SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (10 page)

“Frankie’s gone,”
she whispered.

“What?
” My mind had a hard time catching up since all my blood pooled lower. “Where did she go?” Frankie had returned from her ‘date’ around eight. After finishing her shift, she headed upstairs without another word. That was around midnight and I hadn’t seen her since.

“I don’t know
.” Clair gripped her hands. “Something happened today.”

Uneasiness
crawled up my spine. “What?”

“There was this guy…
he came in the bar when you and Mickey were out. Frankie went white when she saw him.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who he was, but he knew her. They talked for a minute and he left. I asked her about it, but she told me, the less I knew about him and his kind, the better.”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall. Not bad looking, but there was something off about him.” She bit her lip in concentration. “Like he got off on Frankie’s fear.”

Damn. Nick.
I leapt from the couch and threw on some clothes. Pulling my .38 from underneath the couch cushion, I checked the chamber and slipped it in the holster at the small of my back. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

“Is
Frankie in trouble?”

“She’ll be fine.” I
prayed I wasn’t lying. I would find her, no matter what. Picking up my cell phone, I dialed her mobile and listened to it ring endlessly. I pushed out of my apartment and headed down the stairs. My heart rose in my throat.

The downstairs
was dark. The only light came from a neon green Heineken sign. We didn’t sell Heineken but the sign added a touch of class. As I headed toward the door I heard a faint noise on my right. I pulled the .38 and spun to face the threat. Frankie sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees like a child seeking comfort. The bottle green light cast a glow across her tear-splashed cheeks.

“Frankie?” I whispered,
trying not to startle her.

“
I’m sorry, Ian. I fucked up.” Her body shook with deep racking sobs. Brutal, violent cries.

I too
k a step toward her. “It’s okay. Whatever it is we can fix it.”

“You can’t fix me this time.”

I crouched beside her, taking her hand in mine, and assessing her for damage. “I’ll find a way. Just tell me what happened.”

“I wanted to help.
” She hiccupped, her face still hidden in shadows. “Nick came by tonight.”

“I know.”

She nodded. “He wanted me to meet him. Tonight. At a motel.”

“Y
ou went?” My fist clinched. I’d fucking kill him.

“I
couldn’t let Mickey die, or you for that matter. I know it’s dumb, but I thought Nick might help. We were close once…” Her head dropped into her hands.

“
Frankie—”

“I got there
and he was coked up. Crazy. I begged him to talk to Sal, but…” She lowered her eyes to the floor and rubbed her arms. A shiver passed through her, and my stomach churned. “He…I couldn’t go through with it…I told him to stop…” She tugged at her hair. “He threw me on the bed…I fought him…” She finally looked up at me, and rage swept over me. Her eye already started to blacken, and a thin trail of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth.

“I’ll kill him.”

“I got lucky.” She licked her cracked lip. “My purse was about a foot away. I reached for it and pulled your backup piece, the .22. I brought it just in case.”

I stroked her hair. Smart girl. “I hope you shot the bastard.”

She smiled, wincing. “No, he smacked it out of my hand before I could. After that, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I grabbed my purse and ran.”

“Too bad.”
I’d take care of Nick. He sealed his fate the minute he touched her. For every bruise, every mark, I would see that he paid the price.

“I’m so sorry, Ian.
” Her blue eyes stared into mine. “I wanted to make things better…Nick will be out for blood for sure now.”

“Don’t
you worry about him.”

“How can you say that?
He hates you. I heard him say as much.”

Guilt
smoldered inside me. Nick’s attack on her was all about revenge. The feud that stayed shadowed for the last six years was coming to a head. Billy’s reputation wouldn’t protect me or mine any longer. It was time to end it. Time to make Nick DeMarco bleed.

A steady pounding on the front door woke me the next morning. I glanced at my watch. It was seven-fifteen. Too early for the die-hard lushes. I pulled my arm from under Frankie’s sleeping body. She was soft and warm. And so fucking fragile. A bluish-purple bruise on her cheek reminded me of that fact. Fury clogged my throat at the thought of Nick’s hands on her. If she hadn’t brought my gun….

Suffice it to say, the f
irst thing on my ‘to do list’ today was to hunt Nick down and rip his heart out. Nobody fucked with Frankie like that and lived. The knocking on the door resumed, louder this time. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs from a bottle of Jameson and a six-pack of Bud, stumbled to my feet, and went to answer the door.

“What?” I threw
the door open.

Detective Raymond Burgess stood on the other side
, looking none too pleased at my greeting. “Mr. Wilde, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”
My eyes slowly adjusted to the early morning glare.

“A murder.”

“I haven’t killed anyone lately,” I began to shut the door in his face, “but you’re welcome to check back later.”

The tip of his black boot stopped the door from closing.
“May I come in?”

“Of course.
” I stood, blocking the door. He annoyed me on principle. Not only was he a cop, but he was a bad one at that. Everything from his ‘Joe Friday’ haircut and pressed suit to his badge-heavy attitude put me on edge.

He smiled
. A smile that said, ‘I can have your parole revoked at any time’. I smirked in response and stepped aside to let him in. After all, I had nothing to hide…yet.

“Nice place
.”

I shrugged. “So what is it you want?”

“Do you own a .22 caliber pistol?”

“No, f
elons are not allowed to own or possess firearms,” I quoted the parolee’s handbook.

“Don’t get smart with me.
” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a black leather notebook. “A weapon with your fingerprints on it was used in a homicide last night. Care to tell me about it?”

