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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Sleep Don't Come Easy
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Five
V
era agreed that the case was shaky at best before saying her goodbyes to Glow, then locking up her office for the day. With money in her clutches and nowhere to begin, Vera hopped in the SUV. She cruised around town for over an hour. Mindless driving calmed her nerves. Eventually she found herself parked outside of a place that made her feel almost as safe as the gun she carried for the same effect. The 3
rd
Round Bar and Grill was a decent eatery with thirty tables and a dozen televisions. The sports bar specialized in everything fried and all the discussion about boxing that an enthusiast could hope for. Bertram “Bullet” Manning, former light heavyweight champion, owned the place. He would have still been in the ring if his last opponent's lucky punch hadn't detached the retina in his left eye. Bullet's near-perfect physique, chocolate-smooth skin and teeth that sparkled like diamonds in a coal mine made it easy for Vera to love him; telling him that she did was the hard part.
“What you know good, Bullet?” Vera said, as she approached the bar area.
“Hey, Champ,” he replied, behind a warm smile. “Here you go. Just the way you like it,” he added after pouring a tall glass of cranberry juice over ice.
Vera wanted to hop across the bar, tear that tight black T-shirt from his muscular chest then wrap her thighs around his waist. Wrestling his pants down to his ankles occurred to her too, but she chuckled at her midday fantasy instead and let it pass. “Oomph, just the way I like it, tall and dark,” Vera replied scandalously, while leering at him the way he liked.
“Oh, Vera,” the waitress hissed nastily, as if it pained her to speak. Vendetta Lewis was an ex-stripper who had it bad for Bullet and she hated Vera. There was no use in pretending that Vera gave a damn about her either.
“Vendetta,” Vera replied sharply.
“I didn't know you'd come in,” the younger woman lied right off the bat, having seen Vera enter the building. She had also watched bitterly as Bullet flirted, all the while wishing it were her at the opposite end of his sensual gaze. Spending days on end with the famous boxer she admired presented several challenges for Vendetta. Watching him fall all over himself for a frumpy lady PI had her spitting mad. She'd hoped Bullet would have shared the softer side, and whispers with her that he reserved for Vera. That was merely one of the reasons she couldn't stand Vera. The other went a lot deeper than extreme envy. Vendetta was determined to despise Vera for saving her from a prison term by persuading the lead detective that Vendetta killed the night club owner, who also happened to be her baby's father, because his continual battering had taken its toll. Vera knew what it was like to shoulder a man's brutality, that's why she helped the waitress rearrange the crime scene before the police arrived. Although the homicide was ruled self-defense and the case dismissed, Vendetta was up to her neck in misplaced hostility every time Vera walked through the restaurant doors.
“ 'Detta, why don't you cover the bar for a minute?” Bullet suggested, as a way to separate the women and engineer some private time. “Vera's got something on her mind that needs some massaging.”
The woman sneered at Vera begrudgingly. “I don't see why—” she started to say before getting cut off at the pass.
“I said, Vera needs my help,” Bullet replied firmly, although smiling in the wake of her blatant insubordination. “There's no need in arguing about it.”
“Yeah, I need Bullet for a minute,
'Detta
,” Vera added, to rub salt in the wound. “I could always use some massaging.”
The women exchanged strained glances but Vera was giggling on the inside. Bullet wasn't wrapped around her finger like Vendetta assumed, but it made Vera bubble over having her think he was. As they headed toward the manager's office, Vera couldn't help herself. She lagged behind just long enough to get in one last dig. “Don't worry,” she said, feigning genuine concern for the waitress's well-being. “I'll let him out once I'm done with him.”
“Cow,” Vendetta spat under her breath.
“Skank,” Vera replied, loud enough to be heard clearly.
“Why do you do that every time you set foot in the 3
rd
Round?” Bullet asked, as she walked through the door.
“Do what?” Vera asked in a ridiculously coy tone that made Bullet laugh.
“Don't try that with me because you ain't that slick. You antagonize that girl, then bounce. I'm the one who has to spend the better part of her shift calming her down afterwards. She's still got some self-esteem issues.”
“What about me?” Vera whined seductively. “Who's gonna calm me down?” She closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “How long do I get you to work on my esteem?” Vera placed her arms around his neck, wishing they were her ankles instead. “If I pout like
'Detta
does, would you spend the rest of the shift stroking my ego? That is the only thing you're stroking of hers?” When Bullet took too long to answer, Vera bit down on his bottom lip.
