07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery (25 page)

Chapter 25

Babies are God’s way of saying, “What the hell were you thinking?”

—Connie McMullen (Chrissy’s mother) while intoxicated and unforgivably honest
Fueled by terror and hormones, I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The Westlake cops showed up on my stoop sometime before dawn. I gave them as detailed a report as I could then woke Lavonn so she could add her two cents. She was atypically subdued, and after learning that Drag had not yet been apprehended, she went back to bed.

I would have liked to have done the same, but there was still a good dose of craziness swimming around in my head. I was close to finding the answers that would prove Rivera’s innocence. I knew it. But first I had to form the right questions.

For instance, this Imp…who was she? What was she? I checked the internet first, but my Google results, while intriguing, were unhelpful. I waited until seven o’clock in the morning to begin phoning everyone I knew: cops, attorneys, beggar men, thieves. But even my friends hadn’t heard of an Imp.

By eight I was wound as tight as a rubber-band plane and had learned approximately nothing. Three people had hung up on me, seven hadn’t answered, and one had cast aspersions on my mother’s origins. Two hours later I was back at the computer in my little office. My eyes felt like they had been sautéed in battery acid.

At eight thirty-seven Jenny called from the emergency clinic to say that although Charlie had survived surgery, his condition remained guarded.

"Who was that?"

I jumped at the sound of Lavonn's voice and twisted about intending to scold her for scaring the crap out of me, but the sight of her puffy eyes and grim expression stopped the words before they escaped.

"It was the animal hospital. Charlie made it through surgery," I rushed to add, "but his condition's still…well, he'll need some time to recover."

Her lips trembled before she turned away and hurried into the kitchen.

"But Dr. Kemah is an excellent veterinarian." I rose to follow her. "I'm sure-"

"Don't you have nothing to eat around here?" Her tone was gruff as she shifted through my cupboards, but I wasn't forgetting the misery I'd seen on her face only moments before.

"You don't have to be so tough, Lavonn. I'm your friend. You can-"

"My friend!" She pivoted around, eyes blazing. "If it wasn't for you I'd still be living in Glendale. Still have my babies and my car and my-"

“And your drug-dealing maniac!" I snarled.

“Jackson wasn’t no—”

I held up my hand to ward off any possible histrionics…or facts. “My apologies,” I said, determined to take the high ground. But high ground or not, there might have been a bit of snootiness in my voice. “I didn’t mean to impugn Jackson Andrews’s stellar reputation.”

She looked at me with crafty eyes. “Do you have any idea what the penalty is for defamation, either libel or slander, in the state of California, Ms. McMullen?” I stared at her, brows shooting through my hairline. Her Ebonics had been replaced with tight-assed diction and a holier-than-thou expression. “What?” I asked, tone flat.

She snorted softly and propped a hand on her right hip. “You think you’re the only one in this house that can talk snotty?”

“Yes?”

“Well, you ain’t. Not after twenty-eight months at Southwestern,” she said, and turning on one bare foot, started looking through my drawers.

I stared at her for a good ten seconds before, “You have a law degree?” She didn’t bother to quit rummaging through my stuff long enough to answer me. “I didn’t say I had no degree.”

“You went to college for”—I waved my hand dramatically—“forever…and you didn’t graduate?” It was entirely possible that she was even dumber than I thought. Then again, it was far more probable that she was much, much smarter than I had anticipated.

“Why? What happened?”

“Life,” she said, and reaching up, began shuffling through a jungle of sugary cereals.

“Life happened.”

“How long before you would have graduated?”

She shrugged and pulled a box of crispy something-or-other off a shelf. “Year.

Maybe two.”

“Why in the world didn’t you—” I began, but she whirled around and slammed the box down on the table, jolting my words to a halt.

“I guess you never spent nine months puking up your guts, huh? You never cursed the little shit inside of you, only to push it into the light of day and realize you never loved nothing like you love it. I guess you never been awake thirty hours straight waitin’

for teeth to come in or prayin’ he’ll get over the colic before you cut your wrists.“ She tilted her head at me. “I guess you never had no babies, huh!” she said.

