Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (2 page)

The best way to keep one’s word is not to give it.

–Napoleon Bonaparte

I fucking hate kids.

Jack Fox, thirty-eight and not handsome enough for Hollywood but too damned handsome for his own good, stared in horror at Warren’s three out-of-control kids who were tearing up his office. A sign on the door read “Jack Fox Detective Agency” and the office décor was two steps ahead of shabby.

Jack glared at his client,
Warren Hibbitt. Not only did Jack need to break the news to Warren that his wife of nine years had been cheating on him, he had to tell him that she was cheating on him with his cousin, who was also Warren’s business partner. Jack had a folder full of incriminating photos, an office full of Warren’s out-of-control kids, and a bad suspicion that Warren was the type to try to eat a bullet – or make somebody else eat a bullet.

Maybe his wife, Sheila? Maybe me?

Warren’s ten-year-old daughter wore flip-flops that were held together with duct tape. Ten minutes ago, using a scraggly-haired Barbie, she had walloped her younger brother in the balls with such ferocity that Jack’s eyes watered. The boy, deathly pale and sobbing, lay crumpled on the faded carpet, clutching his balls.

“Jesus, Warren,
” Jack said, waving his hand in the kid’s direction, “She’s gonna kill him!” 

“Cut the funny stuff!
” Warren shouted, without releasing his gaze from Jack.

Warren Hibbitt was a squat man in his thirties. He had the face of a bewildered pit bull as he gazed at Jack in bleak desperation. “You have to tell me,” Warren growled. “If yo
u don’t tell me, I’ll go insane!”

“We need to reschedule. We’re not discussing this in front of your kids,” Jack said stubbornly.

Flip-flop girl ran to her father’s side and pointed at Jack. “Daddy says you’re a dick. What’s a dick?”

“Mr. Fox is a
detective
,” Warren said, his face red.

“Can I be a dick?” she asked.

“Go play with your brother.”

“
Then
can I be a dick?” she persisted.

Warren pushed her toward her brother. She shrugged and bounced away.

Warren gave Jack an apologetic grimace. “I was calling you a private dick. It’s not what it sounds like.”

Jack eyed the boy with concern. “Shouldn’t you...?”

The third kid, the littlest girl, at least Jack thought
it was a girl, was making a game of ripping leaves off his rubber tree plant and shoving them down her pants.

“Warren, who the hell brings kids to…?”

“Had to,” Warren said, “Couldn’t get a sitter.”

“I’m not discussing this while your kids are here,” Jack said, standing. “Rachel will reschedule you.”

Warren jumped up, eyes gleaming dangerously. “
Look
, instead of using the word we
need
to use, we’ll use another word – like…”

“I’m not doing this,” Jack answered firmly. “We are not having this discussion in front of your kids.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna’ go crackpot!” Warren exploded. 

“D
addy called the dick a crackpot,” Flip-flop girl said, pointing her Barbie at Jack. 

“Play with your brother!” Warren snapped.   

The girl shrugged and proceeded to sit on the boy, bouncing on him like she was on a hippity-hop and using the back of his pants as a handle. The boy sent a desperate look in his father’s direction. 

“Warren…!”
Jack pointed to the boy but Warren cut him off. 

“Did she or didn’t she -
go to the store?”
Warren asked, giving him a meaningful look.

Jack frowned, drumming his fingers.

“If she did go to the store, you got proof, right?” Warren asked. “Because, otherwise, I won’t believe you.” 

“Proof that Sheila went to -
the store
?” Jack said skeptically.

“Yeah!” Warren yelled, “What else we talkin’ about?”

“Warren, we reschedule or you hire somebody else.” Jack stood up, jerking his chin toward the door.

Warren jumped up, “Come on
, Jack! I paid good money!”

“Y
ou haven’t paid me one hot dime.”

“You know I’m good for it.
As God is my witness, Jack, if you don’t tell me – I’m going to…!” Warren’s wild eyes scrabbled around the office as if searching for a weapon.

Jack slammed his hands on his desk and leaned forward menacingly, “You’re going to
what
?”

Warren blinked, backing down. He got up, paced. He absentmindedly stepped over the little girl rolling on the floor in lumpy leaf-stuffed pants. Warren stopped at the desk and gave Jack a who-stole-my-teeth look. “Did Sheila go to the store?
Yes or no?
”

After a long moment, Jack pulled a file from the drawer and placed it on the desk.

Warren’s eyes were glued to the folder.

Jack pressed his fist down on the folder. He said softly, “Not in front of the kids, Warren.”

Warren’s face quivered like he took a welterweight blow. He sat down heavily. After a long moment, he reached out a trembling hand for the file.

Flip-flop girl skipped over, tugged on Warren’s sleeve. “Is mommy a hoe?”

Warren froze. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Gran-ma.” She bit down on Barbie’s left foot and let it dangle from her mouth as she waited for an answer.

“Don’t do that. It’s bad for your teeth,” Warren said.

She bared her teeth and, laughing, danced away to commence torturing her brother. Warren stared at her, one cheek muscle twitching.

