10. Incomplete Heathen
Chapter 10
Incomplete Heathen
Mensa
Mensa spotted Monica Wright pacing in front of the police station. A man stood to the side watching her, and Mensa wondered if he was a junior partner or possibly an intern.
Before they got too close, Mensa said, “That’s Monica, our lawyer. Not sure who she brought with her.”
Monica smiled at him. “Mr. Ragstone. From what Mr. Walcott shared on the phone, I brought Todd Morton along because you and Ms. Blume have to be questioned separately about the events from last night. I can be with you or I can—”
“Stick with Whitney. She’s former FBI and believes this is all standard procedure. No offense to your colleague, but my gut says they’re banking on her playing by the rules.”
They went into the police station, and found Robinson and Fortner waiting for them. Fortner deserved an award for his irritated scowl.
Monica introduced herself and Todd Morton to the detectives. With the formalities over, Robinson led them toward the rooms for questioning.
Fortner opened a door and looked at Whitney. “Ms. Blume, if you don’t mind.”
Whitney peeled off from the group, stepped into the room, and Monica followed her.
“This way, Mr. Ragstone,” Detective Robinson said, opening the door across the corridor.
It bothered him much more than it should have that he and Whitney had been separated.
He sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the cramped room, and Todd Morton settled next to him.
For almost an hour, Mensa endured a litany of repetitive questions about why he’d left Twisted Talons after the shooting began, why he fled the scene of a crime, why he hadn’t returned after losing the motorcycle chasing him, and why he hadn’t felt it was safe to take Whitney back to her home.
Any doubts Mensa had in Todd Morton were quickly dispelled over the course of the hour.
“Are you holding my client?” Morton asked.
Robinson took a deep breath and stared into the one-way mirror for a long beat as if he could read the minds of the people sitting back there. Finally he said, “No. He’s free to go.”
Robinson opened the door for them, and to Mensa’s dismay, the door to the adjacent room stood open. He looked back to Robinson, but Todd Morton gestured for him to move forward.
They walked three paces before Mensa asked, “Where’s Whitney?”
“I would think she’s with Ms. Wright, but since I’ve been with you the past hour, I honestly don’t know.”
They stepped into the lobby and he saw Monica sitting in a chair with her phone in hand.
“Where’s Whitney?” Mensa asked, his tone not just demanding, but borderline menacing.
Monica looked up at him with a gleam in her eyes. “She left with Finn and Riley. I’m confident Finn is capable of keeping her safe, though I doubt there’s a threat to her any longer.”
With effort, Mensa kept himself from glowering and instead gave a single nod. “Right. Thank you for your help, Ms. Wright.”
She smiled. “It’s what you pay us for, but it’s always a pleasure, Mr. Ragstone. Tell Mr. Merino an invoice will be sent this week.”
Mensa’s lips tipped up a touch. “Will do. That should make Block’s day.”
Monica stood. “I’m sure.” As she gathered her attaché case, she threw a sharp look at Mensa. “One more thing, if you talk to Whitney, be sure to mention that her brother’s friend, Phil, hurried back looking for her before she left.”
That was the last thing Mensa expected her to say. He leaned forward an inch. “What was that?”
Monica shook her head. “Sorry. Ms. Blume and I came out here after her questioning. A public safety officer, who’s friends with Whitney’s brother, saw us. His name is Phil. He was called away for a moment, but he came back hoping to see Whitney again before she left.”
“She’s not from here,” Mensa said on auto-pilot.
Monica grinned. “No, but this man mentioned being friends with her brother… so I’m guessing that’s how they knew of each other.”
Jealousy stormed through his veins, but he refused to acknowledge it. In fact, it had to be something else because why would Mensa be jealous? She wasn’t his.
Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with her. Or so he thought.
The fact Finn and Riley came to take her home should have been a load off him… but it wasn’t.
Being separated from her for questioning shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.
He should have felt free as a bird now that he didn’t have to take her home… but he didn’t.
Fuck. What was his problem?
Mensa nodded to Ms. Wright. “Sure. I’ll let her know that Phil’s looking for her. Thanks for the heads up. Hopefully, I won’t need your help in the near future. Later.”
Mensa checked his mirrors more frequently as he left downtown. He wouldn’t put it past Fortner or even Robinson to follow him. For that matter, they’d probably have someone else follow him. When he approached Beach Boulevard, he hadn’t spotted any sort of tail. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
He’d wanted to ask Ms. Wright what sort of questions they’d asked Whitney, but he also didn’t want to have that conversation in the police station lobby.
As much as he needed to hit the clubhouse for some food, a shower, and a nap, he detoured to Dontrell’s first restaurant instead. He hoped Dontrell would be there, but after having a location burnt to the ground, he might be dealing with insurance adjusters and other people.
Mensa had barely put his kickstand down before Dontrell came out of the restaurant.
“What the fuck do you want?”
Mensa swung off his bike. “I’m not your enemy, man.”
Dontrell’s face filled with outrage. “No, but the other bartender shooting at that asshole last night didn’t do me any fuckin’ good. Hell, it’s probably why they burned my place down.”
Mensa’s mouth opened, but he kept himself from responding in anger. After a deep breath, he asked, “How long have they been pressuring you?”
“That shit don’t matter.”
Mensa squared his shoulders. “Two detectives came for me and Whitney, and for some fucked-up reason they asked plenty of questions about last night’s fire – as if we had something to do with it. If you give a damn about ‘Houston,’ then tell me, how long has the Corrupt Chrome MC been after you to pay them for ‘protection’?”
