The present
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Jake mumbled, thrashing about on top of the cheap, stained bedspread where he’d fallen asleep only a few hours earlier.
He rolled over and crashed to the floor.
“Shit.”
Rubbing his tired, burning eyes, he peeled his naked body off the grungy carpet. He glared at the bed as if it had intentionally ejected him.
“Damn midget bed,” he grumbled, stumbling to the bathroom.
He returned fifteen minutes later, trying to dry off with a towel only slightly larger than a hand towel. Finally giving up, he flung the inadequate piece of terrycloth at the bathroom door.
Sunlight streamed through the threadbare drapes. The loud rumble from the freeway invaded the room. Offensive odors hung in the air.
Jake closed his eyes and recalled fondly the peace and quiet of his secluded Valley Center home. Had he been away only four nights? It seemed an eternity.
While he dressed, he planned his next moves. Increasing urgency tightened his chest. Working without his computer would be a major inconvenience, but with Internet access through his cell phone, he’d survive.
Within an hour, Jake had reservations for the next three nights at a Holiday Inn Express. The hotel had reluctantly agreed to let him check in at 10:30 a.m. A rental car was being delivered there at eleven. No phone messages had been left for him at the Doubletree, and the front desk staff was unaware of anyone asking for him or his room number.
By nine, the Corvette was creeping down the freeway with the rest of the Sunday morning traffic. Jake was acutely aware of every dark Suburban, and there were dozens of them. Since his call with the Contractor on Thursday, he’d exercised every precaution to avoid being followed, but LA just had too many damn cars.
As a black Suburban cut in behind him, he visualized the vehicle bearing down on J.J.’s Hummer. Had he seen it before last night? Tinted windows. No plates. Damn it, he couldn’t be sure.
Jake crisscrossed the streets around the Doubletree Hotel before pulling into the parking lot. He canvassed every line, stopping behind two dark Suburbans. One had Texas plates, the other California. Finally, he parked in one of the registration spaces nearest the entrance.
Outside his room, he listened at the door. Nothing. The DO NOT DISTURB sign and the marker he’d left were still in place. He waited until the hallway was clear. With Glock in hand, he flung open the door.
He pivoted, scanning quickly. No sign of intrusion. He kicked the door shut behind him. Primed for action, he moved through the suite like a SEAL. His heart pounding, his gaze darted from corner to corner, ceiling to floor.
Finally, a loud sigh of relief escaped his lips. He lowered the Glock and rolled his head from side to side. But he stopped for only a minute. Time to leave. No one, not even Burke, would know he was switching hotels.
* * *
“Hey, Williams, this is Sean Burke. I heard about J.J.”
LAPD Vice cop Mike Williams hesitated. “Good news travels fast even on a Sunday. How’d you hear?”
“A little bird told me. Shit, since when was Sunday different from any other day around here?” Burke tapped a pencil on his desk. “Does the LA Sheriff’s Homicide Bureau have any leads?”
“I don’t think so. Clean getaway from what I hear. What’s your interest in it?”
“I have an unsolved rape from four years ago. We questioned J.J. The asshole had an alibi, but I’d swear he knew something. Any chance I could have a peek at the information you have on him? With J.J. being dead and all, no one should mind.”
“That’s tough, Burke. You know how touchy City Hall is about J.J.’s escort service. I won’t be surprised if the whole murder investigation gets swept under the rug.”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that, too. Not that I really give a damn about prosecuting J.J.’s murderer.”
“Agreed. Whoever it was did us all a favor. Except maybe the regular johns. They may be in for a hard time.”
Both men snickered.
“Let me get the pulse of the thing today,” Williams said. “If there aren’t too many eyes watching, I might be able to do something for you.”
“Thanks, buddy. I’d sure love to solve that old rape case.”
* * *
“Lion water.” Jake repeated J.J.’s last words as he stretched out on the king-sized bed in the Holiday Inn Express room.
It sure didn’t sound like a name. A product? A place? Maybe.
The pimp had barely whispered the words with his last breath. What had Jake expected—a miracle?
He’d already searched the Internet. There were lots of lion water fountain websites. Ebay offered everything from lion water pistols to lion water bottle tops. Nothing helped.
Jake’s head ached. His fast-food breakfast churned in his stomach. He closed his eyes. No time for sleep, but God, he was so tired. He’d just rest his eyes for a few minutes.
The cell phone woke him an hour later. He grabbed it from the nightstand and squinted at the phone number. Virginia. The Reardons. The parents or Maleena? Screw them. The call went to voice mail as Jake’s head dropped back on the pillow. But curiosity got the better of him, and five minutes later, he listened to the message.
“Hello, Mr. Stone, this is Maleena Reardon. Where are you? Uh, I thought you’d always be available on your cell. Uh, I hope you…hope everything’s all right. Call me back.” There was a long pause before the call disconnected.
