Two for Flinching (14 page)

“You know it.”

“Rhode Island, huh?”

“What he said.”

“Any idea what state that’s in?”

***

Erin was out on the town, the princess
finally in bed, worn out by her big day with family, and I was on
the computer. A glass was on the desk. A big one.

I hadn’t had much luck tracking down Derrick
Fletcher’s background. Without a middle name, social security
number, or last known address, the search was too broad. There were
some possibilities—too many possibilities—and I didn’t see the
point in chasing it down further. He was in Chickasaw Falls, not
Providence or Boston, so his address wouldn’t do me much good. He
was a hitter so any criminal record he had was fluff. He was with
Starling now in the Dixie Mafia, so whatever outfit he had been
associated with had no bearing.

Fletcher concerned me for the sole reason he
was dangerous. I didn’t need Andy to tell me that; I could see it
the first time we met. Fletcher was only here because of Starling
and that was the real problem. A New England hit man and the Dixie
Mafia were looking for Amber Noble. Fletcher told me they meant her
no harm and I believed him. But for the life of me, I couldn’t see
why they wanted her found. I would have to take that up with Steven
the next time we talked.

My glass was empty and I took it into the
kitchen. I dropped in a handful of ice, filled it with dark
Bacardi, splashed in a little coke and a taste of lime juice. Real
limes were better, but the juice was a whole lot easier to work
with.

Amber Noble had been gone for one week and I
knew she wasn’t coming back.

Chapter Twenty

The Lexus was waiting for me in the sock
factory lot. I parked across from him, about halfway down. It would
increase my exposure time, but it would break my habit patterns. I
hadn’t seen Starling and Fletcher for several days and that
concerned me. I would have felt better if I had known where they
were—especially Fletcher—and until I was confident they had left
town, I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

The door popped open as I approached. He was
in a dark, carefully tailored suit and a silk tie. Expensive
overcoat. Heavy bags under the eyes, the lines across his face
looked deeper. He was in obvious misery.

“Morning, Melvin.”

“Beason.”

He followed me up the metal stairs and waited
patiently while I unlocked the heavy outer door, then the door to
my office. Jenks took off his coat and dropped it over one of my
decrepit wooden visitor chairs. He didn’t sit, choosing to
pace.

“I did what you told me and it didn’t
work.”

As if it was my fault he was playing
office tag with his secretary.
“You gotta give it time.”

He ignored my suggestion. “What am I supposed
to do now?”

I sighed. “What does your lawyer say?”

“I don’t have a lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer?”

“Actually, I have three lawyers. A real
estate lawyer, an estate lawyer, and a financial lawyer. I don’t
have a divorce lawyer.”

“You need to get one.”

“Why?” he demanded. “I’m not getting a
divorce.”

“Prepare for war, pray for peace.”

“I’ve got nothing without Cynthia.” He
stopped long enough to hold out his hands. “I’ll just do whatever
that prick she sent asks.”

I shook my head. Eric was going to kill me.
“How long have you and Cynthia been together?”

“Since college.”

“She went for you because you laid down for
her?”

He smiled, remembering pleasant memories.
“She said I was the first man who stood up to her.”

“Exactly. She was attracted to you because of
your strength. If you want her back, you can’t show weakness
now.”

Jenks snapped his fingers. “Hey, that’s
pretty good. Can you recommend somebody?”

“Beth Sproat. She’s one of the best.” I
quickly added, “Don’t mention my name.” If word got out that I was
referring the opposition to quality representation, I would be out
of business in a week.

“So I should do whatever she says?”

“No. Where are you staying?”

“Hotel.”

“The first thing she’ll advice you to do is
move back in the house.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I shook my head. “Not if you want Cynthia
back. How would you feel if you had to lie down next to somebody
chasing every skirt in town?”

“I’m not doing that anymore.”

“I know that,” I admitted. “Cynthia, however,
doesn’t. She needs her space and won’t get it if you keep bumping
into each other.”

