Chasing Thunder Page 11

  He put the wooden spoon on its rest on the stove and turned to face her. “Yeah?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yeah.”

  He bent his head for a kiss. “I tell you what,” he said against her lips. “You watch the pot, and I’ll head to the store for a movie. Bullets, car crashes, lots of explosions. Your favorite.”

  She laughed. “Sounds perfect,” she said.

  He swatted her on her ass before untying his apron. Minutes later, she heard the roar of his bike tear down the driveway. She stirred the goulash. Baby entered the kitchen to fetch her and Kid something to drink. “What smells so good?” she asked.

  “My grandpa’s goulash,” M.J. answered. Baby walked over to the stove and M.J. offered her a taste from a big spoon.

  Baby indicated her approval with a nod of her head. “Your grandpa was a man of many talents.” M.J. glanced down at her and Baby expounded. “Kid and Snake told me about him.”

  A ghost of a smile danced across M.J.’s face. “Yeah, I guess they would. He loved Joshua Tree.”

  “It’s such a gift that you were able to experience so much with him,” Baby said. “I never got to spend much time with my grandparents.”

  M.J.’s jaw clenched. “Well, I never got to spend much time with my parents, so I guess we’re even.”

  They were in tricky territory and Baby knew it. Kid had already briefed her about M.J.’s troubled family history, so she understood what had made her so hard. “Well, you got us now,” Baby said softly.

  M.J. looked at her without saying a word. Baby smiled, and she found herself returning it.

  They were plating dinner by the time Snake returned. They ate at the table, like civilized people. Then they retired to the living room to watch a movie, like a family. And when it was time for bed, Kid and Baby offered to clean up so Snake and M.J. could turn in early, like a couple.

  It was so idyllic, M.J. should have known it wouldn’t last. Her phone buzzed at five o’clock the following morning. It was an unknown number, which she would normally let go to voicemail. But with everything that had happened with her tweaker from the streets, she had a gut feeling she needed to answer. She could barely understand the distraught woman on the other end. “Rose?” she finally asked.

  “It’s gone, M.J.,” Rose wailed. “It’s all gone.”

  “Slow down, I can barely understand you. What’s all gone?”

  “Roses N’ Palms,” she answered, which unleashed another torrent of sobs.

  M.J. bolted upright on the bed. “Wait. What?”

  “They burned it down,” Rose tried to explain, nearly incoherent.

  “They who?”

  “Does it matter?” Rose asked tearfully.

  With a sinking heart, M.J. realized that it did matter, and quite a bit. “I’m coming. Where are you?”

  Snake stirred as she hopped out of bed and slid into a fresh pair of jeans. “What’s going on?”

  She only hesitated a moment. She couldn’t afford the time to explain it. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek and raced from the room.

  “M.J.,” he called, but it was pointless. She was gone.

  Again.

  9. KILLING IN THE NAME

  M.J. stalked through the sterile, bright hallway of the police department, nudging her way through uniformed officers and beleaguered detectives, until she reached the cubicle where Rose Palmer sat covered in soot, a thin blue blanket around her shaking shoulders. “Rose,” M.J. said, and the woman sprang to her feet to throw her arms around her friend. She wept openly and unabashed.

  “It’s all gone. All of it.”

  M.J. held her in a strong embrace. “What happened?”

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t know. It was an inferno by the time my smoke detector woke me up. I had to climb through the window in my bathroom. I saw people jumping from the second story, M.J.,” she sobbed. “It happened so fast, some people didn’t even make it out.”

  “So it’s arson?”M.J.

  Rose nodded. “They think someone used an accelerant.”

  M.J. gulped. Her mind raced as she clutched her friend close. “I’ll figure out who did this, Rose. I promise. They won’t get away with it.”

  Rose shook her head. “It’s pointless, M.J. For every one person doing something good, there are twice as many doing something evil. It doesn’t matter. The war is over and we lost.”

