“You think I’m stupid?”
“Bob, I’ve been trying to get the diamonds back for Frankie since you and I had our little run in. I’m not looking to screw you over. I don’t need you and Willie and Frankie all coming down on me. Why don’t you put away the gun before we head out?”
“If you keep screwing with me, I’ll kill you. If anything happens to me, Willie will kill you.”
“I get all warm and tingly when you sweet talk me, Bob.” I started walking up the dock. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Of course that was a lie. There was no way I was going to follow Bob to a meeting with Frankie. I might as well commit suicide. Somewhere between the dock and the car, I planned to make a break for it. Bob was not going to be any too happy with me. Neither was Frankie or Willie. I tried to put that thought out of my mind.
The dinghy lot was well lit and filled with cars, something I’d failed to notice when Bob and Willie were manhandling me through it earlier.
A green trash bin overflowing with garbage bags offered up a slight stench. Across from the bin several bike racks were loaded to overflowing. Most of the bikes were old and rimmed with rust. I toyed with the idea of grabbing one and taking off. Unfortunately, many of the people living on boats out in the mooring field depended on these bikes for their major transportation needs, and even the most dilapidated of them was likely to be locked.
While we walked under the bridge a car passed overhead. Somewhere in the distance a motorcycle revved its engine.
I needed to make my escape soon and I was looking for any opportunity to make a move when a shot reverberated in the still night air.
I heard his gun hit the pavement and Bob stumbled against my back nearly knocking me down.
Bracing my legs against the sudden weight I spun around and grabbed his arm. While I struggled to support the weight of his body a second shot rang out and caught him in the side of the head.
Blood splattered across the front of my shirt. It painted my face and streaked my hair. Bob collapsed at my feet and there was no doubt in my mind he was dead. I let his arm slip from my grip, turned, and sprinted across the open lot. A third shot clipped the corner of the concrete column I was heading toward and I dove for cover when the gun spit again.
I hit the ground, threw myself into a hard roll, and scurried across the last few feet of pavement, waiting for a bullet to find me. Just when I thought I was going to make the shelter of the column, I slipped on the wet grass. My feet flew out from underneath me, I lost my balance, and my head bounced against a rock.
I didn’t black out, but I was stunned and unable to move. I fully expected to be shot at any moment. When the minutes ticked off and there were no more gunshots, I realized I was alone. Closing my eyes, I felt myself beginning to drift. In the distance I heard a siren.
I forced my eyes open as a police car came whistling into the parking lot. The driver slammed on the brakes, and the car slowed to a crawl. At the same time my head was pounding as if someone was using it for an anvil. I was vaguely aware that the driver was swinging a spotlight back and forth. The light swept over me twice, and this time when I closed my eyes I passed out.
When I regained consciousness an emergency tech was examining me and the lot was lit up like a carnival. Spotlights and flashing red and blue lights reflected off the water and the walls of the bridge. A gurney had been moved up to where I lay. I groaned when I noticed a nice pair of legs swinging over the edge. I looked up and saw Detective Davies smiling down at me. It wasn’t a pleasant smile either.
“How is he?” Davies asked the man examining me.
The tech focused a light in my eyes and moved his hand around a little on the top of my head. “I think he’ll be all right. He’s got a hard head. Whatever he hit didn’t even break the skin. Still, he should go to the hospital. He could have a concussion.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Davies waited until the tech closed his bag before sliding off the gurney. She nodded her head toward where Bob lay. “Why don’t you go see if you can help with the body?”
She watched the tech walk across the lot before offering up her left hand. I grabbed it and was surprised when she levered me to my feet without any apparent strain. Her grip was strong, and she held onto my hand when I tried to move away from her.
“It would appear that you made out better than the other guy.”
“His name was Bob,” I said.
“A friend of yours?”
“Not exactly.” My knees felt spongy, the flashing lights hurt my eyes and my head was throbbing to the beat of the light show.
I stumbled, and Davies reached out with her other hand to steady me. “You’d better take it easy.” She clamped her hand on my arm and marched me over to the gurney. “Sit down. Want me to get Sam back over here?”
I shook my head and regretted it. “I could use a couple of aspirin.”
“You all right by yourself for a minute?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, but I was filled with reservations. When she turned away my head began to spin, and I gripped the sides of the gurney, hoping I wouldn’t lose consciousness again. By the time Davies got back my equilibrium had returned, but the headache was now an angry drum roll playing riffs inside my skull.
Davies handed me a bottle of Desanti water, flipped the top off the aspirin container, and when I held out my hand shook two tablets into it.
I popped them into my mouth, threw my head back, swallowed, and said, “Two more.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Maybe I should get Sam and let him decide.”
I snatched the bottle from her hand and took two more tablets. “I don’t need Sam to tell me what I need. I’ve had headaches before.”
She took the bottle back and stuck it into her purse. “So tell me what happened.”
I chugged down half the bottle of water while I collected my thoughts. “We were walking through the lot when someone started shooting at us. It took us both by surprise. I didn’t even get a look at the shooter. Whoever it was took two shots at me after Bob got hit.”
Davies moved closer to the gurney and locked her eyes onto mine. “I can’t help but notice our shooter managed to hit your friend Bob twice, but missed you. How do you explain that?”
I’d asked myself the same question. I wondered if Destiny had told anyone besides Frankie where she was supposed to meet me. Someone seemed to be more concerned about Bob than about me. Perhaps it was because Bob was more likely to do whatever he felt was necessary to get the damn diamonds back to his boss.
“I don’t have an explanation,” I said.
“There’s a body over there, Wes,” Davies said. “This is the second one in a couple of days I can trace to you. If I count your friend Nick it makes three. I don’t like that body count. Isn’t it about time you told me what the hell’s going on?”
“I honestly don’t have a clue,” I said.
“What, now you’ve got amnesia? Maybe a couple of nights in jail will stimulate your memory.”
I reached up and touched the knot on the top of my head, winced, and thought about what I should tell Davies. I was going to have to tell her something. The trouble was I really didn’t know what the hell was going on.
So I told her about Frankie and Destiny and the stolen diamonds. I laid out the facts of my initial altercation with Bob, including the details of my helping Destiny get away. In the end, I told her that I suspected Bob had killed Billy. Since I’d decided I was washing my hands of anything to do with helping Destiny, I even told her about Destiny’s call and our plan to meet at the dinghy docks.
I didn’t tell her about Willie or about Bob’s trashing my boat. I was afraid Davies would consider it motive enough for me to kill Bob. I also figured I’d better have something to give Frankie, even if it was only Willie sitting safe and sound on my boat. The other information I held back was Elvis’s possible involvement. I was saving the psychic for myself. I figured he was my best chance to find Destiny.
“So where’s the girl?” Davies asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she kill Bob?”
