Cereal Killer (2 page)

“So?”

“So
what?
There has to be a more noble way to pay the bills than providing evidence for wives who probably knew they should leave their scumbag husbands years ago.”

‘You could still be a cop, rousting druggies and getting stuck with dirty needles, frisking scanky hookers and chasing scrawny crack heads through back alleys, get-tin’ your favorite T-shirts bled on.... Now
that’s
noble.” Savannah looked across the picnic table at her comrade-in-arms who, in spite of the additional wrinkles and crow’s-feet and the slightly thinner hairline, still had a wicked gleam in his eye when he talked about being a cop. There was still plenty of life in the old dog, and she wasn’t exactly ready to lie down, roll over, and play dead either.

Besides, Dirk was never happier than when he had something to piss and moan about. He lived to gripe.

Savannah glanced around the park, enjoying the rare moment of relaxation with her old friend. Dirk seldom took a day off, and when he did, he usually spent it fishing off the end of the city pier. But the tide and the winds were high this morning, and the pier had been closed, spoiling Dirk’s recreational plans and dashing his hopes of snagging a free dinner.

Hence, Savannah had been graced with the pleasure of his company. And even though his disposition might not be the rosiest or his conversation the most scintillating, Dirk was as comfortable and well worn as her blue terry-cloth bathrobe. And she loved both him and the robe, whether she would have admitted it or not.

In the middle of her savor-the-moment reverie, she heard a mild disturbance on the other side of the park, near the sandbox where the children were playing. A couple of grungy, street-worn guys were standing nose to nose, fists clenched, arguing about something. Because of the proximity of the children, Savannah studied the situation with the eye of a former peace officer. Dirk, too, had laid down his burger and was listening with grudging interest as the argument escalated to a shouting match.

More than one curse floated through the summer air, references to unnatural sexual acts and equally unsavory intimate relationships with immediate family members.

“Damn it. Not on my day off,” he grumbled, rising from the bench. “And I know one of those idiots, too. The blond one’s a CI of mine.”

Reluctantly, Savannah left her own lunch to the mercy of marauding seagulls and followed him as he strode across the grass toward the pair.

“One of your informants?” she said, running a couple of steps to catch up with him. “Did he ever give you anything worthwhile?”

Dirk snorted. “Naw. He just rats out anybody who’s on his shit list, anybody he wants to get even with.”

“Hmmm... he’s not long for this world if he keeps doing that. Somebody’s bound to punch his time card.”

“Not soon enough to suit me.”

As they reached the middle of the park, the tall, skinny blond guy spotted them and abruptly left his opponent, a husky black fellow dressed in leather garb, draped in chains, and bristling with silver studs.

“Hey—hey, you, Coulter!” the blond yelled as he hurried toward Dirk and Savannah. “Come ’ere! I got a complaint to make!”

The children in the sandbox had stopped playing and were watching with their concerned mothers as the guy ran up to Dirk and grabbed him by the arm.

“Let go of me,” Dirk said, shaking his hand away. “What’s the matter with you, cussin’ like that in front of women and children? You got no couth?”

“He ripped me off! That dude sold me bad rocks, man. I want you to arrest him.”

At the word “arrest,” the dude in question began to I not-so-nonchalantly stroll away in the opposite direction.

“Go get him, man! He cheated me out of fifty dollars, cuz. Fifty big ones! That’s gotta be a felony, right?” Dirk fixed him with an evil eye. “What are you telling me, you moron? That somebody sold you some bad dope? Is that what you’re trying to say to me?”

Savannah grinned. Even the slowly retreating guy in leather had a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, man!” the blond wailed, holding out his open j palm, which contained a couple of tiny wads of cellophane plastic, wrapped around small cream-colored squares of something that looked like soap. “He sold me macadamia nuts, man! Fuckin’ macadamia nuts instead o’ rocks! What does he think I’m gonna do with these... make friggin’ chocolate chip cookies? I ain’t no Mrs. Fields, man! Lock him up, Detective! But get me my fifty dollars back first.”

