Lady Luck

  Silence.

  “Julius!” Ty roared. “That piece of shit has my wife! What car was he fucking in when the drive-by happened and was there someone with him?”

  “No partner, Walk. Don’t know the car,” Julius answered as Ty turned and saw Wood’s truck approaching the condo at high-speed. “But I’ll find out.”

  “Do it fast,” Ty ordered.

  “You know I will,” Julius replied then there was a disconnect.

  Wood was parked and out of his truck, eyes on Ty, body and mouth already moving. “Talk to me.”

  “Lexie’s gone. The man Tate and I visited in Dallas shot Angel Peña and headed up here. He has my wife.”

  Wood stopped close and pulled out his phone, saying, “You call Tate. I’ll call the CPD.”

  “Tate’s after a skip,” Ty told him and Wood’s eyes lifted from his keypad to Ty.

  “I think he’ll come back.” Then he put the phone to his ear.

  Ty made his call and got Tate’s voicemail.

  “Tate, Duane Martinez skipped bond. He took care of business in Dallas and shot Peña. Now he’s taking care of business in Colorado and he’s got Lexie. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he lost it, pulled it together and then said in a whisper, “I need you again, man.”

  Then he flipped his phone shut.

  Then as Wood muttered on his phone, it hit him.

  The air.

  He looked around.

  The sky was bright and blue. The sun shining.

  But no snowmelt.

  It was below freezing.

  He turned and sprinted back up the steps, checking behind the door where there were hooks where they kept their jackets and coats. He stared at it, never paying much attention, not knowing if she hooked hers there last night but she usually did and it was there. In fact, all three of them were there. Two of her heavy but stylish jackets and her new winter coat.

  His heart twisted again and, fuck, that shit hurt.

  Wood walked in, eyes on Ty. “CPD on its way but what spooked you?”

  Ty looked to Wood. “She’s in her nightie.”

  Wood held Ty’s eyes and started carefully, “Ty –”

  Ty leaned toward him bent at the waist and thundered, “My fucking wife is with a fucking piece of fucking shit. It’s fucking freezing, she’s fucking carrying my child and she’s in her goddamned fucking nightie and all I can fucking do is stand here and wait for a goddamned fucking phone call so I can know what the fuck I’m lookin’ for.”

  Wood took one step toward him and said quietly, “Man, you have got to calm down.”

  “Maggie was with a drug dealin’ pimp with vengeance on his mind, she was pregnant, in a fuckin’ nightie and socks when there’s snow on the ground, would you be calm?” Ty clipped.

  “You’ve had your blow out, now you gotta get a handle on it, Ty. You losin’ your mind is not gonna help Lexie.”

  This, fuck him, was fucking true.

  His phone rang in his hand, he didn’t even look at the display before flipping it open and putting it to his ear.

  “Talk,” he barked.

  “Brother, I’m headin’ home right now. Just outside Denver, should be there in two hours.”

  It was Tate.

  “Right,” Ty replied.

  “Keep your head. You call CPD?” Tate asked.

  “Wood’s here. He did. They’re on their way.”

  “Peña?”

  “Given last rites.”

  Silence then, “Fuck.”

  “Right. Fuck,” Ty bit off.

  “Keep your head, Ty.”

  “You beat the shit outta the man who kidnapped and stuck your woman, Tate. You know where I am right now.”

  Silence then, “Right. I need to get home.”

  “Fast,” Ty grunted.

  “She’ll be okay, brother,” Tate said softly.

  “We had a winning streak for awhile, now, Tate. Lady Luck does not like me that much and she’s played with Lexie since my woman was born. Time for her to remind me and my wife, like she always does, that good comes with bad.”

  “Keep your head, brother.”

  Impossible.

  “Right,” he whispered.

  “Be there soon.”

  Ty flipped his phone shut.

  Then he heard the sirens.

  Then his phone rang again.

  Then he listened to Julius telling him the drive-by was perpetrated by a lone black man with an automatic weapon in a blue, 2010 Nissan Pathfinder.

  * * * * *

  Chace

  Chace Keaton approached Ty Walker who was standing in his kitchen looking ready to commit murder.