“In your dreams, bitch, but it’s nice to know you’re worried about me,” he muttered.
The phone rang again in his hand. An LA number.
“What’s happening, Burke?” Jake answered.
“You were supposed to call.”
“You sound like a woman. Are you my mother or my girlfriend?” He chuckled. “I was kind of busy this morning.”
“I’m not laughing, Stone. They opened a homicide investigation. I know an eyewitness, but I’m withholding that information. I could get royally screwed.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“Start at the beginning and stick to the truth.”
While he paced the hotel room, Jake recounted the entire episode, beginning with the girlfriend scene before dinner. When he finished, the detective was silent.
“Just five more minutes, Burke, and I would’ve scared it out of him. I can’t believe the rotten luck.”
“Yeah. Strange, the ‘lion water’ thing. Got any ideas?”
“I ain’t got shit. I’ve already checked the Internet. No help. I wish I’d gone straight to J.J.’s place last night and tossed it until I found his Rolodex or something. Now it’s too late. I’m sure the cops are all over it.” He slumped onto a chair.
“Afraid so. The good news is J.J. essentially admitted this Bad Angel and her john were involved in the rape. Now you just need to find them.”
“You make it sound so easy. He said the hooker disappeared, so I’m probably out of luck there. But the john is still a customer. If he’s as kinky and violent as J.J. said, then some of his hookers must know who the asshole is. I thought I’d pay his girlfriend a visit tonight.”
“For a friendly chat?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Not unless she ends up dead.”
“I had nothing to do with J.J.’s murder,” Jake said without any inflection.
“Well, you would’ve needed an accomplice, and my guess is you work alone. So, what do you do now?”
“This is where you come in. Get your hands on a list of the escort service’s customers. Suspected customers, even. I don’t give a shit. I’m looking for a murderer, not passing judgment on their sex lives. Vice must have something.”
“If they do, it’s locked up tighter than a chastity belt. I told you, it’s hands-off, per orders from City Hall,” Burke said.
“Get creative. Just don’t get caught.”
“Thanks. I would’ve never thought of that. So, Stone, you’re convinced this shooting is related to the rape?”
“Yeah.”
“Because?”
“It fits. If the rapist was worried enough to kill Angela, then he would’ve also been worried about J.J.,” Jake said.
“And anyone else who could finger him.” Burke sounded deep in thought.
“Like Bad Angel. He probably offed her right away. It explains why she disappeared.”
“Makes sense.”
“If the victim, hooker, and pimp are all dead, the guy must be feeling home free,” he speculated.
“They make mistakes when they get cocky or comfortable.”
“Agreed. Are you drawing a blank on lion water?”
“Hell, yes. Never heard of it or him.”
“You know, there’s a chance J.J. wasn’t even answering my question about the john. He could’ve been identifying the shooter as the Lionel guy he said was after his business. Lion…Lionel. You ever heard of this Lionel guy?”
“That would be Vice’s area if he runs a prostitution ring,” Burke reminded him.
“Check it out.”
“Yes sir.”
“Sorry. Please check it out.”
“Better.”
“What am I missing, Burke?”
“Besides the answers, the rapist, and the murderer?” The detective laughed and then was silent for a long moment. “Who knows about your investigation?”
“Huh?”
“Who knows you’re digging into this rape case in connection with Angela’s murder?”
Jake straightened in the chair. “Let’s see. You and Olsen at LAPD. Detective Smithson at CPD. Becky Smelter, of course. I told the Reardons I suspected murder but didn’t mention a connection to the rape.” He frowned with concentration. “I think that’s it.”
“Can’t see why anyone on that list would mind you poking around.” Burke paused. “But what if…” He stopped and cleared his throat.
“What?” Jake said impatiently, his lack of sleep catching up with him.
“Well, what if the shooter wasn’t after J.J.?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed, and he scowled. “You’re dreaming, Burke.”
“Yeah, I guess. But what are the odds that, after four years, the john decides to off the pimp—while you’re in the car?”
“Nice try, detective. You really need to curb your wishful thinking. Call me when you get something from Vice.”
Without waiting for a reply, Jake disconnected. He carefully set the phone on the nightstand. At the small table, he tossed two ice cubes into a glass and filled it with J.D.
Stretching out on the bed, he leaned on the pillows against the headboard. He swallowed a long drink of the amber liquid and closed his eyes.
He couldn’t tell Burke. He couldn’t tell anyone.
It sure didn’t help to hear the detective—who knew nothing about the precarious situation with the Contractor—voice the question that had been gnawing at Jake since last night.
The very real possibility had flashed through Jake’s mind the second the Suburban window slid open and the muzzle of a gun emerged.
Was he the target?