait until we get home.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and something on the faded tabletop drew his attention. After a moment he fished his phone out of his pocket, punched a few buttons, and turned it around to show a gorgeous classic Camaro on the screen.

“Nice. But I told you I like my car just fine, thank you.” Besides, that beauty had to be well out of Lucky’s price range.

“That is your car.”

Say what? Lucky grabbed the phone and pulled it close to his nose, nearly yanking Bo’s arm off in the process. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No. I worried when things started going wrong, didn’t want you to get stranded somewhere.”

Not to mention backfires setting off Bo’s PTSD.

Bo took his phone back and flashed another picture from a different angle. “I imagined you breaking down in rush hour traffic or something. But you insisted you didn’t want a new car, so I sent yours to the shop for an overhaul.”

Lucky studied the shiny red car on the phone screen. “That’s more than an overhaul.”

“Well, while they were at it, I had them add a paint job…”

“And?”

“New tires.”

Whatever held Bo’s attention on the tabletop must have been doing tricks.

“And?”

“Reupholsteredseats, newcarpet, and newsoundsystem” came out in a rush.

Lucky’s left brow came the closest it ever had to rising independently. “Is there any part of the car you didn’t change?”

“I think the glove compartment is original.”

Damn. What a fine looking car. And Lucky’s. “Why?”

“It was falling apart, and you deserve good things.”

No, Lucky didn’t. Bo did. Like a house in move-in condition.

“And I got tired of hearing static when you hooked up your iPod to the radio, so I got you a stereo with a docking station.”

Oh, the better to annoy coworkers. Nice!

“And before you go getting all riled…”

“Thanks, Bo.”

“I mean, you do things for me all the time. Can’t I do one blessed thing for you? Huh?” Oh shit, he was on a roll now.

“I said ‘thanks, Bo’.”

“You’ve put up with my mood swings, been there for me…”

Lucky grabbed Bo by the neck and slammed their mouths together over the tabletop to shut the man up. It worked for everyone else in the diner too. The place grew so quiet the splat of an egg hitting the grill roared like thunder.

“Now that we’ve shocked these fine Texans with our little public display of affection, listen to me. Thanks, Bo. I appreciate what you did. That’s awful nice of you.”

The brow with a mind of its own shot up toward Bo’s hairline, and Bo folded his arms across his chest. “Just like that, you’re gonna accept the gift?”

“If you help me christen it.” Lucky winked. “This must have cost you a fortune.”