In Too Deep Page 28

  “Why not? She’s with a guy who does it with his sister!”

  Troy shook his head, never taking his eyes from Rawley’s face. Rawley could feel himself start to crumple under that intense scrutiny and he wanted to run and hide. “But that would really scare her,” Troy pointed out meaningfully.

  “I don’t care!”

  “And I would look like the bad guy. She would think I took you away when you didn’t want to go.”

  Rawley realized his father was seriously considering the options. “Take me with you. I don’t care where! I just want to get out of here.”

  “I’m not sure …”

  “I’ll write her a note. I’ll tell her not to worry … that I’ll call her. Please!” Hoping he could convince him, Rawley begged again, “I won’t be any trouble. I promise.”

  “Is your grandfather still in town?” Troy asked, a total non sequitur that made Rawley afraid he was trying to change the subject.

  “I think so. We could go to your place in … in …”

  “Taos,” he replied absently. “Where’s he staying?”

  “My grandfather? La Fonda.”

  Troy blinked several times.

  Rawley got the impression of a computer making zillions of connections.

  “All right,” Troy said slowly, reluctantly.

  “You mean we can go away?” Rawley was afraid he’d misunderstood. “Like, right now?”

  “I have to stop by my hotel and check out,” Troy said, sounding faraway, as if he were talking to himself. Rawley had to fight to keep from jumping up and down and waving his hand in front of his face.

  “Okay. Let me write Mom a note and grab a few things. Just wait … okay?”

  “Don’t let the dog out,” was his father’s response and Rawley had hurried to get everything together before he changed his mind, as parents were wont to do. When he returned he had his bag in one hand, his letterman’s jacket in the other. Seeing his father’s gaze at the jacket, Rawley said quickly, proudly, “I got called up to the varsity playoffs, got a few minutes of playing time, so they gave me a varsity letter.”

  Troy had seemed transfixed for a few moments before shaking off whatever was affecting him. He’d told Rawley to get in the car and they were on their way.

  They’d made a stop at La Fonda—his father’s hotel, too, as it turned out—then they were on their way. Rawley had rattled on about nothing for the first hour or so, but then he’d just kind of slowed down and started to worry. It didn’t help that it now sounded like they might be gone longer than he’d originally planned. Not that he didn’t want to leave, but he felt kind of bad for his mom, too. And Benny.

  He didn’t know how to feel about Hunter Calgary.

  “So, how far are we going?” he asked again, since his dad didn’t seem to be planning on answering him.

  Troy was smiling to himself, driving with one hand, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Didn’t you just say something about how you wanted to learn to drive?”

  Rawley perked up. There was nothing he wanted more. “Well, yeah!”

  “When we get going a little farther, I’ll turn over the wheel.”

  “But I don’t have my learner’s permit”

  His father glanced over at him, smiling slightly. “Who’s going to know?”

  The phone rang within minutes after Hunter’s departure. Jenny snatched it up and couldn’t prevent herself from asking desperately, “Rawley?”

  “Geneva?” her father responded, sounding as desperate as she did.

  She sank onto the couch. Benny moved in close beside her, on alert, attuned to her anxious mood. “Oh, hi,” she said, then added unnecessarily, “I thought you were Rawley.”

  “Is Rawley all right?”

  Alarm shot right to her heart. “Why?”

  “Because I had a meeting with Russell. He called me here at La Fonda!” He sounded offended by Troy’s choice of venue. Allen did not like being accosted on what he considered his own turf. “He wanted to meet in my room. I told him I’d give him fifteen minutes in the lobby. When I went to …”

  “You saw Troy this morning?” Jenny cut him off.

  “Yes. That’s what I’m trying to say!” Allen declared huffily. “And I’ll tell you what—he’s showing his true colors. Now he’s demanding five hundred thousand dollars! Can you imagine?”

  Ransom! It was turning out just as she’d suspected. “You mean—you mean—for Raw—”

  “He said he wanted to go into business with me. Invest in some California real estate he wanted to develop. He said a lot of things.”

