Wayne wrapped an arm across my shoulders. I bore it mostly because of what I was about to say next. “What’s the bet, baby?” he asked.
I smiled really wide at Candice. She was enjoying this too. “Well,” I said, turning back to whisper softly to Wayne. “I bet my friend Candy that she’d need two shots to take your balls off, and she swears that the gun she has trained on your crotch right now would only require one bullet.”
Wayne stared at me, his eyes getting bigger by the moment as my smile became less forced and more sinister. And then he leaned carefully back and eyed the napkin-wrapped bundle in Candice’s right hand. There was no mistaking from his angle what it was. “What the hell is this?” he said, lifting his arm away from me.
“Relax,” I told him. When he looked like he was about to bolt out of the chair, I put a hand on his arm and said, “I mean it, Wayne. Candy has a hair trigger. Just ask your buddy Rico.”
Sweat coated Wayne’s forehead and he looked around the restaurant to see if anyone else was paying attention to us. Nobody was. Even the kitchen crew had lost interest. “Listen,” he said, his voice quavering, “I never made you any promises, baby. I mean, I’m sorry if you wanted something more, but I’m not the settling-down kind of guy.”
I made a face and waved a hand at him. “Dude, first off, eww. Second off . . . eww! We didn’t sleep together and you’d never have a chance with me or with my BFF over there anyway.”
She nodded congenially. “That’s true,” she said.
“Then what the hell?” he whispered.
“We need some intel,” I said. “The sooner you tell us what we want to know, the sooner Candy puts her gun away and you get back to slinging pizzas for nine bucks an hour.”
Wayne wiped his brow. “I don’t know anything!” he whispered harshly.
“Oh, but we believe that you do,” I countered. “Now, let’s test you for honesty. Did you ever know a woman named Skylar Miller?”
Wayne’s eyes blinked furiously. “Sky? What the hell she got to do with this?”
“So you did know her,” I said.
“Duh,” he said. “She was my ex.”
My brows arched. “She was?”
“Yeah, man. Only woman I ever loved, if you gotta know. They don’t make ’em better than Sky.”
“What happened between the two of you?” I asked, my intuition buzzing a little.
He shrugged. “She wanted to get her kid back, and her social worker told her the odds were better if she ditched me, ’cause I had a record.”
“Really?” I said. Wayne nodded. My eyes narrowed. “Did you hold a grudge against her, Wayne? For dumping you?”
“Grudge? Naw, man. Well, maybe a little in the beginning, but when you saw her with the kid, well, you sorta got it, you know? Nobody was ever gonna be more important to her than Noah, and even I knew I wasn’t ever gonna be a good influence for him, so it sucked for a while but whatev. Plenty of bitches still left in the pond.”
Candice and I traded looks. Hers asked me if I suspected Wayne as the killer. Mine said that I didn’t think his energy was trying to hide anything, but I couldn’t be sure. Then Candice said, “Rico told us that you heard somebody at county brag about killing Noah.”
Wayne pulled his head back a little, surprised by her statement. “Bragged about killing Noah?” he repeated. And then he seemed to understand. “Naw, man, it wasn’t like that. It was just some guy from the holding cells where they put all the new prisoners together—you know, like ten of us to one big cell until they can process us through?”
Candice and I both nodded, and Wayne continued. “Anyway, I had a homey in there with me, and he asked me about Sky, ’cause he’d heard she was on trial and he knew we’d gone together. I guess this other guy was listening, because he starts to butt in, you know, like it’s his business too, or something, and says that he was glad she was getting what was coming to her. That pissed me the hell off, you know? So I got into it with him, and he said that she’d disrespected him in front of the kid, and he made sure she got what was coming to her. I popped him and started asking him what he meant by that and then the COs pulled me off him before I could get anything else outta him. We were separated after that and I was processed to another section of the prison. Never saw him again.”
“When was this?” Candice asked.