Dirk stared down at the bindles in the guy’s hand for what seemed like forever. Savannah stifled a snicker.

Then Dirk growled and batted them out of his hand. The misnomered contraband sailed through the air and landed in some nearby shrubs.

“Are you stupid or just plain dumb?” Dirk asked him. He grabbed him behind the neck and gave him a shake like he was a puppy who had just piddled on the good rug. “You want me to intervene because you got ripped off in a drug deal? You expect me... on my day off, no less... to arrest some guy for selling you macadamia nuts instead of rock cocaine? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Well... I...”

‘You come here to a city park, where mothers bring their babies to play, and you make a damned drug deal, and you have the nerve to complain to me when you get ripped off? Why, I oughta—”

“Actually...” Savannah said, stepping between them, “Dirk, you oughtn’t to. Really...”

She nodded toward the dozen or so wide-eyed children and their mommies who were hanging on every word.

Dirk released his informant, who seemed to quickly realize that this situation wasn’t going at all the way he wanted. Not only was the police detective not interested in dispensing any justice his way, but his dishonest dealer was about to leave the park.

“I can’t believe this,” the blond sputtered. “So much for ‘protect and serve,’ huh? So much for keeping the peace and all that crap.”

He left Dirk and rushed over to the shrubs, where he retrieved his bindles. Then he hurried after the guy in the leather jacket, who was waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street and exit the park.

“Can you believe that?” Dirk said, watching him and shaking his head.

“Oh, yes. I believe anything. That was a close one, huh, buddy?”

Dirk nodded. “No kidding. If they’d actually come to blows I’d be spending my day off dragging them to the house and doin’ fives. The last thing I want is paperwork when I’d rather be fishing.”

“Or hanging out with me if the pier’s closed.”

He gave her a sideways grin. “Yeah, or hanging with you.”

From the other side of the park, they could hear the blond yell, “See if I ever buy anything from you again, you asshole!”

The black man slowly turned back toward him. “Huh-oh,” Savannah said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about...”

“What’s the matter, you cantly-ass pimp?” the blond continued. “Did that crack-whore mamma of yours use up all of your stash? Is that why you’re out sellin’ macadamia nuts instead of the real thing, huh?”

Dirk sighed. “Eh, shit.”

Savannah nodded. ‘Yep.”

Less than four seconds later, Dirk’s least favorite confidential informant was on the ground, getting the daylights pummeled out of him by an angry dope dealer who didn’t seem to mind at all that a police detective was casually making his way toward him across the park lawn.

Savannah strolled along beside Dirk, her arm laced companionably through his. They looked like a couple of old folks taking their daily constitutional as a few yards away fists flew, along with colorful curses, bits of spit, some handfuls of hair, and finally... a bloody tooth.

“I’ll help you fill out the fives,” she told Dirk in her best consoling voice. “You just dictate and I’ll type.”

“You’re damned right you will,” he replied. “It was your idea to have lunch in this friggin’ park instead of the safe, trouble-free confines of my car. You owe me, girl.”

Sitting in her cushy, wing-back chair with its cabbage rose-print chintz, her feet propped on the matching ottoman and warmed by two black cats, one on each side, Savannah was at peace with the world. Or at least, she would have been except for the pile of past-due bills in her lap that needed attention. Unfortunately, they needed more than just her attention; they needed paying. The creditors had already sent the polite green and yellow versions. But more than one of these not-so-friendly reminders bore threats in bold red ink and the occasional exclamation mark—all designed to strike terror in the heart of the delinquent bill-payer.

But Savannah wasn’t terrified. When sitting in her favorite chair, feet warmed by purring, sleeping cats, the most she could muster in the way of negative feelings was mild depression and a modicum of embarrassment. Someday this private investigation business of hers would start to pay off. Someday. Some way. Somewhere... over the rainbow.

Looking across her living room, she watched as Tammy Hart, her friend, assistant, and crime detection protégée sat studiously at the computer on the rolltop desk in the corner and surfed the Internet. Tammy seemed to think that if she searched long and hard enough, she would eventually find some jobs for the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.

