Golden Trail (14 page)

Merry leaned forward and whispered,
“Wildfire, big man, it’s all over town her Merc didn’t leave your
drive last night.”

Jesus, it was barely eleven o’clock. Fucking
hell, but Natalie Ulrich had a big mouth.

“What I wanna know is, in less than
twenty-four hours, how do you two go from not acknowledging each
other’s existence to Roc spending the night at your house?”

“It was more like thirty-four hours,” Layne
corrected him.

“Whatever, Tanner, how –?”

Layne cut him off. “I was at the Station
when she made her first play on Rutledge.”

Light dawned and Merry sat back on a smile.
“Not good timing.”

“No,” Layne agreed.

“So, you saw the play and decided to deflect
it by smacking Raquel Astley’s ass in the middle of the bullpen on
a Thursday afternoon?” Merry asked.

“Seemed a good way to go,” Layne answered
and Merry’s smile got bigger.

Then he asked, “Now, you wanna tell me how
that leads to her car at your house?”

“We chatted, I explained the faults in her
plan, she saw my logic, we decided to play Rutledge another
way.”

“You gonna let me in on that?”

“Yeah,” Layne said and didn’t make him wait
either. He leaned forward and his voice dropped before he
explained. “She and I are faking a reconcile…” he started then he
went on to tell Merry the entirety of the plan while Merry listened
without saying a word.

When Layne was done, Merry stated, “Gotta
say, not happy she’s involved in this shit at all but at least I
like this better than Roc’s scheme.”

“I do too. An additional benefit is that I’m
gonna make it so Astley hears, and sees, if I can manage it, a lot
of shit that he’s not gonna like. He shoved his piece down Rocky’s
throat, I’m crawlin’ down his.”

Merry’s smile turned cruel. It was a smile
Layne had seen before, not often, but he’d seen it. Merry was a cop
and therefore his sense of justice was highly tuned. But Merry was
Merry and his personal sense of justice, especially when it came to
his sister, was another matter altogether.

Through his smile, Merry whispered, “I’m
with you, brother.”

“Good,” Layne returned. “Then I need you to
do two things. One, brief Dave about this shit and two, give me
intel on how I can hit Astley the hardest.”

“You two don’t move in the same social
circles, Layne.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t find ways for him to
see me and see me with Rocky.”

Merry lifted his chin. “I’ll put together
what I know, e-mail it to you.”

Layne sat back and nodded.

Then he changed the subject. “You got
anything on Stew?”

Merry shook his head. “Zilch. Heard you
talked to Colt and Sully.”

“Yesterday, after I dealt with Rocky. Found
out Colt, particularly, is not a big fan of Stew’s rather than just
generally thinking he’s a fuckwad like everyone else does. They’re
happy to nose around.” He lifted his mug and took a swallow then
muttered, “Even so, it’s lookin’ like I’m gonna hafta give that
time.”

And it was time he did not have nor could he
afford.

“Or, you can let Gabrielle sleep in the bed
she made for herself,” Merry suggested and Layne’s eyes moved back
to him.

“She’s my kids’ mother.”

“I dig that, brother but –”

“She’s my kids’ mother, Garrett.”

Merry closed his mouth and nodded.

Then he opened it and asked quietly, “You
and Roc gonna be able to –?”

Layne interrupted him. “We’re fine.”

“Big man –”

“We’re fine, Merry,” Layne repeated
firmly.

Merry closed his mouth and nodded again but
he didn’t hide the fact that he was far from convinced.

Then he sucked back his cappuccino in one
gulp and slammed his mug on the table.

“Got your back, whenever you need it,” he
said, standing and wiping foam from his mouth.

“I know,” Layne replied.

“Later,” Merry said on a low, short wave,
turned, lifted a chin to Mimi and went out the door.

Then Layne made the decision that, even
though he wanted to pay a visit to Stew at work, try a direct
approach, if he wanted to keep his sons in oatmeal, he needed to
rack up billable hours. And nothing racked up billable hours like a
woman who had money to burn and nothing but time on her hands and
she used that time to convince herself that her faithful husband
was being unfaithful and no matter what Layne said to her to assure
her, she wouldn’t believe it.

