Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1) Read online

  He watched it straighten up, the driver making a meal of it, a feeling of dread rising up inside him. The doors opened. Any lingering doubts evaporated as the same two guys climbed out and looked around. One of them pointed to Evan's car and they both smiled, walked up to it and peered through the windows. Did they think he was hiding under a blanket in the back? Then the smaller guy, the one called José, pulled something from his pocket and crouched down by the front tire. Evan caught the glint of sunlight on a blade and watched, mesmerized, as if it wasn't his car that was being casually vandalized, as José pushed the knife through the side wall of the tire. There was no hiss of escaping air, he was too far away, but he had no trouble seeing the tire slowly deflate as José worked the blade free again, the car settling gracefully onto the wheel rim.

  José straightened up, snapping the knife shut and pocketing it, as they crossed the street towards the hotel.

  Chapter 22

  Evan didn't hang around to see what they wanted. He got out of the room lickety-split and ran down the corridor, ignoring the elevators, until he made it to the stairs. There was every chance one of them would be coming up the stairs while the other one took the elevator, so he went up instead of down. Two flights up he stopped and waited, his chest heaving. It couldn't have been more than a minute before he heard one of them come panting up the stairs. He heard the sound of the door opening and as soon as he heard it swing shut again he half ran, half jumped all the way to the bottom.

  He crashed through the door into the lobby and skidded across the floor just as it crossed his mind that one of them might have stayed downstairs. That would have been the sensible thing to do. He realized too late that he hadn't heard the elevator. His head twisted round at a noise behind him but it was just an old guy snapping his newspaper as he folded it. Apart from that the lobby was deserted.

  He pushed through the front doors, bounded down the steps and ran for his car. He didn't remember about the slashed tire until he was half way there. How the hell could he forget in two minutes? He stood in the middle of the street, unsure which way to go, looking back and forth between his car and the hotel. The blast of a horn made him jump as a taxi swerved past him.

  It pulled up outside the hotel and an old woman started to slowly get out. He ran towards it. The woman was waving her stick in front of her trying to get up from the sagging back seat. He was tempted to grab hold of it and haul her out. He looked round, back into the lobby. The elevator had started on its way down again. It didn't mean it was them. Should he wait or should he run off and not waste another second? The old woman had got her feet on the sidewalk and her hand was on the top of the door. She planted her stick on the ground and heaved herself up. She stayed there, teeter-tottering for what felt like forever, before collapsing backwards with a loud shout into the cab again. Her feet flew up and Evan was treated to a view up her skirt, her pantyhose dirty and wrinkled, God knows what horrors lurking further up.

  He looked round again. The elevator had stopped on the second floor. He turned back to the old woman and offered her his hand. She grasped it with that old-person grope, the fingers cold and bony, the nails yellow. He pulled her out—a little too harshly from the look of surprise on her face—and led her onto the sidewalk. She nodded her thanks to him and started to dig in her bag for her coin purse. The elevator was still stuck on the second floor.

  She found her purse and pulled out a five dollar bill; handed it to the driver. The fare on the meter was eight dollars and change. She squinted at the meter and dug in the purse with those bony fingers again. A solitary dollar bill emerged and was handed over. Evan could see it was the last one; only coins left. Behind him in the lobby the elevator pinged. He watched the doors open, ready to run if it was them. He could see a young couple; both of them looking down at their cell phones, somebody else behind them, but couldn't see who it was.

  The young couple seemed oblivious to the fact that the doors had opened, like when they walk down the street texting and expect everybody to move out of their way. They suddenly burst apart, barely even any shock on their preoccupied faces, as an arm was thrust angrily between them and a man forced his way past. It was Juan or José, Evan couldn't remember which one. He turned back to the cab. The driver waited, his arm extended wearily, palm upwards, as the old woman dug coins out, one by one, inspected them carefully before she handed them over.

