Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (20 page)

“Have to. It’s my job to keep the boss safe.”

And there was my reality check. Sullivan’s choices put him in danger. Every time it hit me—that Sullivan lived in a world where he needed twenty-four-hour protection—I became anxious. I’d shoved it to the back of my mind so often, it was at home there, in the recesses of my brain. But when I confronted it, took a good look at the life Sullivan led, it horrified me. I didn’t want to lose him.

I picked up my Coke and took a long drink. With some effort, I pushed Sullivan’s crime lord status back into the closet and slammed the door.

After we finished, Henry threw a few bills down on the table and drove me to my apartment.

“What’s on for tonight?” he asked.

“I’m going to pack a bag, head over to the dojo and talk to Kai’s Muay Thai class, then pick up Candi Carlucci for the burlesque show.”

“Burlesque?” He sounded intrigued.

“Yep. Roxy’s friend is performing at Ruby’s Roadhouse.”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Henry went into full-on bodyguard mode. It probably wasn’t a noticeable change, but I could feel the heightened energy he gave off. I glanced over at him. His sharp eyes scanned the lot for anything out of place.

When we reached my apartment, he insisted on going in first and checking it out before giving me the all-clear. Then he waited in the hallway while I gathered my toiletries and threw clothes in my duffle bag. I glanced around, made sure I hadn’t missed anything vital that I might need for the next couple of days. Perhaps I was being optimistic, but I hoped I’d have this case solved soon. As much as I loved spending the night with Sullivan, I liked the comfort of my own little shabby apartment. All four hundred square feet of it.

Before we left, I made a call to Andre. “Thanks again for the wall. I really appreciate it.”

“Did it help?”

“I’m pretty sure Franco is getting drugs from Dr. Cadewell, the fight club doc. Sullivan said he’ll put an end to it.”

“Nothing else? No links between suspects and the victims?”

“Nothing new. I wish I could pin something on Wyatt Sanders.”

“You’re letting feelings cloud your judgment again, Miss Strickland.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to talk to some fighters at the dojo tonight. Henry’s coming with me, so I’m covered. What’s new on the Benson front?”

“Nothing. He ran errands, then went home, mowed the lawn, and he’s been inside the house for the last three hours.”

“Mrs. Benson should be thrilled he’s locked down tight.”

“She’s not home to enjoy it. She’s at an all-day yoga retreat. Have a good evening, Miss Strickland. Be careful.”

Chapter 20

The dojo waiting room was full of parents, mostly moms. Henry deliberately picked a seat that would give him a good view of the parking lot but keep his back to the wall. However, it required him to shoehorn himself between two women who appeared a little alarmed when he took up so much space. He literally rubbed shoulders with them.

“I’m going to look for Kai.”

I took off down the hall, peeking through several door windows before finding the right one. The Muay Thai class had paired up to spar, and I watched as Kai, dressed in a tank top and tight shorts, stopped to demonstrate a few techniques to various students. That’s when I saw Mohawk from the fight club, the one who called Rob a cheater.

Just then, Kai gazed toward the door and saw me. A minute later, he stepped into the hall.

“Hey, Rose. Glad you could make it.”

“Kai. How are you holding up?” Stupid question. Sorrow filled his eyes. He was obviously floored by Rob’s death.

“He was too young, you know. He had a kid and a full life ahead of him.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Have you talked to Sofia today? She’s a mess.”

“No, I’ve been working different angles and reviewing evidence. I
am
going to find Rob’s killer.”

“Maybe you should let the police take over. If what you say is true and Rob didn’t commit suicide, you’re dealing with a cunning psycho. Rob could take care of himself. Look what happened to him. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

When he put it like that…it made my stomach churn. “I’ll be okay. I have backup.” He raised his brows, questioning me, but I left it at that.

“Look, class is almost over. I’ll corral the guys you’ll want to talk to.”

“Speaking of, who’s the dude with the mohawk?”

