Caliber Detective Agency Box Set 3 Read online

  Sammy took the man’s gun, the car keys, and his belt, then used the belt to secure the driver’s hands behind his back. He paused to consider his next move, and as he did so, he smiled.

  His old man was Sam Sloan. Sam Sloan would have marched up the steps of the trailer, kicked the door in, and shot all three bad guys dead.

  His father had also been seriously wounded nearly a dozen times over the years.

  Sammy was getting the hell out of there.

  He was about to walk back to his car when the door on the trailer opened and a man wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt stepped out.

  “Bobby, bring in my pills. I left them in the—Bobby? Where are you?”

  Sammy stayed low behind the car so that he wouldn’t be seen, as he heard the man coming down the trailer steps to investigate. When the man stopped walking, Sammy realized what he meant to do. He was getting down to look under the car.

  Sammy rolled onto the bank robber he had knocked out, placing his full weight on the man. The air left the driver’s lungs and the man let out a moan, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  The car was sitting lower, thanks to the two flat tires, and so the man in the sleeveless T-shirt only saw his friend lying on his back.

  “Shit! Bobby! Hey, Jack, Hector, get out here. Bobby’s had some kind of an attack.”

  The man came around the corner of the car as Sammy stood and pointed his gun at him.

  “Don’t do it,” Sammy said.

  The man was fast and sure as he cleared the gun from his holster, but as he brought it up to fire, Sammy shot him twice in the chest.

  The thug fell to the ground, his gaping chest wounds turning his white T-shirt red.

  “Time to make like Dad,” Sammy said. He strode around the car with his gun up, just as the last two men came out of the trailer.

  Rayne and Velma located the drug dealer who drove the old red Mustang.

  He was just a kid, Hispanic, and likely an addict himself, judging by the Meth sores on his face. The punk kicked a plastic baggie beneath his car, then held up his hands to show that they were empty.

  “He thinks we’re cops,” Velma whispered.

  “Um-hmm,” Rayne said.

  “Ladies, I’m just sitting out here in the parking lot waiting for a friend,” the punk said.

  Rayne held up a photo of Andrea Cole.

  “Have you seen this girl today?”

  The boy swallowed hard and shook his head.

  “I didn’t sell it to her. I don’t know a thing about guns.”

  Velma stiffened with surprise at the mention of Andrea looking to buy a gun, but she recovered and asked a question.

  “Who did you send her to, Felix?”

  “I didn’t send Andrea to anybody, really.”

  Rayne reached behind her back. “We’ll cuff him and take him in, Velma. He’ll talk then.”

  “All right,” Felix said. “I sent her downtown to see a guy I know, but she called me back and said that his neighbor told her he moved to Jersey.”

  “You talked to Andrea today?”

  “Yeah, but only on the phone. I haven’t seen her.”

  “He doesn’t know anything,” Rayne told Velma.

  “So… we’re cool?” Felix asked.

  “For now,” Velma said, as she and Rayne turned to head back to their car.

  “I guess we go see this Sheila, or Diamond X, or whatever she’s calling herself today,” Rayne said.

  Once they were in the car, Velma turned on the radio. When a commercial came on touting the B-Girl service, a confused look came over Rayne.

  “I thought Mrs. Caliber ended the B-Girls?”

  “She did,” Velma said. “But Lauren told me that Leslie and Karen opened their own B-Girl service. They offered Lauren a partnership, but she turned them down.”

  “Those girls are young. I bet they don’t realize how much money it takes to keep a business afloat during its first year.”

  “Lauren did mention that they were starting on a shoestring budget.”

  “Radio ads will eat away at that, but I wish them luck,” Rayne said.

  While Velma drove, Rayne began thinking about the new B-Girl service. If managed correctly, it could make a nice profit. She wondered if Leslie and Karen were still looking for a partner.

  A nice silent partner. One who had recently come into a lot of cash.

  “What are you smiling about?” Velma asked, as she turned off the radio.

  “I was just thinking about a pair of acquaintances I might touch base with soon.”

  Velma stared at Rayne, and Rayne knew she was wondering if Christopher was on her mind. Oddly enough, he wasn’t.

  Rayne’s mind was on business. She had stumbled upon a fortune, and now she wanted to not only hold on to it, but make it grow.

  Her phone rang, and when Rayne saw who was calling, she let it go to voicemail.

  “Not in a talking mood?” Velma asked.

  “It’s Trace Pruitt. He’s been bugging me to go on a date with him.”

  “Why not go out with him? He’s very handsome.”

  “He’s a pig who only thinks of sex.”

  “Oh, well you’ve only yourself to blame for having him in your life. If you had never hired him to harass me, he wouldn’t be calling you now.”

  Rayne smiled at Velma. “You’re not going to make me mad.”

  “I wasn’t trying to. I was only stating a fact. Like the fact that Chris chose me over you.”

  “He did, and we’ll see how long that lasts.”

  “Face it, Rayne. You tried to break us up and it failed.”

  “When you’re right, you’re right, Velma. Now, let’s go find this girl so we can call it a day.”

  “Fine by me,” Velma said, and the car grew very quiet.

