Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (15 page)

Harley took the Taco Bell sack out of the refrigerator, hoping she’d ordered her usual. It heated better later. Ah. Bean burritos and nachos. Tootsie may try to convert her, but at least he knew her favorites.

By the time she’d reheated her bean burrito, Sam had emerged from hiding. He expressed his disgust with her choice of meal by throwing up a hairball on the kitchen floor. She cleaned up after him and took her food back to the chair. Her head was clearer now, and she set her plate on the glass-top coffee table. The thick bandage and sling on her left arm made it a little awkward. At least it wasn’t hurting badly, just a dull throb. Bearable, if not desirable.

Eating a bean burrito with one hand wasn’t all that easy, she discovered, when the hot filling oozed out the end of the flour tortilla and onto her lap, so she loosened the straps holding the sling. Much better. Maybe she should learn some of that stuff Tootsie had done, the “Hi-ya!” yell and upward kicks. It’d been almost too fast to catch, especially in the dark, but his vest had been a rapid blink of color as he turned and whirled like a ballet dancer. Graceful, if lethal.

She shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been there. Maybe Morgan was right. There was always someone close by to rescue her. One of these days, her luck was bound to run out, despite the spirit guides Diva said were with her—unless Tootsie qualified.

Thinking of Tootsie reminded her how close she’d come to disaster. Maybe their attacker was just a mugger. Or maybe he’d just been ticked off because they’d gotten his parking space. But if it had been the killer, why would he think only she and Lydia could identify him when there had been two busloads of tourists along for the rides? That didn’t make sense. There were dozens of other witnesses, but the killer focused on her, and perhaps Lydia. Because they knew him? Was he a former employee? Parking lot attendant? Delivery guy? Damn, there was any number of choices to track down. She really wished she could find out what the police knew.

First, Lydia should be warned to be careful. Since it had to be done delicately instead of bluntly—not Harley’s specialty—she hoped Tootsie had already taken care of that. Dealing with a hysterical Lydia would make her forget the fourth chakra.

With that unappealing thought in mind, she took the remnants of her Taco Bell meal to the kitchen. Instead of putting it in the fridge she threw it away. Morgan was right. Warmed-over burritos weren’t very tasty. The microwave did something nasty to the sour cream.

Sam curled around her ankles, looking up at her with slitted blue eyes and purring, his tail straight up like a flagpole. He wanted something, of course.

“Just like a man,” she said to him, and he purred even louder, “always wanting something else and never happy with what you’ve got. All right, you little furball, how about a kitty treat? The pet store clerk said cats love them, so I’m sure you won’t.”

Harley was right. Sam sniffed it a few times, and then walked away with the equivalent of a cat shrug. Really, that was one of her favorite things about him, his individuality and sense of independence. Not at all like King, slavering drool all over her shoes and wiggling ecstatically just for a word or two. They didn’t even have to be kind words.

Cami said there were cat people and dog people. She must be a cat person. She’d never say it to Cami, but she’d gotten really attached to Sam. If she let Cami know that, she’d end up with a dozen cats running around her apartment, so it would be a well kept secret.

After pulling the curtains over the French doors to her small balcony, she checked the lock on the front door and turned out the lights. A couple of nightlights shed a small glow so she could find her way in the dark for midnight raids on the fridge, and so Sam could find his litter box for a night deposit. She’d bought one of those expensive electric ones that automatically scooped after him and saved her the necessity of continuous scooping. Other than a little bit of scattered litter and the whir it made while cleaning, it worked out fine for all concerned.

As she turned toward her bedroom, she heard her front door knob rattle and froze. Didn’t most visitors have the decency to knock? Heart hammering, she fumbled one-handed on the counter that divided her kitchen from her living area, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. At least the front door was locked, so the intruder would have to break in and that would be noisy enough to alert her neighbors—just as her fingers found a small, hard object, the front door swung slowly open.

A dark shape silhouetted against the hallway light stood there a moment, and Harley flung the object in her hand at the head. Not waiting to see if it hit the target she grabbed for something else to use, hampered by throbbing pain in her left shoulder.

“Oww, dammit, Harley!”

She paused with her hand on a heavy candle and solid brass holder. “Morgan?”

He said something under his breath, and then said aloud, “I see that you’re not at death’s door like I was told.”

Harley flipped on the lights. Mike stood rubbing his cheek. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not sure if she was glad to see him or not. He had a big red spot on his left cheek and didn’t look at all happy as he rubbed at it. He worked his jaw from side to side, apparently testing it for fractures, then blew out a heavy breath.

“Tootsie called. He said you’d been stabbed, so I came to check on you. What’d you hit me with this time?”

“I don’t know—oh dammit! My cell phone.” It lay in several pieces on the gleaming oak floor and looked beyond repair. Again. “You could have called first, y’know,” she said crossly.

“He said he’d left you sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you. I should have remembered to wear a helmet and face guard.”

“So what were you going to do, sneak in and watch me sleep?”

He shrugged. “Something like that, I guess. Just wanted to see for myself that you’re all right.”

“Obviously, the wound isn’t fatal.”

