Hound Dog Blues (5 page)

He squinted at the letter again.

Do iT Or YoU GEt YoUR DOg BAcK A LItTLE At a TImE

“Still sounds stupid. Just some kids playing a mean trick.”

Harley sighed. “You’re not going to be much use to me, are you?”

Bobby managed a watery grin. “Babe, you gotta know better. I can still be useful if you feel the need.”

Once they’d shared a very close relationship, but that was years ago, a trial-type thing that hadn’t worked for long. They’d both enjoyed each other and moved on without recriminations or regrets when the time came.

“What about Angel?” she asked, scooping up the dog hair and the letter and sticking it all back into the envelope.

“She has nothing against my old friends.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She looks like she could be tough if she wants to be.”

“Hey, someone in her career has to be.”

“It’s hardly what I’d call a career, Bobby. She dances stark naked at Platinum Plus.”

“She’s not completely naked. The law requires that she wear shoes.”

“Oh yes, what was I thinking? And to answer your original suggestion, no, I don’t think so. We’ve both moved on.”

“Besides,” Bobby said, obviously still focused on Angel’s choice of career, “she’s not dancing anymore.”

“No? Is that good?”

“Yeah. I get private lap dances now.”

“Swell.”

“And the couch dances—”

“Listen Bobby, don’t say anymore. I don’t care for the unsavory images this conversation is conjuring up.”

He grinned. She suspected a case of arrested development. Maybe he was right and she
had
started him on a life of sexual perversion. French kissing at fourteen was pretty erotic stuff.

“So you haven’t heard from Mrs. Trumble yet,” she said. “I thought she’d have called the cops on Yogi again by now.”

“That’s becoming a weekly thing. As long as he doesn’t violate the restraining order, he—oh damn. Don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t. It’s probably best neither of us knows the truth. If you haven’t heard from her yet, expect a call soon. I’ll try to head things off, but you know how Yogi is about that dog. I can’t guarantee anything.” She folded the ransom letter around the wad of dog hair and stuffed it back into the envelope. Not looking up, she said, “What can you tell me about some guy named Bruno Jett? He moved into Mrs. Sherman’s house last month.”

“Is that a real name?”

“As far as I know.” She looked up then, smiling brightly to hide her motivation. It was always best to be cautious with Bobby. He often forgot old friendships and went all cop on her. “I just need to know if he’s the kind of neighbor that might make trouble.”

Or the kind who might be involved in fencing stolen jewelry. That made more sense than anything else she’d been able to think of since seeing that pile of jewels on his coffee table.

“What are you up to, Harley?”

“Why do you always think—”

“Hey. This is me, Bobby, you’re talking to. I’ve known you too long not to recognize when you’re trying to pull a scam on me. What do you really want?”

“Okay.” She leaned forward, voice lowering. “I’ve got a hot tip for you. Know all those home burglaries and jewelry thefts in East Memphis recently? I think Jett’s involved somehow.”

“You do.” Bobby nodded seriously, and the teasing light in his eyes had vanished. “And why would you think that?”

“Look, before I say anything, we need to make a deal here. I just paid off Wells Fargo for my motorcycle and that wiped out all my savings. Crime Stoppers is offering a nice cash reward. So, anything you find out, you have to share with me, as long as I gave you the info to follow up on. Deal?”

“Not in a million years. You tell me what you know, and if possible, I’ll tell you what I don’t mind you knowing.”

She sat back. “That’s not a deal. That’s extortion.”

“No, extortion is—”

“Don’t give me a damn definition, Bobby. This isn’t police cooperation. Never mind. I’ll just keep my information to myself and share it only with Crime Stoppers.”

“So, this Bruno Jett—you think he’s fencing stolen jewels?” Bobby scribbled something on a yellow pad, ignoring Harley when she protested, then asked, “What did you see or hear to lead you to that conclusion?”

“He had an emerald as big as a walnut stuck in his belly button when he was dancing naked on the front lawn.”

Bobby looked up at her. “Cute. Where’s your civic spirit?”

“Sitting in Wells Fargo’s vault. I need that reward, Bobby. I’m broke. You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

He smiled. “Ah, I like my version of that game better.”

“I was fourteen. ‘You show me yours’ had more attraction then. Well?”

He considered a moment, then nodded. “Within reason. So talk.”

“He had a wad of jewels big enough to choke a mule lying right in the middle of his coffee table. He tried to tell me it was costume stuff, but it wasn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Costume stuff doesn’t have the same kind of sparkle. I’m sure I’m right on this, Bobby. Check him out. I’m willing to bet he’s got a record.”

“Loose jewels?” Bobby looked skeptical.

“No. Necklaces and bracelets—diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. If the stuff is real, it’s worth a fortune.”

“And he just let you in to look at it?”

“Of course not. I knocked on his door to ask him if he’d seen King, and even though he tried to block the door, I . . . uh . . . looked around him and saw it lying on the table.”

“So, a jewel thief—or fence—sits in his living room with a fortune in jewels lying on the table, and opens the door wide enough for any stranger to see it? Doesn’t wash, Harley.”

She glared at him. “Well, maybe he was expecting someone else. Maybe he was stoned. Or maybe he’s just stupid.”