“Jamie Peeler. He felt some kind of way toward Rob. They never brought it into class, and I don’t know what it was about, but it’s no secret Jamie didn’t like him.”

“I definitely want to talk to him.”

He reentered the classroom and led the group through a grueling series of side kicks before dismissing them. As soon as he bowed to the class, I entered and waited in the corner.

Most people trickled out, but four sweaty men gathered around Kai and me, forming a semi-circle. Jamie glowered and blew through the door without stopping.

I let him go as Kai introduced me to the four men: two white guys, Carter and Gap Tooth—I couldn’t remember his name—each holding an insulated SanderSprings Birch Sap water bottle, Monty, a short, lean African-American man, and a solid wall of muscle with short braids named Long John.

Kai turned his head toward the door. “I’ll go grab Jamie. Guys, I’d appreciate it if you’d answer Rose’s questions. She’s a PI.”

My cheeks flamed a bit. I’d never told him the truth—that I was a glorified assistant—and I felt a little ashamed about it. Not enough to come clean, mind you.

I eyed Carter and Gap Tooth. “You’re in Wyatt Sanders’ stable?”

They traded a glance.

“I know about the club,” I said, giving them my most reassuring smile. “I’ve met Wyatt. He’s insane.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Carter said. Gap Tooth tried to silence him with a glare, but Carter wouldn’t back down. “Hey, man, I don’t care. The guy hasn’t paid me in a month and his water tastes like ass.”

Exactly right. “Like Kai said, I’m a detective, and I’m looking into the deaths of Rob Huggins and Buster Madison.” Long John made the sign of the cross. “Did either man have any enemies, anyone who bore a grudge from a lost fight or something?”

Monty piped up. “Jamie doesn’t like Rob. He has problems with all the heavyweights, but he hated Rob hardcore.” The others nodded.

Long John rested his hands on his hips. His arm muscles flexed from his wrists to his shoulders. “I heard Rob killed himself. What’s that got to do with Buster?”

I craned my neck to stare up at him. “I have evidence that says otherwise.” A slight exaggeration. I had a
theory
.

Carter shuffled from one foot to the other. “Good, because that story about Rob taking too many pills—it never made sense to me. I knew him. We hung out after fights, and that dude never took any of the pain meds the doc prescribed. Said he wouldn’t risk it. His mom was an alkie.”

I looked at each of them in turn. “Did he argue with anyone? And who had issues with Buster? Help me out here, guys.”

Gap Tooth shook his head. “Buster was a salty old-timer, but we had nothing but love for him. The only person Rob argued with was his old lady. She was always on his ass to stop fighting.”

“Buster laid into Rob after his last fight,” Long John said. “Never knew what that was all about.”

Monty jutted out his chin. “What about the time that little guy came into the gym and tried to get the beat down on Rob?”

“That was a family beef, yo,” Gap Tooth said.

I’d been hoping Rob’s fellow fighters could point me to a new clue, but I’d struck out yet again. Still, I handed out my card and made them promise to call if they remembered anything that might be helpful.

I waved goodbye and headed to Kai’s office. Jamie “Mohawk” Peeler sat in the guest chair, knees spread wide, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

Kai waved me in. “Rose, this is Jamie. I’ll let you two talk in private.” He left and shut the door behind him.

I dropped my hobo bag on the floor. “So we meet again.”

Jamie didn’t say anything. Just continued
rat-tat-tatting
his fingers, getting faster by the second.

In the locker room at the fight club, I’d gone toe to toe with Jamie. He’d liked it when I confronted him, so I did it again. “Are you going to tell me why you called Rob a cheater?” I reached out and slammed my hand over his five-fingered drum solo. “Or are you going to sulk like a little girl?”

He grinned up at me. “You got some stones. I respect that.”

“You didn’t respect Rob, though, did you?” I withdrew my hand, but didn’t move back.

He scoffed. “No. I told you, Huggins was a cheater.”

