Chapter 31 #2
“Are you here twenty-four/seven?” I asked with plenty of attitude. “Otherwise, how could you know?”
“I’m here quite a bit, and I’d definitely remember you.” He grinned. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I turned slightly to face him. “If this is your way of tryin’ to win me over, it’s not workin’ out for you so far.”
“I thought women liked to talk about themselves.”
I took another sip while I gave him an annoyed glare. When I lowered the glass, I said, “How does asking me to talk about myself win me over? You should be telling me about you.”
The bartender stopped in front of us and waited.
“I’ll have what she’s havin’,” Razor said, not taking his eyes off me.
“She’s havin’ a McClellan, so you might want to rethink that,” the bartender said with a laugh.
Razor’s eyebrows shot up and he made a face. “Then give me my usual.”
The bartender walked away without a word.
“So… you’re a high-dollar bitch,” he said, but there was an air of appreciation in it.
I jiggled my glass, letting the liquid slosh around a bit. “Tick-tock. So far I’ve learned you’re a cheap asshole.” I grimaced. “Not winnin’ me over.” Then I took another sip.
I still wasn’t sure this was the right course of action, but undercover work wasn’t my forte.
As a cop, I’d always been direct and blunt.
I hadn’t ever needed to wiggle my way into a suspect’s world, although I was smart enough to know it usually took days, weeks, or even months.
It sure didn’t happen with a single encounter.
Not to mention I was going to end up drunk if I kept playing this game.
That meant I needed to speed things along. The only way Razor was going to tell me what I needed to know was if I spoke his language. Force.
Thankfully, Razor seemed to like my hard-to-get game.
“What do you want to know?” he asked with a grin.
“What do you do? What are your hobbies?” I narrowed my gaze. “Are you married?”
“I work in security,” he said, resting a forearm on the counter. “I like to drink. And I don’t believe in tyin’ myself down.”
I resisted the urge to groan in frustration. This shithead wasn’t giving me much to work with. Maybe I should try another tactic.
I rolled my eyes. “Boring.” Then I turned away from him and faced the wall, dismissing him.
The bartender set a tumbler on the counter, and Razor motioned to him. “She just called me borin’. Can you believe that?” He released a hearty laugh.
The bartender didn’t respond, just walked away.
Razor leaned closer to me and lowered his voice, making it sound menacing. “I’m the farthest thing from borin’, sweetheart.”
“Talk is cheap.”
“Want me to prove it to you?”
I turned my head slightly to glance at him and lifted a disinterested brow. “How do you plan on doin’ that?”
He studied me for a long moment, drained his entire glass, then hopped off his stool. “Watch this.”
My gaze followed him as he headed over to a table with three men. He stopped next to the table, towering over a man whose back was to me. The man froze, then looked up at Razor.
“Get outta here,” Razor grunted, glaring down at the guy.
“What the hell, Razor?” the guy shouted.
“I said get the fuck out of here, or I’ll beat your ass out of here.”
The man stood and turned to face Razor. He was several inches shorter, so he lifted his chin to stare up at him. For a moment, I thought he was going to challenge Razor, but then he took a step back.
“I was leaving anyway,” he spat, before turning to head toward the exit.
“Chicken shit,” Razor said with a laugh. He took a step and reached out to grab the guy’s shoulder and jerk him backward before spinning him around. Razor pulled back his arm and uppercut him under the chin.
The man crumpled to the ground and his friends jumped up and ran around their table. No one else moved, not even the bartender. They flicked a glance to Razor and the guy, then turned back to their conversations.
Keeping a cautious glance on Razor, who was laughing, the guys hooked their hands under their friend’s upper arms and dragged him, unconscious, out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Razor turned toward me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Still think I’m borin’?”
This man was unhinged. If I were smart, I’d walk out as soon as it was safe to do so. But that would mean leaving without answers, and I wasn’t willing to do that.
I had to be more careful with my plan.
I took a breath to calm my nerves. I could do this.
He stalked back over to me. “You gonna talk to me now?”
I gave him a haughty look. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you sucker-punched that guy?”
He leaned in, his face inches from mine, the smell of onions and whiskey hitting me full force. “Maybe.”
Run.
But I was committed to this. I had to find James, because I refused to believe he was dead. Still, would Razor really be here right now if James had come to see him?
