Rock Chick Renegade Page 3

  Zip talked over me, in ful rant.

  “It isn’t Cordova. You could handle Cordova, hel , a five year old could handle Cordova. We’re talkin’ Lee Nightingale now. Lee Nightingale. Do you know who was in fuckin’ Fortnum’s Bookstore watchin’ you be a hotshot, shootin’ out Cordova’s tires like you were in a goddamned Hol ywood movie?”

  “Um...” I said.

  “No?” Zip didn’t let me answer. “First off, Lee fuckin’

  Nightingale. Then Hank fuckin’ Nightingale. Make matters worse, Eddie fuckin’ Chavez. Two officers of the goddamned law.”

  “Zip –” I tried to butt in.

  He ignored me.

  “And if you already weren’t screwed three ways ‘til Sunday, Luke fuckin’ Stark, Kai fuckin’ Mason and Vance fuckin’ Crowe.”

  “Wel , I knew about Crowe,” I said.

  And I guessed the rest, or some of them.

  It wasn’t good that I had the attention of the Nightingale brothers and Chavez, but Crowe had said he’d talk to them.

  Having Stark and Mace witnessing me face down Cordova was kind of embarrassing. If word was even remotely correct, Stark was one badass mother. Kai Mason, known as Mace, was also known for not being far behind Stark in the badass mother stakes (not to mention he had a reputation for having a seriously short fuse).

  “Oh yeah? How’s that?” Zip asked, interrupting my moment of mortified reflection.

  “He kinda caught up with me,” I told Zip.

  Silence.

  “Zip?”

  “He there?” Zip asked.

  Zip’s question confused me. “Sorry?”

  “Crowe, is he with you now?”

  “No. Of course not. We had a talk. He let me go.”

  “He’s not there?” Zip asked, surprise evident in his tone.

  “Um… no.” I drew out the “no” thinking, maybe, Zip had final y lost what marbles he had left.

  “You sure he isn’t there?”

  That’s when I got a chil up my spine and looked out the front window.

  No Harleys in sight.

  I let out a breath.

  “He’s not here Zip. What are you going on about?”

  “Crowe’s got a way with the ladies. You look like you do, which you do, you get in his sights, he’l nail you faster ‘n snot.”

  I rol ed my eyes to the ceiling.

  Pu-lease.

  “I hardly think so,” I said.

  “Girl, you’re loco. Pure loco. What’d Crowe say during this talk?”

  “Not much,” I lied.

  I was already freaked out and Zip was pissed off. I didn’t want to get Zip more pissed off which would serve only to heighten my freak out.

  “He get a good look at you?” Zip asked.

  I would guess the answer to that was “yes” considering his face was an inch from mine and his body was pressed against me.

  My bel y fluttered just thinking about it.

  I ignored the bel y flutter (again).

  “Yeah. Zip, don’t worry about it.”

  “These boys got a way about ‘em, Jules. They don’t fuck around. They see somethin’ they want, they get it. They’re fuckin’ famous for it. A woman don’t stand a chance. He seem interested?”

  I had no idea the answer to that and I didn’t care (wel , maybe a little but I had bigger fish to fry).

  “Listen, Zip, honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. We went our separate ways. I’l be smarter, I’l be more quiet. I’l be –”

  “Laid, good and simple. Crowe got a good look at you, you’re his. You’re gonna be fucked and I mean that literal y.”

  “Zip!” I yel ed, shocked.

  He ignored me. “Though, this may not be a bad thing.

  Crowe won’t want a woman of his gal ivantin’ around town, lettin’ off smoke bombs, slashin’ tires and puttin’ herself out there. You’ve been noticed. You’re gettin’ a lot of attention.

  It makes me un-comfortable. You get me? You were supposed to be invisible, you ain’t invisible. Everyone knows about ‘The Law’. Heavy and Frank and me been talkin’…”

  Oh crap. Not Zip, Heavy and Frank talking. That was not good.

  Every once in awhile they got worried about me, a lot more often lately. I found ways to calm them down but I didn’t figure this would last forever. I needed them, I had a lot to learn and they could teach me. I also liked them and I liked spending time with them.

