A.W. Hartoin - Mercy Watts 04 - Drop Dead Red (44 page)

“Just out of curiosity, where was it?” I asked.
 

“Brown sugar canister. We never bake.” Leslie turned away and disappeared around the bend. Mary tugged me backwards and slammed the door.
 

“You,” she pointed, “go.”
 

“Alright then,” said Tiny. “Let’s get you back.”
 

We got on the cart and zinged through the crowds back to the elevator. I got off, but Tiny didn’t.
 

“That girl’s friend was murdered?”
 

“Yes,” I said.
 

“And that book’s gonna solve it?”
 

I laughed. “It’s never that simple. It’s evidence, much needed evidence.”
 

“Evidence, like what you see when you look at me,” said Tiny and the sparkle went out of his eye.
 

“I suppose so.”

“You think I’m going to die.”
 

“Yes, I do and pretty soon if you don’t do something. I’d hate for that to happen.”
 

He stuck out his big hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mercy. I hope you got what you needed.”
 

“I did, and thank you for not arresting me.”
 

“Ah, shoot. I can’t arrest you. I’d have your old man down here, doing a dance on my head.” He slapped the hood of the cart and they drove away. I’d probably never see Tiny again. But I’d read too many studies, looked at too many fatty livers, not to know. It broke my heart. Tiny was one of the good guys.

I went down the escalator to find a convenient cab, waiting at the curb. I gave the driver Nana’s address and was once again told it didn’t exist. After a five minute argument, we were on our way into the city. I relaxed on the cold vinyl seat in the back and read Sheila’s last words with a lump in my throat. I was in those flower-patterned pages and she’d been kind. Lucky for me, Sheila had an eye for detail. She noted that I had green eyes, instead of Marilyn’s blue. It was an important distinction that few noticed. She also noticed that Fish looked a whole lot like Mr. Schwartz and that Fish glanced at Mr. Schwartz with a frown when he called him a distant cousin. Sheila wrote her opinion in purple ink. She thought Fish and Mr. Schwartz were brothers.
 

I snapped the diary shut and pulled out my phone. “Dad, I got it.”
 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DAD FOUND ANDREW Marlin, aka Fish, in a Motel 6 with a teenaged prostitute before Chuck got his eleven o’clock pressure check. My father was a lot of things. He was not slow. Or restrained, for that matter. There was some talk of a police brutality charge, but since Dad wasn’t a cop anymore, it came to nothing. Dad figured if a forty-year-old man takes a sixteen-year-old girl into a hotel room, he deserves to get punched in the ear six times. It turned out that plenty of people agreed, me included.
 

After Andrew was arrested in Missouri, I handed over the diary to Cortier. She wasn’t happy. First, that I hadn’t told her about Andrew and his resemblance to Mr. Schwartz and second, because Dad was flying down to watch her eat catfish. The other Berrys had readily admitted to suggesting Tulio to their relations at Andrew’s suggestion. They hadn’t been charged, but it wasn’t out of the question. Dad thought they were clueless pawns in the scheme to kill Rob and Donatella. No one was certain how Blankenship fit in, but nobody thought the shooting was a coincidence. Dad said it would take some time, but they’d find the connection.
 

I curled up on my sleeper chair next to Chuck’s inert body and let Dad lecture me on the death penalty in Missouri vs Louisiana. It was better to have Andrew in Missouri, for some reason. I couldn’t have cared less either way. It was over. Dad graciously said he’d let me tell Donatella the whole story and I pretended to be grateful. I wasn’t, not a bit. The whole story included Sheila and who wanted to tell the wife about her? At least Abrielle and Colton were safe from living with the other Berrys. I’d done my job as Dad kept telling me over and over. But I didn’t exactly feel like I’d done it. Blankenship’s smile crept back into my mind and the thought of him was like having an intestinal parasite, gross and bad for the digestion.
 

I went to sleep with his face in the forefront of my mind and when I woke up, he was still there. I began to feel like Andrew and the Schwartzes were getting away with it. Dad was confident that the connection between Blankenship and Andrew would be found. The more I thought about it, the more I doubted it. If the cops didn’t lock down the part they played in the Tulio murders with solid evidence, Andrew and the Schwartzes would go to some federal prison to play tennis. The other Berrys would walk away untouched. The thought made me sick. I sat in Chuck’s room, watching his monitor, waiting for an idea to come to me. None did.
 

Chuck woke up migraine-free and starving. He ate the hospital breakfast and everything I brought up from the cafeteria. I got one apple chip and a latte, only because the doc didn’t want Chuck to have coffee. One apple chip? I was starving and trucking down the hall in search of a vending machine when I happened upon Derek, who was studying a room’s placard.
 

“What are you doing here?” I asked and the kid jumped a foot. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I was looking for you.”
 

“I’ll pay you twenty bucks to get me a chocolate croissant from the pastry cart next to the information desk downstairs,” I said.
 

He frowned. “How come you can’t go?”
 

“Doc’s coming up to examine Chuck and I want to be there.”
 

“Okay. Sure.”

I gave Derek twenty-five dollars that he tried to refuse and I ended up stuffing the money in his back pocket. He took off for the elevators and I went back to Chuck’s room to find him flirting shamelessly with Cortier. She wasn’t happy to see me. That bothered me even less than usual, since her questioning was solely to get one over on my dad.
 

“It’s well known that Tommy uses you for grunt work and doesn’t pay you,” Cortier said to me. “This is your chance to pull one over on him.”
 

“Pass. He’s my father, remember? I’m stuck with that weirdo for life.”
 