“Because of the steroids?” My gaze roamed over him. Jamie’s right eye was still healing from a recent gash near his brow, and his nose had several bumps along the bridge.

“No, I overheard Rob talk about taking a dive.” He pursed his lips, shook his head. “I know people do it, but it don’t rest easy with me.”

“Rob was going to throw a fight?” That made total sense. He was too good. The Joes weren’t betting on him anymore. Sofia even told me Carlucci suggested it more than once.

The finger tapping started back up. “Thing is,” Jamie said, “I never thought Buster would do something like that, but he and Rob were making plans.”

“Buster, not Carlucci?” Finally—a freaking clue. Wait…could that have been why Buster was killed? Is that what he wanted to get off his chest? “Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Jamie gave up drumming and began bouncing the balls of his feet against the floor.

“I left the gym late one night, but I’d forgotten some of my workout clothes. When I went back to get them, I overheard Rob and Buster talking in the locker room. Buster was in deep with Sanders. We’re talking fifty-five G’s.”

“Buster couldn’t bet on the fights.” Like Pete Rose, Henry had said.

Jamie looked at me like I was dumber than a bag of hair. “He had someone place the bets for him. Not rocket science.”

“Fifty-five G’s,” I repeated. No wonder his house was in foreclosure. “Are you in Sanders’ stable?”

“You crazy? That man is apeshit. I work for Mr. Karl. And from what I hear tell, he wanted Rob to defect. Come over to our side.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Can you guys do that? Defect from one stable to another?”

“Nobody’s done it yet. Both parties would have to agree, and Mr. Karl would have to pay to trade, you know what I mean?”

Not really. “If Rob switched stables, Mr. Karl would have to pay Carlucci?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“Wouldn’t that debt fall back on Rob?”

“Ain’t nothing for free.”

“What would defecting do for Rob? He was trying to get out of debt, not deeper into it.”

“Extras. Sicker cars, more bank. He could buy formula for that kid of his.”

“But it never happened,” I said. “Rob might have agreed to throw a fight in order to help out Buster, but he didn’t follow through.”

“Nah, man, Rob was helping himself. He was too much of a sure thing. From what I heard that night, Sanders would pay out big if Rob threw the fight
and
clear Buster’s debt on top of it. Rob acted like he was on the fence, but Buster didn’t have to do a lot of convincing.”

“How big of a payout, do you know?”

“A hundred grand. Rob and Buster were going to do a seventy-five, twenty-five split. The way I see it, it wasn’t worth it. You take a fall like a punk bitch, you got no respect for yourself. No respect for your opponent.”

“When did you overhear this conversation?”

He scrunched his face in thought. “’Bout two or three weeks before Rob’s last fight.”

“Rob reneged.”

“He didn’t go through with it, if that’s what you mean. But he would have, sooner or later. Only a matter of time.”

“After the fight, Buster was furious with Rob.” That’s why they’d argued. Rob went back on his word. The hope of winning one hundred fights and gaining his freedom was too great.

“I imagine Sanders lost himself a whole lot of cash that night.” Jamie stood and swung his gym bag onto his shoulder. “He must have been wicked pissed.”

Pissed enough to kill Rob and Buster? Probably. Sanders was a paranoid, delusional nutball. It all made sense. I finally had a solid motive for Sanders as the killer.

Jamie strode to the door and, with his hand on the knob, turned back. “I can see Sanders being mad enough to kill Buster. One problem, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I work part-time at the Huntingford Men’s Club, parking cars.”

“Okay?”

HMC was the most exclusive clique in town. Initiation dues and annual fees cost more than some people make in a lifetime. Although a court battle forced the club to accept women into their midst in the late eighties, the sausage brigade refused to change the name.

“Sanders was there last night. I took care of his car personally, and he left right before the club closed at eleven. Asshole stiffed me on a tip. Word on the street, Buster was killed before that.”