Wayne stared down at his hands. “About eight years ago. Right after the jury found Sky guilty.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police with what this guy said to you?” I demanded. Candice shot me a warning look because my voice had risen a little, and I cleared my throat as two people at a nearby table glanced our way.
Wayne said, “I did go to them. I told my parole officer that there was a guy in lockup the cops needed to look at, and he got me in touch with this detective at APD. When I told him what’d happened in lockup, you know what he said to me?”
“What?” Candice and I both asked.
“He wanted to know where I was the night Noah was killed.” Wayne shook his head in disgust. “Asshole. If I’d pushed it, he would’ve gotten me on conspiracy ’cause of my history with Sky.”
I felt white-hot anger burn into the center of my chest, positive that Wayne had spoken to Ray Dioli, that lazy, smug son of a bitch. (I was gonna owe my swear jar another five spot by the end of the day.)
“He really told you that?” Candice asked Wayne.
Wayne shrugged. “Something like that. He said he didn’t need me coming around after the verdict was announced to try to make trouble for the case.”
“What was the name of the inmate?” I asked, thinking I’d take the issue up with Dioli later.
Wayne shook his head. “I don’t know his real name. He told everybody to call him Slip.”
“Slip?” I said. “What the hell kind of a nickname is that?”
“He said he got it from being able to slip in and out of a house without being seen. The guy was in for B and E, so I guess he wasn’t as slippery as he thought.”
Candice lifted the hand covered by the napkin above the tabletop and as Wayne jumped, she removed the napkin to reveal nothing more dangerous than an elegant Montblanc pen. Casually she then reached inside her purse for a small notebook and made herself a note. Wayne stared at her hand for a long time before he shook his head, got up, and muttered, “Bitches.”
I smiled and waved daintily at him. “Thanks for all your help, Wayne. Tell Rico we appreciate his help too.”
He glared at me and said, “Y’all might not want to eat here. You never know what could fall into your food.”
My smile widened. “We had no intention of eating here, honey. Now off you go.”
Wayne looked like he didn’t much like being dismissed, but then a guy in a short-sleeved dress shirt and khakis came out from the back and glared hard when he saw Wayne out from behind the counter. Our delightful host walked stiffly away and Candice and I wasted no time leaving a five-dollar tip for the waitress who’d brought us waters. Before we headed out, Candice paused to whisper something to the manager, he said something softly back to her, and she smiled and motioned for us to leave.
“Did you rat him out?” I asked as we walked to the car.
“Nah,” she said. “I just asked the manager for his last name. It’s Babson.”
“What a corny last name for a poser,” I said.
“Word,” she agreed.
I looked a little sadly at Rounders as we drove away. I’d lied to Wayne. I’d have eaten there. The pizza had smelled amazeballs, and I mean, a pizza with mango plus bacon plus chestnut pesto plus my add-on of extra bacon? Srsly.
“Where to now?” I asked Candice with a sigh.
“Well, judging by the way you’re drooling out the window at the restaurant we just left, I thought I’d take you for something to eat before we head back to the office, so I c
an try to find out who Wayne’s cellmate was that was spouting off about Skylar getting what she deserved.”
“How’re you gonna do that?”
Candice stopped at the red and half turned to me as she answered, “I’ve got a new database that allows me to search for someone using their nickname. I’ve never had to use it until now.”
“It’s freaky how many resources you have.”
She turned back to the wheel as the light flicked to green. “Stick with me, kid, and you may learn a trick or two.”
We ate lunch at a place called the Steeping Room—an absolute favorite of mine, which is odd given the fact that it pretty much serves nothing but healthy (wonderfully flavorful) food. By the time we left, I was feeling full, happy, and antioxidanted.
After another short drive, Candice pulled into a slot in the parking garage next to our building, and I waddled after her while she headed to the front doors of our office. As it happens, this was quite fortunate, because it allowed me to see Rico DeLaria spring from the alley next to our building, intent on stabbing Candice with a very big knife. “Candice!” I screamed.
