Jamie Hill Triple Threat (38 page)

"You? I thought you loved working out! Used to spend all your free time at the gym." Jack sipped his coffee.

Brady looked sideways at him. "Found something more interesting to fill my free time."

"Oh my God! What's her name?"

Brady shook his head and exhaled another lungful of smoke.

"Jesus! I can see it all over your face! You're hung up on someone."

"Maybe," he finally admitted.

"Oh, my God." Jack repeated, shaking his head back and forth. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I didn't say I was getting married or anything. I've just been seeing someone…and it's pretty nice."

Jack nudged his shoulder. "How nice?"

Brady finally laughed, and knew his face reddened. "It's not that way. We're taking things slow and easy. Dinners, movies, that kind of thing. But it's very nice. Damn nice."

"Wow." Jack stared at him in amazement. "I'm shocked. I'll always picture you as a swinging single bachelor playing the field."

"The field just got a lot smaller, my friend." A thought occurred to Brady, and he wondered aloud, "I didn't think about Costa being Italian. I'd like to know how to say a few words."

"What words?"

He started to reply, then shook his head. "Never mind, too personal. I'll look them up on the internet." He stared into his cup thoughtfully.

Jack laughed again. "You'll never get the proper pronunciation from a computer. What words? You want to ask her to sleep with you?"

Brady grinned. "No! When I'm ready for that one, I won't need words."

Jack clutched his heart. "What the hell are you waiting for? Stop, don't tell me anything else. I'm stupendously, fantastically happy with my wife. But every now and then, when I remember hot monkey sex, I get this little pang."

"You're full of shit. You and Crystal have it great."

"We do." Jack waggled his eyebrows for effect. "But it's different when you have kids, especially three of them. And everything is different with a baby in the house."

"It would be." Brady nodded. "You know, I never thought I wanted kids. Never saw much use for them. If I wanted to toss a ball around I'd come to your house and borrow the boys. But lately, when I see a baby or a little kid, I look twice." He took one last drag and dropped his cigarette, stomping it out. "Why is that, you suppose?"

Jack grinned. "You know why that is. It's the same damn feeling I got when I met Crystal and the boys. All of a sudden, I turned into this freaking family man, wanting to nurture and protect them."

"And using words like 'freaking'," Brady teased.

"Fuck you," Jack retorted. "You gotta watch your mouth living with kids. The women of the species are sticklers about that one."

"Most, probably. Gina swears like a sailor."

Jack smiled again. "Gina. Who is she? Where did you meet her? What does she look like?"

Brady felt the pull of a smile play against his lips as he thought about her. "Her name is Gina Morris. She's a waitress—"

"Waitresses are good," Jack chimed in, nodding. "Where's she work? Maybe I know her."

Brady knew
Crystal
had been a waitress before they were married. He hesitated to tell his friend that Gina worked in a strip joint, because he thought it gave a false impression of her. Before he'd decided what to say, Jack added, "Never mind. The only restaurant we eat at these days is
Chuck E. Cheese's
, for pizza and video games. I doubt she works there."

"Not quite." He decided to change the subject. "She's beautiful, Jack. She has this long, curly, dark hair, and deep brown eyes to match." He touched his upper lip. "She has a beauty mark right here. God, it's sexy."

"How's the rest of her?"

He closed his eyes to tamp down the thrill of describing her. "The same. Sexy as hell." His heart raced.

"And special enough that nothing has happened yet. I got ya." Jack added softly,
"Ti amo."

"Huh?" Brady opened his eyes.

"Well, not you. Not that in way, I mean. That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it? How to say 'I love you' in Italian?
Ti amo."

Brady smiled. "How do I say she's beautiful?"

"Bella,"
Jack replied and touched his shoulder. "I'm happy for you, man."

"Thanks."

"
Crystal
's going to want to meet her, you know."

"Let us get settled a bit, first. We've only been dating a few weeks, but if things keep going the way they have, it looks promising."

"Sounds good. So does she like kids? Because we
really
haven't been to a nice restaurant in ages. Maybe you two could babysit for us."

Brady tossed his cup in the trash and shoved Jack toward the door. "We'll talk about it. I could handle the boys, but if Gina won't change diapers then I'm not sure. I probably ought to find out before I offer."

Jack let Brady move him along, and tossed his cup as they passed the next trash can. "What kind of a woman wouldn't change diapers?"

Brady grinned. "You haven't met Gina."

* * * *

The club bustled with activity. Brady didn't spot an empty table, so he latched onto a bar stool and changed his focus. Now he was looking for a waitress.
One particular waitress
.

Julie was there, and another waitress he didn't know. He finally spotted Gina, moving through the crowd like a blur, flitting from one table to the next. He tried to follow her movements but there were too many people. When he lost track of her for the tenth time, he finally gave up and sat, waiting, nursing the drink Randy proffered.

After an hour, Brady knew he needed to leave. Nearly ten-thirty, she'd stay busy for the next couple of hours before it died down again. Tossing a few dollars on the bar, he felt his pockets for his keys and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It had a list of names and addresses, and for a moment he wondered what it was. He remembered the list Costa printed off the computer of warehouse owners in the district they were investigating.

He took a moment to examine it. Twelve names were on the list, seven of them owned one building. Three more owned two buildings each, but the last two names were the ones that caught his attention. They owned an unbelievable dozen warehouses each.

