MJ 4: The Nightlife Case

Mottled rage flashed across his features, before quick schooling from his acting years covered it. "What if he raped her?"

"There was no sign of a struggle and it was wiped clean. A rape victim panics, doesn't wipe down things. The condoms only had his DNA on it, the pantyhose are useless. This looks like premeditated sex and premeditated murder."

Something in his gorgeous eyes suggested he was a child and I'd just told him there was no Santa Claus. Shit, it dawned on me, had I misread this all along? Was I in fact sitting there eating with Liz's lover?

Was he "helping" me to throw me off her scent? Jesus, it was too much. Liz and Arthur had betrayed me. Had Liz been betrayed by D-Bag and Cherokee, or had they betrayed her and Arthur? Had she betrayed Hank, or was he using me to betray her?

I wanted this case over. I wanted that money, I wanted people dead, and I wanted to be back in Chicago where I could buy my way to freedom. And then maybe I'd use the rest, move to a little tropical island, and forget about my life.

I made a decision then; I could ask Hank straight out, or I could just assume he'd betray me, go along with it, and kill him if I had to.

It wouldn't be the first time I'd killed a lover, and sadly, I doubted it'd be the last.

***

The motel was further north and it took us three hours to get there. Nestled along the coast it was an old tourist spot, geared towards those going north to ski. In the summer heat it looked like a theme park; cabins sprinkled around a fake glen as if costumed actors would sign in and dance around singing corporate melodies.

On the way up Hank made nervous small talk. I'd learned that he'd been an actor and had done a couple of TV shows in the late 80's as a young man but his career had backslid into athletic modeling for magazines. He'd learned I liked classic rock and preferred to drive manual cars and shot semiautomatic guns.

It was plain to see he'd come west for adventure and had ended up inheriting a bar in the middle of nowhere. Either Liz r me had been the first stranger to blow into his life and offer adventure, and it was no surprise he jumped at it. We'd had to s stop once so he could call the waitress and tell her to put p a closed sign at the bar, and not expect him back. There was something in the way he said it that sounded like a true, forever goodbye, and for some reason that made me absentmindedly fondle my gun.

Now we were tired and hot and it had taken major flirting from Hank with the female clerk to let us know that the only guest there was a woman fitting Liz's description.

No Peter Gasser though; that was the name on Hank's credit card slip. That name was a dead end on the man behind it, we could only theorize he was in fact the so-called chemist who was going to make Liz and Arthur's dreams come true. However a quick credit check showed Gasser's last charge had been to pay for the room Cherokee had registered his own name for, and had been murdered in.

Over the drive I had begun to think Hank was Liz's pretty boy, and she had skipped out on him and was quite possibly on a fun little murdering spree with this Gasser.

It was nothing but an endless web of betrayal and I no longer gave a shit. I wanted the money, that was all.

Hank was shaking when we approached the cabin where Liz was holed up. He went to knock but I put a hand on his chest and felt his heart hammering.

"Wait. Are you prepared?"

"For what?"

"I don't know just what Liz is to you, but we may find her gone, we may find her dead, we may find her being held at gunpoint by D-Bag, or we may find her standing over D-Bag's dead body. Whatever it is, are you prepared."

He jerked a nod which told me he wasn't, so I made him get behind me, drew my gun, and knocked.

The door swung open. Shit, I mentally cursed, never a good sign.

The tang of more recent blood hit me. Cherokee had been past rigor, so dead the night before. When this body came into view it was unnaturally stiff, in full rigor, dead since the morning.

The room was tossed and the body was clothed. It was Liz. She looked like she had those years ago, slightly older, but still trim, still a babe. Now a dead babe.

Hank saw her and dropped to his knees, choking on a sob. I didn't do anything for him aside from tossing him some napkins and muttering something about DNA.

I had my answer; Liz had been his lover and something had gone horrible wrong.

I put on gloves but tossed the room frantically. With Liz dead here was where the trail of the money ended unless Peter Gasser suddenly became a real boy.

I wanted to scream when I found nothing other than clothes and toiletries suggesting Liz had either been on the road longer than Arthur claimed, or she was planning to run and break a lot of hearts.

I saw no evidence that she'd been kidnapped, but nothing of money. I wanted to shoot my gun into the air outside and scream. She'd been killed by the same caliber Cherokee had, but that told me too little.