Under any other circumstances, Dontrell’s overly-dramatic confused look would have been comical. “Thought you couldn’t stand her?”
He stared at Dontrell. “Just because I don’t like someone doesn’t mean I want to see arson pinned on them. I’m not a complete heathen.”
With a finger pointed at him, Dontrell nodded. “Damn right, you’re an incomplete heathen. Figured you or one of those other boys woulda been watching my place.”
Mensa’s brows furrowed and he turned his head a touch. “You thought the Riot would be there? Why? The confrontation happened at Twisted Talons. How could we know that your restaurant would be targeted?”
Dontrell tipped his head back and to the side as if Mensa had lost his mind. “You brought at least five of those boys to the Pass Road location. I figured that was the only reason those assholes held off so long. They knew I was in with you Riot motherfuckers.”
Mensa took a deep breath. “We aren’t motherfuckers, and you aren’t ‘in with us’. Back to the issue – how long have they been after you for money?”
Now Dontrell inhaled sharply through his nose. “About a year now.”
Mensa’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck, man. They’ve only been in town for roughly a year. You mean to tell me they’ve been after you for protection money since they got here?”
Dontrell’s head reared back. “What was I supposed to do?”
Mensa blew out a breath and turned his head sharply to the side. “Fuck.”
“You can say that again. Now, what’s goin’ on with Houston? She’s good people, and it takes a lot for me to say that, since I pegged her for being a cop from the moment she walked in my restaurant.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t know yet. We were questioned separately about the fire. You got any camera feeds or some sort of security service?”
Hardness had settled over Dontrell’s features at Mensa’s explanation. His tone reflected the same. “You damn right I got a security service. I called them earlier, but I’ll call again and ask for a copy of the feed.”
Mensa nodded. “Appreciate it.”
Dontrell gave him a chin lift. “You need a gyro?”
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Mensa smiled at the thought of food. “You bet I do.”
After a ninety-minute nap in his bed at the clubhouse, Mensa couldn’t stop thinking about Whitney.
No, he couldn’t stop thinking about what questions Fortner asked her. It wasn’t like he could demand that from Monica Wright. Perhaps he could have, but it wouldn’t have been right.
For that matter, he couldn’t beat back the thought that she was being set up for something. What that could be, he didn’t know.
Maybe everyone was right… he was paranoid after all.
Calling Whitney would put his mind at ease, but he had promised himself he would never use the number Finn had programmed into his phone months ago. Hell, he still didn’t know why he hadn’t deleted it the first chance he had.
With a self-loathing groan, he pulled out his cell, found her contact, and called.
“Hello?” she answered on the fourth ring, her voice full of trepidation.
“It’s Mensa. You at home?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“They find your car?”
“Not yet, but I also have anti-theft service on the car, so I should hear back soon.”
“What else did they ask you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, Mensa. They don’t think I had anything to do with the fire.”
Or they’re keeping that card close to their chest.
“How did you get my number?” she asked.
“Finn. He programmed it into my phone months ago just to fuck with me.”
She chuckled quietly and he wondered if she had tried to hide it from him. Then she said, “I should drop by one of Dontrell’s other restaurants. Make sure he’s all right.”
“Other than being pissed as hell, he’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“I paid him a visit after I left the police station.”
She scoffed. “I should have done that, but I was wiped out.”
A small smile curled his lips at the thought of last night. “Yeah,” he whispered.
“Who could that be?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hang on, someone’s at my door.”
There was a pause, and then she whispered, “Oh, Geez. Let me call you back.”
“No, I don’t like that tone. I’m staying on the line unless it’s someone you know.”
She sighed. “It’s my brother’s friend, Phil. I—”
“You ran into him at the station. Yeah, Monica said he hurried back to see you, but you’d left already.”
“Let me call you back.”
There was another knock at her door and he heard it over the line. Something about that bugged him.
“Do you want him there?”
“Mensa, it doesn’t matter. I can take care of this. Have a good night.”
She ended the call, and the bad feeling he had grew.
His lack of sleep had to be fucking with his head. She had FBI training. She’d be able to get rid of that guy. That didn’t change the fact that he wanted to be the one to get rid of him.
He had to shut that feeling down.
They fucked last night. It was the best he’d ever had, but she wasn’t the right woman for him. No matter how much he loved kissing her, or how great she tasted.
Shit.
He had to stop thinking about last night.
Ten minutes later, he sent a quick text to her, asking if Phil had left.
Her reply was almost instant.
Not yet.
That sealed it.
He knifed out of his bed, tugged on his boots, grabbed his keys and wallet off the dresser, and stormed out to his bike.
Whitney’s apartment was fifteen minutes away from the clubhouse, but Mensa made it there in ten. His instincts were on high alert as he climbed the stairs to her apartment. Standing outside her door, he heard Whitney’s voice, but couldn’t make out her words. The tone of her voice was clear though; she was getting impatient.
He knocked on her door and shifted foot-to-foot while he waited.
After a moment, she opened the door with a confused expression. “Mensa?”
“Hey, can I come in?”
A stocky man with olive skin walked up behind her. “No, you can’t. We’re in the middle of something.”
He glared at the man, then directed his gaze to Whitney. “His name on your lease?”
In a resigned tone, she said, “You know it isn’t.”
He grinned, and locked eyes with Phil. “Then it’s up to her if I can come in.”
Whitney did a long blink, but that sweet smile on her face said it all. She opened the door wide and glanced up at him. “By all means, Kenneth, come right in.”
Mensa prowled into the apartment.
Phil widened his eyes at Whitney. “Seriously, Whit? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You need to distance yourself from him. What were you thinking having his lawyer there today?”