  Justifiable homicide.

  It was the only time in his life he’d had that thought. And he had it because Lexie Walker had lunch with him twice. Once, when she broke the deep, impenetrable layer of ice between them he never thought would even crack and she did it being honest, friendly, fucking funny and very cute even though, or maybe because, she was a little bit of a goof. The second time a week later, when she happened on him again at the diner, sat right across from him without invitation and ordered her food. She’d gabbed. He’d worked and pretended to ignore her. Then, when she went for her wallet, he told her that if she tried to pay for her lunch, he’d walk straight to the garage and tell her husband they were having an affair.

  She’d laughed hard and long. Then she’d reached out and touched his hand.

  Then she’d whispered, “Until next time, Chace,” and he watched her strut away in her high-heeled shoes knowing she was very taken, pregnant and wishing she wasn’t either.

  He stopped three feet from Walker.

  Then he spoke. “We have an APB out on the vehicle. What you need to get right now is that there’s no blood. There was a struggle but that was limited to the kitchen so we think she realized the smarter play was to do what he said and she was right, that was the smarter play. Your explanation of his motive is another thing we got goin’ for us. He wanted to exact vengeance and he was on a different path, he would not take her. He would have done what he intended to do the minute he found her. This means hope, Walker.”

  Ty Walker held his eyes and made not a sound.

  “How well do you know this guy?” Chace asked.

  “I played poker with him once. I beat the shit outta him twice. He deals drugs. He pimps women. He was not gentle with his girls. He’s a liar. He ordered a hit on his best friend. He shot a cop in Dallas. This is all I know,” Walker rumbled.

  “And he’s pissed at you because you kicked his ass, is that correct?”

  Walker jerked up his chin then went on, “This is not a man who likes to get bested. He’s small but not in body, in mind. He’s stupid. He’s greedy. He’s mean. Normal human shit in him was disconnected a long fuckin’ time ago. He thinks of one thing, himself.”

  “So you’d have no idea where he’s going?” Chace asked.

  “No fuckin’ clue,” Walker answered in a way that the words were quick but forced. He did not like to say them. He did not like what was happening. He did not like the feelings he was feeling. And he did not like that he was again powerless in a way that someone else made him be and not in a way where he fucked up himself.

  Then his body jerked and he pulled out his phone.

  “What?” Chace asked.

  “Ella,” Walker muttered.

  “Who?”

  Walker’s eyes came to him. “Ella. Woman who took Lexie on when she was thirteen. She’s known Shift since he was little. She might know.”

  “Good,” Chace murmured. “Call her, I’ll need to speak with her.”

  “It is not good I call her,” Walker returned quietly. “She thinks of Lexie as blood, a daughter. I did not want her to know this until I know what I gotta tell her.”

  Chace held his eyes as Walker put the phone to his ear, not envious of Walker having to make this call, not envious of anything Walker had going on right now.

  “Ella?” he hear
d, “Ty. Where are you?” Pause then, “Sit down, honey.” Another pause then, “No, do that for me now. Sit down and don’t delay. I gotta talk to you a minute then I gotta pass you to someone who you gotta talk to.” Another pause, “You sittin’?” Pause then, “Yeah, honey, it’s Lexie. Shift jumped bond, came up and kidnapped her from the house this morning. Cops are lookin’ for her but they got no clue about this guy and the man knows him best in Dallas is not doin’ too good and can’t talk. So, I need you to tell the police here all you know about Shift, where he might go, what he might do. Can you do that?”

  Chace watched him listen, close his eyes then open them.

  “Right, here he is. His name is Detective Keaton, yeah? You talk, you need me, I’m right here.”

  Then Walker held out his phone.

  Chace took it and put it to his ear. “This is Detective Keaton. I’m talking to Ella?”

  Nothing.

  He put his hand over the receiver and asked Walker, “What’s her last name?”

  “Rodriguez.”

  Chace nodded, took his hand away and said, “Ms. Rodriguez, I need you to talk to me.”

  “Won’t do her.” He heard in a voice that was completely and alarmingly dead.