  They were the closest things to true, good friends that I had. It might be a little pathetic that a twenty-six year old social worker’s friend posse included an old, bald gun shop owner; a guy whose nickname “Heavy” said it al ; and then there was Frank who looked like he could hole himself up in a cabin with fifty years of provisions and mastermind a violent world takeover on a computer.

  But I didn’t care if it was pathetic, they were my friends and that’s al I cared about.

  “Zip, stop and listen to me. Vance Crowe is not in the picture. I’m fine and I’m not stopping.”

  “Jules.”

  “Zip,” I said quietly and then, with feeling, “No.” He was silent again. He knew what my quiet voice meant. My word wasn’t law for nothing.

  “Zip, I promise, I’l do better,” I assured him.

  He was silent for another beat then he gave in.

  “Jules, you be safe, you hear? Keep your eyes and ears open and your head down. I want you in here tomorrow, got me?”

  I smiled. Crisis averted.

  “Got you.”

  “Fuckin’ loco,” he muttered and hung up without saying good-bye.

  * * * * *

  I was getting ready to go out and wreak some havoc on bad guys when I heard a knock at my backdoor and Nick came in. “Jules? You home?”

  “Yeah,” I cal ed from the bathroom, finished wrapping the band around my ponytail and went into the kitchen.

  Boo was tel ing Nick about my day, snitching on me in kitty language.

  Luckily, Nick didn’t speak kitty language.

  I looked at Nick.

  He was tal , salt and pepper hair, blue eyes, glasses, kinda stocky. He was only sixteen years older than me and I figured most of the salt in his hair was put there by me. He was dispatch for a trucking company, and, because he loved doing it, he worked as a DJ most Friday and Saturday nights. He was responsible for my love of music, but mostly my love of rock ‘n’ rol .

  He took one look at my black turtleneck, black jeans and black Pumas and muttered under his breath.

  “Nick –” I started.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it. Talkin’ about it flips me out, so I don’t wanna talk about it. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. The fact that they aren’t the right decisions is outta my hands. I’ve been practicin’ my morgue face for when I have to go identify your body.

  Wanna see it?” Nick said then he arranged his face in this kind of mock, sad, shocked look and slowly shook his head like a world with vigilante social workers mystified him.

  “Good?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help myself, I laughed.

  “You aren’t going to have to identify my body,” I told him.

  “I hope not. Your timing, it’l be during a Broncos game.

  That’d piss me off.”

  I smiled at him.

  “Okay, I’l try not to get kil ed during a Broncos game.” He gave me one of his looks, the kind he’d been giving me for four months. The kind that made my gut twist. It was fleeting and he hid it fast but I saw it and I knew he was worried.

  I decided not to go there.

  “Do you want me to make you dinner?” I asked.

  His eyes got huge. “What? Now you tryin’ to kil me?” It was safe to say I wasn’t the best of cooks.

  Auntie Reba could cook. She was the queen of time-economy cooking. It took her about fifteen minutes to prepare a delicious, three course feast for thirty people.

  She was a kitchen goddess.

  Unfortunately, whi
le she was doing this, Nick and I were listening to Stevie Wonder or Elton John or The Marshal Tucker Band, depending on our mood. Therefore, I never learned to cook.

  “I was thinking quesadil as,” I suggested.

  Anyone could melt cheese between a couple of tortil as.

  Anyone could melt cheese between a couple of tortil as.

  How hard could that be?

  “You eaten yet?” Nick asked.

  “Nope,” I told him.

  “Goin’ out tonight?” he went on.

  “Yep.”

  “I’l make dinner,” he decided.

  We both knew that was probably best.

  And most nights Nick made dinner anyway.

  * * * * *

  I sat at a table in the back of the bar, my back to the wal , watching Darius Tucker. He was a tal , lean, black man with twists in his hair. He was very good-looking, had a way of holding himself that made you notice him and he was also a very bad guy.

  I knew as wel and was surprised by the fact that he was reportedly close to both Lee Nightingale and Eddie Chavez. Nightingale worked for money and, from what I could tel , had a foot planted on both sides of the fence. But Chavez was a cop.

