Twice as Fatal: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel, Page 2

  In time we had sufficiently filled ourselves with enough food and beer, and the leftovers were stored away in the fridge. I returned to the sofa and snuggled up against her. She smelled wonderful: soft hair, pretty face and the curve of her marvelously enticing body. I ached to kiss her, but resisted. She needed to make the first move.

  “What would you like to do?” I asked.

  “So I get to decide?” she said.

  “Yes, you are in charge. Name it and I will be right beside you.”

  “Well…”

  She turned into me, took my face in her hands and kissed me passionately for about a minute. My heart raced as her soft lips met mine.

  “Any more questions?” she stated with a seductive voice. “Another one of our signals. Do I need to translate what it meant?”

  We locked lips again for several minutes, making out like teenagers on the sofa.

  “No. Signal received loud and clear,” I replied, catching my breath. “Are you sure you’re ready? You wanted to take it slow and I’m OK with that. I want you to be certain this time after what happened before.”

  “Yes,” she said while pushing me back and lying on top, kissing me with the hunger of a desire-laden woman. “I can feel how ready you are. We better get those jeans off of you or you’ll likely burst your denim!”

  She got up from the sofa, grabbed me by the hand, and walked me to the bedroom. We undressed one another, starting slowly, touching with fingers and mouths all over in various positions, creating an extreme state of arousal for us both before she climbed on top, our bodies in a continuing motion until each of us cried out in satisfaction. We labored to fill our lungs with oxygen, the deep-breathing sounds lifting to the ceiling. Lying there next to me, she fell into a blissful sleep. It was a wonderful moment and I enjoyed gazing at her naked body, thinking this was perfect and how lucky I was to have her here with me again.

  A while later she woke up and went to the bathroom, then returned with an inquisitive glance on her face.

  “Can you do me a favor?” she asked, standing naked before me.

  “I think I already did,” I responded. “But I’m happy and ready to help again.”

  “Put on some pants, go to my car, and grab the overnight bag from the front seat and bring it in.”

  “Overnight bag,” I said, surprised. “Anticipating spending the night, were we?”

  “A girl always needs to be prepared,” she answered with her now-familiar sheepish look. “You never know when a hunky guy will come along and present a hot woman with something she desires. If the pizza deliveryman had been better looking, it might have been him!”

  “Why, you!” I stood up and grabbed her as we both fell onto the bed. I started kissing her again, starting at the lips and working my way down.

  Another passion-filled hour passed before I went to get her bag.

  Chapter 3

  Monday was the first day on the case for Kate. Her text said he had stayed the night in the basement bedroom, coming home close to midnight, which had been his pattern. He normally left between 9 and 10 a.m., off doing whatever it was he did. A straight follow-and-surveil case to gather evidence.

  I had her home address, and I was off after clearing the two inches of snow from the Mustang that fell overnight. I packed a digital SLR with a telephoto lens and spare battery, fully charged for capturing evidence. In a small soft cooler I placed some water, a can of soda, and leftover pizza to snack on, knowing a long day was ahead. I dressed in a heavy winter coat over jeans and sweatshirt, with a plain black Colorado Rockies hat, warm gloves and boots for stepping through the snow. Heading west on Evans, past Federal, I found her residence about a mile or so west of where I lived, claiming a good parking spot from which to observe. The pickup he drove was parked out on the street. It was around 9 a.m., the Mustang sitting silently with a full tank of gas. I was a patient man who would wait whatever amount of time needed to complete the job. The nothingness of surveillance was a key skill-set for a detective. I excelled at doing nothing.