  M.J. couldn’t afford to think that way. It invalidated her entire existence. Worse, it invalidated her grandfather’s. Her eyes fell on the ring she still wore on her forefinger, and oddly it made her think about Baby. “To the people we’ve helped, it matters,” she said softly.

  Rose pulled away. “Well, it’s not my war anymore, M.J.. They’ve taken all they can take from me. I’m done. It’s time to put this shithole in the rearview mirror once and for all.”

  She could hardly argue, given what Rose had lost. Roses N’ Palms had been her entire life. And now it was gone, virtually erased from the landscape. Ironically, the only thing that had escaped the fire was a clay pot full of matchbooks that she’d kept near the door of her lobby, for guests the world over to leave a little something behind. The tradition had started with a fishbowl, but that had filled to the brim decades ago, forcing Rose to buy bigger and bigger bowls, until finally she settled on the clay pot, decorated with festive palm trees. She found it on her last trip to Arizona, and it was like it was made for her. She brought it home and filled it with all the matchbooks and business cards she had collected over the years. It stood like a sentry by the door, all the memories inside protected by a clay lid.

  Now it was the only thing left. Rose burst into new tears every time she looked at it.

  M.J. didn’t leave Rose until she had her set up in a hotel in Santa Monica. She paid for everything she might need, including some food that Rose couldn’t bring herself to eat. After she took a sedative that she had been prescribed at the hospital, she sank into a blissful state of complete unconsciousness, and M.J. left her around noon.

  M.J. headed back to Hollywood to survey the damage and scour the area for any clue as to who might be responsible. Kelly Harris spotted her before she saw him, and was quick to approach.

  “I guess I lost the pool,” he said, smirking, as he stopped in front of her.

  His presence immediately annoyed her. “What pool?”

  “The betting pool. Whenever anything happens in Hollywood, the officers bet how long it will take for the great M.J. Bennett to show her face. I figured you’d be here before the fire department left. I guess I overestimated you.”

  “Fuck you,” she snapped, walking away.

  “Such language from a lady,” he said, falling in step beside her. “But I can understand why you’d be so surly. It’s going to be tough to get a good night’s sleep after this one.”

  She glared at him, her look a warning to tread lightly. But he didn’t care. He saw the line and proceeded to skip gaily across it. “I mean, what’s a street kid worth, really? Some unfortunate gang member runs afoul of the Great Savior of the Streets and he just gets what he’s due. But a middle-aged business woman losing everything she has in this world? That’s got to be a tougher pill to swallow.”

  “Do you have a point, Detective?” she asked, her voice dripping with obvious disdain. “Or are you just trying to fit some official-looking business in between donut runs?”

  He lifted his shirt with one hand, revealing his washboard abs, a chiseled six-pack. “I don’t eat donuts,” he informed her, a self-satisfied gleam in his brilliant blue eyes.

  She glared at him and walked on. “So you’re one of those,” she said, happy to redirect the conversation. He had hit a little too close to home, and she didn’t like it. It was much easier to unleash her anger on him.

  He trotted to keep up. “One of what? A police officer? That’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

  “One of many,” she spat. “But since you are an officer a
nd this is clearly a crime scene, why don’t you do us both a favor and do your job?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he said. “Questioning witnesses is kind of what I do.”

  She swung around to face him. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re harassing me and you know it.”

  He shrugged. “Potato, po-tah-to. You have information I need, and it’s my job to . . . convince you to give it to me.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “If I had so much information, why would I even be here? You don’t need clues when you already know the answers, asshole.”

  “Some mouth. I would expect someone named Bennett to have a healthier respect for law enforcement.”

  She leaned closer. “Fuck. You.”

  He smiled. He got under her skin and he knew it. So he dug a little deeper. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he asked. He caught her by the arm before she could turn away again. “You don’t have an axe to grind. You have a point to prove.”

  “Let me go, Harris,” she told him in a low, deadly tone.

  He stepped closer and strengthened his grip. His voice was equally soft, but smirking and victorious. “And by all accounts, looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Daddy would be so proud.”