So Layne headed to Indy to watch a man eat a
club sandwich on his own while reading the paper. He broke the
tedium of this only slightly by taking photos of that man eating
his club sandwich and reading the paper. Then he headed back to the
office to run off some invoices and print out the digital photos he
took to add to the already fat file at the same time again wishing
he had a receptionist.

Now he was moving through his bedroom
because it was time to pick up Rocky for the game.

He was making his way through the open room
at the top of the stairs when his cell rang. He yanked it from his
back pocket and looked at his display that said “Raquel Calling”.
They’d traded numbers and made plans while at Mimi’s the day
before.

He flipped the phone open and put it to his
ear. “Layne.”

“Hey,” Rocky replied.

“Hey,” Layne repeated as he walked down the
stairs.

“Listen, I have a situation,” she told
him.

He stopped by the fridge and gave her his
full attention.

“What situation?”

“See…” she hesitated, “today hasn’t been the
greatest. I don’t know if I can make the game.”

Shit. She was backing out. This could mean
cold feet and they’d passed the point where she could have cold
feet.

“Roc –”

She cut him off, explaining quickly, “Okay,
so, I had to leave your place early because I needed to get my car
to the mechanics before school. Nothing is wrong, it just needed a
service and Jarrod usually deals with that and he… well, we…
anyway, it’s been too long, it’s four months out on that so I had
to do it.” She took a breath and went on. “It won’t be ready until
tomorrow so they gave me a loaner, which was cool, but that broke
down, if you can believe that. A loaner from a mechanic breaking
down.” She took another breath and continued. “Anyway, Dad had to
come get me, which he did, then I had some errands to run, which
Dad took me to do. But, you know Dad, he lives for football and
he’s been the Bulldog’s biggest fan for the last four decades. He’s
tailgating with Ernie and Spike tonight and I got a call from The
Brendel. I’m on their waiting list and they had someone move out
and I got moved up so I have a viewing, like, right now. Dad
dropped me off and the girl who is showing me the apartment said
she’d take me back to Merry’s. But she just called and said she’s
going to be late and I can’t miss this viewing because if I do
someone else might snatch up the apartment –”

“Rocky –”

“And I gotta get off –”

“Roc –”

“Merry’s couch or my back is going to –”

“Sweetcheeks, shut up a second,” he cut in,
she went silent likely because he figured she was still not a big
fan of him calling her sweetcheeks and why he did. “I’ll come get
you.”

“But, she’s supposed to be here any minute
and she’s not here yet and, if I want it, I have to deal with the
application and–”

“Rocky, I’ll come get you.”

“Layne, if you do, you might miss kickoff
and I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Then I’ll buy you a hotdog at the
game.”

She fell silent and he moved through the
kitchen, snatching his keys from the counter as he headed toward
the garage.

“You got the code for the gate?”

“Three-two-three-seven,” she replied.

“Unit?”

“Unit E, apartment three.”

“See you in five,” he said, having moved
through the utility room and entered the garage.

He was about to take the phone from his ear
when he heard her call, “Layne?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she whispered and then he heard
the disconnect.

He flipped his phone closed thinking he
liked hearing Rocky’s quiet voice saying thanks.

He folded himself into his Suburban thinking
he was glad she left early that morning because she had to do
something and not because she was escaping.

And he pulled out of his garage, down his
drive and headed toward The Brendel thinking about The Brendel.

The Brendel was an apartment complex across
the road and down the street from Layne’s development. He could
walk there nearly as fast as he could drive there. Unlike the
middle to upper-middle class housing that surrounded it, it was a
luxury apartment complex. Rents were high because the apartments
were sweet. So sweet, Layne had seen them on the internet when he
was looking for a place prior to moving home and he’d considered
it. But the waiting list was seven to twelve months long, taking
into consideration when tenants moved out, which wasn’t often, and
he didn’t have that long to wait. It was easier to find and close
on a house than get into The Brendel.