“You hired me to find out the truth,” Jack said. 

Warren grunted like a wounded animal.

Jack examined him with shrewd but sympathetic eyes. “Are you going to be all right, Warren?”

Warren looked away, wiping the water from his cheeks with his shaking hand. He shook his head.

Jack slid the folder into the drawer.

“Can’t trust women,” Warren muttered.

Jack shoved a card across the desk. “Here’s the card of a good marriage counselor. Mention my name and you might get a discount.”

“They’re not even my kids,” Warren said.

“You’re kidding!” 

Warren didn’t seem to hear.

Irritated with himself for his outburst, Jack assumed his most professional voice. “Warren, if you need the photos, you can have your lawyer contact me.”

It took several minutes for Warren to muster the energy to round up the kids and propel them out of Jack’s office with a vague promise of a check in the mail. Jack was left in their wake with a bare-assed rubber tree, a pink Barbie shoe and the boy’s saliva stains on the carpet.

Jack glanced at the door that Warren had exited through and his breath caught. Sitting in his waiting room were the most amazing pair of legs he’d ever set eyes on. He couldn’t see the rest of the woman but the legs were stunning. He felt himself moving toward them with the exhilaration of a surfer caught in the belly of a dream wave.

Please let her face be half as perfect as those legs.

Reaching the doorway, he heard Rachel say, “Mr. Fox, this is Ms. Jennifer Hargrove.”

Jack smiled politely, not daring to breathe. The woman turned her face up to him and Jack felt a jolt of horror hit him like a cattle prod. He staggered back, slamming into the wall.

Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.

–Charles Dickens

Bud Orlean stared at the marriage therapist and his wife in horror. Despite the fact that he adored his wife and was shelling out an obscene amount of money for the counseling, he felt a steely determination to resist.

They were crazy! 

He wasn’t old and he sure as spit wasn’t ready to retire. No power on earth was going to get him to turn in his badge and walk away from being Phoenix’s top homicide detective. He loved his job and he wasn’t about to don a Hawaiian shirt and cruise the Caribbean playing Bridge with a bunch of old farts.  

At sixty-four, Bud had already shrunk two inches from his high school height of six-foot-two. He remembered the shock he had felt when, several years ago, the ridiculously young medical assistant said aloud, “Six-foot-even” like she hadn’t just called out the beginning of a slow descent into a grave.

He was shrinking!

It was that moment when he realized that it was all downhill unless he hung on to his manhood with every fiber of his being, and the only way to do that was to
work
.

Sure, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he still went to the gym three times a week and sweated it out to AC/DC’s “Back in Black” as he struggled to keep some semblance of shape. His muscles were still solid. Only his belly, out over his belt, made him wince when he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His grey hair was dignified but thinning and he found to his disgust that, as the years went on, he was shaving not just his face but the shaving had
now expanded to his ears and nostrils. He wore a light grey suit and white shirt without a tie, which, for Phoenix, was overdressed, but he prided himself on looking the part of the professional police detective that he was.  

Bud squinted at Dr. Tanya’s diploma that hung on the wall over his wife’s head. He still harbored a sharp suspicion that she bought it from the back of Mad magazine. Of course, she hadn’t; he had run a full background check on her and she came up clean.

“How do you feel about what your wife expressed, Bud?” Dr. Tanya asked.

Bud grimaced, too irritated to answer. He took a deep calming breath. Losing your temper was the lowest form of human emotion and revealed a weak mind. To think logically and remain in control of your emotions was the sign of a superior mind. To his surprise, as he got older, he was finding it harder to control his emotions and keep his mouth shut.

The last two years had been trying. Bunnie was constantly pushing him to retire and he’d lost his temper on several occasions, which filled him with a deep sense of self-loathing at his lack of control. Being at home with Bunnie was like walking on eggshells, which was another reason why he needed work more then ever. It was all about controlling your emotions and being logical.

It’s what separates us from the degenerates.

Dr. Tanya gave him a quizzical look. “Are you listening to your wife, Bud?”

Bud grimaced, knowing tha
t if Dr. Tanya’s mother got hacked to pieces and mailed to Peoria, she’d consider Bud her new best friend and sure as heck wouldn’t be taking sides against him with his wife.

“I’m not retiring,” Bud said in a firm voice.

Bunnie pointed at Bud, “They offered him early retirement and he won’t do it! He’d rather be out there with gang-banging meth-murderers than be at home with his wife.”

“Are you hearing what your wife is saying
, Bud?” The doctor asked.

Bunnie waved her hand in exasperation, “Listening is
not
Bud’s problem! He always listens. In fact, I wish he listened less.”

Bud made a face. As usual, Bunnie was being overly dramatic because she had a fresh audience.

It always amazed Bud that he married such a tsunami of emotional, illogical feminine energy. Bud’s eyes lingered on the curves and rolls of Bunnie’s body that were haphazardly crammed in her pink velour bejeweled tracksuit. From her bright blue eyes to her Z-Coil shoes that kept her bouncing through her day like the force of nature that she was, Bud was disgusted to find that he was as attracted to her as the day he first saw her when she was eighteen years old. 