  Evan wanted to kick her in the butt, but made do with pushing her roughly out of the way. She let out a startled squawk as he jumped into the cab and slammed the door shut.

  'I'll pay the rest of it,' he shouted. 'Just go.'

  The driver stared at him, mouth open, not comprehending what was happening.

  'Go,' Evan shouted, as Juan or José burst through the front doors. 'I'll pay her fare.'

  It finally clicked with the driver. He shrugged and pulled into the traffic. Behind them, the beaner leapt down the steps and collided with the old woman, spinning her and sending her sprawling. He stepped over her and stood staring at Evan's face in the back window of the disappearing cab, his hands bunched into fists at his sides.

  'Damn,' the driver said as Evan turned to face front.

  'What?'

  'She's got a suitcase in the trunk. I forgot all about it watching her trying to get out.' He laughed at the memory. 'I'll have to turn round and go back.' He started to slow, looking for somewhere to turn.

  'No,' Evan shouted, 'you can't.'

  The driver gave him an annoyed look in the mirror, like he didn't want to be told what he could and couldn't do in his own cab.

  'Just get me a few blocks away from here. Make a couple of turns. Anywhere,' Evan said before he could say anything. 'I'll give you twenty bucks. You can take the suitcase back later.'

  The driver was silent for a few beats. Evan watched his eyes in the mirror; saw him thinking back behind his eyes. 'Whatever you say,' he said finally and picked up speed again.

  Evan twisted round in his seat and looked behind them but the beaners were nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 23

  'So what happened?' Chico said when Juan and José came back empty-handed.

  'He got away,' Juan said.

  'What do you mean got away?'

  'His car was outside,' Juan said, inspecting his shoes, deciding that full and frank disclosure wasn’t the way to go at the present time, 'but something must have spooked him.'

  Chico's lip curled. 'What, like you playing that narcocorrido crap full blast with all the windows down as you cruised past?' he sneered.

  'No, it wasn't like that—'

  Chico quietened him with a flick of his fingers and shook his head. 'I didn't really expect him to be there but it was worth a try.'

  Ellie sat across the desk from watching the exchange. She was wearing her own clothes which made her feel a lot better. She'd spent the previous night down in the basement and had hardly slept at all which wasn't surprising. It was cold and uncomfortable and she was sharing it with rats and roaches, but it was the stool they'd tied her to and the rope hanging from the rafters that had stopped her getting all nice and snuggly. Things were looking a bit better today; it was good news that Evan had got away. She'd let out a hidden sigh of relief when Juan and José had come back empty-handed. She didn't know what they did to get information out of guys but it didn't take a lot of imagination—just switch balls for breasts. It wasn't as if she cared what they did to Evan if they caught him—it was what he might say that worried her.

  Chico had spent the previous night in much more comfortable surroundings, thinking what he should do with her. She'd already told him where the money was and he was confident she hadn't lied to him after the fun they'd had in the basement. But that wasn't really what he was interested in; he wanted Dixie. Wanted him so bad he hadn't been able to sleep either. And he reckoned the best way to get to him was through the grasping, self-centered bitch sitting in front of him.

  Option one was to keep her here and have some more fun an
d games—and it had been fun, no doubt about it. He didn't know if he'd actually slice her breasts off, but even if he didn't, that evil little son of a bitch José would. However, if they went down that route he doubted he'd ever see Dixie again. He'd have a couple of hours' fun, soon forgotten, and spend the rest of his life tearing his hair out every time he thought of Dixie.

  Option two was to turn set her loose. If he made it clear it was a straight choice between her skin and Dixie's . . . The downside was he couldn't send anybody with her. On her own she had a chance but not with a minder. He'd be taking a gamble on his assessment of her character—or lack of it.

  'Looks like it's down to you,' he said to her. 'I'll give you two days to get the money back here. If I don't have it by then, Juan and José will pay a visit to your friend here.' He picked up the piece of paper with the information she'd written down and waved it in her face.

