Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1) Page 7

  “Number one,” said Belle, “I don’t do police stations. Number two, which of us do you think is going to guard anything against anyone better here, you or me?” She drew herself up until her head touched the roof. She had a point, but I had the car keys.

  We had reached a standoff when the fare sauntered out of the station house. It was Jon. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Due to the drug trade along the interstate corridor, there was a lot of back-and-forth between the Northampton cops and the Holyoke station.

  “Hello, ladies.” His smile made me grit my teeth and grip the steering wheel harder. It also made my heartbeat pick up just a bit and caused some muscle contraction a little lower down. I sighed. Jon did that to me and when he smiled, he did it even more.

  Chapter Six

  “Belle,” Jon greeted her. “How’s it going?”

  Mona must have told someone in the cop house that Belle was going to be with me. And that someone knew Jon. That someone had radioed him at the Holyoke station, telling him Belle and I were together. Any of the Holyoke or Northampton cruisers could have transported Jon home. Sometimes people trapped in cars together get more talking done than hours of formal intimidation can achieve, and Jon had gotten nada so far from Belle. This was his innovative approach to interrogation.

  “Hey, I could drive like a NASCAR guy if you coppers could admit I don’t got any felonies.” She was back in her streetwise hooker character.

  “The application is being processed as we speak.” Jon showed her his smile and almost batted his eyelashes. I imagine few women are immune to Jon when he turns on the charm. “You have a good teacher.” The information about Belle’s application must have been radioed to him. He turned his smile on me.

  “Uugh. I don’t need teachin’. I could drive you guys into the ground. Just gimme a car.” Apparently, Belle was one of the immune few.

  I eased the car away from the curb.

  “Fasten your seat belt, please.” I imitated the computer.

  “So, has Willie met Belle yet?” Jon asked as he clicked himself in.

  “Nope.” Belle turned in her seat. “But what’s not to love? He gonna turn me loose on all this here people movin’.”

  I drove up the ramp onto the interstate toward Northampton and glanced in the mirror to check traffic. What I saw was big, square, and black. Shit! The Lincoln Town Car was right behind me.

  “Hey, Belle, check your side mirror. That anybody you know?”

  Jon jerked around in his seat to see what I was talking about. Belle had sunk down in the passenger seat and was trying to make herself as invisible as someone over six feet with a full afro could. Even with the seat belt strangling her, her hair stuck up above the headrest. I would have laughed, but the car behind us was too sinister. Whoever was in it had no way of knowing we had a police officer with us. It would be more likely we had an overnighter from the drunk tank and were an easy mark if they had some business with one of us. Like Belle.

  “Shit, that’s one of Scarpelli’s goons.” Jon turned around. “Belle, if you got information, now’s the time to tell me. Just how bad might these guys want to talk to you?”

  “I don’t know what they want. Why you pickin’ on me? You the cop. Maybe it’s you that pissed them off. Maybe we should just shove you out the door and see if they stop.”

  Jon wasn’t happy with the answer. I kept driving as fast as my little car could handle. We were on the interstate in two lanes of traffic. It was light traffic with cars moving at the speed limit or faster, but I really didn’t want to go over 90 in a car that weighs, maybe a couple thousand pounds, while I was playing dodge-em with one that was at least double that. The Town Car was right on my bumper. There was no way I was going to outrun it. The car was going 90 and my mind was doing warp speed when I saw two 18-wheelers blocking both lanes ahead of us. I had to slow down.

  The Lincoln pulled up beside us. The tinted window rolled down slowly. Like someone right out of the Godfather movies, the guy in the passenger seat raised one hand and made a gun shape with his thumb and finger. Then he pretended to pull the trigger. It might have been a cliché but it was very effective as an intimidation tactic.

  Jon lowered his window, leaning his hand on the edge. He was holding his badge. It’s hard to have an effective conversation with someone in another car at high speeds, but Jon was doing a good job of it. He held up the badge where they couldn’t mistake it, and the big black car dropped back out of sight. I saw it pulling off the exit. Another crisis averted. How many more before Belle wanted to talk? And was she the target? And what did she know? I hated not knowing things.

