Dirty Deeds (2 page)

"Great, Harry, I love it when you make promises on my behalf. Any leads on where this little fellow took off to?"

"Yeah, he went north."

There were reasons why she was the field person and Harry stayed in the office. She let out a long sigh. "You're just a bundle of information, Studhorse."

"Yeah, well, I'm the money, baby, you're the great white hunter."

"Some kind of Indian you are. You don't even pretend to try."

"Naw, too much work and I think you forget, I'm the chief so I get to order trackers around. That's what a chief does these days. Besides, I did my time, now it's my turn to sit on my fat ass and watch someone younger and much better looking do all the hard work. Does the old heart good, if you know what I mean." He tapped a finger to his chest.

Louie smiled, relieved to see the tension in his face begin to relax. The brilliant red in his cheeks finally faded to a flushed pink or whatever color it could be called underneath his latte-colored skin. Despite the candy bar, a heart attack did not appear imminent—for the moment anyway. She still intended to pester him until he made an appointment for a physical. Oh and yeah, she'd best look into that CPR refresher too.

"And you do it so well." She bent down to retrieve the folder still on the floor by her feet. "I have thirty days?"

"Don't press it." Harry tilted back in his chair to study her with a glint in his black eyes. "Make it twenty-five."

"Oh, so you want to make a challenge out of it?" To work in this business, it was impossible not have a bit of gambler's soul. A wager was their way of making a game out of the hunt. She wasn't much of a true gambler, but this was a game she loved to play. Hide and seek with a little kick-the-can thrown in for good measure, combined with rules with far more elasticity to them than when she'd been a cop.

Harry leaned forward in his chair and folded his arms on top of a pile of folders littering his desk. "Tell you what, Russell. You bring me that boy in twenty days and I will up your take another five percent."

Her smile broadened. "I so love a challenge, especially one with a little bonus attached. I'll hold you to the wager, Studhorse." She pointed a finger at him.

"It's a deal, sugar. The extra five percent is worth it if you bring me the boy. It will make this chief very happy to not have to cough up a cool hundred."

"Ah, Harry, have I ever let you down?"

"No, baby, that's why you're still here."

"You're such a sweet talker."

"So the ladies say."

"Ah ha! And what ladies would those be exactly, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry waved his hands in the air. "A gentleman doesn't name names."

Louie shook her head and left him laughing at his own cleverness. She turned in the direction of the part of the building she called hers. The tile was faded, the woodwork a bit battered and dull. Still, it was as comfortable as an old pair of shoes, as though she'd been here all her life.

In her office, Louie spread open the folder Harry had tossed to her and started to read. The picture of James McDonald showed a youthful looking man of twenty-nine with wavy red hair and bright green eyes. No deep lines creased his face, and his skin was smooth and unblemished. She was struck by the thought his was not the face of a hardened criminal. Yet, the nature of the alleged crimes spoke of more than an amateur. He had, after all, been caught red-handed in his attempt to haul a major amount of BC bud over the border.

Still, he looked more like a Scottish throwback. It was easier for Louie to imagine the handsome face and lithe body in full Highland regalia rather than the dark glasses and black clothes of the stereotypical drug runner. She rather liked the Highland image.

A major player, she mused while she flipped through the indictment and accompanying paperwork Harry'd prepared for the bond. James McDonald was caught in possession of a serious amount of dope without any identifiable links to a known organization. Hence the theory he was the top man. A solitary run? Or, a guy with a plan to make quick piles of money without deep involvement with other established networks?

Not according to the feds. They seemed to think he was The Big Guy and were patting themselves on the back for the bust. But why would the supposed kingpin do the run himself? Solitary or not, it seemed a major flaw in the case, at least in her opinion. She'd been on the job long enough to know how it all came down. Leaders paid mules to transport their drugs; they didn't do it themselves. That James was caught with a huge load of dope in a jet black Suburban didn't make sense if he was truly the top man.

