The Red Hot Fix (36 page)

Mort took the burger and bag of fries Micki handed him and settled behind his desk. It had been a long night of paperwork and phone calls from nervous politicians who wanted assurance the case against Pierce and Ingrid was rock solid. All mouthed the party line of wanting justice to run its course, but their jitters convinced Mort they were more concerned about returning campaign donations. He was bone tired and the anticipation of a bacon double cheeseburger was the only thing keeping him awake.

“The kid okay?” he asked.

“He’s been processed. Due to be arraigned tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “Jail’s got Pierce on a suicide watch. Word is he’s sitting on his cot, crying and staring at the walls. Can’t say the same about his mama.”

Micki chewed and swallowed. “I was over there this morning. Ingrid’s cell needs a revolving door. Sports lawyers, business lawyers, estate lawyers. David Jonnell is leading the criminal stuff.”

“Any representation for Pierce?” Mort asked.

Jimmy shook his head. “Not yet. I think Mom’s the prize. I’m sure she’ll get him the best money can buy once she’s settled in.”

Mort felt a wave of pity for Pierce Stinson that even the vision of Reinhart Vogel lying in a pool of blood couldn’t ease. “Keep me posted.” Mort needed a change of topic. He tapped the newspaper sitting on his desk. “Nineteen-point loss. Lakers take it in six and the Wings are out of the playoffs.”

“And LionEl’s out of a career,” Jimmy said. “Papers are reporting four broken vertebrae. He’s headed for surgery this afternoon and many long months of rehab. Let’s hope he’s invested well.”

Mort remembered the sneer on LionEl’s face as he told the story of meeting Allie in the Dominican Republic. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about LionEl’s stock portfolio.

“It’s going to be interesting to see what happens to the Wings.” Micki washed down the last of her burger with an icy sip of Dr Pepper. “Owner’s in jail. So’s her only heir. The team’s privately held. I think lawyers are gonna get rich and the commissioner’s gonna get ulcers figuring this one out.”

“I hope Barry Gardener’s okay.” Jimmy reached for a second burger. “I like the way that kid rolls.”

Mort was about to add he did, too, when his cell phone rang. It was a ringtone he’d assigned to just one person. He grabbed his phone, told Micki and Jimmy he’d be right back, and stepped out into the hall to answer.

“Hey there,” he said.

“Mort Grant and his team solve another puzzler.” Her tone seemed lighter than the last time they spoke. “I’m seeing you all over the television today. Told you Trixie didn’t kill Vogel.”

“So you did.” He was surprised how much he missed her. “Are you in town?”

“I am. What do you say I take the crime buster of the hour out to dinner tonight?”

“You’re on. I’m finishing up here and then I’m headed home for a nice long nap.”

“I’m sure you need it. How about I swing by and pick you up?” He loved how relaxed she sounded. “Six o’clock good?”

“Make it seven,” he said. “I want to be wide awake.”

They said their goodbyes and Mort returned to his office to find three grinning faces waiting for him, two human, and one canine.

“Only a woman would make you dart out of here like that,” Micki said.

Mort gathered the wrappings from his lunch and stuffed them in the wastebasket. He started to load his briefcase but stopped. “Who am I kidding? I’m headed straight to bed.” He turned to his friends. “You guys can close up here, right?”

“A hot date, Mort?” Jimmy asked. “You wanna borrow Bruiser? Women love him.”

Mort looked at the fuzzy behemoth staring longingly at the few remaining fries in front of Jimmy. “I think I can handle this. See you guys tomorrow. And let’s have nothing happen between now and then, okay? We’ve had enough excitement.”

Mort was playing golf with Edie. Allie and Robbie were in the cart, not quite teenagers. They were all singing a song about Ohio. Mort lined up his putt and was about to tap his ball when a clanging eruption torqued his aim. He looked up, ready to chastise the culprit breaking the
etiquette of the links, only to see his children disintegrate into a million dots of color and drift away on a soft breeze. Panic stabbed as he turned to Edie. She stopped singing and graced him with loving eyes. The clang roared again. His wife disappeared into the wind. He called out for her and was answered only by the recurring din. The mist of sleep lifted and Mort determined the source. He opened his eyes, pulled himself up on one elbow, and reached for his cell phone.

“Yeah.” Mort glanced at the bedside clock. Two minutes to six. He rubbed a hand over his face in a vain attempt to wipe away the fog.

“Get down here fast.” Jimmy’s urgency shoved any filament of fatigue out of Mort’s consciousness. “Trixie’s loose.”

Mort threw the comforter aside and swung his feet to the floor. “What the hell happened?” He stumbled his way to the bathroom.

“She’s been on the run fifty minutes.” Jimmy was all business. “We got the city locked down. Airports, taxis, train and bus stations. Her mug shot is all over the television and every patrol car in the state is on alert.”

“She on foot?” Mort tried to calculate the distance she could cover. “And how the fuck did she get loose?”

Jimmy grumbled a half moan. “Dipshit bailiff. Trixie had a court appearance this afternoon. Routine reading of the charges. Witnesses say she doubled over a few minutes in. Her attorney asks for a recess. Wants to take her into the bathroom, see what’s what.”

“You telling me there’s no security?” Mort gulped mouthwash, swirled the sleep out of his mouth, and spit into the sink.

“Standard court appearance. Last of the day. Just a pair of bracelets,” Jimmy said. “Bailiff escorts Trixie and her lawyer to the bathroom, takes her cuffs off and stations himself by the door. Her lawyer takes her in. Bailiff says the lawyer rushes out a few minutes later yelling over her shoulder that Trixie got her period and is cramping like a son of a bitch. Tells the bailiff there’s blood everywhere and asks him to stand guard while she tracks feminine hygiene products. Bailiff stands there like a dickwad for nearly forty minutes before the judge’s clerk comes by asking about the holdup. Somebody finally bothers to check the bathroom.” Jimmy’s irritation came in loud and clear over the phone. “There’s blood, all right, but it’s pouring out of Judy Knoll’s nose and ears.”