“Ouch, woman!” he yelled. “You bit me.”
“Uh-huh, and that ain't the half of what I'll do if I learn you've been massaging anything else on that tramp out there.”
“Ooh, I see what's going down.” Bullet sucked on his bruise then laughed. “That green eyed monster's got a hold on you. Vera Miles is jealous.”
“Vendetta ain't hardly anything to get jealous about. Pole-climbing shake-dancers are a dime a dozen. I just needed to remind you that love hurts sometimes.”
“You saying you love me?” he asked, wearing a come hither grin.
“You're the one who said it, doctor, but I do agree with your diagnosis.”
Bullet backed away when he felt his jeans stretching out at the zipper. “Whoa, that's as close as you've ever come. You must really be in trouble.”
“Not in as much trouble as I'd put you in, if there was a deadbolt lock on that door,” she teased. “Besides, you get me to acting a fool when you pull that thing out. You'd have to shut this whole place down and send your little girlfriend home with a bad case of get-the-hell-on.”
Bullet chuckled as he ran his hand over his bald head, all the while looking Vera over curiously. “I could tell something was weighing on you the moment you pulled in. Now you're trying to steam up my office. What's got you all riled up?”
Bullet knew Vera better than she thought and she liked that. If there was any doubt, the gleam in her almond-shaped eyes confirmed it. “Well, since you're paying such close attention I guess it won't hurt to let you tag along this one time.” Vera's smile grew when Bullet took a seat and folded his brawny arms.
“You're stalling. This must be about a man,” he said knowingly. Vera's smile evaporated in the blink of an eye. Bullet sighed as if he had grown bored with being right. “Humph, thought so.”
“Don't do this, Bullet,” she objected. “Don't come down on me when you haven't even heard why I'm so pressed. It's not like I have some he-hoochie hanging on my every word like old ‘Detta out there with her ear mashed against the door.” Vera picked up a stapler off the desk and hurled it against the office door.
“Ouch!” screamed Vendetta from the other side.
“That's what yo' ass get!” snapped Vera in that direction.
“You put a dent in my door, Vera,” Bullet shouted.
“Sorry.”
“That's a damned expensive door, Vera.”
She threw her hands up in an ultra-aggravated manner. “Calm down, daddy, I'll pay for it.”
“Oh, you'll pay for it?” Bullet questioned. “Since when do you have the money to pay for anything?” As he awaited a response that neither of them wanted spoken into existence, Vera cowered behind two tiny words.
“That man.” Never before have breathless whispers come charging out like a lion's roar. “My new client put a few dollars in my pocket to find the person he killed and that's what's got me bent.”
Bullet was outdone then. “You know this guy? Y'all got history or something?”
“No,” she hated to admit, fearing the next logical line of questioning. Her eyes darted away from his judgmental stare. “He just showed up out of the blue.” Having gone out of her way for a woman in trouble like Vendetta was one thing, but for some man she didn't know made Bullet's jaw tighten.
“What? You let some man get you in deep with a homicide?” His head was smoking now. “Hell, it could be worse. It could be a white boy mixed up in this.” Once again, Vera's gaze floated toward the floor. “Dayyyum, you've got to be kidding me.”
“Bullet, let me tell you how it went,” Vera said before he blew a gasket. “It's complicated but this is how it kicked off.” She explained, in detail what Rags shared, for the second time that day and it showed on her face. Bullet watched vigilantly as he listened to every syllable. By the time she'd finished, he fully understood why she agreed to take the case.
Bullet circled his desk in the cramped room. He pulled Vera close to him and held her tightly against his thick chest. “I know exactly what it's like to need you, Vera. While I'm not sure why this dude can't get the kind of help he needs from anyone else, he came to the right place when looking you up.”
“Ooh, that's the man I can't do without,” Vera cooed, her face nestled in his arms. “I knew you'd understand.”
“Just promise me you'll be careful enough not to get yourself killed over skeletons in this man's past.”
“Careful can get you killed in this business,” she replied. “I will watch my step though. I can promise you that.” Vera pulled away from Bullet's embrace. “Thank you so much. I really needed that.”