But it didn't change the facts. He was charged with some very sobering offenses, and the one hundred thousand dollar bond was a clear sign the feds were dead serious about this guy. Harry, of course, took it seriously as well. He didn't respond well to being parted from his cash or being forced to collect on collateral. Most of the time, he posted the bond and the defendant showed up. Everybody was happy, so to speak. Every once in awhile, though, a James McDonald situation popped up. Not good for anyone involved, except Louie. It's how she made a living.

She fired up her computer and logged in to do a little background work on James and his family. An hour later, her pad full of notes, Louie leaned back in her chair. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

Her chair squeaked as she stood. She opened the top drawer of her desk, took out her gun and tucked it into her shoulder holster. The dark blue jacket she slipped into was excellent for hiding the gun. In blue jeans and leather boots, her hair cut in a short, sporty style, she blended in well with the general population. She liked Spokane with its big city size and small town friendliness. Luxury cars and pickup trucks moved together through the streets of the city without drawing a second glance. A person could fish in the afternoon and attend the symphony the same night. It was a blue-jeans-to-velvet kind of town that suited her extremely well. She was born to be in this place.

Bottom line: Louie liked it here and she liked her job. The profession had been thrown at her rather than one made from conscious choice, but sometimes things worked out very well in spite of everything. This was one of those instances. Five years ago, she would never have believed she'd end up a bail enforcement agent, let alone one of the top agents in the region. These days, she was offered more jobs than she could handle. Harry's always came first. Their relationship was much more than professional, and she for one was not about to forget it. Loyalty weighed heavy in her book.

Dropping her small spiral notebook and pen into her pocket, she waved to Harry and headed out to the parking lot, off on the hunt for James McDonald. She figured twenty days was a cakewalk with this guy, and the extra five percent Harry promised was icing on the cake.

Halfway to her car Louie heard a familiar rattle. She did an about-face and jogged over to where eighty-seven—year-old Meg English pushed a tired silver cart with a single paper sack in the bottom. Dressed in her familiar peach track suit, Meg could easily pass for a woman at least a decade or two younger. Today she wore a snappy pair of sunglasses, her always tidy hair in a single braid down her back.

"Let me," Louie said as she eased the rickety cart from Meg's firm grasp.

"Well, Miss Louise, thank you." Meg stepped aside and let Louie take control. She patted her hair with thin, slightly shaky hands and then straightened her zippered jacket. Her smile revealed even, white teeth.

"I told you I'd take you for groceries, and you promised not to walk all the way to Rosauers again," Louie said, pushing the cart across the asphalt parking lot with Meg beside her

"Now, Louise, that was indeed a fine offer, but if I let you take me in the car, how would I get my exercise? I don't want my bottom to get as big as a balloon. I've seen what women my age look like when they get too soft."

Fat chance.
Louie laughed and shook her head. "Like that's really going to happen to you."

Meg pursed her lips, her face serious even though her deep brown eyes twinkled. "It will if I get lazy." She lifted her chin.

Not only was Meg the most energetic octogenarian Louie ever met, she was as thin as a rail with a bottom that would never in a million years be mistaken for a balloon. At a whopping five foot three, if she stood very tall, Meg maybe weighed a hundred pounds on a good day. Her mocha skin glowed with good health and her ebony hair hosted a mere peppering of white. Few, if any, would guess her true age. Louie sure hadn't and had been floored the day she discovered how old Meg was.

More days than not Meg could be found with her silver cart on the way to the grocery store for fresh fruits and vegetables. If not the grocery store, it was Auntie's, the huge local bookstore down on the corner of Main and Washington where she'd pick up the
Wall Street Journal
. Or, if not on her way for books or groceries, she could be found at one of the downtown charities helping those whose lives had spiraled into homelessness and despair.

Meg was one-of-a-kind. And there was little use in arguing with her. Louie'd tried many times before and each time she'd lost. Instead, just as she did today, Louie chastised Meg—though with a friendly smile—and then carried the cart up the flight of stairs from the ground floor, where Louie's office was located, to the second story, where Meg's one-bedroom apartment overlooked Monroe Street.

