Ben had her by the shoulders. “This is Bruno’s residence of record. We don’t need a search warrant.”

Her head whipped around, her eyes ablaze, burning a hole right into me. “Is that right, Bruno?”

Too ashamed, I could only nod.

Mack stood at the stereo, tossing all the CDs to the floor. He pulled the pictures off from the wall, tossed them on the floor, and started to move systematically through the room conducting a professional search.

“Ben Drury, you stop this right now, or I swear I’m going to make a call.”

Mack hesitated.

Drury said to Mack, “I warned you.”

Mack smiled. “Grow some balls, Drury. All we have to do is find her stash and then nobody can touch us. Nobody. We’ll be bulletproof. Trust me.” He picked up the vase and turned it over. The silk flowers fell out. Green Benjamin Franklins cascaded to the carpet.

Mack threw his head back and laughed. “Lookee, here.” He turned toward me, “Peekaboo, asshole.”

This, a term I myself had coined years ago, and it had become a standard BMF catchphrase. He knew its origin and purposely used it on me. Threw it right in my face.

“What?” Chantal said, “That’s my money. It’s not against the law to be leery of banks and to keep cash in your home. Is it, Mr. Drury?”

“It is if it belongs to a parolee.”

“I just told you that it’s mine.”

Mack came over to the couch, “Stand up, asshole, it’s time to go to jail.”

I knew I could take Mack, he was younger, stronger, but overconfident. The problem was whether or not Ben would stand by while I put Mack on the deck. I had no choice. No way could I go back for a year on a violation. Not right now, not with everything already in motion. I stood up, the decision made. I’d chance it, put him down. Go on the run until everything ran its course.

Drury’s cell phone rang. He looked at the incoming number. “Hold it. Hold it, the both of you, give it a rest.” He pushed the button, said, “Drury. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I understand.” He punched off. “We’re through here.”

Mack’s head spun. “What’re you talking about?”

“You heard me. We’re done. We’re leaving right now.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. I work for the Sheriff’s Department.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m leaving. You can do what you want. But be warned I told you the setup here, and if you stay, it’s at your own risk. You’re no longer sanctioned by state parole for this search. You will need your own probable cause.” He turned to Chantal, “I’m sorry, Ms. Sykes, for bothering you on Sunday.” He walked to the door, opened it, “You coming, Mack?”

Mack looked at me, gave me his best cocksucker eyes. “We’re not through. You and me are going to tangle. Count on it.”

“I look forward to it.”

The words locked his jaw tight and screwed his muscles down. He hesitated, weighing his options, as if he could weather the shit storm he’d stir up if he jumped now instead of later.

It passed.

He stomped over to the door, turned, and said, “Lady, you know what kind of piece of shit you’re living with? He’s a murderer. He hunted down a twenty-five-year-old kid and shot him in cold blood right in front of witnesses.” Mack pointed an unloaded finger at me. “The kid wasn’t wanted by the law and he had nothing in his hands. This piece of shit gunned him in cold blood. Think about that the next time he’s kissing on your neck, running his hands up to grope that sweet little ass of yours, and then ask yourself, when’s he going to snap and kill again. Kill again for no reason. Think about it.”

Chantal walked over to Mack, smiled, put her hand up, and stroked his face. “And you, honey, try and keep your big nose where it doesn’t belong. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Mack’s face bloated red. For a long second, I thought he would just say, screw it, pull his handcuffs, and take us both down. He finally gave it up, kicked the doorjamb like a spoiled little kid, and followed Ben out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I would now have to be careful and not give him my back. Without witnesses around, given the chance, he’d surely gun me.

Chapter Seven

Chantal’s shoulders quaked as she walked unsteadily over to a chair, sat, and lit a cigarette from the box on the end table.

I didn’t know what to say or do. I walked over, got down on my sore knees, righted the vase, picked up the silk flowers, and replaced them. My voice croaked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

She took a long drag on her cigarette, held it in, and then blew it out of her nose in one long exhale. “What a prick, that guy.”

I started shuffling all the cash together. “Boy, we were lucky. If Drury hadn’t gotten that phone call—” I stopped and looked at her.

She took in another long drag and spoke as the smoke came out her mouth. “The way you came in, I knew there was going to be trouble so I made a preemptive call.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I owe you big.”

She held out her hand. “Yes, you do. You have no idea how much explaining I’m going to have to do. Calling him at home on Sunday morning, telling him that state parole was at the door, and could he do something about it? That’s going to cost me dear.”

I looked at her hand, then down at all the money in mine. It represented a good a chunk of what was needed. To give it up meant I’d have to venture back out on the edge to replace it, take the risk all over again. Another delay, another big risk, when I’d thought I was all but done with that part of the plan.

Had she not stopped the law machine from running me over, I’d have been on the run from parole with an armed-and-dangerous warrant out for me, or worse, in the can waiting for a parole hearing. How much was that worth? More than twenty thousand, that was for sure. I set the money in her hand and said, “Thank you. I mean it, you saved my ass.”

She got up with a big smile, sauntered over to the stereo, and set the money on top in one tall pile. “You know what? That big ugly bastard made me feel dirty all over.” She slipped the spaghetti strings to her nightgown off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

She walked down the hall, her perfectly shaped naked bottom over spiked high heels rose and fell with each step.

She’d put the heels on when she’d gone in the bedroom, put them on purposely for the overall presentation. While at the same time making that phone call that saved my ass. She was one cool, conniving woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. She hesitated, looked over her shoulder to see if I followed. Her eyes and smile beckoned.

I shuddered and closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, about Marie, her smile, the way her eyes flashed when I said something that made her happy, made her laugh with the little crinkle at the corner of her lips. When I opened my eyes, the hall had turned drab in Chantal’s absence.

I went into the second bedroom, shut the door, quickly stripped out of my clothes, entered the bathroom, and locked the door. Locked Chantal out. Just in case. If she walked in the bathroom, opened the shower door, and stepped in while I lathered up, I didn’t think I’d be able to—I shuddered again at the thought and turned the hot water off and the cold on high. “I’m with you, Marie. I’m still with you, babe.”

Chapter Eight

Violence in its purest form will surge and ebb with a common rhythm, and if you’re familiar with it, you can predict when it will next surface. I’d been out of the business too long. Those last two weeks out in front of Mr. Cho’s, I missed the signs, the indicators.

Had I been on my game, I might’ve been able to stop the kid, been prepared for him the second he’d walked in. Maybe if I’d have thrown a forty-ounce bottle of Cobra beer, chunked him in the head with it. Instead of just watching, letting it all play out as if I were some kind of bumpkin sitting on a country fence.