Rock Chick Renegade
Page 86

“Luke.”
He straightened and turned to me. “Not our problem.”
“But –”
“Babe.” His voice was a warning. I was trying his patience.
I snapped my mouth shut and crossed my arms on my chest.
I decided a bubble bath was sounding good. In fact, after we were done here, I was going to ask Luke to take me home. Then I was going to put my bath oil in my bag for the cabin and take my bath there when, after I was done, I could cozy up to Vance.
Fuck this shit.
So I would lose my unofficial place on the team.
Whatever.
Luke lost interest in the office and went upstairs. He was nearly as silent as Vance.
I followed trying hard not to stomp and throw a tantrum although I thought the situation warranted it.
We went to the bedroom and Luke rifled some more – drawers, medicine cabinet in the bathroom, nightstand. Then he got on his side on the floor and swung the light underneath the bed then he dropped to his back and shoved in his shoulder.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“What?” I asked, arms still crossed on my chest, hip hitched, one leg out. My stance said “attitude” but I had to admit I was curious.
Luke came out with a box. He’d opened it under the bed. He got to his feet, put the little flashlight between his teeth and with the box open in one hand, he rifled through it with the other.
I walked forward and looked then stared with my mouth open.
It was a little pharmaceutical cabinet, not just pills (lots of pills), but vials filled with white powder, three of them, two very full, one half-empty, a mirror, a razor blade and a rolled up bill.
“Bitch is a cokehead,” Luke remarked after he’d taken the flashlight from his teeth.
“It could be his,” I suggested.
“He’s payin’ us to search his house. You think he’d leave his shit lyin’ around?”
Damn.
That made sense.
“Maybe he planted it,” I tried again.
“Doubtful. It isn’t hers, he’ll have a problem proving it if she fights it. Considering what’s at stake, she will. Easy enough to find out if she’s smart enough to ask for it to be printed.”
Damn again!
I glared at him.
Luke ignored my glare, dropped down and replaced the box.
“Don’t you need to photograph that or something?” I asked when he was back on his feet and back to searching.
“Call goes out to the husband tonight. They’re at a show. He comes home, knows right where to find it, big scene. He asks for the divorce. He’s got the dirt to nail her. She has no idea he has a woman on the side. She caves because she’s f**ked.”
His scenario left a bad taste in my mouth. This wasn’t about two people, it was about four.
Fuck.
After finding something Luke’s search intensified. In the end he found two more hidden vials of coke both nearly empty and another kit with mirror, blade and bill. He also found so many pill bottles hidden just about everywhere that it wasn’t funny. Finally he found an envelope taped to the back of the dining room hutch, in it a stack of receipts from pawn shops. Pill-Poppin’ Mama Cokehead was pawning jewelry, silver, Waterford crystal and a goodly number of other household items to finance her habit.
Luke yanked off his gloves and I knew we were done. We left how we came in, got in the car and Luke called it in. I sat there not knowing what to feel.
Those two boys had a cheating father who wanted to screw over his wife and a drug addict mother who, from the looks of it, was either high as a kite or significantly sedated on a regular basis.
After Luke was done describing where the bulk of the evidence could be found, he said, “Out,” then he started the Explorer and pulled away from the curb.
“This feels shit,” I told him, staring angrily out the window.
Luke didn’t respond.
“People suck,” I went on.
Luke stayed silent.
I crossed my arms on my chest. “We gonna go somewhere and crack some heads now?” I asked.
Luke chuckled. “You’re gettin’ it,” he said.
Whatever.
* * * * *
We didn’t crack heads. Or I should say, I didn’t crack heads.
We did something else that rocked my world. It wasn’t worse than being left with musings of the terrible life ahead for two little boys I didn’t know and would never meet but it was something that shook my world and what I thought was my place in it.
We went to a bar off Evans, a dive I’d never been to and likely would never see again.
In the parking lot Luke turned to me. “The guy we’re gonna meet isn’t gonna be happy to see me.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He’ll be expecting Bobby or Matt. At most, Ike.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means he thinks he’s flyin’ under radar and we aren’t takin’ him seriously. I walk in there, he’s gonna know we’re serious. You got your gun?”
I’d put it under my seat. I bent to retrieve it but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“You don’t go in there carryin’. With this you’re not the one posin’ the threat, I am.”
This all seemed quite complicated. I wanted to ask questions but instead I nodded.
Luke entered the bar in his usual manner, body language communicating confidently that he knew who he was, he knew what he was doing and he knew where he was going. I followed, probably not looking as cool and confident as Luke because I didn’t know any of those things.
Still, people turned to look when we walked in and when they saw us, their looks became stares.
Luke walked to a booth, a man was sitting in it and he reminded me of Sal Cordova. Ladies man or at least he thought he was. Caucasian, dirty-blond hair, dressed to the nines.
His face showed surprise and perhaps a hint of fear when his eyes hit Luke then he covered it. His gaze hit on me and he too stared but again only for a moment then his eyes went back to Luke.
“Stark,” he said when Luke arrived at the table, “didn’t expect you to be running errands for Marcus. What? You get demoted?”
My body went rock solid and I looked at Luke. Then I realized what I was giving away and I forced myself to relax.
Running an errand for Marcus?
Marcus Sloan?
Gun runner with drug dealer and pimp on the side?
Luke looked at me and I felt he was telling me something. It took a few beats for me to cotton on and I slid in the booth opposite Ladies Man and Luke slid in beside me.