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Authors: Michael Brandman

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BOOK: Killing the Blues
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He invited her to join him in his office. She collected her things and went inside. Jesse exchanged a quick glance with Molly, then went inside himself.
“Thank you for seeing me without notice,” Alexis said.
Jesse leaned back in his chair.
“May I ask you a question, Alexis?”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It's just that I can't help but wonder how a woman like yourself gets a job like this one.”
“I studied public relations in college,” she said. “Then I served an internship with a well-known event planner in New York.”
“Where you actually planned events of your own,” Jesse said.
“Not exactly.”
When Jesse said nothing, she continued.
“The event planner gave me access and taught me the ropes.”
“So how did you get this job?”
“I interviewed for it.”
“You interviewed for it?”
“Yes.”
“Who interviewed you?”
“Selectman Hansen.”
“Carter Hansen interviewed you?”
“Yes.”
“So he's the one who hired you.”
“Yes.”
“And that's how you met him?”
“No.”
“No, that's not how you met him?”
“Yes.”
“I'm confused,” he said.
“Which part are you confused about,” she said.
“The Hansen part. You didn't meet him on your job interview?”
“No.”
“You met him prior to your job interview?”
“Yes.”
“Alexis, the first rule of conversation is that you have to provide more than one-word answers.”
“Selectman Hansen is my uncle,” she said.
“Carter Hansen is your uncle,” he said.
“My mother's brother,” she said.
“So it was your uncle who hired you.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I'll be damned,” Jesse said.
Alexis stood.
“Don't judge me, Jesse. I earned this job.”
“I'm sure you did,” he said. “What exactly did Hansen tell you about it?”
“Uncle Carter told me . . . I mean, Selectman Hansen told me that the board was interested in funding a handful of special events this summer, events designed to attract tourists.”
“Rock-and-roll events?”
“Arts-based events. Not rock and roll.”
“And he offered you the job of planning these events?”
“Yes.”
“Was it your idea to introduce rock and roll into the mix?”
“No. Yes.”
“Which is it?”
“I mentioned to Uncle Carter that a Woodstock-like event could reap amazing rewards.”
“To which Uncle Carter replied?”
“‘We'll see.' ”
“And have you made up your mind as to which events you'd like to present?”
“Yes.”
“You want to tell me about them?”
“Yes.”
“Here come those one-worders again.”
“I want to begin with a rock festival. An all-day event. At the Paradise High School stadium.”
“Funded by the board of selectmen?”
“Yes.”
“Does Uncle Carter know?”
“Not yet.”
“I'm flattered that you chose to tell me first,” Jesse said. “When exactly were you planning on telling Uncle Carter?”
“Stop saying ‘Uncle Carter.'”
“When were you planning on telling the selectman?”
“Soon.”
“Soon would be good,” Jesse said. They sat silently for awhile.
“May I ask you a question, Jesse?”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Would you consider having lunch?”
“Lunch?”
“With me.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“You mean now?”
Alexis laughed.
“Yes,” she said.
Jesse didn't say anything.
“Have you anything better to do,” she said.
He looked at her intently.
“Nothing I can think of,” he said.
 
 
 
A
fter agreeing to meet her at the juice bar in Nordmann's Fitness Center, Jesse began to pack up. As he left his office, he stopped by Molly's desk.
“Would you do me a favor, Moll,” he said.
“That depends,” she said.
“Will you please phone Captain Healy's office and ask if he could stop by my place on his way home this evening.”
“Is it business or personal?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is it a business call or a personal call?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I'm not your social secretary, Jesse. I'm still reeling from the coffee incident.”
“The coffee incident.”
“You know what I'm talking about.”
Their conversation had attracted the attention of Suitcase, who was seated at the desk next to Molly's. He was leaning forward in his chair, listening intently.
“You haven't answered my question,” Molly said.
“What if I said it was a business call?”
“Then I'd most happily make it.”
“And if I said it was personal?”
“Then you could make it yourself.”
“Well, it's a business call.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I said so, that's how.”
Molly didn't say anything.
“Have you always been such a hard case,” Jesse said.
“Only since puberty,” Molly said.
Jesse looked over at Suitcase, who quickly looked away.
“Am I wearing a ‘kick me' sign or something,” Jesse said, as he headed for the door. “Quit busting my chops and make the call, will you, please, Molly.”
He left the building.
After he'd gone, Molly looked at Suitcase, and they both burst out laughing.
12
L
ike all of the new-wave fitness centers, Nordmann's was gigantic, football field–sized, containing every imaginable kind of electronic exercise machine. Jesse figured that if hyperactivity didn't pose the members a danger, the intensified electromagnetic field in which they exercised would more than likely neuter them.
He spotted Alexis Richardson among the treadmills. She waved to him. She was wearing tight blue leggings and a white tank top. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was jogging steadily on a treadmill that was running on high.
When she noticed Jesse, she slowed her jog, then turned off the machine but kept walking until it came to a stop. She stepped off and picked up her towel, patting her face before wrapping it around her neck.
“I'm a total fitness freak,” she said. “Have been since I was a girl. You?”
“I was a baseball freak. Till I got hurt.”
“You played baseball?”
“I did.”
“Were you any good?”
“Triple-A good until I tore up my shoulder.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I jog.”
“Jogging is good.”
“And I sulk.”
They wandered over to the juice bar and ordered a couple of healthy-looking sandwiches. They sat at one of the tables.
“You do this a lot,” Jesse said.
“Every day, if possible. I don't really feel right unless I've done at least two hours. I start with the treadmill and end up with the heavy bag.”
“You work out on the heavy bag?”
“I do.”
“You box?”
“Not exactly. I kickbox. I was on my college team. It's an artful sport. And there's nothing quite like the exhilaration of a lethal kick.”
“You mean you've killed people?”
Alexis laughed.
“It's just an expression,” she said.
They finished their lunch and she walked with Jesse to the door.
“Thank you,” Alexis said. “It was lovely.”
“Just like a first date,” Jesse said. “Do you kiss and tell?”
“Don't tease me, Jesse. I like you.”
“Ditto,” he said.
 
