Blood Ties (13 page)

I hit knees and hands. My left palm scraped against the graveled parking lot, imbedding dirt and rocks beneath my skin. Clouds of dust kicked up and blocked my 130

already wavering vision. Th

e stinging sensation galvanized

me into action and I spun, crab-walking as fast as I could away from the sound of Helen’s advancing footsteps. Out here the bar sounds were muted. Pain would come later, after the adrenaline rush wore off .

“Where you goin’?” Dust rose with every heavy footfall.

I didn’t answer, just held my breath and kept crawling.

“Got nothing to say? Funny that big mouth of yours suddenly ran out of smart ass remarks. Like it closed up or something. Too bad. I was looking forward to a shot at shutting it.”

A greasy laugh slipped forth, and my insides rolled with a combination of fear, Dick’s sucker punches, and too many shots.

“You ain’t so tough or clever when you’re crawling on the ground like a dog, are ya?” she sneered.

My shoulder hit the metal side of another out-building and I scrambled to my feet. Th

e sharp pain traveled up my

spinal cord and short-circuited the quit-while-you’re-ahead section of my brain.

“I’ve

been

offi

cially removed from the bar. Now you’re providing me with an escort to my car?” I shook my head with forced dejection, sliding two feet to the right. “Sweet of you, Helen, but really, I can manage.”

“How you’ve managed not to get that pie-hole kicked in before now is a fucking miracle.” She shuffl ed closer.

“We ain’t done yet.”

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When she spit out the side of her mouth onto the ground — a bad-guy move from a spaghetti western — the urge to laugh nearly undid me. “You really get your jollies out of this intimidation crap, don’t you? What do you want? Money?”

I made a big show of patting my front and back jeans pockets while I moved sideways.

“Sorry. Fresh out of cash.”

Helen’s rage was apparent, even in the near dark.

“Fuck you and your money. I want to see you cry.”

Taking another large step to the right, I cleared the side of the building. In the open lot I had better odds of not getting cornered and beaten to a bloody pulp. Still, my mouth ran unchecked from pure fear. Been one helluva long time since I’d actively participated in, or picked a bar fi ght. “If I get another up close and personal look at your face, then I’ll guarantee you I’ll cry.”

I wasn’t positive, but I thought I heard a snicker somewhere to my left.

“Shut up,” she yelled as she charged me.

For a fat chick, Helen was surprisingly agile. I’d have bet fi fty bucks she’d aim for my center and try to knock me to the ground. If she parked her large carcass on me, I’d be a Swedish pancake.

But her punchbowl-sized head smacked into my chin; I saw a profusion of stars, not the ones twinkling above my head. I fl ew back, wind-milling my arms to retain my 132

balance. Still upright, I immediately shifted into a left-side fi ghting stance, my left hand blocking my face, my right hand waist level, ready for battle.

She

swung.

I

blocked.

She swung again. Harder. I blocked again, but followed through by cuffi

ng her jaw hard with my right.

She stumbled, partially from the force of my strike, but mostly in shock that I’d actually landed a blow. Chalk one up for martial arts Barbie. Changing tactics, once again she hunkered down and rushed me.

But this time I was ready. As soon as she got close enough, I dropped to the ground and rolled, sweeping her off her feet. An ungraceful trip and she face-planted in the dirt. Her howls were muffl

ed as she dragged herself on her

elbows, simultaneously crawling away and protecting her ugly face in her hands.

I jumped up and the motion shot a bolt of pain to my ribs. Blood trickled down from the corner of my mouth where her head had split my lip open.

She rubbed her hand under the meat that used to be her nose.

Helen

fl inched when I leaned close — but not too close — to see her bloodied face. “Who’s crying now?”

My arms were jerked behind me for a second time.

With my adrenaline running high, I didn’t wait to react. Th

e tread of my boots raked down the attacker’s 133

shin, my fi ngers clawed into the closest skin I could fi nd; a groin. I squeezed the testicles hard, giving the whole package a decisive twist.

No big surprise I was released instantly. Keeping my hand high to block blows, I turned, executing a swift kick at the kneecap, then used my fi sts to slam into his ears, as if I were playing the cymbals.

Roger, the tattooed snake-man, writhed to the ground.

