Stealing the Countess (30 page)

“What's up?” I said.

I thought I saw the bartender grin when Heavenly dismissed me.

She spun on her stool and slowly surveyed the crowd as if she were searching for someone. I had the impression that a lot of men and more than a couple of women were hoping that her eyes steadied on them. Heads tilted; whispers were exchanged; wingmen were alerted. I knew it was only a matter of time before Heavenly would be approached. Probably just minutes.

The bartender returned and served the drink. Heavenly turned back to greet him.

“I poured our well vodka,” he said. “It's just as good as the name brands, yet much less expensive.”

“That's very kind of you.”

Heavenly pulled a twenty from her bag and set it on the bar. The bartender hesitated before he took it.

I wonder how many free drinks Heavenly scores, I asked myself.

Helluva lot more than you do,
my inner voice answered.

I don't know. In Nina's club …

That doesn't count.

The bartender returned with Heavenly's change. She pushed a ten spot into the gutter. The bartender was visibly surprised by the size of the tip.

“All good deeds should be both acknowledged and rewarded,” Heavenly said. “We witness so few of them.”

“That's a generous philosophy,” the bartender replied.

“I'm a generous woman.”

“Beautiful, too. Are you a model?”

“Of course not.”

“You're pretty enough.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Oh, yes. You might be the most beautiful woman to ever walk into this club.”

“I should come here more often.”

“Is this your first time?”

“I came to meet someone, but he doesn't seem to be around.”

“Who's the lucky guy?”

“Marcus Camby.”

The bartender flinched at the sound of the name; he literally took a step backward. He was still smiling, but suddenly it seemed forced.

“Are you a friend of Mr. Camby's?” he asked.

“Merely an acquaintance.”

“I haven't seen him, and Monday night, it's usually a little slow so I don't know if I will.”

“Do me a favor—do you have a pen?”

The bartender found one. Heavenly took it and wrote on the coaster.

“If you see Marcus, please give this to him.”

The bartender took the coaster and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

“If I see him,” he said.

Heavenly reached out and touched his hand.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Nothing bad is going to happen. For the record, he's not my boyfriend.”

I don't know why that cheered him up, yet it did.

*   *   *

Heavenly took only a sip of the vodka gimlet before leaving the club. By the time I caught up with her she was seated inside the Ford Focus and carefully adjusting the passenger seat belt over her shoulder.

“I notice you removed your sling,” I said. “Is that a good idea?”

“You don't want to show weakness to these people.”

I thought she was being awfully melodramatic, but what did I know? I was new in town.

“Where to next?” I asked.

Heavenly plotted a course to a club in a West Philadelphia neighborhood called Belmont Village, and I started the car. As I pulled away from the curb, I noticed the taillights flash on a red Chevy Tahoe parked up the street, signifying that someone had just put it into gear. I watched in the rearview after I passed it. The SUV gave me a healthy head start before it also pulled away from the curb. I looked for a license plate number. Unfortunately, Pennsylvania law requires that plates be mounted only on the backs of vehicles, unlike in Minnesota.

“Do you get that a lot?” I asked.

“What?”

“People watching you.”

“Depends on the circumstances. Take a right at the next corner.”

I did as Heavenly directed. The SUV stayed with us.

“If I'm just walking down the street, buying groceries, shopping at Target, people tend to leave me alone,” she said. “If it's a place where they meet socially, clubs, restaurants, theaters, concert halls, even ballparks—that's where I get the turning heads and the wistful gaze, I like to call it. Most people look and then look away. It's the ones who stare that make me nervous. The ones who stare and glare like I committed some kind of crime, I always try to keep track of where they are at all times. Take a left and then the first right.”

I maneuvered the Focus around the two corners. The SUV kept going straight.

“That's terrible,” I said.

“It's hell being a babe.”

Heavenly laughed, but I noticed there wasn't much mirth in it.

“How about what the bartender said, about how you should be a model?” I asked.

“That, too—since I was little. People tell pretty girls that they should be a model the way they tell tall boys they should play basketball.”

“We lost the Chevy Tahoe. Either that or the driver figured we made him and decided to peel off.”

“So you are paying attention.”

“Enough to know that no one else has picked up the tail.
If
we were being followed, it was by a single vehicle.”

Heavenly reset our course.

“Nina must get it, too,” she said. “The admiring glance as she walks by. The flirting.”

“Not like you do.”

*   *   *

We hit three more clubs without incident, following the same script each time. No one tailed us when we left.

The fifth club was located in North Philadelphia. The night was no longer young, and the joint was both crowded and loud; the band played from an elevated stage at a volume that suggested it was afraid the kids in Jersey might not hear them. Colorful lights flashed for no particular reason according to no discernible pattern.

It took a few minutes before I found a spot where I could lean against the bar and a few more before I could shout my order to the bartender. I didn't see Heavenly enter the club; didn't know she was there until she sidled up to a small, chest-high table that should have been surrounded by chairs yet wasn't—the groups gathered at nearby tables had captured them. She set her bag on top of the table; I presumed her S&W was tucked inside. A waitress approached; Heavenly spoke into her ear, and the waitress moved away. By then the bartender had set a tap beer in front of me.

Heavenly remained standing. It was clear to me that she was favoring her left arm, yet I couldn't say if anyone else noticed. The waitress reappeared and set both a napkin and a drink in the center of the table. Heavenly managed to pull a wallet from the bag, shake out a bill, and set it on the waitress's tray using just her right hand. The waitress went to serve other customers. Heavenly sipped her beverage and gazed toward the band. The floor in front of the stage was jammed with dancers. There was so little room to maneuver, most of them looked as if they were jogging in place.

