Hot Rocks (24 page)

sixty-one

At eleven fifteen, I
stood in front of my mirror, wondering who was glaring back at me. I’d gone through my entire wardrobe, especially to the end I seldom viewed, to find the clothes I had on. A push-up bra that Sonny-the-Bunny gave me years ago. And I have to add he liked them
really
pushed up. The peasant blouse rode off the shoulder, well down on my arms, leaving little doubt what was being pushed up. The skirt was normal by design, above the knee, but a few rolls of the waistband brought it up to peek-a-boo land. The heels were three-inch stilettos. I didn’t remember why I had them. I only had to hope I didn’t fall off them. But, in spite of what Bruce said, I refused to wear pantyhose. Damn things were invented by a sadistic male. No woman would have dreamed them up. If the diamond thieves didn’t like my cellulite, to hell with them.

All in all, I was pleased with my image. I could still turn myself into a sexy babe. Of course, if it weren’t for Bruce’s demands, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the getup. Unless … I pirouetted, wondering what reaction I’d get from David dressed that way.

The phone rang. When I answered, a familiar voice said, “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Go easy on the mascara, eye shadow, and other goop. I want you crying when you ring the doorbell, but I don’t want black trails down your cheeks. It’ll make you look like a Wiccan. Be ready when we get there. I’ll call again when we get out front.”

The phone clicked off, leaving me with a feeling of depression. I had expected the call from Bruce, but hoped the ring might be David. That seemed to be my recent history—hoping David would phone. I sighed, knowing it was best he hadn’t. I might have caved and begged him to come with me.

Then I remembered I was one up on Bruce. I wasn’t wearing mascara, eye shadow, or any other
goop
, as he called it. It took a really special occasion to get me into full camouflage, and Bruce’s evening didn’t qualify. Besides, I didn’t intend to cry—not for Bruce or any man.

After selecting a shoulder purse and loading it with my paraphernalia, including the Beretta Bruce gave me, I walked into the living room, a bit of apprehension creeping up my spine. I didn’t want to doubt my decision, but knew I’d feel better if Bob and his homeless contacts were with me—or even David. Well, only sixty-forty on David. I meant it when I told him this was not his world. He was too gentle, too compassionate. But at that moment, I’d have accepted him by my side, even if it meant I’d have to protect him. But decisions said are decisions made, and we had to live with them. Second chances only occur on the golf course when the friendly competition grants you a mulligan.

My cell phone chimed, and the little window said it was Bruce’s number. I flipped it open.

“We’re outside. Move it.”

“I’m coming out. And a good evening to you, too.” I hung up. No need prolonging things. Not like we were headed for an evening of dining and dancing.

Leaving my house, I looked left, then right. Subconsciously, or maybe consciously, I hoped to see a familiar vehicle or a head peeking around a bush. None in sight. The back door of Bruce’s Mercury opened.

“Get in,” Bruce said. “And you can quit looking. We scoured the neighborhood. None of your heroes are here.” He chuckled. “I hope that means you followed instructions?”

“Of course.” Climbing in, I scanned the area one last time. Looked like Bruce was right. And, in this instance, he should be. None of my friends should have their lives on the line for me tonight. It was my party. I wrote the rules, and it was time to adhere to them.

I settled into the back seat beside Bruce. “Yes, your instructions just as you gave them. Where do our friends live?” Checking the front, I saw Lodo behind the wheel, and Gerald in the suicide seat. Hail, hail, the gang’s all here, I thought and smiled at my jocularity. Then I realized it was gallows humor, fueled by my nervousness.

“Let’s go, Lodo,” Bruce said. “Stay within the speed limit and drive around a bit. I need time to bring Beth up to speed.”

“Works for me,” he said. “I don’t need another ticket.”

Bruce turned his attention to me, especially my cleavage. “You look good,” he said to my chest. “You may have a future other than the PI racket. I can see where elderly guys might find you sexy as hell. You could do Viagra commercials.”

