Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (18 page)

My cigarette stopped short of my mouth. “They’ve already identified him?”

“Yeah.” Dale squinted at me. “Din’t no one tell you who got plowed up?”

I shook my head.

“Figures. Damn bureaucrats doan wanna tell nobody nuthin’.”

Both Don and Dale made a harrumph of agreement.

“’Course, it doan look none too good, him bein’

found on your daddy’s place and all,” Dale said.

“Yeah, ’specially not after him ‘n’ Doug got to arguin’ at Chaska’s Feed Store.”

“Then again, some folks ’round here ain’t gonna be sobbin’ Melvin’s dead.”

“True enough.” Don spit a wad of tobacco in the snow and reached for his can of Copenhagen for a fresh dip. “How long you figure he’s been missin’? I sure ain’t heard nuthin’ about it.”

“Me neither. Cain’t recall the last time I seen him.”

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“With the way that blade hit him, and his head danglin’ off his body like a worm on a hook, it’s gonna be damn hard to tell how he died, doncha think?”

“Mebbe. Ain’t all them people CSI specialists now? Looks to me like his head was nearly sliced clean off his body.”

That made me think of how quickly my dad

separated that calf ’s head from the spinal cord and I shivered. “What the hell are you guys talking about?

Who is it? I’m lost.”

Don and Dale exchanged a look.

“I forgot you an’ Doug ain’t on the best terms. You probably doan know. Guy’s name is Melvin Canter.”

Why did that name sound familiar?

Don angled his head at the body still visible in the snow. “That man was your daddy’s hired hand.”

Great.

Sheriff Richards returned for my statement. Darkness approached. Don and Dale and two other neighbors were able to get me unstuck without resorting to chains and winches. They waved off my thanks with good ol’ boy smiles and encouraging pats on the driver’s side door.

As I passed the house I called Trish’s cell phone.

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They were waiting on tests, but it appeared Brittney was fine, despite a mild concussion, whiplash, bruises on her collarbone, and a cracked rib. She’d spend a night in the hospital. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Lucky little snot.

When Trish began to cry, thanking me profusely, I quickly ended the call. My emotions were too raw to deal with hers.

Not a single light burned inside my house. My haven looked dark and unwelcoming. If I had a choice, I’d go someplace else. But I didn’t have a choice.

I fixed a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. Couldn’t muster up the energy to make a grilled cheese sandwich.

At loose ends, I did something I rarely do: I indulged in a long, hot bubble bath.

Cocooned in liquid heat, surrounded by the scent of a vanilla candle, the acoustic tunes of Godsmack, and the relaxing properties of tequila, I was able to put everything from the past couple of days out of my mind.

It was sheer bliss.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

Right after I’d climbed out of the tub, Jimmer called.

“Jules. Lemme talk to Martinez.”

“Hello, Jimmer. Why, I’m just peachy keen, 180

thanks for asking.”

“Shit. Sorry.” Pause. “Well? Is he there?”

“No. Why?”

“Do you know where he is?”

I wouldn’t share Tony’s private number with anyone, not even Jimmer, not to mention maybe Tony wanted his sudden trip to Colorado to stay hush-hush.

“He’s not answering his cell?”

“Nope. I can’t track him down anywhere. Look.

Next time he checks up on you, tell him to call me, pronto. It’s important.”

“Checks up on me? You mean when he checks
in
with me?”

“I meant what I said, little missy. You oughta know you ain’t ever as alone as you think when it comes to someone like him. He takes care of what belongs to him, especially if he ain’t around to do it in person.”

Huh?
“But—”

“Have him call me. Oh, and let’s you and me go out drinkin’ next week. Been a while since I’ve gotten into a knock-down, drag-out bar fight.”

“I don’t
always
fight when I’m in a bar.”

Jimmer laughed. “Right. Pick a day and I’ll clear it with Tony.”

“I don’t have to get his permission to spend time with my friends.”

“Maybe not, but I have to ask him for permission to hang out with you.”

“You’re joking, right?”

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“Wish I was. Later.” He hung up.

Surely Jimmer was mistaken. Martinez wouldn’t do that to me . . . would he?

I selected TM on my cell phone contact list.

Immediately kicked me over to his voice mail. “Call Jimmer. He says it’s urgent.”

No reason to leave a personal message. What would I say? “Guess how many dead bodies I found today? Could you come home, crawl in bed with me, and chase away the nightmares?”

Right. I’d chase away my own damn nightmares, in the form of tequila chasers.

An hour later, I’d curled up on the couch, fuzzy pajamas on, a tumbler of Mexico’s finest in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Things improved slightly at the twilight of the day from hell.

Four solid raps sounded on my door.
At 9:00 at
night?
I flipped on the outside light and checked the peephole.

One of Martinez’s backup bodyguards, a former Cornhuskers linebacker named—no kidding— Korny, stood on my porch. I undid the locks and opened the door. “What’s going on, Korny?”

“Just a routine check Mr. Martinez asked me to do tonight.”

“Why?”

Korny appeared confused. “Because he told me to.”

Talk about a canned response. “Is there something going on that requires me to have drive-by 182

protection?”

“No idea.” He stared at me steadily. “Is everything all right? Anything you need?”

Yeah, to kick a certain man’s proprietary ass.