“Obviously.”

He stood there with the door still open, looking so good in his usual black jeans, tee shirt, and SWAT boots that she had a hard time not saying something stupid. Like Come lie down for a while, or Stay with me. That would never do. He’d wanted a break, so she’d give him one.

After a moment, he said, “Got everything you need? If not, I can run to the store for you.”

“I’m fine. We stopped at Taco Bell and I have cat food. I’ll make it until tomorrow.”

“You know the assault’s been reported.”

Damn. She hadn’t thought about that. Of course, the emergency room attendants would have to report it even if Tootsie hadn’t. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, things like that were always reported to the police.

“I don’t remember talking to the police. Who did?”

“Tootsie. You were out of it, and Baroni told them you could be released to go home. A couple of uniforms took the initial report from Tootsie. Expect a call from Baroni.”

She sighed. “I’m so not looking forward to that.”

“I don’t blame you. If you’re okay, I’ll go back to my stakeout.”

“Stakeout? You have a suspect for the Elvis case? And don’t bother denying that’s what you’re working on, because I won’t believe it. There’s no other reason you’d have been in black leather pants and a TCB chain.” She sat down on the arm of her cushioned chair. Morgan looked at her left arm and shoulder in a sling, and then shook his head.

“Have you ever thought of applying for the police academy? Use your talents for good instead of evil?”

“Stick to the issue. I’ve tried to stay out of sight and out of trouble, but tonight this guy attacked me. Tootsie thinks he might be trying to get rid of witnesses. What about the tourists on the buses? Aren’t they witnesses, too?”

“Yes, but most of them were from out of town. They’ve given statements and gone home, except for a few.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment, and then something occurred to her. “If you’re on a stakeout and it’s for this case, am I the one you’re staking out? Or Lydia?”

He just smiled.

Harley didn’t know whether to feel better or worse. If they were staking out her apartment to see if the guy came after her, then she was protected, but that also meant they thought she was in danger. There wasn’t really a good side to this that she could see.

“Go away,” she said. “My drugs are wearing off and I might get cranky.”

“Wouldn’t want that. You’re always so sweet.”

“Sarcasm to a poor invalid. Really, Morgan, that’s police brutality.”

“So report me.”

Catching her by surprise, he closed the distance between them in two long strides, put his hand under her chin and kissed her. It was short, sweet, then over. Except for that tingle in the pit of her stomach. Damn. How did he do that to her? She stared at the closed door for a moment before getting up to lock it. Even with pain killers, it was going to be a long night.

* * * *

“
What
are you doing here?” Tootsie shook his head and scowled up at her. “You should be resting at home.”

Harley plopped her backpack down on his desk, a familiar ritual. “I’ve got some errands to run. Besides, I’d get more rest lying in the middle of Poplar Avenue. Did you send out a chain letter announcing my injury? Even my great-grandmother called this morning to tell me I need defense lessons. Which reminds me—why didn’t I know that you could do karate?”

“You never asked.” Tootsie took another call, and then looked up with a wink. “Someone like me has to know a few defensive moves. There are always guys who want to prove their manhood by beating up someone smaller, especially when he’s wearing a blond wig and boobs.”

“I guess that could be a problem.”

“Only if you can’t defend yourself.”

Harley sat down in the chair close to Tootsie’s desk. “You always seem so well-adjusted it’s hard for me to think anybody wouldn’t like you.”

“Strangers don’t bother me. I just consider them ignorant. It’s the family members who say and do things that get to me. You’d think after all these years I wouldn’t care, but sometimes I do.” He shrugged. “Everybody has a right to their own opinions and lives as long as they don’t infringe on others, so I try to overlook it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Leaning back in his chair, Tootsie retied his ponytail with the elastic band, adjusted the phone headset and said lightly, “Don’t be, darling. We can’t choose our family, just our friends.”

“Good thing. Think of all the therapists that’d be out of business if we could.”

“You always have the right answers. Ah, the delightful buzz of more cancellations. Do excuse me, bankruptcy is calling.”

Three lines had lit up at once on the console next to the computer. The console was new, the computer not. Tootsie had seemed disappointed about the latter, but managed to make do. He’d loaded a bunch of new programs in it that made his life a lot easier, he said, especially when she observed that he was on the Internet a lot for someone supposed to be booking clients. Since computers were among the things she found convenient but uninteresting, she took his word for it so he wouldn’t go into detail about gigs, megahertz, and other incomprehensible terms.

Musing about differences between friends and family members, Harley thought about her own family. Which led to thoughts about Patty Jenkins, which progressed to speculation about Leroy Jenkins. He’d moved in with a roommate in Frayser. She really needed to talk to him even though the police most certainly had already done so. Maybe there was something she, as a non-police officer, could find out. People were usually more comfortable talking to civilians in a casual situation than they were the police, especially if they’d ever transgressed in some way. All she had to do was make a quick visit. She still had that address written on the back of one of the Memphis Tour Tyme business cards Patty Jenkins had refused to take.

“How do you drive one-handed?” Tootsie asked during a lull in cancellations.