Murder and Mayhem (32 page)

“If we let Rook walk away from this, he’d have been after us like white on rice. Once he gets his teeth into something, he doesn’t let go,” she called out. “And if I’ve fucked this up, at least I’m going to take you with me.”

Charlene got one shot off, and Dante stepped out from behind the column, firing straight into her. A second later, the incoming SWAT team joined in, the first responder at the back room piercing Charlene’s jerking body with a burst of rounds. It was the longest three seconds of Dante’s life, seemingly endless noise and screams as Charlene tried to empty her gun into the men killing her. Dante felt something hot hit his vest and then a punch of pain before the air rushed out of his lungs, but he stood firm, needing to see Charlene drop.

She fell hard, a broken aging fashion doll with popped-out legs and arms. He moved forward, covering her with his weapon, but a milky film was already filling her lifeless eyes by the time Dante reached her side. Puddles of blood were beginning to form beneath her still twitching body, running hot into large pools under her punctured torso. A moment later, her body gave up its fight, collapsing in on itself as her chest gave up its final breath.

A hand on his shoulder startled Dante, and he whirled about, nearly clocking Hank in the face. Breathing hard, he got a grip on himself as the SWAT team poured into the front room around him.

“Ironic,” Hank croaked loudly.

“What?” Dante quickly stepped back to avoid the blood sluggishly leaking from Charlene’s already cooling body.

“That’s pretty much where we found Dani,” his partner tsked. “Guess you really do reap what you sow.”

A week, more stitches, and a hospital stay later, Rook found himself opening the door to his West Hollywood warehouse, then pushing his cousin Alex in. One of the few Martins he could stand—the second, counting their grandfather—Alex reluctantly agreed to Rook’s request of a no-questions-asked, no-stories-told favor. His cousin shared his lanky body and face, but there the resemblance ended. A blond-haired, sparkly eyed nerd and raised in the fold of old money with loving parents, Alex was everything Rook wasn’t… and then some.

He was also a genuinely nice guy who’d fallen in love with a cop—right after a dead body fell through the roof of his comic book store.

“There is nothing in here that you can—” Alex’s voice dropped, a reverent whisper Rook had only heard from people outside of old cathedrals. “Oh. My. God. Rook….”

The squat warehouse held the crème de la crème of his collectibles. Kept at a chilly temperature to preserve the delicate pieces, lit glass display cases ran in rows down the middle and around the warehouse floor. Below many cases were thin drawers where he’d stashed vintage papers and posters. Most of the cases held one or two items, many from movies and television shows, but a few, like the one he led Alex to, contained books.

“Here’s what I have for you, cousin,” he explained, opening the case. “A first edition, second issue
Alice in Wonderland
with full gilt cover, Appleton cancel title page, and notated by its illustrator, Tenniel. Say something, Alex. You’re turning blue.”

“Fuck me,” his cousin whispered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Can’t. First cousin. I think that’s illegal here in California.” He intercepted Alex’s sharp glance with a smirk. “Look, I’m guessing. I’ve never had a cousin before you, and well, those sheep. I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. You… I’d consider it.”

“What do you want for it? The book?” Alex’s glasses gleamed, casting reflections of the book’s red and gold cover. “No favor can be this much.”

“Just your help. And your silence.” Reaching into the case, he folded the book up in the soft microfiber cloth it lay on. “This is a two-person job, and you’re the only other person I can trust.”

“What about… Dante? You don’t trust him?”

“
He’s
why I’m doing this. And no, if I brought him in on this, it would… fuck everything up. Fuck
us
up.” He handed Alex the bundled-up book. “Will you believe me if I tell you I’m doing the right thing here? Finally?”

“No, because you’re bribing me to help you.”

“No, I’m bribing you to keep your mouth shut,” Rook corrected. “Is it working?”

“God, yes,” Alex sighed and put the book back down in its open case. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

The wooden crate was where he’d left it, buried among others stacked up against the warehouse’s far wall. Shoving aside a small box, Rook wedged himself behind the crate and pushed it out onto the floor. Startled, Alex stepped in, moving his still injured cousin out of the way, then forced the heavy box farther out.

“You’re hurt, remember?” he scolded. “Get out of the way.”

