I have Philip take me by a convenience store so I can wash my hands and grab some mints. I don’t need to run off my client with Manabertos breath. The address is on the west side of town, so we head in that direction. Philip hasn’t said anything more about his work for Moon and I haven’t asked additional questions. I have a lot of guilt over Harry Dandridge. Philip adds another perspective, which helps.
The house we’re looking for is in an upper-class neighborhood in an orange tree grove. All the houses have orange trees and all the houses are Navajo white with red tiled roofs. They aren’t as close together as most communities, thus the upper-class appearance and feel.
“You’re staying in the car,” I tell Philip.
“No can do,” he replies. “Tell your client I’m your sidekick.”
“Why? Because the little woman needs a big man to take care of business?”
He gives a loud, “Ha,” before telling me, “One of the best cops I ever worked with was a woman. She had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth and spotted a lie a mile off. She could bust balls too. Believe me, you wanted her at your back in a fight.”
I give in.
We walk to the front door and I knock. At the same time, Philip rang the bell. I glare, he shrugs. I’m biting my lip to keep from busting Philip’s balls, and I’m startled when the door flies open. Kennedy has a gun pointed at us. Philip pushes me aside. A heavy jerk to my arm by someone other than Kennedy pulls me inside. Kennedy fires twice and Philip goes down.
I fight and receive a hard backhand and fall to the floor. Philip’s down, and even knowing how much danger I’m in, I start crawling toward him.
“Don’t bother, Miss Kinlock,” an accented voice says from behind me. I peer over my shoulder and see a man of medium height with a flabby belly and wearing more gold than most women have in their entire jewelry collection. He nods to Kennedy and I turn to see Kennedy close the front door. He takes one step toward Philip and fires a round into his head.
It’s surreal and takes a few seconds for me to grasp that Kennedy killed Philip.
“You fucking bastard,” I scream as black rage fills me. I roll over and reach for my gun. A third man plants a kick in my stomach. The air leaves my lungs. He removes my gun and there’s nothing I can do. My feet are pulled out and duct tape wrapped around them. Kennedy grabs a large chunk of my hair and places a knife to my throat.
“We can do this easy or hard. You name it because I would love nothing more than cutting up your pretty face.”
I can’t speak because I can’t breathe, so I spit full in his face. The kick to my head is the last thing I remember inside the house.