Page 9 of The Most Wanted (The Kinky Bank Robbers #4)

Chapter Six

We went out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant because that’s something that you do when you’re in a relationship with rich, successful bank robbers—you eat out a lot.

Guys.

My sleuthing Romeos identified two avenues of inquiry—the first was people on Herk’s list, and the second was wig stores, theaters, and studios.

It was decided that Odin would update Herk and ask around about the guys on the list, getting addresses and impressions.

Meanwhile, Thor and Zeus and I would run down the wig angle.

So we spent the rest of the afternoon running down places that sold Herk-style wigs—Thor took ten of them, and Zeus and I took twelve.

Just FYI, investigating a crime isn’t as much like Law he’d just walk in presuming authority.

Not only was this an effective investigation technique, but Zeus all bossy and stern and authoritative definitely got me hot.

At each store he showed a screen grab of the driver and asked whether they’d sold wigs like that in the past two months—that’s the time frame they’d decided on.

We quickly learned that wig stores have two main suppliers, and that the wig we were interested in was the B-160 22-inch, possibly the 20-inch, which retailed for around $150.

A few of them had sold that model, and some of them had the purchase information to turn over.

A couple of them needed to do research and get back to us. A few were stubborn about it.

No matter what, Zeus wanted me to note it all down on my P.I. pad.

“It’s kind of boring,” I said.

“Sometimes boring is good,” Zeus said.

“Not for Maria and Herk. We have to save them, and this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Not directly,” Zeus said. “These stores probably won’t give us anything because whoever bought the wig isn’t going to be stupid enough to use a credit card, but if you follow enough avenues, something turns up.

You can’t see a needle in a haystack, it’s true, but if you grab enough handfuls of hay, you might get poked. ”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you steal that out of a Sherlock Holmes book?”

Zeus gave me the stern gaze I so loved and pulled me to him and kissed me. I was kind of in the mood for fucking in the car after so many hours of Zeus being stern and commanding out in public, but somebody was all business.

A woman at one of the places remembered a deeply tanned man paying cash for a B-160 22-inch, but she thought it was related to a play or movie. Zeus got a really pathetic description and thanked her.

He told me later he didn’t think our pool was limited to dark-skinned guys. Skin tone could be faked for surveillance-quality camera, a street side camera, just like hair and tattoos.

We reached the area of the crash after dusk and parked next to a boarded-up, graffiti-splashed bar that was enclosed by a big-ass metal gate. We got out. Zeus took my hand, and we set off. “Up there,” he said.

The place seemed deserted but probably wasn’t.

The moon was full, luckily, since most of the streetlights were out.

Most of the buildings were enclosed by fences of different heights; many of the fences were topped by curled claws strung with barbed wire for an extra-menacing effect.

The street ran into an unused section of train track; on the other side was a tall concrete wall with a fence along the top bleeding down dark streaks of rust. There were lumps around a trash fire in the distance. Homeless.

“You got your piece?” I asked.

“Won’t need it,” Zeus said. “Most people down here, they get a sense of who they can fuck with and who they can’t fuck with. It gets in the blood. The stupid ones who don’t know who not to fuck with get thinned out fast.”

“I guess,” I said.

He kicked a can and kept going.

“You okay?”

Silence.

I took his hand and squeezed, looking around for the spot the beardsman described. Somewhere nearby there should be a washing machine on its side next to a tire pile.

“You play tennis?” he asked.

The emotion in his voice told me he was thinking about what Herk had said, about a couple growing old together. Tennis being nice for that and all. “I don’t play tennis,” I said.

“Me neither,” he said.

He pointed to a patch of broken glass, glittering in the moonlight. We skirted around it.

“We could take lessons,” I said.

“I don’t know. Showing up at a place every Tuesday afternoon or something in tennis clothes? Seems ill-advised.”

“Okay, then, we could hire a pro—what about that?”

He sniffed like it was so ridiculous.