Cartier had no hope. Nobody beat my dad, except my mother. That was only because he loved her so much. She brought out the stupid in him and, believe me, it wasn’t much. If I had any secret ammo to use against Dad, I’d use it for myself. Cortier could eat her catfish. Bummer for her.
 

Chuck laughed and crossed his arms. The muscles bulged under the short sleeves of his hospital gown. I tried not to notice and failed. Miserably.
 

“Come on. Can’t you give me something on him? I’d rather eat a homeless man’s underwear than eat one bite of catfish.” She looked desperate. I knew the feeling. I could’ve lost to Wellow. My victory was hollow, considering that he would be eating through a straw for the foreseeable future. As much as I liked to win, I wouldn’t be serving liquid crab.
 

“I can’t because I don’t have anything,” I said.
 

“You’re his kid. You’ve got the genes.”
 

“Do I look like I have the genes?”
 

“You’ve got the brain. I’m not eating that catfish.” She pointed at me like that was going to do something for her. Puh-lease.
 

Derek walked in with a beautiful little white pastry bag. “Here you go.”
 

Chuck reached out. “You are the man. Gimme.”
 

I smacked his hands. “Back off, buzzard. That’s mine.”
 

“But I’m starving.”
 

“You’ve had 1200 calories so far today. You’re good.” I took the bag from Derek and gave him a hug just to irritate Chuck. It worked. He crossed his arms and glared at Derek, who retreated to the far side of the room.
 

“Don’t scare off my assistant,” I said. “If it weren’t for him, you’d probably be in the morgue with a brick-shaped hole in your head.
 

Chuck snorted, but Cortier got interested. “Oh, yeah. Derek, the frat boy assistant.”
 

Oh, no. Did Derek do anything illegal? No. Maybe. No. Not sure. Oh, no.

Cortier took off her jacket and exposed her badge clipped at her waist. Derek looked at it and then me. Fantastic. The poor kid didn’t know anything that would help her, but she’d grill him until he peed. Literally.
 

Chuck tapped my thigh with his foot and when Cortier advanced on Derek, he mouthed, “Remember Stevie. Get her out.”
 

I’d completely forgotten about Stevie. Now he was something Cortier could use against Dad. She’d arrest Stevie, instead of letting him surrender, and ruin Big Steve’s scheme to protect his goofy offspring. Dad couldn’t have that and she’d win.
 

“So,” I said, “let’s go for a coffee and talk about it.”
 

Cortier turned, her eyes glittering. “That’s right. I know Tommy Watts.”
 

Huh?
 

“This kid is your assistant, your protégé.”
 

Where is she going with this?

“Yeah, sure. He’s been a huge help,” I said.
 

“In other words, you owe him,” said Cortier.
 

Derek brightened up like my cat, Skanky, when I brought home smoky cheddar. A cat’s gotta have his smoky cheddar.
 

“Yes,” I said, slowly.
 

“I can help you out with that,” said Cortier.
 

Chuck mouthed, “Oh shit.”
 

“That’s right, handsome,” she said. “Everybody knows that a Watts takes care of their people. Hell, that’s why Miss Mercy’s down here in the first place, taking care of Officer Ameche. He’s Donatella Berry’s brother, isn’t he?”
 

“Yes,” I said.
 

“He helped you out, and now you’re helping him.”
 

“Yes.”
 

“So Derek helped you and he wants to be in criminal justice.” She looked hard at Derek and he nodded. “I can help him. I can be his mentor here in New Orleans, on the scene. That is…”
 

Groan.
 

“If I help you get out of catfish,” I said.
 

She fired a finger pistol at me and I contained a grimace. Derek was looking so damn shiny and eager, what could I do? “How much mentoring?”
 

“Plenty. That kid’ll skip the police department and go straight to the FBI,” she said.
 

Derek was doing the wee-wee dance, he was so excited.
 

“And all I have to do is get you out of catfish?” I asked quickly, so he wouldn’t pee himself.
 

“That’s the deal.”
 

I stuck out my hand. “Deal, but it might take a few days.”
 

Cortier nodded and I hustled her and her new protégé out of Chuck’s room. Derek couldn’t stop gushing about how he’d work so hard and blah, blah, blah. I had to get them out of there. It was near eleven. Stevie was a late sleeper, but he could show up at any second. If Cortier got interested and decided to run his name, I’d be screwed and so would Derek. She wouldn’t owe me a thing.
 

I grabbed Derek by the shoulders. “It was great having you on my team. You are going to be an asset to Cortier.” I hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Get her out of here.”
 

“Sure,” he said.
 

“Sure what?” asked Cortier.
 

“Sure would like to…buy you a cup of coffee, so I can pick your brain,” said Derek, masterfully covering.
 

“Sounds great. Always in need of coffee.”
 

They said goodbye and walked away. Derek gave me a thumbs up as they turned the corner and I returned it. He was a good kid. I hoped Cortier would really help him, and then I smiled. If she didn’t, Cortier would answer to Dad. He was serious about taking care of people.
 

Back in Chuck’s room, I found him trying to take out his IV.
 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“I’m checking myself out.”
 

“This isn’t a hotel.”
 

“It is now. I’m not sick,” he said with his best smile. “All I need is some Motrin and I’m all good.”
 

“No NSAIDS post-concussion.”
 

He gave me a lecherous grin. “I hope that’s not no sex.”

“It’s no Motrin, dumbass.”
 

“We’re all set then.”
 

“Hardly.” I pushed him back onto the bed. “You have a head injury, which is made all the more apparent by this craziness.”
 

Chuck snorted and picked at the tape on his wrist. “I’ve been hurt worse, playing tennis.”