Kobe (12 page)

              Curt swallows the last bite of grill cheese and washes it down with a chilled glass of champagne, "well, I suppose just one more time."

              Katie's bloated body gurgles while Curt carries her to the first place they made love. The strands of her strawberry blonde hair cover the pillow as he gently rests her corpse on the bed.

              Her dead eyes stare up to heaven while the devil keeps her body in hell.

 
 
Chapter XV

Watch Your Tongue

             
The forty caliber pistol sits snug behind Billy's belt buckle, hidden from nervous tenants and nosy cops.

              Everyone in the Bay is ancy after Tina's murder. The citizens are scared to go outside, more because of the cops than the killer.

              Many of the lovely Bayside residents are drunks and junkies, or party-kids living in their first apartment.

              Billy and Roc walk out of apartment 1408 and down the hall. Before they can make it out the front door, Officer Washington blocks their path. He's a regular in the complex but this is the first time the drug dealers have been up close and personal with the policeman.

              "Where're you guys headed?" The officer asks. His prominent belly shows evidence of one too many free meals at the BBQ Pitt, but his black biceps insinuate grinder sandwiches aren't the only thing he lifts. "We're holding everyone here until the area's secure," Washington tells them.

              "We gotta go to work," Billy does his best to quell the fire shooting through his nerves.

              "Where's work?" Officer Washington's hand rests on his waist, with his right palm adjacent to his pistol.

              "Pete's House of Pancakes, we're both cooks." Billy leans back on his heels.

              "Where're your uniforms?" Washington stares hard, ready for a reason.

              "I got 'em at my house across the street. I just came by to wake this fool up." Roc motions toward Billy. "We don't want no trouble officer, we just wanna go make burgers and fries."

              "What happened?" Billy crosses his arms over his stomach to hide his gun underneath his wrists.

              "Just tell your boss Tina won't be coming in for her shift today." Washington relaxes, his hand slides away from his gun.

              "Her asshole son beat her up or somethin'?" Roc asks.

              "Somethin' like that." Washington rolls his lips in, closes his eyes momentarily, and looks to the ground.

              "Can you tell us what happened?" Roc asks.

              "I can't say, my man, I probably told ya too much already." Washington's dark complexion shines underneath the Bayside light bulbs. "It's official police business, have a good day at work, though," Washington turns sideways to let Billy and Roc slide through.

              Billy holds his breath when he squeezes by the officer, scared shitless. Guns are serious business in Kobe. If you get caught without a permit, especially for a handgun in the Bay, you'll do time.

              Billy and Roc jog out the door to Roc's Chrysler. It's dirty as hell and has a few dents in it, but it runs, and that's all they need to find the killer with the claw.

* * * * *

              "Grind it." Judd paces back and forth in his office, with Zed on the other end of his cell phone.

              "Shit yeah right now!" Judd stops in front of his mahogany desk, "clues are poppin' up and we got a loose end. I'm heading to Curt's cabin with Travis now," his mind races, but his attitude is calm. The ice water continues to flow through his veins as he thumbs through Katie O'Malley's file.

              "We ain't got thirty days to finish the recipe. Cut the pig's neck and let him bleed," Judd rubs his brow with the palm of his hand, "put a rush on it."

              Judd shuts Katie's file. Not afraid to look, but embarrassed he let it happen again. Sometimes family isn't the most important thing. Blood is only as thick as the crime it commits. Justice matters more in the long winding road of life.

              "I should be at the poker game tonight," he tells his younger brother, "but not until late, I'm gonna need a couple stiff drinks after this."

* * * * *

              "Am I being held for something?" Quinn taps a steady rhythm on the interrogation table. The florescent light flickers.

              "Sorry Quinn, Judd said to just get you a burger and that's it." Officer Bert Weston sits with a pad and paper across from the long haired boy.

              "Why can't I have my cell phone?"

              "Look kid, don't bust my balls on this. Just tell me what you want on your burger. I'm sure we'll get you somewhere safe and you'll get your property back, but for right now, you gotta stay put. There's a psycho on the loose lookin' to kill you," Bert leans in. "but given the circumstances, you're looking to kill him too."

              "Lettuce, tomato, pickles, ranch, and onion straws," Quinn rattles off with a smirk.

* * * * *

              "I don't get it, Marley." Detective Daniels sips a caramel latte in the passenger seat of a Chrysler Police Cruiser. "You grew up in the Bay, was it always this bad?"

              "Never like this." Detective Marley's bright white teeth shine in the September sun, the cool breeze caresses his brown arm from the outside of his window. "Sure weed was around, coke was there if people wanted it but never crack, and certainly never this heroin bullshit they got out there now.

              "It wasn't until they provided government housing that there was anything like that. Sure, some of those people deserve the free room and board, but for the most part all they do is drink and get high. Shit, the boyfriends and baby-daddy's are what we really have issues with."

              "Should call 'em storks." Daniels cracks a smile.

              "Oh yeah?"

              "They make the baby and then fly outta there."

              "You's a fool, Daniels," Marley laughs, "we still workin' the coffee house case? Or should we look for this Skaggs guy?"