“Who died?” I knew the answer before he spoke the words.

“Nicolas DeMarco.” His face grew cold. “Shot twice in the head.”

Shit. H
ad Frankie shot him and lied to me? But why? The crash of shattering glass interrupted Burgess’s interrogation. Frankie stood a few feet away, white-faced. Glass littered the floor around her. Her eyes flashed to mine. “No…Ian…I…,” she stammered.

“Go upstairs,” I ordered
.

She
nodded like a lost child, unsure and afraid. I wanted to protect her from the evils of men like Nick, and myself. But I knew she’d hate me for it. At least she’d be alive. “Now,” I barked when she didn’t move. The farther she was from Burgess the better off we’d all be. Visiting Frankie at Albion Correctional for the next twenty years wasn’t in my game plan.

“
Ms. Hurley, I’d prefer that you stay.” Burgess smiled. If he had a mustache he’d probably be twirling it. “I have some questions for you as well.”

She did as he asked, m
oving to stand next to me. It was then I noticed the missing buttons on her shirt and the fingertip bruises covering her upper arms. Fucking Nick. I put my arm around her to hide the marks and hoped Burgess wasn’t as observant. “Neither of us knows anything about Nick’s death. We were here—together—all night,” I lied with confidence. A bluff only worked if the player believed in it. The slightest hesitation or sign of weakness tipped your hand.

“Is that true?”
Burgess glared at Frankie. She nodded, and he continued, “Care to explain then how your fingerprints end up on the murder weapon, Mr. Wilde? Or why two witnesses saw a tall redhead leave the motel around the time of the murder?” His questions were aimed at me, but his eyes bore into Frankie’s.

“Poor eyesight?”
My lips twitched.

His face darkened.
“And the fingerprints?”

“Got me there.
” I shrugged. “Do you think I’m dumb enough to kill Nick and leave the murder weapon with my fingerprints at the scene? C’mon, give me some credit.”

“Oh,
I do.” He paused to consult his notebook. “The gun was wiped clean—no prints—but we were lucky enough to pull a smudge from the casing.”

Interesting.
Frankie’s prints should have been all over the gun.

“Guess what?
” Burgess flipped the notebook closed. “The smudge matched the prints we have on file for you.”

“I didn’t kill
him.” Had he being alive this afternoon I would have, but close didn’t count in murder. Besides if any one deserved dying it was Nick DeMarco.

Burgess
step forward, his face inches from mine. “I think you found out your girlfriend,” he gestured to Frankie, “was seeing Mr. DeMarco on the sly. You followed her to his motel room and shot him, execution style.”

“Interesting theory
.”

H
e tapped me in the chest. “Mr. DeMarco was seen in this establishment yesterday.” He thumped me again. “You and he had a history. I’m sure he didn’t take too kindly to you killing his brother. Maybe he was looking for some payback and got shot instead?”

“Not by me.”

“Then you won’t mind coming to the station for a GSR test?” A gunshot residue test would tell him if I’d recently fired a weapon. Which I had, but not into the back of Nick’s head, so the point was moot. Hell, half the hands in the Kitchen would test positive for gunpowder on any given day.

“
Got an arrest warrant?” I asked.

Burgess shook his head.

“Next time come prepared.” I added, “Like any good boy scout.”

“Don’t push me, Wilde.
I can have your parole revoked….” The threat hung in the air between us.

“No…Ian didn’t—” Frankie started.

“Shut the fuck up,
” I said, the sharp snap of my voice causing her jump. But some color returned to her cheeks, which I took as a good sign.

“Didn’
t what, Ms. Hurley?” Burgess smiled like a cat waiting for the canary to spill its guts.

Her eyes went to the floor. “Nothing.”

Sensing an opening, Burgess pressed, “This killer’s a dangerous, cold blooded psychopath. Who knows who he’ll turn on next?”

“It’
s a mystery.” I laughed.

Frankie smiled at my joke
but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. God, she was a great actress—Oscar winning had this been a stage show. Even I almost bought her innocence. Burgess lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. “The crime scene was very methodical and calculated. Like something I’d expect from a military operative. No sign of a struggle, two quick bullets to the brain.”

“We’ll
lock our doors at night,” I said with a smirk.

“See that you do.” His face twisted into a
cruel grin. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you or Ms. Hurley.” Was that a threat? I itched to press him on it. See exactly whose pocket he was in, but a more important question came to mind. “No sign of a struggle, you said?” I raised an eyebrow in Frankie’s direction.

She shrugged. Either she was lying or someone cleaned up the scene before the cops got there. But why?
Nothing about Nick’s shooting made much sense. Burgess tried a different tactic. “Ms. Hurley, how did you get the bruises on your face?” His concern was as cheap as the tie around his chicken-like neck.

“I walked into a door.”

“Nasty door.”

“What can I say?
” She paused, giving him a quick grin. “I’m clumsy.”

“Sorry we c
an’t be of more help,” I stepped past him and to the front door, “but like I said, we were here. All night.” I’d hoped he’d take the hint and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he touched the side of Frankie’s face, running his hand along the bruises. She recoiled, and the bastard smiled. Before I could toss his ass into the street, Clair appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hello Detective. It’s been awhile.” Burgess dropped his hand and watched with increasing intensity as Clair moved down the staircase.

She
winked at me before speaking. “Ian’s telling you the truth. Last night we stayed up late.” She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “Playing Twister. Ian won, he usually does. I think he cheats.”

I shrugged.
“I like to come out on top.”