Hound Dog Blues (26 page)

“If you want to see your friend alive you’ll answer your phone at 9.”

Jesus. A cold chill seeped through her that had nothing to do with damp clothes. She looked at the clock over the door. Five minutes to nine. She dug in her backpack for her phone. The battery was low. She plugged it into the charger just in case. It rang almost immediately.

The familiar voice said, “Go to a pay phone at the corner of Ridgeway and Knight Arnold. Bring the necklace. Wait for my call. If I see one cop, she’s dead.”

The line went dead before she could say anything. Damn. This was crazy. What if he was bluffing? But what if he wasn’t? This was all her fault. She’d led Archie right to Cami. If anything happened to her, she’d never get over it. Okay.
Now
she’d call Bobby. This was some serious shit. True to form, he wasn’t in and she left a message on his cell. It was brief and to the point:

“Bobby, I’m at Cami’s and she’s been abducted. I’ve got to meet the guy somewhere, but I don’t know where yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.
Call me.
”

She hung up. For whatever reason, the nephew—one or both, and her money was on Archie—had hidden the necklace in Yogi’s workshop. Now he wanted it back. And she didn’t have it. Damn, damn, damn.

The pay phone at the corner of Ridgeway and Knight Arnold was at the edge of the Circle K parking lot. On Friday nights, it was busier than usual, people going in and coming back out with six packs of beer and the usual chips and cigarettes. A strip of townhouses sat on the other side of the convenience store, fronted by a white rail fence and scattered trees. A man came up the hill and approached the phone, and her stomach dropped. He didn’t look like the guy who’d hit her, but she wasn’t really positive Archie had Cami. He could have hired someone else to grab her. She watched the guy warily.

“You gonna just stand there, lady? I need to use the phone.”

“Uh, I’m expecting a call. It won’t take but a minute.”

He gave her an impatient look. The unspoken rule of pay phone etiquette demanded he remain at least a yard away from the phone when it was in use, but there were no rules regarding the distance if she was just waiting for a call. The guy paced back and forth a few minutes, and then came back to within a foot of her.

“I gotta use the phone, lady. If you ain’t gonna, step aside.”

She held out her cell phone. “Use this one until I get my call.”

Blinking, he looked from her to the cell phone in her hand, then shook his head, walking away and muttering about crazy white women. She completely sympathized.

Ten minutes later the phone finally rang and she leaped to answer it.

“Go to the pay phone in the Cloverleaf shopping center and wait for the next call at ten.”

Again, before she could ask anything, he hung up. Dammit.

“This is freaking stupid,” she muttered, and got back on her bike and fired it up. If it was just a trick, she’d kill the asshole when she caught up with him. Was she
sure
he even had Cami? She could have just taken the cats to an all-night vet for shots or something. Of course, that’d be damn near impossible without her car. Or a bus. He must have Cami, but why would the guy take the cats? It would not only be impossible but crazy.

She cruised by the house again and quickly checked to be sure Cami hadn’t miraculously appeared, but there was no sign of her. However, she did spot a couple of the cats. Punkin sat in a chair, eyes narrowed at her as she stepped over the baby gate. Sam came up to her, his cry rather strident.

“Got scared and hid, huh,” she said, and he pushed at her hand with his head. So Cami obviously hadn’t taken cats anywhere, as they were still here, just hiding. She let the dogs out to pee and thought about calling Bobby again. No way would she call Morgan. He could be a part of this. There was some kind of connection between him and Bates, and she was positive there was a connection between Bates and Mrs. Trumble’s nephews. Both Neil and Archie had ties to Bates, but she didn’t have time to ponder the situation. She let the dogs back in and shut the back door, then put out some dry food for all the animals.

She grabbed a sweater from Cami’s closet and left. The night air dripped with recent rain. Slick streets gleamed under street lights and the red and green glow of traffic signals. She made the turn onto Mt. Moriah and headed west. It was a toss-up whether to take the interstate or city streets. Traffic was always a bitch on rainy nights.

When she stopped at a red light and put her feet down for balance, she glanced in her side mirror and saw a long black car going east make a U-turn. An adrenaline rush pushed through her veins as tires squealed on wet asphalt. Cami? Was it the prick who’d taken her? The car looped around cars slowing for the light and ended up in her lane, two cars back. She peered hard in the side mirror.

Tinted windows hid the occupants’ identity, but there were two of them. Archie must be following her to be sure she didn’t bring the cops. She’d just go on like he’d said and wait at the pay phone for his call. He’d probably been watching her wait at the Circle K.

The light changed and she took off, watching the mirror. The car kept a few car lengths behind, but stayed with her when she turned onto Ridgeway. She put on her blinker to get on Nonconnah and the car shifted lanes to follow. At the last minute, she shot past the exit and continued down Ridgeway. The car swerved from the exit to stay on Ridgeway. Oh yeah.

Picking up a little speed, she cruised toward Poplar Avenue, and the car stayed right on her tail. She debated stopping. A confrontation might result in Cami getting free. Or it might end up with Archie taking off with her. But maybe she could delay until Bobby called. It was worth a chance.

The light at Ridgeway and Quince turned yellow and she zipped through it. Still two car lengths behind, the black car had to stop. She did a U turn through the parking lot of a strip mall, sped across Quince and came up behind the car stuck at the light. Damn. It wasn’t the Lincoln. It was a shiny new Crown Victoria. With two men. No Cami. So who the hell was following her?