And yet…
James’s car was down the street. He’d been in this area, so it stood to reason he’d come into this bar. If so, Razor would’ve seen him. And Razor—or someone else—would have taken James somewhere.
That meant I had to get Razor out of this bar.
I tipped my head up to face him, letting a seductive smile spread across my face. “What do you say we get out of here?”
His eyes lit up. “What do you have in mind?”
“My apartment’s near here.” I paused and hoped I looked sincere. “Want to come over for a drink?”
His grin spread. “Let’s go.”
After I grabbed two twenties from my pocket and tossed then onto the counter to cover my drink, I slid off the stool and headed for the door.
A second later, I felt his meaty hand grab my upper arm and pull me to a stop.
Was he planning to punch me too? I prepared myself to react, but he rested his arm over my shoulders.
“Slow down there,” he drawled in my ear. “What’s the hurry?”
“Maybe I’m eager to get you home.”
We walked out into the cool night air and he steered me toward a pickup truck—the same model I’d found in my search.
He opened the passenger door and waited for me to get in. I suspected it was to make sure I didn’t change my mind rather than as a chivalrous act. He tried to lean in and kiss me, but I arched back and teased. “So impatient. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.”
He gave me a leering grin, then walked around the front of the truck. I hurried up and reached for the gun at my ankle, then tucked it between my leg and the car door. Razor got in the truck and started the engine. “Okay, where to?”
“When you get to the street, turn right.”
He did as instructed and started driving west. “How far down do I go?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I lifted the gun and pointed it at him. “Where do I find Gerald Knox?”
He swiveled his head and stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Then he turned back to face the road and hit the brakes hard, nearly rear-ending the car stopped at a stop sign in front of us.
“You’re the bitch who’s been hangin’ out with Malcolm,” he said, his voice gruff.
“That’s me,” I said brightly. “Speaking of Malcolm, where is he?” My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for the answer.
“How would I know?”
“He came into the bar earlier.”
“Not that I saw,” he said with a sneer. “Haven’t seen him since before Christmas. If he came into the bar, he was talkin’ to someone else.”
Was he telling the truth?
I got the impression he was. So where was James? Had someone gotten him before he made it into the bar?
“Why’re you so hot to see Knox?” he asked with a short laugh. “You honestly think he’s got him? Trust me, Knox just wants him dead.”
I didn’t want to think about that possibility right now. “Fine, let’s move on to part two: where’s the shipment coming in tonight?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said in a smug tone.
“That’s a load of bullshit,” I said, holding up the gun a little higher. “Try again.”
He laughed. “What? You plannin’ to shoot me while I’m drivin’?”
“Yeah,” I said, watching him carefully. I wouldn’t put it past him to grab the gun or hit me like he had the guy in the bar. “I will if necessary.”
“I call bullshit,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. He’d just barely started to reach his right hand toward me when I pointed the gun at his left thigh and pulled the trigger.
The gun blast was deafening, muffling his shout of pain and anger. A dark stain began to spread across his upper thigh.
“You fuckin’ shot me!” he shouted, turning toward me, disbelief on his face.
The truck drifted toward the center line, and he snapped his eyes back onto the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel.
“Reach for me again and I’ll give you another one. Now keep driving.”
“You stupid bitch!” he shouted.
“Where’s the shipment coming in?” I repeated, my ears still ringing.
“How the hell would I know?” he screamed, pressing a hand to his left thigh.
“You expect me to believe you won’t be part of it?”
“Lady, I don’t work for Knox!”
I didn’t buy it. He seemed to know what I was talking about. When I’d asked, he hadn’t asked what the shipment was. He’d just claimed to not know any details.
“Why do you care about the shipment?” he spat.
“Don’t worry about that. You worry about bleeding to death or getting a matching hole in your other leg. Where and when is the shipment coming in?”
He slowly shook his head. “If I tell you that, I’m as good as dead.”
“So tell me where Gerald Knox is.”
“I don’t know! Knox keeps his home a secret.”
“Then who gives you orders or assignments?”
“No one gives me orders,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’re bleeding quite a lot,” I said nonchalantly, pointing my gun to the spreading stain on his jeans. “Maybe you should tell me something I want to know so you can get that looked at.”
“I can’t go to a hospital!” he shouted.
“Then you’re in a world of shit,” I mused. “If you don’t give me something useful, I might get impatient.”
He glanced at me again, hate filling his eyes. “Knox wants you.”