“So, how do you plan to go about helping this Rags? I mean, where do you begin?”
Vera chewed on her bottom lip, like she always did when something had her in a tailspin. “I'm used to looking into the
who
to find the
what
. This time, ain't nothing I can do but look into what happened and work backwards for the who. If there was a victim, I need to find out as much as I can about how things stretched out.” She looked up at Bullet, who was smiling now. “What?” she asked, longingly.
“That's why you're the perfect woman for the job,” he answered quietly. “Always was.”
Vera caught Bullet's double meaning and held it close to her heart. Blushing like a love sick teenager, she exited the office with Bullet close on her heels. It didn't even bother her that Vendetta glared despicably as she exited the restaurant. Even though there wasn't a name for what Vera and Bullet shared between them, that didn't mean she wanted the trifling waitress to have any of it for herself.
Six
V
era knew that uncovering anything about what Rags thought he'd done was a long shot at best, but she was paid to try. On the east side of downtown, she parked her vehicle on the corner of a quiet residential street where two-story wood-framed houses lined both sides of the road. She pulled out her gun and checked the bullet clip. She thought it funny how three pounds of chrome and steel made the difference in one person leaving the scene in a bundle of rattled nerves and the other in a body bag. Her clip held six rounds of fire. Vera hoped that Lucius Carnes wouldn't try something cute and force her to pump some of that fire in his behind.
The house Lucius hid out in belonged to his mother. Despite being one of the craftiest criminals Vera had ever run across, Lucius was the biggest momma's boy. Although there weren't any outstanding warrants chasing him at the time, he spent more than twenty hours a day inside that house. Vera approached it quietly, looking out for anything that seemed out of place. The square white house could have used a fresh coat of paint but then so could just about every house on the street.
Vera stepped to the side of the kitchen window. She leaned against the wood siding to hear what was going on inside. There wasn't a single sound, so she brushed a layer of dust off the plastic bubble-faced cover to examine the electric meter. The small wheels were spinning out of control as if every socket in house was in use. “Yeah, Lucius, you're in there all right,” she heard herself say, before banging on the front screen door. “Luuucius,” she sang, “it's your old friend Vera Miles. Get your ass down here!” She continued pounding with the heel of her hand. “I ain't going nowhere and neither are you, so open up,” she hollered. “Come on Lucius, this is getting old and I'm getting fed up.” After another few minutes of ratty-tat-tats sounding off, there was a trail of footsteps heading down the stairs. Vera chuckled. “I hear you in there. Open up so we can get down to business.”
“Ain't nobody here, go away,” a soft voice murmured from the other side of the locked door. “My momma say I can't have no company.”
“Lucius!” barked Vera. “What's your momma gonna say when I drag your scrawny ass downtown and make you do the time still on your books at the county?” She listened to the silence that had him in a strangle hold. Within seconds, several locks began popping in a rapid manner. “Uh-huh, that's what I thought.” Annoyed to no end, Lucius jutted his peanut shaped head out from behind the door. Vera grinned at the small man with a squirrelly build like she was glad to see him. “Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Good afternoon, Lucius.”
“What's so good about it?” he asked, with his thick dry lips pursed and puckered.
“Come on now, step aside and let me in,” Vera ordered, when he continued to stall. She nodded agreeably after he did as commanded, although with a great deal of reluctance. Lucius had the body of a young boy and an odd stagnant beige complexion which looked as if it never saw the light of day. Vera nearly laughed at his ostentatious outfit but she knew better. He'd have flown off the handle and clammed up if she poked fun at his pink taffeta ball gown and sash so she reserved her comments.
Lucius stood next to an exquisite Victorian styled sofa covered in navy velvet. He sneered at Vera with both hands propped on his hips. “I know what you're thinking,” he hissed finally. “But it takes a real man to put on pink.” Lucius was thirty-five years old but you couldn't tell it by looking at him, even if he happened to be dressed in men's clothing. He was a convicted white collar crook with a number of quirks. Vera knew that Lucius was ashamed of his cross-dressing fetish and that was the card she played when necessary. Also, the little man was terrified of serving out his jail sentence. Vera made it possible to get his previous conviction kicked down to probation after convincing the judge that Lucius wouldn't last a single day in general population with actual grown men. Besides, Vera's ace in the hole was the secret she held over that particular judge's head. As it turned out, she caught him on tape during her first divorce case. He and Lucius were two of a kind, down to their sequined thong underwear.