Her response was poetry in motion. Without even flinching, she dropped down into a crouch, spun, and thrust her leg out at the same time, striking Rico midcalf. There was a sickening popping sound and he stumbled. Trying hard to stay erect, he grimaced through the pain but didn’t recover himself enough before Candice vaulted up from her crouched position to karate kick him square in the chest. He shot backward, straight off his feet, with an “Oomph!” and landed flat on his back with an awful-sounding smack. My BFF then stomped on the hand holding the knife before dropping to one knee right on top of him, causing yet another series of cracking sounds from DeLaria’s ribs. Candice finished her dance by jamming her palm into his nose. No crunching sound this time because DeLaria’s nose was already broken.
To say that Candice had effectively disarmed and disabled DeLaria was like saying the atom bomb had had a little kick to it. In the three to four seconds that she’d been in motion, I’d maybe managed to blink and drop my jaw. Am I a good backup sidekick or what?
Not even breathing heavy, she flipped Rico over and pulled his hands up behind him to then pin them there with her knee. The only sign that she’d done anything strenuous was the little puffing sound she made to blow her bangs out of her eyes as she glanced at me over her shoulder. “Sundance?”
“Yeah?”
“How about calling nine-one-one for me?”
I nodded dully but found that I was shaking almost too much to hold the phone. I mean, it’s not often your BFF gets jumped by a knife-wielding criminal, or that she then deals with his punk ass more effectively than Batman. Still, after a few tries I managed to tap the right numbers on the screen and call for backup.
The police arrived as a small crowd gathered. Lucky for us, there were three witnesses who saw the whole thing. They all vouched for Candice’s side of the story, but were perhaps not really necessary given the fact that DeLaria wasn’t exactly able to articulate anything more than, “Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
No one on the scene had a single ounce of sympathy for him. When an APD officer asked Candice if she knew DeLaria, she said that she’d been by his apartment earlier in the day to question him about his connection to a missing runaway, but that DeLaria had declined to answer any of her inquiries. She made our earlier encounter with him sound like nothing more than a polite social visit.
I nodded my head and corroborated her statement. After what DeLaria pulled, I’d swear to it on a Bible if I had to. Principles be damned. Had I not been ten paces behind Candice, she’d be dead, and maybe me along with her.
After the police had shoved DeLaria into a cop car, and we were told we could go, a black sedan pulled up to a halt next to us and Candice’s husband jumped out of the car. He ran straight to her and caught her up in a hug, and it was only then that I noticed how distraught he looked.
“Hey, babe,” Candice said, hugging him back. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
Brice held her without speaking for another pronounced moment and then he let her go, but only enough to grip her shoulders and study her critically. “One of my APD contacts told me you’d been involved in a stabbing,” he said. “They didn’t have any more details than that. Just that your name popped up in connection to a guy with a knife and the address of the attack.”
“I’m fine,” she said calmly.
“She is,” I assured him.
His gaze shifted to me. “You’d better call Dutch before he hears about it from one of his sources.”
I blanched. Our husbands could be a weensy bit protective of us, even though we’d proved over, and over . . . and maybe over, and over, and over, and over, again that we could take care of ourselves. Hmmm, maybe we’d proved it a few too many times for them to trust our luck?
Before I could whip out my phone again, however, another car came along to pull up next to us. This time Oscar jumped out and rushed around to us. “Are they okay?” he asked Brice.
“We’re fine,” I assured him.
Still, Oscar waited for Brice to nod his head before letting go of his tense posture. Turning to me, he said, “You’d better call Rivers, Cooper. He’s gonna freak out if he hears what I heard.”
“What’d you hear?” I asked.
“That you and Candice had been stabbed.”
“Uh-oh,” I muttered. I managed to get my cell up to chest level so I could call Dutch, when we heard a siren barreling toward us, followed by a horn making an additional bloody racket, and the screeching of tires. With a sigh, I pocketed the cell. “He already got the call,” I said as more screeching of tires sounded and the siren reverberated back and forth against the tall buildings all around us.
