Pretty Shameless, page 12
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
“I can tell you’re miserable,” he replied, smiling like the filthy sleaze he was so proud to be.
I gave him an odd look before diverting my attention back out the window.
Luke spit in the soda bottle sandwiched between his legs. I glanced sideways at him. Grinning, he wiped his mouth before landing both clit-twister baby blues on my tits. Hot didn’t even describe the way I felt at that exact moment. He pushed his hat up, smirking, and let out a long, annoying whistle.
“Stop staring,” I squeaked.
“Should I tell you the same?”
I felt my face get hot. “Where else am I supposed to be looking?”
“The guy you’re looking for is in that workshop, ain’t he?”
“I’ve been staring at that damn place all morning. There’s nothing going on there.”
“At least you know where the action really is,” he added, his voice deep and casual.
“Whatever. Just find something other than my tits to stare at.”
“I’ll do my best, which isn’t saying much.”
I slugged him in the arm. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you and invited you along.”
He slung a long, tanned, muscular arm across the back of the bench seat, leaning in a little too close for comfort.
“Maybe this was meant to be,” he said, adjusting himself with his other hand, while he kept his gaze dead set on my flustered face.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snarled at him.
“Well, I think we both know by now there isn’t anything going to come from us sitting here watching Canton’s place. But here we are, the two of us in my truck, there’s no Gunner…”
“Don’t even!” I interjected.
“Now hear me out on this, Laney,” he said, leaning forward. “We’ve danced around this thing we have for years now, and maybe you asking me along was sort of your way of—”
“It’s your money. I asked you along for your money,” I said, stopping him before he finished saying whatever the hell it was he intended on saying.
“Come again?” he asked, with a slight arch of the brow. I had clearly derailed that steam engine of a cock wadded up in his britches.
“I’m a broke-ass deputy. I can’t pay for shit. I asked you along because I need your fat wallet to pay for lunch afterward.” Shrugging, I added, “Although about now I’m having some regrets.”
“You know I’m more than a fat wallet,” he countered with a drop of his shoulder. “There’s plenty of ladies out in west Texas that would testify to that.”
Oh boy. I set the soda down in the cup holder and eyeballed him with a you-can’t-be-fucking-serious look. “Then I’ll take their word for it. Now get your ass back on your side of the truck.”
“It’s all good, but you’ll be regretting that decision someday,” he drawled lazily.
“Well, I’ll just have to live with myself if I do,” I fired back, grabbing a handful of his sunflower seeds, figuring if I can’t beat the son of a bitch, I might as well join him.
That shit-eating grin came back in full force as he handed me the soda bottle from between his legs.
“I guess you’ve gotten used to it, haven’t you?” he asked in that tone of his where I knew he was baiting me for something.
I bit, curious. “What are you talking about?”
“Regret,” he answered with a devilish glimmer in his eyes. “You know, seeing how you stick with Gunner, you’re probably quite accustomed to living with all kinds of regret.”
“You went a little too far with that one, pretty boy,” I seethed, restraining myself from completely erupting on his ass.
“My bad,” he offered insincerely while scratching at the steering wheel with his fingernail. He was clearly a little disappointed he hadn’t gotten the full Laney Briggs treatment with that comment.
“For the record,” I added, “fuck you.”
He smiled, getting a kick out of the fact that he’d gotten me all riled up, and then we continued to sit in silence and eat sunflower seeds while we both watched that shop do nothing. After a few passing seconds he resumed whistling his song.
Within a few minutes I heard the sound of a plastic wrapper rustling next to me. Turning toward Luke, I watched him plop his old friend between his lips—Mr. Toothpick. And that did it for me. It was time to take matters into my own hands.
“I’m sick and tired of waiting.” I unstrapped my seat belt. “For all we know Mule might be in trouble, and Wyatt will kill me if I let anything happen to his only friend.” Looking Luke up and down, I tugged at my hat. “I’ll do the talking,” I stated, digging my deputy badge out of the front pocket of my jeans. I pinned it to my shirt and climbed from the truck.
He nodded in amusement, cocking the toothpick to the side of his mouth. “What? You’re going in?”
I looked him square in the eye. “Yep. You can stay in the truck, if you like.”
“Not on your life.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth. “You think I’m going to miss an opportunity to watch a showdown between you and Mule Canton? Oh, this is gonna be good.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just stay out of the way.”
He flung his hands up. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” He made the sign of the cross over his heart. “Hand to God, I swear.” His signature bullshit line.
I doubted that. I planted both red cowboy boots on the asphalt and pulled out my .9mm holstered at my hip to make sure it was ready in case things happened to escalate further than I was anticipating.
I rounded the truck with my hand resting on my gun that I’d tucked back in the holster, boots scraping against the broken asphalt of the parking lot, when I spotted Luke already butting his nose against the front window of Mule’s cozy little home. It made so much sense to me how that sneaky fox was able to slide inside countless women’s panties.
