Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (20 page)

see a man at their breakfast table—Carlotta had never

allowed men she dated to spend the night while he was

growing up.

Carlotta looked up and smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you

this morning.”

That much was obvious. “I came back to get a clean shirt,”

he said, gesturing vaguely toward his room.

Coop bent down a corner of his paper. “Hi, Wes.”

“Uh, hi. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Coop said, biting into a piece of toast. “You?”

“Same.” He cleared his throat. “Did Carlotta tel you that

the D.A. reduced the charges to a misdemeanor?”

“Yeah, she mentioned it.”

“So, do you think I could come back and work for you

sometime? I swear, no messing around.”

Coop rubbed his chin. “I’l give it some thought.”

“Want some eggs?” Carlotta asked, pointing to a skil et on

the stove.

“Uh, no, thanks.” Wesley scratched his neck. Apparently

he was the only person in the room feeling awkward. His

sister was dressed in work clothes and Coop was ful y

dressed, too, although his hair looked damp and fresh

from a shower. It was clear that interpersonal activities

had taken place.

At the sound of footsteps behind him, Wesley turned to

see Jack Terry emerge, his gun by his side, his dress shirt

hanging open, his hair also wet from a shower.

“I heard the motion detector go off,” Jack said.

“It’s just Wesley,” Carlotta supplied unnecessarily. “Do you

want eggs, Jack?”

“Sure,” he said, setting his gun on the counter. “Hey,

Wes.”

Wesley gaped, looking back and forth between the

threesome. “Would someone please tel me what’s going

on here?” Then he held up his hands. “Wait—I don’t want

to know. I’l be out of your way in two minutes.” He turned

and strode toward his bedroom.

He heard Jack start to fol ow him, saying, “I got this,” but

he kept walking.

“Dude, I’m serious,” he said over his shoulder. “Spare me

the sordid details.”

When he opened his bedroom door, he noticed his bed

was neatly made, with a pile of sheets at the foot.

Jack walked in behind him and closed the door. “Don’t cal

me dude, dude. And it’s not what you think. Coop slept in

here last night and I slept on the couch.”

“Is that some kind of hinky way for both of you to keep the

other one from sleeping with my sister?”

Jack jammed his hands on his hips. “No. Michael Lane

escaped from the psych ward, so I came over to keep an

eye on Carlotta. Coop came by after midnight—I think he

was having some kind of crisis. Carlotta asked him to stay.”

“Ruined your plans, huh?”

Jack straightened, but by the way he averted his gaze,

Wesley knew he was right.

“Look,” Jack said, “like it or not, your sister has a life.”

“No, my sister needs a life,” Wesley retorted, stepping

closer. The man towered over him and outweighed him by

eighty pounds, but he was past worrying about it. “You

don’t care about anything except getting into her pants.”

“That’s not true.”

“Dude, I know you’re banging Liz Fischer, and probably a

few other broads, too. Carlotta’s just another booty call to

you.”

A muscle worked in the detective’s jaw. “I understand you

and Liz have been getting busy.”

Wesley lifted his chin. “That’s right. And Liz is probably

getting it from a half-dozen other guys besides us, man—

that’s what she’s about. But my sister wants the fairy tale,

and after all she’s been through, she deserves it.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly. “I know.”

“Then step back, man. She digs your big, bad cop routine,

but you can’t give her what she wants. At least Coop and

Peter both care about her. If you take your dick out of the

equation, maybe she can settle down with someone she

has a chance of being happy with.” He walked over to his

closet and pul ed out a clean shirt.

Silence boomed in the room. Finally Jack said, “Since when

did you get so smart?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Wesley stripped off the old shirt and

shrugged into the clean one. “I’m a genius, dude.”

Jack’s mouth flattened. “Wel , get your genius ass to the

station sometime this week. I need to talk to you and your

attorney about this business with Hol is Carver.”

While Wesley buttoned his shirt, he squinted, trying to

recall his schedule. Lately his short-term memory was like

Swiss cheese. “I have my community service this morning,

then I have to meet with my P.O. How about tomorrow

afternoon?”

“Won’t work for me. Let’s shoot for Friday afternoon. I’l

give Liz a call and see if she can make it.”

Wesley glanced at his watch. “I gotta get going or I’l be

late.”

“Your community service—how’s that going?”

“It sucks a big hairy one,” Wesley said. But even as he said

it, he admitted he was looking forward to seeing what Meg

would wear today.

“Earth to Wes.”

He blinked and pushed up his glasses, then lifted his gaze

from the vee of Meg’s T-shirt where it gaped open just

enough to reveal a pink-and-green plaid bra.

She leaned across the table where reams of paper were

strewn between them. “Are you stoned?”

He scoffed. “What? Of course not.”

“Your pupils look smal .”

“It’s the glasses, man.”

“I’m not a man.”

“I noticed.” When she raised her eyebrows, a flush

crawled up his neck.

Meg was obviously unconvinced by his denial. “You’re

moving in slow-motion—what gives?”

“Just tired, I guess.”

“You’re too young to be tired. What are you going to be

like when you’re forty?”

“Probably dead,” he said matter-of-factly. Especial y

considering the company he’d been keeping.

“That’s not close to being funny,” Meg said with a frown.

She stood and started gathering her notes, her body

language angry.

“What’s your problem?” Wesley asked.

“You. You have everything going for you, yet you’re pissing

your life away.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”

He lifted his hands, at a loss. “I thought we were supposed

to work together on this project.”

“Isn’t it time for you to leave?” Meg asked, pecking on her

watch.

He glanced at his watch. “Oh. Right.”

“You’re welcome to join me and the guys for lunch,” she

offered halfheartedly.

“Uh, no, thanks. I need to be somewhere.” He had to meet

his probation officer.

