Blood Ties (12 page)

“Yep. At three o’clock.”

Two barstools over, a chunky, redheaded man with a gray-fl ecked, red beard sat in a secluded corner, gazing myopically into his half-empty mug while the men around him hooted. Pity welled in me for a second before I snapped it down. “He looks like shit.”

119

“Don’t sound so happy.”

“Can’t help it.”

I stared at Dick, hoping he’d feel the weight of my glare and turn around. Nope. I’d ask Callous Lilly, queen of dirty looks, for some pointers. “What’s the plan, my man?” I said to Kevin.

He shrugged and spun his mug on scarred bar top.

“Good cop/bad cop?”

“Nah. Too predictable. I wanna catch him off guard.”

“You could ask him to shoot pool.”

“Or . . . you could just shoot him. Th

at’d get his at-

tention.”

“Probably, but I’m not as sure as you are that he’s guilty.”

I choked on a lungful of smoke. “How can that be?

You heard Meredith. And Shelley.”

“We’re not looking for Samantha’s killer. We’re here to fi nd out if Dick knew where she went after he kicked her out. Th

at’s all.” He studied me over the foamy rim of his beer. “My impression is that he didn’t care about Sam one way or another. Killing her is the ultimate attention grabber.”

“So what if Dick never paid any attention to her? He was still pissed off that Shelley had lied to him. If he liked to beat on her before, imagine what he would’ve done to her if she hadn’t been safe in rehab jail. And think about the fact Samantha wasn’t.”

Kevin lifted a brow and waited.

120

“Come on. Nothing is more dangerous than a man who’s taken a shot to his ego. What better way to get back at Shelley than to kill Sam? Get a couple of his biker pals to snatch her, slash her throat, and dump the body. No sweat.” I glanced around at the men in the bar. Damn, if they didn’t all look the same, bearded and shifty-eyed.

Probably all smelled like sour beer and drove hopped-up conversion vans.

“You’re reaching,” he said, bending down to examine my eyes. “You know what I think?”

I forced myself not to retreat. “What?”

“I think you
want
the killer to be Dick Friel. I think the parallels between Dick washing his hands of Sam, and your father doing the same with Ben, are clouding your judgment.”

“Th

en why did you ask for my help?”

“Because you do bring a diff erent, almost bizarre perspective to things, babe.” He set his hand on my forearm, thumb tracing the fi ne hairs until my skin began to tingle in an obvious attempt to soften his next words. “You’ve tried and convicted Dick without even talking to him.”

His hand dropped like a rock when I raised my arm and drained my beer.

After one last drag of my cigarette, I spun the barstool away from Kevin and slid to the sticky fl oor. “Fuck you, Freud. I’ll remedy the I-haven’t-talked-to-Dick situation right now.”

121

He sighed, but didn’t stop me.

Dick glanced up as I set my elbows on the bar right next to him. I smiled, full on,
Playmate of the Year
style.

“Hey, Dick, remember me?”

His gaze oozed over my body. A shiver of revulsion worked loose from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. “Can’t say as I do.”

“Julie Collins?” I prompted with my usual charm. “I graduated three years behind you?”

“Sorry.”

“Falling Rock, Four Bridges, we partied together probably a dozen times.” I gave a little pout. “You seriously don’t remember me?”

“Nope.” He reached for the shot glass the bartender had placed in front of him and sucked it down.

Since the bartender had hung around, I signaled for one of the same.

“I ain’t buying that,” Dick said, and the men sitting next to him snickered.

“Not even for old time’s sake?”

Dick muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult. Aww. And I’d so wanted to do this the nice way. “I’m sorry, Dick, what did you say?”

He angled his head from my earshot, and added a bit of wit to his fellow bar rats, causing another bark of male laughter.

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Which pissed me off . If his utterance was so goddamned funny, he should share it. Hell, I could take a joke, even at my own expense. “Actually,” I said, “I guess I was friendlier with your wife. How is Shelley, by the way?”

Th

at got his attention. “Still the same drunken slut she always was,” he said. “And newsfl ash: She ain’t my old lady anymore.”

Th

e bartender placed the shot in front of me and I knocked it back, handing him a fi ve. Yuck. Jaegermeister.

Some people had no taste. “Th

e same way Sam wasn’t your

daughter anymore, Dick?”

