Dangerous (17 page)

The ascending dark made the busy street pooled with light spooky and even less safe than it had been earlier. They'd reached a stretch with open lots on both sides of the block, so when Drago said, “I think we should stick together,” Camille didn't argue with him.

Most businesses were already closed down for the night, but a few remained open. Still, no one in the first few places they checked recognized the woman in the sketch.

Back on the street, Camille couldn't help but feel down. “I was really counting on this working.”

“Who says it won't?”

“We've been out here for hours now and we're batting zero. No texts from Justus or Eva or Jackson, either.” And to her disappoint
ment, no IM's from Angel.

“We've only hit a handful of blocks. Same for the others. We don't know how far Noreen ran, remember. We simply may not have gone far enough.”

“So you're a cheerleader now.”

“I'm simply someone who doesn't give up,” he said. “Not when someone's well-being is in jeopardy and I can do something about it.”

The statement hit home with Camille, made her believe there was more to Drago's back story than she'd ever imagined. Made her feel closer to him. Bonded. If only she didn't have those doubts about him that kept haunting her. Had she talked herself into not trusting him because she feared where getting close might lead?

The next shop they entered, Taboo Ink, was blindingly colorful. The walls were drawn with dozens of blown-up tattoos. The guy behind the counter was colorful, too. Every inch of skin Camille could see was covered with ink, and the whites of his eyes were no longer white. They had been tattooed red, making her think he wanted to look like a vampire.

“Can I help you folks? We have a couples' special this week. A twofer.”

“Actually, we're looking for someone.” Camille opened the folder and slipped out a flyer with the artist's rendering.

The man barely glanced at it for a moment. “She hasn't been in here for a year. Maybe longer.”

Camille felt her adrenaline surge. “You know her, then.”

“Do you remember her name?” Drago asked.

“Teresa…” Inkboy shrugged. “Teresa something.”

Camille could hardly believe it—at last, a lead. “What can you tell us about her?”

“That she had makeup permanently tattooed on her entire face. She used to come in every couple of months for enhancements. Especially for her eyes. Said she wanted to wake up looking beautiful for her man. Well, her man of the moment.” He waved his hand. “Always someone different. Truthfully, she kind of went overboard with the touch-ups, but I guess you can see that in the sketch.”

“But she stopped coming in for more.”

“Yeah, it was really odd. I guess she must have moved out of the area or something.”

“Or something.” Camille knew in her gut the woman was dead, had been dead for more than a year.

“Are you sure you can't remember her last name?” Drago asked.

“It's not that I don't remember it. She kept changing it every couple of months when she met some new guy. I don't think she married them. Never saw a ring on her finger. I think she just took their names, so I don't really know what to call her.”

“What about the name she used last time she was here?” Camille asked. “Would it be in your records?”

The man shook his head. “No records. Teresa was a cash-only customer.”

“So she kept switching men.” Camille looked to Drago, whose expression was intent. “When she got tired of Angel—”

“Wait a minute,” Drago interrupted. He asked Inkboy, “Was Teresa in her early twenties?”

“No, no, she wasn't real young, though she tried to look it. I'd say she was in her midthirties.”

Camille gaped at him. Not in her early twenties. Not like Angel's other victims. She met Drago's puzzled gaze. “That was unexpected. Thoughts?”

“Got me.”

“I don't get it,” Inkboy said. “What am I missing here?”

“We're pretty sure Teresa didn't move,” Camille told him. “We think she's dead. Murdered. In the last several months, the bodies of two other women have been found. Women made up to look like this. Only they were in their early twenties.”

Inkboy wasn't looking too happy now. “You cops?”

“Private investigat
ors,” Drago said once again. “We're trying to find a young girl who went missing.” He thought a minute and said, “Maybe Teresa wasn't a girlfriend or wife, after all.”

“An older sister?” Camille said.

“I'm thinking she could have been his mother. Did Teresa have a son?” he asked the tattoo artist.

“Yeah. She was always worried about his getting in trouble.”

“Do you have a name?” Drago asked.

“No, sorry.”

“Wait a minute.” A son didn't make sense to Camille. “Teresa would have been too young to be Angel's mother.”

“Maybe not,” Drago said. “Remember the Realtor said he was in his early twenties. His mother could have been fifteen or sixteen when she had him. No doubt she was worried about him because she knew he joined the Humboldt Lords.”

“You're talking about a gangbanger?” Now Inkboy was getting nervous. “Hey, I really don't know information that could help you. I don't want to get involved in anything gang related. Bad for business. Bad for me.”

No doubt he inked gang members on a regular basis, Camille thought. “One more question, please.”