  I went over my notes from the information Kate gave me about her husband, Jack, whom she had less than fondly called Jack-Ass. He was around 5’10” and 200 or so pounds, with thinning, short red hair and graying temples. He was fifty-one, though he would never admit it, and had gone through a serious midlife crisis shortly after passing forty, wanting to try to recapture his youth in any way possible. This led to drinking, gambling and womanizing issues with ladies in their twenties. The gambling and drinking put them in debt, as he had been jobless for some time. It nearly tore them apart then, but they worked through their troubles. With counseling, he’d straightened himself out, finding steady work. He was a good husband and father again, their debt issues resolved. His personal issues returned when he passed fifty and this time, she wasn’t giving him another chance and wanted him gone. Nothing was going to save this marriage anymore. She needed the evidence to run him out of her life for good and start anew.

  Nearing ten, I saw him exit the side door. He was wearing a black leather jacket, matching jeans and boots, with a skull cap covering his balding head. He appeared heavier than Kate had mentioned and squeezed into the older blue Ford Ranger pickup truck he was driving, throwing a black duffle bag on the seat. He sat for several minutes, waiting for the snow to melt enough for the wipers to clear the windshield. He didn’t get out to remove any powder from the windows and rolled each down and back up again in an attempt to clean them. He pulled out, driving north and I was off behind him, doing my best not to be noticed.

  His truck would not be too hard to follow, emitting a fair amount of smoke from its tail pipe, leaving a nice trail. You could see and smell the rich and gassy fumes flowing out the back and into the air unburned. He certainly wouldn’t be outrunning me in a chase.

  Traffic was fairly heavy and many people were driving slowly, as the streets hadn’t been cleared of the overnight precipitation. Apparently, State road crews had been surprised by the snow and hadn’t gotten their CDOT equipment out until late in the morning. This created a messy rush hour drive from what I was hearing on news radio, though they tended to make every little thing sound like a major ordeal. Following him was easier, thanks to the conditions.

  We traveled for about twenty minutes before we came to our first stop. Jack had pulled off onto Federal Boulevard where three men were standing. He got out of his truck and approached them. I found a spot about a half-block back and parked, giving myself a descent angle to view them. With my camera and the telephoto lens I zoomed in to see all of them, a clicking sound telling me the pictures were being captured. He talked with them for several minutes, cash being passed to Jack, while he handed them back something, though I couldn’t tell what. All was cordial and he headed to his truck and pulled out.

  This happened at two other locations, an exchange of money and some product was made. I took the best shots possible, once seeing a rolled-up plastic bag he was giving them. Each time the men were maybe in their thirties to forties, dressed poorly and certainly not affluent in any way, and of varying races: Caucasian, Black, Asian and Hispanic. At the last stop Jack got into an argument with one of the men. He shoved him around some, and the other man pushed back. He opened his coat, flashing a gun. I read his lips: “Pay up or else!” Reluctantly, the man turned over the money, but this time Jack didn’t give him anything in return. Apparently a debt was being paid in this case, and he was warning him of the consequences of non-payment next time. The man was shaky, as if in need of a fix he wasn’t going to get. He stomped his feet, cursing profusely behind Jack’s back.

  From there we headed south and then east before connecting to Broadway Avenue. Thanks to all the streetlights I was able to stay behind him and not be seen. Riding in a yellow and black Mustang made surveillance tougher, as it stands out from the other four-wheel-drive SUVs and sedan cookie-cutter cars on the road. Today the bad weather was helping me; the dirt and snow from the streets were dirtying up my car, making it
less recognizable. We had driven fairly far now and soon he parked along one of the older sections of Broadway. I had to pull past him and swing around and park on the other side. In the mirror I saw him get out and stroll into a bar called Eddie’s.

  While sitting there, I decided it was lunchtime. Cold pizza and soda filled my stomach while I was hanging out watching the front door. Several people went in and out, but what got my attention was a brand-new BMW parking behind Jack’s pickup. Out walked two men, both large in size, football-big and looking mean, as you’d expect enforcers to appear. The one on the driver’s side flashed a large gun in a shoulder holster under his coat. I jotted down the license plate number, guessing these were bad men. I wanted to get a closer look and the only way was to walk into the bar. It wasn’t something I would enjoy, but must be done. I needed to change my getup a little bit so I got out and removed my jacket and sweatshirt, tossing them on the passenger seat. From my trunk I grabbed a full-length one-piece insulated coverall I wore when doing maintenance on the Mustang in the wintertime. I added a gray hat adorned with a bald-eagle head over an American Flag design. Both were dirty, making me look like an ordinary working stiff. Since no one knew me I would be another patron staggering in asking for a beer on a lunch break.