  I pulled off at the first Northampton exit. “Where do you want me to drop you?” I asked Jon.

  “I’ll go to Cool Rides with you.” He leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes closed. He had moved from adrenaline-pumping confrontation to comatose in minutes. Of course, I had too, but I probably didn’t do it as often. And I didn’t carry a weapon or a badge. I would never need to make the split-second decisions that Jon’s profession required.

  “Belle,” he said, “if you tell me what you know, they might decide it’s better to ignore you. If they think you’re a loose end, they’ll keep coming after you. You’re putting yourself in more danger by not talking to me.”

  Belle leaned her head against the window. We pulled in front of the Cool Rides garage. I parked and we all sat for a minute. Belle turned to Jon.

  “I don’t know what all Horace was into.” She paused and sighed. “But I can make some experienced guesses and give you some leads.”

  Jon looked at her funny and I realized she had switched back to her kiss-the-queen accent.

  “She’s bilingual,” I said. Maybe her reality was in between. Jon’s reality seemed to be ‘take whatever comes at you and deal with it.’ He got out of the car, opened Belle’s door and put out his hand. She took it and rose with that dignity she did so well. Another technique I might study.

  “Let’s go inside and talk,” he said. I followed them, feeling like the odd one out. Given our company, being odd fit in.

  Chapter Seven

  Jon got three chairs from around the office. Apparently he wanted me to join them, and I figured I had a right to know what Belle said. She was living with me and I didn’t want to be blindsided by some goon who was looking for her and found me instead.

  “I just have suspicions.” Belle slumped in the chair. “I won’t testify in court. And I don’t have any proof, but I might point you in a direction. I guess I owe Horace that much. It just never seemed like he was into the dangerous stuff.”

  “You don’t owe Horace,” Jon said. “But I’ll take whatever you can give me. It might keep some trouble away from you, too.”

  “Do I get any protection out of this deal?” Belle looked at Jon. I thought about my little apartment. Did I get protection? Did I need it?

  After 40 minutes of talk, Jon had learned almost nothing about Horace’s death but quite a lot about the transportation of various illegal substances up the interstate. According to Belle, Horace had been in regular contact with some oversize guys she thought worked for both Scarpelli and one of the other taxi companies in the area. This was probably of more interest to a vice cop than to homicide, but in a police department the size of Northampton’s, everyone worked on everything. And it did create some motives for Horace’s untimely trip to Neverland. Belle had also heard some vague rumblings about discontent in the Scarpelli family.

  “Horace talked a lot but didn’t say much. He used that Larry’s Limo company and acted real nervous around the drivers. Who wouldn’t be? They were some scary guys.”

  Belle stretched her arms over her head. Her large, very visible breasts rose. I watched Jon’s eyes follow. He looked down at the table and smiled, shaking his head. Maybe Belle’s sexuality was natural, but maybe it was a little overdone. And maybe I could take a few lessons from her. So much to learn, so little time. Whatever I learned, I wondered if Jon
might be appreciating it in the near future.

  “I need a drink. What you got around here that’s cold?” Belle glanced at the Coke machine on the far side of the room. “That monster needs quarters, I bet.” She rummaged in her bag and came up with two quarters. I stuck my hand and then my head into my own oversize bag. No matter how much I tried to contain it, the loose change always found its way to the bottom. I came up with two more. Jon produced two out of his pocket. How do men cram all the necessities of life into their pockets? Belle collected the quarters and headed off. Jon did carry a gun and it wasn’t in his pocket.

  She put in the required six quarters and pressed a button. Nothing happened.

  “Open the door,” I said.

  She gave the door a yank, but the machine had changed its mind and stayed obstinately closed. Belle moved to the side. She gave it a shove and pulled on the door again. She grabbed the machine with both hands and started shaking it.