  Jenny’s head swam. “Was Rawley with him?”

  “What? No. He was negotiating, Jenny. Negotiating.” He snorted. “He doesn’t even bother with that ‘make amends’ line anymore. It was just a matter of time. I turned him down flat.”

  She couldn’t breathe. In a suffocated voice, she asked, “What did he do?”

  “The bastard smiled and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’ That’s what he did. Then he left.” Finally Allen heard what she’d said through his anger and disgust. “Where’s Rawley?” he demanded suddenly.

  “With Troy.”

  “When? Are you sure? What do you mean?”

  Jenny told him what little she knew about Rawley’s leaving with Troy, ending with the note.

  “He hasn’t called yet?” Allen asked, not waiting for an answer, knowing she would have told him if he had. “So, he went of his own free will. Damn it all, Jenny. Where were you when Rawley left?”

  “I was with Hunter.” The silence was damning. Jenny flinched in spite of herself. She said, as an afterthought,

  “Hunter’s gone to find Rawley.” “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Los Angeles …”

  “I hope he kills him,” Allen said distinctly.

  Jenny was shocked by her father’s words. Shocked because she knew he meant them. “I just want Rawley back safe and sound.”

  “I should have paid him the money.”

  “Troy would have just kept asking for more.”

  “He thinks he’s got the bargaining chip to end all bargaining chips.” Allen coughed several times. “The sly bastard,” he added, a hint of reluctant admiration in his voice. “He does.” He coughed again, harder.

  “Are you all right?” Jenny asked.

  “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “Call me when Rawley calls you.”

  She heard his deep concern. “I will.”

  She just hoped that phone call would be soon.

  Troy could scarcely contain his glee. Talk about the rabbit falling into the snare, his eager son had begged to go with him. Begged! And he’d stalled the kid, pretending that it was an imposition.

  Christ. He should have demanded more from that old bastard. Five hundred thousand was chicken feed. And now he possessed the golden goose …

  Oh, Jenny, Jenny. Soon you’ll be begging, too. On your knees. Just like that squealing bitch Michelle.

  “What are you smiling at?” Rawley asked, his own lips curving as if he could somehow divine Troy’s thoughts.

  If he only knew.

  “As soon as we cross the border, I’ll turn over the wheel,” Troy said expansively. He didn’t give a damn about the Explorer. He was going to have a Porsche, better than Frederica’s piece of rundown shit. He’d drive it right up to her door and lay on the horn. She’d be sorry she threw him out. Bipolar sicko. Maybe he’d slip it to her for old time’s sake. When the mood struck, she was red-hot and ready for anything. No crying and whining from Frederica. No, no. She gave as good as she got

  He really ought to see her again, he decided. Give it another try. A dress rehearsal before opening night with Jenny. He’d wasted way too much time with Patricia. Frederica was the one.

  Eat that, Heather and Jessica! he thought with a jolt of remembered fury. When Frederica came on to him, everything was functional below the belt Yessirree. She could really get him going. It wasn’t his fault Heather and
Jessica couldn’t get him hot. It was theirs!

  Of course, with Frederica, there were those downturns. Those times when she was a lifeless mannequin. He’d managed some sex with her then, but it was like trying to wake the dead.

  “Across the border?” Rawley repeated, frowning.

  “Yeah. When we hit Arizona.”

  “We’re going to Arizona?”

  What was this? “Getting cold feet?” he asked. The kid was starting to squirm and that annoyed him.

  “No … I just …” He shrugged and fiddled with the zipper on his letterman’s jacket. “I just wanted to know where we’re going.”

  Troy’s gaze fell on the bright blue “M” blazoned across Rawley’s jacket that stood for whatever high school the boy had attended. He thought of Val for a moment. Val.

  The Explorer drifted to the side. He yanked it back on the road and said flatly, “We’re just driving, son.”