A man came up behind Heavenly. He was young and blessed with the kind of good looks God gives to the extras in beer commercials. He rested his hand on Heavenly's left shoulder and squeezed as if he knew exactly how to hurt her. She spun away from him. He smiled. He said something. He smiled some more. Heavenly's response was to glare at him and shake her head. He gestured at her drink. She shook her head again. The smile left his face, and he tilted his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He motioned toward a table where two guys were sitting, and I knew what had happened—he bet his pals that he could score a cell phone number or better from Heavenly and was now embarrassed by his failure.

Heavenly picked up her drink and returned her attention to the band. The young man took hold of Heavenly's left wrist and gave it a violent tug. Heavenly dropped her drink; the glass bounced off the table and shattered on the floor. From the expression on her face, I knew that the pain from her fractured collarbone was acute. She tried to twist her wrist from the young man's grasp, yet that caused even greater hurt.

I would have intervened, except a second young man appeared, this one bigger than the first. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked backward. The first young man grimaced even as he arched his back and flailed his arms. He tried to turn, tried to free himself. The second young man slapped him with the back of his hand, slapped him twice. He pulled his hair back even farther and gripped his throat. The eyes of the first young man bulged as the second young man leaned in and spoke harshly into his ear. The first young man nodded. The second young man released him and stepped back, fully prepared to deal with any retaliation. The first young man pushed his way past the small crowd that had gathered; he refused to look at Heavenly or the second young man. I keep calling them young men as if I were old and they were children, which wasn't true, but you get my drift.

The second young man turned toward Heavenly. She was brushing at the alcohol that had spilled on her shirt and vest with a napkin. He looked as if he wanted to help with his empty hand, yet thought better of it. A waitress appeared to wipe the table, and another swept up the remains of the shattered glass. It took only a few seconds. The young man smiled. Heavenly smiled back. He asked a question. She answered it. He turned to leave. She set her good hand on his wrist and said something more. He nodded and left.

I was thinking about moving to Heavenly's side. Possibly she read my mind, because she glanced my way while pretending not to and shook her head just enough to warn me away. I remained at the bar. A few moments later, the young man returned with a replacement for Heavenly's drink. She made an effort to pay, but he wouldn't hear of it.

They leaned toward each other, their foreheads nearly touching. I had studied body language when I was in the police academy, and I could tell they were both relaxed, yet I knew nothing about reading lips, so I had no idea what they were talking about. I only know I had time for a second tap beer before they quit.

The band was just closing out its set when they separated. The young man pulled a smartphone from his pocket. He inputted a number as Heavenly recited it to him, and brought the phone to his ear. He was looking directly at Heavenly as he spoke into his phone. They were both smiling; there seemed to be a lot of that going on between them. Yet what surprised me most was when he gave Heavenly a gentle hug and kissed her cheek as if he were wishing his lips were touching something else. Heavenly patted his shoulder, took up her bag, and moved toward the exit. The young man watched her go.

*   *   *

By the time I reached the Ford Focus, Heavenly was already inside. She was adjusting her sling; the dome light let me see the pain it caused her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Do I look okay?”

I didn't reply.

“Nothing, McKenzie? You're not going to tell me I should be modeling lingerie for Victoria's Secret?”

“Is that what your friend in the club said?”

“The one who grabbed my shoulder, adding insult to injury. McKenzie?” Heavenly brought her hand to her wound. “That really hurt. It still hurts. I wonder if he pushed the bones out of alignment.”

“I would have come to your assistance except the second guy beat me to it.”

“That was Marcus Camby.”

I started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Marcus is Doc Young's right-hand man,” Heavenly said. “I met him when I was going after the stolen Gibson. He said the doctor would be happy to chat with us. We'll arrange a meeting tomorrow.”

“Sounds promising.”

“We'll see.”

“Where to now?”

“Back to the B&B.”

“How do I get there?”

Heavenly gave me directions. They were easy to follow. So easy that the red Chevy Tahoe had no trouble keeping up with us.

“Don't look now,” I said.

Heavenly was watching through the passenger side mirror.

“I see him,” she said.

She reached into her bag and found the cheap flip phone that the Voice had given her. She found the last number it had captured and called it. Someone answered.

“Dammit, Marcus,” Heavenly said. “I thought we had an understanding.”

I couldn't hear what he said in reply.

“We're being followed … Never mind who
we
are. You promised to lay off until we spoke with the doctor … He's not?” Heavenly continued watching the SUV through the side mirror. “Are you sure? Maybe he's one of your guys trying to score extra points … Red Chevrolet Tahoe … Promise me you're not lying, because—hang on.”

Heavenly covered the cell's microphone with her hand.

“Take a left at the next light,” she said. “That's Broad Street.”

I did what she told me. The SUV stayed on our bumper.

“All right, Marcus, I believe you,” Heavenly said into the flip phone. “Then you won't be unhappy if something nasty happens to him … Call me tomorrow, Marcus. Not early … Good night.”

Heavenly hung up the phone and dropped it into her bag.

“That was Marcus,” she said.

“I gathered.”

“He claims the tail doesn't work for him or Doc Young.”

We were idling at a red light, the Tahoe directly behind us. I couldn't make out the driver's face in the mirror, and I refused to turn my head to look.

“Yes, but can he be trusted?” I asked.

“Most men lie to me; they lie all the time.” Heavenly studied the SUV some more. “They say they want to be friends, but truthfully all they really want is twenty minutes of my time. You're an exception. So is Marcus. I think.”

The light changed, and we drove ahead.

“Marcus said something earlier, though, that I found very interesting; something I didn't press him on,” Heavenly said. “He told me that he knew someone would be going after the Stradivarius, he just didn't know it would be me.”