Several possibilities came to mind, none of them savory. Peeling away, she went up and over a curb on the corner, sped down Quince and hit Kirby Parkway. There was no sign of the car behind her, and she relaxed a little when she turned onto Poplar. She kept her speed down here. This was Germantown, and cops loved to give out tickets. Any more delays and she was liable to miss that phone call. She’d already wasted too much time.

It wasn’t that far to Summer and White Station if she got on the expressway, even with all the construction. Crews had some of the off-ramps closed, and she tried to think if it’d be worth it to take a chance. Traffic got thick on Poplar as she got near Ridgeway again. The air smelled like wet dog, rank and heavy with noxious fumes.

Waiting at the light, she glanced into her side mirror just in time to see the damn black car pull in behind her. It flashed its lights. Oh yeah. Like she’d answer to that.

She gave the bike some gas and wedged between an SUV and the curb, ignoring the angry beep from the driver worried about a scratch. Right turn on red after stop . . . she took the corner and sped down Shady Grove. Memphis loved to confuse newcomers and longtime residents with creative engineering. Ridgeway doglegged three times, changed names twice, and anyone with a city map was bound to have a nervous breakdown trying to figure it out. City engineers had to be on drugs. There was no other rational explanation.

Shady Grove narrowed into a two lane road right past a medical complex. Upscale houses and exclusive gated enclaves sat on each side. Huge trees hung over the road and dripped rain. The road rose and fell in a narrow winding ribbon, ending at a three-way stop. Headlights popped up right behind her. Damn. They’d caught up. Who were those guys? Maybe she could lose them if she took back roads, but time was running out and she didn’t dare take too long.

What the hell were they doing? Falling back, speeding up, hanging like a tick on a hound dog, the black car kept up, even when she made a sudden turn onto Walnut Grove, another six lane main road. Weaving in and out of traffic, she thought she’d lost them once, but when she slowed down to get around a minivan, they bore down on her like a black barracuda.

Gunning the bike, she took another abrupt turn, speeding through a residential area. Tree branches laced overhead, diffusing light from the street lamps. There was no sign of the car in her mirror. She’d lost them. Maybe.

Headlights suddenly loomed up on her right side, coming off one of the side streets, bright and demonic. She gave the bike more gas and careened down the street like she knew where she was going. By this time she didn’t even know where she was or how to get where she needed to be. Bright lights danced over her from behind, glinted off her side mirror.

Who were those guys?

Not even slowing down for railroad tracks, she cornered the next street, a looping curve that swung back around west and crossed Highpoint Terrace. She caught a glimpse of interstate to her right, and tried to remember if this was the street that dead-ended into Chickasaw Country Club. Probably. Unless this bike could climb fences, she’d have to turn back onto Highland, and maybe hit Sam Cooper Parkway. Or maybe not. The thought of trying to outrun those guys while dodging speeding semis was starkly unappealing.

They were close behind when she turned north on Highland, just far enough back she might avoid being a hood ornament if she stopped quickly, but that wasn’t something she wanted to risk. Macon Road was close and would get her to the Cloverleaf shopping center at Summer and White Station if she could just shake these guys.

Who are they?
she thought again, palms sweaty on the handle grips, fingers nearly numb as she held on tightly. Muscles ached, arms strained, and her feet were cold. Blood pounded hot and heavy through her veins. She felt slightly sick. And time kept ticking past.

With people getting weekend shopping done, Summer Avenue was pretty busy on Friday night. These were low and middle-income families out here, smaller houses for the most part, tidy and clinging to respectability. Only a few Trans-Ams up on cinder blocks in these yards. A little farther down, prostitutes and drug addicts hung out at an old NiteTime Inn, a seedy motel now when once it had been a decent place for businessmen or travelers to stay. Eons ago.

Her favorite cousin lived a few blocks north, in a nice, neat little brick house in a quiet neighborhood where senior citizens rubbed elbows with young mothers. Harley knew these streets pretty well, and she abruptly turned off Summer. There were more than a few dead-end roads in this area, narrow asphalt edged by trees and sidewalks and often lined with parked cars.

The black car still hung close behind her. Okay. She had an idea.

Macon loomed ahead. She took another right, a quick left, and tires squealed close behind. Taking another right, she sped down the wide street with the black car following. Just ahead, construction barriers littered the side of the road, barring cars from taking the Y ramp onto I-40. Concrete drains, wooden sawhorses with bright orange stripes, and a few flashing lamps warned drivers it was temporarily closed. Chunks of asphalt lay in a pile. Thick red mud, like gumbo, sported a few more sawhorse barriers. A ditch separated the ramp from White Station Road.

She’d always wondered if the Deuce would make it as a dirt bike. This was her chance to find out. Cutting back on acceleration she let the black car get close, slowed like she was about to stop. Blinding lights flashed twice. Her heart raced, her stomach tied in knots, and she clutched the handle grips determinedly as she gauged the right moment. They were almost on her.

She gunned it, then gave the Deuce enough gas to send it leaping forward, across the opposing lane, to fly over the narrow ditch. Airborne for a brief moment, she resisted closing her eyes. Nerves thrummed. This wasn’t as thrilling as she’d always assumed it would be. She hoped she didn’t wet herself

Landing, she spun the bike around and almost lost it, spraying dirt clods out like red bullets. Then she righted, still in one piece. Relief made her want to collapse, but there wasn’t time. She half-expected real bullets.