Hank was still sobbing when I grabbed him and dragged his limp, broken-hearted body to the car. I had to wrestle him into the seat and slam the door, slammed mine, and peeled out of there.

"FUCK!" I screamed as we hit the highway.

Hank sobbed louder. Sick of the noise I slapped him and he choked into silence.

With one hand on the wheel I drew my gun with the other and pointed it at him. "Talk fast, and try the truth."

He squeaked so I pressed the gun into one finely molded cheek. "I said talk!"

"L-Liz was special to me. She came into the bar a year ago. She told me the story. She and Arthur came west with Cherokee and D-Bag and then the money and drugs disappeared. She didn't know who had it but she was afraid for her life.

"I know Peter. He's a mover in the drug world, I got her in contact with him. She was living under an assumed name in LA and came up to meet him at my place where she was safe. He found no trace of the drugs being moved ever, but he told her last week he'd found them."

"Bowers said he had them in storage."

"Bowers lied. He gave that bullshit story to Liz that D-Bag and Cherokee had taken the cash and that he still had the drugs, but when Liz tried to check he beat the shit out of her. She left him and that's when...that's when I found her, or she found me."

That every word out of Bowers mouth was a lie didn't surprise me, but I didn't trust Hank either. Liz always had a taste for bad boys, it seemed...just like me.

Christ, two years out of the game and the first man I fucked was a liar and a thief. I put my gun away while I calculated how much longer I had to keep him alive to get what I wanted.

"Peter Gasser. Find him."

"What, now?"

I peeled into a sharp turn in front of a truck earning a loud honk and hank's screech of terror, pulling the Mustang into a gas station.

"Now."

I watched him walk to the payphone and drop in coins. I watched him talk and rolled down my window in time to hear him say "threesome, ten o'clock. Got it."

He hung up and walked back to the car like a man walked to his own death. I suppose I felt like the grim reaper; without remorse, only focus, but still it bothered me. He wore his heart on his sleeve but he'd been so cool and collected the night before. Perhaps seeing his lover's brains all over a headboard had truly shaken him up.

"Where to now?"

"He can meet us in north L.A. at ten."

I checked the dash. "We've got six hours and with L.A. traffic...we'd best head out now."

"I'm sorry I lied," he almost whispered as we pulled back onto the lonely highway.

"I'm sorry you're still lying," I replied tersely.

He just looked out the window.

***

We got there early enough it would be ridiculous to wait at the Big Boy restaurant Gasser had picked. Across the street was a cheap motel, the Desert Sands, so I got a room and hustled Hank in.

Because I didn't trust him I kept the gun on him while he peed, and cuffed him to the bed so I could take a piss.

When I came out he was cuffed and pissed-off. I was angry too, angry that all this lying and chasing my tail either was keeping me from the money, or simply reinforcing the mirage of what could turn out to be fake money.

There was no answer when I dialed Bowers, other than a note that his mailbox was full. He was still missing.

I stripped off my windbreaker, holster, and tank before Hank gruffly asked, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Raping you," I calmly replied. It was sick how much I enjoyed saying that, and somewhat relieving when his dick jumped in response.

I stripped naked and crawled on the bed to him, undoing his buckle and pulling down the zipper. Commando still, how nice. I tugged his pants to his knees and used one hand and some spit to quickly work him to hardness.

He glared at me, obviously caught in a debate. He wanted me, for some reason, but he didn't like it this way. From the night before I knew he was a gentleman in bed caring, even a touch romantic. The terms that never described me as a lover.

"Stop it," he finally said just as he was rock hard.

I glanced down at his cock and back up to his eyes. "You know you want it."

"So much death today, I can't-" he closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. "I can't do this."

Adrenaline would help. I picked up my holster from the foot of the bed and pulled the gun, taking off the safety. He opened his eyes and hissed at the gun like a wet cat. His erection bobbed stronger.

"Yes, you can, now shut the fuck up."

I mounted him then, my finger guarding the trigger but the gun was still in his face. Something about the pure control, the fact that this was easily debatable rape, turned me on.

The sane part of me knew that he was aroused, that his objection had been emotional. He filled me nicely and I began to grind on him, mindful only of my own orgasm. My mind was curiously blank beyond the feel of my own tightly muscled body writhing, the rasp of his pubic hair against my clit. It felt very animal and yet highly evolved, and on that though the tendril of orgasm wound tight and exploded, sending me over with a hoarse shout.

