in for questioning.”
“You wish you were a little bird?” Ma Barker’s disgust comes through loud and clear despite her weakened state. “What are you supposed to be? A parakeet? A canary?”
“I am not colorful,” I say with great dignity, “and I do not sing for my supper. And were I literally a bird, I would be a big one. A big black one. A raven.’
“Raving mad,” says Miss Louise, “but he certainly knows w h i c h s i d e h i s F r
glances at the empty spot where Miss Temple’s erstwhile gun and her equally erstwhile ally laid. “Though he is oddly complacent about where that bread butterer is now.”
“That is because I have superior knowledge, Louise.”
“How superior?”
“That is for me to know and you to find out. Too late.”
Chapter 53
Blinded by the Knight
Temple had ridden pillion on a motorcycle before. Well, once. But she had never been slung over the gas tank facedown like a sack of produce. Mashed tomatoes, say.
By the time the machine grumbled to a swaying stop somewhere in the unlit night, then tilted onto its kickstand, her fillings were doing the rhumba and her sinus cavities echoed like the Carlsbad Caverns.
So when she was hauled up by the cowl collar on her sweater and set like a Beanie Baby on the long leather seat facing backward … which meant she was facing straight into the helmet of her captor, she was too jolted to bolt.
In fact, all she cared about was that the ceaseless, shuddering motion had stopped, and her with it.
Presumably, she faced the ringleader of the foiled expedition.
He had certainly zoomed out of nowhere and taken prisoners, solo. Her. Still, he had taken her along for the ride.
Presumably he didn’t intend to kill her until she squawked. Er, talked. When she did, she would surely stutter.
He dusted her off, patted her down-way too well for a gay guy-and pulled up the smoke Plexi visor on his helmet.
Even in the wan light of a desert moon, with dust acting like gluey mascara on her lashes, she could see the obvious.
“Max? How the heck did you become a gay biker?”
“Knocked one out and took his place.”
“How did you know about any of this?”
“Temple, Temple, Temple. Do you really believe, that no matter how stressed out I am, I could hear about all the dangerous action in your life and not keep an eye on things?”
“You haven’t been around.”
“You haven’t noticed that I’ve been around. Maybe you’ve been seeing too much of the wrong people.” “And not enough of you, obviously.”
“I can’t change that, for the moment,” he warned her.
“How did you know what was going to happen here tonight?”
“Finding out about the drug transfer was easy. Bribes, lies, and videotapes. Finding out what you were up to … priceless.”
“Poor Rafi. He was left holding the bag.”
“Is that a reference to Molina?”
“Max! That was mean!”
“I’m feeling pretty mean right now.” He winced, and shifted in the seat.
She noticed that his face, never bronzed, looked paler than usual. Must be the moonlight. That didn’t stop the forthcoming lecture, though.
“Why on earth, or anywhere in the galaxy, would you partner up with a loser like Nadir? You almost got caught in the
crossfire.”
Temple gulped back a giggle, a slightly hysterical one. “You think that’s funny? You should take my blood pressure right now.”
“A lot seems funny when life and death is involved. It’s either that or go crazy.”
“You can’t go any crazier than you are.”
“But I was right, wasn’t I? Something was rotten at Maylords, and I was there for the kill.”
“The takedown,” he corrected her. “Let the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department get the credit.”
“Molina will look good.”
“She could use that.”
“That was meaner. You as much as brought Molina and Rafi together again.”
She could see his grin in the moonlight, those white pirate’s teeth. “That ought to be interesting. Too bad we’re not going to see the best part.”
“The police will want to talk to me.”
“Let them wait. Better hop on back.”
Max detached a passenger’s helmet that fit her head like an upended fishbowl. It didn’t have any cool name written above the visor, drat it. She scrambled shakily up behind him on the idling, pulsing motorcycle and fastened the helmet strap. “Max! There are holes in the back of Gay Blade’s jacket!” “I know,” he shouted back.
“Are these bullet holes?” Her forefinger explored two. “Yes.”
“You didn’t, like, shoot Gay Blade off his bike, did you?”
“He’s fine. Just his jacket isn’t.”
“Then … Omigosh, they shot you as we were riding away. Max. Say something.”
“Yeah. And it hurts. So let’s get somewhere so I can get off this bone rattler.”
“You really are a magician!”
“Call me Kevlar the Magnificent. I’ll be fine. On and buckled up? Let’s ride.”
He pointed the motorcycle back toward the city. The Las Vegas lights were blazing: bright warm white and Technicolor neon.
It felt like taking off for the moon, free and daring, and quite splendidly alone.
Temple pressed one hand against the leather jacket, feeling the rough round hole of a bullet, and wondered how or when or why she had ever thought she could resist the truly mind-blowing magic that was Max.
Chapter 54
Counterinterrogation
Molina stood with her hands wrapped around her elbows, watching through the one-way glass.
Alch stood slightly behind her, hating the occasional foot shuffles that showed he was more nervous than the guy at the
interrogation table.
“I suppose the drug task force would let you interview him after they’re through,” Alch suggested finally.
“And give Nadir the steering wheel to this squad car? Everything we said would be on tape. I do not want anything I have to say to him on the record. Look. He’s glancing over, letting us know he knows we’re watching. “He doesn’t know who is watching, that you’re watching.”
“Yes, he does, he certainly does.”
Molina turned so fast she nearly walked over him on her way out.
“Let’s hope the narcs nail him good for this one.”
*
But when Alch discreetly followed up on Molina’s instructions later that early Thursday morning he discovered that Nadir’s story had been iffy, but plausible enough to get him released.
So Alch immediately reported to Molina in her long narrow office.
“I was called because of the Maylords murders, but how did you hear about this stuff going down?” Alch asked.
Molina shuffled papers even while he struggled to glimpse their contents upside down.
“I was working late.”
“Leaving Mariah alone at home?”
“No, not that she isn’t claiming she’s old enough for it. I still have a neighbor lady sit with her nights, and, boy, do I hear about it every time. How long before they stop saying they’re old enough?”
“Until they’re old enough. Guess I’ll go home to my English bulldog. He’s twelve too, but he’s a lot less demanding than a
preteen girl.”
“Get outta here, Morrie.” She smiled thinly and waved a hand.
He left, as uneasy as when his Vicky had promised never to smoke. She still was smoking today.
Some headstrong preteen girls were pushing thirty.
Molina rapped her fingers on her chair arms until she had counted one hundred and Alch had to be through the hall and on
the elevator.
She stood, unconsciously pushed her blazer sleeves up as if expecting hard work, then jerked them down again before the cheap polyester blend could wrinkle.
She knew what she wanted to do, had to do.
She went into the hall, down three doors to the day-watch commander’s office, and brushed her knuckles against the ajar