  “It’s not nice to mess with Belle, you fucking machine,” she said, shoving it harder. I guessed her adrenaline was still running high.

  “Don’t do that!” I said. “It reacts badly to violence.”

  She gave it one last shove. The door sprang open, crashing against the wall. Soda cans cascaded onto the floor, rolling around erratically.

  “Cool!” Belle looked satisfied with the havoc. “Want one?”

  “I expect every one of those cans to be put back,” I heard Mona growl from the inner office. I think she owns a share in Coke. She’s very protective of the ancient machine.

  Belle leaned over and picked up a can of Diet Coke.

  “Don’t—” I managed to gurgle out before, carefully pointing it away from herself, she pulled the tab open. Jon, who had cop reflexes, jumped out of the line of fire. Soda sprayed over the floor, the table, and the other soda cans, and splattered against my hair, down my clean white T-shirt and onto my jeans. “—do that.” I was head-to-toe sticky.

  “Oops,” Belle said, giggling. She turned to Mona. “Got any towels?”

  “Enough for the floor. Blondie needs a shower.”

  I looked down at my clothes. Clean this morning, laundry by nightfall. Shit. Another stellar evening at the Laundromat.

  “And don’t forget you have an airport this afternoon.” Mona surveyed the disaster. “I expect that mess cleaned up by anyone who might want a job here in the future.” She stared pointedly at Belle.

  “Does that mean my application went through?” Belle pumped the air with her fist.

  “Never had them process one that quickly before.” Mona glanced over at Jon who was studying the floor. It certainly warranted a good looking over. “Give me a photo and I’ll have it laminated. I need twenty-five bucks to give to City Hall,” she said, her attention back on Belle.

  Belle started rummaging in her bag again.

  “I guess I’ll go home and change,” I muttered to myself. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to my problems.

  “I’ll go with you.” Ah, except Jon. “It’s on my way to the station. Sticky is cute on you.” He was looking at my wet T-shirt, about chest level. His eyes darkened a bit. Grinning, he let his eyes travel upward. He ran a thumb over the drops on my cheek and then ran it down, gently caressing my lips. The grin disappeared and his nostrils flared a little. My apartment wasn’t exactly on the way to the station.

  “Whoa, do we need a bed in here?” said Belle, smirking.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but I didn’t object to Jon’s company. I wasn’t about to stay and help Belle clean the floor.

  Opening the door, Jon held it for me with his fingers resting on my back. I swung my bag over my shoulder and sashayed out, trying hard to maintain some dignity and maybe add the sexy walk Belle did so well.

  Jon held my arm as we started walking. “I don’t like the Scarpelli’s involvement in all this. Maybe you should rethink this sleeping arrangement with Belle. She could stay in a motel somewhere.”

  “You think that finger-gun thing was because of Belle? I, uh, kind of came close to hitting their car before I picked you up.” I was pretty sure they wouldn’t have gone after me if I had been alone. But I really didn’t want Jon telling me what I should, or shouldn’t, do.

  “You sideswiped them?” Jon laughed out loud. “I like that you made the Scarpelli gang jump a little, but I don’t think they would have followed you for that. It is Holyoke. Either they recognized Belle or something else is going on.” We started up the hill toward my apartment. I lived a few blocks from work and around a few corners from the police station, the Laundromat and the bakery. In Northampton, everything was around the corner. My apartment was on the second floor, above a deli.

  I stopped to get food to keep my stomach quiet during the airport run. The teenager behind the counter didn’t comment on the stripe of soda down my front. He had a pierced lip, nose, eyebrow, and ears, a tattoo running the length of his arm, and a purple and green Mohawk, so his fashion statement trumped mine.

