Bitter Black Kiss Page 3

  “Yeah. He worked off Front Street and dealt a little of everything.”

  “You know he’s dead?”

  Brody nodded. “His mother called around four this morning. Right after you guys asked her to identify the body. I’d just gone to bed.”

  Vasquez made a face. “Be glad you missed it. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Any ideas on who shot his face off?"

  “We thought you might be able to help.” She glanced up at him, her expression neutral.

  Brody glanced at the mirrored wall. Most people wouldn’t have heard the click of the door or the subtle rustle of fabric in the other room, but he did. “What? The department expects me to do their work for them? Am I going to be compensated for my time?”

  Vasquez held up a hand to bring a halt to the conversation. “Let’s not worry about compensation for now. Getting back to Alvarez though, the guy was paranoid, wasn’t he? He had security cameras all over the property. The funny thing about those cameras, they show you parked outside the gate. We also got you walking up to the house.”

  Her voice was so quiet that most people would have leaned closer to hear. “The most fascinating part? The camera never saw you come out, but a strange-looking dog left through the back gate.”

  “So?”

  “Alvarez didn’t own a dog.”

  He scowled, but managed to keep a sense of calm. “Okay, I went to see him. I had a word or two with him. But he was fine when I left. And for the record, I went out the same way I came in — through the front door.”

  “We found a puddle of gunk inside the kitchen. Does that mean anything to you?”

  The fine hairs on Brody’s neck stood on end. Hank was not infected nor did he use his own product. However, the gelatinous residue Vasquez just described meant there had been a Lycan on the scene. Other than himself, that is.

  “Maybe he wasn't a good housekeeper."

  His comment didn't even bring a smile. Vasquez remained on track. “What did the two of you discuss? Was it the kind of conversation that would make him eat a bullet?”

  “Get serious, Vasquez.”

  She slammed her palm onto the table. The sound reverberated throughout the room. “His brains were splattered all over the cabinets, Brody. We can’t locate the gun. You are the last person to see him alive. That’s about as serious as it gets.”

  He leaned forward and Vasquez did the same. Their faces were only inches apart. “Do you want to run ballistics on my gun? Do you need to check for residue on my clothes?"

  Vasquez sat back and regarded him for a moment. He didn’t hold the subject of interrogation against her. She was just doing her job. He also knew her every move was being scrutinized due to his involvement.

  “Did he give you the supplier?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have had to work on him a while to get him to talk.” She watched him carefully, gauging the expression on his face.

  Brody didn’t agree or disagree. “It didn’t take much to convince him.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t hear what you wanted?”

  “Are we done yet?”

  “A girl named Amy Dahl was reported missing a few nights ago.” Vasquez watched for a reaction. He gave her none. “We sent a uniform over to her apartment and it looked like a war zone.”

  Brody stiffened. They knew he’d been in contact with the girl. A sense of unease soured his good mood. His ex-partner had a knack for drawing things out to allow for maximum drama. It was still unclear if she’d been one of the people who had rallied for his dismissal three years ago. He didn’t like to think this intelligent woman, this good cop, had done that. The truth was the whole ordeal had left him shaken and unable to trust.

  Vasquez tossed the folder aside. “I know you’ll take a personal interest in this. It looks like there was a struggle in her apartment. We found a crushed hypodermic in the bathroom.”

  He already knew the answer, but played dumb. “BST?”

  She glanced at the closed folder. “You got it. There was a lot of blood and gunk on this scene too. A ton of fingerprints to sort through. And we found some interesting ones in the bedroom."

  It was past time to fess up. He swung his legs down and sat up. “You mean in addition to mine? Her parents hired me to find her.”

  That got Vasquez’s attention. She reached for the pen and folder. She scribbled notes as he gave her details. “So if her parents paid you to find her, why were you in the bedroom?”

  “Not what you’re insinuating. She wrote to them, told them she was in a lot of trouble.” Brody ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I found her a few weeks ago. She was in some real danger, Vasquez. I was trying to help her sort it out.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The kind that probably got her killed.” Brody ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Sean Stone used her as a fuck puppet. He got her hooked on BST then dumped her. As payback, she and Alvarez tried to blackmail him.”

  “Alvarez? How are they connected?” Vasquez didn’t ask how he got Amy to confess.

  “She worked over at The Wolf’s Den, Stone’s strip joint.” He wished he could go back and change things. “It was just one of the titty bars Alvarez frequented. He met her there.”

  “And the blackmail?”

  “Amy was in bad withdrawals when Stone dumped her. Alvarez just happened to be the right guy at the right time. They hooked up and found that they both had a connection to Stone. Alvarez gets BST from Stone’s people then distributes it. They thought they could skip the middle man, make a lot of money. Only, Stone wasn’t so easy to push around.”

  Vasquez pursed her lips. “That’s a lot of speculation. You’d better be damned sure.”

  “You want to hear what she told me or not?” He narrowed his eyes, daring her to say more. “When the attempt to blackmail Stone fell through, Alvarez tried to distance himself from it. He fingered her as the brains of the whole scheme.”

  Vasquez wrote at a furious pace. “Did he know she fingered him as her dealer? Maybe he confronted her, and it got ugly.”