“Just a couple more feet. I’ll go get a crowbar and hammer from the toolbox.” Rook grumbled under his breath as he walked away, “You’re as much of a fussy asshole as Archie.”

“Heard that.” Grunting, Alex gave another shove.

“Good!” Shouting back at his cousin, Rook came back with the tools. “Don’t get too crazy over there, Bruce Banner. I just want to open the damned thing, not move it cross-country.”

“Is this good?” Alex panted, his shoulder up against the waist-high wooden box. “Or do you need more clearance?”

“It’s fine. Get out of the—” Rook wrestled with his cousin as Alex took the crowbar from him. “Dude, I can do this.”

“Shoulder. Remember?” He hefted the bar, wedging it under the crate’s top. “Besides, this way I’m armed for when the zombies leap out of this thing and attack me.”

“You are a sick, twisted puppy, cuz.” Rook grinned. “Probably why I like you best.”

“You like me best because I’m the only one who’s nice to you. Well, me and my parents.” Alex wrenched the top up an inch. “Stand back in case it flies off. I don’t want to have to explain how I broke your nose.”

“Just get the top up. The sides unhook.” Rook grabbed the edge of the lid after Alex got it off the rest of the way. He slid it out of the way, then undid the metal hooks holding the sides up. Stepping back, he let the crate’s sides fall outward and waited for the dust to settle.

Nested into curled wood chips, the box inside gleamed gold and red where the light was able to reach it through its packing. It was an elaborate piece of movie construction, topped with two winged angels facing one another and embossed with intricate, archaic symbols. Resting high on upside-down finials, the box stood nearly as tall and wide as the crate it’d been in, its two broken-down rods, used to slide into the oarlock-style rings set below the box’s lid, lay beneath it.

“Rook, that’s the—ark,” Alex whispered, awestruck. “Like from—is it really?”

“One of them. But with a bit of modification,” Rook admitted, drawing an Allen wrench from his pocket. “Now comes the hard part.”

It was easy enough to find the locks he’d hidden along the underside of the ark’s lid, but with each turn of the wrench, a small piece of his old life died inside of him. It took him nearly five minutes to work the interlocking mechanism, cranking the tumblers until he couldn’t turn them any more. When he was finished, Rook straightened up and sighed heavily at the shooting pain running down his arm.

“Time to lift the lid up. Watch your fingers. It’s going to be heavier than it looks,” Rook warned. “There’s a casing inside. We’re going to have to pull it up and then move it aside. Okay?”

It was slow going. When he’d planned the cubbyhole, Rook knew he would only be opening it again under the direst of circumstances. Purposely created to require two people, the mechanism and process forced him to ask someone else for help—something he wouldn’t dream of doing in a million years. Yet there he stood, grunting and moaning while his cousin Alex swore about doing inventive things with Rook’s balls when they were done. The inside casing finally cleared the ark’s sides, and they maneuvered it carefully to the floor. Alex stood first, peeking over the ark’s lip, and Rook heard him gasp in alarmed surprise.

“Fuck, Rook. Those are… diamonds? And… holy crap. Just… it’s all jewelry.” His cousin grabbed the edge of the prop and stared down at the interior of the box. “How much do you have in here? What are you going to do with them?”

“I’m going to drop it all off with the cops. Okay, they won’t know it was me, but that’s where it’s all going. Here, I’ve got to put gloves on and get them into bags. They’re wiped totally clean, so don’t touch any.” Rook pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jeans pocket. “If you don’t handle them, you’re not a part of this. It’s all on me.”

“So they’re stolen? You stole this? Are you crazy?” Alex suddenly let go of the ark, hastily wiping at its edge with his shirt. Catching Rook’s mocking smirk, he smiled ruefully. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” Rook grabbed the pristine velvet bag he’d left under the pile of stones, then carefully began to scoop the loose gems into its opening. “This won’t take long. You can head out if you want. Just don’t forget to take your book.”

“No, I’ll stay and help you put this back together,” Alex promised. “Why are you doing this? Now, I mean?”

“Because Dante needs me to be… better than who I am. Who I was.” Rook blinked furiously, refusing to let his emotions get to him. “And this is the only way I can do it. Be that. So yeah, it all goes.”