  Jon grabbed the bags and followed me up the staircase. I knew he was trying to get more information about Belle. I didn’t have any, but it’s always good to make a man carry groceries. I reached into my bag for keys. There was a little hook on one end of my oversized, overstuffed bag for keys. Were they ever there? Not in my lifetime. I pulled my head out of the bag to avoid tripping on the last stair and stopped. The door to my apartment was open, swinging in the breeze. The frame was shattered where the lock had been.

  Chapter Eight

  Jon was following me, but he hadn’t had his head in a bag. He stepped around, shoving me behind him, and drew his gun. He held his hand up to tell me to stay put. Dream on, Jon. My space, my business. I was right in back of him.

  Then I saw the inside of my space. Oh God, oh Christ, oh shit! They’d trashed it. Jon crouched low, gun in front of him. He moved around the open door and slid behind the upended sofa. I peered around the broken door jamb. He rose and was in the bedroom in one stride. Long strides, small space. It took less than 30 seconds to be certain no one was inside. My dishes were broken and scattered on top of a mound of what food had been in the fridge. A pair of my sexiest silk panties were hung like a potholder over the stove. They had ketchup dripping down the front.

  “Honey, I told you to stay outside.” Jon paused, surveying the damage. “I’m really sorry. Looks like you and Belle need new living arrangements.”

  I had saved every penny I made for a year to get this place. I spent six months on Willie’s couch at the office of the cab company and lived in subsidized housing for six months after that. Whoever “they” were, they had no right. It was broad daylight next to one of the busiest stores in town. Somebody must have seen them. Part of me wanted revenge. The rest of me wanted to hide somewhere safe. Shit! I sniffed and hiccupped and leaned against Jon.

  Jon had his cell phone out.

  “Who are you calling?” I started pacing, which probably seemed silly in the small space left without trash. But it worked off some of my anger.

  “I’m getting some crime-scene guys over here.” He held the phone to his ear with one hand and reached out with his other arm to pull me back against him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to curse. I just laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes.

  “Tonight, you can stay at my place. We can’t clean this up until the crime scene is processed anyway. You don’t want to stay in this stuff. And you really do need a shower.” Jon dropped the phone into his pocket. I backed up a step.

  “I have a job. I have an afternoon airport run. I promised Mona. I’ve got a job to do. I don’t know what time I’ll get back. I can’t just pick up and move. I have a life.” I knew I couldn’t stay in this mess, and I knew they had to go over it before it was cleaned up. Reality just hadn’t quite made it from my brain to my mouth. I gave myself a mental “shut up.”

  “And what about Belle?” What about Belle? When had she become my responsibility? And when had I become Jon’s responsibility?

&n
bsp; “I have a whole house. I’m sure we can fit Belle in somewhere.” Jon tightened his arm around me.

  “Your house? How many bedrooms? How many bathrooms? Who else lives there? I don’t know enough about you to move in. And Belle! She’ll go through the roof. She can barely be in the same room with a cop.”

  “Calm down.” Jon held my hand and started to massage it. “Belle is going to like my kitchen a lot better than yours. I have three bedrooms and two bathrooms. I just want to get a handle on where Scarpelli comes into this. Belle didn’t shoot Horace and he didn’t shoot himself. Honey, a guy is dead. Someone killed him. And Belle is a witness, even if she doesn’t know to what. I need to keep an eye on you because…” He stopped talking and looked at me. “I’m not sure why.” He ran his hand up my arm. I was considering my response when the thumping of feet on the stairs told us the crime scene was about to be investigated. Jon went to the door. I stood there like an idiot, rubbing my arm.

  “I need to pack a few things,” I mumbled. I hoped I had a few things left to pack. Taxi drivers frequently carry oversize bags as standard equipment. I kept one handy in case I didn’t want to drive home between late night drop-offs and early pick-ups. Belle, in her previous profession, had kept the same kind of bag.

  I looked disconsolately at the toothpaste. It had been used to spell out shit happens on the floor. Or maybe slut opens.

  “What do you think that says?” I asked Jon.

  Jon looked down. “Slap happy?”

  “Slut shopping?” I giggled, beginning to melt down.