A Bitch Called Hope (14 page)

Axel broke the seal on a pack of cards and shuffled. “How’s your day so far?” he said.

“Wrong question,” she said. Lawyers. They believed if they came at the same data from a different angle, it just might yield a different result. But in her world facts were truth.

Three Card Poker. No tells, no acting. No judgment. Listen to the sweet slap of cards on the table and the snick of poker chips. Bet on a queen, six, four, or better. Either you have the cards or you don’t, and there’s three cards behind them, better or worse. If Kline thought there was any chance in hell of casting doubt around the inhalers or setting up an alibi for Delia while she hosted a gala party, he was plain and simple crazy.

A cocktailer passed by her elbow. Why not? A martini with a twist. It wasn’t every day a girl got fired. Lennox folded on the jack, six, ten. Up sixty dollars, up a hundred. Pretty soon she was sitting on five hundred dollars’ worth of chips.

Two hours passed, just her and Axel. No rain, no August Kline telling her she wasn’t a cop anymore.

No case. But, sure, she’d have another beverage. Make it straight up this time. Do you have any cocktail onions?

Then a ten, six, four, all spades came her way. Flush. Axel pushed a stack of red chips in front of her. Riding the patterns, lost in numbers and suits, Lennox enjoyed yet another martini and threw a red chip on the ante.

“Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew. Look at you, are those your jammys?” The voice belonged to Friday night poker at the Shanty.

“Jerry!” she said. She slid off her chair to greet him and, whoa, she was somewhat wobbly. Jerry kissed her on the mouth the way he always did, mouth open like he was wrestling her tongue with his. So what? She was feeling warm and friendly.

“Axel,” she said. “This is my old poker buddy, Jerry. Jerry and I go way back. If you ever need an attorney, he’s your guy. Hey, can you give us a minute, Axel?”

She turned to Jerry. “His name’s Axel.”

“I gathered that,” Jerry said.

She said, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Holiday party for the staff. What about you, Sherlock? I thought you were on a big case.”

“Free as a bird.” She leaned towards him and said in a stage whisper, “I got sacked.”

Jerry took her arm and steadied her. “Did you tell Ham?”

“I’ve got a call in, but he’s in court all day.” It was one of those things. People can’t be available to you twenty-four seven. Sometimes you got to just deal with it. “Hey, I got to get back to Axel here. You play, too?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Axel broke a new deck of cards and dealt the next hand. She raised on a pair of eights and a deuce. A waiter asked them if they wanted anything.

“I’ll have a beer,” Jerry said. “Do you want a sandwich or something, Lennox?”

“Martini straight up, three onions.”

Lennox drew two queens and a king. A pair of fives and a three. The drinks came.

Jerry opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll get this,” he said. “And bring the nice lady a club sandwich. Whole wheat.”

With that martini, the cards got colder and colder. She got tired of it. Wanted to mix it up, get the juices flowing. She started betting, what the hell. Wasn’t this an entertainment industry?

Then her chips were all gone. She turned to Jerry. “We got to find ourselves a warmer table.”

“We got to get you home,” he said and scooped up his chips. He motioned for the waiter, paid for her untouched sandwich and told him to box it for them. They’d be at the cashier’s window.

“Why do we have to go home?” she said.

“You raised on a jack, seven, five. Where’s your wheels?”

“I’m not looking for any more goddamn cracks.”

“You’re making no sense. Let me find my partner. Here’s a twenty,” he said. He steered her to a stool. “Sit right here and play this nice game. Queen of the Nile, see? She even looks like you, sort of. If you wore eyeliner.”

“Good old Jerry,” she said.

The game was stupid, really. Match all five snakes. What did they call them in Egypt? Asps.

“Asps.” She said it out loud just to hear what it sounded like. It made her lips feel rubbery. She said it again. Asps. The Asian grandmother on the stool next to her gave her a look. The old granny was feeding hundred-dollar bills into the slot machine, so maybe Lennox was breaking her concentration.

Goddamn Kline, his so-called strategy. Poor Delia would be somewhere in her eighties before she was free again.

Jerry was back. “That’s my girl,” he said. “Put on your coat.”

“I hate lawyers,” she said.

“We all do,” Jerry said. He cupped her elbow and led her past the slots: Dolphin Treasure, Penguin Pays, Boot Scootin’. That sounded so fun:
I’m going boot scootin’
. Bars of turquoise neon bled into green over the machines. So lovely.