Outwardly, I smiled with false sweetness; inwardly, hello uber-bitch. “Actually . . . I
have
been craving ice cream. Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey would be perfect. And I’m pretty sure the C-store up the road carries it. You don’t mind picking me up a pint, do you? Oh, and a pack of Marlboro reds.”

Korny’s blocky face made a frowny-caveman-eyebrow squint.

I tried like hell not to smirk.

Finally he said, “Sure, Ms. Collins.”

He headed down the steps to a Blazer with—

surprise!—another Hombres spy huddled inside.

I yelled out, “Korny. I was kidding. I’m not sending you out for ice cream; I’m sending you back to the clubhouse.”

His mouth twitched.

“But if I see another one of El Presidente’s goons here checking up on me? You tell him I’m gonna use that Blazer or his Cadillac or any other car he sends for target practice.”

Korny hesitated, assuming I’d repeat
just kidding
.

This time I wasn’t.

“Understood. I’ll pass along the message. Good night.”

I slammed the door. So much for a relaxing night 183

at home.

No big shocker when my cell phone rang within five minutes. He said, “You hate Chunky Monkey.

And threatening to shoot up one of my cars? Not nice, blondie.”

“Not a bluff. Remember what I did to Little Joe Carlucci’s Corvette?”

“Vividly.”

“That one will look like a door nick compared to what I’ll do to the next spy car I see parked within twenty feet of my house. I am not a fucking pet poodle, and I won’t be treated like I’m under house arrest in my own goddamn house when
you’re
the one who’s gone.”

Silence.

“You don’t get to check up on me, or dictate to me, or decide who I can or can’t spend time with. No one needs
your
permission to be
my
friend, Martinez. Not Kevin. Not Jimmer. Not Kim. So take your bodyguards and shove them up your ass.”

A beat passed. “You done?”

“I don’t know.” I lit a cigarette and swigged tequila straight from the bottle.

“Can I say something?”

“This oughta be stunning.”

“I miss you, too.”

I choked on the booze, the smoke, and the immediate warm feeling in my chest. “That’s
so
not fair.”

“Life rarely is.”

No kidding
. Vernon Sloane’s frozen face slid front 184

and center, followed by the board-stiff and heavily gouged body of my dad’s hired hand. I squeezed my eyes shut to erase the images. No such luck.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”
That I miss you like a limb?

“About all the nasty shit that happened to you today.”

My stomach clenched. “You know?”

“Some of it, not all. I figured I’d hear the rest from you tonight, and I haven’t.” He sighed. “Aren’t we beyond this?”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“I didn’t tell you because you have enough shit of your own to deal with. I don’t want to be the girlfriend who calls you up and unloads depressing stuff. Besides, you don’t tell me anything about what’s going on with the Hombres, so it’s not like
you’re
the only one who’s suffering from nondisclosure.”

“Fine. Now that you’ve gnawed my ass, start talking.”

I didn’t want to. I drank and remained quiet.

“Julie? Come on. I won’t let it go.”

I sighed. “Today turned into the never-ending-what-else-can-happen kind of day. When I came home I just wanted to forget for a while, but instead I get all these reminders that you’re not here to talk to or to help me forget.”

“Wish I was there, blondie.”

“Me, too. Have you been gone a week?”

185

“Nope, not even a full day. I saw you this morning, remember? Been a week since we did more in bed than sleep.”

“Maybe that’s why we’ve been snarling at each other.”

“Gee? Ya think?”

“You mocking me, smart-ass?”

“Yep. Tell me what went on today. Everything.”

“How much time you got, bossman?”

“Much as you need. I’ll make time for you. Always.”

His sweetness was my undoing. I closed my eyes and let it pour out. Martinez was quiet after I finished the whole sordid mess I’d managed to get myself into again. “What?”

“And you’re surprised I sent my guys to check on you tonight? Goddammit, Julie, they should move in with you.”

“Not even funny.”

I heard another male voice in the background.

Our time was up. Strange to think this was the longest phone conversation we’d ever had.

“Sorry. I’ve gotta go.” He mumbled something I didn’t understand and hung up.

One of these days I really had to learn Spanish. I could always utilize new curse words.

I set the security system and shut off the lights.

I peeked out the front window. No sign of a night watchman.

186

Instead of a warm body, the bottle of Don Julio accompanied me to bed. But it did the trick; it knocked me out cold and kept the nightmares away.

187

Evidently my body needed time to heal. I stayed home from work the next day and managed an entire night of uninterrupted sleep.

Early in the morning the thermometer on my porch read a chilly nine degrees. I scraped my windshield and drove to the office.

Didn’t look like Kevin made it in yesterday either.

I checked the messages, shuffled through the mail, doing all the boring shit office drones do.

I flipped on the computer and scanned the headlines for the local online editions. Vernon Sloane’s tragic death headlined the Rapid City paper. The article didn’t shed new light on the situation. Didn’t list me by name as the person who’d discovered the body. Good. I’d had enough press in recent months.

The article went on to say the matter remained 188

under investigation by the Rapid City Police Department.

No family members could be reached for comment. The manager of Prairie Gardens also declined an interview for the story. Then it listed a link to Vernon Sloane’s obituary. I followed it.

His funeral was tomorrow? Amery told us there weren’t other relatives, but two days from aboveground to belowground seemed pretty damn fast.