Unlucky (17 page)

Which meant Mallory would pretend politeness while at the same time, ribbing the hell out of the loser whenever an opportunity presented itself. "Hi, Patrick," she said, knowing that merely her greeting the man would irritate him. "Haven't seen you in a while."
Thank the heavens
.

Patrick barely glanced at her. "This place isn't exactly up to my standards, but it seems to fit yours perfectly."

"It used to."

Patrick sputtered, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming any time soon. Not wanting to watch the painful motions of the idiot trying to come up with a witty retort sometime in this century, Mallory ignored him and turned to Amy. "How was the rest of your day?"

Amy, who had been frowning at her boyfriend, turned to her with a smile. "I got rid of the guy with the ball cap by midafternoon. The one I told you about at lunch?"

Mallory nodded. "Thought all women were stupid. Yeah, I remember."

"He's from Louisiana," Patrick interjected. "He doesn't have a lot to go on."

Mallory looked at him and smiled. "Oh you mean like the women sitting at this table, for example? By the way, how's that master's calculus class going this time around?" She turned back to Amy. "Anyway, you were saying?"

Amy lowered her eyes for a moment, a flush creeping over her face, then finally looked back at Mallory and took a breath. "He went all-in on three of a kind, when he knew I'd only taken one card and hadn't folded."

"Moron. Good thing he has a lot of money and a good attorney. He'd never be able to defend himself."

"What does he need an attorney for?" Patrick asked. "I thought this was a private poker tournament."

"Oh, Amy didn't tell you? This poker tournament is special. It's a festival of criminals. The guy Amy shut down this afternoon was the prime suspect in three murder investigations in the past five years--all were female--two were his wives." Okay, so she might have made that part up, but it was all in good fun.

Patrick looked at Mallory, then back at Amy, obviously waiting for Amy to laugh or otherwise indicate that Mallory was jerking him around but that signal was not going to come. "Amy? Is this true? You're dealing poker to a bunch of criminals?"

Amy stared down at the table. "Seem to be, yeah."

Patrick jumped up from the table and glared down at her. "What the hell are you thinking? Getting involved with men like that--beating them at poker? Are you trying to get yourself killed? And what about me? I don't have anything at all to do with this classless adventure of yours, and just being with you, I could be at risk."

"Not likely," Mallory interjected. "He only kills girls." She looked up at the red-faced Patrick and tilted her head to one side, studying him for a moment. "Well, maybe you should worry a little."

Patrick glared at Mallory. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said to Amy. "If it's even usable. Then we're blowing this hellhole." He spun around and headed across the bar, knocking shoulders as he went.

Mallory shook her head as she watched him stalk away. "He'll be lucky if he makes it to the men's room without getting in a fight with the way he's walking." She turned back to Amy. "I'm sorry, Amy. I could have been nicer, I suppose, but he just rubs me the wrong way. I shouldn't have said anything about the tournament, though. It was wrong of me to put you in that position."

"He would have found out anyway. There was a reporter at the docks when I got off the boat this evening. Reginald's little showdown is going to be all over the newspapers tomorrow."

"Really? Wow, I never expected to see my uncle's picture in the paper unless it was directly above a 'Wanted' declaration. Reginald must be fit to be tied with the news broadcasting how stupid he was to host such a fiasco."

Amy nodded. "He had a couple of the dishwashers make them leave the parking lot, but some of the attendants had already talked to them."

"Not smart if they want to keep their jobs."

"No," Amy agreed, then was silent. After several seconds, she let out a sigh. "I'm sorry about Patrick. It's not you, Mallory, and I know that. I think he just has so much society raising that he lacks social skills outside of his class."

"Oh yeah, what class is that? Pompous ass?"

"He really is different when we're alone, I swear."

"Great, then as long as you two marry and move to Iceland, the whole relationship should be a raging success." She looked across the table at her clearly miserable friend. "C'mon, Amy. You know you can do better."

Amy placed a crumpled napkin on the table and rose from her chair. "Actually, I can't. I guess I better go to the restroom before I leave."

Mallory frowned but knew better than to waste her time arguing. "Did you ride in with him? I can give you a lift if you want to stay."

Amy shook her head. "We met here, so I've got my own car, but I'm really tired and I need
Mo
get some rest before tomorrow." She turned from the table and began to thread her way through the crowded bar.

Mallory slumped back in her chair, wanting so desperately to help her friend but not having any idea what to do.

"You have a run-in with Mr. Personality again?" Scooter asked as he slid into an empty chair next to her.

"Oh, yeah. Did you expect any less?"

"No, but I don't get it--why does Amy keep dating that guy?"

"That is an even bigger mystery than my unluckiness."

"Hell, you're her friend, ain't you gonna do something about it?"

Mallory looked at Scooter for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, I am. Pass me his wallet and keys out of his jacket before he gets back. The least I can do is give him a broken car and a bunch of demagnetized credit cards so he can't pay for a tow."

"Now you're talking." Scooter grinned and tossed the items from Patrick's jacket onto the table.

Mallory ran her hand up and down the car key, then picked each credit card out of his wallet, making sure her fingers covered the full length of the magnetic strip, back and forth. "That's enough," she said, and pushed the items back across the table to Scooter. "Get them back in his coat before he gets back."

