CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HUNTER
I’m sitting across the table wondering how in hell any girl can look so sexy eating a Danny’s hot dog, but Grace’s pulling it off. Her tongue snakes out to lick a spot of mustard off her wrist.
She stops, eyes flicking up to me. “What?”
I can’t stop smiling. It’s been a while since those muscles got a workout. “You’re cute. That’s all.”
She places the dog down. “Cute?” she laughs. “I’ve been called many things, Beckett. “’Cute’ is not among them. In fact, it tends to be another four-letter word starting with ‘C.’”
“Calm?” I offer.
She shrugs. “When the situation calls for it.”
“And when it doesn’t?”
“I take my lead from Maximus Decimus Meridius and unleash hell.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“Oh, you will… You or your balls.”
“Baby,” I wink, “you can play with my balls any time you want.”
“I don’t think you’ve quite worked out what I define as ‘play,’ have you?”
“Speaking of which, what is our next play? We can’t keep running around with our dicks out hoping for Lady Luck to shine down on us.”
“Speak for yourself.” She dabs her mouth with a napkin before speaking again. It’s been a long morning dealing with the fallout from Doyle and his crew. I thought the paperwork in LA was bad...
“I say we apply pressure to the only lead we have,” continues Grace.
“The other prostitute at the hotel.”
“We call them hookers around here, but yeah. Why, you got a better idea?”
I don’t. I’m not exactly looking forward to another trip to The Baxter, but if it offers us somewhere to direct ourselves, it’s worth a shot. Besides, the sooner we can wrap this up the sooner we can celebrate.
Grace pops the last of her hot dog into her mouth, standing and mumbling. “Well, you going to sit there pondering world peace or we are doing this shit?”
Boy, are you in trouble.
I stand. “Lead the way, Detective.”
*
The hotel turns out to be a bust. We ask around hoping for the name of Rachel’s last client, but none of the girls seem to have any idea. I doubt half of them know what day of the week it is.
We’ve been at this an hour and it’s clearly taking a toll. Grace slumps against the hallway wall, slamming her closed fist against the brick. “Jesus. Just a name. That’s all we need. It’s not like we’re asking for the hiding place of the Holy Grail here.”
“Was that an Indiana Jones reference?”
Even that doesn’t elicit a response. “It’s a ‘I’m fucking pissed off right now given we’re fuck out of options’ reference.”
“We’ll work it out.”
She scoffs, folding her arms. “Said every single person ever who hasn’t.”
It’s deflating. I get that. This was our last lead. Without this I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but I don’t want to admit defeat either. I never called it quits on the field, even with a second on the clock. In that hospital, so easy to lose hope, I forged the fuck on. Giving up is not the Beckett way, or at least it didn’t used to be.
We’re both standing in quiet contemplation when the elevator chimes at the end of the hallway.
We stare at it simultaneously for no other reason than it’s the only thing alive around here.
The doors open and a man steps out with his hands in his pockets, his head hung in the typical swagger of a lowlife drug…
“Hey,” I whisper to Grace, “is that…?”
The guy’s head comes up and he spots us, freezing on the spot.
“Maurice,” Grace finishes, a widespread smile finally finding its way onto her face.
Maurice turns and bolts back into the elevator, managing to squeeze his skeletal frame through the doors just as they close.
Grace starts to run, pointing upwards. “You go up. I’ll go down.”
Yes, please.
And try as I might, I can’t shake the memory from blotting out all else—her lips, her soft moaning.
Come on. Back to work.
We come into the stairwell and Grace hammers down the stairs while I pump upwards, my legs burning from the effort. There are only two floors to his hotel, no possible way he makes it out of here, but when I reach the roof and find it empty, I become strangely concerned.
I come to the edge of the roof and peer over in time to see Maurice running out from the rear door across the courtyard. If he makes it to the main road…
I spot Grace sprinting out from the side. “There!” I shout, pointing.
She spins and starts to run for him. For a second, I don’t think she’s going to make it, but she does.
Poor bastard doesn’t even see her coming… or her foot, rather.
She kicks him so hard he’s sent clear off his feet, catapulting into the pool. The subsequent splash washes wetly against the far wall.
By the time I make it downstairs, Grace is standing at the edge of the pool with her hands on her hips.
“I’m fucking drowning!” Maurice screams. “Help me!”
He thrashes around uselessly, completely unaware he could probably stand up the pool’s so shallow.
“What do you think?” Grace asks me, shouting across the pool. “Should we let this asshole drown or fish him out?”
I cross my own arms, playing along. “Beats me, Detective.”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Maurice blubbers, head bobbing under momentarily. “Anything. Just get me the fuck out of here.”
Grace nods and I take the pool net, extending it so Maurice can take hold. I drag him in, Grace waiting with the handcuffs as we haul him out. “A talking fish. Now I have seen it all.” She spins him around and shoves him forward. “Let’s go, Nemo.”
*
It reeks of chlorine in the interrogation room, though Maurice did dry out somewhat in the back to the cruiser.
Grace is seated in front of him. I stand at the back of the room, leaning against the wall next to the window.
“So, talk,” she says.
Maurice spits on the table. “Fuck you, fucking bitch pig puta.”
It’s quite the attitude swing.
Grace swivels to me, nodding. “’Bitch pig. Bitch pig bitch’? If my Spanish is correct. That’s a new one, though I believe the correct term is ‘gilt,’ or ‘sow’ if I’ve popped out a few piglets. And I haven’t, if you’re wondering.” She lifts herself off the seat, showing Maurice her backside. “Not with an ass like this.”
Maurice grins, his grill showing. “Baby, I’d fuck that ass so hard you’d be shitting cum for weeks.”
Charming.
I go to move, but Grace raises a hand to ward me off.
“So, you liked being fucked in the ass, do you?”
His head drops to his shoulder. “Bitch, you can peg me any day of the week.”
Grace takes out her weapon, holding the butt of it. “How about this? You want me to peg you with Chewie here or simply clobber you over the head a few times with it?”
His eyes flick to the corner of the room. “Big Brother’s watching, bitch. You ain’t gonna do shit.”
I almost expect Grace to jump across the table and pistol-whip him, but she holsters her weapon. “You’re right. I’m going to leave that up to the Jersey twins in lock-up. You know, where you’re headed for possession given what we found in your pockets there.”
He goes as white as the paper cup before him. His mouth opens, but he’s not going to talk. No, he’s scared of something else, something even worse. I see it in his eyes.
Grace sees it too, standing. “We’re done here.”
Outside the room, I draw her into a corner. “Now what?”
Her cell buzzes. She takes it out, smiling down at the screen. “Follow me.”