Melvin frowned, resumed pacing. “Then why
would the lawyer to tell me to move back in?”

“She won’t be concerned with restoring the
marriage—only the divorce. A quirk of the law is that whoever moves
out is relinquishing their right to the property.”

“I don’t give a shit about the house.”

“Exactly. Get an apartment, show a little
backbone, let her know you’re not going to lie down.”

Another frown. “This is going to be
hard.”

“I expect so.”

More pacing.

“Then what?”

I shrugged. “Let her know you still love her,
that you don’t want this, but if she is looking for a fight, she
can have one. Show her you’re still the man she fell in love
with.”

“At the bar, you told me to do whatever the
lawyer said.”

“That’s when I thought you were getting a
divorce.”

Melvin stopped. “What do you think now?”

“Now, I don’t know.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Beason. How much do I owe
you?”

“For what?”

“I want to pay you for your time.”

“Melvin, I can’t take money from you. I’m not
a counselor. Besides, I work for the other team.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

***

I slid into the booth a few minutes before
the appointed time. I ordered a sweet tea and the waitress left me
with a menu, though I wouldn’t look at it. Some routines are
unbreakable.

He walked into the restaurant at the stroke
of noon, a button down blue shirt, black slacks. The regal bearing
he wore like cologne. He gave me a slight nod as he took the seat
opposite to me. The waitress appeared and put a coke before
him.

“Good morning, Judge.”

“Morning, Vicki.”

“The usual?”

“Please.”

“Beason?”

“Turkey club.”

Vicki shook her head, smiling. “You
boys.”

“How you been, Luther?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Rochelle back yet?”

Luther gave me a curious look. “Who told you
about that?”

“You did.”

“When?”

“Last week,” I said. “After you ran off the
power company truck with that shotgun.”

He broke eye contact, carefully unwrapped his
silverware, sipped his coke. “She’s home.”

“Everything okay?”

He held out his hands. “We’ll see.”

Rochelle was Luther’s second wife with whom
he shared a second family. His starter wife had left him when she
had learned about Rochelle, taking their two kids with her, a son
my age and daughter a few years younger. Rochelle had effortlessly
moved in and promptly became pregnant.

“How’s your dad?”

My parents and Luther and the original Mrs.
Strange had been close, family barbeques, Martin and I sharing an
interest in martial arts, traveling across the state and the south
for competitions. The relationship had cooled with the divorce,
then warmed with time, never reaching its previous status.

“He’s good. I saw him yesterday. Business may
be starting to pick up.”

“Tell him I said hello.”

Something about the way he said it and
something about how my father had reacted when I mentioned Luther’s
name told me they were on the outs. It happened. Two strong
personalities clashing before gradually coming back together. I
could ask and find myself in the middle of a minor feud or I could
let it go. “How’s Martin?”

“Good. He’s hoping to make partner this
year.”

“I’d bet he’s working his ass off.”

“You’d bet right.”

The food came and we dug in. Luther’s usual
was a shrimp pasta concoction I had tried once. It couldn’t touch
my sandwich.

“What are you working on?”

“I’m looking for Amber Noble.”

“The restaurant owner’s wife?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“She may or may not have left him,” I
explained. “That’s why I’m looking.”

“They always come back.”

“Really?”

Luther smiled. “Most of the time.”

“I’m also looking for Stella.”

“Stella?” He pushed back from the table.
“Why?”

“Sarah asked me to.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

He thought about it, dug in his pasta and
came up with a shrimp. “How’s it going?”

I shook my head. “I figured it would take an
hour—tops—on the computer. But it looks like they went to the bank
that day and were abducted by aliens. No activity on their socials,
no new addresses—not even anything on her car.”

“You think they got new identities?”

“I did. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?”

“New ID’s take time—and money—to do right.
They didn’t leave with much and I don’t really see the point.” I
set the sandwich down and sipped from my tea. “I could understand
them dropping off the grid for a while, until I calmed down, but
not for this long.”

