Drag Strip (5 page)

“What in the hell is going on, Sierra?” he asked, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main drag. “I've never seen Vincent so upset. Do I know this Ruby?”

I shook my head, futilely pushing my hair back out of my face.

“She's new. I don't think you've been in since Vincent hired her.”

Ernie stopped for a red light and turned to stare at me through his thick glasses.

“Is there anything about this situation, any little thing at all, Sierra, that I ought to know?”

The light changed to green, but Ernie didn't look away.

“Ern, honest, I told them guys all there was to know. I heard her with someone, I don't know who. Then I heard it go wrong. By the time I reached her, she was dead. And, Ernie, I swear to God, it could have been Nailor. I don't know what's going on, but he was there.”

“Shit! Sierra, that isn't good. That's not good at all. You know that's why they're all over you.”

Ernie was driving again, winding his way down Bayou, heading out of town toward the Lively Oaks Trailer Park and home.

“How'd you hear her with all the noise at the track?” he asked suddenly.

“Damn, Ernie, what is this? You sound like a cop. All right. It was between races. I was no more than fifteen feet from the Dumpster when I heard them talking. Is there a problem?”

Ernie didn't look at me, just stared straight ahead and focused on his driving.

“I don't know, Sierra,” he said finally. “I just don't like the way it feels. You're placing a cop at a murder scene and he's denying it. Vincent said the police were asking a lot of questions about you.”

“Oh, that's just Vincent,” I said, “always needing something to worry about. I'm clean.”

Ernie seemed to accept this because he didn't follow up with any more questions. He pulled onto my parking pad and cut the engine.

“Sierra, I don't know you too well.”

I laughed. “Not like I know you, Ernie.”

“Whatever. I just want to give you a piece of advice: Stay out of the cops' hair on this one. They don't do things here like they did in Philly. Panama City's a small town; it takes care of its own. Don't try to tell them how to do their job and don't play cute with them. Call me if you have any further contact.”

“Don't worry, I'll call you. And, Ernie?”

“Yeah?” There was a hopeful tone to his voice, as if he was hoping I might actually invite him in to show my gratitude. I was grateful, but not that grateful. The Oscar Meyer wiener tune started running through my head and the vision of Ernie naked jumped into my mind.

“Thanks, Ern. I'll call you.” For a second his shoulders slumped, but then he grinned and threw the Mustang into reverse.

“That's what I'm here for, Sierra,” he said, “to keep the wolves away from your door.”

I wasn't really listening; my mind was on getting inside and falling into bed. Somehow the pieces would fall together, but not tonight. I stuck my key in the lock and pushed the kitchen door open. I hit the light switch and nothing happened.

“Shit!” The light had blown again, and I'd just put in a new bulb. That's the problem with mobile homes—built cheaper than shit and always unpredictable.

I closed the door behind me and stepped cautiously into the kitchen. My luck I'd trip over Fluffy's dish. I took another step and froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Someone was in the trailer.

From behind me I felt rather than heard a brief rush of air as someone closed the distance between us, grabbing me and placing a strong hand over my mouth.

“Don't move. Just relax and lean back against me. If you move you'll get hurt.”

I struggled a little bit, just to make sure, but the grip he had me in made it excruciatingly painful.

“See?” he said. “Now relax.”

I acted relaxed, but I was planning my next move. Where was Fluffy? What had he done to my dog? We were moving slowly into the living room.

“I'm going to let you go and take my hand away from your mouth,” he said. “Don't scream. You promise not to scream?”

I nodded yes. I wasn't going to scream. I was going to kill his ass.

Six

I like my trailer. It's nothing like the hole I lived in when I was in Upper Darby. The El doesn't rumble by, shaking the windows and screeching to a halt just outside my back door. It's clean here, and aside from my psychotic neighbor, Raydean, the neighborhood is safer than Philly. So, when I considered killing John Nailor, I had to take into account the fact that this action would do considerable damage to my living room and probably ruin my image around the neighborhood.