Still in a defensive position, I glanced around, searching for Kevin. Gravel crunched. Kung fu man stepped from the shadows, gesturing to Kevin with Kevin’s gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Helen struggle to her knees.

Roger was out for a while. But still we were outnumbered and outgunned. Outgunned by our own gun. Sounded like the smarmy title of some country western tune.

Kung fu man pointed the gun at Kevin. “No more of that kind of shit. Nice technique, though, what was that?

Sabatka slap?”

I bowed. I couldn’t help it. Hurt like a bitch, though.

“Looks like we’ve got a situation,” he continued. “I can let you go, or have the cops arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

“I vote for letting us go,” I said immediately.

“Wise choice. But if I do let you both walk without calling the cops, there is a condition.”

Breathing hard, I managed, “What’s the condition?”

He answered with a small laugh and I waited for the 134

punch line.

“Helen gets a free shot at you, blondie.”

Looked like I
was
the punch line. “Why?”

“Because it’d be unfair to sic Roger on you, no matter how tough you think you are.”

Roger, still prone, moaned once.

“So you’re gonna give Helen free rein?”

He shrugged. “My penance. It shouldn’t have gotten to this point.”

“Not my problem.”

“Not true. You made it your problem by antagonizing Dick. She was doing her job.” He angled his head to the dust-covered lump of fl esh sitting on the ground. “Besides, you’re the type of woman she hates. She’ll whine for-fucking-ever that I didn’t back her up. I don’t need to be reminded she got her ass kicked by a skinny white girl. Word gets out? No one will be afraid of her.”

I glared at him and wiped the liquid, blood probably, trickling from my chin. “I win and she gets to hit
me
?

Th

at’s a lousy fucking condition.”

He shrugged again. “Your choice.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“I wait until Roger’s balls aren’t blue, and then the three of us kick the shit out of the two of you, call the cops and,” he said as he spun Kevin’s gun on his fi nger, “I get to keep this sweet piece.”

My laugh, born of fear, bordered on frantic. “You 135

won’t call the cops.”

“Try

me.”

“Julie,” Kevin said calmly, “he’s bluffi ng. Don’t do it.”

I stalled to catch my breath and swore I’d give up smoking after this pack. “Did Dick put you up to this?

Why can’t that lazy son-of-a-bitch fi ght his own battles?”

Had that actually come out of my mouth? Shit. As if my throbbing ribs and aching abdomen weren’t proof enough that Dick had done his fair share of battling tonight.

“He doesn’t have to. Th

at’s my job.” His upper body

shifted fl uidly, while his feet stayed grounded. “What’s it gonna be?”

I opened my mouth and snapped it shut.

“Jesus. You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

Kevin asked.

I didn’t answer him, busy as I was trying to remember if my health insurance covered plastic surgery. Or major dental work.

“One lousy shot, Harvey?” Helen whined as she lumbered to her feet. “Th

at’s not fair . . .”

“Shut up,” Harvey snarled. “If you weren’t such a lard ass, this wouldn’t be a problem.” He directed his glower to me. “So?”

“I’ll give her a shot, but I have a condition too. If her blow doesn’t knock me down, then I get another shot at her.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Kevin muttered.

136

“We’ll see,” Harvey said, nodding to Helen.

Full of false bravado, I fl ung my arms wide. “Take your best shot, Oh Helen of Ploy, with the face that launched a thousand quips.”

Missing my pun, Helen cracked her knuckles.

I rolled my eyes. Had I really been disappointed by the lack of cheesy clichés? I braced myself as Helen approached.

She circled me, heavy breath expelling stale booze; sweat plastered her hair to her forehead.

Th

e sound of a shell being chambered in a shotgun broke the unnatural silence.

All six-foot six of Jimmer Cheadle stepped from the shadows. A Remington 870 pump shotgun pointed at the bouncer. “Step away from her. Give him back the gun, Harvey.”

A startled hush further muted the night sounds.

Th

en Harvey’s high-pitched giggle sent chills up the back of my neck. “Jimmer. Long time no see. Th ese guys’

friends of yours?”

“Yeah.” Jimmer didn’t lower the gun. “What the hell did they do that warranted your personal attention?”

Harvey’s preening at Jimmer’s backhanded compliment made me want to barf. Okay, so maybe the stomach punches were fi nally catching up with me and the adrenaline was wearing off .