  “Sorry?”

  “Don’t have it in him, that boy. Don’t got nothin’ in him. No brains. No feelin’s. No courage. Won’t do her. But he’ll take her to someone who will.”

  Chace’s gut twisted at her words and her tone. It was as good as done for her. She was already preparing to grieve.

  And because of this and for other reasons, he didn’t tell her that Duane Martinez had already “done” four people, three in the hospital, one dead.

  Instead, he asked, “Does he have any connections in Colorado?”

  “Not that I know,” she answered.

  “So, will he take her to Dallas?”

  “My guess? Yes,” she replied.

  “Then we have time,” he carefully assured her.

  Silence.

  “I need to let you go now, Ms. Rodriguez. Would you like to talk to Ty again?”

  “No, tell him we’re prayin’ but he’s got better things to do than try to make me feel better.”

  “Right,” Chace mumbled. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I’ll be here,” she replied.

  “All right. Good-bye Ms. Rodriguez.”

  “Good-bye, Detective Keaton.”

  Then he heard her disconnect, his eyes went from where they wandered to the counter back to Walker to see he had his home phone to his ear.

  “Tate?” Walker said. “Ella says he’s takin’ her to Dallas. In about three seconds I’m in the Snake.”

  Then he touched a button on the phone, tossed it on the counter, leaned forward, pulled his phone out of Chace’s hand and moved.

  Chace called after him, “Walker, let the police deal with this.”

  “You tell your brothers, they find me, flip on their sirens, I ain’t stoppin’,” Walker said to the stairs then he jogged down them.

  “Fuck,” Chace whispered, dug his own phone out, flipped it open, called the Station and told them to inform local Departments and the Highway Patrol that a black Dodge Viper with silver racing stripes would likely be detected greatly exceeding the speed limit and if they caught him on radar they followed him but let him be.

  Then he turned his eyes to Frank who was staring down the stairs and called his name.

  “Guy’s headin’ to Dallas. Tate Jackson is heading to Dallas and Ty Walker is heading to Dallas and so am I,” he told Frank and Frank jerked up his chin.

  Chace Keaton walked swiftly out the backdoor but not so swiftly he didn’t see the photo in the windowsill of Walker and Lexie standing close, arms around each other, beautiful landscape in the back, Lexie Walker smiling bright and happy at the camera, clearly exactly where she wanted to be and where that was was not standing in front of beautiful landscape.

  The image burned in his brain, he made it through the door, jogged to his SUV, swung in and headed out.

  * * * * *

  Tate

  His cell beside him rang, he nabbed it, looked at the display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

  “Keaton,” he greeted.

  “News just in, Tate. Duane Martinez was picked up yesterday in Oklahoma.”

  Tate blinked at his windshield then asked, “What?”

  “Highway Patrol caught him speeding. He didn’t stop. Fifteen minute high-speed chase, he crashed but was unharmed, took off on foot, they got him. Since he freaked, he luckily left the weapon that did Peña in his SUV and didn’t have a chance to use it again. Took some time to process him, run his prints, find out they’d get to prosecute him after Dallas did and they informed Dallas, Dallas sent boys out to get him. This we just got. He never made it to Colorado.”

  “Then who has Lexie?” Tate asked.

  Keaton was silent a moment then, his voice deeper, pissed but controlled, “One, Rowdy Crabtree. Two, Arnie Fuller. Or three, my father.”

  Fucking hell.

  “Break that down for me, Chace,” Tate ordered, searching for an exit sign to turn the fuck around a-fucking-gain.

  “Rowdy is freaked and fucked. Arnie is missing. And I know Newcomb slipped that video to Walker and Lexie so it stands to reason that my father would find out that same thing. He’ll want Walker to collect all copies and return them to him and he’ll want to assure Walker and Lexie do not talk. And he’ll do what he can to make that happen.”

  “You talk to your Dad?” Tate asked.

  “Called four times. He’s not answering. Called my Mom, she says he’s at work. I don’t want to worry her so I left it at that.”

  “He usually take your calls?”

  “Not even close. Then again, I got nothin’ to say to the man so I don’t usually call him.”