  Two days sounded like a result to her. She could have it in a couple of hours and in two days' time she'd be on the other side of the country. Did the stupid wetback really believe he'd be able to find her again? Let him think it if it meant she was out of here.

  'What about Dixie?' she said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

  Chico cocked his head. 'What about him?'

  'How long do I have to find him?'

  'Same thing. Two days.'

  'You can't be serious.' She leapt out of the chair but Juan put a hand on her shoulder, pushed her back down again. She shuddered at his touch, memories of the previous day still fresh in her mind. 'I'll never find him—'

  'Ellie,' he said, leaning over the desk.

  'What?' Instinctively she leaned in towards him.

  He slapped her hard across the face. It connected with her cheekbone and busted up through her teeth and nose and eyes, knocking her clean out of the chair. Juan took hold of her collar and hauled her back up.

  'I've already got somebody who talks back and argues with me, she's called my wife. I don't need another one.' He shook his head. 'Jesus Christ. I can't stand whining women. You're giving me a headache.'

  Ellie stared at him, the whole side of her head pounding, not trusting herself to say anything. She felt she was one wrong word away from being dragged back to the basement.

  'That's the deal,' he said, looking at his palm. The force of the blow had opened up the cuts again.

  She touched her cheek; her fingers came away smeared with blood although she didn't know if it was his or hers. Her cheek felt as if it had been split to the bone.

  'It's him or you,' he carried on. 'You either find him or we'll put you back in the basement right now until we find him—and your friend Evan. Then we'll have one big, happy reunion and see who's really telling the truth.' He opened and closed his fingers a couple of times as if using a pair of imaginary secateurs.

  She slumped back in the chair, not looking at his little show, and ran her hands through her hair. She could smell a faint body odor coming off her as she raised her arms. She just wanted to get out of here.

  'Do I get my gun back?'

  Chico opened his desk drawer and lifted out the diminutive Kahr P380 by his finger and thumb.

  'You mean this?' He swung it back and forward in front of her. 'No, I don't think so. I can't see why you'd need it anyway. I don't want you to kill Dixie, just find him.'

  He put his hand in the drawer again and brought out the can of pepper spray.

  'You can have this back.'

  He pushed it across the desk towards her. She watched it as it rolled towards her, imagined grabbing it, taking hold of the back of his greasy head and pulling it backwards, spraying the searing gas in his wide open startled eyes, back and forth, back and forth, like she was trying to shift a particularly stubborn stain in her oven. It was a nice thought. She picked it up and tucked it away in her bag. Another time maybe,

  She got up and headed for the door. At the door he called her back. She turned to look at him. He was holding her gun again. For a split second she thought he'd changed his mind and was going to give it back to her.

  'By the way,' he said, 'is this toy registered to you?'

  She nodded. 'Uh huh.'

  He gave her a right answer smile. 'Good to know. If you don't find Dixie before us, we'll probably shoot him with it and leave it at the scene. You might think you can get away from me'—he wagged his finger at her; an I'm not as stupid as you think glint in his eyes—'but you'll have the police to worry about as well.'

  Chapter 24

  Evan was just about to call Guillory to tell him that he wouldn't be able to pick him up when Guillory beat him to it. They'd arranged to meet at the Jerusalem Tavern which was probably Evan's favorite bar in the whole world. Before he had a chance to explain about the car Guillory told him he could do with some exercise, so he was going to walk and would meet him there. Evan didn't say anything but it sounded to him from the noises in the background that he might already be there, making an early start. He could almost smell booze through the phone line. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Then again, it might just be the radio in the background. Not for him to judge.

  'So how comes you're not at work?' Evan said as he climbed onto the barstool next to him. Starting this early pretty much guaranteed that you got a seat at the bar. Guillory looked like the half-empty beer sitting in front of him wasn't the first one.