  The snow was turning to slush, the temperatures were rising and so I crossed in between the traffic, entering through the front door. The outside was old and dingy, the building probably built in the forties, but the inside wasn’t a total dive. Laid out like you’d expect: the bar with stools taking up the left side with tables and booths covering the right. Being in Denver, of course the walls were covered with Bronco’s memorabilia highlighting their best players throughout the years. It was fairly dark inside, but bright enough to see Jack in the back booth with the two big men, talking. They stared at me and I took a seat at the bar. The place was mostly empty, with two people sitting on stools and a couple in a booth on the other side, ignoring each other. The bartender came over, seeming to size me up. I gave him a happy smile and ordered a draft, putting a five-dollar bill on the counter. He rang up the order and left a whole fifty cents in change. I saluted him with the mug and drank down half. It tasted pretty watered-down, a lighter-than-lite beer.

  “Wow, $4.50 for a beer?” I stated to the bartender.

  “Ambiance,” was all he said.

  Looking around, I didn’t see a lot of ambiance. There were only three televisions in the place, an old tube TV behind the bar and a couple of newer large flat screen LCDs behind me, a small number for a sports establishment of this size, and of poor quality judging by the lousy picture. One was at the end where Jack was sitting, so I turned to watch. They had on ESPN Classic, which showed older sports events considered classics by the program manager. This one happened to be the Broncos against Cleveland in the AFC Championship back in the eighties, a game simply known as “The Drive.”

  “Go Broncos!” I said out loud so those around heard me. “Man. Elway was something, wasn’t he?”

  Getting up, I moved down the bar, finding a seat next to one of the other patrons to get a better view of the TV and of Jack in the booth. The man turned around and eyed me, then checked out the screen. He showed a half grin, the potent aroma of beer on his breath. He was certainly swimming in the booze and had probably been drinking since the place opened. I wondered how many $4.50 beers he’d had. Might have received a volume discount.

  “Hell of a game,” he said with a slight slur. “I poked the old lady good that night I was so pumped we’d won.”

  “Easy to get it hard after a great performance,” I answered, though the sight of him and his wife wouldn’t do much for my virility.

  “Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” he asked.

  “First time. I was on my lunch break and decided I required a cold one before returning to the grind.”

  “You work on cars?” he stated.

  “Yep, I’m into the grease and grime,” I answered. “I love getting the motor purring like my lady. Stroke them both right and they howl.”

  He laughed out loud like I was speaking his language. I watched the game but was keeping an eye on Jack and his two friends. Their conversation appeared civil and businesslike. I saw the exchange of a couple of folders, and the two men got up from the table. They walked by, looking my way, and I sensed the man next to me turn away, not wanting to look at them, genuine fear on his face. I showed them my happy smile, holding my mug in salute, and they were out the door soon, driving past the glass doorway.

  “Wow, those guys were huge,” I said softly. “Might have played for the Broncos?”

  “Best not to talk about them. Only leads to trouble,” was all he said, turning on his seat and remaining silent.

  Jack peered into the envelope and seemed satisfied by the contents. He pulled out his cell phone and appeared to be typing out a text message. I needed to run to the restroom and found the sign down from me. I strolled by, probing eyes upon me. After I returned, I took my seat again and ordered another draft. Good thing I was working a case, as their alcohol prices would break the bank.