“Or maybe it was costume jewelry.”

She stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Right. Thanks for the help. If this is how the MPD solves cases, it’s a wonder any crooks are ever caught.”

“Aw Harley, don’t go away mad.”

“I know—just go away. The least you could do is look up his name and see if he’s some kind of ax murderer living next door to my parents. Is that too much to ask?”

Grinning, Bobby shook his head and leaned toward his computer. “Guess not. Not that I expect to find him listed, but since his name isn’t that common . . . hm.” He’d been tapping away at the keyboard, and something flickered on the monitor screen. Light played over his face as the screen scrolled. Finally, he said, “You may be on to something.”

“Really? Oh, I just knew it. I’m right, aren’t I? Oh yeah, I’m right. Remember, share and share alike here. If this leads to a bust, I get the reward. I need it.” She smiled. “Maybe I’ll go back over there, sneak around and see what I can find out about Jett. That’d probably help out, wouldn’t it?”

Not taking his eyes from the monitor, Bobby just nodded absently. When he finally turned to look at her, his eyes were guarded. “Wait.
No.
Stay away from there, you understand?”

She blinked. “Why? Is he . . . that dangerous?”

There was a moment of taut silence, then Bobby said, “I’ll show you the printout.”

Harley didn’t know what to think when he gave her several pages listing charges that ranged from simple assault to embezzling and even theft. It wasn’t just unnerving, it was . . . well, disappointing. It wasn’t that Bruno Jett meant anything to her; it just seemed a waste, that’s all. A man with a killer body like his shouldn’t really be a killer. She looked up at Bobby to find him watching her with an appraising look in his eyes. She frowned.

Wait a minute
 . . . she’d seen that look before. It was his poker stare, the one he used when he had a pair of fours and was trying to bluff her down from a full house. She studied the papers again. There had to be a catch.

The name on the printout said Bruno Jett. The description looked the same, and he’d been arrested for fencing stolen jewelry. It had to be the neighbor. Yet . . . she flipped through pages and then looked up at Bobby.

“Where are the last few pages? It says there are nine pages, but there’s only six here.”

“There are only six pages.”

“Right. That’s why it says ‘one of nine, two of nine—’ don’t play cute, Bobby. Where’re the other pages? Why don’t you want me to see them?”

He stood up. “I’ve got to be in a meeting in two minutes. If you find out anything, let me know, and I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything.”

“You’re a lyin’ dog, Bobby Baroni. I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He smiled, plucking the pages from her hand as he turned her around toward the door. “I gotta go. So do you. Bye, Harley.”

Oh yeah. There was more to this than he was telling. But what?

When she reached her Toyota, she saw a ticket stuck to the windshield. Illegal parking. Where had that
Reserved for Police
sign come from? It hadn’t been there when she’d parked, she was sure of it. Damn. Since it was pretty unlikely the sign had been sunk in concrete in the half hour she’d just wasted talking to Bobby, the odds were pretty good she just hadn’t noticed it. Now she did. And obviously, so had a cop. Double damn.

What a great addition to her day. Now she had to tell Diva and Yogi the police weren’t going to get involved in King’s abduction. Like she hadn’t known that before she’d ever walked into the precinct.

It went just about like she expected.

Yogi stared at her in disbelief. “You mean they’re not going to do anything? Are these the same police who arrest citizens for littering and conducting peaceful protests? Shit, it’s just like living in Bosnia.”

“Exactly. But without the minefields and massacres.”

Ignoring Harley, Yogi turned away, shoving his clenched fist into his other palm. “My dog is going to be killed if somebody doesn’t do something. This is incredible.”

“Yogi, we don’t know that. If they were going to kill him, they’d have sent more than a clump of hair with the letter, don’t you think?”

“You must be able to do something, Harley,” Diva said calmly.

“Oh no, let her go. She doesn’t care if King is slowly hacked to bits by some madman.” Yogi choked slightly on the last words.

Harley sighed. “Do you have any idea what it is they want? The letter says you know.”

“How would I know? How would I know?” He looked a little wild with his hair straggling from a ponytail on his nape to frizz out around his head. “Anyone could have him. If it’s not Jett or Trumble, who could it be? I may never see him again. You’ve got to find him!”

“All right, all right, calm down. Jett doesn’t have him, so I’ll go talk to Mrs. Trumble again.”

“
No,
” Yogi said quickly, putting his hands in the air palms out. “Stay away from there. She . . . she’s crazy.”

“She’s always been crazy. She’s a neighborhood legend. Don’t worry. I’m used to cranky citizens. I have Mace if she gets too violent.”

“Harley—” He paused, staring at her, his eyes white-rimmed and dilated. She frowned at him when he shook his head, his arms falling to his sides. “King’s not there.”

Alarmed, she said, “You went down there
again?
”

“It doesn’t matter. Someone else has him. They have to. Diva’s seen things.”

Harley’s attention shifted to her mother. Diva stood with her hands clasped in front of her, a calm expression on her face. “I’ve made a psychic connection, Harley. King is in a dark place. Small, cramped . . . he can hear us but can’t see us.”