While making a beeline to the front door, I felt something crunch beneath the sole of my boot. I lifted it, coming to the shitty-ass conclusion that I’d just crushed a syringe. Upon further inspection, my eyes landed on a wrench, a half-used water bottle, and a trail of blood splattered across the driveway. Right away I knew some shit had gone down. I pulled my gun and walked up behind Luke and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around with his wide shoulders hunched and those narrow hips rustling against my jeans. For a moment I forgot about what I’d just seen in the driveway.
Smiling while he rubbed his hips against me like I imagine he did when he thumped away at some slut, Luke leaned in and said, “I don’t think anyone is home.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked, just as incredulous as I could be.
“I can’t hear anything from inside, and I sure as hell don’t see anything going on in there,” he said, sounding like he was ready to head back to the truck.
“Did you not notice the driveway?”
“Yeah. I’ve been staring at it all morning,” he said, obviously with no idea as to what I was referring to.
“I swear you’d make a terrible cop. Go take a closer look,” I said, exasperated.
He strutted over, took himself a good look, then strutted back to me. “Okay. That slipped by me. Something went down here,” he said.
“Damn straight something went down here. We’re going in.”
Chapter Eleven
From my experience of taking calls around Pistol Rock, I knew that most folks stashed a hidey key behind a flowerpot or under a doormat. The only problem was that Mule didn’t keep any flowerpots on his front porch, and there wasn’t anything but dried-up roly-poly’s underneath the doormat, so my options were shrinking quicker than a north Texas watershed. I was squatting down to look underneath a rock when the sound of glass shattering bolted me upright. I looked ahead, wide-eyed and puzzled.
Luke shook his elbow, and shards of glass flung onto the porch. “What?” He smiled smugly, pretty darned pleased with himself. “We could spend all day waiting for you to find a key that doesn’t exist, but I’m starting to crave some Mexican food.”
I shot to my boots, dusting my hands down the seat of my pants, and pinned the Ruth Briggs death glare on him. “You dumbass. Breaking and entering is illegal.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I’m with my deputy lady friend.” He paused. “And you and I both know you definitely don’t want Gunner finding out you invited me along instead of putting a call in to him first.”
Okay, point taken. It just sucked balls when he was right.
Luke pushed the door open. “After you, my cutie.” He made a grand gesture, stretching his tanned, ripped arm smack-dab in front of my face.
It burned me up. I shoved past him and scooted through the doorway only to stall in front of an old vinyl-covered weight bench with an ashtray overflowing in cigarette butts, beer cans, and pistachio shells scattered all over it and the floor surrounding the bench. Definitely wasn’t prepared to walk into a goddamn Dumpster. He could give Wyatt a run for his money.
Welcome to the home of scumbag hell. Three flat-screens covered the entire width of the living room wall. And each one was hooked up to a different game system. The burgundy La-Z-Boy was cloaked in empty Milk Dud boxes and crushed Mountain Dew cans. Frankly, the place looked like a chicken coop. Shit was everywhere.
I looked down the hallway toward the bedroom. Bedrooms and I hadn’t cottoned too well in the past in these types of situations. There was always something like a condom spooged up like a jelly roll laying around or some lying, deceitful, shit-talking cowboy balls-deep in the town’s bleach-blond whore. With those repressed fears surfacing, I thought what better way to get Luke off my back than to send him riffling in that dungeon.
I cocked my head in the direction of the back bedroom. “Make yourself useful,” I ordered, “and go check out the bedroom.”
He snorted, clearly amused with my authoritative tone. “Yes, ma’am, Deputy.” He tipped the brim of his hat, grinned, then turned on a heel and was gone.
Moments later I was staring down the exact same scene I’d found over at Wyatt’s—a stack of bills on the kitchen countertop and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. White residue was caked to the butcher block and small plastic bags spilled from an overflowing trash can. I picked up one of Mule’s unopened bills, figuring if I was going to break the law and snoop around his place without due cause, I might as well go all the way and open his mail, too.
“Laney,” Luke called, his normally chipper tone sounding troublesome. My thumbnail stopped midslice, and the letter crinkled into a paper ball in my tightly clutched fist. This was so not good. I could hear the urgency in the tone of his voice. He started again. “Laney, you might want to stop whatever you’re doing and get your ass in here.”
I dropped the crumpled bill to the floor and took off toward the bedroom.
“What’d you do this time?” I asked, storming off and trampling the unopened letter beneath the sole of my boots as I made my way toward the bedroom.
It didn’t take me long to discover why the house had been so quiet all morning.
Lying in the closet, hog-tied, mouth duct-taped, and obviously cursing like a drunken sailor through the tape was none other than Mule Canton. At that moment I knew the odds of finding out why my cousin Wyatt was up to his eyeballs in criminal activity had gone from bad to clusterfucked, since whoever Mule and him where in bed with had just single-handedly wrestled the biggest dude I know to the ground.
“I think I found your guy,” Luke said, eyes glued to the bulldozer mullet-head tied up on the dingy brown rug. He crouched down, pushed his hat up, and winked. “I’ll bet you’re pretty darn glad to see us, aren’t you, Mule?” He laughed and tapped him on the chin. Then, in one fluid movement, he ripped the duct tape from his mouth. Mule cried like a baby. Getting eye level with him, Luke asked the one question that had been weighing heavily on my mind since encountering Mule bound and gagged.