“Yeah, okay. One. Then you have to leave.”

“Do you have any idea of where Teresa worked or hung out? Maybe someone else knows her and can give us what we need.”

“That's easy. She didn't work on anything but those men. She used to talk about where she was going after I finished with her, I assume to meet her next meal ticket. A bar over on Grand called Diablo Grande.”

Drago's Spidey-sense was working overtime. Upon leaving Taboo Ink, the hair on the back of his neck ruffled. His gaze pierced the shadows all around them, and though he didn't see anything out of place, he rushed Camille into the Trans Am and quickly got behind the wheel. The case had gotten to him big time. He was expecting to find potential trouble in every shadow. No wonder, when one of the Humboldt Lords had undoubtedly killed his own mother, then had sexually abused reminders of her before killing them. Too bad Drago couldn't figure out who he was. He knew most of them, whether personally or by reputation, but he didn't have insight into their home lives.

What the hell had gone down between Angel and his mother that he would kill the woman who'd given birth to him? Maybe they would find out at Diablo Grande.

Or at least they might find the next piece of the puzzle.

A short drive took them to the bar. No street parking on the block, but a sign informed them there was parking in back. Drago took the alley to the lot. He hoped this time they would find information that would lead them straight to the killer and his hostage.

“Have you been here before?” Camille asked.

“No, I've passed the place but I've never been inside.” When he got out of the car, he gave the area another thorough once-over.

“You seem tense.”

“Just wary.”

Sensing no danger around them, he focused his attention on her. She seemed to be on an even keel. No doubt learning that she'd been right about the sketch had bolstered her confidence. He could almost feel the energy ramping through her as they entered Diablo Grande, which was basically a bar with a dartboard to one side and tables in back.

The place was a study in contrasts. While it was a bit on the seedy side, someone had made the effort to brighten the interior with colorful posters and Puerto Rican artifacts—
scary papier-mâché masks with menacing horns, leering expressions, and bulging eyes of half-demon, half-animal creations worn at island carnivals. Kind of appropriate to their mission.

All eyes in the bar turned to them briefly before patrons and employees alike returned to whatever it was they were doing. Not exactly a friendly atmosphere.

“I think we would do best to order a couple of beers before we start asking questions,” Drago said.

“If we're going to drink, we could use some food.”

“Good idea.”

Sitting at the bar, they ordered plates of pork with rice, beans, and plantain along with their beers. The place was filling up, so Drago figured they'd better see if they could find someone who knew Teresa before it got too busy and noisy.

“Can I get you anything else?” the bartender asked a few minutes later when he set plates of food in front of them.

“Not yet, but maybe you can help us out. We're looking for information on a regular who used to come here.” Drago showed him the drawing.

“Sorry, don't recognize her.”

“She may not have been here for more than a year,” Camille said.

“Well, that would be why. I've only worked here a few months.”

“What about other employees?”

“Yeah, sure. A couple of them.” He looked around. “Hey, Perla, do you have a minute? These customers want to talk to you.”

Drago turned to see a waitress wave at them. She was taking an order from a couple of guys at a table. As soon as she finished, she entered the order into a computer, then joined them.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

Drago showed her the sketch. “Do you recognize this woman?”

Perla frowned. “Yeah, that's gotta be Teresa. She don't come in here no more.”

“We think something happened to her,” Camille said, “and she disappeared.”

“Sorry, but it don't surprise me none. She didn't exactly have good taste in men. A couple years back, she hooked up with a bastard who liked roughing her up. And she said he did something to make her kid so mad at her she couldn't get him to forgive her. And he kept getting more and more in trouble. She cried in her beer over that long enough.”

Drago exchanged a knowing look with Camille. Now they were getting somewhere. The son wouldn't forgive the mother. What had happened between him and the boyfriend that had made him hate her enough to kill her?

“Did Teresa tell you what happened?” Camille asked.

Perla shook her head. “Just that it wasn't her fault, and that her boy should just forget about it and straighten up his life.”

“Do you know the boyfriend's name or what he looked like?” Drago asked.

“His name? Jerry? Or was it Jamie?”

“What about his last name?”

Perla frowned. “What was Teresa calling herself then…hm…Cal-something. Sorry, it isn't coming to me. As to what he looked like, I saw him once. Really big guy, both tall and wide enough to fill a doorway. Scary. Mean expression. Dark hair and eyes.” A ding made her turn to look at the window to the kitchen. “Order's up. I gotta get that.”

“Is there anyone else here who knew Teresa?” Camille asked.

“Not working tonight.” She was already rushing off. “Come back tomorrow and ask for Omar.”