Th

e air fi nally gave pause in the way I’d envisioned since the moment I’d walked in.

“What do you know about that?”

I ordered another shot and ignored Dick, realizing I was completely blocked from the view of the rest of the bar and Kevin. My heart kicked into high gear even when I knew it wouldn’t help to panic.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I told you.”

“What do you want?”

“A friendly drink.” I smiled coyly. “To rehash the good times, you know, the usual.”

“Bullshit. What do you really want?”

“Answers.”

Th

is time I didn’t bother to hide my repugnance. “Just looking to uncover the truth about how Samantha ended up with her throat sliced right after you 123

found out she wasn’t your daughter.”

Bull’s-eye. His face darkened.

“I’ll give you an answer.” He adjusted his stance and I got a whiff of his angry, licorice-scented breath. “Th e truth

is Shelley is a fucking loser. Always has been. I should’ve gone with my gut reaction and skipped town when she pulled that bullshit pregnancy story.”

“Yeah? Liked her enough that you managed to knock her up twice more.”

He laughed. “Sure, I fucked her, wasn’t like she was ever unwilling.” His smile grew crafty. “But who’s to say them other kids are even mine?”

I let his words sink in. “Yeah, who’s to say? Big guy like you probably has a little . . . Dick, is this conversation making you uncomfortable?”

His mouth tightened as the group of men around him whooped and hollered. “Th

ink you’re clever, don’t ya?”

“Nah. I think
you’re
clever. Good plan when you kicked out a sixteen-year-old girl. So, where’d she go?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Listen you . . .”

“No. You listen.” I came nose-to-nose with him.

“Were you embarrassed when you found out that Shelley had been raped? Or are you one of those asshole types that think she deserved it? What about Sam? Did she deserve what happened to her too?”

Th

e bartender set down two shots and I drank them both without losing eye contact with Dick. Without caring 124

that one of those shots
had
been Dick’s.

“You don’t know shit,” Dick harrumphed. “You ain’t a cop, and those bitches from Social Services wouldn’t step foot in here. So, I’m wondering who the hell you are and what you want.” His eyes went fl at. “Did that fuck-up Shelley hire another lawyer?”

I

shrugged.

“No matter, cause I ain’t giving her a red cent. Not for her or them goddamn kids. Tell her that.”

“You’re forgetting blood tests can prove paternity.” I dropped a ten on top of the empty shot glasses. “Th en the

courts will force you to pay child support.”

“Is the fucked up court system gonna give me credit for the years I supported a kid that ain’t even mine?” He slammed the beer mug on the bar. “Where were the goddamn blood tests then?”

“Good question. But were you pissed off that you’d fed and clothed Samantha, when it wasn’t your royal blood running through her veins? Did you take action yourself?

Decide enough was enough and you’d be getting revenge on Shelley by getting rid of her daughter?”

His beard brushed his fl annel shirt when he shook his head back and forth. “Jesus. You are a fucking psycho.

Yeah, she’s dead, but I sure as hell didn’t kill her.”

“Prove it. Answer some questions. Th

en I’ll go.”

His lip curled before it disappeared under his walrus mustache. “Nope. Don’t think I will.” He pointed to my 125

change on the bar edge. “You’re fi nished and I ain’t got nothing else to say. I think you’ll go
now
.”

I studied my nails. My hands weren’t shaking but my insides felt like they were in a margarita blender.

“What? Are you deaf? Get the hell out of my bar.”

Making a slow pass over what I could see of the room, I said pointedly, “
Your
bar? Does that mean Shelley’s entitled to half?”

“Piss with me, bitch, and you’ll get more than you bar-gained for.”

“Free

country,

Dick
. I can stay here and drink as long as I want.” I smiled and angled my chin defi antly, catching movement from the corner of my eye too late.

A determined voice drifted over my shoulder. “Sorry.

It don’t work that way. If Dick don’t want you here, you’re gone.”

Great. Tattooed snake man. “Why? I’m just having a friendly conversation with my old friend, Dickhead.”

“Start

moving.”

I smiled again, wishing for pounds of cleavage to fl ash.

Th

e bouncer crowded closer, but his gaze didn’t dip below my mouth. Or maybe I was beyond the help big boobs could’ve provided me. Ever the girl with the rotten luck.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to walk out on your own or I’ll escort you out, understand?”