  Chapter Five

  Nevada Highway Patrolman Brian Petty nudged his partner, then pointed out at the desert bordering the highway. A car with a gray primer paint job was limping along in the sand with steam pouring out from beneath its hood. The vehicle made it within eighty yards of the highway before dying.

  From where Patrolmen Petty and his partner sat in the parking lot of a diner, they could see a figure emerge from the driver’s side.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “It looks like he’s holding up a phone.”

  “Kinda shaggy, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  The figure appeared to be talking to someone as he walked toward the highway. As he grew closer and spotted the patrol car, the man began waving at them. Petty started the engine just as the call came in.

  “All four bank robbers, by himself?” Petty asked the dispatcher.

  A woman’s voice came over the speaker. She sounded older than Petty and was clearly a smoker, given her raspy voice.

  “That’s what he said, and get this. He said he’s Sam Sloan.”

  “Say that name again.” Petty said.

  “You heard me. Sam Sloan, but he’s the old man’s son.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Petty said. “His father once saved my uncle when two guys tried to rob the grocery store my Uncle Al owned when I was a kid.”

  “I guess he’s a chip off the old block,” the dispatcher said.

  Sammy saw the patrol car leave the parking lot of the diner across the highway. They would have to U-turn to reach him, and so he sat on the side of the highway and took out a cigar.

  When he realized he had no matches, and that the cigar was broken, he tossed it away.

  Two of the bank robbers were dead, one was tied up with a lump on his head, and the last one, the one who had pawed the woman teller, he was wounded and locked in the trunk of the car.

  Sammy didn’t have a mark on him, but he remembered feeling a bullet pass through his hair. He had come within an inch of dying.

  If I had died, I would have never seen her again. I don’t want to die without seeing her again. And she loves me, damn it to hell, I know that she loves me.

>   The “She” Sammy Sloan was thinking of was Velma Parker.

  Chris thanked the woman working the serving line at a soup kitchen on E 30th Street in New York City.

  She had identified Moises Sanchez from a photo and said that he had been in there the last two nights. Chris wondered if he should stick around or wait until after dark to return. There was a good chance that Sanchez wouldn’t return until nightfall.

  He decided to stay. He had gotten lucky enough to grab a parking space. It allowed him a view of the shelter’s entrance, and there was no guarantee that Sanchez wouldn’t return early.

  After grabbing lunch to go at a nearby bodega, Chris sat in his car to eat. Once he had taken two bites of the sandwich, Chris knew he didn’t want any more of it. The bread was stale.

  He sipped on a cup of hot tea as he called in to the office. When Lauren answered, Chris smiled.

  “Caliber Detective Agency, this is Lauren speaking, how may I help you?”

  “It’s Chris, Lauren, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  “Good, and I’m making progress on the case. Is my grandfather in?”

  “No, sorry, he just stepped out to take his walk with Maggie.”

  “Ah, right, it’s that time of day, but listen, I’ll leave him a message.”

  “I’m ready, what’s the message?”

  “I found where Sanchez was staying and hope to contact him tonight.”

  Chris gave her the name of the shelter, as well as the name of the woman he had spoken to.

  “I have it, Chris, but listen, are you just going to sit there all day by yourself?”

  “Sure, I can use the shelter if I need a bathroom break. Besides, Caliber was a one-man operation for most of its existence. My grandfather worked alone for decades until my dad came along, and later on, my brother Jake.”

  “I see, and good luck.”

  “Lauren, are you busy, or can you talk for a while?”

  “I have some time. It’s been slow today.”

  “Good, you can help me pass the time while I wait for Sanchez to show.”

  “Okay.”

  “Granddad said you were an army brat. What was that like?”

  “You really want to hear about that?”

  “Sure, how many places did you live growing up?”

  As Lauren answered his questions about army life, Chris realized how worldly she was and wondered why he had never taken much notice of her before.

  “You’ve already led quite a life, and you’re still young.”

  “You could say the same, Chris. You’re a private eye.”

  “I wasn’t always. I went to law school.”

  “Really? I’m taking classes at night right now. I can’t wait to pass the bar.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, but why aren’t you practicing law?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Then start talking and don’t waste my time.”

  Chris laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He told Lauren about the day he returned to New York City and walked into the middle of an armed robbery. They kept talking until Lauren was forced to take another call.

  “Yeah, get back to work, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Goodbye, Chris.”

  “Goodbye, Lauren, and thanks for the talk.”

  After the call ended, Chris thought about Lauren, but then he shook himself.

  What the hell is the matter with me? I almost lost Velma by sleeping with Rayne and now I’m thinking of Lauren. Damn, Chris. Keep it in your pants.

  He went back to watching the shelter, while smiling, after remembering a story Lauren had told him. And as he sat there with nothing but time on his hands, he began to think about his life.

  Law school had been difficult, and he’d had dreams and goals he wanted to accomplish as a lawyer. He loved being a P.I., but where had his other dreams gone?

  Chris left the car, used the shelter’s bathroom, then returned to his vehicle with a fresh cup of tea. He sipped on the second cup while lost in thought, as he considered where he wanted to be in five years’ time. When the answer hit him, he was so surprised that he spoke the answer out loud.