He had led me through the darkened living room, across the bare floors, and over to the one piece of furniture I allow in the room: my prized down-filled sofa. He sank into the cushions slowly, taking me with him and settling back so that I was pulled tight against him. It was going to be difficult to kill him without messing up the denim finish on the sofa, but perhaps I could have it re-covered.

“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered softly, “and it's pointless.” He eased up on my wrists, and when I didn't move, he slowly took his hands away. I felt him slide his arms back by his side and his body relaxed for a moment; that's when I took my shot.

Just as quickly, he moved, grabbing my wrists and pinning my arms in a crisscross against my chest.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“I told you not to move. It's your fault if it hurts.” He smelled of leather and the faint musk of his cologne. Despite myself, I felt my body respond to him. Damn him.

“Let me go!”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” he said, tightening his grip. Fluffy chose this moment to make her presence known. She tapped her way noisily across the floor, stopping to stretch and yawn. Her tail started going ninety miles an hour when she saw us, and she pranced across the floor and jumped against John's leg.

“Hello, Fluffy.” Fluffy licked his leg and John laughed softly. He was enjoying this.

“Bite him, Fluffy!” Fluffy licked my leg. Always good in a crisis, that's Fluffy.

“I can't stay long. I just wanted to know if you were all right.”

“All right? You son of a bitch! Why did you run off like that? Why did you tell them you weren't there? What's going on? Why didn't you help Ruby?” I was firing the questions off as fast as I could. I wanted answers, and they'd better be the right answers.

“I couldn't help Ruby, Sierra. She was dead when I found her. I was following you when I saw you start running toward the Dumpster. By the time I reached you, it was too late to help Ruby and you were lying on the ground. I didn't know what had happened.”

“Then why did you leave?” My head was pulled tight against his chest, making it impossible for me to look him in the eyes to read the truth. I could feel his heart pounding and the heat of his body enveloping me. What was going on here?

“Sierra, when I came around the back of the Dumpster, I practically fell over you. You were out cold but starting to come around. Before I could do anything else, I saw Ruby. I had to check and make sure she was dead, but I knew really, before I even reached her.”

Tears stung my eyes as I relived that moment. All the feelings I'd stuffed inside threatened to burst out like a dam and swallow me whole. I was trying to keep it inside, but my body shuddered involuntarily, and he felt it. His hands slid up from my wrists to my arms, holding me. Slowly he rocked, ever so slightly, his breath coming softly against my ear.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let it go.” He held me like that as I struggled for control, fighting the urge to give in and cry for Ruby and for how helpless and frightened I'd felt, knowing that there was nothing I could do to help my friend. Maybe if I'd moved sooner, or faster.

“Why didn't you stay?” I asked at last.

“I couldn't.” The image of John with the tiny brunette suddenly flashed into my consciousness and I remembered it all. John standing at the edge of the crowd, looking into my eyes, certain that I was watching, before he turned and kissed her. That was all it took. I took advantage of his loosened grip to break free and face him.

“I'll bet you couldn't stay. You had to get back to your girlfriend. God forbid you should help out a friend with a piece of certain ass waiting for you!”

I'd stung him. I could see it reflected in his eyes, the momentary pained look quickly replaced by another. What was it? A soft, sorrowful look. Compassion? Pity? Well I didn't need that.

“Sierra, I can't.” He broke off and just stared at me.

“I'll bet you can't,” I said with a sneer. I was lashing out at a man I'd trusted with my life a few short weeks ago, and now I wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt. I knew this, and yet I couldn't help myself.

“Sierra, I really need you to trust me right now,” he said. I could tell from the stiffness of his body that he was working hard to stay in control. “I know what you saw hurt you.”

“No, I'm not hurt. Why should I be hurt? Because you didn't stay and help out? Because you made me out to be a liar to the police? Or maybe because you didn't turn out to be who I thought you were?”

His hands tightened on my arms, gripping me so tightly that it was all I could do not to cry out in pain.

“I won't let anything happen to you, Sierra. You've got to believe that.” He stood up, pulling me with him. “I can't stay and I can't explain to you what's going on. We could both be in a lot of trouble if I was seen with you right now.”