“Do you need to be anywhere tomorrow night?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“We’re going to Screen on the Green in Piedmont Park if

you want to drop by…or not, it’s up to you.”

He scratched his temple. “What’s playing?”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

His back stiffened. “That’s a chick flick.”

“It’s a classic, idget. Forget it, you wouldn’t appreciate it

anyway.” She dismissed him with an exasperated sigh. “I’l

keep working on the encryption this afternoon and we’l

pick up tomorrow morning. Try to show up sober and be

ready to do something besides stare at my chest for four

hours, how about it? And read this.” She tossed a

hardcover manual at him. He tried to catch it, but his

reflexes were slow. It bounced off his chest and fel on the

floor with a thud. She shook her head, then turned and

walked away.

Wesley watched, wondering if her panties matched the

preppy, plaid bra. Then he leaned over and picked up the

manual he’d already read twice. He pushed up his glasses,

wondering how Meg could tel that he was on something

and if she’d rat him out.

As he left the ASS offices and walked to MARTA to make

the trek to his probation officer’s building, he mul ed over

Meg’s comment.

Why did women assume that if you weren’t going to

school to pursue some kind of corporate ball-and-chain

gig, you were pissing your life away?

Although maybe he’d think about taking some col ege

classes in the fall. A popular professional poker player had

once commented that a col ege course in logic had given

him the edge he’d needed to win some of the biggest pots

in the history of the game.

He was feeling a little shaky by the time he reached the

building that housed his P.O.’s office, but he decided it

might not be such a good idea to pop an Oxy just before

his appointment. He had the vial of neutralizer to add to

the cup if E. Jones asked for a urine sample, but he didn’t

want to push his luck.

He walked into the waiting room and scanned the diverse

col ection of people slumped in chairs before walking up to

the check-in window.

“Wesley Wren to see E. Jones.”

“Sign in and take a seat,” a woman said without looking

up.

He did, easing into an empty chair and trying to relax. His

neck was wet with sweat and his heart was beating a little

too fast. Behind his glasses, his left eye was twitching. He

passed the time by looking around the room and trying to

decipher people’s “tel s,” the mannerisms that everyone

exhibited that divulged something about them to anyone

interested or observant enough to study them for a while.

The prostitutes and the thugs in the room were easy to

pick out from their costumes, questionable piercings and

bad tattoos. The more interesting prospects were the

people who looked as if they didn’t belong on this end of

the legal system. Take the suburban-looking woman

wearing enormous sunglasses, for instance. Judging from

the way she kept wetting her lips and swallowing

convulsively, she’d probably gotten one too many DUIs.

And the guy with grease under his nails who kept cracking

his knuckles was probably a car thief. The professional-

looking guy in the suit who paced near the door using his

BlackBerry with an angry scowl was probably in trouble for

poisoning a neighbor’s barking dog. He continued around

the room, making up stories that matched the tics and

body language he read. People-watching kept him sharp

between card games.

“Wren, you’re up!” the check-in lady shouted a few

minutes later.

He pushed to his feet and walked to the door that led to a

hallway of offices, then headed toward the one labeled E.

Jones. When he neared it, the door opened and his P.O.’s

boyfriend, Leonard, walked out, closing the door behind

him.

Wesley blinked. The big beefy guy who ran drugs for

Chance had swapped his black jeans, black T-shirt and

biker boots for a suit, dress shirt and…loafers?

When Leonard looked up, he did a double take, his face

quickly turning from friendly to furious.

“Going to a funeral?” Wesley asked.

The big man glanced over his shoulder to the closed door,

then shoved his face into Wesley’s. “Yeah, yours if you say

anything to Eldora about my little side business.”

“Mum’s the word, dude.” He sniffed. “Nice cologne. Is it

Celine Dion’s?”

Leonard hooked his foot behind Wesley’s leg and in one

motion, Wesley landed on his back with an unff.

The door opened and E. stepped out. She wore dark slacks

and a silky blouse, and her long red hair was twisted into a

knot at the nape of her neck. Her lovely face was creased

in concern. “Leonard? Wesley?”

“A little col ision,” Leonard said with a smile, then reached

down to pull Wesley to his feet as easily as if he were a

little girl. “You okay, man?”

He gave Wesley’s shoulder a squeeze near his neck with

enough precise pressure to immobilize his left side.

“Yeah,” Wesley managed to say.

“You sure?” Leonard said, increasing the pressure until

Wesley’s eyes watered.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Leonard released him. “Good. See you around.” He turned

to E. “I’l see you tonight, babe.”

She nodded, casting her beautiful smile on the

undeserving oaf. When he’d gone, she turned to Wesley.

“Ready?”

“Sure,” he said, then fol owed her into her office.

“Sorry about that,” E. said as she walked behind her desk

to sit. She gestured to a chair, so he could do the same.

“Wasn’t your fault,” he said, riding a line of frustration that

she was oblivious that her boyfriend was such a shady

character. “What does your boyfriend do for a living?”

She flipped through file folders on her desk. “Leonard is a

pharmaceutical sales rep,” she said absently.

Wesley almost smiled. The best lies were mostly true.

“What kind of drugs?”

“Cancer drugs,” she said with a proud smile.

“Really? Wow.” He gave the man points for originality.

Somehow he doubted the pharmaceuticals in the duffel

bags Chance handed off to Leonard had anything to do

with chemo.

“So, how are you?” E. asked, clasping her hands.

“Good,” he said, nodding. A trickle of sweat slid over his

temple and down his cheek. He caught it with a brush of

his hand and hoped she didn’t notice. His left eye was

twitching again and his skin felt as if ants were crawling al

over him. He was craving another hit of Oxy.

“I see another thousand hours was added to your