Ride the Lightning Page 6

  As I continued to read, familiar names popped out. A quick run to my desk confirmed my suspicions. A half-dozen of the major players in the trial were on the VIP guest list for the party. Several of them had leveled up. The prosecutor was now an assistant US attorney, and the judge had moved up to the state supreme court. Even the useless public defender was a professor at a regional law school. I was exiting the spreadsheet when I noticed something else that I'd read a hundred times and never paid any attention to. Another group of VIPs had Hawthorne next to their name. Why would Sheldon invite people from the chemical plant, a business not even in his jurisdiction, to an execution party? I burned the guest list onto a USB drive and printed a couple of copies. Max and Ethan might be interested in this. I know I was.

  When I'd taken over the club, the legit financial and vendor records consisted of a wall of sagging bookshelves covered in binders. A dedicated computer with a high-speed scanner, indexing software, and triple-redundant electronic storage took care of that. The first thing I wanted was my own copy of the file. My gut told me there was more here than meets the eye, and I had a feeling Max would agree. Stack by stack, I carried the documents from their slot on the table, put them into the scanner's hopper, and set the program to pick out keywords and cross-index the file. Then I rearranged everything and organized it in my leftover binders. Lawyers live and die by their case files, and if I was going to get sucked into this, it would be on my terms.

  If? I was already sucked into it.

  I had no opinion yet about Simpson's guilt or innocence. I did know he was sentenced to die after a mockery of a show trial, and I wanted to find out why.

  A squawk from my radio brought me back. I keyed the mic and asked Joey what was up.

  "It's a quarter to last call and doornail dead out here. Mind if I speed things up?"

  I shook my head. I'd been at this for over seven hours. No wonder my neck ached.

  "Sounds like a plan. I'll be out in a few to help close."

  "Roger dodger."

  The scanner beeped and I retrieved the latest batch from the tray. It was the initial police report and the ridiculously short coroner's report. I returned them to the table and marked my progress with a sticky note. Stretching, I decided this was a good time to break. Some manual labor would help with the stiff muscles, and I needed to let what I'd read percolate.

  After locking the door to the hall and the connecting door to my office, I checked my phone. There was no word from Ethan. It looked like I'd be alone tonight. Not that I anticipated getting any sleep.

  By the time I hit the floor, Joey'd worked his magic. The tables were empty, and a few bar-sitting hardcores were down to the last stubborn dregs of their drinks. The busboys hauled the final tubs to the kitchen, and the waitresses already had a handle on the endless brass polishing.

  "Yeesh, people are going to start thinking it's not my iron hand that makes this place work."

  "Fear of your wrath precedes you. Seriously, this is a good crew. We'll be finished before you know it. The bathrooms and grease traps and we're done."

  "Bobby, get over here," I said. Stocky and acned, he was just over the minimum age to work at the club. He wore long gloves and carried a bucket of cleaning supplies that complimented his miserable expression.

  "Go to the kitchen and get the traps done. I'll do the bathrooms."

  The gloves were on the bar and the doors swinging before I could reply to his thanks.

  "That's mighty magnanimous of you. Got a date later?"

  "No, I do not have a date. Shut up."

  I mentally flipped a coin and decided to tackle the men's room first. Busy or slow, it was always a swamp at the end of the night. I wanted to get it done so it would be downhill from there.

  I wasn't disappointed. The aim must have been unusually bad because the smell was epic. I turned the exhaust fan on high and sprayed down the urinals. While the bubbles did their assigned job, I gathered the wadded paper towels and jammed them into the overflowing trash bin. When the mound wouldn't yield, I unrolled the glove cuffs as high as they would go and leaned into the can.

  I barely had time to register the sound of crunching glass, and the sharp chemical smell before the garish tiled room swirled around me. My stomach revolted and my knees buckled as my vision blurred, grayed, and faded to black.

  CHAPTER 16

  "Thank the gods. I thought I was going to have to call 911."

