Bingo Barge Murder (13 page)

Once inside, Coop pulled the door shut and I shuddered at the reverse screech. I slowly made my way toward the deep blackness beyond the double doors with Coop and Dawg at my heels.

Even with both our flashlight beams, we couldn’t see much of the dark interior. Cars were lined up with parts strewn on the ground around them, some of the bodies stripped and primed for painting. Many of them looked brand-new.

“Man,” Coop said, “now I know how Buzz affords his gambling.”

I carefully walked past the row of cars. “What do you mean?”

“This,” Coop shone his light around, bouncing it off cars and parts, “is a chop shop.”

We continued along the edge of the building. Déjà vu. The black interior felt so deep I thought it might never end. I stopped abruptly at a huge vehicle illuminated by our flashlights. A body ran into me because of my sudden stop, and it wasn’t Coop’s. Dawg ambled around me and plopped his big butt on my shoe again. I absently scratched the top of his head. Then it dawned on me the thing was a big rig, a tow truck on steroids, meant to haul semis and other gargantuan vehicles.

“That’s a hell of a tow truck,” Coop said.

We trudged around the behemoth, and my heart sank. An open area of concrete sported some recently dripped oil stains, and the space was large enough that it could have held a semi, but there was no truck with Almonds written on the side.

We shone our lights here and there, and Dawg decided to detach himself from my side and sniff the floor. I heard a distinct crunch. Dawg looked over his thick shoulder at me, his expression both happy and guilty, waiting to see if I was going to yell or not. When he decided he wasn’t going to get hollered at, he put his nose back to the dirty floor. I heard him snort. His tongue slapped something, and then he made another crunch.

Coop shone his flashlight on Dawg, who wore the same delighted expression he’d had when I’d given him the sub outside.

“What’s he eating?” Coop asked.

Seven or eight almonds were scattered on the floor around Dawg’s sizeable paws. Dawg put his nose back to the floor and wheezed some more, devouring the nuts as if they were hors d’oeuvres. “Almonds! The truck had to be here at some point.”

Coop played his light around the floor, but the rest of the area was absent of incriminating evidence. In another moment, the concrete was almond-free, thanks to our canine cleanup. We moved toward the rear of the building, and the beam from Coop’s flashlight caught the reflection of a burned-out exit sign above a back door.

We continued our tour, returning to the front via the opposite side of the long row of disassembled cars. I was about to say we should probably get out of there when I was cut off by the screech of the front door, followed by voices that were loud but unintelligible. Bright lights flashed on in the front room, slicing into the darkness. Could déjà vu happen twice in the space of five minutes? This was so similar to the events on the barge the night before that I was beginning to believe we were stuck in a time warp, à la
Groundhog Day
.

We killed our flashlights and ducked behind one of the in-progress car remodels. My heart hammered in my ears. At least we didn’t have to breathe in the stench from a rank men’s room. We were about midway between the front and back of the long building, and I fleetingly wondered if we should keep going or backtrack and see if we could sneak out the exit door we’d glimpsed.

The voices grew louder, and Coop whispered, “Holy shit, it’s Buzz!”

“
Goddamn good for nothing
dog, off hidin’ somewhere. Should be shot.” We heard a gleeful guffaw and the sound of something hard slapping leather. Then Buzz’s booming laughter echoed as he and another man exited the front room and entered the huge space.

The other man said, “Ow, that hurt! Take your aggravations out on the mutt. Rita’s a rich bitch—too rich for trailer park trash like you.”

“Artie, I told you once not to touch me. You touched me. And Rita ain’t a bitch. She might be rich, she’s definitely stupid, but she ain’t a bitch.”

“If she’s not a bitch, why you so mad at her?”

“Because, asshole, she talked to that woman who came poking around about the warehouse. That was too close. The deal’s damn near done. Those fucking nuts’ll be on a boat headed down the Mississippi tomorrow night, and we’ll all get paid. Then Rita and me’s goin’ south.” A rasping, evil laugh sent a shiver down my spine. “Waaay fucking south.”

The men’s voices grew louder as they approached, and only the hulking remains of cars were between us now. I was afraid Dawg would bolt and run to Buzz, effectively announcing our presence.

I groped out a hand and as soon as I touched fur, the dog crowded close to me, quivering. In a fit of instantaneous, almost blind rage, I nearly jumped up and screamed at Buzz and his red-neck pal. Coop must have sensed I was about to do something stupid. He grabbed my arm.

Buzz said in a raspy growl, “Fuck it. I’m going for the shotgun. See if Dawg’s on top of his game tonight or not.”

Dawg cowered even lower. The two men headed back the way they’d come, their voices fading in time to their steps.

“We have to get out,” Coop whispered. “The door back there. Maybe we can sneak out and they’ll never know we were here.”