  Thoughts of Val reminded him of Jenny and that, in turn, reminded him of Calgary. Troy flexed his fingers around the wheel. Thinking about the man made him sweat, which also pissed him off. Calgary was dangerous. Troy instinctively knew the man would kill him if he could. And what was he doing with Jenny?

  Jenny was his, now and forever. Given enough time, Troy would come up with the perfect plan to have her and the money, too.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  He could have driven, but Hunter wanted to get to L.A. as fast as possible. Catching the first available flight out of Albuquerque, he was in Los Angeles by early evening. He rented a Jeep, one exactly like his own. Grimly, he put the car in gear and headed into a mess of commuter traffic.

  He hadn’t been back in a while, although the memories were still raw, crowding his brain. But this time he was on a mission to straighten out the events that had led to his exile from the City of Angels, and he didn’t care how he did it.

  He had two buddies, both still detectives on the force, one in vice, one in burglary and theft. He also had a pretty good friend in homicide, but Hunter’s insistence that Michelle’s death was murder hadn’t set well with the boys in that department. They’d thought differently. For his efforts Hunter had earned a penalty and a warning to leave Troy Russell alone. He’d ended up quitting rather than living under that dictum.

  Carlos Rodriguez worked vice and lived in South Central. By a realtor’s standards, it wasn’t the best neighborhood in town; it certainly had its share of crime. But Carlos lived within a large Hispanic section where most of his neighbors were trusted close friends. Hunter knew many of them, so he wasn’t worried when he passed several sinister-looking groups of young men who glared at him as he drove by. He pulled in front of Carlos’s modest home, strode up the sidewalk which was lined with bright flower boxes and rang the bell.

  “Hunter!” Tina Rodriguez declared in delight. Carlos’s wife had always been fond of him and she threw open the screen door and hugged him close. She was five feet two in socks and built tough. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Carlos. He on the job?”

  “You know he is. Busting the hookers and junkies.” She sniffed. “You still in Santa Fe?”

  “More or less. Could you give him my number?” He scribbled down a phone number from an airport hotel which he’d never forgotten. “I’m checking in there later. I also want to see Mammoth.”

  “Getting the old gang together again.” She smiled. “Don’t you be like those boys on the street out there, eh?” She jerked her head in the direction of the street toughs gathered outside. “No trouble.”

  Hunter smiled. “No trouble.”

  Her expression clouded. “Is this about that man who killed your sister?”

  Hunter regarded her with affection. Carlos and Mammoth and their wives had never questioned whether he was right or not. They believed him. “I’m afraid it is.”

  She gave a quick sign of the cross. “That is for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He left feeling somehow better, lighter, ready to face the fire. He was going to get Russell this time.

  Next, he checked into the hotel—a euphemism since it was barely more than a two-story motor court built in the thirties—and settled in to wait. He’d brought along the information Ortega had sent to him in Puerto Vallarta, even though it had more to do with the Holloways than Russell himself. Still, it gave him a picture of Russell, and even with the passing of years, he knew he’d immediately recognize the man.

  Two hours later Carlos phoned. “Hey, man!” he declared. “What you doin’ back in the city, huh? Thought you was run out of town on a rail.”

  “Just couldn’t stay away. I’ve got people to see.”

  “Uh-huh.” Carlos’s tone grew sober. “I know where some of ’em live.”

  “Figured you did.”

  “Russell’s friends keep crossin’ my path, again and again. There’s an apartment in El Segundo. Really funky place, y’know? Ratty lives there. Betcha that’s where Russell shows up.”

  Ratty was Hunter’s own nickname for one J.P. Graef. The man looked like a rat, with a pointy nose, big ears, and a narrow face. And every place he’d ever lived looked like a rat’s nest: dirt and papers and clutter and a stench that pervaded everything.

  Carlos rattled off the address. “You want me to go with you, man?”

  “Not while you’re gainfully employed.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Russell has someone with him. His son.” Hunter gave Carlos a quick recap of Rawley’s relationship to Russell. “I’m working with the boy’s mother and grandfather.”