  That was it. Her balled fist flew right into Harris’s smug face. Ten minutes later, he was dragging her through the police department to his desk. Landers groaned as he saw them approach, with M.J. in handcuffs and Harris sporting all the evidence of a broken nose.

  He angrily planted her in the seat. “Move and I’ll shoot you, I swear to Christ.” She glared at him.

  “What happened?” Landers asked.

  “What should have happened a long-ass time ago,” Harris muttered. He dropped into his chair and started the paperwork everyone in his department had been too pussy to file. In less than five minutes, he understood why.

  The door swung open and the tall, imposing figure of their superior officer filled the frame. “What the fuck is going on here?” thundered Chief Richard Bennett, who glared at Harris with the same piercing green stare as his daughter’s.

  M.J. rolled her eyes. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. “’Sup, Dick?”

  The older Bennett’s anger filled the room like a dark cloud. “Detective?” he persisted, staring down his nose at Harris.

  It was stealing a little of Harris’s thunder, but he straightened his spine. “Miss Bennett assaulted a police officer and has been apprehended.”

  Richard turned to M.J., who simply shrugged. “You really should keep your mutts on a shorter leash, Dick.” She gave Harris a scalding glance. “And keep them muzzled.”

  “Bring her to my office,” Richard barked to Harris. “Now!” He spun on his heel and stomped down the hall.

  Harris looked toward Landers’s desk, but the older man was rubbing his eyes with one weary hand. With a frustrated sigh, Harris scooted out of his chair and rounded his desk, pulling a triumphant M.J. up by her handcuffs. “You’re gonna get it,” she said in a sing-song taunt.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” he said through gritted teeth. “Use it.”

  They entered Richard’s office, and Harris pushed her down into the seat opposite his wide desk. “Uncuff her, Harris.”

  “Chief,” he started, but Richard’s hardened look silenced him. His jaw clenched, but he did as he was directed.

  Her eyes met his and held them. She smiled sweetly. “Oh, look, Daddy. This mutt’s trainable.”

  Before Harris could retort, Richard snapped, “Leave us.” M.J. watched with her catlike eyes as Harris straightened and stalked toward the door. She didn’t react when he slammed it behind him.

  Richard glared at her. “Were you bored today? Nothing else better to do?”

  “Am I being detained?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath. “You know, I was dealing with enough of this shit while Pops was alive. Now I have to clean up your messes, too?”

  “I never asked you for one goddamned thing. Dick,” she added bitterly.

  “No, of course not. You just force my fucking hand. Do you have any idea how the press would tear us a new one if they found out about you? I can see the headline now. ‘L.A. Vigilante Revealed as Chief of Police’s Daughter.’ That would bury us, and me, especially with all the attention we have on us with this Hard Candy Killer.” He sat back in his seat. “But I guess that’s a win-win for you, isn’t it? You get to show me up and destroy me in one fell swoop. What have I done to make you hate me so much, Molly?”

  “Not. One. Damned. Thing,” she answered.

  He nodded. “Right.” He knew he’d never win with her, his only daughter. His mistakes were too numerous. His weaknesses were too great.

  “Am I being detained?” she asked again.

  “I should, you know. I should just throw your ass in the tank and let you cool your jets for a few days. Maybe you’d take some time to consider how dangerous things are right now. This isn’t some game, Molly. People are dying.”

  M.J. stood. “It’s always been dangerous, Dick. I learned that lesson when I was sixteen years old.” There was a deadly pause before she added, “Or was it four?”

  “So what are you saying? You won’t be happy until you’re in a grave right next to them?”

  She walked toward the door. If he hadn’t detained her by now, he wasn’t going to. This was just the game they played. “And what difference would that make to you, Dick?” she asked before she walked out of his office.

  Landers caught up with her in five steps. She was quickly dismissive. “Please. I’ve had my fill of the LAPD today, thanks.”

  He grabbed her arm. She could tell by the look in his eyes something was wrong. “He’s gone, M.J.”

  “Who?”