True, but Sanders could have hired out. However, that would be nearly impossible to prove. Not without bank statements and phone records. Double damn. Another question to add to my endless list: how could Sanders afford to keep his membership to the HMC?

I was deep in thought when Jamie’s gaze tripped over me. “I saw you with Sullivan at the last fight. You his old lady or something?”

“Yeah. He’s…”
Everything to me.
Whoa. The truth of that hit me right in the solar plexus, left me a little breathless. Sullivan, for all his faults, his secrets, his dark past—or maybe because of them—had my heart. Totally and completely. “He’s mine.”

Jamie nodded and walked through the door.

Even if Sanders did hire someone else to do his dirty work, Rob’s death had been a calculated move. Buster’s death had been on the fly. Would a hired killer be that sloppy?

I flashed back to when Pete flipped on the lights at the gym. I’d looked down to see Buster lying in his own blood, his eyes wide open, his skin chalky. I swallowed the lump in my throat. It took several minutes to push the memory back down. Taking a deep breath, I left Kai’s office.

In the waiting room, he and Henry were chatting, but stopped when I appeared. “Did Jamie give you anything?” Kai asked.

“Yeah, he gave me a lead I need to track down. Thanks for letting me talk to the guys.”

“Of course. I’m still worried about you going after a killer.”

“I’ll be all right. Promise.”

“Just remember, if someone tries to attack, aim for the soft tissue. Eyes, groin, or throat.”

When Henry and I left the building, Kai locked up behind us. Henry’s head swiveled back and forth as he searched the parking lot. “What did you find out?”

“Rob was supposed to throw a fight for Sanders. In return, he’d get a load of cash and Buster’s debt to Wyatt would have been absolved. But it didn’t happen. Rob changed his mind, and Sanders more than likely lost a buttload of money.”

He opened the passenger door of the SUV for me. “Better call the boss. He likes to keep tabs. I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”

“Thanks, Henry.” He slammed the door, and I buzzed Sullivan.

“Rose.”

“Sullivan.”

“Where are you?”

“Kai Adams’ dojo.” I explained the situation to him. Then we played chicken—the boring phone version, each waiting for the other to talk.

Per yush, I gave in first. “Since Rob didn’t take a dive, Wyatt
could
have killed them as revenge. Not himself, of course, because he has an alibi for last night. I don’t know, though. Doesn’t gel with me.”

“Sounds like you have reservations with the kill-for-hire theory.”

“I do. Rob’s death was meticulous.”

“I’m still not convinced he didn’t do it himself,” Sullivan said. “He may not have taken drugs in the past, but when people are desperate enough, they do things that surprise you.”

He was right. I’d never met Rob. Everything I knew about him had been filtered through other people’s experiences. Rob did have a cache of pills hidden away. He may have been so torn up over losing his family, he decided to end it all. “Maybe. I’m still leaving Sanders on my suspect list.”

“I would. He’s a slick son of a bitch.”

“Tell me again why you partnered up with him?”

He answered by hanging up.

I tried to talk Henry into dropping me off at Candi’s place. No dice. He rolled up to the gates and stated both our names for the electronic monitor. He even dug out his ID and flashed it.

The gates drifted open and he drove down the long winding drive. Ground lights filled the yard, spotlighting various trees and plants. Then I finally got a glimpse of the house itself.

I had been expecting another Rutherford-style mansion, something traditional and old-worldly. Not even close. While Carlucci’s house wasn’t an ice sculpture, like Wyatt Sanders’ building, it was très modern. Blocks of concrete towered four stories high. Gray and unadorned, it reminded me of a prison rather than a home. Dark curtains blinded the windows.

“I’ll wait here,” Henry said. “And I’ll follow you to the club. I’m sure Carlucci will have his own detail on you ladies, so you’ll be doubly safe.”

“Thanks, Henry. Sorry you’ve been on Rose patrol all day.”

He flashed that frightening smile. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

I climbed out of the car and slammed the door. When I took one step, two large dogs ran from the side of the house straight toward me—Dobermans.

