Gypsey Blood (5 page)

He jerked upright and went all bug-eyed.

She got into his face and lowered her voice. “Now, get your skinny little ass home to your mother before I haul you downtown and toss you in a cell with Bad Ass Benny.”

He lurched backward and pulled his camo-jacket tighter.
“Yesh, ma’am.”

“I see you on these streets, in this condition again, and more than your ass will be swinging with the guy we call Bab’s. Got it?”

“I hear
Mama.
. . she callin’.” He reeled away, fast.

Rita hoped she had scarred the kid for life, but had her doubts.

“Laugh, Sully,” she said. “I hope that steaming coffee you’re drinking right now sucked up into your nose.”

The night grew colder. Rita hadn’t been hit on in over an hour, and she ached all over. She paced the block trying to work some warmth into her frozen limbs. Shooting pains ran from her arches to her calves, and her lower back burned. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on her couch in front of the fireplace, snuggle in her afghan, and sip a glass of red wine.

A piercing scream echoed from the alley between Red’s Bar and The Totem Pole. Adrenaline shot through her veins. Jesus, it’s the Ripper!

Rita yelled for Sully, folded her fingers around the Glock in her purse, and headed toward the mouth of the dark alleyway. She bent low near the entrance,
then
eased around the corner. A cat yowled,
then
leaped to the ledge above her head. Rita jerked and flattened her back against the cold bricks of the building. Tiny feet scurried across her shoe. She gasped and kicked out her foot. The glare of headlights behind her swept the overflowing garbage cans, creating a macabre dance of shadow and light against the walls. Brakes squealed. A car door opened. She didn’t turn to look, instead she hugged the rough bricks and slid further into the alley’s depth hoping to spot the Ripper. Quickly, she hunkered down behind a
trashcan,
the rancid smell of old grease turned her stomach.

“I’m here,” Sully said, crouching behind his open door, the car’s headlights left on. “Wait, Rita. Boulet told us not to go it alone.” Sully tipped a flashlight beam around his door to sweep over the trashcans, the brick walls, and then his light flashed on the green dumpster twenty feet ahead on the left. He lowered the beam to the cement. A woman’s bare legs protruded from behind the large green bin.

Rita’s eyes darted from side to side, watching for any slight movement in the shadows.
Nothing.
Every nerve in her body strung tight, she bent low to approach the dumpster.

Tires skidded behind Sully’s car. A door opened, and running footsteps approached her. A firm hand folded over her pistol while the other held her arm in a vice-like grip. She yanked away, spun, and looked up into heated eyes. “Don’t ever hold onto my gun arm like that again.”

“Then next time follow orders,” said Matt.

Hank’s Crown Vic squealed to a stop after entering the other end of the alley. He probed his flashlight above and into every nook and cranny, holstered his weapon, then joined them.
“Nada.”
  

Rita rounded on Hank. “You left Della alone?”

“Get serious. She’s in the Riverfront Bar. Driscoll’s sitting in a booth with her.”

 
Relieved, she joined Matt who had squatted to inspect the naked woman lying on the cement. He placed his fingers on her neck.
“Gone.”

The woman’s head lay twisted at an unnatural angle. Red festering burn-rings covered her chest. Her jaw was crooked, broken. Blood pooled under her blonde hair. Matt swung his flashlight beam up the side of the brick building.
“Tossed.
Bounced off the dumpster.”
He shook his head. “Someone did a hell of a number on her.”

Rita paced in front of the dumpster, her throat burning with anger.
“Crazy bastard!”

“But not the crazy bastard we’re looking for,” Matt said.

Sully called in the scene and requested an immediate search of the surrounding buildings,
then
left with Hank to start sweeping the apartments above until the uniforms arrived. Rita ripped the flashlight from Matt’s hand and knelt near the woman’s face. She slipped a hand under her coat, hiding her intention. The crystal radiated in her fist. She studied the girl’s open eyes, aware that Matt watched her every move.

Big J’s reflection, one of the roughest pimps running a stable in this end of town, showed in the girl’s open eyes. What the fuck? Rita blinked and peered closer.

Rita shoved the light back at Matt and walked away. She called in a “be on the lookout” to the chief. He’d have dispatch issue the BOLO and assign two other detectives to Big J. She continued to the end of the block. Anna had been right. The crystal hadn’t lost its power. This made no fucking sense. Why did the crystal decide to work now? The question bounced around in her mind, giving her a headache. She rubbed her forehead to ease the tension.

The units arrived and sealed the crime scene.

Matt walked to her. “It’s a wash for tonight, let’s call in our troops. All the uniforms on the scene will keep our man away.” He took her hand. “Damn, your fingers are like ice.” He grabbed both her hands and rubbed them between his, the friction warming more than her fingers. “It’s late. Let me take you back to your car at the station. You look wiped.”

She let her shoulders slump. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

The SUV’s seat cushioned her sore muscles. Rita let her head fall back on the warm headrest with a deep sense of relief and closed her eyes. Matt turned up the heat, and delicious warmth flowed over her legs. A whisper of breath brushed her cheek, a hand slid over her waist. Her eyes flew open.

He laughed. “I’m just putting your seatbelt on. Don’t panic.”

Rita inhaled deeply and caught the faint scent of spice, pine, and man. His nearness tempted her to lay her head on his broad shoulder, cuddle, and sleep.

