Page 16

Chapter Fifteen

–––

Manhandled

“This is not as fun as I thought it would be,” Kat grumbled.

“Told you,” I said, popping a Taki in my mouth. We were sitting in my car, parked across the street from the Prickly Pear Motel. The ubiquitous neon sign advertised LO RATES and FREE SATELLITE! below a cactus that added spikes with every subsequent illumination. Based on the steady stream of cars pulling into the parking lot and disgorging mismatched couples (usually an old, heavy white guy and a young woman in high heels and a miniskirt), most of the guests were paying by the hour. Maybe by the minute. Every single one of the sex workers was a brunette or redhead, which made me wonder if Dr. Aboud had any wigs left in his store.

I held out the bag to Kat, but she shook her head. “I am too nervous to eat.”

“Are you?” I tilted my seat back and stifled a yawn. We’d been parked here for nearly two hours, and I could easily fall back asleep, despite the energy drinks we’d been mainlining. A bathroom was going to become a pressing necessity soon. I checked my watch: nearly midnight. “I’m starving. With any luck, this asshole will show early enough for us to grab a decent meal after.”

“As long as I get to use this first,” she said, holding up the pepper spray canister.

“Easy.” I shifted her hand so the canister wasn’t aimed directly at me. “I like being able to see.”

“Sorry.” Kat sighed heavily, then picked up Dot’s flyer and skimmed it for the hundredth time. “So it says if we suspect we have the right person, we are to contact Dot immediately and she will redirect everyone to our location. We are not to approach on our own.” She looked at me. “But he is not supposed to be dangerous, is he?”

“Anyone can be dangerous if they’re cornered.”

“I suppose that is true.” Kat frowned. “Once everyone comes, then what?”

“Great question, babe. Dot said she’s got that part covered.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure. Guess we’ll find out.” I stretched my arms above my head and arched my back. “Oof. I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“Your friend is waving to you.”

“Yeah?” I straightened. Through the windshield, I could see Marcella. She’d pulled on a fuzzy bolero over the pink leopard minidress that accentuated every curve. Not that I was looking. I cleared my throat and said, “She’s supposed to text if something’s up.”

Marcella made a gesture of exasperation and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“Perhaps you should go see what she wants,” Kat said.

“Yeah, I better,” I sighed. “Hang tight. And save me some gummy bears, all right?”

I got out and slumped over to Marcella. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m bored,” she said, taking a hit off her vape pen.

“You’re bored?” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Entertain me,” she said.

I choked out a laugh. “I thought the whole point was not to blow your cover.”

Her eyes trailed over me and she said, “You can pass. Those jeans are tight enough.”

I shifted uncomfortably. While Kat had kitted herself out in all black and looked like she was on her way to an art heist, I’d stuck with my usual: dark jeans, T-shirt, boots, and a motorcycle jacket. “I don’t know,” I said. “You think a lot of johns go for lesbian chic?”

“The chicks do.” Off my look, she said, “Sometimes we get those. Makes for a nice change of pace.”

“I’ll bet.” A limo with two girls poking through the sunroof blew past. They whooped at us, and Marcella blew them a kiss. “I didn’t think you were still working.”

Marcella’s lips quirked. “I’m not. Just managing the Getaway these days, and believe me, that shit is full-time. Thought I’d hung up these heels for good, but I owe Dot, so…” She shrugged.

“Yeah.” I realized I was nodding excessively and forced myself to stop.

“So is it serious?”

“Is what serious?” I asked.

Marcella nodded toward the car. I could see Kat in the passenger seat, polishing off the gummy bears. She grinned and waved. “Oh, um…kind of, yeah.”

“Huh.” Marcella said. “She seems okay. For a rich bitch.”

After all the psychology I’d studied during the past four years, you’d think I’d be better at navigating awkward conversations. You’d be wrong. But I’d had something on my mind for months, and this was as good a time as any to get it out there. “Listen, I should apologize.”

It was her turn to look puzzled. “For what?”

“For the way things ended with us.” I drew a deep breath. “It was shitty of me to just take off without saying goodbye.”

“Super shitty,” Marcella agreed.

“I know, and I’m really sorry. It’s just, after what happened with Jessie—”

“After I got her killed, you mean,” Marcella interrupted, her voice hard.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, it was.” She met my eyes squarely. I realized that I hadn’t appreciated until now how clear her gaze was; definitely not the same as before. “I gotta make amends, right? I mean, you put together a whole plan to catch that asshole, and I fucked it up and got Jessie killed. I have to live with that.”

I started to interrupt, but Marcella put a hand on my arm. “I mean it, Amber. I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten in touch with you. But I knew you were coming for the wedding, and I figured better to tell you in person, right?” She bit at her thumbnail. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing someone, though.”

I was surprised and moved. The depth of emotion in her voice was clear, and it sparked a similar feeling in me. I drew a deep breath and said, “Wow, so we’re doing step nine right here, huh?”

“Well, this is kind of my natural habitat,” Marcella said with a grin, indicating the street corner with a sweep of her arm.

We were laughing when Kat approached. Smiling shyly, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt even though I hadn’t been doing anything wrong. “What’s up?”