  This relationship intrigued me.

  I’d been on the tail of one of Darius’s boys, a dealer. The dealer led me to Darius and I was watching.

  It was late. I was tired. I’d had a shit day, not to mention, mental y relived the whole Park nightmare. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for mayhem so I’d decided to give the night over to reconnaissance.

  Know thy enemy.

  I was keeping my eye out for Crowe, or any of the Nightingale boys. I’d only ever seen Crowe, the rest of them Nightingale boys. I’d only ever seen Crowe, the rest of them were stil shadows for me. Though, I’d heard enough about them that I could probably pick them out in a crowd.

  I was sitting on my phone and it vibrated against my ass.

  Not taking my eyes from the room, I pul ed it out, flipped it open and put it to my ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “Law?” Sniff said and he didn’t sound right.

  My back went straight. “Sniff?”

  “Law… shit. Law, he’l kil me if he knows I told you but…

  Roam…”

  I was already standing, my body tense, my mind wired.

  “Tel me, Sniff,” I demanded, hitching the strap of my black purse over my shoulder.

  “He’s been talkin’ lately, got this idea to help you out,” Sniff told me.

  Fuck!

  I was worried that something like this would happen.

  “You with him?” I asked, moving through the bar, keeping people between Tucker, his dealer and me.

  “Watchin’ him. Law, shit… he’s gonna kil me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “He’s fol owin’ someone. I’m fol owin’ him. Goin’ down Speer Boulevard bike path, close to Logan.”

  “Which side are you on?”

  “South side.”

  “What direction are you headed?”

  “West, shit Law.”

  He sounded scared.

  “I’l be there in ten minutes. You stick to him, Sniff, but do not get near. Do you hear me? Something happens, you don’t cal me, you cal the police. Got me?”

  “Law, can’t cal the cops.”

  “You think something’s gonna go down, you get out of there and cal 911. Promise me.”

  “Law, I cal the cops, Roam’d never talk to me again.”

  “Promise me, Sniff.”

  I was at the Camaro and Sniff hesitated.

  Then he said, “Fuck. I promise.”

  “I’l be there in ten,” I told him. “And don’t say fuck.” I swung myself behind Hazel’s wheel, started her up and drove like a madwoman. I parked in the Fox TV station lot, pul ed my mace out and shoved it in my front pocket, shoved my gun in the back waistband of my jeans and held my stun gun in my hand. I got out, locked up and pocketed the keys.

  I crossed Speer, which wasn’t easy; it was a busy, three-lane street, even late at night. Then I headed to the bike path, keeping my eyes open.

  I moved swiftly and quietly.

  It was nearing midnight, it was dark, the street was bright but the bike path wasn’t wel -lit.

  I saw nothing and kept going, hoping they stayed on the path. I couldn’t chance a cal to Sniff. I didn’t know if Roam and whoever Roam was fol owing would hear it. So I just moved as fast as I could without making any noise.

  What seemed like an eternity later, but was probably five minutes, I saw Sniff’s gray sweatshirt. We were almost to Broadway when I got to him.

  He was standing, trying to hide but you could see his sweatshirt. I approached him from behind and touched his shoulder. He jumped and whirled, dropping his phone with a clatter.

  “Shit, Law!” he hissed.

  I bent down, got his phone and gave it to him. “Roam stil here?” I whispered.

  “Yeah, up ahead,” Sniff whispered back.

  I handed him my car keys. “Camaro’s in the Fox station lot. Go to it, get in, lock up and wait for me.”

  “Law…” he hesitated.

  I got close and clipped, “Move! ”

  He took off.

  Told you my word was law.

  I moved forward enough to see that there were people in front of me, standing, pretty as you please, next to a street light. A dealer making a sale. Anyone else might have thought they were just talking, on the Speer bike path, at midnight.

  I knew it was a sale because I’d witnessed a lot of them the past four months.

  Roam was nowhere to be seen.

  I got into the shadows, watched and waited.

  The sale went down, the buyers took off West, the dealer came my way.

  Shit.

  The dealer got close and I recognized him. Name was Shard, low level player, just a piece of scum caught in the wheel of the big drug machine.