Dutch’s car rounded the corner like Steve McQueen’s Mustang, sliding and screeching wide to somewhat right itself before barreling at eleventy miles an hour down the street right for us.
I sighed again. Oooh, boy. Dutch pounced on the brakes and the car made even more of a racket as it screeched to a stop in the middle of the street—light box in the rear window still emitting flashing red neon. My husband got out of the car faster than a speeding bullet and looked ready to tackle Titans. His fists were bound up, his shoulders were hunched, and his expression was downright lethal.
“Hi, sweetie!” I called, adding a wave when he didn’t seem to see me.
In an instant that whole testosterone-induced posture relaxed, and the granite, “I’ma kill anyone who messes with my woman!” look on his face vanished. He inhaled deeply and crossed the space between us in a few quick steps. Catching me up just like Brice had done to Candice, he held on to me until it got good and embarrassing, and then he sighed into my hair and said, “You’re gonna make me an old man before my time, you know that?”
I kissed his cheek and said, “This time, it totally wasn’t my fault. Someone at APD got it all wrong.”
Dutch let go of the embrace but held tight to my hand. “So what happened?” he asked, in a way that said I better not leave anything out.
“Nothing!” I said, knowing full well that if I admitted to the fact that DeLaria had tried to kill Candice because we’d pushed him to answer our questions about Skylar, Dutch would have a Steve McQueen–sized cow. “Just some random guy tried to mug Candice.”
Dutch’s eyes narrowed.
“Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so random.”
Pressing his lips together, Dutch turned to Candice and said, “Will you please tell me what happened?”
Her gaze went from Dutch, to Brice, to Oscar—who were all staring at her like she’d really better spill the beans—and then back to me. I shrugged. If we didn’t tell them, they’d just get a copy of the police report. “Upstairs,” she said, and led the way toward the front doors to our building.
Once we were seated comfortably in her office suite, Ca
ndice patiently and methodically explained almost all that’d led up to the attack from DeLaria. This was actually a good thing because it caught Oscar up to date and allowed Dutch and Brice to see that I wasn’t chasing a silly theory—Skylar really was innocent.
“So why did DeLaria jump you?” Brice asked. Candice miiiiiight have left out the part about pointing a gun at the scumball and shooting blanks at him.
“Dunno,” Candice said. “Maybe because he didn’t like being told to give up his business and get the hell out of town.”
“Did you threaten him?” Brice pressed.
“Only a little,” she said with a wink and a coy smile.
Brice sighed and looked at Dutch like, “Can you believe her?” He looked back like, “Dude, I got my own set of worries sitting in the chair next to me.”
At least Oscar was focused on the right part of the story. “You’re gonna try to track down this guy Slip?”
Candice nodded. “Yes. That’s why we were headed back here. I was going to use the new database update and see what it’d toss out.”
“Cool. As a backup, I’ll see if I can’t trace Wayne through county prison records and see who was in with him.”
“He was in holding, remember?” Candice told him. “It’ll be tough to trace Slip that way.”
“Only so many new inmates come in at any given time,” Oscar said. “The pool might not be as big as we think, and I can also narrow it with the B and E, if that’s really what landed this Slip inside at that time.”
Brice stood up and said, “Well, it looks like you’re okay and you have things well in hand.” Turning to Dutch, he said, “Beer?”
Dutch rose. “Thought you’d never ask.” Kissing me on the head, he added, “You. Be careful.” And then he pointed to Candice and said, “You too.” Last he looked at Oscar and said, “You’re in charge of keeping them safe, Rodriguez. And yeah, I know you’re off the clock, but I’m still ordering you to watch out for them.”
Oscar gave him a firm nod. “Yes, sir.”
After Dutch and Brice left, and Candice and Oscar got to work trying to find this Slip character, I headed to my office and called Cal. To my surprise, he took my call, which I gave him credit for, as it was four o’clock on a Sunday. “Did you hear?” he asked when he answered the line.