Mae wept. “What are you?” she cried.
“You never told anyone that, did you.” Not a question. “I don’t know what her name was because I never wrote it, but his name was Luke. And you called her a disturbed bitch. A disturbed bitch who’s going to hell, and said she couldn’t please her husband, that’s why he pretends to work late and gets prostitutes.”
“Who told me to say that?” Mae whispered.
“What was that?” Tag leaned forward to better hear.
“Who told me to say that?”
“What do you mean who told you to say that? Nobody did. You were in the back of the station wagon.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t alone back there.”
“You weren’t? Then who?”
“How do you know so damned much but not know about Breuer?”
“The dog?”
“No, not the fucking dog!”
“Maybe I’m clairvoyant. I don’t know how else to explain it. Can you at least acknowledge that I know what I’m talking about? That this is very real and not some stupid… whatever it is?”
She nodded, met eyes with Tag. Her eyes were red. A deep sunset, amber coronas a dull glow. “Must be real. There’s no other way to explain it. Clairvoyance.” She covered her mouth at the next thought. “Did Trent… did he kill? Please tell me he didn’t…”
Tag didn’t wish to get reamed yet again. A yes answer would bring the ugliness back in a big way. “I don’t know. That’s all in the past now, anyway. It doesn’t affect the price of tea in Tennessee, as you would say. What matters is what’s happening now. What matters is why you didn’t open the door right away when we knocked; why you put a sweater on before opening the door, maybe some makeup. And I’d guess if you had shorts on you would’ve put pants on before opening the door. What matters is that one day Trent is going to elbow you in the lower back and rupture a kidney or appendix and not take you to the hospital. And you’ll die, Mae. Sure as shit, you will die by him someday. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.”
* * *
Amber parked in the driveway. Tag remained in the Honda as the girls went inside the house to take care of business. He frequently glanced out the back window expecting to discover Hell’s Fucking Fury coming home early from work after being alerted by god-knows-what. A nanny cam? iPhone app? Wayward spouses, there’s an app for that! And Trent would be fit to murder. But it didn’t happen. Trent was getting inside some paying customer’s head, probably convincing him or her to take the easy way out and kill themselves without openly suggesting it.
The front door opened. Amber came out crestfallen, alone. She was crying. She got inside the Honda and wasted no time getting a move on. Tag was asking what happened; Amber cut him off and said never mind. They drove away.
“But I thought she agreed to come with us?”
“Just forget it. She isn’t ever going to leave him.”
“But she said she would come. What changed her mind?”
“Fear, I guess. She packed a suitcase, then unpacked it and told me to leave.”
“Damnit.”
Chapter 36
The Saucy Minx was bustling, patrons shoulder-to-shoulder. Voices were loud out of necessity. The music could be heard half a block away and drinks were going out without pause. Amber shared the role of cocktail waitress with Susan (a veteran of the Minx) and had worked up a sweat before the first dollar had exhausted its selections from the juke. The regulars were mostly sitting on stools at the bar. Some tried engaging Tag in menial conversation that he could in no way carry on with the amount of drinks he was blending, shaking, and pouring. Mae monopolized his mind, anyway. It was a rare occasion that he was getting drink orders wrong.
Being Thursday, he knew the crowd would thin considerably by midnight—most students had classes Friday morning. Also was the fact that the Oasis bar down the street served fifty-cent kamikaze’s from midnight till two on Thursdays only. The Minx drew them in for ninety-nine-cent pints, the Oasis stole them away the second the calendar day rolled over.
The tip bucket under the bar was full by twelve, a rarity in this economy. Tag attributed that to Amber’s employment. She took Tag’s advice on dressing slutty and had half the men in the bar staring at her pert little ass in a short skirt as she passed by them. She didn’t notice. She was too busy to notice. She had no idea if she was doing well with tips or not, having nothing to compare her success with. Tag was looking forward to telling her that the hundred bucks that he had estimated would be easily surpassed. When Susan stopped by the bar to stuff her wads of one-dollar-bills in the bucket, she said, “Damn. You see this, Tag?” He had seen this, and asked her if she thought higher of Amber now. “Oh yeah. Next time you’re thinking of calling Allie for help, don’t.”