“Dot has been texting you,” she said, handing over my phone.

“Sorry, babe. Guess we aren’t the lucky ones.” I read the texts and said, “Oh shit. We gotta go.”

“What’s wrong?” Marcella asked.

“He’s at the Getaway,” I said over my shoulder, already hurrying back to the car. “Everyone’s meeting there.”

“What?” Marcella blanched. “But no one’s even working that corner tonight! I left Gina to watch the desk!”

“All I know is Dot said to get there as fast as we can,” I said, turning on the engine.

Kat slid into the passenger seat, looking pale. As she buckled her seat belt, I checked my mirrors before swinging the car around. “Is everyone okay?” she asked worriedly.

I chanced a glance back at Marcella. She was sitting in the back seat, chewing on a nail and glaring out the window. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Let’s hope so.”

———

The Prickly Pear was relatively close to the Getaway. Still, by the time we got there, a half dozen cars were already parked haphazardly in the lot. A bunch of folks were milling on the second story walkway; another group clustered outside the office on the ground floor.

I parked right beside Grace’s sedan. Marcella had the door open and was out before my car had come to a full stop. I could hear wailing from inside the office. Kat and I exchanged a glance and then followed her inside.

The reception area was mostly how I remembered it, although the battered desk had been replaced by a sleeker mid-century one, and the carpeting was new. A rack of pamphlets for local attractions lined one corner, a set of chairs flanking it. Framed noir posters decorated the walls, and a small TV mounted in the corner showed noir movies on a loop.

The crying came from the tiny office behind the desk. Grace stood in the doorway, her back to us. She shifted and met my eyes, her expression inscrutable.

Excusing myself, I eased past the people crammed inside the lobby and came up beside Grace. Gina sat in the chair at Dot’s desk, a brunette wig askew on her head and her face in her hands. Dot and Marcella had crouched down to console her.

“What happened?” I asked in a low voice.

“Apparently the attacker came after her again.” Grace said. “He tried to lure her into a room on the top floor where his partner was waiting, but she pepper-sprayed him. One guy ran, and the other is being held upstairs.”

“Shit, really?” I frowned. “There were two of them?”

“Which would explain why my algorithm failed,” Grace said, with an unseemly amount of satisfaction. “The parameters did not account for multiple attackers.”

“How did they find her?” I asked. “I mean, Marcella said no one was even stationed over here.”

“We’re not sure. She hasn’t been very forthcoming,” Grace said disapprovingly.

“Gina, honey, have some water,” Dot said gently, offering her a glass. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Marcella looked up. “Does anyone have a Xanax?”

“I do!” Kat offered.

As she dug through her purse, I said, “You do?”

Kat threw me a look. “Yes, Amber. I have a fear of flying.”

“Oh.” I frowned. Had she told me that? Seemed like something I should know about my partner, right?

Kat hurried forward and offered a pill to Gina, who gulped water to wash it down. Her breathing gradually slowed, the sobs abating.

“Now then, that’s better.” Dot patted her knee. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“I just—I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Gina wailed, throwing her head back. “Why does this keep happening?”

“Easy, hon,” Dot cooed.

“What happened?” Marcella asked.

Gina dissolved in sobs again. “He…he…came to the desk. And asked to see the room.”

“Wait, what?” Dot frowned. “He asked for a room?”

“No, he asked to see the room. Where the guy died?” Gina sniffled. “So I took him up there, and when I opened the door, there was another guy waiting!”

“So the guy inside the room attacked you?” Dot asked.

“Didn’t give him the chance,” Gina sniffed. “I screamed, and the first guy took off, and I sprayed the other one, then I ran down here and locked the door and called you, and Portia was closest so she showed up, like, right away.”

Whooping and cheers from the group upstairs—it sounded like there was a real party going on up there. I was starting to get a bad feeling, though. Mainly because whoever had attacked Gina appeared to be interested in what had happened at the Getaway last spring. Was there a connection between him and Gunnar? Grace had stiffened, clearly thinking the same thing.

“Why did you take him to see the room?” Marcella asked.

Gina avoided her eyes and shrugged.

“I told you to just answer the phone,” Marcella said in a harder voice, straightening and crossing her arms. “This guy try to pay for a date?”

“No!” Gina retorted. “He just offered twenty to look at the room. That was it!”

“Fucking lookie-loos,” Dot said. “We get them all the time.” Her phone beeped; she checked the screen and frowned. “Huh. Skeeter is saying that they had the guy, but he ran.”

“What?” I frowned. “Where’s Skeeter?”

“Over at the Super 8 near Henderson.”

Another buzz on her phone. Dot winced as she read the text. “Oh my. Candy’s group just pepper-sprayed someone, too. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

“Um, Gina?” I asked. “Is it possible this wasn’t the same guy who attacked you last night?”

Gina stopped sniffling and glared at me. “That room is supposed to be empty!”

“She’s not wrong about that,” Dot said, getting to her feet and straightening her trench coat. “Let’s go see what this character has to say for himself.”

I gestured for Kat to follow. Grace branched off as we strode through the parking lot. “Where are you going?”

