Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (5 page)

In this world a man must either be an anvil or hammer.

–Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Bud was five minutes from his destination in North Scottsdale when he got the call. The one call he couldn’t ignore. With a sigh, he turned the truck and headed to Phoenix where he arranged to meet Larry at a coffee shop on Thunderbird and Seventh.

Seven years ago, Bud started attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to get closer to a suspect. It wasn’t his case and he would never have gotten involved except…

Bunnie cried for a week over what that degenerate did.

The degenerate in question, Steve Caldwell, was a mild- mannered CPA in his mid-thirties whose wife and two kids disappeared. The wife, Linda, was a soft-spoken woman who bought Avon products from Bunnie. When Linda hadn’t returned her phone calls, Bunnie went to their house.

Bunnie indignantly related the incident back to Bud that night. “That bean-counting butt-wipe stood in the door big as the dick he is and tried to tell me Linda left him and moved back to Maryland to live with her parents. He must think I’m dumber than a bag of hammerheads if he thinks I buy that bunk of bullshit! First off, she’d
never
move back to Maryland because the tire dump five miles down the road is still on fire and they can’t put it out and Mikey has asthma so there’s no way that is happening. Second, she would never
not
pick up her Avon order – it had the Skin-So-Soft-Bug-Guard and she was desperate to get it because if there’s a flea in a five-mile radius, it’s on Mikey. She loves those kids and there is no way she’d take them back to Maryland – with burning tires and no bug guard! 
Duh
. Besides, he
looks
like a serial killer. His eyes are too close together and he’s got that crazy left nostril tic. Why don’t you go down there and scare him or something? Let him know
we’re onto him!
What’s the use of having a badge if you can’t push people around every once in a while?”

Bud had tracked down Linda’s parents and was surprised to find out they had recently filed a missing person’s report. Linda’s mother was on the verge of hysteria when Bud explained that Steve said that Linda
left him and that she was driving back to Maryland to be with
them
. Steve claimed he hadn’t called Linda or her parents because he wanted to give Linda her “space.”

Within the week, the local news was saturated with stories about the missing woman and children. Steve was the prime suspect in their disappearance but, after a lengthy investigation, nothing was ever proven and no bodies were ever found.

Bunnie was convinced that Linda was dead and Steve was a cold-blooded killer. Months went by and the story faded.

Bunnie’s suffering did not.

It cut Bud to the quick to see Bunnie suffer. He made it a point to get friendly with the detective working the case. When he found out that Steve went to Alcoholics Anonymous, Bud decided to attend several meetings.

Steve put on a show: the heartbroken, wrongly accused husband who pined for his family. He hinted that all had not been well.  His wife had a temper and she periodically threatened to leave him, but he had refused to believe it - until it was too late.

Bud tried to become a sponsor to Steve and inadvertently become a sponsor to Larry, a sad-sack guy who was crazy in love with his pretty wife who was a serial cheater and only stayed married to Larry because of his exceptional group health insurance that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing. Bud cursed his luck and was determined to get out of the sponsorship at the first opportunity, but the opportunity never arose.

At first, Bud treated going to the meetings like a chore, but to his surprise, he began looking forward to them. He liked listening to people bare their souls. He was used to hearing people bare their souls during the course of a murder investigation. This was different. This was a baring of souls that ended with more hope for the future. Nobody in the group ever confessed murder. They confessed horrible things, but not murder, which proved strangely uplifting to Bud.

He also liked the bad coffee and donuts. 

Despite the fact that Bunnie knew nothing about his AA life, Bud’s being a sponsor and attending AA meetings became the hobby that Bunnie kept insisting he get. Since he worked irregular hours, he never lied – except by omission. He justified not telling Bunnie about the meetings because he didn’t want to get her hopes up about the case but, when Steve stopped showing up, Bud continued to go and simply kept his mouth shut about it. 

Bud began to like Larry – if for no better reason than he seemed so accepting of the bad hand life kept shoving in his face. Bud didn’t have the heart to back out of the sponsor relationship and spent seven years being an on-and-off sponsor to various members, but mostly Larry.

When Larry called him at home, Bunnie assumed that he was a friend from work with a drinking problem.  She had complained on more than one occasion that Larry needed to join AA and stop acting like Bud was his sponsor.