 
 
O
nce home, Jesse stepped out of his clothes and into the shower. The steaming-hot water never failed to help ease the tensions of the day. He had just begun to feel better when he realized that someone was pounding on his door.
“Shit,” he said.
Then he hollered, “All right.”
He turned off the shower, dried himself the best he could, wrapped the towel around his waist, and gingerly made his sodden way to the kitchen, where he picked up his pistol. He press-checked it and went to the door.
It was Captain Healy.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Healy said.
Jesse stared at him.
Healy noticed Jesse's gun.
“Were you planning to shoot me,” he said.
“You can't be too careful,” Jesse said.
“Why don't you attend to your dishabille,” Healy said. “I'll see myself in.”
When Jesse returned, wearing jeans and a sweater, he found Healy on the top step of the porch, holding a piece of Jesse's sliced chicken.
The black-and-white cat was standing directly in front of him, tentatively eating the chicken from his hand.
When Jesse stepped outside, the cat bolted. It leapt from the porch and dashed headlong into the bushes.
“I'm a cat person,” Healy said. “Always have been. We currently have six. My wife calls me the Cat Whisperer.”
“The Cat Whisperer,” Jesse said.
“Unlikely, isn't it? I'm an anomaly.”
“That's only the half of it.”
“So what do you know,” Healy said.
“Had to have been a newbie. Some low-life wannabe who came aboard when the operation expanded. Not a professional.”
“Okay,” Healy said.
“So he botches it. Dickwad thinks he's hit himself a home run. Gets rattled when the owner discovers him. Goes ballistic and kills the guy. Mob boys won't have been happy. Car theft isn't meant to be lethal.”
“How do you know this?”
“It's what my gut tells me.”
“What about the killer?”
“Most likely pushing up daisies in Paradise Gardens.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I'm gonna run a break tomorrow. I've convinced Hansen to buy me a couple of Hondas. I'm gonna station them at critical locations and surveil them.”
“And?”
“I'm gonna tail whoever shows up.”
“Don't you mean ‘whomever'?”
“Try not to parade your ignorance. I wanna spot them. See what happens.”
“To what end?”
“Information-gathering. I don't really care about the small potatoes. What interests me is the big fish,” Jesse said.
“Which reminds me, we're having snapper for dinner,” Healy said. “I gotta go.”
Once at the door, he turned back to Jesse.
“This could lead to some unpleasantness, Jesse,” Healy said. “You're gonna want to be careful.”
“I'm always careful.”
“Like hell you are,” Healy said.
After Healy had gone, Jesse went to the kitchen and got a couple of slices of chicken. He took them outside. He held a slice in his outstretched hand and called to the cat.
It didn't appear.
His arm began to tire. At last he placed the chicken on the step, stood up, and went inside.
“Cat Whisperer,” he said.
He turned off the lights and went to bed.
13
J
esse collected the Hondas at noon. He brought Molly and Suitcase along, both of them in civilian clothing.
Suitcase drove the Accord directly to the police station and parked behind the building.
Molly drove the Civic to Paradise Mall, parking in a prearranged location. She got out of the car, made a show of gathering her belongings, then entered the mall.
She walked straight through and exited via a side door, where she was met by Rich Bauer. She got into his cruiser, and together they returned to the station.
The Civic remained where Molly had left it.
Three rows away, Peter Perkins sat low in the driver's seat of an unmarked Chevy, watching the Civic.
From a different vantage point, Jesse sat in his Ford Explorer, sipping coffee, also watching.
The hours passed and no one paid any attention to the Civic.
On cue, Peter Perkins drove away from the mall and was replaced by Arthur Angstrom, driving his Jeep Wrangler. Jesse remained in the Explorer.
When darkness began to settle, Bauer dropped Molly off at the mall. She backtracked through it on her way to the Civic, which she unlocked, got into, and drove away.
At the same time that Molly was leaving the mall, Suitcase was parking the Accord in front of the Cineplex Odeon Twelve. He got out of the car and went inside.
Arthur Angstrom drove his Wrangler past Suitcase just as he was entering the cinema. Angstrom parked several rows behind the Accord. He settled in to keep watch.
Jesse was parked nearby. He carefully unwrapped a meatball sandwich from Daisy's and ate it while he watched.
Nothing happened.
After all of the movies in the Cineplex had ended and the parking lot was emptying, Suitcase, Arthur, and Jesse each went their separate ways, calling it a night.
 
 
 
I
t was close to midnight when Jesse finally got home, bonetired.
BOOK: Killing the Blues
7.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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