It wasn’t until half past midnight that the bar dwindled down to just a dozen or so people, the usual suspects. The volume on the juke was turned down to ear-friendly. Amber took at a seat at a barstool and rested her head on the bar.
“Tiring, ain’t it?” Tag said as he went through the bucket money.
“My God,” she mumbled, face pressed against the bar. “I’ve never worked this hard in my life. If I worked here, I’d be able to eat cheesecake everyday and still be in shape.”
“What do you think? I could call you in from time to time if you want.”
“Pass. I appreciate it, but I’m not cut out for this. I’m so exhausted.”
“It gets easier. Susan’s been doing this for six years and doesn’t break a sweat. But I know what you mean, it takes a certain type to put up with ass-grabbing and flirting all night long.”
“That was the only part I liked,” she said.
Tag laughed. She lifted her weary head, rested it cheek in hand. She felt liquid seeping through her sleeve at the elbow and grimaced. She watched Tag stacking singles. “Is all that from tonight?” He nodded. “Did we do all right?”
“Sold a lot of drinks tonight, yes. Tips were good.”
Susan sidled Amber and said, “You did great, Amber. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She examined Susan’s outfit: black slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt, buttoned to just above the gore of her bra. To Tag: “How come she dresses nicely but you told me to dress like a whore?”
Susan laughed.
“I didn’t tell you to dress like a whore. I said you’d do better on tips if you dressed slutty.”
“He’s right,” Susan said. “And there’s the proof. There’s got to be three hundred bucks in there.”
“Closer to four hundred,” Tag said.
“Is it split three ways or do you get the lion’s share of it since you’re the bartender?”
“Split evenly.”
“Cool,” Amber said. “So that’s like a hundred or a hundred-thirty each maybe? I was going to be happy to make eighty tonight, tax-free money.”
“Plus your hourly, honey,” Susan reminded.
“Oh yeah! Man, maybe I will work some more here.”
A man took a seat at the stool two down from Amber and asked for a Bloody Buddy. Coming right up. Amber lazily looked at the man and said, “Bloody Buddy? Is that like a Bloody Mary?”
“It’s a Budweiser with tomato juice in it,” he replied.
Her nose wrinkled at the bridge. “Eww.”
He smiled at her. “Not your cup of tea? What do you like?”
“Guinness. Tequila. Daiquiris.”
The man said to Tag, “Get me two shots of Patron and a Guinness. Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” He produced two shot glasses and another pint glass.
“For me?” Amber said confusedly.
“You look like you could use a drink more than me.”
“But I’m working here.”
Susan walked away saying, “All the more reason to have a few.”
Tag put a shot and pint glass in front of Amber. Then a shot and Bloody Buddy before the stranger and requested of him payment. “Don?
??t think I’ve seen you before, bud. I’m Tag.” He offered his hand and the man shook it.
“Reed. Nice to meet you. I’m not much of a drinker but it’s been a long day.”
“Thank you for the drinks. I’m Amber.”
He moved to the seat beside her, took her offered hand and kissed the top of it. “My pleasure, Amber.”
“A real Casanova,” she said. She saw the band on his ring finger. “Do you greet women like that when your ball and chain is with you?”
“Oh, probably not.” He chuckled. His attention was then drawn to the contents of his blazer pocket; he withdrew a cellphone and sighed. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He walked out of the bar.
“What do you think,” Tag said to Amber, “his wife texted him to pack his shit and get out?”
“No. Stock alert, he lost a few grand. Probably calling to fire his broker.”
“That’s good,” he said impressively. “He looks the type. But the market’s been closed for many hours.”
She sipped her Guinness. “Are you going to pretend to be locked-out again tonight and need a place a crash?”