The mobile home was still in complete darkness and I was suddenly afraid. What was going on here? John was walking toward the door, gripping my hand in his. He stopped short, turning as he reached the door and pulling me into him. His arms slid around my waist and moved firmly up my back, gripping my shoulders and then pushing me ever so slightly away from him and up against the kitchen wall.

My heart was pounding and my stomach flipped over and over as his hands moved up my neck, gently exploring my face, as if memorizing my features in the dark.

“Sierra,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. It was then that he kissed me. Everything inside my head shut down and my body responded. My hands pushed against his chest, feeling their way up until my arms wrapped around his neck. I let my body mold against him, blending with the warmth of his body.

This was not the kiss I'd seen him give the girl at the racetrack. There was no force, no showmanship. He was gentle but insistent, trying to convince me with his body of what my mind wanted to deny. It was a first kiss. The kind of kiss that signals a beginning, not just the means to an end. He was taking his time and forcing me to enjoy the moment. This John Nailor was the same man I'd come to know. Whatever had happened at the racetrack, whatever he'd done this evening, had to be filed away for later. The man who held me was the one I trusted.

Then he was gone without speaking, quietly opening my kitchen door and slipping away into the night. I listened, standing still and barely breathing, until somewhere in the distance I heard a car start up and I knew he was gone again.

Seven

In the gray light of morning I knew better. I lay awake in my bed, Fluffy beside me, and let all the doubts and emotions come bubbling to the surface. I'd let John Nailor sweet-talk me into forgetting that he'd left me at the murder scene and lied to the police. To top it off, I'd let him kiss me and had pretended that it meant more than the kiss he'd laid on the bimbo at the racetrack. That wasn't the worst of the situation; not by far. If I really wanted to face reality, then I had to look at the bottom-line truth. It was my fault that Ruby Lee Diamond was dead. I had taken her under my wing, taught her the moves, and then turned her loose. Now she was dead.

I had failed to protect my friend and she had died. Therefore it was up to me to make it right by her, as right as things could ever be now. Maybe someone else would've left it to the cops, but not a Lavotini. First off, the cops don't give a good shit about a dead dancer. They figure one riffraff type got whacked by another riffraff. The score, to them, looks even. Second, when you hurt a friend of a Lavotini, you wound a Lavotini. We take care of our own. It's our way. That's why I like dancers; they think like I do about family. You become a dancer, you become part of a family of underdogs. We hang tight and tough. So whoever killed Ruby was asking for me to take them on, to avenge her death, to right a hideous cosmic wrong. It was my duty, now, to find Ruby's killer.

I staggered into the kitchen, fed Fluffy almost without thinking, and hit the switch on the coffeepot. I am not a morning person. I move through the routine in a fog and only become truly awake sometime after my third cup of coffee. I opened the kitchen door and retrieved the paper, unfolded it, and began to read while the coffee was brewing.

Right off the bat I had two problems. The coffeepot wasn't brewing because I'd failed to set it up the night before. I hadn't set it up because I'd run out of coffee the day before, intending to pick some up on my way home from the racetrack. The second problem lay in the headlines and the picture that lay above the fold on page one:
DANCER KILLED AT DEAD LAKES SPEEDWAY. FRIEND IDENTIFIES SUSPECT.

I read on, wondering who Ruby's friend was who could identify the killer, only to realize that things were moving from bad to worse. The paper, citing an unidentified police source, stated that “Sierra Lavotini, a coworker and friend of Miss Diamond's, told police that she would cooperate fully with their investigation and could identify the suspect by his distinctive voice.”

“Great, Fluff,” I said. “Now, why would Detective Wheeling say a thing like that?” Fluffy didn't answer; instead she nosed at her food dish and seemed disgusted.

“Better chow tomorrow, I promise,” I said and turned back to the article. The police were talking to “several people seen with Miss Diamond earlier in the evening” and “declined to comment further.” Well, fine, put my name out there as the person most likely to identify the suspect and let me hang in the wind. I was starting to boil.