Not including the three bedroom, duplex
townhomes, each unit and each of the three apartments in the units
were different and all the layouts unusual, built with an eye to
quality and style. They were appointed with top-of-the line
everything, appliances, carpeting, washers and dryers, bathroom
fixtures. There was a full gym onsite with a clubhouse and an
outdoor pool that had an expansive cooldeck and an abundance of
lounge chairs. The landscaping was effusive and colorful. The
complex was gated, they had twenty-four hour onsite security and
each apartment had its own private entrance and alarm. Rents for a
two bedroom unit were double the highest rents found elsewhere in
the ‘burg. The Brendel was the hot home destination for trendy,
high income twenty- and thirty-somethings and double-income-no-kids
couples.

It was also where Harrison Rutledge lived.
Harrison Rutledge who had a cop’s salary, an ex-wife, a kid and a
child support payment that meant his wife had gotten herself a very
good attorney when she dumped his ass. Therefore, his apartment
alone tagged him as a dirty cop on the take which was a stupid
mistake, something, Layne had found, Rutledge was not averse to
making. And it was that something that made Layne go in too fast,
too hard and get ambushed doing it. He’d thought Rutledge was a
fool, he’d gotten cocky and he’d paid for that mistake by getting
drilled with three bullets.

He stopped at the gate and punched in the
code, his mind moving to wondering how Rocky circumvented the
waiting list. It was likely she greased some palms. Viewing an
apartment at The Brendel after being on the waiting list for two
months or less was a minor miracle.

With the help of well-situated and
attractive signage, Layne found unit E and saw a sporty BMW parked
in the three undercover parking spots allocated to apartment three
which was up a flight of steps around the corner from the ground
floor entrance to apartment two.

He parked, got out, slammed the door, beeped
his locks, walked to the unit and up the steps.

He barely knocked before the door was thrown
open and a woman with sleek blonde hair and more perfectly applied
makeup even than Rocky’s, wearing a stylish and obviously expensive
business dress stood in the door. Her head jerked when she saw
Layne then she did a head-to-toe and her face changed.

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Astley’s friend,” she
greeted, putting a slight emphasis on the word “Mrs.” as she leaned
in giving a much stronger emphasis on the fact, with that one move
and after having taken one look at him and having no clue who he
was, she was coming onto him.

“Yep,” Layne replied, moving into her before
she moved out of his way, effectively forcing her out of his way.
Then he walked into the apartment without saying another word and
making it clear he was there for Rocky.

He did this because she was too young for
him and Layne had passed the point where he wasted time training
the women he took to bed. He also did this because she appeared to
have less body fat than he did and he liked the women he took to
bed to be
women
with
women’s
bodies. He didn’t fuck
bags of bones. Hard and pointy didn’t feel good, soft and round was
a fuckuva lot better. He knew men who liked that, he just wasn’t
one of them. He also did this because he didn’t like aggressive
women. There were ways for a woman to tell you she was interested
without her making the first move. To Layne, a woman who made the
first move was struck off instantly, even if he was attracted to
her. He made the moves. And lastly, he did this because her slight
emphasis on the word “Mrs.” was offensive. Her knowing Rocky for
all of five minutes and him for all of one second, she didn’t get
to remind him of Rocky’s marital status.

He stopped and looked around thinking
instantly that the apartment was the shit. White walls, two story
ceilings and floor to ceiling, full-wall windows in the compact but
inviting living room that also had a classy gas fireplace. He could
see his development from the windows and there was a balcony
running the length of the living room that you could get to through
double doors with highly-designed, shiny silver handles, doors that
were set seamlessly into the windows. A staircase with a closed
railing in stucco white. A deep, long state-of-the art kitchen
tucked under the top floor, stainless steel appliances, shining
black granite countertops and cool as shit lighting. A breakfast
nook around the corner by the kitchen set in a semi-circle of
windows extending out from the apartment like an enclosed balcony
over which was a complicated, modern, multi-light chandelier.

“You like?” the blonde asked from close
beside him but he caught movement at the top of the stairs, he
looked up and saw Rocky walking down.