Bud met Larry at a Starbucks on Seventh Street and Missouri where they sat on the patio under the misters.  

“I know she’s cheating on me,” Larry said in a low desperate voi
ce. “I should leave but I can’t. I want a drink so bad!”

Bud listened as Larry talked about his wife. He knew better than to try to be a therapist.

After twenty minutes, Larry had fallen into a lull. Bud’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller’s name and said, “I have to take this.”

Larry gestured that he was going to get them both refills.

When Larry returned, Bud’s face was flushed red and he was rubbing his jaw that was throbbing like it was fractured.

“Everything okay?” Larry said
.

Bud looked at him blankly, not registering the question.

“What’s wrong?” Larry said, getting scared. “Did somebody die?”

“Not yet,” Bud muttered through clenched teeth. 

What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?

–George Eliot

Enid put the last of her cash, five dollars and thirty-five cents, under her scraped-clean plate. She couldn’t believe that she had gone sixteen years without knowing that something as magical heuvos rancheros existed!

She knew it was a boneheaded move to leave the last of her money as a tip for Mona but something inside her urged her to it. She felt the need to put herself out and broke on the Phoenix concrete to see what kind of luck she could conjure up.

If I’m desperate enough – maybe it’ll give me the courage to go back to the Jack Fox Detective Agency.

She shouldered her backpack and headed out the front door. The Phoenix sunshine struck her as startlingly different from the Florida weather she’d grown up in. The Phoenix sun seemed more honest than Florida’s baggage of haze and humidity.

Enid’s eyes caught Jeni coming out of the building and Enid furtively followed her. Jeni walked a city block before she reached a Honda Civic with enough dents to qualify it for a Purple Heart.

Jeni slid in and was in the process of grinding the gears to a painful start when Enid knocked on her window.

Jeni jumped like she’d been shot.

Enid made an apologetic face as Jeni rolled down the window.

“Hey,” Enid said, feeling like an idiot.  

Jeni surprised her by lighting up with a smile. “I owe you a big thanks! You got me a discount.”

“How much?” Enid asked, smiling in response.

“Hey, what’s up with you busting in like that? Why’d you
bite
him? What was
that
about?” Jeni eyed Enid with sudden suspicion.

“I think he’s my dad,
” Enid blurted out.

Jeni’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Wildfire! Does he know?”

“Um…”

“Oh my god!” Jeni interrupted, “
I’m
looking for my mom and
you
– you’re looking for your dad! What are the odds?”

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“I wouldn’t either if you took a chunk of meat out of
my
arm.”

“I don’t think he likes kids.” Enid frowned.

“You’re not a kid. How old are you? Sixteen? I was payin’ light bills at sixteen.”

“Would you mind – uh – giving me a lift to the bus stop?”

“You’re not going to bite me, are you?”

Enid smiled sheepishly, shook her head.

“Plant the tush in the cush.” Jeni waved at the passenger seat.

Enid gratefully circled the car and got in the passenger’s side. Jeni hauled baby stuff off the passenger seat and threw it into the back. “Sorry for the mess.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“One sweetheart of a little girl. I named her Faith after that chick on that soap opera who fell in love with the monk who had amnesia.” Jeni sighed before she started grinding the gears again.

Enid flinched at the sound. “You want me to drive?”

“You have a license?” Jeni asked.

“Um…”

“Chinese fire drill!” Jeni hopped out, ran around the car and pushed a surprised Enid toward the driver’s seat, forcing Enid to climb over the shift lever. A shrill catcall came from a passing truck. Jeni ignored it.

“Where to?” Enid asked, excited to be behind the wheel.

“Bus station, right?” Jeni shot Enid a look, “Hey, why are you going to the bus station? Aren’t you going to tell him he’s your dad?”

Enid checked the mirrors as she said, “I told you, I don’t think he likes me.”

“Big whup! If he’s your dad, he’s your dad.”

Enid eased into traffic, “Do you like your – uh, fake mother?”

Jeni made a face, shrugged.

Enid hesitated, glanced at Jeni, “Um – would you know – do they…?”

“Spit it out.”

