Before The Killing Starts (Dixie Killer Blues Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 25

'Jackson LaBarre is
downstairs,' Juan said. 'He wants to talk to you.'

Chico
swung his feet off the desk and sat
up straight. '
Shit
. I thought he was still in prison.'

'Apparently he got out a
couple of days ago.'

Chico
told Juan to send him up. He sat
with his head down and his left hand curled around his forehead, trying to
think what to say. He'd rather not have this conversation now—not ever if he
could help it—what with all the aggravation that was going on with Dixie, but he couldn't very well turn the guy away. He'd spent the last two years in prison
because of Chico, so it was the least he could do.

They got all the long
lost brother, hugging and back-clapping crap out of the way and Chico offered him a drink. Jackson wasn't looking too bad, considering.

'You're looking good—in
the circumstances,' Chico said.

Jackson
shrugged and gave him a feral grin.
'Not much else to do inside apart from work out in the gym. That, and the never
ending worry about whether today's the day it's your turn to get stabbed in the
showers tends to keep the weight off.'

Chico
nodded sympathetically. Despite the
long years he'd spent on the wrong side of the law, he'd never spent a single
night in prison. Nor did he plan to.

'Are you looking for
work?'

Jackson
shook his head. 'No.' His slate
blue eyes flicked into focus. 'There's some things I want to get done first.'

Chico
nodded again and waited for him to
continue.

'I need to find out who
set me up.'

As Chico had thought, no
prizes for guessing what he was after. You couldn't blame him.

'Do you have any ideas
about that?'

Jackson
gave a slight tilt of the head. 'I
haven't thought about much else every day for two years—and I'm still no
further forward.'

'You think it was
somebody on our side?'

Jackson
shrugged again. 'No idea.'

'Because you're not the
only one to give it some thought. I know you went to prison, but I wasn't
exactly jumping for joy at what happened.' He touched his chest. 'It cost me a
lot of money.'

Jackson
gave a single chop of a laugh but Chico couldn't see any amusement in his eyes.

'I'm sure it did. Lucky
there's plenty more where it came from, eh?' Jackson got up and started to pace
up and down. 'Unfortunately I don't have an extra two years of my life lying
around somewhere.'

Chico
held up his hands in an acknowledgement
of the minor loss he'd suffered compared to Jackson's.

'I know, I know. It's
only money. By the way, if you need any, just let me know.'

Jackson
had walked round behind Chico on his lap around the room and had stopped directly behind him. Chico felt a slight
frisson of fear, but didn't want to spin round in his chair. He had nothing to
worry about. Surely Jackson didn't blame him.

'So what was the outcome
of your . . . investigations?' Jackson asked.

'Nada. Diddly Squat.' Chico turned to face him now, saw he was leaning against the wall. 'I don't believe anybody
on our side had anything to do with it.'

Jackson
smiled to himself at the use of
our
.
There hadn't been much of that sort of thing at the time. 'That means it must
have been someone from their side.'

Chico
gave a small flick of the hand.
'That's the logical conclusion.'

Jackson
pushed himself off the wall and sat
back down in front of the desk. He just can't sit still, Chico thought to
himself. He supposed two years in a six by eight prison cell might do that to
you. But he'd been jumpy before, unlike his brother.

'So who should I talk
to? Alvarez?'

That was the last thing Chico wanted. After the recent embarrassment of sending Dixie to question Alvarez about the
current cock-up—and the information that resulted from that meeting—the very
last thing he wanted to do was send Dixie's brother to question him about
another cock-up two years ago. But it made him think and wonder about the
accuracy of what Alvarez had told him. If Dixie really was a cop like Alvarez
had said, how likely would it be that he would let his own brother go to jail
for two years. He would have pulled him out, surely.

Chico
looked at Jackson's hand and the
strange tattoo he had on the web of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Dixie had one just like it. And it was on the basis of rumors about a couple of guys with
identical tattoos on their hands that Alvarez was pointing the finger at Dixie. Chico could feel his blood pressure rising just thinking about it. Somebody was
going to pay. He had to find out the truth. But, in the meantime, he didn't
want Jackson rocking the boat even more with Alvarez.

'No, I don't think
that's a good idea,' he said, shaking his head emphatically.

Jackson
crossed his arms, tucked his hands
under his armpits. 'Why not?' he said, his tone querulous.

Chico
gave an irritated head shake. He
didn't need to get into this now. 'You don't need to know at the moment.'

Jackson
's face reddened and leaned across
the desk and pointed his finger at the middle of Chico's face. Normally Chico wouldn't have tolerated such disrespect, but the guy had just spent two years inside,
so he'd cut him a little slack. Not only that, but Juan and José were
downstairs somewhere, probably jerking each other off to porno movies or
whatever else they did to pass the time.

'It would need to be a
very special reason if it's going to stop me from finding out what happened.'