  I made a decision, came out to the path and started toward him like I was taking a moonlight strol . I figured I’d walk by him, find Roam and get the hel out of there.

  Shard noticed me, hesitated and then, for no apparent reason, his body jerked and he whirled.

  I stared, not knowing what was happening and wondering if maybe he suffered from epilepsy or something.

  He jerked again then again then caught sight of something and ran toward it, away from me. He jerked again while he was running and I final y noticed Roam, standing a bit away, throwing rocks at Shard.

  Oh shit.

  I ran after Shard. Roam saw us both and shot out of his hiding hole and took off.

  We were al running, flat out, and I realized in a panic there was no way I’d catch Shard and Roam. Roam was quick. Shard was quicker.

  I did catch up with them, though the only reason I was able to was that Shard caught up with Roam, did a flying tackle and brought him down. They struggled, he rol ed Roam to his back, reared to punch him but before he did I made it to them, grabbed Shard’s wrist and twisted it, spinning him off of Roam.

  Shard rol ed into me, took me down and my stun gun went flying.

  “Roam, run!” I shouted as Shard got on top of me. We were struggling, his hands at my wrists, he was stronger than me, way stronger. I looked for my opening to knee him in the ‘nads when Roam body tackled him sideways.

  We al went rol ing, Shard taking me with his hands at my wrists.

  We stopped rol ing stil scuffling. Shard was working to free himself from Roam and me when, al of a sudden, he was lifted clean up into the air, like he was levitating, arms and legs reeling.

  I stared in shock, Roam went stil and then Shard was slammed face first on the ground next to me.

  That’s when I saw Crowe.

  He was crouched low. He planted his knee in Shard’s back, pul ed Shard’s hands behind him and secured his wrists in cuffs like Shard wasn’t struggling like a mother (which he was).

  Then Crowe straightened, jerking Shard up
with him.

  Crowe cocked his knee to the back of one of Shard’s, taking Shard down.

  I was lying on my back, staring up, unable to move.

  Roam was lying on his side next to me, up on an elbow.

  We were both (I hate to admit it) in awe.

  I didn’t have to wonder why Crowe was there. He was fol owing me in order to “shut me down”.

  Shit.

  Crowe pul ed a gun out of a holster on his belt and trained it on Shard. “Don’t move,” he said to Shard, his deep voice was scary.

  Then his head turned and even in the shadowed light I knew he was looking at me. I knew it because I felt his eyes burning into me.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  I did as I was told, frankly too scared to do otherwise (he was holding a gun and he seemed a bit pissed off and he’d made a grown man levitate, even I wasn’t fool enough to spit in the eye of that kind of tiger). Then I turned and helped Roam get up.

  Crowe pul ed a phone out of his back pocket, flipped it opened one handed and hit a button.

  I breathed heavily, staring at him.

  “You… are… the… man,” Roam whispered. He was staring at Crowe too, eyes wide with wonder.

  “Jack? I got a pick up,” Crowe said into the phone.

  “Speer bike path, South side, close to Broadway,” he hesitated, listening, then went on briefly. “Yeah. Out.” Then he flipped the phone shut and looked at me again.

  “You wanna tel me what the fuck’s goin’ on?” he asked me, his voice stil pissed off.

  I didn’t, real y, so I didn’t say anything.

  “How’d you do that?” Roam asked, cutting into Crowe’s short, one-sided conversation with me.

  I looked at Roam. He was stil staring at Crowe like he was a god among men. Then I remembered to be angry at him and turned to face him.

  “What did you think you were doing?” I shouted.

  Roam’s eyes came to me. “Law –”

  “Don’t ‘Law’ me. I should knock some sense into you.

  You could have got hurt, pelting drug dealers with rocks.

  Are you nuts?” I yel ed.

  Are you nuts?” I yel ed.

  “You do it,” Roam said, assuming a teenage boy’s pissed-off-yet-pouty stance of jutting lip and slightly leaning body.

  “I do not pelt drug dealers with rocks. That’s a fool thing to do. Honestly, Roam, what am I gonna do with you?”