  Joey's voice cut through the fog and lancing pain in my head. I tried to sit up but was too dizzy and nauseated to make it past propping myself up on my elbow on the sofa in my office.

  "Slow down and stay put. You got dosed hard."

  Blinking my eyes to clear the gummy residue, I replied, "What do you mean? What happened?"

  "I'll tell you if you'll agree to try some water." He put the straw to my lips. It hit my stomach hard, and I kept it to one sip. It also cleared my throat and made it easier to breathe. I waved the glass off when he offered it again.

  "I held up my end. What happened?"

  "After you went into the bathroom, an argument broke out in the kitchen. I settled it and stayed until they were done and gone. I closed out the register and put the deposit together. You know the usual stuff. Then it hit me that it'd been a long time since I'd seen you. The ladies' wasn't cleaned. I checked the men's and found you passed out on the floor. Good thing you put those industrial-strength fart fans in there or I don't know if I could have pulled you out of it without help. Since I know how you feel about the cops, I took care of it myself."

  "Took care of what?" The annoyance in my voice surprised me. An attack of shivers came over me, and Joey draped a blanket around my shoulders.

  "Took care of reviving you from the Shine overdose. Mostly, it was getting you into fresh air, making sure you were okay if you vomited, and monitoring your breathing. I also hit you with the EpiPen from the first aid kit to be on the safe side because of your color and swollen lips."

  "Do you know what those cost?"

  A shard of humor pierced his stern expression. "It was almost expired so I figured you were worth it. There have been reports of anaphylaxis. It was a good precaution."

  "Reports? And what the hell is Shine?" I pulled myself into a sitting position, hugging the blanket around me. Other than a splitting headache, the dizziness was passing and my head was clearing.

  He held up a large freezer bag half full of broken glass vials. Amber liquid puddled in the bottom.

  "It's sealed now, stapled and taped, but it was open when you crushed it in the trash. You got a full-on long weekend frat house rave in one shot. Shine is the latest designer drug. I'm on the fire department as an auxiliary EMT, so I get the bulletins. That's how I knew what to do."

  "Thank you."

  "It was closer than I liked, I've never seen this bad of an OD. Usually, it's somebody freaking out on the high. We hit them with a shot of Xanax, and they sleep it off. This bag is sale weight. We'd get Sheldon and the staties in here, and I didn't think you wanted that."

  I motioned for the water glass. "You thought right. Whoever was dealing must have gotten spooked and dumped their stash. And like a moron, I stumbled right into it."

  "How do you feel? I can take you to the ER."

  "What I want is a shower and my bed."

  Joey knelt in front of me and cupped my chin in his hand. He flashed a penlight in my eyes and made me follow his finger left and right and left again. After taking my pulse, he said, "Stand up. If you can walk me to your bed, I'll be convinced you're okay. No shower. If you passed out, you could end up with a concussion on top of everything else. To bed. I'll be right behind you."

  "This is all so sudden." My head hurt too badly to bat my eyelashes, but the joke conveyed.

  His smile wiped the concern off his face. "I love ya darlin' but not enough to trespass on biker-boy. Plus, Mason has that special something that sets my little heart all aflutter. Your virtue is safe with me."

  Ethan.
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  "Where's my phone? I need to check my messages."

  He lobbed it to me in a gentle underhand and nodded when I caught it. There was nothing new. Even though I was glad I'd have time to recover, I was concerned about what was keeping him tied up this long.

  "To bed, now."

  "Rush, rush, rush. I hope you don't do that with Mason."

  * * *

  I didn't remember my head hitting the pillow when the smell of fresh coffee pulled me out of a loop of increasingly weird dreams.

  "Good morning Sunshine. Instead of your usual one sugar and cream, I went straight for the Bailey's. I didn't think you'd mind a touch of the hair of the mule that kicked your ass." Joey put the tray with coffee and an English muffin on my nightstand.

  "No wonder that man of yours keeps you around. Hey, when did you get in?"