I chose to ignore the remark. No need stirring a pot that was already bubbling. Plus, I didn’t want him finding me too sexy. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, either through guile or force.

We backed out of my driveway and headed north. Lodo made several turns and even doubled back on his route. My guess was Bruce didn’t trust me.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Bruce said after spending the first five minutes staring through the back window. “The people who stole the diamonds and popped Jacobs are two men named James and Jamison. Yes, the names are real. They went to ground in a dingy bungalow in Pembrook Acres. We scouted the area pretty good. It looks like a typical low-rent residential neighborhood. Probably why they chose it. Lodo will drop Gerald and me off a couple of houses down, and we’ll work our way to the front door on foot. You’ll stay with Lodo in the car until Gerald and I are in position. When I give the signal, you go rushing to the front door. Muss your hair before you leave the car and turn on the tears. You’re in distress, scared out of your wits.

“Bang on the door and lean on the doorbell, sobbing your baby blues out. When one of them opens the door—it’ll probably be on a chain—give them a sob story about some guy chasing you. Make sure you’re shoving your tits in his face. Beg him to let you use his phone.” He ogled my chest again. “If he’s not blind, he’ll open the door to let you in. Gerald and—”

“It’s okay to look me in the eyes,” I said without apologizing for interrupting him. “You’ve seen enough for tonight. Don’t want to raise your blood pressure too high. You might have a heart attack. Now, about those men in the house. Won’t they find it strange I don’t have a cell phone. Everyone over the age of three has one today.”

“Good point,” he said, lifting his gaze. “Glad you brought it up. If he says anything, your battery died. Anything else you need to ask?”

“Continue,” I said. “You’re paying for the gas.”

“Once he starts to swing the door open, get the hell out of the way. Gerald and I will be on him before he can get his eyes off your boobs.”

“And if he doesn’t buy my story? If he doesn’t open the door?”

Bruce frowned. “That, my dear, will be your loss. I’d hate to waste you and him in the doorway, but I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Sometime in the next hour, those diamonds will be mine. I much prefer not to leave bodies behind, but I will if that’s the most efficient way to accomplish things. I suggest you crank up your acting talent. It may save your life.”

My body wanted to shudder, but sheer willpower stopped it. “I’m glad you prefer not to kill me. So reassuring. Suppose I can’t act?”

Bruce laughed. “You can. You’re a woman. It comes with the territory. Just pretend you’re faking an orgasm, but convert the energy into your sob story.”

He had me there. Remember what I said about Sonny-the-Bunny? With his speed, acting was the most I’d had.

I stayed quiet for a moment, wondering how Bruce intended to leave the scene. The feeling of uncertainty was growing. Would he live up to his end of the bargain? That shuddery feeling rose again, but I forced it back down. “After you get the diamonds, I get James and Jamison alive. Right?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what we agreed? You don’t doubt me, do you?”

I wanted to say something cute, but decided to let it ride. No need giving him any excuse to change his mind.

“Questions?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” I said. Let’s get to it.”

“Okay, Lodo. Point it toward Pembrook Acres.”

sixty-two

Most of the lights
were out on the street Bruce identified as the hideout for James and Jamison. One streetlight in the middle of the block burned, but it put out only a dull glow. Looking around, I surmised the lack of illumination might not be an accident. It was not the kind of neighborhood working people wanted well lighted. By working people, I mean drug dealers, prostitutes, and those seeking funds to buy drugs. If I lived there, I’d probably just leave the front door open and my valuables near it. It would save the trouble of replacing locks and broken windows and having people search through the house.

We cruised slowly up the street and circled the block. Bruce pointed at the house we were going to hit. I noted the absence of people on the sidewalks, but did notice one thing that made me feel better. A white Toyota Avalon rested against the curb. I couldn’t read the license plate, but knew that wouldn’t matter. They probably had a trunk full of plates they’d stolen so they could switch at their leisure.

“Lonely area,” I said.

