Hound Dog Blues (22 page)

“Take my bike keys. Remember to put your feet down when you come to a stop.”

“No.” Cami looked pale in the distorted glare of passing headlights. “I can’t drive a motorcycle. You
have
to come.”

She might have clung to the cold metal grill all night, but Cami played the trump card: “I put a Reese’s in your backpack. You can have it when you get down.”

Harley caved. “Fine. But you better not be lying. I have the stun gun.”

She closed her eyes and turned to go down backward. If she didn’t look, it couldn’t scare her. One shaky foot at a time, she felt her way down with Cami urging her on, until she finally stood on solid ground that tilted a little bit. The earth steadied after a moment. The smell of tar had never been so sweet. She looked up.

“
Give me my chocolate
.”

Wordlessly, Cami dug into Harley’s backpack, and then held out a Reese’s. Harley crammed it all into her mouth. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it, either.

There wasn’t much time to waste. The sirens sounded really close now. All they needed was for Bobby to show up. Protective custody would seem like Club Med by the time he finished with them. He had no sense of humor about these things.

“What now?” Cami wanted to know when they stopped at a red light. Traffic whizzed by on Highland as they waited in the left turn lane.

“I’m thinking.” That wasn’t quite true. She was still shaking too much to think clearly. It had been a close call, and no doubt poor Mr. Grinder would turn in his notice tomorrow. Of all the things to keep in good working order, a panic alarm, in what used to be a broom closet, would not have been her first choice. But Lester Penney had never been the brightest bulb in the pack, in her opinion. Tootsie would just love this story. If she ever told him.

“We used to have nerves of steel,” Cami said sadly. “We’re getting older.”

“I prefer to think of it as getting smarter.”

“Recent activities not counting, of course.”

“Of course. We’re much smarter than when we used to steal your dad’s old truck so we could ride around at night.”

Sounding muffled by her helmet, Cami laughed. “Not too much. We were pretty creative then. I always thought it was brilliant of you to use Dad’s big Craftsman screwdriver to shift with when he caught on to us and started taking the gear shift into the house at night.”

“It worked. Improvisation was my strong suit then. Now I’m into peace and quiet.”

“Right. I can tell.”

“Recent activities not counting, of course.”

The light changed and Harley gave the bike gas, so that Cami had to hold on to the safety strap and any talking ceased for the moment. They were headed toward Jackson Avenue, so she had obviously made a decision on some level. Traffic thinned out close to Summer Avenue, and then picked up again when she hit the eight lane thoroughfare. She’d planned on getting to the Jackson Avenue warehouse by the back way, but maybe she’d made a wrong turn. Better planning would have helped.

At the next stop light, Cami leaned forward again. “Are we going the right way?”

“I don’t think so. Damn.”

“Why don’t we get on the Interstate?”

“We’d be road kill. All those eighteen-wheelers own the road.”

“Hey. Is that Vanna?”

Harley’s head snapped around, and she caught a glimpse of a familiar lime-green VW van turning a corner. All thoughts of Trumble’s nephew and the warehouse evaporated, and she did a U turn right in the middle of the road that made both tires and Cami squeal. She then gave the bike gas and roared off in pursuit. The van turned and she followed, taking the narrow roads at a faster rate of speed than was advisable.

A single taillight winked as the van dipped into a valley, and the bike took the top of the rise like a ski jump, sailing through the air to land several yards away on hard asphalt. Cami hung on valiantly, though her fingers were making permanent indentations in Harley’s ribs. Good thing she wore a sturdy cotton tee shirt. It was taking a lot of abuse.

She flashed her lights to get their attention, but the van kept going down the residential streets that wound in confusing loops and cul-de-sacs. Yogi should recognize her bike. He loved it almost as much as she did. Why weren’t they stopping?

The warm night air was muggy but a lot cooler at nearly fifty miles an hour; Harley had goose bumps up and down her arms. And a sharp pain in her ribs where Cami kept digging in to hold on. Gunning the engine, she stuck close to the van as it screeched down narrow streets that had cars parked at the curbs, leaving barely enough room for one vehicle to pass. She lost sight at a four-way stop when a slow-moving station wagon got in front of her and she couldn’t get past it. Frustration tempted her to cut through a few yards, but she resisted until she got the chance to jump a curb at the corner.

Just when she thought she’d lost the van, it suddenly reappeared right in front of her, making a sharp turn on a side street. She smiled grimly. A yellow sign warned Dead End, and the van braked. Now she had them, and she could find out just why the heck they were running from her.

Leaping from her bike and leaving Cami struggling to hold it up, she reached the stopped van and jerked open the driver’s door. A cloud of fragrant smoke billowed out, smelling strongly of wacky weed. That might explain it. She pulled off her helmet and squinted through the smoke.

“Yogi?”

“Harley?” Eric’s face peered at her from layers of smoke. “Chiick. Was that you behind me?”

“Who the hell did you think it was?” Disappointment made her cranky. Then it occurred to her that if he had the van, he’d seen Yogi and Diva. “Where are they, dude? The police don’t have them, do they?”

“You mean Yogi? No, chick, they’re okay. I saw ’em just a little while ago. Why were you chasing me? I thought you were the cops.”