We crept toward the rear corner of the building. My foot caught on some mechanical part, and I stumbled, going down on one knee. Dawg immediately came to my aid, slurping the back of my head. Coop nudged the heavy pooch away and hauled me to my feet, trying to keep his profile low in case Buzz and Artie returned. I brushed my hands on the seat of my pants and scrambled after him. We made it to the door without further incident, and Coop turned the knob. He pushed it open just enough to see if the coast was clear.

Harsh voices echoed across the big compound.

“DAWG!”

“Here, you mangy mutt!”

“I can’t believe that damn animal. Some watchdog he is!”

Coop stuck his head out, and then ducked back in. “Junkers are lined up right next to the fence back here, too. I say we make a break for it, hop onto that old red car and then over the fence.”

Dawg sat between us, his massive head pivoting from Coop to me and back to Coop, as if he were following the conversation. I patted his neck and put my cheek against his floppy ear. “You come with me, boy. But if you can’t, I swear we’ll come back and get you out of this crap hole.” I hoped Dawg could follow instructions and had good leaping abilities.

“Ready?” Coop asked.

“Yeah. On three, let’s go.”

The voices came closer, yelling out various Dawg insults, comparing him to portions of the female anatomy. “Coop—” I began, intending to say that maybe we should wait until Buzz and Artie backed off a distance. But Coop made the break and streaked toward the fence.

I swore under my breath. It was now or never. If they spotted Coop, it was all over. With a shout of, “Dawg! Come!” I burst out of the door and charged after him, hands fisted, arms pumping.

Coop’s feet hit the trunk of a rusty old Ford Taurus with a metallic crunch, and he leaped for the roof. I was about ten yards behind him when I heard the unmistakable ratchet of the slide slamming home a shotgun shell.

“Artie, what—hey, STOP! That’s the bingo freak—can’t miss that fuckin’ scarecrow. And someone’s with him!”

Shouts echoed as I surged onto the trunk. Coop slithered over the top of the fence and disappeared.

I jumped onto the roof of the car and took a flying leap, reaching for the top of the fence. The rough wood bit into my fingers. I struggled to swing my leg over the edge. A blast roared in my head. The wood next to my right arm splintered, shards flying everywhere.

If ever I wished to be taller, the time was now. I managed to hook one foot over the fence, almost home free.

The sound of toenails scraping against rusting paint pierced my haze of desperation. I glanced to my right and saw Dawg had scrambled to the roof of the car next to me and was about to launch himself toward the top of the wood barrier. God, please let him make it over the top.

“Damn, can’t believe ya missed that target. Hey Buzz! There’s your freakin’ dog—shoot him!” The hammering bark of the shotgun shattered the night again. I flinched, waiting for Dawg’s yelp of pain.

With a great heave, I shouted, “DAWG! Jump!” and surged up and over the edge. I heard another rack of the shotgun. The belch of the weapon and impact of the shot against the fence was instantaneous. I tried to get my feet under me, but the ground came faster than I could react.

I hit the earth hard and landed in a heap like a rag doll, my eyes wide as I tried to breathe.

I rolled to my back and watched stars twinkling overhead. I thought I saw the Big Dipper as I fought for air. I was interrupted from my stargazing by the largest falling star I’d ever seen sailing over me. I blinked. It took on the shape of a dog, and I decided I was hallucinating, watching Dawg go to animal heaven. I even heard the jingle of his collar one last time, followed by a loud thud.

More shouting came from the other side of the wood fence, and heavy boots banged on the hollow metal of a trashed car. Buzz yelled, “Boost me up, Artie. I’ll take another shot. Assholes are kidnapping my damn dog!” The ratchet of the shotgun sounded far too close for comfort.

Suddenly something wet nuzzled my ear, and then Dawg really was there. I was never so happy to be drooled on. Coop frantically dragged me to my feet. I wrapped an arm around him and we hobbled through the trees as fast as we could. He was limping, and my right shoulder hurt like the dickens. One side of my face was wet with dog slobber, and my right arm stung in multiple spots. Dawg trotted along next to us, head high, as if he were proud as hell that he wasn’t ever going back.

After what seemed like an eternity of scurrying along inside the wood line, out of sight of the road, we made it to my truck. I wondered if the gunshots attracted enough attention that someone would call the police.

We crammed ourselves in the cab, Dawg tucked firmly between Coop and me. His big nose almost hit the windshield. Oh Lord. Now we could add dog-napping to our growing list of crimes.

The clock on the dash glowed 10:03 and we still had no idea where the nuts were. I prayed Eddy was unhurt and giving her kidnapper one hell of a hard time as I stomped on the accelerator, intent on putting as many miles as I could between us and the lunatic with the gun.