Bruce chuckled. “It’ll be teeming with people later. The girls and the dealers with the little white bags are in the more affluent neighborhoods now. They move here when business slows down. This is kind of the last stop, the last chance to turn a few bucks—or whatever. From here, they go to bed and rest up for the next night. Besides, if anyone sees anything happening on this street, you can believe they’ll see nothing. Get my drift?”

I did. Another of society’s failures. Another group who believed cooperating with the police was more dangerous than tolerating the hoodlums. When would they ever learn?

“Okay, Lodo, head for the target. Drop us three doors away. After that, you know what to do. Are you ready, Beth?”

I gave him my cool look. “I was ready while you were still gelling your hair. Let’s do it.”

“Good. I assume you’re packing. If this turns into a shooting exercise, you make damn sure you know where you’re pointing your gun. We’re the good guys. Try not to kill one of us.”

“Then don’t give me a reason,” I said. “As you should remember, I hit what I aim at.”

Bruce took out his pistol and checked the chamber. I noticed it was a Beretta like the one he gave me. I couldn’t see if it still had its serial number.

Lodo quit circling the neighborhood. A moment later, he stopped along the curb, and Bruce and Gerald jumped out, quickly disappearing into the shrubbery.

I messed up my hair and pulled some of it into my face. So much for the time I wasted trying to duplicate a hooker’s hairdo. By the time I finished, I figured it looked like it hadn’t been combed in a week.

A small light blinked one short, two longs from in front of the target house.

“That’s the signal,” Lodo said. “I’ll open your door.”

“I can—” I started, but stopped when he climbed out. If he wanted to play gentleman, who was I to complain? From what I’d seen, he needed all the practice he could get. He circled the front of the car, then opened the back door and extended a hand. I took it and got out of the back.

“Nothing personal,” he said and gave me a solid open-handed slap across my left cheek, hitting me hard enough to bounce me off the car.

My first impulse was to go for my gun and shoot the bastard, but calmer emotions won the day.

“Bruce says you gotta look like you been attacked. Is one enough or should I give you another? Maybe make both sides of your face look alike.”

“Oh, I think one is quite sufficient,” I said, rubbing my cheek. The surprise had worn off, leaving in its wake a burning sensation like someone had held my head against a burner on a stove. I felt sure it would be red enough to convince anyone I’d been hit. “But when this is over, remember that I owe you one. And I always pay my debts. Think about what I’ll do.”

He laughed. “I doubt you can hurt Lodo.”

“Yeah? Well, don’t blame me if you sing soprano after I’m through.”

He laughed again. “It is time. Do what Bruce said.”

I took off up the sidewalk, watching for broken pavement, moving as fast as I could on the three-inch stilts. When I arrived in front of the house, I cut across the lawn and climbed two steps onto the porch. The front light was on so I had no problem spotting the doorbell. Following Bruce’s instructions, I pushed it and held it in while pounding on the door with my other fist. “Help me, please. Help me,” I yelled in my best imitation of panic. With my cheek still burning, I had no trouble cranking out tears. “Help me.”

It seemed like I kept the noise and the tears going so long I expected the neighbors to call nine-one-one. In reality, it was probably only a few seconds before the door swung inward a couple of inches, a security chain stopping it.

“Who the hell’s out there?” a gruff man’s voice said. “Quit beating on my door and leave my doorbell alone.”

“Oh, thank goodness. My ex-husband is after me. I escaped, but he’s right behind me. Please, let me in. Let me call the police. He said he’d kill me.” I was sniffling and sobbing and flailing my hands around as if scared out of my wits. It was no accident that I banged under my boobs causing them to almost jump out of the push-up bra. The guy in the door did what any red-blooded male would do. He stared.

“I don’t know,” he said to my cleavage. “It’s mighty late to be opening the door to a stranger.”

“Please. I’ll do anything if you just let me in. I need to hide. I need protection. You’re a big, strong man. My ex would never bother you.”