The grin he flashed…well, for a moment she could have sworn he had read her thoughts. She sighed with frustration.

They pulled up to the station and he walked her to the Rover. “Lock your car doors. You’re still dressed like you’re ready for action.”

The chilly car seat sent gooseflesh up the back of her thighs. With the door open, she quickly turned the key and hit the heater. When she glanced back up at him, she found his eyes devouring her from the top of her blonde wig, down her legs, then back to rest where the hem of her skirt barely covered her bikini panties. She cocked her head. “What?”

Matt shook his head, took a deep breath, and groaned.

Her gaze strayed to the noticeable bulge in his jeans. She lifted her eyes to meet his. That sinful smile surfaced on his lips again.

“Watch your legs.” He shut the Rover’s door and walked back to his SUV.

Chapter Six

A light sprinkle of rain dotted the windshield. The neon lights along the strip winked within the thin tendrils of mist. “Let’s hope for better luck tonight, Old Man.”

Sully nodded and stopped the car at the corner, in front of Red’s Bar and Grille. Before she got out, Sully clutched the sleeve of her pink plastic raincoat. “Hey kiddo, our player may have had eyes on the scene last night. You watch yourself out there, hear me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”
She patted his scruffy cheek. “Now use those wonderful deductive powers that you keep hidden under all that gray hair and figure out why I didn’t wear a wig tonight and changed my outfit.”

He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Let’s just make like I’m another john dropping you off. I’ll ride around the block and find a parking space across the street.”

“And you make sure your speed dial on your cell is set, and that your flat ass is in gear ready to move if our guy does show.” Rita slid out of the seat.

The tote hung loosely from her shoulder as she strutted along the sidewalk. The faint haze drifted in the air, the dampness curled the edges of her long, dark hair. Hookers stood under awnings or wedged in doorways to keep warm. Three working girls walked across the street, braving the misty cold.

After a half an hour of freezing, Rita wished she had worn leotards along with her barely-there skirt. She leaned against a lamppost and cursed under her breath.

A crash of rending metal shattered the night. Rita jerked upright and stepped toward the racket. Before she walked twenty feet, she turned and noticed an old, rusty black van had cruised to a stop at the curb. She tapped the mic at her waist twice. “Hey. I’m going to walk back to a van that stopped. That earwig better stay glued inside your ear.”

As Rita drew nearer, a man slid over to the passenger side and opened the window. He leaned out and flashed a roll of bills.
The sketch.
It was him! The crystal froze on her skin.

The man wasn’t bad looking, even with the noticeable bump on his nose. He wore a dark blazer, had the defined widow’s peak, his hair graying at the temples. But, his broad smile gave her the willies.

“
It’s
fun time,” she said aloud so the mic would pick up the pre-arranged code words. She glanced over her shoulder hoping to spot Sully. Rita shivered, clenched her coat tighter, and took her sweet time sauntering closer to the open window.

“Hello, handsome.” She glanced up and down the street. Come on you guys, roll it!

“What’s your pleasure?” she stalled. “BJ in the front seat, thirty. Though I bet we can have a lot more fun at a motel. Only set you back a couple C’s.”

“Come. Get into the van. We will discuss our evening together.” His voice sounded hollow, as if speaking through a long tube.

Rita’s stomach jittered while she waited for Sully and the units to rocket down the street. She was gonna kill those assholes. The traffic seemed to have stopped. No backup was in sight.

She leaned over the window. “Ah, or tell me something, sugar. How would you like to play out one of your little ol’ favorite fantasies?”

What the hell was taking them so long? It had been a good two or three minutes since she signaled. Screw them. I’ll take him myself.

“Hold it a sec, hon, my shoe strap is loose.” She stepped back near the rear wheel, smiled at the man, and stooped over. Her fingers flexed to reach inside the bag to grab her weapon. She’d cover the scumbag until the troops arrived.

Before Rita had time to get her fingers on the gun, the man had shot out of the door, yanked her forward, and somehow shoved her headfirst onto the front seat. She skidded over the vinyl bench seat, her nose and cheek hitting hard, blocking her breath for a moment. Rita yelled in surprise. The door slammed shut. She scrambled to sit upright, gagging when she inhaled the dank, moldy scent of the interior. A metal object, hanging from the roof above the mirror, clunked heavy against her head. She swallowed the acrid taste in her throat.

The driver’s door opened and the man slipped inside. One corner of her mind wondered how he could have possibly run around the front of the van so fast.

Rita rubbed her bruised temple and twisted the door handle. It was stuck. She rammed her shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. The window was up. Her purse with the gun lay on the sidewalk. She worked the lock button and slammed into the door again. The impact sent shock waves down her arm to her fingertips. Shit. The van was rigged. Rita looked at the serial killer, her heart banged against her ribs, her breathing short and shallow. Tapping the mic with frantic fingers, all she could do was pray.

 
The man grinned.

Chapter Seven

Streetlights threw flashes of illumination into the van as they moved slowly away from the strip district.

Rita shifted in her seat and gave a quick glance over her shoulder to look out the back window. No one was following. She had to keep it together, play it out.

 
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” She slapped the dashboard. “Why’d you shove me in like that? I don’t go for any of that rough shit.” She swallowed the glob of fear stuck in her throat.

 
“Ah, but a bit of fantasy is what you offered, did you not?” He spoke with a slight accent.