A hand slid across his shoulder and warm breath touched his ear. "Been here long, handsome?"

He swiveled on his barstool to face a harried looking Gina. Perspiration dotted her nose and forehead, and her hair was askew. She was still the prettiest woman in the joint. "Busy night. I was about to give up on you."

"Never do that. I might have to chase you down. There'd be a scene and everything." She touched his collar. "Not enjoying the show?"

Brady glanced toward the stage where a nearly naked bleached blonde strutted her stuff. Facing the bar he'd forgotten about it, and the concept made him smile. "No, I'm not. I can't see you at all from here."

She batted her lashes and tapped her knee against his. "Sweet talker."

He nudged her knee back. "I don't suppose this is your early night?"

Gina shook her head. "I'm on until three. It'll be three-thirty by the time I finish up. Guess that's past your bedtime."

"For a Thursday, yeah." He'd been rethinking his self-imposed celibacy. There'd been lots of kissing and a certain amount of groping over the past few weeks, but he was seriously considering moving to the next level. "I want to see you more, Gina. A few nights a week isn't cutting it."

"I know." She shrugged, as if it were out of her hands. "What do ya do?"

Brady understood the comment. He'd made the rules. She was merely living by them.
Maybe it's time to change the rules.
"I think we—"

"Gina!" the club owner hollered at her. "Table six is asking for you."

"Keep your shorts on!" she yelled back, and faced Brady, looking into his eyes. "What were you saying? What do you think?"

"Now, Gina!"
Warren
called again.

"Aw, bite me," she muttered under her breath. "Hang on, babe." She hurried away.

He sighed. It was impossible to talk about anything when one of them was working. He knew better. He stood and relinquished his seat to another patron.

"Hey, where you going?" Gina reappeared.

"I have to go." He gazed at her apologetically. "We'll talk another time. You're busy, and it's getting late."

She clutched his forearm. "You sure you don't want to stop by tonight?"

"Wish I could." He held up the list in his hands. "I have a long day tomorrow. Maybe this weekend?"

"Weekend, grrr." She expelled a breath then looked down and glanced at the paper in his hand. "What's that?"

"Nothing." He snatched it away then reconsidered. The names listed were public record. They weren't suspects. "Actually, it's a list of warehouses in the riverfront district. I told you there'd been several burglaries there? These names are the people who own them."

"Really?" She tried to look at the paper.

He held the page up. "Yep. See these guys here, they're small potatoes. They have one or two warehouses each. These two at the bottom are the ones I need to focus on. They each own an even dozen warehouses, all within close proximity."

"Hmmm." She eyed the list. "Victor Moretti and Gianni Macchio. Sounds like a couple of nice Italian boys."

"Oh yeah, no surprise there." He backpedaled before she could protest. "I'm sorry. I just meant—"

"I know what you meant. Italians are always involved in the crooked businesses. We're all members of the mob, right?"

"Gina, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

She pouted and he grabbed her hand, swinging it back and forth. "So you're in the mob, huh?"

"Yeah." Her eyes flashed. "My father brought me into the business. He taught me how to leave horse heads in bed with people."

"Nice." Brady chuckled. "Your father, huh? You haven't told me much about him."

She scowled, obviously irritated with him. "He's a dry cleaner. He's never done a dishonest thing in his life."

He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. "I can't wait to meet him. I'm really sorry I stereotyped Italians. That was inexcusable, and it won't happen again."

"It better not," she replied petulantly, but he could see her anger diminish.

"I should go. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Gina!" the owner snapped at her from across the room.

"I'm leaving," Brady called back with a wave. "Goodnight,
Warren
." He shoved the paper back in his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Tomorrow?" he whispered to her.

"Screw him." She shrugged. "You better call me. Don't make me go looking for horse heads."

He raised his eyebrows in feigned shock, and she grinned.

* * * *

Brady looked over the crime scene report regarding the murder of Roy Watts. The weapon of choice had been a nine millimeter, the bullets apparently nothing fancy. Many officers in the department used the same caliber. Brady, himself, had been shot with a nine mm the previous year. A bullet-proof vest saved his hide, and he ended up with nothing but a few sore muscles.

At close range, Roy Watts never stood a chance. Brady studied the man's photo for a moment, remembering the sights and smells of finding him that evening. Shuffling through the paperwork, he found what he was looking for.
Personal information on Watts
. Age thirty-three, divorced with no children,
Watts
had been a small-time drug dealer with several arrests over a three year period. Then suddenly, a few years ago, he seemed to have reformed. Not a blemish on his record after that.

Brady scratched his head and leafed through the documents again. There was usually a change in circumstances when someone turned himself around like that. A marriage, a child, a new line of work—in Watt's case, he couldn't pinpoint any one thing. He'd been employed by Allen Imports for eight years, and had worked his way up to a position of decent status.

Double checking his list of warehouse owners, Brady saw that Richard Allen ran a comparatively small operation. There hadn't been any activity involving them, and they pretty much flew under the radar. He made a note to check out Allen Imports more fully.

"Hey,
Marshall
." Costa practically charged Brady's desk waving a piece of paper. "Metro Patrol East stumbled across a burglary in progress early this morning. Rental truck backed right up to the warehouse loading dock, packing it full of crates in broad daylight in front of God and everybody."

"No shit?" Brady stood, job-related adrenaline racing for the first time since he'd been assigned the case. "They catch the stupid fuckers?"