“I thought you were Yogi and Diva, you idiot.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Sometimes he didn’t have a clue. “Where are they? And where’s my car?”

Looking irritated, he said, “You don’t have to be so bitchy. Your car’s okay. I ran into Yogi at a store, and we switched vehicles, since you don’t want me smoking in yours.”

She thought about that a moment. Maybe that was a plus. The police were looking for the van, not her Toyota. “Does Bobby know about this?”

Eric shook his head. “Why would he?”

“So where are Yogi and Diva staying?”

“They didn’t say. But I didn’t ask. They’re okay, chick. Stop worrying so much.”

Staggering a little, Cami reached the van. She wheezed, “Hey Eric.”

“Chick, what happened to you?” Eric asked, staring at Cami.

She’d pulled off her helmet and her hair was stuck to her scalp, looking like she had one of her black cats clinging to her head. She ran her hand through it, but it didn’t help much.

“I’m Lucy Liu,” she said. “I’m supposed to look like this.”

Eric rolled his eyes, but was smart enough not to argue.

“Listen,” Harley said to her brother, “try to stay out of sight, okay? With the van, I mean. If the police see it, they’ll stop you. And then you’ll be in jail for possession.”

“Of what? You ought to know I don’t drive around with that stuff.”

“Then what do I smell?”

“Clove cigarettes. Or mandarin. I can’t remember. They make margarita flavor, too.”

“I better not smell the slightest whiff of cloves, mandarin, or margaritas in my car, dude.”

He rolled his eyes again and restarted the van. “Do something with your hair, chick. You look scary.”

When they were once more on her bike, Harley sat there a moment. It was late. The need to check out the warehouse wasn’t as urgent now. Her biggest worry was apparently doing much better than she was, driving around in her car, oblivious to the mayhem their disappearance had caused. It figured.

Cami tapped her on the shoulder. “What now, Kemo Sabe?”

“Damned if I know. Maybe we should go back to your house. Yogi and Diva are okay, and Eric isn’t riding my clutch, so all should be right with the world.
Oh God
.”

“What?”

“Yogi has that damned dog in
my
car.”

Cami laughed.

Morning came far too early.
Light poked through the window where the shade didn’t quite reach, a splinter that fell right across the bed and into her eyes. Harley squinted and saw something move next to her on the bed.

She came immediately upright and threw herself backward, forgetting that the bed was against the wall. Her head smacked so hard into unyielding Sheetrock that she saw stars. Grabbing her pillow to use as a weapon, she peered into the gloom for the intruder. Her ears rang and her heart pounded like a bass drum, but other than that, there was no sound. Nothing moved. The house was quiet.

Maybe she’d been dreaming. It happened sometimes, one of those realistic kind of dreams where she thought she was awake but really wasn’t. Feeling a little foolish, she put down the pillow and scooted across the bed. To reassure herself there were no monsters or Friday the 13
^th
kind of maniacs hiding under the bed, she bent over and peeked beneath the dust ruffle. Soft gloom hid a couple of packing boxes, but no serial killers. It was safe to get up.

What was the matter with her? She’d let that guy spook her with his phone calls and silly threats. She knew better. Wiggling her toes in the carpet, she stood up and stretched, then bent to touch her toes, a sort of “rise and shine” routine guaranteed to give her an early heart attack but was good to get the blood flowing back where it should be.

A sharp pain immediately clutched her ankle and she let out a yelp. Upside down, she saw a flash of blue eyes and furry tail. Aha. She hadn’t dreamed an intruder after all. Sam the cat put a paw out again to tap her bare foot.

“How did you get in here,” she said, and turned to sit on the floor. Sam joined her, curling up in her lap like he belonged there. “You’re really a sneaky devil, aren’t you? I don’t like cats, by the way. Maybe you didn’t notice.”

Or maybe he didn’t care. He was doing that purring thing again, a vibrating fur ball with a satisfied feline smile. This wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was almost nice.

When Cami stuck her head in the door, Harley looked up. “We’ve bonded. It’s amazing.”

Cami only smiled. “Coffee’s ready.”

Three cups of coffee laced with French vanilla creamer later she was ready to face the day and a van load of tourists hyped up about the Memphis in May barbecue festival. Normally, she’d enjoy attending the barbecue billed as the world’s largest. It always drew a huge crowd from all over the country. Friday and Saturday were the biggest days. Harley considered it a sort of springtime Mardi Gras, with people dressed up in outlandish costumes and drunk as skunks. Since this was her first year as one of the sober people in attendance, she anticipated boredom, mixed with pulled pork sandwiches and cokes. No beer while on duty. Bummer.

When she got in, Tootsie looked up and held up a hand to stop her while he finished a call. She stood at the desk sorting through the message slips he gave her, most of them unimportant.

The last one said: “
Your time is running out. I’ll call at noon.
”

There was no name, but she didn’t have to work hard to guess who’d left it. So he really knew where she worked. She wasn’t surprised.

“What’s up, baby?” Tootsie wanted to know, eying her. “I don’t like the sound of that message, and the guy wouldn’t leave his name. And you wouldn’t know anything about the break-in here last night, would you?”