“Th

ey,” he said pointing at me, “that one in particular, 137

messed with a customer. Tony’s favorite customer actually.”

“Who?”

“Dick

Friel.”

“Dick Friel?” Jimmer said, shaking his head in disbelief.

I met Kevin’s gaze and he shrugged. One never questioned Jimmer on his connections, but no doubt he got around.

“Yep,” Harvey said. “And you know how Tony feels about Dick. Nothing I could do, man, it’s just my job, nothing personal.”

Jimmer nodded. “Well, I’m sure Julie didn’t know Dick’s status around here or else she wouldn’t have been
stupid
enough to try something like this, right, Julie?”

I held my hands up, palms out, a gesture of innocence.

“I swear I just started a friendly conversation and it got out of hand.”

“Right,” Harvey intoned dryly. His gaze never wandered from Jimmer when he spoke to Helen and Roger.

“Head back inside. Jake and Lee probably need help.”

Helen started to protest but Harvey growled, “Th at wasn’t

a request.”

Th

ey moved faster than I thought possible considering they’d both been limping. Seemed Harvey was much scarier than me.

“Return the piece,” Jimmer repeated.

No one-handed toss for Harvey. He politely handed it back to Kevin — barrel fi rst.

138

While Kevin re-holstered his gun, Jimmer lowered the shotgun and came to stand beside me. “You okay?”

“I guess. Been thrown out of better places than this.”

His mouth twitched. “I hear ya. Not your usual hangout. Mind telling me what the hell are you two doing here?”

“Working a case.”

His black bushy eyebrows rose clear up his forehead.

“Involving Dick Friel?”

“No. Samantha Friel.”

Harvey’s head snapped gracefully at the mention of her name. “You were here asking Dick questions about Sam? What? Are you fucking nuts?”

“Why?”

He exchanged a look with Jimmer that wasn’t lost on me. “Ask him.”

I turned to do so but Harvey’s too-soft voice grabbed my attention.

“Another piece of advice, blondie. Don’t ever set foot in this bar again. ‘Cause next time, I won’t be so cooperative.”

“You tell Tony I was here,” Jimmer said.

Harvey

nodded.

Before I blinked, Harvey had disappeared. A stealthy Ninja trick I couldn’t help but admire.

Th

en Kevin was by my side, tipping my face back to gauge the damage. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not much. It mostly stopped now.”

139

“Th

at’s comforting.”

I closed my eyes when he jerked me into his arms and muttered against the top of my head.

He pulled back when I whimpered. “What?” he said.

“My

ribs.”

Yanking up my shirt, his warm fi ngers skimmed down the center of my stomach over my ribcage until my fl esh beaded. “Here?” He sucked in a harsh breath. “Babe, you’re gonna have some nasty bruises.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jimmer pushed closer.

“Dick punched me,” I said as Kevin lifted my shirt higher. “Twice,” I lied, shifting my jaw side-to-side. Not broken, but sore.

“Wrong. It was more like fi ve or six times.”

Back arched, I kept a fi rm grip on a batch of girly sobs that threatened to erupt as Kevin poked and prodded me. I tried a lighter approach, “So, what do you think of the new bra? It’s one of those push-up kinds.”

“Shut up,” Kevin said against my stomach, still testing my ribs for breaks. “I can’t fucking believe he hit you.”

Jimmer hauled Kevin to an upright position before he spun him around. “Dick Friel punched her? How the fuck did you let that happen?”

Kevin twisted out of Jimmer’s grip and pushed him back a step. “Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself that same question?”

My T-shirt slid down to my hips. “Not his fault, 140

Jimmer. Harvey and Roger kept him back while Helen held me. It wasn’t so bad,” I fi bbed again.

Kevin growled at my fl ip response but knew arguing wouldn’t change anything. “Yes, it is my fault,” he said.

“For letting her badger me.” His tone turned fl at. “By the way, where the hell were
you
when Julie became Dick’s punching bag?”

“I hauled ass here as soon as I got Julie’s message.”

“I’m

fi ne
,” I repeated. Playing the blame game was pointless now. I’d suspected what Dick Friel was capable of. Not their fault I hadn’t heeded the warning signs.

“Yeah, well you’re luckier than shit,” Jimmer said.