Jerry pushed the lobby door open. It was dark outside, still raining but not as hard as the drive down. Misty, moisty.

“I forgot my umbrella,” she said. “Axel’s got it.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Old Jerry sounded exasperated.

Jerry told her he’d buy her a new umbrella. Did she remember where she’d parked her car? Not exactly. But there weren’t a lot of Broncos in the parking lot, mostly RVs, SUVs and Buicks, so they found it pretty fast.

Once they were belted into their seats, Jerry turned the radio on.
Philosophy Talk
.

She guessed she must’ve fallen asleep because they were parked in her driveway. Her head felt like someone had shoved sand up her nose. She needed milk or something. Jerry helped her with her seatbelt, walked her to the door, unlocked it for her.

“You want to come in?” she said.

“No.”

“Don’t you need a cab or something? How about a drink?”

“Nothing to drink,” he said. He didn’t sound very happy. “But I’ll come in and wait for a cab.” Good old Jerry. God, she was thirsty.

He was standing in the middle of the living room.

“Sit,” she said. She patted the sofa seat next to her. He sat down. She wished he wouldn’t go; he was so nice. Really nice. Funny how she never really appreciated how nice he was before.

“Have a beer,” she said.

“The cab will be here in a minute,” he said.

She leaned closer to him on the sofa cushion. “You could stay here. Take advantage of me.”

He gently put his hand on her shoulder and tipped her back so she was no longer leaning against him. “You’re my friend,” he said.

Jerry being noble, if that didn’t cap it. Suddenly all that was lovely and very nice wasn’t.

“What is it, Jer?” she said. “Am I too old for you?”

“Fucking Christ,” he said. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. His glasses pulled away from his face. “Look. I know you’ve had a bad day.”

“Bad day? Try bad year. Hell, I’ll give you this year and raise you another.”

He pulled himself off the sofa and stood facing her. “Listen to me, Sherlock. You’re probably the smartest woman I know. You’ll figure out something.”

A car horn sounded outside.

“That’s my cab,” he said. He bent down and lifted her chin with one finger. Kissed her on the mouth.

“Take care, beautiful,” he said.

Chapter 21

Lennox woke facedown in bed. She lifted her head somehow, her mouth leaving a wet patch on the pillow. How she had reached her bed was anyone’s guess. Please, God, don’t make her guess. She stretched the muscles around her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to open them all the way. With great effort she pushed the quilt off her. Her raincoat was twisted around her body.

Lennox tried to sit up. The effort sent a wave of nausea over her. She did her best to swing her legs off the bed. Then realized she still had her shoes on. Her shoes? She must have been totally gone.

Kline fired her.
Invoice me for your time.
She couldn’t think. Tea and toast, then a hot shower. She’d be plenty good enough to face the day.

She stumbled downstairs.

Spirit Mountain. Green felt. Martinis. Never, never, never, never, never, never again. Her office phone rang. Let it.

The recorder clicked over to message: “Hey, beautiful. This is Jerry. Hope you’re doing okay.”

Jerry! Her blurred memory refocused. Jerry. Queen of the Nile. She’d put the moves on old Jer. And he’d turned her down. What the hell was his problem, not that she would relish hooking up with Jerry, but jeez.

Lennox poured water into the kettle, felt a wave of dizziness. There comes a point where a body can’t take on any more shame and Lennox was so there.

Tomorrow she’d feel human again. She’d drum up some business. By Friday night poker she’d face Jerry, look him straight in the eye. Tell him thank you kindly, how grateful she was her virtue was still intact.

Thirty-eight-fucking-years-old, in her sexual prime and she hadn’t been laid in a year. It was a big fat shame.

The doorbell rang. Lennox cracked the door. Alice Stapely stood on the porch, a to-go cup of coffee in each hand.

“You busted in on me a week ago. I figured what goes around.” Alice’s eyes took in Lennox’s wrinkled raincoat, her hair sticking out every which way. She made eye contact again.

Lennox cleared her throat. “I took care of that thing we talked about.”

That thing we talked about? What had happened to Lennox’s language skills? Probably drowned in gin along with countless other brain cells. Lennox tried again. “You shouldn’t be hearing from the Pikes again or that slimeball attorney, Fergusen.”

“Thanks,” Alice said, like Lennox had just passed her the saltshaker. “Remember before, you said you wanted to help?”

