It’s okay. Cali’s mother’s voice echoed inside Cali’s head. Help’s coming.
“Miss McKay? You forgot...” The lawyer’s secretary came jaunting out into the storm, an umbrella held overhead.
Stan shoved Cali into a parked BMW. Its alarm started blaring when she hit. Stan tore off running through the parking lot toward his truck.
Tears filled Cali’s eyes. The taste of blood, his blood, spread to her throat. She leaned over, heaved, and threw up all over her favorite shoes.
~
“I’m serious,” Brit said. “Hit me.”
Duke shook his head. “I’d rather hit this scum.”
“No! Hit me. Come on.” He eyed Duke.
Payne shook his head. “You two are idiots.”
“Yeah,” Brit answered the man sitting on the ground. “We are.” Brit gave Duke a jab in the chest. “We’re big enough idiots to carry this off. Hit me,” he told Duke, and he hoped the cop would play along.
Duke’s eyes grew round. “You’re really serious?”
Brit nodded. Lightning flashed. “Make it look bad. He’s going down for this.”
Duke drew his fist back, then pain slapped Brit in the mouth. The punch slammed him against the fence, and he slid down beside Payne. The moment his butt hit the pavement, the cold rain soaked through his jeans.
“Damn.” Duke rubbed his knuckles. “You got a hard chin.”
“Christ!” Payne said.
Brit wiped the blood across his lip, wanting Payne to get a good look. The storm had lost some of its fury, but droplets rolled down the arm of Brit’s leather sleeves. He looked at Duke standing over him. “Is this going to do it? Or should we go for more?”
Duke continued to rub his hand. “I’d better do it again or they may go easy on him.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brit got up. He wavered on his feet for show, then spit blood at Payne’s feet. The blood was real. Rain washed the red stain away, but not before Payne saw it.
“Maybe do the eye this time. When I see the judge, it’ll look really bad. Maybe bruise the throat. I’ll say he tried to choke me. Get attempted murder slapped on his ass.”
“Fuck!” said Payne. “I’m not going down for this shit.”
Brit looked at him. “But you will.” He brushed the back of his hand over his throbbing lip. “You want to sing, or am I going to let him hit me again?”
When Payne didn’t answer, Brit shuffled forward to stand in front of Duke. “Hit me.” He gave the lowlife another glance.
Payne butted his head against the fence. “Okay. I’ll talk.”
~
“What happened to you?” Adams peered into Brit’s office a couple of hours later.
Brit looked up. His lip throbbed like a son of a bitch. “Football.”
“In this weather?”
“Boys will be boys.” Brit moved some papers on his desk.
“I heard you guys got a lead on Keith’s killer.”
“Yeah.” Brit leaned back in his chair. “It looks gang related. One gang member bragged about what a fellow gang member did. I’m looking through mug shots now to see if I can find someone who fits the description. Our snitch didn’t have a name.”
The sergeant reared back on his heels. “It’s a start.”
“I know.” Brit just hoped like hell it was enough.
“You know I want this guy as much as you do.”
“I doubt that,” Brit said.
Adams frowned. “You sleeping at all?” He tucked his hand into his belt. “You look like shit.”
Leave it to Adams to point out the obvious. “I’m fine.” Brit waved him away. His leather jacket, hanging over the back of his chair, had left a puddle of water on the floor. The coat had dried, while his wet ass still sent a chill through his body.
Adams started to leave, then stopped. He stepped into the office and sniffed the air. “You start smoking?”
“No.” Brit snatched a pencil and rolled it in his palms, wishing Adams would go.
“Smells like it.” The man stepped closer. “A woman just came in to file a report. Said she’d talk to anyone.” He cut a half-ass smile. “Anyone, but you. And here I thought the ladies used to like you.”
Cali McKay was here. Brit dropped the pencil. “It’s not my job to make them like me.” He looked down at his desk, feeling Adams’ eyes on him. But relief fluttered through Brit that she’d taken his advice.
“Losing your edge, huh?” Adams still didn’t leave and neither did the memory of Miss McKay in that damn Mickey Mouse shirt.
Focusing on the mug shots, he pretended he didn’t care that she didn’t want to see him. He’d done his job. He flipped a page and tried to ignore the fact that Adams hung over his desk.
“The boyfriend got to her again,” Adams said. “Roughed her up a little.”
Brit jerked up, his chair banging the wall. “She hurt?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed past the sergeant to go see for himself.