  “I’ll be damned. I think I do want to be a lawyer.”

  Chris sat there, waiting and watching for Moises Sanchez to appear, as he made plans for his future.

  Chapter Six

  Shea O’Reilly felt relief. She had finally talked to the last tenant on the fourth-floor of the building where the cat lady was murdered.

  Shea was also pleased with herself, because she was sure she had uncovered an honest-to-God clue that could lead to solving the murder.

  The three apartments on the fourth-floor that subscribed to a popular newspaper hadn’t received one. However, several people on the floors below said their paper arrived at its usual time.

  Shea wouldn’t have even thought to ask about it, but three people had looked down at the hallway floor after opening their doors, then bitched about there being no newspaper.

  Why did the paperboy leave the building without dropping off the newspapers on the fourth-floor? Perhaps it was because he got in an argument with the cat lady, Rhonda Hart, an argument that escalated into murder.

  Shea leaned back against a hallway wall as she went over her notes. If what one resident said was true, then the paperboy was no boy, but was a man is his thirties named Grant. Apparently, Grant lived at home and never quit his first job, which was delivering newspapers.

  Shea was making a note to check with the newspaper’s office for Grant’s full name when she wrinkled her nose at an unpleasant odor.

  “Man, somebody must be using the hallway for a toilet.”

  But even as she said those words, Shea doubted they were true. The hallways were clean and she remembered the gleam of the tile in the building’s foyer upon her arrival. It was a nice building, and she couldn’t imagine the rent was cheap, given the size of the apartments.

  But something stank. She sniffed the air, then nearly gagged.

  “That’s not urine, that’s feces,” Shea whispered.

  By following her nose, Shea found herself at the foot of a dark and narrow stairway. There was a sign on the wall with an arrow pointed up. Under the arrow were the words, ROOF ACCESS.

  Shea removed her keychain from her pocket and shone a small but powerful flashlight up the stairs. The dangling feet were the first thing she saw, then the entire body of a man came into view. He was somewhere in his thirties. There was a rope around his neck, a neck that sat at an odd angle.

  Something else was around his neck. It was a tan canvas strap attached to a bag that had the name of a newspaper printed on the side.

  One of the tenants Shea had just spoken to left her apartment. She was one of the people who complained about not receiving her newspaper. She looked at Shea with surprise.

  “You’re still here, Detective?”

  “Yeah, I was detecting.”

  “And did you find anything?”

  Shea sighed. “I found your missing newspaper.”

  The Diamond tattoo beside the Roman numeral X on her neck was a dead giveaway that the girl stocking the shelves was Sheila Watkins.

  Velma explained why they were there, but Sheila told them that she hadn’t seen Andrea in weeks.

  “We’re not here to get her into trouble, Sheila,” Rayne said. “We were just hired by her mother to find her, you know, to make sure that she’s all right.”

  Sheila stared at them for several seconds, before turning her head and shouting toward the front counter.

  “Mom, I’ll be in the storeroom for a few minutes.”

  The woman at the counter shouted back an “Okay,” and Sheila led Rayne and Velma into a well-stock storeroom.

  Sheila held up a hand as she spoke.

  “Andrea and I used to be close, but that girl has gone over the edge.”

  “In what way?” Velma asked.

 
; “Andrea has, what do they call it, anger issues? And I don’t mean in a small way. Listen, I don’t have any proof, but I think she’s violent.”

  “What makes you say that?” Rayne asked.

  “During the winter, she asked me to cover for her. She pretended to stay over at my house, but after my parents went to sleep she snuck out. She said it was to see her boyfriend. When I talked to Mark a few days later, he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “You have an idea where Andrea really went to, don’t you?” Rayne said.

  Sheila stared down at the floor.

  “I don’t want to get her into trouble, and I could be wrong about it.”

  Velma touched Sheila on the arm.

  “You know you’re not mistaken. It’s why you two are no longer friends.”

  Sheila raised her head and nodded. “Andrea is warped. See, there’s this girl named Traci Hodges. Back in high school Traci made fun of Andrea because Andrea never made it onto the cheerleading squad, and Traci was the head cheerleader.” Sheila laughed. “I’ve only been out of high school a few months and that crap sounds so childish now, but when you’re in school, you know, that stuff seems so important.”

  “Did Andrea do something to Traci Hodges?” Rayne asked.

  “We ran into Traci. Traci was working as a manager on the evening shift where we stopped to get burgers. She said it was to help pay her bills while she was in college. The girl was nicer than I’d ever seen her and seemed embarrassed by the way she used to act in school, but Andrea ignored her.”

  “That sounds harmless, but did Andrea make threats later?” Rayne asked.

  “Traci got off work late when she worked the evening shift. She was attacked outside her home the same night that Andrea snuck out of my house.”

  “How badly was she hurt?”

  Sheila wiped away a tear.

  “I heard Traci had a broken arm and a dislocated jaw. They say she was beaten with a pipe.”

  Velma and Rayne shared a look. Their case had just become more serious.

  “Listen, I’ve got no proof, but that shit scared me.”