  Tate thought that was likely the fucking truth.

  “Why Arnie? He did this, it would be a serious fucked play.”

  “Arnie hates Ty Walker.”

  “Think that’s been established, Chace, but the man’s not dumb. I’ll repeat, he did this, it would be a serious fucked play. He’s already a national pariah and he’s an ex-cop. He wants to do everything he can to avoid jail time, not buy himself more.”

  “Arnie hates Ty Walker, Tate, but he hates Irving Walker more.”

  Tate spotted the exit sign, one mile ahead, he processed that but his mind was on the conversation.

  “What?”

  “For Arnie, black doesn’t mix with white, ever. And, for Arnie, black definitely does not mix with Reece Rayner, the woman he had his eye on, the woman whose pants he wanted into before or after he put his ring on her finger, the woman who said no to him more than once and the woman who ended up knocked up by and married to a black guy.”

  Tate stared at the road and whispered, “You are fuckin’ shittin’ me.”

  “Nope,” Keaton told him. “Ty Walker never committed a crime in or around Carnal that I knew of but he had a file in the office, in Arnie’s desk, thick and always gettin’ thicker. Arnie kept his eye on Ty while Arnie nursed his vengeance and bided his time. He wanted to fuck father and son, put both in their place and remind Reece of her mistake all at the same time. What happened to Walker was not random. Not by a long shot.”

  Tate knew what this meant. And Tate knew this was not good.

  “So, Ty bests him, publicly humiliates him in a huge way, he breaks and now he’s unpredictable,” Tate deduced.

  “My guess, yes. I don’t put anything past my father but he usually throws money at shit so this is not his style. If Rowdy Crabtree has one working brain cell, he’s in Brazil by now. Arnie Fuller is fucked, his brother is fucked, both are goin’ down and both are goin’ somewhere they do not want to go and very well might not make it back from. He has nothin’ to lose.”

  Arnold Fuller had nothing to lose but Alexa Berry Walker and her husband Tyrell had everything to lose.

  Including the
child Ty told him a couple of days ago his wife was carrying.

  Fuck.

  Chace spoke in his ear. “Tate, I’m tellin’ you this and not Walker because he’s on his way to Dallas. My opinion, what Fuller’s already done to him coupled with this, that may be the best thing while we round Fuller up and get Lexie. Give him time to cool down before he gets back. Wouldn’t matter if it was Fuller or anyone did it, gives him time to cool down. But it is not my pregnant wife who’s missin’ and you got experience with that so I’m handin’ you the ball to make the call. Whatever you decide, you take that man’s back, I’ll do what I can to take it too if he hits Carnal and he’s close when we get her back to him and catch the fucker who took her.”

  “I’m callin’ him, Chace. No fuckin’ way I’m sittin’ on this. Anyone did that to me with Laurie or Jonas, they’d buy what I dished out to whoever hurt ‘em.”

  “Like I said, you make the call. Now, I got work to do.”

  Tate pulled off at the exit and decelerated, saying, “Me too.”

  Then he heard said quietly, “I’ll find her, Tate.”

  “Do it while she’s breathin’ and that baby’s still safe.”

  “Right.”

  Disconnect.

  Tate flipped his phone closed, flipped it open and did this while he maneuvered the overpass and re-entered the highway going the other way.

  Then he called Ty.

  * * * * *

  Lexie

  “You like black cock?”

  I stared at him.

  I was freezing. So fucking cold. So fucking cold.

  His arm flashed out, he caught me with the butt of Ty’s gun and I went flying to the side.

  “You like black cock?” he screamed.

  I pushed myself up on a hand, feeling the blood seeping into my eye; I turned my head, looked through the red and locked eyes with Arnold Fuller.

  Then I whispered, “I love it.”

  Then I watched him lift the gun and take aim.

  * * * * *

  Irving

  “You like black cock?”

  He heard it.

  That motherfucker. That fucking motherfucker.

  That fucking motherfucker.

  He burst through the door, Arnie Fuller turned on him, gun in his hand already up; he didn’t hesitate to fire.