Witness Chase (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (38 page)

“Yeah, so why am I here?”

Another woman wandered over and leaned in. She held a half-empty bottle of beer in her right hand and wore street clothes—shorts, a tank top and sandals.

She was stunning and seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn’t place her.

“Teffinger,” Jeannie said, “meet Alicia Elmblade.” He must have had an expression of shock on his face because she added, “See, I told you it’d be worth the trip.”

“So you’re alive,” he said to the woman.

The woman looked at Jeannie, said “He’s so formal,” then put her arms around Teffinger’s neck, pulled him in and planted a big kiss on his lips. “I understand you’ve been watching out for me,” she said. “Is that true?”

Teffinger shrugged.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he said. “I thought for sure Northway killed you right after Rick’s Gas Station.”

“Apparently he didn’t,” she said.

Jeannie grabbed Teffinger by the arm and started to lead him off. “Come on, you. You’re going into the back room for a couple of lap dances, on the house.” Alicia Elmblade grabbed his other arm and fell into step.

He found himself in the dim-lit back room, seated in an oversized chair with a six-foot high back, a private unit shaped like a Tilt-A-Whirl, pointed towards the wall. The women stripped down to thongs and turned their powers of persuasion on him.

“So tell me the story,” he said.

Alicia Elmblade shook her head negative and gently rubbed his crotch. “Not until you get hard first,” she said.

It took thirty-five or forty minutes for them to tell him the story, grinding on him the entire time. They were back there so long that one of the bouncers poked his head in a couple of times, just to be sure nothing illegal was going on.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, DRIVING BACK HOME,
Teffinger reflected on the lawyer, Michael Northway. So, it turns out that he really did try to sever himself from Ganjon in the beginning by setting up a fake death. Still, he let himself give in to his dark side, eventually, which was too bad. There was no excuse for rolling Kelly into the river.

Michael Northway, Esq., the fancy-schmancy lawyer.

Now just one more dumb-ass fugitive on the run.

When he got home, the house was dark and Kelly was in the bedroom lying naked on top of the sheets, breathing heavy and steady. He watched her as he stripped down to his T-shirt, and then climbed in, trying not to wake her.

“You smell like perfume,” she mumbled.

“Oasis.”

“Yeah, right. What did she want?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Umm,” she said, rolling to her side.

Because if I tell you now that you didn’t participate in an actual murder, he thought, you’ll be too excited to sleep. Then your ass will be dragging in court tomorrow.

And we can’t have that.

He leaned over, kissed her, then laid his head down and closed his eyes.

Then he opened them.

“Oh,” he said. “Jeannie gave me a lap dance, just for your information.”

“A good one?”

“Nah. I hardly even noticed, to tell you the truth.”

A pause.

“Is that your last lie of the night?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Okay, good. See you in the morning.”

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