  “That kid. Our witness.” She groaned as she leaned against the wall. It had happened just the way she feared. “We thought maybe he got skittish and bolted. Then, with the fire, we thought maybe he returned to the motel and just ran out of luck.”

  She shook her head and answered his unspoken question. “I don’t think he was there.” Normally she wouldn’t give any information to a cop, but Landers was as close to human as any cop she had met, and she trusted him more than most.

  “Here’s hoping one of us finds him before anyone else does.” She nodded.

  She hitched a ride with Landers back to the motel, where she prowled for a little bit, but it was obvious the police had already picked the place clean. She returned to the hotel to sit with Rose, who was still sleeping off her pill.

  M.J. wasn’t exactly sure why she thought to look into the clay pot. Maybe she, like Rose, wanted to rewind the clock. She wanted to go back in time to when the place stood tall and proud, a sanctuary for all those who were lost or passing through.

  The contents inside had shifted during its transport. M.J. smiled as she pulled out matchbook after matchbook. There were more business cards than matchbooks, but most of them had sifted toward the bottom. Only one sat toward the top, tucked into a matchbook, seemingly on purpose.

  Her brow furrowed as she pulled it out for closer inspection. The matchbook was from a “gentleman’s club” called Slick. M.J. immediately recognized the name. A couple of girls she had helped relocate had admitted to working there. It was one of the hottest stripper joints in Hollywood. But some of the more elite clientele were rough, with regular fights breaking out among patrons who couldn’t keep their hands off the dancers. They were wealthy and entitled. It was a toxic combination. According to the last girl who had worked there, the owner had to resort to hiring reputed gang members to run security. It was a bad scene all around.

  The business card sticking out of the matchbook was for a storage company. She had to pull it free, which led her to believe it had been jammed in tight to ensure the two pieces stayed together.

  But why?

  She turned the card over and discovered that there was a unit number scrawled on the back, along with a pas
scode for the secured entry. She glanced at the matchbook. There was one match missing.

  She pocketed both and slipped from the hotel room.

  She found the storage place with ease and was able to enter the premises without a problem by keying in the passcode at the gate. The unit in question was a large one toward the back of the gated property, and the padlock in the door wasn’t secured. It was hanging open, as if the owner wanted to invite someone to look inside.

  She glanced around but saw no sign of life anywhere. She reached into her saddlebag for her leather gloves and put them on. Cautiously she removed the lock and slid the red garage door open.

  She stifled a scream when she saw her tweaker hanging from his own belt from the rafters, dangling above an overturned chair. He was naked and sported various welts across his genitals and legs, making it appear like a rough trick gone wrong. His hands hung limp at his side, and as she approached she could smell the gasoline on him.

  Whoever did this to him had been thorough in making it appear that he was the one responsible for the fire, so the police could neatly close the case. The only one who would know any different was the one who happened upon the carefully hidden calling card, guiding him or her where to look.

  And that was her.

  Suddenly she knew that was no accident. She called Landers and gave him the information about the storage unit, keeping the tie-in with Slick to herself. It was time that she checked out Slick and its owner, Dominic Isbecky, for herself.

  She sped toward Hollywood.

  10. KING OF HOLLYWOOD

  The pulsating beat of house music thundered through the two-story building on Sunset. It was an upscale establishment catering to a very specific clientele. The décor was tasteful and the dancers were all pristine. Their clients were willing to pay extra for a more discreet, elegant experience. Even celebrities darkened Slick’s doors, and there were signed black-and-white photos on the walls to prove it.

  There was a T-shaped stage in the main showroom, and gilded go-go cages dangled from every corner. Black lights and strobe lights lit up plush, deep purple furniture and black mirrored walls. Smaller VIP rooms adjacent to the main showroom featured pole dancers on elevated stages. Private booths with shimmery silver curtains allowed those willing to shell out the cash a place to get a lap dance on velvet settees, next to silver buckets of premium champagne. The impressive bar near the stage and dance floor had every liquor imaginable stacked on backlit shelves that reached all the way up the wall to the ceiling.