“I would help you; only right now, I’m sick,” Lennox said. “I’ve got a virus.”

“Yeah, I know the one.”

“Have mercy, Alice. Jeez.”

Alice’s face turned so dejected, she looked like the lost kitten in a velvet painting. “Oh, forget it.” She turned and started down the porch stairs.

A wave of guilt, more potent than the residual nausea, washed over Lennox. She leaned out the front door and called Alice back. Alice handed Lennox a coffee and followed Lennox into the house, smelling of patchouli and tobacco. She was dressed in a black knit tunic, leopard print leggings and work boots.

Suddenly Lennox had a need to sit down. She lowered herself onto the sofa cushions. “Just so you know, I’m no longer working for the Pike family.”

“Good. Those people think they’re above the law.” Alice flopped herself into an easy chair facing the sofa. “I’m not here about them. It’s Gabe, my boyfriend.” She ran a hand in her hair, pushed it off her forehead. “I wouldn’t bother you, only I can’t go to the cops. And I don’t know who else can help me that I can trust.”

Lennox sagged deeper into the sofa cushions. “What’s the problem?”

Alice started to fidget. She pried the lid off her coffee and stirred the froth with her straw. She settled the lid back on her cup. Took a sip. Took her jacket off. Finally decided to go ahead with whatever was troubling her. “If I hire you, then what I tell you has to remain confidential?”

Curiosity awakened in the few remaining brain cells Lennox hadn’t destroyed from all those martinis. She told Alice she could maintain confidentiality so long as Alice hadn’t killed anyone.

“See, it’s crazy,” Alice said. “Gabe’s always been this trustworthy, totally honest guy. Only now he’s quit both his jobs. And he’s got lots of money. He takes me out to dinner three times a week. Talking about publishing his comic book. Which is super great but it takes a huge pile of money to do that. He’s not talking black and white either. Full color, he says. And it’s not only publishing, but advertising that you have to have. Altogether it’s like twenty-four thousand. And last month he was scraping for his phone bill.”

“Have you asked him where the money came from?”

“Yeah, and you know what he says? He’s got a patron. A patron of the comic arts. I told him c’mon, pull the other one. He gets all pissy, says I don’t trust him. Which, frankly, I don’t.”

Lennox waited while Alice chewed her lip. There was more that was troubling her. Lennox sat patiently, giving her time.

“This is the crazy part,” Alice eventually said. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Three weeks ago? There was a bank robbery?”

“Pacific First,” Lennox said.

“I wondered, could he have gotten that desperate?”

“Alice, you don’t just decide to rob a bank one day.”

“I know, but what else could it be?”

Lennox tried for the easy explanation. An explanation so that Alice would slap her forehead, say of course! Why didn’t I think of that?

Folks? His mother shampooed dogs for a living. Drugs? Alice was dead sure he wasn’t dealing, and she would know. Girlfriends always do. Sugar daddy? God help her, Lennox didn’t want to go there.

Alice was serious. She even had Gabe’s social security number, bank accounts, passwords, the guy at Dark Horse Gabe was working with.

“This feels like an intervention.” Alice gripped the paper coffee cup until the sides started to cave in. “How much is your fee going to be?”

“It’ll probably take me an hour. That’s a hundred.” Lennox stood up. “If it runs more I’ll call you.”

Alice got to her feet, zipped up her jacket. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re all right.” Her look said Lennox had restored her faith in humanity.

A hundred-dollar gig and the waitress thought she was good people. It was a start. Lennox went in the bathroom and turned on the shower. After five minutes the hot water began to clear her head.

Why would a hard-working guy like Gabe hold down two jobs and then all of a sudden go off the rails and hold up a bank? Even hungover, Lennox knew that was a completely stupid premise. Ditto the patron. Patrons went out with the Medici. The Pike party was three weeks ago and Gabe had been a witness. This was blackmail. It had to be. Gabe saw something he wasn’t meant to see and didn’t put it together until he read in the paper that Bill was murdered.

What could he have seen? Smoking? Bill having an attack? The murderer handing Bill an inhaler? If Gabe was blackmailing the murderer, it couldn’t be Delia. She was in jail.

The poor kid had no idea he had a tiger by the tail. He was in the worst trouble of his life. If Lennox could get him to confide in her, she could save him. She couldn’t save Delia. It’s impossible to save someone whose head is a mile and a half up their ass. Save the young ‘uns.