_____

Coop punched the remote when I pulled up to the garage. The door rumbled down behind us even before I’d shut the motor off. Coop and I looked over Dawg’s head at each other, half amazed we’d survived another crazy B&E adventure.

Dawg sat very still, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. “I think we’ve got a bit more on our hands than expected,” I said.

“No shit.” Coop gently tugged on Dawg’s ear and was slurped. “Come on. Let’s assess the damage.”

We clamored out of the truck, and I tied a length of rope to Dawg’s collar and walked him outside the garage. I patted him down and was relieved to not find any shotgun damage. The poor mutt’s mental state had to be a whole different story.

I could hardly believe what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. If the skies opened up and it rained dollar bills from heaven, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Dawg did his business—his very
large
business—and we slipped back inside the garage. Coop had the loft trap door open and was in the process of tying rope to an old blue saucer sled.

“What are you doing?”

Coop tugged a knot tight. “Can’t leave Dawg down here by himself.”

“You plan on dragging him up there?”

“Damn straight. He’s been through enough. He needs us.” As if to punctuate that point, Dawg gazed at me with soulful eyes, his lip again caught on his bottom tooth.

For the next ten minutes we worked, tying a rope here, adding a pulley there, and Coop deemed the Dawg Hauler ready. It was a good effort, but I didn’t think the giant pooch would sit still in the sled and allow us to pull him to the ceiling. I stood on the floor with Dawg while Coop crawled up into the loft.

Coop hollered, “Okay.”

Dawg stared balefully at me. “Okay pal, let’s see what happens.” It took very little coaxing to get Dawg into the sled. He sat on his haunches and woofed softly at me. I smoothed his silky ears. “You stay, don’t move. You’ll be fine.” Dawg’s tongue slapped at my face. “Okay, go,” I called out.

Inch by inch the sled rose. I fully expected Dawg to hop out with every tug. Instead he sat as still as could be, his eyes glued to mine. At last his head popped though the trap door, and in another second the sled bumped the ceiling. Dog nails scraped plastic as he scrambled out of the sled, and then Coop pulled it into the loft.

“I’ll be damned,” I whispered.

Coop called down, “Want a ride?”

“No, thank you. I prefer the ladder.”

“Good,” he replied as I climbed up. “That dog was heavy enough.”

Dawg sniffed as he wandered around, taking in his new surroundings. He padded to the couch, sniffed some more, and then meandered to the bed. Without preamble, as if he’d done it a million times, he lumbered up on the mattress, circled around a couple of times, and plopped down with a heavy sigh.

Coop put a bowl of fresh water on the floor for Dawg while I rummaged around the small refrigerator, pulled out some deli-sliced ham, and piled the contents of the entire container on a plate. As soon as the fridge opened, Dawg hopped off the bed and ambled over to me. I set the plate down, and in no more than two and a half seconds, his tongue swiped up the last bit of ham. He looked up at me, then back at the empty plate.

I stared down at the top of Dawg’s head and said, “Sorry, bud. No more.” Dawg padded back to the bed, bounced up, and settled in again, resting his head on his paws. “Man, that puts a new spin on inhaling your food.”

“No doubt,” Coop said as he wet a paper towel in the tiny sink. He’d shed his jeans and stood in very manly bright-yellow Spongebob Squarepants boxers. He gingerly dabbed at a two-inch gash in his knee.

I pulled my sweatshirt off. The stinging I’d felt earlier on my arm was fence splinters from the shotgun blast. I pulled out three needle-like shards of wood from my skin, and more from the cloth of my shirt. If Buzz’s aim had been any better, half of me would still be at the junkyard.

Both Coop and I had numerous cuts and scrapes, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. We slapped on some Band-Aids I found. I swiveled my shoulder around, and it felt stiff but operable. Once patched up, we collapsed into chairs at the table.

Coop slouched with a hand under his chin, looking every bit as pooped as I felt. He said, “God, I really thought we’d found the nuts this time.”

“Me too. We’ve been shot down twice. Literally. But we need to get our heads back in the game. Let’s make a list of what we’ve found and figure out what to do next.”

“We have one very dead Luther Lazar.” Coop paused, and then groaned. “We’re going to go straight to the furnace for ditching him.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in hell.”

“Now’s not the time to get technical.” He was probably right. After all we’d done this night, we probably had first-class tickets. “So, where were we?”

“Luther’s dead,” I said. “And it sounds like Buzz is having a fling with Rita. Did Rita have Buzz whack Luther for her? Or is Lazar an unfortunate victim of our friendly Mafiosos?”

“I vote for Buzz. He’s the kind of guy you might turn to if you needed someone dispatched into the great beyond.”

“You think Rita is planning on taking off for points south with our buddy Buzz, or is she ditching him, too?”

Coop pondered that for a moment. “It sounds like he’s up to his short hairs in the nuts deal. He thinks he’s going with her.”