War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch (15 page)

"He was a bounty hunter?"

Chad
shrugged.
"Gotta eat while you're in med school.
How you think I met him?"

Well, he knew his bounty hunter
pediatrician, all right. As the phone was on speaker, it didn't take much to
figure out Spike thought the request was the best thing since white bread.

"Oh, man! For
real
?! Where exactly are you?"

"Bout fifteen miles up the Vegas
Expressway headed to Indian Springs. Name of the place is—oh, hell, baby girl,
what
is
the name of this place?"

"Look at the damn sign! Aren't you out
front?"

"Not exactly."

"Then where the hell are you?"

"Don't ask. Baby girl—"

I slipped the chain lock and looked out.

 
"Western Courtyard," I supplied.

"Could be a lot worse," Spike
commented.

"Could be a lot
better."

"You got 'em corralled yet?"

"Nope.
Sort of thought handcuffs would be good first.
Seein'
as how my wife's in the mix and all."

"Your wife?
Not till tomorrow, remember, I picked which tux I'm wearing and
everything.
My white one."

"Yeah, well, put it back in the
closet. And don't ask."

"If you say so.
Fifteen, twenty minutes, tops."

Chapter Twenty-One

"Twenty-two minutes," Chad
proclaimed as Spike opened the door of his shiny black Beemer, "but who's
counting?
You losing
your edge, bro?"

"Don't take as many chances with a
Beemer as you do with a rusted-out Chevy."

Chad
shook his head sadly. "The things money does. Makes slaves of us all,
steals spontaneity,
curbs
that wild, free
spirit…."

"Oh, bite me," Spike said mildly,
opening the trunk and pulling out two sets of handcuffs. He handed them to Chad
and then pulled out two wicked looking guns. I took a wild guess they were
Glocks. Then they passed off to each other so that each was armed with one pair
of handcuffs and one gun.

Chad
raised an eyebrow. "You ready?"

"Let's do this thing," Spike
confirmed.

"Baby girl, you stay over
there
," Chad pointed to the far side of the
Beemer. "You got it?"

"Some partnership," I said.

"Your time'll come, precious.
Just not this time.
You got it?"

"I got it." I did, of course. I
wasn't
stupid
.

The assumed stolen, spotty black Camry was
parked in front of Unit 4 and there wasn't exactly a dearth of parking spaces,
so logically our skips were in Unit 4, right? So why the heck was Chad
walking down to Unit 9? I almost called out but caught myself. This was Magic
Man, and if he was going to Unit 9, he must know what he was doing.

Just when they approached the door, it flew
open.

"He's crazy!" the bond-jumping ho
shouted, running straight for the pediatrician moonlighting bounty hunter. And
based on size, if I was running to strangers for protection, he'd be my first
choice, too.

"I'll kill you, you cunt!" The
bond-skipping pimp, wild-eyed, shirt flapping open over a wife-beater T that
had waved bye-bye to white some time ago, came charging out the door. He was
brandishing a hunting knife that looked as though it'd be at home in the hands
of Jim Bowie. "Think I wouldn't notice you snortin' my stash?"

Apparently, he noticed Chad and Spike for the first time.

"What you
starin
' at,
ya
assholes?
Stare at me, will ya? I'll give you something to stare at!"
And he charged at Chad,
knife straight out in his right hand.

Chad
pivoted and swung his left leg up and wide, a sideways kick, aiming for the
hand brandishing the knife. I'd seen the move on the TV and movie screen of
course, and it always worked. It simply disarmed the assailant with the least
amount of physical harm to said assailant.

I was proud of Chad's quick-thinking and
restraint. Sure, he could have just shot him, but do you have any
idea
of the legal problems we'd have to
get through, even for a justified shooting? In a split-second, that feeling
changed to pain. And oh,
shit
, it
hurt!

Guess what? That move doesn't always work
the same way it does on TV and in the movies. If the angle's wrong, guess where
the knife goes? Three guesses and the first two don't count.

Chad
's
face went white. He brought the leg doing the kicking down at an unnatural
angle, standing on the side of his left foot, rather than the ball of it.
Didn't slow his speed down any, though.
His arm reached out
and grabbed the offending wrist that was no longer wielding the knife, seeing
as how it was now protruding straight through his foot, twisting said wrist up
and back as he slapped a handcuff on it.

"Fucker!" screamed the pimp.
"That
hurts
!"

"Good! Keep screamin' and I'll break
it for you!
Son-of-a-bitch!!
"
exclaimed my new husband, as his foot
turned downward and the knife made a bit of contact with the ground.
Didn't seem to bother Chad that much, other than the
involuntary '
son-of-a-bitch!'
but my
stomach cramped and fell out of my body.

Spike, during this rousing melee, had
already cuffed
the ho
's hands behind her back, despite
her outraged screams.

"You
asshole!
You 'sposed to be
protecting
women come runnin' atcha gots a knife-holdin'
maniac
coming after 'em!
And
you
cuffin'
me?!
For real?!?!"

"Oh, yeah,
sweetheart, for really real!"
Spike
confirmed, moving her—okay, maybe not so gently—towards the Beemer. He opened
the back door and shoved her inside.

"Ariel!
Can you—"

"Yeah, I got it," I confirmed,
moving to the other side of the Beemer, on guard against any door flying open
and any ho hauling ass out of it.