One of my pleas must have worked because he said, “Okay. But only to call the police. Then you gotta leave.” He pushed the door closed, and I heard the chain rattle. A few seconds later, the door swung open.

Bruce tore by me, knocking me to the side as he shoved the man backward into the room. Gerald was hot on his heels and, like Bruce, held a gun in his right hand. I heard, then saw the man in the door stumble backwards, his rear end bouncing along the floor.

sixty-three

“Check the house, Gerald,”
Bruce said. “Find the other guy. Beth, get in here.”

It appeared Bruce had done this before. I was impressed with his command presence.

Gerald moved fast and a moment later, brought a sleepy-looking man into the front room wearing only boxer shorts with a big hairy belly protruding above them. Not a pretty sight.

“He was in bed,” Gerald said. “No one else here.”

Bruce waved them to the sofa. “Have a seat, and we’ll have a genteel conversation. I’ll ask questions. You answer them.”

“Go to hell,” the door-opener said. “I got nothing to say to you.”

Bruce slammed him alongside his face with the flat side of the pistol, sending him reeling backward onto the couch. Blood oozed from a tear in his cheek. “Wrong answer. How about you, Sleepy? You want to give me shit, too? Sit your ass down—now.”

Sleepy complied.

Bruce turned on a lamp that sat on an end table. The closed blinds negated the danger of anyone seeing in. The two watched him, fear on their faces and question marks in their eyes.

“Okay, which one is James?” Bruce asked.

Sleepy said, “Me. Why do you want to know?”

Ignoring him, Bruce said, “So smartass here is Jamison.”

“You mighta broke my jaw,” Jamison said, wiping the blood off his face with his upper arm. “Who the hell are you?” He squinted. “Wait, I know you. You’re that asshole who works for the smuggler, the guy who was following the courier. Shit, how’d you find us?”

“Not important,” Bruce said. “But just so you know for the future—if you have one—you hide like the Abominable Snow Man at a tea party.”

Gerald chuckled, and Bruce gave him a thumbs-up.

Bruce looked back at the two. “Since you know who I am, you can guess why I’m here. You have certain merchandise I was supposed to protect. You stole it. I want it back.”

Jamison’s eyes locked on me. “You look familiar, too. Are you some hooker I laid? Must not have been very good ’cause I don’t remember much about you.” He grinned.

I stood in the center of the room. I’d been watching the situation develop, admiring how professional Bruce and Gerald were. With Jamison’s eyes boring into me, I unrolled my waistband, allowing the skirt to settle to its natural length, then pulled the peasant blouse up onto my shoulders, covering most of the cleavage I’d been advertising. He’d seen all the peep show I intended to give him. With that done, I pushed the hair off my face, locking it behind my ears as best I could.

“Wait. I remember now,” he said. “That getup fooled me. Aren’t you the broad we left with the courier’s body? I thought the police would have you locked away by now.”

“Your mistake, buster,” I said. “You shouldn’t try to do something you’re not equipped to do.”

“Huh? What you mean?”

“Think.”

“Knock off the old home week crap,” Bruce said. “I’m here for the diamonds. Where are they?”

“Go to hell,” Jamison said.

“Sorry, Mac, but I don’t have time for games. Gerald, his thumb, if you please.”

Gerald walked to Jamison and grabbed his left hand. With a twist, he dislocated the thumb, leaving it jutting out at an odd angle.

Jamison screamed, tears glistening.

“How about you?” Bruce said to James who was busy looking at everything except his partner’s thumb.

“I … I don’t know where they are. He hid them.” He pointed at Jamison.

“You lying sack of shit,” Jamison screamed, cradling his wounded hand in the other. “I ain’t hid nothing.”

“Ah, brotherly love,” Bruce said. “Gerald, perhaps Jamison’s pinky, then James’ ring finger. Looks like they’re both right handed so keep it to the left for now.”

Gerald didn’t even bother to nod. He just followed orders, leaving both men writhing in pain.