“Do you have any hobbies, Bud?” the doctor asked.

“Ha!” Bunnie exclaimed, “His only hobby is murder!”

The doctor smiled nervously, “Are there any other, uh,
activities you enjoy?”

“A man should have a hobby,
right?” Bunnie looked at the doctor, who was examining Bud with narrowed eyes.

Don’t project, doc. I’m not your daddy or the guy that did you wrong.

“What is it that appeals to you about your job?” Dr. Tanya asked. “Justice? Catching the bad guy?”

The hunt.

“I’m not going to retire,” Bud stated.

“What about our marriage? What about
me
?” Bunnie shrieked.

The doctor gave Bunnie a cautionary look. Reluctantly, Bunnie sat back in her chair, tossing her head so that the platinum ponytail bobbed spastically. 

“Bud,” the doctor looked at him, “Do you have any other interests?”

“Chip,
” Bud said without hesitation.

“He’s in college. He’s gone. Get over it.” Bunnie crossed her arms.

“He might come back to Phoenix,” Bud said.

“Are you crazy? Some girl is going to clap eyes on Chip, drag him off by the short hairs to live near
her
parents in Long Island, Krakow or the burg of butt-spaz-tattoo for all we know.”

“Krakow?” Bud asked incredulously. “How did you come up with Krakow?”

“What’s wrong with Krakow?” Bunnie demanded. “Don’t tell me that big fancy medical school doesn’t have girls from Krakow.”

“Odds are higher that he’ll end up with a girl from the burg of posterior-aspect-spaz-tattoo.”

“Okey-dokey now, what’s our ‘timeout’ word?” Dr. Tanya said, nervously holding her hands in a “T”.

“Not Krakow,” Bud muttered.

“Chip’s not coming back,” Bunnie scowled.

“What’s our word?” The doctor asked hopefully.

Bud and Bunnie reluctantly looked and each other and simultaneously muttered, “Bunion.”

“Let’s talk about Chip,” Dr. Tanya said. “Let’s talk about what Chip-not-moving-back-to-Phoenix
looks like
.”

Bud and Bunnie glared at each other.

“Okay,” the doctor smiled at Bud, “Let’s pretend someone has a gun to your head.”

Bud shot her a look.

“Figuratively speaking, that is,” she continued. “If you had to choose a hobby, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

“Spousal abuse,” Bud said dryly.

“You and what army?” Bunnie scowled. 

“That’s good! Bud is expressing his
frustration
,” Dr. Tanya said. “Let’s explore that.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bunnie. I’m not going to retire.”

“I’ll leave you!” Bunnie jabbed her finger in the air. “Cha-
ching
goes your pension ‘cause Bunnie is gonna cruise!”

“You get seasick.”

“My
future
hot young stud boyfriend,
who is a doctor,
will prescribe Dramamine!”

“He’s going to
need
to be a doctor so he can wheel you around in your wheelchair while everyone asks him: how’s your mother today?”

Bunnie gasped in horror. “Oh - no - you - didn’t!”

Did.

Bunnie spun toward the doctor, “Do you see what I put up with? How am I supposed to deal with
that
?”

Bud said,
“I’ve given you a good life, a house, a kid – all I want in return is to keep working. Is that too much to ask?”

The doctor held her hands in a “T” as Bunnie went nose-to-nose with Bud.

“Bunion.
Bunion
,” the doctor called out as she jumped up and began moving away from them.

“It’s
me
who has given
you
a good life, Bud Orlean! It’s
me
who has cooked and cleaned and kept you and Chip in clean socks and underwear! You need to retire! I want to enjoy what’s left of our life before we end up shriveled up in some nursing home too damned demented to put in our own teeth!”

Dr. Tanya’s back was against the wall, her hands out. “Bunion! BUNION!”

“Shut up!” Bud and Bunnie shouted.

In a scurry of size ten Birkenstocks, the doctor made her escape.

Bud opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as his cell phone vibrated. Like professional boxers separated by a ref, Bud and Bunnie stepped away from each other.

Bud felt the familiar sense of self-loathing at losing his temper sweep over him. He took a shaky breath and read the message. It was from his partner, Jenson. It was a call to duty.

Murder.

Bunnie picked up her purse and snapped, “You wearing sunscreen?”

Bud nodded.

She grabbed his face in her hands and locked her eyes on his, “Is today a good day to die?”

Bud held her eyes with matching intensity and answered, “
Not today
.”

Bunnie released him. Bud headed for the door.

“Bud?” 

Bud turned, impatient to be gone.

“I will leave you,” she said softly.

He stared at her.

I can’t stop.

He didn’t say it aloud but he had no doubt she heard his words.

Her lips tightened.

Bud flinched like she’d struck him. Before she could say anything, Bud was gone.

Adrenaline pumping, he moved as fast as his right knee and his sixty-four years on earth would allow. Once in the sunlight, Bud felt his uneasiness slip away. He hurried toward his truck, his eyes gleaming with raw hunger for the hunt.

I can’t stop.