Pretty In Ink

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said and started to stretch out.

“Not yet,” Bitsy warned as the car turned.

Sirens sounded from somewhere.

“They’re behind us,” she said.

“How far back?”

“Far enough.”

“Are you sure they’re after us?”

“No. But I don’t want to do anything that would make them suspicious, so stay low and I’ll take care of it.”

Bitsy was very good at taking care of things, but she also could take things too far. As I felt the car speed up, I got a little worried.

“I can lose them,” Bitsy muttered to herself.

The car turned this way and that, and I had to hold on to the center console to keep from getting bumped around. I gazed longingly at the seat belt that dangled just over my head. The pins and needles were worse now.

A few more turns and we could no longer hear the sirens.

“I think you can get up now,” Bitsy said.

Easier said than done. I finally managed to get into the seat, reaching over my arm for the seat belt and securing it.

I didn’t recognize where we were. It looked as though we were in an alleyway.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

I knew better than to question her further.

Finally she pulled up against the curb and stopped the car. She turned to me.

“Do you think you can find Charlotte?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t think she killed that guy, do you?” Bitsy asked.

I’d briefly asked myself the same question but pushed it aside. I’d seen Wesley Lambert’s body and its environs. It seemed as though he’d just died from getting sick from the ricin. Nothing had been mentioned about the possibility of him being murdered. “No.” I paused. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.” I thought about my clients. “Can you reschedule my afternoon?”

Bitsy smiled. “Already did. And I’m not kidding about the raise.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll have to pay me back.”

“Two dollars for parking?”

She was handing me a bunch of bills. “You’re going to need something so you can get around.”

I took it, quickly counting out fifty bucks. “Thanks. You’ll get everything back and then some.”

She smiled. “I know. Call later and let us know what’s up.”

I got out of the car, then leaned down and asked, “Where are we, anyway?”

“In a safe place,” she said.

I shut the door and she took off. I watched the back end of the MINI Cooper until it turned right and out of sight.

Looking around, I suddenly became aware of a stink that was emanating from a Dumpster just a few feet away. Mixed in with it was the odor of Chinese food. Steam was pouring out of a vent in the building to my left. A Mexican guy wearing a stained white chef’s coat was sitting on a plastic milk crate and smoking a cigarette, talking to a guy who had his back to me. Smoke curled up from the cigarette dangling from the guy’s fingers.

The salt-and-pepper buzz cut and the ink on his arms told me where I was.

In the alley behind Murder Ink.

Chapter 28

Jeff Coleman turned around and lifted the cigarette to his lips. He took a drag, blew out the smoke, and said, “Took you long enough, Kavanaugh.”

The Mexican stamped out his cigarette on the concrete, nodded at me and Jeff, and went inside.

I walked over to Jeff, who’d started for the back door to Murder Ink.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“Bitsy called.”

“Did she tell you what was going on?”

“Said you needed some help. Why she thought of me, I don’t know.”

I knew. No one would think to come here, not Tim, not Frank DeBurra.

I was definitely giving that girl a raise.

“What’s going on?” Jeff asked, holding the door open for me.

As we went inside, I told him how Bitsy and I had escaped the hospital-and the police.

“And why did you need to escape?”

“Have you seen the news today?” With all the camera crews outside the emergency room, it must be all over TV.

“I don’t exactly have time to be watching Oprah. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He shoved a chair on wheels in my direction, and I stopped it with my foot and sat down. He settled into a worn black leather chair and stuck his feet up on the desk, on top of a pile of stencils.

I started at the beginning and told him the whole thing.

When I was done, his mouth was hanging open.

“You do manage to get yourself into all sorts of predicaments, Kavanaugh.”

“It wasn’t my fault. Charlotte-”

“Got you into trouble,” he finished for me. “That girl is trouble. Have you stopped to consider that maybe she’s part of all this?”

I frowned. “No.”

“That’s because you’re way too trusting, Kavanaugh. The world hasn’t chewed you up and spit you out yet.”

“Oh, is that why you look the way you do? Because you’ve been spit out?”

He stared at me a second, and then chuckled. “You really need to lighten up.”

“I really need to find Charlotte and make sure she’s okay.”

“Don’t you think the cops are out looking for her? Why would you be able to find her first?”

Good question.

I heard a buzzer in the distance.

Jeff looked up at a clock on the wall. “That’s my client.” He got up and shoved the stencils around, grabbing one.

“So you’re just going to leave me back here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You can stay or you can go.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a set of keys. “If you promise to drive safe, you can borrow my car.” He tossed me the keys.

I reached out and caught them with my left hand.

He grinned. “Good catch. Car’s in back. Gold Pontiac.” He started for the front of the shop, then paused, turning back for a second. “Be careful, Kavanaugh.”

“Why are you being so nice?”