Scooter retrieved the items wearing a napkin as a glove and Mallory smiled. Her friend wasn't near as stupid as some might think. Even secondary contact with Mallory was sometimes a problem.

Scooter had just placed the jacket across the chair when Patrick and Amy returned. Patrick grabbed his jacket and glared at Amy. "Why don't you leave before me? With this all this white-trash mess you're involved in, I don't want anyone thinking we're together. I'll call you when I get home."

Amy looked as though she'd been struck, and Mallory prayed desperately that her friend would fight back, but she only nodded meekly. She said a nearly inaudible good-bye to Mallory and left the table, threading her way across the bar.

Patrick watched her retreat, a smug look on his face. As he started to follow, Mallory reached out and grabbed his arm. "You should be nicer to my friend."

"Or what? If you could get rid of me, you already would have." He yanked his arm from her grasp and stalked across the bar.

"Doesn't stop me from trying," Mallory grumbled as she watched him exit. "C'mon, Scooter. Let's hurry and see the show."

Scooter grinned and followed her across the bar and outside into the parking lot.

Patrick had parked right in front of the bar in what Mallory had thought was a handicapped parking space, but a glance at the front of the space revealed an empty pole. He was pressing his key fob and glaring at the door, but it was no use. Finally deciding it wasn't going to work, he jammed his key in the door lock and opened it. With a final dirty look at Mallory, he started his car, revving the engine like an idiot, and threw it in reverse.

The car sputtered once, moved about two inches back, then died.

Mallory could see Patrick cursing as he turned the key over and over with no results. Finally, he jumped out of the car, slammed the door and started yelling at Mallory. "You did something to my car, you bitch. I just know it."

Before Mallory could respond, the door to the bar opened and J.T. and a few of the customers stepped out. "What's all the racket out here?" J.T. asked.

"The only 'racket' here," Patrick said, "is charging three dollars for watered-down beer. Unless you've got a tow truck behind the bar, there's nothing you can do to help."

J.T. stared at Patrick for a moment, then shook his head. "You got some set of balls on you boy." He looked over at the immobile car, then back at Patrick. "Tell you what I can do. Dave, here"--he pointed at a burly guy standing next to him--"happens to drive a tow truck. And I'd be happy to have you towed--straight to the impound."

Patrick stared. "For what? I haven't done anything wrong."

"You're parked in a handicapped spot. As the owner of the building, I have the right to have your car towed to impound."

Patrick whirled around and looked at the parking space. "There's no sign. Without a sign, there's no law."

J.T. smirked and walked over to the pole in front of Patrick's car. By this time, more people were outside of the bar watching the show than inside, and a low murmur ran through the crowd as everyone wondered what J.T. was about to do.

J.T. kicked one foot in the dirt, then reached down and lifted up a battered sign. He shook the worst of the dust off it and placed it up on the pole, shoving his pen through the screw hole to hold it in place. "Looks like there's a sign to me."

A couple of people chuckled, and Mallory covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold it in.

Patrick stared at J.T, a dumbfounded look on his face. "You can't do that."

"I just did." J.T. waved one hand at Dave. "I do believe this car is parked illegally. Would you mind removing it from my lot?"

Dave grinned and pulled his keys from his pocket. "Give me ten minutes and she'll be gone." The big man headed across the parking lot toward a tow truck parked off to one side.

Finally realizing that J.T. had every intention of towing his car, Patrick turned from bewildered to angry, but for once was smart enough to keep his mouth closed. He glared at Mallory, then spun around, walked back over to his car, and climbed inside. He was still sitting in the driver's seat, fuming, when Dave lifted the car from its spot and began to pull it away.

Mallory looked over at J.T, smiling. "That was fantastic."

J.T. nodded. "Never could stand that son of a bitch."

"That makes two of us."

J.T. motioned Mallory to step close and she edged her way along the parking lot, careful to avoid touching any of the regulars, until she was standing just inches from the bar owner.

"I was trying to catch you before you left," J.T. said. "That's why I came outside in the first place, although I'm glad to help with the disaster part of the night."

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know that Harry dropped by this afternoon. Said that Walter Royal sent two of his flunkies over to measure the construction trailer. Said they needed to recarpet for the 'new management.'"

Mallory felt her face flush with anger. "Asshole."

J.T. nodded. "Got that right. I know I didn't want you playing in this tournament, Mallory, and that's still the case. But I hope to God you make the money to buy Harry's business before Walter Royal can. That bastard has just about ruined everything in this town."

"I'm going to get the money."

J.T. nodded. "You need anything, you let me know."

"Just keep your ear to the ground. Let me know what you hear about Reginald or Silas or hell, anything that might be useful."

"Things like Silas canceling his lease on a row of warehouses just outside of town and the owner scheduling Harry to demolish them week after next?"

Leased warehouses? Mallory's mind whirled with the possibilities.

Jake had said the FBI had checked everything that Silas owned, but they'd have no way of knowing what he'd leased. She thanked J.T. and headed across the parking lot to her truck. She needed to make a phone call to Harry to get the exact address of those warehouses; then she needed to let Jake know where to start looking for his partner.