  "I never left. I wasn't going to leave you to sleep it off alone. Seizures are rare, but not unheard of, and you got a snoot full. I figured if I told you, I'd get an argument. How do you feel?"

  I downed half the fragrant laced coffee in one gulp. The sweetness revved up my hunger, and the muffin disappeared in short order.

  "Amazingly well. Weird ass dreams, but the nausea and headache are gone."

  Joey refilled my cup. "Good. That's one reason why Shine is popular around the colleges and clubs. You can drink, dance, and fuck all night and be in class the next morning. I'm surprised to see it here and not surprised in a good way. One of the side effects of continued use is that after a while it makes you stupid, reckless, and mean."

  "Like Duane trying to take on an MC by himself?"

  "Yeah, that kind of mean. As time goes on, more of the ambulance calls are for Shine fights than Shine reactions. I've heard rumors. It's a cooked-up combo of chemicals that get you high. Speaking of that, what do you want me to do with the bag?"

  After all, he'd done for me, I hated to lie to him, but there was no way I could tell him about Ethan and Max. "Leave it. I want to do some research. I have friends from the old days I want to talk to about it. Be vigilant around the bar. If we have a dealer here, I want to flush them out. And, I hereby decree that you have the day off. Go home."

  "Far be it for me to defy you. Keith is out there now, scared half to death to be in charge of the bar. I'll give you an hour to pull yourself together or get somebody in here, and then I'll take you up on your offer."

  "It's a deal only if you take off tomorrow as well."

  He nodded as he closed the door. I stretched and finished my coffee. First a shower and then I had to call a man about a sailboat. It was too soon to know if that boat was moored in Dallas or Austin.

  CHAPTER 17

  Night at the beach no longer felt like an old friend, but when a conversation needed privacy, it was still the best choice. There would never be a repeat of Sunday night. Instead of a pistol that might trace back to me, I was carrying Ethan's old drop piece. The well-worn Sig Sauer P226 snugged perfectly into the Blade Tech Eclipse holster that had arrived this morning via FedEx from a generic return address in Florida. I'd tucked the tactical flashlight inside the cuff on my non-trigger hand.

  Max met me at the gate. In case anyone was watching, I took his arm as we walked down the pier. Neither of us spoke until we sat across the picnic table under the shelter.

  "I haven't seen Ethan since he texted me about being stuck at the farm, but I didn't want to wait to show you this."

  "You've got my attention. What's up?"

  I'd triple-bagged the Shine before putting it in a zippered shoulder bag. Max's eyes narrowed when I told him about my overdose and Joey pulling me out of it.

  "Dammit lady, are sure you're okay? And how much did you tell the bartender?"

  "I'm good. Joey was a medic in the Army and is an EMT. I trust his judgment and don't want to explain it to a doctor. I didn't tell him anything specific. He's smart and may start connecting a few dots. I'm not worried. I trust him one-hundred-percent. I also can't bust on the guy who sat with me all night to make sure I kept breathing."

  "I wish I could thank him for that. This is interesting. What's your take?"

  I finished my soda. I'd turned down his offer of a beer. I wasn't in the mood for any more intoxicants in my system. "I don't have one yet. On one hand, we have an MC, one that makes its living moving drugs, in town. Conversely, we have a designer drug, one that seems to originate in this area, spilling out of the frat houses and into my bar. That kind of coincidence gives me a headache. I brought it to you thinking you can learn more about it chemically, or if it's popping up anywhere else."

  Max tucked the package, shoulder bag and all, into his backpack.

  "I know a guy who can give me answers off the books. I filed enough of a report to keep upstairs happy for a while. It'll take a couple of days, and I'll let you know. Anything else?"

  "I'm worried about Ethan and where this is headed. I'm guessing I'll see the crew in the bar sometime this week. Any messages for him?"

  "Nothing specific, just to keep himself safe. How about I walk you back to your car?"