  “I have no idea. Can’t ask them since he’s dead, and she’s missing.” He leaned back in the chair. “I went to her apartment, but she was gone. I managed to follow her trail a ways, but lost it near Old Town.”

  Vasquez regarded him a moment. “Did Alvarez have the L-virus?”

  Brody scrubbed a hand across his chin. “We’ve already gone over this.”

  “The anonymous caller claimed someone else was in Amy’s apartment. The caller indicated that they were in wolf form. We found a clump of hair at the top of the stairs, and it appears to be from an animal.”

  “Anything else?” Brody pushed the chair away from the metal table.

  “I assume you went to Alvarez for his side of things?” Vasquez tapped the pen against the folder. “Did he give you the wrong information, Brody? Is that why you beat him to a pulp?"

  “Don’t be stupid.” He glared at the two-way glass. Someone behind it cleared their throat. “I could share my suspicions, but we both know the department will look the other way. Just like always.”

  Vasquez gripped his sleeve and hauled him to his feet. “That’s the kind of talk that got you canned. We’re done here. I’ll walk you out.”

  On the street, the fading sunshine did not cheer him. Not even the roller-skating blonde in the red hot pants could raise his spirits. They moved down the block toward the parking garage. “That’s not why I got fired and you know it. At least, it’s not the only reason.”

  “It’s all in the past.” A fat uniformed officer with a mustache waddled past. He held a drink tray and a greasy, rolled up bag from the burger stand across the street. Once he had passed, she said, “Just let it go.”

  Brody scowled at their reflection in the shop windows. His lanky reflection looked ragged around the edges. He traded his dress clothes in favor of a faded t-shirt and jeans. He did it out of comfort, but also in an effo
rt to fit in, to blend with the crowd. It tended to make the job go a lot smoother if you didn’t stand out.

  Vasquez was his complete opposite. She was all business in her conservative suit and sensible shoes. Her skin was darker than his, her Hispanic blood-heritage there for all to see. His blood-heritage hid just underneath the surface, yet it was always waiting for him to set it loose.

  Let it go, Vasquez had said. She had no idea how impossible or how dangerous her request really was.

  He noticed that she led him to the adjoining shopping center’s parking lot.

  “Why are you parked out here?”

  She grinned and clapped him on the back. “When they said they were going to question you, I beat it over there so I could do it myself. They think you had something to do with Amy’s trashed apartment.”

  “Me?” Indignation sputtered through him. “Over a few misplaced fingerprints?”

  Vasquez’s face sobered, and she looked away. “If you say you didn’t do it, I believe you. That’s why I hoofed it over. I had to make sure they didn’t haul you in on some bogus bullshit.”

  “So you decided just to question me on a bunch of circumstantial bullshit?”

  “In all fairness, you did knock Alvarez around. Who’s to say you didn’t do the same to Amy? It’s easy for the situation to get out of hand once you’re in a particular frame of mind.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “I’m not saying you did. We just had to establish where you stand, okay? Don’t be surprised if they want to talk to you again. I may not get to sit in next time. They say I'm biased."

  “Thanks a lot.” They moved past a row of empty cars. “So do you have any leads in regards to Amy’s whereabouts?”

  “No, she’s still missing.” Vasquez unhooked her arm from his. The purse she dug through was gigantic. She found her keys then glanced up at him and smiled. “So, if you learn anything, I’d appreciate it if you’d share. It sure seems like someone is following your every move, so be sure to cover your ass.”

  She produced a folder from the bag, but held it with tight fingers even as his closed around it. “And make damn sure you cover mine too.” Finally, she let go.

  The other shoe had dropped. Sometimes, it proved impossible to follow the straight and narrow as described in the giant book of rules. He hadn’t been a dirty cop, not by any means. But he had methods of getting suspects to talk. He could chase down criminals and make deals with them better than any other cop on the force. The people he worked with envied his ability to close cases and began to formulate some outlandish ideas. The jealousy and rumors had hurt his reputation. Vasquez had been the only one at the precinct that would ride with him. He at least owed her for that.

  Her face clouded. Somehow she managed to pull a smile. “I wasn’t going to tell you until I had something definite, but I’ve been bending a few ears.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m trying to get the department to at least pay you for all the help you’ve given us.”

  He laughed, but it carried no optimism.

  She regarded the baggy jeans and Depeche Mode t-shirt. “I think I prefer you in dress clothes, Brody. You look like half the people we haul in.”

  Shrugging, he brushed a hand down the front of his shirt and grinned. “Still the same loveable me in these rags.”

  That got a laugh out of her. Vasquez opened the car door, pitched the purse into the back seat. “I’m curious. Why can’t you just let this thing with Stone die? You’re aware there are other people who bring drugs into the city, right?”

  “You figure it out.”

  “I’m trying.” She dropped into the sedan. “Are you sure this isn’t personal? You got shamed while he was welcomed.”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t a pissing contest. I’m happy to keep my other nature hidden. I don’t crave the public attention like he does.”

  “You’ve let it become personal, Brody. Sometimes you’ve got to step back and view the big picture. For every bad guy we take out, there are more just like him waiting in the wings.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I see the picture, Eva. Every time someone takes BST it affects me and my kind.”