“You’re not exactly known for your forgiving
nature.”

“Probably not. Stella was never afraid of me
and Adrian acted like he wasn’t. She had a baby and he had two
kids. As low as my opinion of them is, it’s still hard for me to
believe they could walk away so completely.”

“It happens.”

“Stella hasn’t even contacted her mother and
you know how close they were.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. Nobody can lie like Felicia,
but I’ve seen that old hag drop crocodile tears over her daughter.
She even encouraged me to look.”

“Huh.” Luther took his glasses from his nose
and laid them gently on the table. “What do you think
happened?”

I took a bite from my heaping sandwich,
afraid to even put into words what had been nagging at the back of
my mind. “They may have got caught into something Adrian and I were
working on.”

“Something serious?”

“Definitely.”

“Mighty big coincidence for them to vanish
right after looting the checking accounts and it be something
else.”

“Yeah.”

Luther smoothed his tiny mustache with thumb
and forefinger. “You may not want to solve this one.”

“I don’t. Sarah does. She deserves to know
what happened to her mother.”

He shook his head. “Damn mess.”

“Yeah.”

We finished and both of us left a ten on the
table. As we walked to the door, Luther turned to me. “Beason?”

“What?”

“Where did you put my shotgun?”

***

The parking lot was mostly empty, whatever
the lunch crowd had been had already broken up. The sky was slate
grey, the threat of rain hanging in the air. I left the Jeep and
pulled my leather jacket close, unwilling to zip it and restrict my
movements. Still no sign of Starling and Fletcher.

The place was dark, not the classy kind of
dark, the gloomy kind of dark. Dark wood floor, dark paneling, few
windows, little in the way of lights. The furnishings were old, not
antique, the air close and a little musty.

No one greeted me at the door. I climbed onto
a stool at the empty bar. A few minutes passed before a man came
out and gave me a double take. Black button down, black pants.

“What can I get you?”

Finally, a bartender who didn’t know me by
drink.
“The owner.”

“The owner?”

“Yeah. I had a bad muffaletto yesterday and
spent all night on the can. I need to speak to the owner of this
place—not the manager.”

“Uh.” He looked over both shoulders for help.
He didn’t find any. “Let me see if he’s still in.”

“He better be or I’ll be going by his
house.”

“Hang on.” He beat feet and retreated back
into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the owner came out, his back
stiff, ready to do battle. Black button down. Black pants. Arm
wrapped, no sling.

Steven shook his head when he saw me.
“Beason.”

“We need to talk.”

Steven turned to the barkeep at his elbow.
“I’ve got this. Go help clean up.”

“Sure.”

Steven took a rag and began wiping down the
bar. “You want a bowl of gumbo or something?”

“I’ve already eaten,” I said. “Have you heard
from Amber?”

“No. Have you?”

I shook my head. “No trace of her. Yet.”

“What do you want?”

“Is Amber in some kind of trouble?”

“Trouble? What do you mean?”

“Is she in any legal trouble?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Two members of the Dixie Mafia have been
following me lately.”

“Dixie Mafia?” More of the bar wiping. “I
thought that was a myth.”

“Evidently not. They’ve been pressuring me to
find Amber.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I said, “they’re
not pressuring you.”

We were silent for a long moment.

“Steven, what has Amber gotten herself
into?”

He took a deep breath, looking up at the
ceiling. “She’s been acting weird lately. Suspicious, like she was
hiding something from me.” His gaze fell on me. Hard. “I thought it
was because she was fucking you.”

Those bottles at the back of the bar beckoned
to me, calling me by name. I tried to ignore them. It wasn’t even
two o’clock

“What was she into, Beason?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Plenty of drugs in a hospital.”

“I doubt that’s it,” I said. “I think she may
have seen something or heard something she wasn’t supposed to.
Wrong place at the wrong time.”