  Carlos whistled softly. “You better take either me or Mammoth with you.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need backup. For now, I’m on my own.”

  “You always were,” Carlos said softly. “Don’t forget about us.”

  “Never.”

  Friendship. Something he’d let slide. Something he’d nearly forgotten about while he’d been holed up in Santa Fe, trying to heal. Ever since he’d connected with Jenny Holloway he’d discovered himself again. It was amazing to realize how much he’d nearly thrown away forever, and how important it was to keep one’s perspective.

  Ratty’s apartment was easy to pick out amongst the fifty or more units in the dilapidated complex. A stack of old newspapers, boxes, and bottles lined the area outside his front door. His fellow slum dwellers apparently felt he should keep his filth to himself for as Hunter pulled into the parking lot and examined the area from his Jeep, Ratty’s neighbor to the right came out of his door and kicked the pile viciously with his foot before stalking to his car.

  A riot light atop the building next door lit up the place like a prison yard. It seemed like someone wanted to keep a sharp eye on the tenants of the—Hunter strained to read the faded, unlit sign—the Roseland Court. Still, the overhang of the deteriorating roof offered deep shadows near the doorways and any number of nefarious doings could be managed by an enterprising criminal.

  Ratty had been an acquaintance of Troy’s, not because they were alike in any way, but because Ratty worshiped the ground the urbane Troy Russell walked on. He was happy to grovel, happy to be used. Troy didn’t even pay him. Apparently allowing him to remain just outside his inner circle was enough for Ratty.

  It was Ratty whom Hunter had shaken down to find out where Troy was on the night of Michelle’s death; Ratty who had squealed about Troy’s involvement with another woman, several other women; Ratty who clung to Hunter’s leg and begged him not to tell Troy who had led the police to him. Hunter had kept the promise.

  And in the end it hadn’t mattered. Hunter had found Troy in the arms of some bimbo and had jerked the naked man out of bed, strangling him to within an inch of his life while the woman clutched the covers to her breasts and screamed at him to stop. All Troy knew was that Hunter had crossed the line, and the fact that he’d been caught in bed with another woman attested to the fact that he hadn’t been with Michelle.

  Hunter tri
ed to get the rap to stick. He pointed out that there were gloves in Troy’s car and that he could have worn them while he was with Michelle, effectively leaving no prints while he pushed her off the roof. But could have wasn’t good enough. He told them how Michelle had confided in him, had said she felt Troy would rather see her dead than be the father of her child. Insubstantial.

  All anyone cared about was that Hunter had physically attacked Troy Russell, and that Hunter continually harassed and threatened Russell at every opportunity.

  End of story.

  Until now.

  No lights shone in Ratty’s windows. Nothing. If they were driving, Russell hadn’t had time to get here yet. Throwing the Jeep into gear, Hunter decided to cruise by a couple of more addresses that he’d gathered and saved over the years, some of Troy’s innumerable bedmates.

  Hunter had a feeling he’d be back.

  * * *

  Rawley’s hands were sweating on the steering wheel. He could hardly concentrate. Twice he’d run the rightside wheels off the pavement into the dirt. Twice he’d jerked the car back, overcorrected, and slipped into the other lane. Worst of all, he knew he was disappointing his dad. He didn’t know the first thing about driving, and for the second time that day he felt near tears. Now it was night and he wasn’t sure how to say he wanted to quit and just go home.

  “Why are you slowing down?” Troy demanded.

  “I’m kinda tired.”

  “We’re still fifty miles outside of Phoenix. Go ahead.”

  Rawley swallowed. “I really don’t want to.”

  His dad gave a disparaging groan, but Rawley pulled over to the side of the road anyway. His arms felt like weights. His dad hadn’t seemed to mind his erratic driving, which was totally weird. He just kind of chuckled deep in his throat. Like it was a thrill a minute even though Rawley had felt close to passing out.

  Troy took over the wheel and they drove in silence to the outskirts of Phoenix. Rawley thought they would stop there, but they drove straight on through. “Where are we going?” he asked.