“There’s more to my life than a library. Besides, Don Juan may be the key to our money and to the threats against us.”
Doom said, “You’re so lucky. Joe’s a good man.”
“Better than I deserve right now, and most people don’t know how good he is. He’s kind of like a woman who’s so pretty that nobody gives her credit for being smart. Most people look at Joe and see a big stud, party boy, which of course, he encourages with all his jokes. But when we’re alone, he talks about right and wrong more than anybody I’ve ever met. The core of Joe Hammer is doing what he thinks is right.” She paused. Her eyes were wet but then she giggled. “Well, he does talk about other things. Another reason to keep him alive.”
“So are you going to write a hot bestseller about romantic life with a cop, call it Fifty Shades of Blue?”
“There’s a lot more than fifty shades in that book.”
“Good to see you joke,” Doom said. “The dealer said we could find Don Juan at his restaurant, but really, if he’s holding court at the Maddington Harbor Restaurant, Joe’s in no danger of being killed there. They wouldn’t hurt anyone in a public place like that.”
“Maybe.” Serenity laughed. It felt good. “Not unless he gets overcharged to death. The only time we were there, the snooty server finally came over after ignoring us for twenty minutes. He asked if we wanted a bottle of wine. Joe said sure. Joe took more time studying the wine list than the server liked, so the waiter called over the sommelier, a guy with a little silver tasting cup on a string around his neck. Sommelier studies Joe’s cowboy hat and boots and says, ‘Could I recommend something in the fifty-dollar range, sir?’ Joe figures, why not, let’s splurge. After the guy leaves, Joe looks at the wine list, and sees that the cheapest wine there is a fifty-dollar wine, a basic Tennessee red blend. The guy could tell we didn’t belong.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to belong to that crowd of elitist snobs.”
“The worst thing was that when we got home,” said Serenity, “we saw the same bottle sitting in our wine rack. Ten dollars at Publix.”
She turned into the parking lot behind a Bigfoot truck that was throwing mud off of its huge tires.
“There.” Serenity pointed to the edge of the lot. “Joe’s pickup. We’ve found him.” She sighed. “Hope they’re not trying to kill him by making him drink himself to death. We can’t afford that. Let’s go get him out of there before he or they do something I’ll regret.”
The Bigfoot truck pulled up to the valet parking area and a guy wearing work boots and a camo jumpsuit got out and threw the keys to the attendant. Serenity ignored the valet and parked herself in an empty slot while someone from the parking stand yelled at her.
“Oh, get over it,” she said. Then to Doom, “Hurry.”
Serenity pointed at Camo Guy. “Something’s up with him.” He walked past the maître d’ with a curt nod.
The maître d’ let him pass, but stepped out from behind his stand and blocked Serenity and Doom, all the while wearing a big smile.
Serenity pushed past him.
“We’re joining our party.”
Doom gave the maître d’ a little shove as she went by and said, “Get over it.”
It was easy to follow Camo Guy. He was leaving muddy boot prints across the expensive carpet. Serenity thought the staff would be horrified, but they were all carefully looking away, as if the guy wasn’t there.
He went to a back alcove, to a door in the back marked private, and pulled the door open. Serenity quick-stepped the last couple of steps, caught the door as it was closing, and stepped into a darkened room.
Then three guns came out, pointed at Serenity and Doom.
sixty-one
size matters, sometimes
THREE GUNS. One was in in the hands of Camo Guy, three feet ahead of them with his feet still pointing into the room but his body and gun twisted around to face Serenity. The half of the room closest to the door had two black couches facing a TV that covered most of the wall—and another guy holding a gun. The back half of the room looked like a cute yuppie café. Three small bistro tables with expensive teak tabletops and intricate cast iron chairs. Two men sat at the table in the back corner, near another door. One man looked like a 1950s B-movie star with jet-black hair brushed straight back, gray temples, and a black Armani suit. His fork was poised over a dinner plate and his face carried a bored expression. The little guy next to him had his gun out and didn’t look bored at all.
Armani Suit said, “Ms. Hammer. You just missed your husband.”
“So he was here?”
“Here. Left. Any of you boys know where he went?”
Camo Guy snickered “Uncle Ernie,” while the other two revealed no expression.
Armani Suit/Don Juan played with a forkful of food and looked across it at Serenity.
“Maybe he’s home watching a movie. Say, Scarface.”
“So, you sent that? And planted the drugs in my library to incriminate us?”
He put the food in his mouth and chewed for a few seconds while he looked at Serenity. Then he swallowed and said, “No. The public—emphasis on public—library has been our distribution center for years. And, no, I didn’t send you the movie. Believe it, or don’t. I’ve got no need to lie to Hammers anymore.”
She waited.
“The people you pissed off sent it, and told me,” he said, “which is good for me. Your husband has always been a pain in my… neck. Couldn’t do anything about it. But you messed with somebody with a lot more juice than me. If—,” He smiled. “If Joe were to disappear now, the police would be told by those people to not bother looking too hard. And the DVD supplier would be very grateful to anyone who helped Serenity Hammer’s husband disappear.
“So.” He stabbed something with a fork. “No one could touch your husband.” He raised the fork. “’Til you came along. Thank you, Mrs. Hammer.”
He tipped the fork in a toast and snapped at the bite like an alligator. Camo Guy giggled.
Serenity took a step toward him.
“Tell me where Joe is or that fork goes in you.”
She felt hands clamp her biceps and pin them to her side while Camo Guy chuckled behind her.
“I demand to know where my husband is. Now,” Serenity said, “or I’m going to the police.”
“Go for it. And tell them about the DVD. See their reaction. You’re too late to do anything but get yourself in trou-ble. We’re done here,” Don Juan said. “Throw them out.”
There’s an old saying about it not being the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of fight in the dog. The man who stood up from the couch was big, but Doom had the fight. She jumped into a karate stance in front of him and yelled an earsplitting “Hiiaa.”
He punched her in the stomach and put her under one arm. Then Camo Guy rotated Serenity and tucked her under his arm. They carried the women out through a side door and threw them into the parking lot.
Sometimes the size of the dog matters.
sixty-two
alligator alley
SERENITY LAY on the asphalt looking up at the stars, counting aches and pains until she got tired of counting. She sat up gently. Nothing seemed broken, but everything seemed bruised. She looked at Doom, who was getting to her feet.
“You okay?” said Serenity.
“I’m sure some part of me’s okay,” Doom said. “Most parts feel like one of those animated anatomy texts that shows every muscle flashing red.”
“That was really—”
Serenity said, “brave” at the same time that Doom said “dumb.”
The valet, who had been watching, looked down at them and said, “You should have taken the valet parking.”