Louie waited for Meg to unlock the apartment door before taking the cart into the kitchen. Louie loved to spend time with Meg. She was spirited and interesting with a keen eye on current events. She didn't talk much about herself and even though Louie would love to have known more about her history, she respected Meg's privacy and didn't ask personal questions.

She was dying to know about the original paintings by artists such as Frida Kahlo and Remedios Varo that graced the small apartment walls. She hadn't recognized the names on the paintings the first time she studied them. But she was an investigator, so she'd gone home and looked on her computer. The good old internet poured forth its magic. Fascinated by the history of the two twentieth-century surrealist painters, Louie spent the better part of two hours just reading. She now knew a whole lot about Kahlo and Varo. What she didn't know was how the two originals landed on the beige walls of a Monroe Street walk-up.

Even now as Louie looked around the familiar room with the older yet tasteful furniture, she felt comforted, the same way she did every time she went there. Still, she was very curious to know how a woman with such obvious grace and intelligence lived so simply in a small apartment in downtown Spokane. Curious minds want to know…

Today, like most days, Louie kept her curiosity to herself. She put away Meg's small sack of groceries and helped her settle into favorite chair. Meg's eyes were closed, the lines in her face relaxed and serene. Louie tried hard to be quiet as she moved to the door. She wasn't exactly a bull in a china shop but she wasn't quite a ballerina either. She wanted to stay for a cup of tea, except duty called. Tea would have to wait for another day.

"Thank you." Meg said, her eyes still closed.

Louie paused and smiled. "You're very welcome. Now, you call me next time you need to go to the store, promise?"

"I promise to think about it."

"You're a stubborn old lady, Meg English," Louie said with a laugh.

A smile turned up the corners of Meg's mouth, though she still didn't open her eyes. Her hands were on the arms of the chair and her fingers tapped lightly. "So I've been told at a table of kings."

Louie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right, and I had dinner with Prince Charles last night."

"Yes, Prince Charles, such a serious boy."

Louie raised both eyebrows. "You know Prince Charles
?" Sure she does, just about as well as I know the president.

Meg opened her eyes, a twinkle in the deep brown gaze, and gave her a little nod. "Know him? No, not really, but I did have dinner with him once," she said and winked. Then she settled back into the chair and closed her eyes again.

Louie was still shaking her head when she stepped into the hallway and closed the door.
Table of kings indeed
.

* * * *

"I'm gonna kill him." Paul threw the portable phone across his office. The sound of shattered plastic raining down was like that of a ghostly storm. Harsh but brief. He looked over at the mess. Gonna have to replace that out of his pocket. No big deal. Right at this moment, it was the least of his worries. He could care less about a stupid telephone or how much it would cost to replace.

The big issue pressing like a hundred-pound weight on his head right at the moment was where to find his little brother. It wasn't a big stretch to believe Jamie could get busted for something as stupid as dope dealing, but to skip out on the bail and leave their parents hanging high and dry … even Jamie wasn't that big of an asshole. He might be a lot of things not particularly savory, but Paul had never known him to do one thing to harm the folks. Until now.

Jamie had managed to put Mom and Dad at risk to lose everything. Their home, their retirement savings, everything. Not acceptable. No way, no how.

Paul dropped to his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Time for a haircut, he thought, and then wondered why something so inconsequential would occur to him at a time like this. He could care less what his hair looked like.

What he needed was to find Jamie before the bond was forfeited by the court. He hoped he could find him before it was too late. For all he knew, it could be too late already. The criminal justice system wasn't the arena he knew.

Paul dug through his desk drawer and found the business card the bondsman had given him the day he and his parents had bailed Jamie out, even though leaving Jamie in jail had been Paul's preference. It was high time for Jamie to face the consequences of his actions without Mommy and Daddy stepping in to pick up the pieces for him. Paul wished they'd listened to him. If they had, this call would be totally unnecessary.