Chico
stood up and walked around the desk
and rested his hand on Jackson's shoulder. The gesture reminded him that he'd
done the exact same thing when Dixie was sitting in the chair a few days
earlier. He could feel the anger rising up inside him, a tight knot in his
stomach, making him want to lash out. He gave Jackson's shoulder an encouraging
squeeze.

'It's not going to stop
you finding out. Trust me on this. Talk to his guy Miguel instead. He knows
more than Alvarez anyway.'

Jackson
didn't look convinced but he didn't
push it. He stood up to go. He was a good six inches taller than Chico, just like Dixie. The sooner he was out of here, the better, as far as Chico was concerned. He didn't want to be reminded of Dixie every time he turned around.

'Let me know if there's
anything you need,' Chico said.

Jackson
's face said he'd already told him
what he wanted, and Chico had disappointed him, but he'd take some cash and a
gun instead. And he'd like to borrow a car for a few days until he got
something sorted out. Chico told him to speak to Juan on the way out.

***

'Did you give him what
he wanted?' Chico said to Juan after Jackson had left.

Juan nodded. 'Yeah, he
took some cash and a gun. Did he say why he wants the gun?'

Chico
smiled at him, muttering
idiot
through his teeth. 'I would think he's going to use it to shoot the bastard who
snitched on him, wouldn't you?'

Juan nodded as if the
thought had never crossed his mind.

'I thought he wanted to
borrow a car as well,' Chico said.

'Yeah, that too. Just
for a couple of days he said.'

Chico
thought for a second. Alvarez had
told him about the tracking device the previous day and given him the number to
call, but then they'd caught Ellie and she'd told them where she'd moved the
money, making the information redundant. Even so, the trackers seemed like a
good idea and he'd sent one of the guys to buy a few. The horse might already
have bolted this time, but he wouldn't be caught out again.

'Did you put one of
those—'

'Don't worry. There's a
GPS tracker hidden inside. He'll never find it even if he thinks to look.'

Chico
smiled. At least he was going to
get something out of it, although he didn't like to think about what Jackson would do when he realized he'd led Chico to his brother. 'Good. I'm sure he'll
meet up with Dixie soon. They're pretty close. The more people we've got
looking for him, the better.'

'He doesn't look like
him, does he?' Juan said. 'But there's this strange feeling that reminds you of
him. It's uncanny.'

Chico
didn't need reminding.

'What about this
investigator guy?' Chico said, picking Evan's business card up off the table.

Juan shrugged. 'You
still want to talk to him? We've got Ellie and Jackson on the case already.'

'Why not? It can't do
any harm. He's a professional, after all.'

Juan nodded. 'Okay,
we'll drop by his office. See if we have more luck there.'

Chapter 26

Evan took a deep breath
before answering his phone. It was Ellie—or at least it was Ellie's phone. He
couldn't be sure after the bogus texts he'd received. And if it was really her
he was going to need a big dose of self control—something he wasn't generally
known for—to stop him from ripping into her. So much had gone on since he last
talked to her, so many questions needed to be answered.

He pressed the green
button but he didn't say anything.

'Evan?'

It was her. But was she
alone? Somebody else had either sent the texts from her phone or made her do
it. Were they listening in now? She sounded normal, not stressed or worried.
Then again, all she'd said was
Evan
. And she was a two-faced bitch,
after all.

'Ellie. I wondered when
you'd call. Where have you been?' He didn't try to hide the annoyance in his
voice.

Silence came down the
phone line at him. He was surprised. He would have thought she'd have her
excuses all ready for him, try to drown him in a deluge of lies and bullshit.

'Hello?' he said, as the
silence stretched out.

'I know you probably
don't trust me now,' she said, avoiding answering his question, 'but we really
need to meet.'

He snorted. 'That sounds
familiar. How about I come to your hotel room? You know, third time lucky.'

'I can explain
everything.'

'Yeah right, you mean
like those texts?
Doughnuts or danish?
Except that you couldn't make it
and sent a couple of friends instead.'

He heard her let out an
exasperated rush of air. 'I didn't have any choice.'

'How do I know this is
any different now?'

Answer that one if
you can.

'You'll have to trust
me.'

Evan gave an exaggerated
laugh. 'You wouldn't know what trust was if it jumped up and bit you on the
ass.'

'I don't know what I can
say to you to make you believe me.'

'I can see how you might
have a problem with that, seeing as telling the truth isn't in your DNA.'

He thought about ending
the call. Just talking to her, hearing her voice, was enough to make him want
to punch the wall.

'How about you tell me
from start to finish what's going on. Then I'll make a couple of decisions.
One: do I believe a word you've told me, and, two, do I care enough even if I
do?'

He knew that he'd never
just walk away from it all, not now that he'd found the other half of the
photograph with what he was increasingly certain was Sarah's arm in it. But she
didn't know that. Or did she? Would she have gone back to the hotel to get her
stuff? Even if she had, would she have noticed that it was missing? She might
have thought that whoever tossed the room—the same two guys presumably—had
taken it. Anyway it was worth the gamble.