“Pretend? How’d you know that it was all a ploy to get into bed with you?”
“Women’s intuition.” She looked shyly away and added, “I’ll let you pretend again tonight, if you want.”
“You’re a sweetheart, you know that? I can’t get in touch with Kade. He’s not returning my calls or texts. I think he’s shacked up with a girl he met at the Oasis a few days ago. That being said, I don’t have the key to the new lock. If he doesn’t get back to me by tomorrow morning, I’ll get a locksmith to open the door for me.”
“My brain is tired. Are you saying that you want to come home with me?”
“Unless Kade calls me in the next hour or so, yes. But only if you don’t mind.”
“I said I’d let you pretend again tonight, didn’t I? Does a girl need to just come out and say it?”
“No. I got’cha. I’ve been secretly hoping Kade wouldn’t get back to me. The thought of being with you tonight has been a comforting one. A much needed one.”
“Do I need to wear the ski jacket again?”
He grinned. “Yes, and nothing else.”
“I could put ski boots and skis on, and nothing else.”
“Might be hard to maneuver in bed.”
“Who said anything about bed? Ever watch the Winter Olympics?—that big ass ramp that skiers jump off? They lean forward into the wind to cut down wind resistance. That’s what I have pictured in my mind.”
“And what about me? Am I a ski pole?”
“You’re the camera man; close up shot behind me.”
“What event is that? Long-humping?”
Reed returned from outside and sat down. He seemed relieved. He must have sold at just the right time. He apologized for the disturbance, said that his job is twenty-four-seven, and raised his shot of tequila to toast with Amber. They tossed them back and sipped their beers.
“Are you a stock broker?” Amber asked.
It amused Reed. “No, why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. You just have that look.”
“I’m a sergeant detective, Sacramento Homicide. Long day, needed to unwind.”
Tag and Amber met eyes. He asked what brings him to Chico.
“Long story. I guess I could sum it up best by saying a hunch.”
“Murder case in Chico?”
“Just checking some leads. Have nothing to go on, really. Just that Spark that Pays.” It was supposed to mean something to them.
“Spark that Pays?” Tag repeated.
“Oh, forgive me, I’m used to talking with the guys. They all call it the Spark that Pays. Hunches.”
“Police intuition,” Tag surmised.
“Maybe a little, but more than that it’s… well, it’s the Spark that Pays. It’s hard to describe.”
“Tell us,” Amber coaxed. “You got me wondering.”
Reed shifted on his stool, shrugged his tight jacketed-shoulders and said okay. “Two years ago I was a vice cop. Worked the beat. A murder case was being investigated by the Homicide Department and they had little to go on. All they had was a rag that they’d taken from the victim’s gagged mouth. There was no DNA other than the victim’s. I knew I had some sort of… well, gift I guess you could call it. Not that it works or worked all the time, or even most of the time. But sometimes it does work. And it did two years ago. I asked to handle the rag. It was evidence and they weren’t keen on the idea of me touching it, but I persuaded Captain Morales to give me a try. They were desperate to solve this case, being that it was the nephew of a City Selectman who was murdered.
“So I took the rag in my hands and had what I can only describe as that sensation when you wake up from a lucid dream, before you fully know you’re awake; you know, you’re thinking about the dream, trying to decide if it happened or not. I could see the guy stuffing the rag in the victim’s mouth. I could make his description out enough to get a sketch artist to put together a pretty accurate sketch. Lieutenant Harbaugh—back then Sergeant Harbaugh—thought it looked like a guy he had once questioned for an unrelated homicide. Well, long story short, it ended up being the same guy. He was questioned regarding stated homicide. His story didn’t jibe. One thing led to another, he was arrested and confessed to the murder. The Spark that Pays. It wasn’t long after that I joined Homicide and have used that Spark on several occasions.”
“That’s incredible,” Tag said.
“Do you get visions from just anything?” Amber inquired. “Like a brush or car keys or something?”
“Eh, sometimes.”
