A specific target meant more money than a generic one.
$100,000 instead of $75,000.
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
With the rest of the day to kill, Draven stopped in a small Mexican mom-and-pop restaurant, sat in a red-vinyl booth with his back against the wall where he could see everyone who came and went, and ate a smothered burrito.
The waitress was cute.
So he hung around and drank three or four cups of coffee after she took his plate.
“How’d you get that scar?” she asked.
“Eating an ice cream cone,” he said. “It went horribly wrong.”
She laughed and said, “Remind me to stay away from ice cream cones.”
“Lot’s of people don’t appreciate how dangerous they are,” he said. “Especially those hard sugar cones.”
He paid in cash and tipped her a twenty.
Out in the parking lot he heard someone shout behind him.
It was her, running to him, with her white waitress apron flopping up and down.
“You forgot this,” she said, handing him a piece of paper.
He looked at it as she turned and ran back.
It had a phone number on it, under her name-Janessa.
He waved to her and shoved it in his pants pocket. Then he drove over to Avis, traded the van for a 4-door Nissan sedan, and headed south on I-25. Two hours later, he arrived in Pueblo.
He swung past the dead biker’s house just to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t. Then he drove past Mia Avila’s tattoo shop. There was no activity there either. Everything was exactly as it had been yesterday.
The Closed sign still hung in the door.
The lights were off.
From there he headed over to the hotel, drank a swig of Jack in the parking lot, and walked up the stairs two at a time to surprise Gretchen. Music came from inside the room. The drapes were drawn but he found a slit big enough to peek in, just to be sure she wasn’t on her knees giving some asshole a blowjob.
Shit!
Gretchen was sitting on the bed.
Two cops stood in front of her, talking intently, a male and a female.
Draven quietly walked down the stars, jumped in the car, and got the hell out of there.
After the cops left, he parked a block down the road and doubled back on foot. A peek through the curtains showed Gretchen lying face-down on the bed.
Alone.
He found the door unlocked and walked in.
She ran to him and he held her tight. “The cops were here,” she said.
“I know,” Draven said. “What’d they want?”
“They partly wanted to see if I had anything to do with the asshole biker’s death,” she said. “It’s no secret around town, about what they did to me-and what I’d do back, if I ever got the chance. But I played dumb and said I was here turning tricks all night. They believed me, I could tell.”
Draven felt the stress melt.
“Good job.”
“But they also came to warn me,” she said. “Apparently the word’s spreading around town that the bikers think I had something to do with it. There’s talk that they’re going to interrogate me.”
“Not on my watch,” Draven said.
She hugged him tight.
“Thank God for you,” she said. “The cops said I’d probably be better off getting out of town until the whole thing blew over.”
Draven agreed.
And kissed her to prove it.
“Pack your suitcase,” he said. “I’m taking you to Denver.”
She studied his eyes.
“You mean it?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I have money. You won’t need to work.”
She pulled a suitcase out from under the bed.
Then hesitated.
“The cops asked about you,” she said. “Not you by name, but about a tall Indian with a scar on his face.”
Draven pulled the curtain an inch to the side and peered out.
No one was there that shouldn’t be.
“The bikers figure I did it,” he said. “Their buzz has already been picked up by the cops. It’s time to get out of this screwed-up town once and for all.”
She agreed.
“And I’m not ever coming back,” she added. “Even if you dump me.”
He smiled.
“That’s not going to happen.”
28
DAY FIVE-SEPTEMBER 9
FRIDAY MORNING
Teffinger woke from a deep sleep when someone straddled him. He opened his eyes to a dim room and found Davica on top, wearing only a thong. “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said. He stretched, remembering their conversation last night about getting up early for a jog. It had seemed like a good idea then; now, not so much. Davica bounced up and down.
“Come on. You can do it.”
He rolled her over and lay on top, pretending to fall back asleep while she struggled under his weight. He almost took her right then and there, but knew he couldn’t.
Not quite yet.
Five minutes later, a yellow ochre sun rose as they headed out the front door. The grass smelled like dew and a mild chill hung in the air. They ran in the street, with Davica setting a faster pace than Teffinger was used to.
“No problem,” he said. “We’ll go slow if you want.”
She sped up.
“No, that’s okay,” she said. “We can go faster.”
He struggled to keep up, concentrating on his breathing.
“That’s better,” he said.
She took him on a three-mile course and hardly broke a sweat. When they got back, he showered, inhaled coffee, slapped her on the ass, and headed for the door.
She caught up with him, slapped his ass back, and said, “Don’t forget, you’re coming over tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I am?”
“Yep. I’m going to cook for you.”
Teffinger smiled.
“You know how to cook?”