Growling deep and salivating, they stood side by side, blocking my way. Taking an aggressive stance by lowering their heads, I knew they were going to leap for my jugular any second now. My heart stuttered in fear as I froze, not even daring to breathe. But I couldn’t stop a trickle of sweat from dripping down my temple or the fear grinding low in my belly.

Henry was out of the car, his gun pointed at the nearest dog’s head. Before he could pull the trigger, a man rounded the corner and whistled. Must have been some kind of command because the two demon dogs dropped to the ground and stopped growling.

“Get rid of these dogs or I’ll kill ’em both,” Henry said. His voice was cold, devoid of any inflection.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” the man said.

Wasn’t planning on it. I gave him a hasty glance—dressed completely in black, he carried a semi-automatic rifle—before lowering my gaze to the dogs.

He drew closer. “Back.”

I tried to take a step backward, but my butt was smashed against the car door as it was. “I can’t.”

“Not you. The dogs. Back,” he said, in a firmer voice.

One of them yawned, and both took their time standing. Then turning, they loped off.

The man nodded at Henry. “Sorry about that.”

“You’d be a hell of a lot sorrier if Sullivan’s woman was hurt.” Henry shoved his gun in his holster.

“I’m going to frisk her and escort you off the property. Carlucci won’t allow any guns here other than his own.”

“You can try, but I’m staying. She’s my priority, not Carlucci. Go call him. You don’t want our bosses to get into a pissing match over this.”

This guy might be part of Carlucci’s detail, but even he seemed wary of Henry. He stepped away to make a call, but kept his eyes on us the whole time as he gripped the gun in his right hand. That was some serious hardware. Carlucci wasn’t screwing around.

The man thrust his phone in his pocket and moved toward us. “You stay in the car. She can go inside. I still have to frisk her.”

Henry barely nodded in agreement.

I held my body very still as the man patted me down with his free hand. I tried not to jerk away as he slipped his large palm along my inner thighs or when he cupped my boobs, even checking the space between them, as if I might have a shank tucked away in my teeny tiny bra. Though his movements were conducted in an impersonal way, it felt very intrusive.

“Now your bag.” He swung the strap of the gun on his shoulder, and after grabbing a flashlight from his utility belt, rummaged through my purse. “You’re good.” He shoved the hobo bag into my chest and retreated two steps, giving me a little breathing room. “Sorry, Miss Strickland. We have to take precautions. You can go on in—the door’s unlocked. Candi’s waiting for you.”

I glanced at Henry, and he nodded once more. I walked around him, following the concrete pavers leading to the front entrance. By the time I reached the smoky glass door, I’d started to breathe normally again.

Sullivan had said Carlucci recently tightened his security. However, this wasn’t simply adding an extra layer of protection. That guy had practically given me a breast exam. What kind of threat was Carlucci facing? And in light of Rob and Buster’s deaths, I guessed I couldn’t blame him.

The door didn’t have a standard knob, but a vertical bar. Pushing on it, I walked into a stunning Spartan entryway made of concrete walls and floors. The only thing breaking up the gray was a plain wooden credenza off to one side. A green glass amoeba sculpture rested on it, providing the only pop of color in the austere space.

“Hello?” I called. No one answered, but I noticed a tablet-sized screen mounted to the wall near the door. I pressed the blue button with a pair of lips on it. “Hello?”

Candi’s face appeared. “Hey, Rose. Come on up. I’m on the third floor.” Then the screen went blank.

Even Sullivan didn’t have all these gizmos, not to mention guard dogs. I was kind of glad. I didn’t feel comfortable in his house as it was.

I walked past the entryway and glanced into the living room on my left. With a large concrete fireplace and sleek black furniture, the room felt sterile. Cold. If I had to live here, I’d go bonkers. While none of Sullivan’s furnishings reflected his personality, at least it felt like a home and less like an institution.