“Do you think I’d get in trouble – if I slept at the bus stop tonight?” Enid blurted out, face red.

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“Noo,” Enid said, uncertain.

“I don’t have an
y money if that’s what you want. I’m barely keepin’ my own ass above water.” Jeni frowned.

“I don’t want anything! I just wanted to make sure – I mean – they’ll let me –
right
?” Enid gazed at her with worried eyes.

Jeni examined her. After a long moment, she cut loose a sigh. “You can stay with me. Turn right up here.”

“But…”

“You babysit?” Jeni asked.

“Are you kidding? I was born babysitting!” Enid exclaimed, happily. 

“What ages?”

“Thirty-four,” Enid said, thinking about her mother.

Jeni raised her eyebrows in surprise.

To think of shadows is a serious thing.

–Victor Hugo

Jack didn’t know who he was more disgusted with – Petunia or himself. He strode into the reception room where Rachel met his eyes. 

“
Playing deaf, huh?” Jack said.

“Part of my job description,” Rachel said cheerfully, holding out a sheaf of paper. “I already did some preliminary research on your new client, Jeni Hargrove.”

“What about the part of your job description that includes keeping my private office
private
?” Jack jerked his thumb toward his office.

“If you can’t keep her out of your office, how am I supposed to?” Rachel shot back.

“You’re fired,” Jack called over his shoulder as he headed out the door.  

Rachel smiled and went back to her laptop.

After a moment, Jack stuck his head back in the door. “Get rid of her.”

“Oh!” Startled, Rachel jumped up to perform the thankless job of hustling Petunia out of Jack’s office. 

Jack walked quickly down the stairs and pushed open the door leading to the street. Jack luxuriated in the face full of heat, which never failed to surprise him with its intensity. Cutting through traffic, his eyes caught on a dark sedan. The driver’s face was hidden behind a newspaper.

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, frowning.

He entered the diner and took a seat at the Formica counter next to Sam Waterstone. In his early forties, Sam sported a boyish face that was strangely counteracted by a cynical glint in his bright blue eyes. He nodded to Jack, munching on an overstuffed sandwich. On his belt hung his City of Phoenix detective’s badge.

Jack said,
“I need a favor.”

Sam swallowed, rou
ghly wiped his mouth and said, “Kids swore me on a stack of Harry-F-ing-Potters to make sure Uncle Jack comes over. Saturday. Four o’clock.
There!
Now maybe the little punks will get off my ass.”

Mona sauntered up with a warm smile. “Hey Jack, the usual?”

“Sure thing. Plus a cheeseburger, well done.” Jack eyed her appreciatively. “Lookin’ good, Mona.”

Eyes sparkling, Mona let out a ‘Humph!’ and headed toward the kitchen.

“For God’s sake, I’m a married man,” Sam said as he gripped his stomach and burped. “The last thing I need is to be caught in the crossfire of whatever it is that you two have going on. Go out with her already. You’re giving me indigestion.”

“You worked the Daniel Hargrove case, right?” 

“That case is colder than my ex-wife’s….” Sam took another bite of his sandwich, his words lost in his munching.

Mona placed a to-go coffee in front of Jack. She frowned at Sam. “P.G. it, Sam. This is a family establishment.”

“How did you hear that?” Sam said, mouth full.

“I know what you said.” Mona gave him a warning look as she walked away.

Jack said, “I need a copy of the case file. Anything you got.”

“You working it?”

“Wallpaper. Working a fast-and-easy for the daughter.”

“Which one? Legs, Brains or
The Ghost?”

Jack shot him an incredulous look, “If the one I met ain’t Legs – I’m in love with the one who is.”

“Then you ain’t seen Brains yet,” Sam whistled softly. “Brick F-ing shithouse.”

“Sam!” Mona threw him a warning look from the other end of the counter.

Sam blew her a kiss, “Love you too, Mona. If I wasn’t already taken – you’d be in trouble.”

Mona frowned, spun on her heels and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sam turned to Jack, “She wants me. She’s sharpening her teeth on
you
to get to
me
.”

Mona returned, carrying a take-out bag that she plunked on the counter in front of Jack.

“Ears burnin’?” Sam smiled lasciviously at Mona.