I dismounted and he goggled at me. Reaching for my cigarettes I set the gun down and shrugged. "If Gasser has a good lead and backs up your story, I'll finish you off."

"And if I am, as you've accused, still lying?"

I lit the cancer stick and leveled my gaze on his. "Then I finish you off."

***

Peter Gasser was tall, thin, had white-blonde hair and glasses. From far away he looked like he was nearing fifty but up close you saw he was closer to thirty.

He strode in awkwardly, a faded denim jacket too heavy for the summer heat hiding a gun without a holster.

He slid into the booth across from us and I jabbed my gun into Hank's ribs. "You must be Gasser."

He nodded. "And you are? Hi, Hank."

"Marly Jackson. Before anyone else says anything tell me, Gasser, about the money, the drugs, and Liz Bowers."

Gasser's pale blue eyes followed the line of my arm and he likely guessed what I was doing to Hank, and that it wasn't friendly. He frowned but showed no nerves, a refreshing change.

"I have connections. I know a few cookers up by Hank's bar, stop in time to time. He tells me about a year ago he knows this broad, Liz. She's looking for a shitload of heroin and other drugs. Claimed her husband and she had stolen it but then he lost it. I knew about the heist back in Chicago, it was a legendary job on Javier, even the big man himself asked around about it.

"Anyway, Liz showed me enough to know this was for real. I was helping her to find it, I know how to convert it to cash and I'd be getting twenty percent."

So far so good, surprisingly it held up Hank's latest version. "Why was your card used to pay for a dead man's hotel room?"

"Dead man?"

"Cherokee, his brains were blown out."

Gasser noticeably paled. "He...he worked for me. I'm the business end, he's the muscle."

"And what about D-Bag...know him?"

Gasser shook his head.

"Well Liz's husband...here's the short version. He says he knows where the drugs are and that Liz has been brokering a deal with you. He said Cherokee and his buddy D-Bag kidnapped Liz to try to get the drugs. Only Cherokee and Liz are both dead, D-Bag is thin air, and there is no sign of any drugs or money. Which means you're my only lead."

"Au contraire. Trust me, if I had the drugs I would be in Aruba right now. I'm going to tell you where you can find them, however."

"Why's that?"

He pulled a business card from his front jacket pocket and slid it over. I took it with my free hand and examined it. It simply said GASSER on it with a phone number.

"Call me when you find it. I'm the only one who can move this shit without Javier catching wind. You want cash? Call me. My fee is still twenty percent."

"So where do we find it?"

"I don't know what is going on, Miss Jackson, and just who is lying or why, but Liz Bowers had me spend a year chasing my own tail. The drugs have been here in L.A. the whole time. Bowers has it, he's been selling it off piecemeal a pound here or there. Javier showed up in town two weeks ago and I think Bowers is scared. I think he's tying up all loose ends. Notice how anyone who's actually seen these drugs is dropping dead?

"I think this will come down to you or Bowers. Keep my card, I expect a call from one of you- whoever wins, soon." And with that Gasser walked out with his awkward stride, cool as a cucumber.

"Any of this making any sense to you, Hank?"

"You're asking me?"

I looked at him, nose to nose, and shored my gun up. "Fuck. I hate these cases. Everyone's betraying everyone else and none of it makes sense. In short, I would expect everyone beating down Gasser's door."

"Not if nobody has the drugs."

At Hank's soft words my body seized up. I barely got my gun into the holster as I shoved him out the booth. Grabbing his arm I hustled him out the door with our waitress chasing us with our unpaid bill.

We jumped in the Mustang and I peeled out of the space but stopped at the edge of the frontage road.

"What the fuck!?" Hank yelled. "I am sick of nearly dying every damn time you put it in drive!"

"What does Gasser drive?"

"Red pickup!"

I spotted one turning from the frontage onto the expressway and I burned rubber to catch up. He was a mile ahead but it wasn't Gasser I wanted, it was the dark Buick three car lengths behind him.

I pulled up abreast expecting to see Bowers but it was none other than D-Bag. He was the same skinny shit I remembered from the old days, still had the snake tattoo on his cheek and forehead. And he still had a gun.

"Get down!" I shouted and raised mine. Hank gasped and ducked low as I slammed on the breaks. D-Bag's shot went blind, and I slammed on the gas, caught up, and thought like a cop. Through Hank's open window I shot out the driver window then dipped my car back and sideswiped his rear quarter panel.

