On the small screen, Patty heard Tony Mazzetti ask, “Why were you called Jamais?”
“Because Franklin isn’t the scariest pimp name in the world. I just made up Jamais and liked the sound of it.”
“Why’d you stop using it?”
“Jamais Cook down in Daytona came up with a couple of his boys and explained copyright to me.”
Mazzetti smiled and said, “How’d he get the lesson across?”
Franklin Hall lifted his shirt, displaying perfect abs and wide, chiseled shoulders. He turned in his seat and showed Mazzetti a jagged swath of scar tissue on his upper right shoulder.
Mazzetti winced.
Hoagie calmly said, “Let me guess, you had ‘Jamais’ tattooed on your own shoulder too.”
The pimp nodded.
She said, “How’d they cut it off?”
“Straight razor.”
Mazzetti was the one cringing, but Hoagie just nodded and made a note. Patty liked that this younger detective didn’t waver. She asked, “Take long?”
“Only a second or two. The man was fast. Real fast. But it got infected, and I was out of action a week.” He slipped the shirt back on. “I got the message and decided Franklin was an okay name as long as I stayed big and buff and didn’t take no shit.”
Hoagie said, “Except from Jamais Cook.”
Patty smiled at her shot and poise.
Franklin Hall bowed his head and mumbled, “Yeah, ’cept for him.”
They finished up, taking a few more notes, then Tony Mazzetti emerged from the small interview room shaking his head. He looked over at them, shook his head some more, and marched in the other direction.
Stallings said, “What’s up his ass?”
“He’s probably pissed you brought in such a good lead. Made him look like an administrator.”
“But I did bring him in. I’m a team player. Sort of.”
“I noticed the pimp limping when he got up to stretch his legs.”
“So?”
“So, you can’t keep beating people for information.”
“Why not? It’s worked pretty well so far. Some instant street justice keeps everyone on their toes.”
She looked at him. “For me. For my sanity, please be a little more careful. Think about the consequences of your actions. Think about how much Maria and the kids need you.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Franklin is pretty big, Stall. You could’ve gotten hurt by yourself.”
“So now I’m an old man?”
Patty snickered. “No, you’ve been an old man for a while. Now you’re acting like a rookie.”
Rita Hester stepped out of an office, wiping her eyes as she walked. “Stall, you couldn’t have found this guy during the day? I’m too old to be out this late.”
“Sorry, Rita. I just lucked into finding him.”
From behind the sleepy lieutenant, Mazzetti said, “I believe you’re lucky. Luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the whole S.O.”
Stallings smiled.
Patty knew he thought it was more fun not to bite and let Mr. Type-A personality stew in his envy.
Rita Hester said, “You were a little rough on him, Stall. You really want to risk a fight like that at this point in your career?”
“To catch this killer, you bet. I hope everyone here is willing to take some risks.”
Mazzetti stepped into the conversation. “That was a hotshot move, Stall. You wanna be the one in the spotlight, don’t you?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t even want to be the one around the spotlight, Mazzetti. I just wanna find this killer.”
Mazzetti looked at Patty. “Maybe you can talk some sense into this guy.”
“Believe me Tony, I’ve tried.”
As Mazzetti stomped off, Stallings turned to his partner, “You called him Tony. You getting friendly with the enemy?”
She hoped he didn’t notice her face flush.
Stallings eased in his front door about two and was surprised to see Maria asleep in the recliner in front of the TV. Before he woke her, Stallings leaned down to smell the drink with a puddle of condensation around it. Ginger ale. He tasted it to be sure. Just ginger ale.
He gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, beautiful, let’s go to bed.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Are you just getting home?”
He nodded.
“What time is it?”
“Two.”
“Why were you working so late?”
He knew it wasn’t the right time to explain his new assignment, especially that it was his choice. Tomorrow would be a better time. “Just have a few things happening. Let’s get some rest.” He took her hand and helped her up, happy to see her sober, safe, and with a smile on her elegant face. She kissed him lightly on his cheek, and his heart raced like it always did around her.
After trying to fall asleep for more than an hour, Stallings flipped for the twentieth time trying to get comfortable. It was an anxiety that surged through him and he didn’t know if it was from his case, his constant worry about the kids, sorrow for Jeanie, or the feeling that Maria was about to drop off the deep end any day. He never wanted to have to visit her during a “spa treatment” again.
He eased out of the king-size bed and made a quick circuit through the house, a habit he had only developed in the last few years. He found it calmed him and helped him sleep. He checked the front and rear doors, a few random windows, then looked in on Charlie, who snored away in a steady rhythm, then on his precious Lauren. He stood by her door, which she always kept slightly ajar, and gazed at her flawless face. Her room was a typical adolescent’s with an iPod in a charger next to a cell phone and computer. Her science textbook lay open on the small desk near her bed.
He searched both the kids’ computers on a regular basis, because he knew the predators that lurked on the Internet and how often runaways were lured from their homes by these creeps. He never kept his snooping a secret from the kids and explained his concerns openly, just like he explained drug use with them. Charlie never cared, but Lauren was getting to the age where she resented little intrusions like that. He knew he’d never be complacent again; she’d just have to get used to it.
Satisfied everything was secure, Stallings headed back to his bed, but still couldn’t shake the anxiety. He knew the only answer would be in finding Lee Ann Moffit’s killer.
Dremmel’s mind spun as he tried to buy time. Trina was clearly smarter than he’d given her credit for, and she was more resistant to the Oxy and Seconal than he thought possible. He’d read in one of the medical journals that continued use of most pharmaceuticals created a tolerance in the user even if the big drug companies claimed it didn’t. This girl was a walking, jabbering contradiction to the notion that continued drug use didn’t build tolerance. She had enough chemicals in her body that she should be snoring loudly in his lab by now.
If he bought enough time and calmed her down, maybe the drugs would start to hit her. He just needed a few minutes to get her into the lab, secure her, and then he could breathe a little easier.
He said, “I, er, I was worried about you and wanted you to get some rest. You’ll have your own bedroom even.”
She flung the empty Seconal capsule halves at him and screeched, “Bullshit. You’re a fucking perv.” A small fist blasted him in his right eye, snapping his head back. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. Trina turned, stomped into the living room, and started gathering her bra and blouse. “I’m outta here.”
He stood, silent, feeling the sticky blood from the small cut and the lights still dancing in front of his right eye. Test subjects weren’t supposed to act this way. He said, “No, wait. I can explain.” As much as he didn’t want to