  “But not everyone who takes it is Lycan.”

  “People aren’t too hot on the idea of it allowing us free access to our other form. The fact that it fucks up regular people isn’t so great either.”

  “Your kind?” Confusion showed on her face. Her eyes scrunched, and the fine lines around them stood out in sharper detail. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with your kind. You’re still a loner, aren’t you?”

  “I choose not to be in a pack, so yeah, I’m an independent. It doesn’t change what I am.”

  “You keep out of trouble, understand?” Vasquez allowed him to shut the door. She rolled the window down. “Listen, we’ll keep an eye on Stone. Despite what you think, we haven’t written him off completely. It’s just that nothing ever sticks.”

  “It’s cool. I’ve got a new angle to work.”

  She smiled. “Is that why you didn’t get to bed until four a.m.?”

  Brody didn’t bother to correct her assumptions. Let her think what she wanted, it kept the department off his back. Besides, if they knew he was right under Stone’s nose, they would throw a fit. He strode over to his ’65 Mustang, angered that nothing concrete ever stuck to the magnate.

  Vasquez rolled away in her nondescript sedan. Brody knew there was a limit to what she could tell him. If the word got back to the department that she asked for his help or had given him information, it would be bad for her. His career was ruined. There was no reason to do the same to hers.

  Sure, he’d lost his job at the department, but he still had a few friends in uniform. Some of the old school cops who had opposed him and his kind had retired or been shoved out of the system. A few of the younger cops, those who were rookies when he was around, were still there. Now that the outbreak had taken hold, most were willing to listen and learn.

  Things used to be easy. That was before everyone got the idea to test for the virus. Brody had been one of the fastest rising stars on the force. He’d moved from uniform to detective in only a year. He solved the crimes they were unable to wrap their heads around, the ones that had no answers. Once upon a time, he was their golden boy.

  None of that mattered.

  Once they’d gotten wind of what he was — what he’d been and would be — they’d done all they could to make him look bad. They made the workplace intolerable in hopes of forcing him out.

  An L-virus outbreak took place three months after he made detective. There were public outcries and the government implemented mandatory blood tests. Not just for the military or law enforcement, but hospitals and all public service entities were required to perform the analysis. They couldn’t ignore rumors that there might be werewolves amongst them, or worse, that they might need to call upon them for aid.

  The San Diego police department performed their assessments and found out he carried the Lycan virus. He went up before the review board and admitted to having the virus for over fifteen years. They were shocked, even amazed that he kept it under control. Still, the department had demanded he take a drug test every month in hopes of catching BST in his system. They hadn’t.

  They played it cool and didn’t fire him right away though. He suspected they feared a discrimination lawsuit. He stayed on for over a year and solved the difficult cases. He was shoved out three years ago. Someone had put the idea that he was a dirty cop into Internal Affairs head, and they performed an extensive investigation. That hadn’t worked, so the higher-ups blamed office politics, layoffs and the like, but everyone knew the truth. He was a Lycanthrope and no one but Vasquez would work with him for fear of getting hurt or worse. It translated into the same old ridiculous bigotry, and everyone was eager to turn a blind eye.

  A year after they gave him the boot, the department discovered they needed help controlling the influx of
people affected by BST and Lycanthropy. They even had the gall to ask him to come back, to be part of the special crimes unit. He’d be the most logical choice, they’d said. He could be trusted. Who better to help control the freaks than one of their own? He’d refused the bittersweet offer.

  His watch said he had ten minutes to get to Bitter Black. A quick glance through the folder was all he could afford.

  Pausing at the red light, he studied a photocopy of Hank’s faceless body. On the next page, he found an inventory of numbers Vasquez had found on the dead man’s phone. One in particular looked familiar.

  Cursing, he snatched his cell phone and dialed the number listed. A female voice instructed him to leave a message after the beep.

  Chapter Four

  The show at The Wolf’s Den was going full swing. Nicole ignored the audience of men who howled at the gyrating women on stage. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, and the aroma of stale beer and lust sickened her.

  Nicole entered the dressing area, and a few girls looked up. The odor in here wasn’t much better. Fruity lotions, stinky shoes, and glitter dust made her nose tingle. The noise level wasn’t much better either. The girls had to yell to hear each other over the sound system.

  An open bottle of Boone’s Fuzzy Navel sat on one of the tables next to a red boa and a matching pair of plush handcuffs. Nicole supposed there was nothing like a shot of liquid courage to enable you to dance in front of a room full of drunken, paunchy men.

  Still she gave the girl closest to it a pointed look. The newest dancer offered a weak smile and tucked the bottle out of sight.

  “That’s the only warning you’ll receive. Next time, you’re out the door.” Nicole’s usual vehemence didn’t make it into her voice.

  A girl in a thong and pasties laid aside a tube of mascara. Her eyes looked like tarantulas had attacked. “Have you heard from Amy?”

  Nicole shook her head. “Do any of you know if she had a roommate or boyfriend?”

  A couple girls rolled their eyes. Another shrugged. A perky brunette said, “The cops already asked us that.”