“What?” I said. “You always say there’s nothing you can’t do, nothing you can’t have.”

“There’s plenty we can’t have,” he said.

“Like what? Figure it out and we’ll make a withdrawal.” I felt all smart for not putting air quotes around withdrawal.

Then Zeus asked, “Can we withdraw a regular life, Isis? Like what Herk is looking for? Can we withdraw walking down the aisle someday?”

My mouth went dry. My smart feeling evaporated.

“Can we withdraw you meeting all my old friends from high school, and them making stupid wedding speeches? And us dancing to some piece of shit band playing ‘90s music, but we don’t care, because we’re in love? Can you withdraw that?”

My heart pounded. What was he talking about here? Leaving the gang?

“Can you withdraw settling down in a little place with a white picket fence and starting our own family and having the neighbors over for barbeques and being on a first-name basis with the mailman? And learning tennis because we know we’ll be together forever?”

I stared forward, trying to compose my expression, but I was snagging on the walk down the aisle bit. And a little on the starting our own family bit. Well, actually the whole thing. It turned to him, and softly I asked, “Is that what you dream of, Zeus?”

“I know that’s the kind of life you were trying to get away from,” he said. “You love thrills and being breathless. You like danger and things a little crazy. But sometimes a farm seems like a little bit of heaven to me.”

I couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t answered my question. “Is that what you dream about? Leaving them? Having it be just us?”

“No! God no! I love our gang, baby. I would lay down my life to keep us together.”

I nodded, relieved.

“But it fucks me up to think about a simple normal family and holidays and shit. I don’t want you to think I don’t love what we all have. It’s just that you grow up with these stupid dreams?—”

“They’re not stupid. Dreams are never stupid.”

“We can never have that life.”

“Is it what you dream about?” I ask.

“Sometimes, maybe.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling heartbroken. The things he was talking about couldn’t happen on any level.

“Whatever,” he sniffed. “I dream of being in a rock band, too. So there’s that.”

“Zeus—don’t. Don’t minimize it.” I could feel how deeply his desire ran, the pain of knowing things he’d dreamt of could never happen. “Zeus?—”

“What?” He pulled his hand from mine and twisted my hair in a finger. “What do you think about putting Odin on drums? I think Odin would be awesome on drums. Thor would be on bass. You could play tambourine.”

“I love you,” I said. “There’s that.”

He looked grimly ahead.

We were nearing the shadowy-looking figures gathered around the fire, which smelled faintly of burning rubber.

Zeus nodded a greeting in their direction, and we continued on.

I pulled out my phone and found the picture of the accident scene that the beardsman had sent me.

We identified the washing machine and the graffiti on the sides.

Zeus took out his phone and illuminated a band of white along the wall. Then he went to the wrecked train tracks and did a three-sixty turn. The man was in full-on investigator mode, seeing everything, feeling everything with his big animal instincts.

I felt such love at that moment, and I hurt for him, too, for all of the pain in his words.

Of course he would have dreams that didn’t involve being a dangerous fugitive.

I was really the only one of us four who’d chosen this life.

My guys were so fabulous and uber-capable, it was easy to forget they hadn’t chosen this.

He crouched at the base of a massive utility pole, sifting through a patch of broken glass. I went and stood near him, just to be by him.

“He came down here specifically to crash it and walk away unseen,” Zeus said.

“Because if you crash a Corvette on well-traveled streets, you have people around with phones. Five calls to 911 before you even get out.” He stood up and pointed.

“He hit the thing first to test his nerve. Then he spun around and hit the nose under that yellow tag. Probably jarred him a bit. He hits here a final time with less force.”

He seemed so sad. I want to tell him not to give up, that he could have a picket fence, but it would be a lie.

He could have all the money and dark glory he wanted.

He could have a diamond as big as his fist if he got it in his head to take it, but never a picket fence.

Never neighborhood barbeques. Never a friendly mailman.

At least, not one that they wouldn’t want to kill.