Bruce pulled a straight-backed chair over so he faced them. “Gentlemen, let me explain the exercise. You’ve had a small taste of what the night holds for you. Gerald will keep breaking fingers until he runs out, then he’ll address your hands. Since you probably never had much schooling, let me inform you there are twenty-seven bones in the hand. Gerald knows how to snap each of them individually. If you’re still big brave men when he finishes with the hands, he’ll switch to your feet, starting with the toes and work his way up. Incidentally, there are twenty-six bones in each foot.” He paused and appeared to think. “Help me with my math here. Twenty-six times two equals fifty-two. Twenty-seven times two is fifty-four. Fifty-two plus fifty-four … Wow. That’s a hundred and six bones in your feet and hands. And since there are two of you, that’s two hundred and twelve bones. Imagine how much fun Gerald can have breaking each and every one of those. Of course, that many will take a while, meaning you’ll have more time to suffer between breaks. When he’s gotten that far, you’ll probably never walk again and never hold a pencil, or more likely, a remote control. Your hands will be useless. But he won’t be finished. He’ll work his way up. Ankles, shins, knees, wrists, forearms, elbows. He’s especially good with knees. In spite of the stress they can endure in normal activities, they are quite fragile. And Gerald knows how to get the most pain out of them.”

I was fascinated with Bruce. His tone was that of a person talking about a shopping trip to the supermarket, or a boring professor giving a lecture. Nothing in his voice or inflection was sinister, but the content was almost debilitating. I shivered. From what I could see, James and Jamison were suffering the same effect.

“Somewhere along the way,” Bruce continued, “you will tell me what I want to know. When you do, Gerald will quit breaking parts, we’ll collect the diamonds, and leave you to your pain. Depending on when that is, you might still be able to seek medical attention. But if it’s too late for you to use the phone, or walk, or call out to a passerby, you’ll just lie here and die in agony.” He looked at his watch. “I don’t have time to waste. I’m waiting for your decision. Should I ask Gerald to continue?”

James and Jamison spent a moment looking from Bruce to Gerald to one another to their injured hands. With each switch of the eyeballs, their looks of fear increased. After a couple of revolutions, there was no doubt they believed Bruce.

“The briefcase is under the bed in the back bedroom,” Jamison said. “We ain’t tried to move the diamonds yet. They’s all there.”

“Gerald,” Bruce said.

Gerald walked down the hallway.

“You wouldn’t really break all our bones, would you?” James asked. “I mean, nobody’s that cold.”

“Of course not,” Bruce said. “Not me. I don’t like touching people, especially lowlifes like you. A gun is much faster and so much more sanitary. However, Gerald enjoys it so I allow him to entertain himself.”

James appeared to shrink into the sofa—or try to.

Bruce stood and looked toward the back of the house. “I hope you didn’t lie, Jamison. Gerald hates wild goose chases. They give him the urge to break something.”

I had stood mute through the whole show, but now felt the need to remind Bruce I was there. “Hey, leave enough for me to turn over to the police. We have a deal, remember?”

“Not to worry. I won’t cut out their tongues. They’ll be able to bark like the dogs they are.”

Gerald came into the room carrying a tan cowhide case. I recognized it as the one Jacobs, aka Garcia, carried—or its twin.

“Open it,” Bruce said.

Gerald put it on a chair, flipped back the lid, then lifted a piece of thick green felt. Even in the dim light, the diamonds gleamed, the most beautiful things I ever saw.

Without giving it a thought, I walked over and picked up a couple, then riffled my fingers through the others. I’m no expert, but I know perfection when I see it. They fit the definition. “My God,” I said. “As Bogie said in
The Maltese Falcon
, ‘The stuff that dreams are made of.’”

Bruce appeared at my elbow. “Yes. Aren’t they? We’ve done a good night’s work.” He closed the lid. “Let’s go, Gerald. Beth, they’re all yours.”