“Sam, you seem to forget that I know your wife and if I told her the things you say and how you act…”

“You mean the burping?”

“She’d lock you in the cellar and never let you out.”

“That’s how much you know. We don’t have a cellar,” Sam grinned.

Mona rolled her eyes, “If there were a
real
policeman around – I’d be tempted to file a sexual harassment complaint.”

“
And
she’s funny,” Sam smiled.

Jack got out his wallet, gave Mona cash.

“Thanks, Jack.” She smiled appreciatively and pocketed the money. Mona held up the edge of her skirt where a single thread hung. “You mind?”

Jack pulled out his switchblade and, holding it low so no one could see, he deftly sliced off the thread. 

“Thanks.” Mona smiled at him.

“You need to learn how to sew,” Jack said.

“It’s so much more fun to have you do it,” Mona grinned.

Sam gripped his stomach and burped. 

Mona flinched, ignoring Sam and smiling at Jack. “Don’t be such a stranger, Jack.”

From another table, a customer called out, “Excuse me, Miss?”

Mona hurried away. 

“You think you can have the file for me by four o’clock?” Jack asked. “I can meet you here. Coffee is on me.”

“Sure. I got nothing better to do,” Sam said sarcastically. “It’s not like it’s
illegal
or anything.”

“How’re the kids?” Jack asked, ignoring the comment.

“Sharon wants to be a private detective like Uncle Jack. Never mind being a flatfoot cop like Pop.”

“How ‘bout Ernie?”

Sam makes a wry face, “Ernie’s discovered the exciting new world of –
ballet
.”

“Really?” Jack asked, surprised.

“Really.”

“Is he good?” Jack asked.

“Scary good.”

Jack laughed. Turning to leave, he walked past a surprised Mona and headed into the kitchen where a Hispanic dishwasher stared after him indignantly. Jack
slipped out the back door that led into an alley. A Goth girl leaned against a brick wall, smoking. She gave Jack the once over, wrote him off and returned to her cigarette with black lipstick stains.

Jack enter
ed a door that read “Ide Mania.” He found himself in a storage room, his nostrils assailed by the acrid smell of hair chemicals. Jack straightened and walked with confidence into the beauty salon that smelled as pleasantly aromatic as the storage room smelled acrid. Three stylists were busy working on their clients.

The beautiful owner, Ide Flores, who looked like the Hispanic answer to Rita Hayworth, looked up with a frown as she demanded, “Who are you?”

Jack held up the to-go bag like it contained a rodent. “Call me if you have any more problems.”

Jack strode out the front door and into the street. He approached the dark sedan from behind and gave a hard rap on the driver’s window.

Frank Ficus let out a yelp and gripped his heart. Scowling, he rolled the window down and exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, Jack! You tryin’ to kill me?”

At fifty-eight, Frank Ficus had resigned himself to the extra weight he’d long ago given up trying to lose. His nose showed the signs of early pugilist pursuits and, in his heyday, he’d prided himself on finishing any fight that someone else was daft enough to start. With every passing year, he moved slower but still packed a brick pile of a punch.

Jack held out the to-go bag that held a cheeseburger. “Well done. The way you like it.”

Frank eyed it suspiciously.

Jack waved it closer to him so he could smell it.

Frank snatched the bag and suspiciously examined its contents.

“Who hired you to follow me, Franko?” Jack asked.

“I’m not one of your cheap dates who’s going to blow you for a burger.”

Jack opened his mouth with a slur against Frank’s sister but remembered his sister died of breast cancer. It was more fun doing the sister insults when they were younger – before they all got married, fat or dead. “Tell Petunia’s husband that he can stop spending his paycheck on detectives. It’s over between me and her.” 

Frank’s eyes widened in surprise as he exclaimed, “Jesus, Jack! Aren’t you too old to be cattin’ around after othe
r men’s wives? You never learn…”  

“Tell him,” Jack said, turning to go back to the office. He turned, pointed to Frank like they’d come to an understanding. 

Frank shot him the finger and muttered, “Asshole.”

Taking a hearty bite of the burger, Frank made a “this ain’t bad” face. Mouth full, he called after Jack’s retreating back, “You forgot the ketchup!”