  I stood. "I'd like that fine. And thanks for the gift."

  "What gift?"

  In response, I reached under the tail of my shirt, one well-fitted enough to resist snagging, and released and replaced my pistol in the holster. The distinctive click was audible over the sounds of the water.

  Max said, "Fair lady, I have no clue what you are talking about. I have no knowledge of such things."

  As I was driving home, it hit me that I didn't mention Maddie Hyatt and the death penalty case. I didn't know why, maybe it was my lawyerly tendency toward secrecy about clients, but I wanted to keep this information to myself until I knew something more. Suddenly, I was in the mood for some bedtime reading.

  CHAPTER 18

  I was plowing through a huge lunch when my phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  10

  As happy as I was to be seeing Ethan again, the terse message caught in my heart. Things had changed. The casual times were over and whatever the game was; it was on. I put a note on the bouncer's podium to mark the usual table as reserved and to seat the MC without any hassles.

  I also needed to talk to Maddie. I finished my first read-through of the file and what I saw appalled me. This should have been immediately overturned on appeal. The fact that there had been no stay of execution showed that the justice system was rushing Billy Ray Simpson to the death chamber. She was due in at four but with Joey on vacation, I was already shorthanded and there'd be no time to talk. I texted her an innocuous message to come in at three to "discuss her employment probation, hours, and schedule." The near immediate confirmation told me she'd hovered by her phone waiting to hear from me.

  The knock on the door pulled me away from a pile of invoices. I had to smile when she came in with two steaming cups of coffee on a tray.

  "Hey, it looks like that training finally took. Thanks."

  "Anytime."

  Even with her outlandish waitress hair and skintight clothes, as soon as the door closed, Maddie dropped the façade and once more became a professional.

  "Ms. Hyatt, this case is batter-dipped bullshit from start to finish."

  Her expression was a combination of relief tinged with smugness. She had me, and she knew it.

  "The first round of appeals went nowhere. My office didn't do them, and they were kind of slapdash. They went after the usual, insufficient evidence and coerced confession, but his lawyer didn't make the right objections and preserve the issues for appeal, so they failed. You know that drill."

  She was right. Even attorneys that are out of their depth know enough to file objections to everything to preserve it for appeal. This hack didn't bother with the basics. Sheldon's testimony was mostly conjecture and hearsay and nary a peep from the defense.

  "Maddie, did you find whatever you were looking for when you were searching the club?"

  "I am sorry for that. I was stupid not to come clean with you from the
first."

  "Yes, you were. Don't worry, I'm over it. You didn't answer my question."

  "No, I didn't find it. You've remodeled so much that if it was here, it's gone."

  "What?"

  "Sarah Jean's mother said her daughter was fanatical about keeping a diary. I didn't see it at the house. I hoped it was here. It wasn't."

  "What house?"

  "The one where she and Billy Ray lived. The crime scene. It's spooky as shit. Her mama hasn't even put the furniture back in order."

  "How?"

  Before I could get the rest of the question out, she laughed and said, "Oh Honey, this is the South. Someone in Billy Ray's family called someone in Sarah Jean's family and said some lawyers were working on it and they'd be much obliged if she'd help and before I knew it, I got a message saying the key was under the big frog on the front porch. It turns out that Sarah's mama refuses to believe that her son-in-law did this."

  "Nobody knows you're working here, right?" My caution alarms were blazing.

  "No. Her mama doesn't live around here. She pays the few bills on the vacant house. It seems she can't bring herself to sell it. It'll mean admitting that her daughter is gone for good." Would you like to see it?"

  I didn't know why, but my curiosity was on the red line. "Yes, I do. And does this extended southern family have any theories about what might have happened?"

  "They wonder whether Sarah found out something she shouldn't have, or that she was killed as a warning to Billy Ray. Maybe there was something about drugs. You know all the usual TV stuff."

  The cold chill raced up my spine and raised goose bumps on my arms. Luckily, Maddie didn't seem to notice.