D-Bag went spiraling off the road and I screamed across his lane to follow suit.

You'd think there would be flashing lights or horns like in the movies, but no one seemed to pay any attention.

"Stay in the car!" I screamed at Hank when we came to a stop.

I took my gun with me, kept it naked and ready, and stalked back to D-Bag.

"You cunt-ass bastard! You and Bowers used me to find Gasser, didn't you?"

"Hello there Detective Jackson. Oh, you've been kicked off the force, haven't you?"

"Where is Bowers?" I didn't care for catching-up or idle chit-chat.

Like a film villain he just laughed. "Fuck you," I said and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back and blood sprayed the interior.

With the top half of his head bloodied all that was visible was that stupid grin.

I wasted no time, opened the door, pulled on gloves from my pocket, and lifted his ass up. I grabbed his wallet, went around to the passenger side and grabbed a few receipts from the glove box.

I sprinted back to my car and put it in gear, jamming it back onto the expressway and almost sideswiping a minivan. That got me a horn and several fingers, even from two kids.

"What just happened?" Hank murmured.

I felt a little bit guilty. Everything that night pointed to the truth. Sure he'd hidden some things from me, but his second version was playing out to be the truth. I reeled it in; didn't want to get too touchy feely.

"Fuck, I'm sorry about before. Next time, you can tie me up, but right now we're close, so fucking close to it."

"What do you mean? What's going on!"

"First off, ignore everyone else's story. Seeing D-Bag confirmed what I thought when Gasser left.

"Bowers had the cash and drugs all along. He was using D-Bag and Cherokee tomove the drugs into cash piecemeal. He's had years to do it, and everything went fine. He hid it from Liz, he hid it from D-bag and Cherokee likely. My guess is through Cherokee he got in touch with someone who could move the drugs. Someone other than Gasser and he moved it. My guess is Liz got suspicious, confronted Bowers, and they fought. She split, found you, and when you introduced her to Gasser she thought he could track it.

"I think Bowers was content to leave it alone until Javier showed up. Anyone who has touched this is dying. My guess is Bowers didn't know where Liz had gone or who she talked to, and he hired me to find out. He used me, and while I was finding Gasser through you he killed Cherokee and Liz. He was sending D-bag to kill Gasser, and then you and I would be next."

Hank paled at this for a moment then curled his fist and slammed the door cursing like a sailor.

"It's the only way this makes sense," I added when he calmed.

I swung the car towards an exit and he shook himself. "Where are we going, Marly?"

"We need a new car, and then we're going to find Bowers."

"A new car?" he asked as I pulled up to a closed used car lot.

"We're going to steal one. Get out."

I parked and shut it down, left the keys in it hoping someone else would steal it. I grabbed anything of mine and stuffed in my duffel bag, then slung it over my shoulder.

"Wait here and hide if anyone comes past. Can you make any animal sounds?"

He made a shaky birdcall and I nodded. "I'm going to go get a key from the office, whistle that if any security or anybody comes in, got it?"

He nodded.

I left him there and went to the office. I had my set with me and picked the lock. It was an old, aging dealership, no security on the door, but another lock to pick to get to keys.

It took ten minutes but I found the key for a Toyota Camry, a car that would easily blend in, and I trotted back out.

"Hank?" There was no answer. I walked to the shadows where I'd left him and the Mustang...both were gone.

In the hot night air I saw something flutter on the ground. Bending down I saw it was a tissue stiff with Hank's dried tears. Written on it in pen was a simple message:

Marly, sorry. Scared. Find me when done.

Well, shit. Now I had to get to Bowers before he got to Hank. And I could only hope Bowers still had the money on him.

If he didn't, I didn't know who I was going to kill first.

***

I found Bowers in the last spot I would have thought; in the same fleabag motel his wife had stayed at.

It had taken me all night on the phone going through the papers and receipts I'd found on D-Bag but I found him.

I pulled in, reloaded my gun, slapped my face to wake me up, and got out. I climbed the stairs to the room. Kicking the door in was something they did in movies and only resulted in broken feet, so I knocked on the door, faked a Mexican accent, and announced "Housekeeping?"

The door opened and then I kicked it in.

Bowers had been expecting something; he'd been holding a gun. However when he'd gone sprawling it skittered across the room and he was flat on his ass clutching his nose which was bleeding and likely broken.