“That’s so cool.” She swiveled on her stool to better face Reed. She saw his eyes go down to her lap and widen. She closed her legs, reflecting back to when she got dressed, and was relieved to remember putting panties on. It was a short skirt. “So what did you touch that brought you here? What did you see?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss an open case.”
“Aww. Booo! You’re no fun.”
Reed chuckled. “Yeah, I’m no fun. Agreed. I’ll tell you what. I’ll try my Spark that Pays on something of yours, see if I can come up with any images. You have something personal that you’ve used many times? Keys, brush, credit card?”
“Hell yes I do.” She asked Tag to hand her the purse from behind the counter. He did. She opened it and produced her keys.
“Can’t guarantee it’ll work,” he said and palmed the keys. He appeared to weigh them in his hand, bobbed up and down. Then cupped them in both hands and closed his eyes. Tag and Amber gave each other an amused grin. “Sorry. Not getting a vibe. Do you have something more personal? Used gum, comb, ATM card?”
“Sure.” She produced a credit card and handed it over. He did the same thing, closed his eyes and meditated over the contents of his joined hands, credit card between them. He took a moment before sighing and issuing an apology. “Doesn’t always work with everyone. Some people emit a vibe that transfers to their possessions. That’s my take on it, anyways. Who knows, really.”
“Give him something,” Amber said to Tag. “I want to see the Spark that Pays.”
Reed and Tag humored. Tag withdrew his wallet and handed him a Wells Fargo debit card.
“You guys probably think I’m psycho. That’s what Captain Morales thought, too, until they had that piece of shit in handcuffs. I’ll give it one last try.”
He glanced at the ATM card, sandwiched it between his palms and closed his eyes.
Chapter 37
As the locksmith was changing the lock on Kade and Tag’s apartment door, Kade decided he was a little horny. The question was, was it an internet porn kind of horniness or the phone call to Bonnie kind. After nailing Bonnie she’d probably want to stick around for a while and that wasn’t such a bad thing, especially since she could cook. Maybe she would even spend the night, then he could have morning sex. Is there anything better than morning sex?—K
ade didn’t think so. He dialed her number.
“Hi, Kade. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
“Nope. Are you doing anything tonight?”
“I’m studying for a test. It’s a big one.”
The locksmith zipped up his bag and said he was done. Kade told Bonnie to hold one sec and asked the man if he could get two keys for the lock—one for his roommate.
“Yeah, there are two keys. Here you go. Here’s the paperwork. Are you paying by check?”
“Yeah, one second.”
Bonnie waited patiently for a couple minutes before Kade returned.
“Sorry, Bonnie. Got a new lock on the door.”
“New lock? Did someone break in or something?”
“Nah, just thought it was time to get an upgrade.” He wasn’t about to tell her that some psychopath broke in the other night and trashed the place with an axe. If he told her that it would surely be a night for internet porn. “So anyway, how about coming over tonight?”
“Sure. But I really should study for this test. I can’t spend the night, okay?”
“That’s fine. Just stay for an hour or two.”
“Gee, I wonder what you have in mind for that hour or two.”
“I figured we could study some human anatomy, biology.”
She giggled. “Sounds good.” She checked the wall clock: 7:30. “I’ll be there before eight.”
* * *
As Bonnie lay naked in his bed, body glistening with sweat, Kade decided to draw a tattoo on her breast with a Sharpie marker. She giggled, said it tickled. He made a sunflower, with the nipple being the center. He was becoming strangely aroused.
“I hate to interrupt you during your play time,” she said, “but I really should be getting home to study.”
Kade was awed that he actually wanted her to stay. It might have been a first. She was good looking, so maybe that’s why. But she wasn’t the first good looking girl he’d been with, there had been one or two others. He supposed he liked her personality, hoped he wasn’t becoming ‘mature’. He considered asking her to forget about the test and stay over, but would feel guilty about her failing a test because of him.
“Would you mind if I took a shower before leaving?” she asked.