'Why don't you start by
telling me who Dixie is.'

'He's just a guy I
know.'

Bad start, Ellie.

'So he's not an
undercover cop?'

That made her pause for
a second.

'Do you know what
happened to me when I started asking about him in that dive of a bar?'

'No.'

Was that the
slightest of pauses before her answer?

'First of all I ended up
in a fight. That might or might not have had something to do with asking about Dixie. It could also just be that the pond life that inhabit places like that feel
threatened by people with a double digit IQ and so attack them as a matter of
course. Makes me wonder what Dixie might do if I find him.'

Ellie didn't say
anything.

'Then I got chased by a
couple of thugs who wanted to know why I was looking for Dixie. Luckily for me
the cops turned up and I got away. And then, surprise, surprise, the same two
guys send me a breakfast invite on your phone and turn up at the hotel instead
of you. So I'd like to hear a good reason why I should ever believe another
word that comes out of your mouth.' His voice had risen to a shout and he
wished he'd said
filthy mouth
while he was at it.

She started to say
something but Evan hadn't finished.

'Did you know Dixie is an undercover cop? Yes or no?'

There was another pause
while she weighed up the pros and cons of telling the truth.

'Yes or no? Five seconds
before I hang up. Five . . . Four . . . Three . . .'

'Yes.'

'Ha! Do you know I think
that's the first thing you've ever said that I believe? We're finally starting
to get somewhere.'

Something else suddenly
crossed his mind.

'Are you an undercover
cop? Or just a regular cop for that matter? Or anything else that I might like
to know? Like an FBI agent? Or CIA? DEA? WTF?'

'Don't be ridiculous.'
She spat the last word out as if it were contaminated.

'What's ridiculous? It
seems to me that anything can happen here.'

'Well I'm not any of
those things.'

'So what's your
connection to Dixie if it isn't a professional one . . .'

A noise in the
background on her end of the line made him stop mid-flow.

'What was that?'

'What was what?'

'It sounded like someone
coughing. Is there somebody there with you?'

'For Christ's sake Evan.
I'm in a diner. There's loads of people in here. But they're not with me,
they're just eating and drinking—and coughing. I'll ask the guy to go outside
next time he wants to cough. Or sneeze. Okay?'

Actually it wasn't okay
as far as he was concerned. He had no way of knowing if she was telling the
truth or not. What he did know was that she hadn't gone somewhere private to
make what should have been a very private call. He couldn't think about that
now.

'What's your connection
to Dixie?' he asked again. 'Because the events of the past couple of days tell
me that he's not just the long lost love of your life that you've suddenly
realized you can't live without.'

'I worked for him.'

Now they were getting
somewhere.

'Worked past tense or
still working?'

'Both I suppose,' she
admitted.

He had a fairly good
idea what that work involved.

'Doing what?'

A long pause followed.
Evan wondered if he could correlate the length of the pauses with the likely
truthfulness of her replies.

'Doing what?' he said
again.

'I was one of his
snitches.'

At least that seemed to
make sense. It felt about right for the mess he found himself in at the moment.
On the other hand it didn't seem to make any sense at all.

'Then surely you don't
need me to make contact with him for you.'

'It's all very
complicated. I'll tell you all about it when we meet.'

If it hadn't been for
her promise to help him find Sarah—a promise given extra credence by the
photograph sitting in his pocket as they spoke—he'd have cut the call and
walked away. She was still holding information back, that was for sure. And it
could still all be another trap. But that didn't really make sense. If somebody
was holding her and forcing her to make the call to try to trap him, she'd
presumably be there when they caught him. All he'd do then would be to tell
them that he was only looking for Dixie because she asked him to. So everything
would be back on her head and they wouldn't need him any more. It sounded okay
in theory, unless the people who had her had a rule about disposing of anybody
they didn't need anymore. It made his head hurt to think about it.

'Okay,' he said
cautiously. 'Where do you want to meet?'

He was sure she was
gloating on the other end of the line. She was getting her own way again. He
remembered that was another thing he'd always hated about her back in the day.

'I've moved hotels—'

'That's another thing.
When I went to your hotel it was obvious somebody had searched the place. What
were they looking for?'

'You'd have to ask
them.'

Okay, that was it
. He cut the call.

It rang again
immediately as he knew it would.

'Last chance, Ellie.'

'I promise I'll tell you
everything when I see you.' Her voice was a nasty mix of pleading and whining.
If she thought a tone of voice like that would persuade anybody to do anything
for her—apart from give her a good slap around the face—she was sadly mistaken.
However, in this case, it was going to work . . .

'Give me the address,'
he said, hoping he sounded like he was in charge now.

She gave him the details
and they arranged to meet a couple of hours later. If nothing else, Evan wanted
a couple of hours to get there early like he had before. He wondered what the
equivalent phrase to
like a lamb to the slaughter
was when you knew damn
well what you were getting into.