“He means that much to you?” his cousin asked gently.

If anyone in the family would know what it was like to be with a cop, it was Alex. His boyfriend, James, worked Homicide and lurked on the edges of family gatherings, as if daring someone to say something foul to Alex so he could shoot them.

“Dante? Yeah. See, he makes me feel… safe, Alex. And until I met him, I’d never felt safe before,” Rook admitted softly. “So all of this shit? It’s nothing to me. Not compared to that. Not compared to…
him
.”

Construction on Potter’s Field was in full swing when Dante showed up with takeout from a Cantonese restaurant down the street. Stepping around a pile of beams, he maneuvered past a man spot-welding a wall frame around the elevator shaft, then made his way into the store’s sales room.

Where he found Rook and Manny chatting over what looked like blueprints for the store’s resurrection.

Rook looked a little tired and worn, but the pale grayness he had following Charlene’s death appeared to be gone. He was still moving a bit tenderly, favoring the arm the ER had to stitch back up. But he still looked
damned
good.

It’d taken Dante a good deal of emotional manipulation to get Rook to stay overnight. Loss of blood and trauma apparently didn’t faze him as much as having Archie worry about him. Having both Rook and his grandfather on the same floor seemed to appease them. Others in the family, however, had other ideas.

Dante quickly learned it was best to ignore the argumentative Martins and shut the hospital room door in their faces after he’d wheeled Archie into Rook’s room so they could visit. Apparently in Rook’s family, life was much simpler behind closed doors.

“Hi.” He treaded carefully, not sure he liked seeing his uncle and lover with their heads together and cackling over something. As casually as he could, Dante ventured in, “What are you doing here, Manny?”

“You’re looking at the new manager of Potter’s Field.” Manny beamed, clapping Rook on the shoulder. “We were just talking about the renovations. I was agreeing with Rook it was a good idea to make a separate entrance to the loft’s elevator from the outside. It’s healthier to keep work space and home space apart.”

“I’ll still be able to get into the shop from the lift,” Rook explained. “There’ll be a door connecting that part of the building to the front, but I’ll be the only one with the key. Manny’s talking about how to add windows back there, but I’m not going to punch more holes into the side of the building just yet.”

“You… um… have a business, Manny,” Dante reminded his uncle. “You do… stuff in the back cottage. Remember? Hair. Makeup. That kind of thing? And no offense, but what do you know about movies?”

“Dante, I love you, but really, how many drag queens need me to do their faces and hair on a daily basis?” Manny poked him in the chest. “And please, I was in entertainment for years.”

“Knows a shit ton more about musicals than I ever will.” Rook leaned on the counter. “And hey, this will free me up to go estate picking. I just want to find stuff, not boss people around.”

“I happen to like bossing people around. Keep your mouth shut there, Dante. Now, I’ll look through the applications. We’ll get a full staff in by the time we reopen.” Manny gathered up a pile of papers from the counter. “I’m going to guess you’re not coming home tonight,
mijo
.”

“You’ve got
lotería
night tonight, right?” Dante jiggled the bags of takeout. “I think Rook and I will pass. I can miss the whole shouting, screaming, and drunken singing.”

“I’m going to have to get a dog or something to keep me company.” Manny kissed Rook’s cheek. “I barely see him… or you. You two have to come spend more time at the house.”

“How about if we just hook you up with someone hot and call it a day?” Rook asked, barely wincing when Manny struck his tender arm, and Dante leaned over to accept his clueless uncle’s buss.

“Yes, that idea I like.” Manny headed to the back door, taking a second to glance at one of the worker’s rears. “I will see you two later.”

“So you hired my uncle?” Dante put the bags of food on the dusty sales counter. “Really?”

“Really. I trust him. And well, after….” Rook’s expression turned stony. “Fuck, it still hurts, you know? Charlene.
Bitch
.”

“Yeah, I know, hon.” He did know. Or at least understood.

They’d spent hours talking about Charlene and Vince, each picking their way through a field of pain and broken hearts. For him, it was hard to see his former partner tumble down the last few inches of the pedestal Dante’d put him on, but Rook’s pain was deeper. Charlene had been Rook’s first step into a new life, not knowing she was bringing a hell of a lot of his old life with her.