I blinked at her, deflated but not sure if I should be. “Well, no, but surely—”

“Then you got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

I stood there speechless. I mean, I’m all for women’s rights and brave mother bears and all that, but she seemed to be impugning my chosen path, so I girded my loins and marched out my professional tone. “I realize it can be quite difficult to juggle a family and a career, but if you had just—”

“Juggle!” she snarled, leaning so close to my face that I could see the pores on her nostrils. My professional tone may have pissed off the mother bear a little. “They ain’t grapefruit. They ain’t…” She waved a hand vaguely…possibly toward Cleveland, where her own non-grapefruit were supposedly stored. “Baseballs. Maybe just ’cause they’s black, you think they can be tossed around like so much garbage. Like they’s—”

“Holy shit!” I yelled. Professional was long gone. Keep an eye out for stark raving mad. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I saved your ass last night. Hell,” I said, remembering back, “I saved your nephew’s ass. Black, white or frickin’ magenta!” We faced off like mad dogs, and for one wild second I thought it might come to blows. Hell, for one second I hoped it might. But finally she drew a deep breath through her nostrils and nodded.

“Try the Blue Fox,” she said.

I tilted back slightly. “What?”

“If you got the balls to try to find Imp,” she said, snagging the chosen box of cereal under one arm and heading back toward the stairs, “try the Blue Fox.” At 12:47 P.M. I was on the phone with Julio Manderos. Julio is a good-looking Spanish gentleman who owns a little establishment called the Strip Please. Besides participating in a couple other less-than-perfectly-legal activities, he had, at one time, made a decent second income by being Senator Rivera’s body double.

I kid you not. I can’t make this shit up.

“What do you know about the Blue Fox?” I asked.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a good five seconds. “Why do you ask, Christina?” Even his voice sounded like Miguel Rivera’s.

“I’m looking for someone,” I said.

“And this someone, he has a name?”

I hesitated a second, though I didn’t know why exactly. “Imp.” I could hear him draw a heavy breath. “I know of no one by that name.”

“I think he might be a snitch for the police.”

Another silence. “This has something to do with the senator’s son, si?” I considered denying it, but there wasn’t much point. “Si,” I said.

“Christina, I do not think it a good idea for you to get involved in a situation of this sort.”

“Rivera’s innocent.”

“Perhaps so, but it is not for you to prove. He is a big boy.” Seriously? Again with the size?

“Well, his father doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything to help him,” I said, feeling, irrationally, perhaps, that since the two of them looked alike, the senator’s parental neglect was somehow Manderos’s fault, too.

“I cannot speak for the senator, Christina,” he said. His voice was sad.

I drew a deep breath and sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. So you don’t know anything about an Imp?”

“I do not.”

“Okay. Well…thank you anyway,” I said, and prepared to hang up. “I’ll talk to you

—”

“Christina.”

“Yes?”

“The Blue Fox is no place for a lady such as yourself.” I considered asking him what kind of lady it was suitable for, but I wasn’t in the mood to be clever... or enlightened. “I’ll be fine,” I said instead.

“You must promise me you will not go there alone.”

“I’m afraid I’m not swamped by offers to accompany me just now."

“Then I shall come with you.”

“No,” I said, though honestly, the idea of having someone with a little testosterone on my side did give me a boost. “You can’t.”

“I can.”

“Julio,” I said, more grateful than I had expected to be. “Thank you. I appreciate your offer. But think about it. I’m not going to be able to get any information from anyone when I have an ex-senator sitting beside me.”

“I am not an ex-senator.”

“But no one will know that.”

“Good. Perhaps then they will not bother you.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll call you if I decide to go there.”

“This you promise?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. We will talk soon.”

“Sure,” I said, and prepared to hang up again.

“And Christina…”

“Yes?”

“There is a special place in hell for those who lie to people who care for them.”

“I’ll call,” I said, and hung up.

Seven hours later, I was on my way to the Blue Fox. I had Shirley’s Glock in my purse, my pepper spray on my key chain and 911 on speed dial by the time I parked by the curb outside.