“There were two motels connected to my brother,” Grace said in a low voice. “I need to check on Mother.”

“Oh shit.” It hadn’t even occurred to me. Grace’s brother had died at the Getaway, in the room everyone was currently thronging. But he’d actually been staying next door at the Buggy Suites. And both motels had been mentioned in most of the news coverage. “Probably just a coincidence, right?”

“I’d prefer to check.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

Grace was already trotting away, headed toward the vacant lot that separated the motels.

“What is going on with Grace?” Kat asked.

I shook my head. “Long story.”

Another round of cheering erupted as we mounted the stairs to the second floor. The walkway was crowded, the atmosphere jubilant. People were drinking canned margaritas and peering in the motel room window. They cleared a path for Dot.

“We got him, Dottie!” someone called out.

“Yeah, happy wedding, girl!”

“Portia’s making him pay all right!”

A muffled howl issued from inside the room.

I stayed close to Dot as she wove through the crowd, accepting everyone’s glee with a thin smile. “Hell, toots,” she murmured. “I got a bad feeling.”

“You and me both,” I said.

When we finally reached the doorway, I took a deep breath to steady myself. The last time I’d been inside this room, Gunnar had been lying dead on the floor and Jessie was in the bathtub, the cord that strangled her still wrapped around her throat.

I felt Kat’s hand on my arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I exhaled slowly, thinking It’s just a motel room. Nothing in there can hurt you. Then I stepped inside.

It was packed, wall-to-wall people. And I’m not the tallest person, so at first I couldn’t make out what was going on. But then someone shifted, providing a clear view of what everyone was fixated on.

I clapped a hand to my mouth and said, “Oh shit.”

A rickety desk chair had been moved into the space between the bed and the bureau. Portia stood behind it, still wearing her full dominatrix regalia, although she’d taken off the wig. In front of her, a guy was tied to the chair with elaborate ropework, a ball gag in his mouth. His eyes bulged as he attempted to scream around it. Portia was brandishing an electric razor; she grabbed hold of a clump of his hair, shaved it off, and then waved it around to the overwhelming approval of the crowd, who whooped and applauded. Thanks to the pepper spray, the guy’s eyes were bright red and teary, and half of his head had already been shaved bald.

“Oh my,” Kat said. “This is all very dramatic. That is the man we were trying to catch?”

“Holy crap,” I said. “It’s BJ.”

“Who?”

“Dot’s friend’s nephew. He used to help run the motels.”

“So then he is supposed to be here?” Kat sounded confused. I couldn’t blame her; I was feeling pretty damn confused myself. My understanding was that BJ had left in a huff after his aunt Jessie willed the place to Dot instead of him. But apparently, he was back in town.

“Bernard Jones Veasey,” Dot thundered, hands on her hips. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Bernard Jones, aka BJ, tried to speak around the ball gag. Dot nodded at Portia, who flicked it off with one hand.

BJ coughed a few times and then whined, “What the hell, Dot? These crazy bitches tied me to a chair!”

That statement did not go over well with the crowd. Portia stepped forward and smacked him across the face open-handed. “Shut up, maggot,” she said imperiously.

BJ shrank back from her as much as possible, considering how well he was bound.

“I asked what you’re doing here,” Dot repeated. “Come clean, or I let Portia get on with it.”

“And I’m just getting started,” Portia purred, turning on the razor beside his ear. “You have no idea how creative I can get with this thing.”

“What? No! I didn’t do anything!”

“Try again,” Dot said. “Because far as I knew, you were still in Stockton.”

BJ lowered his eyes, glaring at the floor. “My mom kicked me out. And I remembered that this room is usually empty.”

“Mm-hmm. And how did you get in?” Dot asked sternly.

“Still got a master key,” he said, so low I could barely hear him.

“And the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“Your partner,” Dot said.

“The asshole who’s been helping you drug and shave girls,” Portia chimed in.

BJ looked mystified. “What asshole?”

“Uh-oh,” I said.

Kat murmured in my ear, “What is it?”

“Not who we’re looking for, apparently,” I murmured back.

“Wrong guy,” Marcella called from the door. “Clear a path!”

People shifted to let her through. Marcella stalked in, a disgusted expression on her face. “Gina thinks maybe she made a mistake.”

“Damn straight she did!” BJ said, his chin wobbling. “I didn’t do nothing to no one! I should sue!”

“Oh, I dare you to,” Portia said, bending down to tickle his cheek with her nail. “That would make my week.”

“You broke into my motel!” Dot said.

“Yeah, well…I had no choice,” he muttered.

“You’re lucky that’s all she shaved,” Marcella said. “If I’d caught you, it would’ve been a hell of a lot worse, you little shit.”

“I—I had nowhere else to go!” BJ started crying. In spite of everything, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

Portia waved the razor around. “So am I finishing the job, or what?”

“Don’t touch me!” BJ shrieked. “Aunt Dot, make her stop!”

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. As the conversation devolved into a four-way argument, I stepped outside to answer it.

It was Grace. And she sounded uncharacteristically rattled.

“Amber, come quickly. I need help.”