Not knowing diddly-squat about the Internet, Savannah had her doubts that Tammy’s efforts would pan out, but if the kid wanted to look, she was welcome to it Long ago, Savannah had realized that Tammy didn’t hang around for the occasional moneys Savannah was able to shuffle her way. Like Savannah, Tammy truly enjoyed the work, when it came along. Tracking down missing kids, locating long-lost loved ones, and occasionally getting to nab a really bad guy made the dry times worth it.

Besides the joys of nailing a bad boy, and occasionally a bad girl, the two women had something else in common—an unexpected friendship. Unexpected because they couldn’t have been more different.

Ten years younger than Savannah, Tammy was a California golden girl, with sun-bleached, long blond hair and lean, tanned limbs. She was also a computer whiz and a rabid health nut.

On the other hand, Savannah had dark curly hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion and was both technologically and dietetically challenged. Savannah’s definition of a megabyte was a mouthful of See’s cantly or a Mrs. Fields cookie. As a result, her limbs weren’t particularly lean... or any other part of her for that matter.

Once, years ago, she had hated Tammy for wearing a size zero and a half. But Savannah had come to terms with her own overly voluptuous body and now only hated Tammy occasionally... like when they were trying on clothes in the Victoria’s Secret dressing rooms.

“So, Dirko’s coming over tonight, huh?” Tammy asked without turning away from her screen.

“Sure he is. There’s a heavyweight bout on HBO at nine. He’ll show up at eight, hoping that I’ll feed him.”

‘You’ll feed him. You feed every living thing within a mile of you.”

Savannah chuckled. It was true; Southern hospitality demanded that nobody grow faint from hunger in the presence of a Reid woman.

“Why doesn’t Dirko watch the fight on his own TV?” Tammy wanted to know. “He mooches off you too much.”

“It would only be mooching if I minded. I don’t mind. Usually,” she added, thinking of all the times Dirk had finagled her out of a free burger or hot dog when they’d worked the streets together. “Besides, Dirk doesn’t have HBO. He doesn’t even have cable, for heaven’s sake.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. No-frills Dirk.”

“Eh, what do you expect from a guy who thinks that the ultimate experience in fine dining is supersizing his burger and fry order?”

Tammy glanced at her watch. “Seven-thirty... I think I’ll split.”

“Don’t want to hang out and watch two men beat the crap out of each other?”

Tammy shuddered. “And listen to Dirk screaming at the top of his lungs about jabs, cuts, and head butts? No, thanks.”

Savannah watched her shut down the computer. “No luck finding work?”

“Not unless we’re ready to become bounty hunters, chasing dirtbags who’ve jumped bail. There seem to be a few openings for those if your name’s Bubba and you’re six feet four and weigh three hundred pounds.”

“Shows what you know about bounty hunting. Sure, there are some big, nasty hunters named Bubba, but I’ve met others who were female and looked like you, girlie-girl. And they weren’t chasing just the dirtbags. Most hard-core criminals know the drill, and they’ll show up for court. They’ve been through it all before, done their time, got out, re-offended, and landed back in the system. It’s the scared welfare mother who wrote bad checks for groceries who takes off. She’s terrified, not knowing what to expect, thinking her life’s over. Let somebody else track her down. I’m not that desperate yet.”

She glanced down at the stack of bills in her lap, then around her modest house. The lights were on. In the kitchen and in the bathroom the water was running. The mortgage payment was only three days late, and the refrigerator was well stocked.

Something was bound to come along soon. It always did.

“Thanks for coming over,” Savannah said, rising and walking Tammy to the door. “Sure you don’t wanna hang around and say hi to Dirk?”

Tammy made a face, reminding Savannah of a kindergartner who had just heard the name of her seven-year-old brother mentioned. ‘Just tell him I said, ‘Sit on a tack... or a railroad track.’ Tell him to eat an apple with a big worm in it and chew thoroughly. Tell him—”