It was a long, low building with an asymmetrical roof line and a tilted sign. The street was set in semidarkness. Off to my left, a couple was making out on the hood of a Mazda. Up ahead, a trio of boys were playing music and talking trash. I drew a deep breath, steadied my nerves and stepped out of the car.

The man appeared out of nowhere. One moment I was alone and the next he was right behind me.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered.

Chapter 26

The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But that doesn’t mean it’s not on my list.

—Christina McMullen, to about thirty-seven ex-boyfriends
I gasped and spun around, grappling for my pepper spray, but I was too slow. My spastic fingers connected with the canister just as he grabbed my hand.

“Christina.” The voice was soft, the hand gentle but firm. “You promised.” It took my palpating heart several seconds to slow down enough to allow me to recognize my attacker.

“Julio!” I exhaled his name like a prayer. “What are you doing here?”

“I am hoping to not get myself killed.” We stared at each other from inches apart.

“Perhaps you could tell these fine people that you are well.”

“What?”

He tilted his head toward the onlookers. As it turned out, the couple making out on the Mazda were both male. Or… I stared at them a moment longer. Perhaps they were both female. Either way, both had pulled out pistols.

My hands were shaking. My voice, too. “I’m okay.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Just startled. There’s no problem here.” I gave them a wobbly smile. “We’re friends.”

A boy in low-slung jeans stepped away from the trash-talking trio. Even in the dim light I could see he was barely old enough to shave. “You sure you okay, girl?”

“Yes,” I said, and slipped my arm around Julio’s waist. “I’m great.”

“He kind of old for you, ain’t he?”

Julio’s eyes glowed a little. I didn’t know if it was fear or anger.

“Tell you what,” said Slung Low. “You come with me I’ll give you some fresh meat for dinner.”

My heart did a nosedive toward my stomach. I felt Julio’s biceps twitch and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was about to reach for a gun of his own. I pulled myself closer, blocking his motion.

“No thanks,” I said, and snuggled under Julio’s left arm. “Age doesn’t matter with a love like ours, does it, Honey Pot?”

He turned his head toward me. And now I recognized the emotion. It was fear. Not for himself but for me. Years ago, he had vowed to care for me for as long as he drew breath, but perhaps I hadn’t realized the depth of his emotions.

“None,” he said, and gently slid his hand down my waist. I stiffened, but his kiss was soft and pure and full of caring. I opened my mouth to protest, but he pressed his fingers to the small of my back and deepened the kiss.

By the time he pulled away, my head was spinning like a globe.

Neither of us looked back as he turned us toward the club. His arm around my waist was all that kept me upright, and even then I wobbled a little.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“We must keep walking,” he ordered.

When we stepped into the building, the musky smells and pounding music were almost overwhelming, but I was too buzzed to worry about either of those details.

“Julio,” I said, leaning forward and finding his eyes in the dim lighting. “I didn’t know.”

He glanced right and left, dark eyes gleaming. “You did not know what?”

“About your feelings for me.”

He turned slowly in my direction. “Christina,” he said, worry edging his sweet accent, “you do know what I do to make my living, si?”

“What?”

He scowled a little. The ambient noises seemed to dim. “For many years I was…I am in the business of pleasure.”

I blinked as formerly known facts came flooding past the hormonal wall that had momentarily barricaded my brain; Julio Manderos had not always been a business owner and senator look-a-like. He had once been a paid companion. “Oh. Yes. I know. Of course. I know that. I just—” I jerked my head to the right. “Look! An open table,” I babbled, and sped through the mob toward the stage.

A pretty couple was dancing there, but I barely saw them. My face was on fire. I stumbled into a chair.

“Christina,” Julio said, and seating himself gracefully, took my hand in both of his.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Christina, we must discuss this.”

“I know,” I whispered, and forced a lopsided grin. It was the best I could do. It was sobering and somewhat frightening to realize I was still an idiot. “So what’s your guess?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I nodded surreptitiously toward the pretty couple. My movement was the physical equivalent of a stage whisper. “Do you think they’re male or female?”