Several months had passed since Vera felt the need to call upon one of the foremost Internet pirates in the state. There was definitely a need for Lucius's specialized services whether he was interested in helping her or not. She peered up at the steep staircase leading to the attic and his domicile. “Well, let's get to it,” Vera asserted, with a raised brow.
“Ooh-ooh, I hate you,” Lucius huffed as he stomped past her in black patent leather Susie-Q shoes. “Come on up so you can hurry back down and leave.”
Vera followed the peculiar little man up the stairs. She counted over ten photos of him as a child, dressed in intricate costumes ranging from superheroes to the Village People. Vera realized then that his mother was partially responsible for his condition. By the looks of it, she must have wanted a girl. Let Lucius tell it, his mother got her wish.
“Don't touch anything,” he spat loudly as Vera grunted past the top stair. Once her head cleared enough for her eyes to focus, she understood why he was so particular about his belongings. There were rows of porcelain dolls along the back wall, all dressed in fabulous regalia. Boxes of swanky negligees had been pushed toward the far end of the completely refinished attic. The floors were covered with thick plush carpet. Three computer monitors rested atop a broad mahogany desk. Nearby a signed photograph of Marilyn Monroe caught her eye.
“Damn, Lucius,” Vera marveled. “Look at all this stuff. You and Marilyn are living ghetto fabuloso up in here.”
“That's why I said not to touch anything,” he smarted, with an air of arrogance. “However, if you behave yourself, I'll let you fish around in my boxes of designer delicates.”
Vera's eyes widened with anticipation when he reeled off designer labels to choose from. “You can't have anything in my size?”
“Sure do, I have lots of voluptuous friends,” he informed her.
“Oh, yeah, I'll be good,” she giggled. “Don't worry, I ain't misbehavin'.”
Lucius blushed brightly then waved his hand for Vera to take the seat next to his padded throne. “Now then, whose mainframe do you want me to crack? I know you're here to use me up and toss me aside.”
“Don't be so dramatic,” Vera argued. “It's not that serious. Look, I want to run a scenario by you and we'll see what pops.”
Lucius licked his lips then smacked them approvingly. “Sookee-sookee, I like the sound of that. Well, go on ahead and speak on it.”
Yet again, Vera was trying to avoid retelling Rags's story so she hit Lucius with an abridged version. “This client of mine is interested in a murder, an old one. It might have occurred in Dallas, maybe two years ago. The victim, fatally wounded, was likely a fat white guy.” She shrugged her shoulders when Lucius exhaled through his frustration. “What is it, Lucius?”
“I don't know why I'm surprised. Might haves, maybes and likely? It would be easier to find out who really killed Kennedy.”
“JFK? You could do that?”
“Before you get your panties in a bunch, let's see what we can dig up on your likely dead, fat, white guy.” Lucius tapped into the Dallas Police Department computer system without much difficulty. He ran a search with the limited information Vera provided. “Imagine that, here I am looking for a man on the Internet again,” Lucius mumbled while waiting. “Okay, adult white male. Who are you and why do I care since you are obviously off the market? Oh, yeah, that's right, Vera showed up, trying to knock a hole in my door.”
The computer bleeped then flashed several pages with numerous rows of names on a flat blue screen. Vera shook her head. “I can't investigate that many cases.”
“And the police can't do a damned thing right,” added Lucius. “Look, homicides aren't tracked by race. Your client could be interested in any one of these poor men.”
“Dammit, you're right,” Vera agreed. “I have a hunch that the one I'm dogging isn't solved. See if any of them are still open.” She watched the monitor as it reconfigured Lucius's search. This time, eleven names scrolled down the page. “Can you print that for me, Lucius?”
“As long as you don't get none of this mess on me,” he answered, with a slight head tilt for effect. “If you've forgotten, I'm not even supposed to own a computer, much less hack into the police mainframe.”
Vera accepted the list of names and a troubled man's concerns with them. “You have my word. I won't let it come back on you, Lucius.” She fished through his box of ritzy negligees before making her way down the tower of stairs to her car. Since Vera couldn't decide on a black number with straps and strings and a teal-colored sheer ensemble, Lucius suggested she take both of them and do her best to loosen up. A lot.

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