              "I think they're in it together. We find one, we find them both," Detective Daniels says.

              "We'll stop by the Manor to see if Akmed has any info," Marley says, "cruise to the Watering Hole to see if Skaggs' has been there in the last twenty four hours, and do some questioning at Aces for lunch."

              "Marley, I can't understand why you go to that Club."

              "It's a lead," Marley makes puts his blinker on and makes a right turn, "what am I supposed to do? Ignore Aces because a titty or two is out in the wind?"

              "Sure it's a lead," Daniels stares out the passenger window, "but you know damn good and well why you're going in there. It ain't for the free buffet. All those perverts lurking around has to make you think twice about grabbing a plate of food."

              "You ever try their bourbon chicken? Shit, titties and tater tots are two of my favorite things. Why should a pervert make that any different?"

              "You're something else," Daniels sips his caramel coffee, "are you seeing any of those girls off the clock?"

              "I sometimes give them a ride home after they close," Marley raises his eyebrows.

              "Such a gentleman," Daniels says.

              "Especially when I tuck them in." Marley smiles from ear to ear.

              The police car slides into the Watering Hole parking lot. It is in desperate need of repair.  Marley avoids potholes and finds a spot near the front.

              The Watering Hole is a popular bar for junkies and hustlers. It used to be a nice place, but after the sheriff got murdered in ninety-three the place went downhill.

              The owner ran cheap drink specials, had live music out back on the patio, but he could never pull it out of the red.

              The owner finally settled for the degenerates in the nearby ghetto to keep the lights on, selling cheap drinks to even cheaper women.

              Detective Daniels opens the door for his partner and they go inside. A couple afternoon boozers are bellied up to the bar, but for the most part the place is empty. A pretty young lady stands behind the bar scrolling through her cell phone.

              "Afternoon," Daniels calls out.

              The pretty girl looks up, her hair and makeup are perfect. Her tank top reveals just enough to help her pay the rent, but not enough to make her look like a slut.

              "Hey offiers," the young girl smiles with glossy lips, "what can I getcha?"

              "Six shots of tequilla," Marley jokes, " just kiddin' darlin', we just wanna ask a couple quick questions."

              She tenses up and her face goes flush.

              "Don't worry," Daniels says, "we just want to know if you've seen this guy." Daniels hands her a picture of Rupert 'Skaggs' McDermott.

              "Skaggs?" She asks.

              "Yeah, you know him?" Marley places his hand on the bar and leans in closer to the brunette.

              "Sure," she says, "Squirrely guy that hangs out with that creep, Leroy. The fucker never tips."

              "When's the last time you saw him?" Marley asks.

              "Bout a week ago," she says, "why? Did he do somethin' wrong? Should I be lookin' out for him?"

              "No, darlin'," Marley says with a smooth voice, "we just want to ask him some questions.

              "Thanks, ma'am," Daniels says.

              Marley hangs back a moment flirting until Daniels opens the door and clears his throat.

              "Thanks, Mindy," Marley waves with a piece of paper in his hand, "I'll give you a call a little later."

              "How 'bout you just stop back by? I'll be here until nine," she says insistently.

              "I may just have to do that, sweetheart."

              Daniels shakes his head and the two detectives exit the dive bar.

* * * * *

              Travis and Judd turn down a narrow path from the main road. The trees hang over the police cruiser, masking the light of day with orange and yellow leaves.

              "I know you trust Curt and all. I don't wanna think your brother did it either, but I really..." Travis wipes the sides of his mouth.

              "I don't give a shit about your
really
. This is just like any other case. He's innocent until proven guilty."

              An uncomfortable silence turns the air sour. Travis trips over his train of thought to let the words out, "I heard Quinn."

              "I know," Judd sucks on a lump of tobacco and keeps his eyes on the road.

              "Why'd he say that?" Travis asks. "Why'd he say you killed Leroy Brown?" He watches Judd casually listen to his accusation.

              "You woulda known if I did," Judd gives Travis a subtle glance before spitting some tobacco juice into an empty plastic bottle.

              "It was your shift, Judd, a-lotta things point to it," Travis digs deeper. He doesn't want to strike oil. Judd is the backbone of the town, but the truth has to be released, good or bad.

              "You saying I'm a suspect? For murder?" Judd asks.

              "We've been through a lot, you and I," Travis says, "some really fucked up stuff. I don't think you've snapped. And I don't think you're a suspect, but somethin' don't add up."

              "You're right," Judd says, "but that doesn't mean I whacked a junkie."

              "Then what happened the night you were on patrol?"

              "I was at the BBQ Pitt watching for drunks, like I normally do, keepin' honest people honest, and makin' Ted's cab company richer by the minute. I stopped in the movie theater to talk to Charley for a bit, cruised through the Bay, and then at about midnight I parked at the Pitt."

              "Why do you think this Skaggs guy would lie?" Travis pushes, still walking on egg shells but cracking a little more with every step.

              "He ripped his momma's head off with a hatchet," Judd's voice raises a bit, "it's a bit hard to psychoanalyze the mind of a guy like that, having never met him before. I'm having a harder time wondering why you're investing so much into the thought that he's right, more than why he said it."