  Guillory snorted. He stretched his arms out, lacing his fingers together and let out a sharp hiss of breath. 'What? Can't a man take a couple of days vacation?'

  Evan ordered a beer and waited for him to say something else.

  'You're right,' Guillory went on. 'I'm not on vacation.'

  Evan turned to look at him. 'Don't tell me you've resigned. Where will I get my free information now?'

  Guillory laughed but there wasn't much humor in it; none at all in fact. 'I've been suspended.'

  Evan felt as if he'd been slapped on the back by a bear. He almost spat his beer out. 'You're kidding.'

  Guillory bit his tongue and shook his head.

  Evan couldn't believe it. Guillory was the straightest guy he'd ever come across. He couldn't imagine what he might have done to get suspended. Guillory was staring at the bar as if Evan wasn't even there.

  'What happened?'

  Guillory took a deep breath and waved his arm to order another beer. The bartender looked up from his conversation with a girl in a clitoris pink dress that showed off her full, wobbly young breasts and came down the bar to serve them.

  'Don't you want to hear what I've got for you?' Guillory said.

  'That can wait. Tell me what happened.'

  Guillory picked a coaster up off the bar and started picking absently at it, dropping little bits of paper onto the bar. The bartender gave him a look but didn't say anything. Evan reckoned that was a good call.

  'I got a bit carried away interviewing a suspect,' Guillory said quietly, still looking down and pushing the little pieces of paper around.

  Evan was at a loss for words. As well as being the straightest guy he'd ever met, Guillory was also the most laid-back. Nothing got to him. Ever.

  'Sorry, I got that wrong.' Guillory said and looked up. 'I should have said interviewing a low-life, cock-sucking piece of shit.' His expression said to Evan that it was important he understood the distinction.

  'But that's what you deal with all day, every day.'

  Guillory gave a small shrug. 'Yeah, well.'

  They both sat in silence for a minute. On the jukebox Jeannie C. Riley was singing Harper Valley PTA. Beside Evan, Guillory had his eyes closed and was nodding his head along to the song.

  'I love this song,' Guillory said. 'Life was a lot simpler back then. Not that you'd remember seeing as you're only about twelve. I'm surprised they serve you.'

  'Okay gramps,' Evan said trying not to laugh and wanting to get him back on track. 'How carried away?'

  Guillory stopped nodding along. His lips curled into a grim smile. 'Broke his jaw, knocked out most
of his front teeth.' The satisfaction in his voice made it sound as if he thought it was worth the suspension.

  Evan looked down at Guillory's right hand. There was a ragged v-shaped flap of skin and flesh that was swollen and scabbed on his second knuckle. The first and second knuckles were so swollen they looked a bit like a rubber glove full of air. Guillory saw him looking and flexed his hand a few times.

  'Hurts like hell when I do this,' he said, wincing.

  Well don't do it, dummy.

  'Lucky I didn't break my hand,' he said. Then he grinned, the familiar, almost mocking grin that Evan knew so well, which made Evan wonder if he was just fooling around.

  'Are you kidding me?'

  Guillory shook his head. 'I wish I was.'

  'I better watch what I say to you in future.'

  Guillory smiled at him like he'd never heard a truer word.

  'I thought you people had brass knuckles for that sort of work?'

  'Ryder's got a brand new pair; just waiting to get you in that room,' Guillory said with another grin. He punched his open palm without thinking and let out a yelp. 'He gets them out every day and kisses them. He's saving up to get E-V-A-N engraved on them—did you know it's the exact right number of letters.'

  'So what happened?' Evan said, ignoring him and wishing he'd never mentioned brass knuckles.

  Guillory shook his head and was serious again. 'I'll tell you another time. Long story short, I'm suspended. Which is why I've got all the time in the world to run your errands for you.'

  He slid his glass along the counter and Evan obliged, although he didn't get another one for himself. For once it wasn't him who needed a layer of protection from all the bad thoughts in his head.