  I downed the beer pretty quickly this time and decided I should head on out. Before I got up, Jack stood and left for the door. On my way out, I slapped the back of the man at the bar as if we were best friends and strolled out slowly. Exiting, I saw Jack climb into a new Mercedes, a female behind the wheel. They were kissing before the car was put in gear, the tires spinning loudly, leaving a tread trail down the road and nearly causing a two-vehicle accident in their wake. The plate was covered with snow and ice so I couldn’t register any letters or numbers. I stood cursing myself for letting them get away. The do-nothing detective had done something, and it cost me. One beer too many.

  Chapter 4

  With nothing else to do but stand there with a stupid expression on my face I headed back to my part of town. Bill Malone and I were supposed to meet at Boone’s to talk over my other case. This one I was doing as favor to him as payback for the information he’d always provided me in the past. He was covering expenses and offered to buy me dinner tonight to discuss the latest.

  On the drive I called Melissa to see how her day was. She answered on the second ring, her voice sounding happy to hear mine.

  “I was wondering when you were going to call,” she said.

  “Don’t tell me things are so slow you were waiting by the phone,” I stated.

  “No, there is plenty to do. It’s always good to hear your voice.”

  I had stopped calling her once previously after a client bad-mouthed her, and it would take a while to get over the possibility of it happening again.

  “What did your day consist of?”

  “Research, research and more research; the Bristol Brothers are burying me in work.”

  It sounded boring to me but I know she lived for it, even when buried in it.

  “So what was the detective up to today?” she asked.

  “This detective started his surveillance on Kate’s husband.” I gave her details, even the part about being left at the curb with a stupid look on my face. “Please don’t mention this to Kate. It might ruin her stellar image of me.”

  “My lips are sealed,” she replied. “So you were acting the part of a greasy mechanic. You know, I’ve always had this fantasy about the hunky car tech doing bodywork on me!”

  “Wow. Pizza delivery guys and now the greasy mechanic; what a healthy imagination! It appears I need to expand my wardrobe for role-playing.”

  “It’s all those years of sexual frustration coming to bear.”

  “When will I see you again?”

  “It will be a busy week. Maybe Friday we can meet up for dinner.”

  “Yep, I will mark it on my calendar in digital ink.”

  We said our goodbyes and the call ended.

  Boone’s was my kind of place, a neighborhood bar with good food and friendly people. Unlike Eddie’s, a beer wasn’t five dollars, though some of the local brews they c
arried were close. I parked out back and walked around Evans, entering through the front door. Nick the bartender nodded at me and pointed to the right. Over in the booth was Bill, nursing a brew. I sat down across from him and he glanced up without a smile, which was common for him. It was always hard to tell if he was in a good mood or a bad one. His attitude was always even-keeled whether his day went well or went south. Our relationship was always professional in nature, with simple social interaction, and if he was angry I could never tell. Julie the waitress was quick to arrive so I decided on Sprite since I’d already had two beers and I rarely drank more than that in a day. I pulled out a piece of paper with the license plate number of the BMW and slid it over to him. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket without comment, knowing what I was asking. He was still in his police uniform but was off duty.

  “Tough day at the office?” I asked.

  “Aren’t they all!” he groaned. “I got a call today from the University of Northern Colorado Dean of Students. He says Ray dropped out and left, as far as they can tell. No one knows where he went.”

  Ray was Bill’s son, who had gone missing twice in the last month.

  “No answer on his cell?”

  “Straight to voicemail. Rachael is worried sick. She can’t seem to sleep. He is her baby.”

  “And you?”

  He glared at me hard to provide a wordless response. It was about as emotional as I’d ever seen him. Anyone else looking wouldn’t see it, but there was worry deep in his eyes when you looked close enough.

  “Did you talk with his roommate in school?”

  “Says it appears he packed a duffle bag with some clothes and left. No word; there one day and gone when he got back from classes.”

  “What about his coach?”

  “After his latest injury he wasn’t the same. Seemed lost and they were trying to get him some help. He was being stubborn.”

  “Takes after his dad,” I stated.