“Girl’s gotta be practical,” Shanice replied, grinning. “I blow a knee, that’s what you call a career-ending injury. I got a wrist brace, too. Not taking any risks with that corporal tunnel shit.”
“Well, we won’t keep you away from your workouts for long,” Stride told her slyly. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Gavin Webster. Based on court records, you seem to know him pretty well.”
Shanice stuck her thumbs in the loops of her jeans. “Oh, yeah. I got Gavin on speed dial. A lot of my friends do, too.”
“Have you heard what happened?” Maggie asked.
“You mean his wife? Sure. It’s all over the city that somebody grabbed her. Feel bad for the guy. Some lawyers, they look at me like I’m something they gotta scrape off the bottom of their shoe. Not Gavin. He’s okay.”
“When did you last... need his services?” Maggie went on.
“About two weeks ago, middle of the night. When it’s that late, a lot of lawyers will just let you cool your heels in a cell until morning. Gavin came over right away, dressed in a suit like it was noon and he was going into court. Got me out, made sure I was okay, took me home. Class act, you know?”
“What are his rates like?”
Shanice gave Maggie a sideways look and ran her tongue over her teeth. “You mean, do my knee pads count as cash with him?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“No, not Gavin. Believe me, if I can pay somebody with jizz, I’m happy to do it. He’s cute, too, so what the hell. If he asked, I’d throw it in as a little bonus. But that’s not his thing.”
“Any of your friends tell a different story?”
“Nah. They all say Gavin’s a straight shooter.”
“We heard his wife wasn’t so sure.”
Shanice snorted. “Wives always wonder about that, and most of the time, they got good reason. But if Gavin was sampling the goods, he wasn’t doing it with me or my girlfriends. And our goods are pretty sweet.”
Stride knew Shanice well enough to believe that if she said there was no hanky-panky, there wasn’t. “What’s the word about the kidnapping? You hear any rumors about who did it?”
“Plenty of people are talking, but you ask me, they’re just pumping gas. I haven’t heard any names, and something like this, you can’t keep it quiet. If it was a brother on the streets, I’d know. This smells like a pro job. Upscale.”
“But no names?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Shanice said. “Like I say, I like Gavin.”
“Could this have been personal? Did he have any enemies?”
“Nobody that I heard about. If he did, it wasn’t anybody who talked about going after him or his wife. That’s serious shit.”
“Did you ever meet Chelsey?”
“Nope, never had the pleasure.”
“Did Gavin talk about her?”
Shanice’s jaw worked up and down on a piece of gum. “Come on, Stride. Guys don’t see me and start bragging about the wife. But I saw a pic of her once. Nice. She looked like the right kind of cool and the right kind of hot.”
“Have you heard anything that might help us find her?” Stride asked. “Whoever abducted Chelsey had to take her somewhere and keep her quiet and locked up. Plus, they had to come and go for two days. Somebody must have seen something.”
“Not around here. Like I told you, you’re wasting your time in this neighborhood.”
Maggie shuffled on her feet impatiently. “What about money?”
“What about it?”
“Aren’t you surprised that Gavin was the target? Why go after a low-end lawyer like him?”
“Don’t play me for a fool, Lieutenant,” Shanice complained, focusing an icy stare on Maggie. “You want to ask if I knew about Gavin’s pot of gold? Just ask straight up, all right? Yeah, I knew. We all knew. Gavin is loaded now. His sister croaked and left him a shitload of bucks.”
“How did you hear about it? Did Gavin tell you?”
Shanice shrugged. “Somebody comes into money, word like that gets around pretty fast. Gavin had some debts and suddenly he paid them off. People notice that kind of shit. They talk.”
“Debts?” Stride asked sharply. “What kind of debts?”
“Gavin likes poker. Poker doesn’t always like him.”
“He plays?”
“Yeah. Pretty hard-core.”
“Like how much?”
“I heard he owed twenty thousand at one point. Interest on that kind of cash runs steep. I mean, broken legs kind of steep. But he wiped the slate clean a few months ago. That’s when word started going around about his sister.”
“Where does he gamble? Fond-du-Luth?”
“Oh, hell no, the Indians don’t want that kind of heat. This is off-the-books stuff. A private game, invitation only, high limit. Some real hush-hush shit.”
“We need a name and a location,” Stride said to Shanice.
“Yeah, and I need a boob job and a pair of Chucks. Guess we’re both out of luck.”
Stride dug in his pocket and extracted two twenties from his wallet. “At least we can pay you for the client you lost. Whatever you tell us, we forget where we heard it. Deal?”
Shanice licked her lips and studied the cash. Then she plucked the bills out of Stride’s hand. “I hear the game runs out of some unmarked warehouse down by the water.”
“That’s a pretty downscale location for an upscale game,” Stride said.
“Easier to keep it quiet that way.”
“Who runs it?” Maggie asked.
Shanice shook her head. “You want a lot for forty bucks, Lieutenant.”
Maggie pulled out her own wallet and produced two more twenties. “Does this help?”
The girl smiled as she pocketed the extra money. “I hear the guy behind it goes by the nickname Broadway. That’s it. I don’t know who he really is. I hear he’s from the Cities, not local. He sets up the whole thing every Friday. Sounds like it’s quite the party, too. By Saturday morning, they shut the whole thing down and the place is empty again.”
“Friday?” Stride said. “So there’s a game tonight?”
“Probably.”
“And Broadway’s the banker?”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear. I don’t know where he gets his money, and I don’t want to know. But if you need cash, Broadway is the one who will get it for you.”
Stride looked at Maggie, and he knew they were both thinking about one hundred thousand dollars in ransom money.
Cash.
10
As daylight bled into the dreary evening, Stride and Maggie bumped over railroad tracks and drove beside graffiti-covered train cars as they hunted through the streets of the Duluth Port for Broadway’s secret poker game. Near the bay, they crossed dirt and gravel lots flooded with rainwater. Heavy equipment, huge storage tanks, and pyramids of taconite loomed on both sides of the road. There were dozens of rusting, windowless buildings within spitting distance of the harbor that gave no clue what was inside. If the gathering place for the weekly game were anywhere near them, it was well hidden.
After two hours of fruitless searching near the docks, they were almost ready to give up. Then, as Stride headed north to merge back onto the freeway, he saw a dark Mercedes turn left on a frontage road a quarter mile ahead of them. Acting on instinct, he followed, hanging back and giving the Mercedes plenty of space. When it continued around a tight curve, Stride turned off his headlights and slowed down, but when he emerged on the other side of the curve, the Mercedes had disappeared. On the left side of the road was a dirt lot where several empty semitrailers were parked. Elevated train tracks loomed on the other side of a line of trees. On his right was a green warehouse with several loading-dock doors but no exterior windows.
“Where the hell did it go?” Maggie asked.