“Judy Knoll?” Mort knew the name. “Trixie’s lawyer?”

“Now we know why Trixie kept firing the high-priced talent. We thought she went for the rookie to set up an appeal. Turns out they look enough alike that if Trixie put on her clothes and ran past some dick-for-brains with an uncle connected enough to get him a bailiff’s job, she could scoot right past him. I’m sure it didn’t hurt she was screaming about some girl on her period.”

“The lawyer okay?” Mort pulled his shoes on.

“She was unconscious when they found her, but the paramedics caught a pulse. She’s on her way to Harborview.”

“Get Micki down there. Have her call me the second the lawyer’s conscious.” Mort closed the phone, grabbed his service revolver off the bureau, and headed down the stairs. He snatched his car keys from the table by the front door, crossed to the kitchen on his way to the garage, and fell to the floor when Edie’s favorite cast-iron skillet crashed into the left side of his skull.

“Come on, Mort,” Trixie cooed as she dribbled ice water over his head. “Wake up. Our movie’s about to start.”

Mort struggled to lift his head and electric sparks arced from one ear to the other. His right arm flexed, but wouldn’t move. He pried unwilling eyes open. It was like looking through Vaseline. Slow blinks cleared his vision enough to assess his situation. He was in his kitchen. Duct-taped to a chair. Shoulders and chest secured so tightly it was work to breathe. Each ankle lashed to its own chair leg. He swallowed and tasted the bitter metal of blood.

Trixie stepped in front of him and pushed his head up. “Wakey, wakey.” She bent to bring her nose within an inch of his. Her blue eyes soulless ice. “You’d rather be sipping that glass of Pinot with me right now, wouldn’t you?” Trixie stepped to the counter. She ran her hands over the knife block. Mort remembered the summer he bought it for Edie. He could afford the heavy wooden block and only one of the expensive Japanese knives she’d drooled over in the pages of her cooking magazine. It took him nearly four years, but he filled every slot. He loved how his wife casually found ways for guests to fawn over them.

And now Trixie defiled it with her touch. She made a show of selecting her tool, settling finally on a long fillet knife. “Time to pay the piper, Mort.” She inched the knife from the block, turning her wrist to inspect the working end.

I’m going to die on the same kitchen floor as Edie
.

Trixie laid the edge of the knife against his left cheek. She snapped her wrist and a surge of adrenaline laced with pain raced through him. His left arm instinctively flexed, bringing only a small hop of his chair.

“Rethinking that apology?” Trixie’s voice was satin insanity. “Pride will cut you faster than any junkie desperate for a score.” She traced the knife down his chest and lingered at his hip. Mort saw his blood smeared on its blade, gleaming red. Her hand pulled two inches farther
and she poised the knife across his thigh. “Wanna see?”

Mort grimaced as another quick slice tore through fabric and skin and a pulse of torture stung his body. Mort’s breath came in gasps.

Trixie lifted his chin with the knife point. He forced his eyes open despite the anguish and locked onto his assailant.

“Nothing to say, Detective?” She dug the tip just deep enough to puncture his skin before scraping it up to his mouth. “Some nasty cat got your tongue?”

Pain rocketed through him. Mort clenched his lips together. His last defiance to his killer would be silence. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure images of his children and grandchildren, but it was Edie who came to him. The gentle face of the teenage girl he met their first day in college. He heard her whisper his name. A warm calm enveloped him as she reached out. Her hand so close he could smell the violets of her favorite lotion. He tilted his head, leaning in for her caress. Trixie grabbed his hair, snapped his neck back, and exposed his throat. He felt no fear.

Stay with me, baby girl. Take this next step with me
.

Somewhere a bell rang. Mort kept his focus on Edie, even when Trixie released his hair with a rough yank.

“Who’s that?”

Behind closed eyes Mort watched Edie step back from him. He tried to reach for her but his arms wouldn’t move.

“Who is at your door, Mort?” Trixie slapped him hard enough his eyes opened in reflex. She could have been lovely, but the flaring rage on her face savaged any natural beauty. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to see Edie again.

The doorbell rang a second time.

Trixie set the bloody fillet knife on the counter. She wiped her hands on the tea towel Edie got that weekend in Friday Harbor and picked up his service revolver. “Tell me who it is or you’re not the only one who dies today.”

She slid the safety off. His mind refocused.

Oh, my God
.

A trickle of blood seeped in to lubricate Mort’s dry lips when he tried to speak.

“That’s my friend. Peggy Denise.” Mort needed to save the woman on his front porch. “Peggy Denise Simmons. Just be quiet and she’ll go away.”

“Why’s she here?” Trixie fluffed her hair with both hands and straightened the blouse she’d stolen from Judy Knoll’s battered body.

Mort’s voice was dry sand. “We’re supposed to have dinner. Peggy’s here to pick me up.”

“She a cop?” Trixie tucked his gun behind her back.

Mort swallowed the iron liquid gathering in his mouth. “Every cop in the state is out looking for you. She’s a friend. Ignore her and she’ll go away.”

Trixie leaned in to hiss into his ear. “Friend Peggy’s not going anywhere if she’s here all hot and sweaty for dinner with a handsome guy like you. Keep your mouth shut. Our movie’s not quite over. But I can always expand the cast.” She blew a stream of warm breath into his ear. “Do you believe me, Mort?”