No longer encumbered by
the
ho
, Spike sprinted over to Chad and the pimp and finished the
handcuff job. He'd just about gotten back to the Beemer when the back door flew
open and
the ho
flew out. I've never been athletic,
don't get the wrong idea. But my husband had a knife in his foot, which I just
incidentally felt as though it were sticking in my own, and this was my
wedding
day, for God's sake! My wedding
night
!

"Oh,
hell no!
"
I shouted, and took a flying leap straight at her, my arms around
her middle. I lay there holding on through the shouts and flailing arms until
Spike scooped her off me.

"Some damn," he said mildly,
putting her back in the backseat. Both his hands finally being free, he pulled
his keys out of his pocket and clicked the locks. He held his hand out for me,
and I pulled myself up, limping as I headed towards Chad.

"Oh, shit, that flying tackle mess up
an ankle or a leg, hon?" Spike asked as he followed.

"No, that's fine."

"Then what—oh, shit! You're not, are
you?"

"Am I
what
?"

"Never mind.
Of course you are." We'd reached Chad by that time, and with me on
one side and Spike on the other, hobbled him over to the car.

"Okay." Chad was pale, but obviously in full
control. "So, here's the deal. You take the bike back, I'll glare at 'em
over the front seat and dare 'em to move and baby girl'll drive the
Beemer—"

"Sorry, son, that won't work,"
Spike interrupted. "We'll have to leave the bike. I'll call in, get a patrol
car to come out and grab it, got a few favors I can call in. One of the guys'll
ride it back."

"No point in all that, easier just
to—"

"Magic Man," said Spike. I
started. You mean that wasn't just
my
nickname for him? "
You taken
a good look at your
wife yet?"

"What—" Chad turned to me, his hand
reaching out to turn my chin towards him. I could feel the beads of sweat
running along my hairline, and knew they had nothing to do with heat. I
couldn't see my reflection but I was sure I was paler than he was. I knew my
eyes were wide as saucers.
"Shit!!"

"Oh, yeah," said Spike mildly.
"You are in so much trouble now, Magic Man. You got two fronts to guard.
'Cause what happens to you—she feels. Be nice if you could shield a little
there, I'd hate for her to pass out before I get your ass to the ER."

"No ER. You still got your own ER,
know you do. How else would you still have favors to call in?"

"First things first.
Get in the damn car, I'm calling ahead to have a welcoming
committee out front at the LEC. And then I'll take a look in the private ER. No
promises, though. Depends on where that knife is exactly, whether we stay there
or head to the Medical
Center. You're in my
territory now, son."

We all piled in the car. I was feeling a
little better. Chad
must be—what had Spike called it?
Shielding.

We were pulling away from the Western
Courtyard when I heard the low whisper under his breath.

"This did not go
at all
the way I planned."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Spike was in process on Chad's foot in the private ER when
I started at the sound.
Chad
's
cell phone.
Ringing in his jacket pocket from the
chair across the room.
A ringtone I'd never heard before.

"Shit! Get that, baby girl!"

"Man, I am stitching a
foot
here!
To hell
with the damn phone!"

"I need that call!"

I scrambled for the phone while Spike threw
up his hands and stopped work momentarily.

"Far be it from me to interfere with a
man and his informant!"

Informant?
I raised my brow and frowned as I handed Chad his phone. Of course it was.
Why else a special ringtone?

"Whatcha' got for me?"
Short, sharp, to the point.
"No. Keep an eye out the
next day or two.
Pay attention to any pattern, any movement.
I'll be there soon as I can. You give this to anybody else, I'll—"

A loud squawk of protest came sounded from
the earpiece.

"Good. Long as you remember
that."

Chad
clicked the phone shut and looked at me. "Baby girl—"

"We're doing Vegas some other time,
right?"

"I'm sorry but—"

"But that call was from somebody who
shall be nameless but whose function is spelled i-n-f-o-r-m-a-n-t. Who
just told you where somebody was you been looking for.
For a
while.
And you trust his information because you own his ass. How'm I
doin' so far?"

"Pretty damn good, I'd say," said
Spike. "All right if I continue this repair job while you two fight?"

"We're not going to fight," I
said. "It's our job. We're going to go get him.
Whoever
it is."

"No,
we
are not. You're a fledgling bounty hunter, baby girl.
In training.
You can go on the preliminary run to verify.
You are
not
going in for the
take-down."

"We'll see about that," I
declared.

Spike started whistling the tune to
"Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight".

* * *

We sat in the silver Equinox, shrouded in
night shadows, across the street from the dilapidated house in the decrepit neighborhood
of one of the worst sections of Marietta,
watching for movement.

"At least it was convenient," I
said.

"Convenient?"

"Close to the airport.
Picking up the car and all.
At least it was handy."

"True."

"How long you been after this
dude?"

"Zander Stevens.
Not your average bad-ass.
Lots more going on with
him than drug-dealing, that's just what he got caught at.
Been after him a
long
time.
Other folks been after him a lot longer than I have, spooked him
and he went to ground.
Nothing worse than a bad bounty
hunter.
Once you get the scent, you got to run 'em till you get 'em. You
let up, they get away, takes 'em awhile to get comfortable, start moving enough
for you to find the trail again. Figured he'd come back here eventually.
Seems to be his abode of choice.
Comfort zone or something.
Why I had some eyes looking in the neighborhood."