“No hablo englesh.”
My pathetic Lucy Ricardo imitation fell fl at as he began to count backwards from ten. At 126

one, he tried grabbing my arm. I twisted away, synapses in my brain frantically trying to formulate a plan since Kevin was the one holding the fi repower.

“Look,” the bouncer said. “You’re pissing me off .”

“Feeling is mutual. So, why don’t you just back away?”

“Cuff the bitch and drag her ass out,” Dick snapped.

“She probably enjoys it rough, anyway.”

I didn’t dare glance away from the bouncer to respond to Dick’s suggestion. “Touch me again and I’ll break your nose.”

Th

e bouncer advanced on me.

I stood my ground.

“For Chrissake, Jake,” Dick complained to the bartender, “tell Helen to take care of this since Roger here is such a pussy.”

“Why don’t you take care of me yourself?” I taunted Dick. “Seems your style, picking on women.”

“Come on,” Kevin said from somewhere behind the bouncer. “Let it go.”

Th

e bouncer gestured to Kevin with his head. “You’d be smart to listen to your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” My brows lifted; a parody of surprise.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“I carded you two when you came in together, remember? So don’t give me that line of bullshit. Time to leave.”

“Fuck you,” I said amiably. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

He reached for me with both hands and I ducked.

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Spinning, I faced him again, pleased with the shock on his face. Before I could demonstrate breaking his nose with my elbow, a ham hock wrapped around my neck. My arms were wrenched behind my back. Searing pain shot in a line down my shoulders, spine, ending at my sacrum. Th e fetid

smell of sour mash assaulted my nostrils.

A gravelly female voice said, “Give me a reason, Barbie. I’ve wanted to kick your bony ass since the minute you walked in.”

Shit. Miss Piggy. Her stranglehold was cutting off my air supply. I went completely still when Dick fi nally moved off his barstool and towered over me.

His silver chain of keys jangled against his heavy thigh. He rocked back on his cowboy boots, surveying me as if I were a serf to his lord. Fear coiled in my stomach, crawled up my throat, and settled in deep, paralyzing my vocal cords. But I wouldn’t allow my gaze to move from his reddened, impassive face.

“Let me tell you something. You don’t come in here,”

he said, gesturing around his domain, “and think ‘cause you have some fucked up history with my ex-wife you got the right to ask questions. You don’t. You give that cunt, Shelley, a message,” he paused for eff ect. “And since you asked so nicely, I
will
take care of you myself.”

Me and my big mouth. I didn’t believe he’d actually hit me with a roomful of witnesses. Scare me maybe, but not use physical force.

128

His

fi st plowed into my stomach, leaving me stunned.

Th

e breath exited my lungs in a rush. Th

e natural urge to

double over and clutch my ribs was prevented by Helen’s iron grip on my throat, stopping any anguished sound that might’ve burst forth.

With the bouncers surrounding us and blocked by Dick’s girth, no one saw Dick hit me a second time. Or a third. Or maybe they did and didn’t care. Th e blows

hurt. I wanted to take that chance to retreat, but no sound emerged.

Apparently enraged at my silence, Dick hit me again.

Harder, clipping the edge of my ribs. As the blood pounded in my ears and my vision swam, a scuffl e erupted behind

me. Kevin. Coming to my rescue? Too little, too late.

A

fi nal double punch and Dick ambled back, cocking his head to study his handiwork; me in pain, afraid, and unable to breathe.

“Get them both out of here,” Dick commanded as he resettled his bulk on his barstool. He turned his yellow back on me, my fate decided, as if the conversation was over.

But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

While Helen squeezed me against her spongy body and dragged me away from Dick, I noticed Roger, the tattooed snake-man, had grabbed Kevin. God. What a rotten pair of crime-fi ghters we made. I should’ve kept the damn gun; then again, I might’ve shot Dick and I’d be headed for jail right now. Not the one in my friendly, quiet county, either. Jeers and catcalls burned my ears on the way out the back door.

My body jarred into Helen’s when she rammed her large ass into the release bar on the steel side door. Her motions loosened the grip around my neck. I inhaled a lungful of crisp night air before she abruptly let go and tossed me to the ground.