“You wouldn’t happen to be involved with Willie King, too, would ya?”
Mule gave me a blank stare.
“Here’s the deal, Mule. I know Wyatt was sniffing around Willie King’s ass for the Texas Rangers. And I also know Willie King’s guns are missing because of Wyatt. And there’s the issue with Wyatt bouncing on his bail, which I reckon is because he’s scared shitless having lost all those guns. But now Wyatt’s in even more shit, and I need to know what y’all had cooking up with Willie King.” I might’ve raised my voice a smidgen.
Mule gulped, and a thin line of sweat trickled down his nose. He shifted his weight. “Holy shit,” he garbled, choking on his own saliva. “I haven’t heard one damn thing about any of that.” Mule waved his tied hands in the air. “The last time Wyatt buzzed me, he was all paranoid about not having time to get his weed distributed in a timely fashion.”
Luke fished his pocketknife from his front pocket and sliced open the ties around Mule’s wrists. Then he grabbed Mule by the shirt collar and yanked his ass off the floor. “Come on.” Luke bristled. “How about we continue this chat in the living room?”
Two steps later, I was eyeballing a pretty good reason to haul Mule into county and lock his ass away for good.
“You sure that’s all that is going on here, Mule?” I asked, locking in on the tiny plastic bags flung about the coffee table. “To me it seems there’s something more going down, seeing that you’re hell-bent on covering up for Wyatt and your living room is littered with dope. You wanna tell me who you’re bagging for?” I arched a brow and waited for my damn answer.
A frown marred his white-cotton-sheet face. “Laney, please….”
“Why don’t you and I have a nice little chitchat in the cruiser on the way to the station?” I pulled my cell from the back pocket of my blue jeans and began to text Elroy about Mule spending some time in lockup. “I’m pretty damn interested in hearing what you have to say.”
He sighed, defeated. “Molly.”
“Huh?” I crossed in front of him and crouched down, placing myself eye level with the dipshit. “Who’s Molly? Pearl mentioned the same name yesterday over at the Filler-Up.”
Mule’s head shook. “It isn’t a person,” he muttered, glancing past me toward the coffee table. “Wyatt and I’ve been bagging Molly,” he said, taking in Luke closing the distance between us. “Ecstasy, Laney. It’s my new side gig, and a few months back Wyatt asked if he could get a little piece of pie.” He moaned when he shifted against the closet wall. “So I dealt your cousin in.”
Drugs? Every case I’ve worked of late has circled back to drugs. And then I thought about Wyatt’s trailer. And the powder residue. Then Pearl Tompkins putting the fear of God in those dopeheads chanting the name “Molly.” But I was still not quite sure how this tied into the murder charges Wyatt was now facing.
“Goddamn it, Wyatt!” I hollered, straightening to a stand.
“I’m real sorry, Laney.” Mule’s voice wavered in the stale air.
I gave him a hard-ass cop face. “No. I’m real sorry, Mule”—I pulled out my cuffs—“but you’re under arrest,” I said as I slapped the cuffs on his wrists and read him his rights. “Let’s get you to county.”
Chapter Twelve
Four hours had passed since dropping Mule off at the station and slapping drug charges to his name. The last thing he’d spilled before clonking out cold—all because of the cuffs pinching his wrist and drawing blood—was that I should skedaddle my ass over to Willie’s car lot. Other than that, Mule turned out to be pretty damn useless.
How the hell did I get into these clusterfucks? Were my past sins so bad that I was forced to spend one complete afternoon with Luke Wagner? Willie King happened to be my next target, but Luke was glued to me like gum to the bottom of my boots, and if he didn’t cease and desist on the boobie watching, I was going to pop him one. I launched a death glare in his direction, then turned to the task at hand.
Situated far out on the highway between Pistol Rock and the Wagner’s massive Four Spurs Ranch, Willie King’s used-car lot was quieter than the county morgue. I scanned the empty lot one last time. Not even a morsel of action.
“Don’t tell me you plan on strutting in and waving that badge in Willie’s face,” Luke said, the annoyance dripping off his tongue like a busted toilet.
I pushed past him and shoved my .9mm down the holster strapped at my waist. “Yeah, that was exactly my plan. Besides, it’s a used-car lot, for crying out loud.”
He reached, catching me by the hand. “Cutie, those are the worst kinds.”
I gave a resigned sigh and looked at him. “Don’t tell me. You and Willie are tight.”
His lips curled into a wicked smile. “My father does business with King from time to time.”
“I should’ve figured a scumbag would be in bed with another scumbag.”
He shot me a not so cozy look. I didn’t think he was amused.
He pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket, rolling it around his knuckles. Then he peered back down at me. “Here’s the plan,” he said, watching my face for any signs of running in half-cocked. “You and I go in there saying it’s your birthday, and my gift to you is a gently used, preowned car.”
I was experiencing the first signs of what I thought might be a stomach ulcer.
“Come on. That’s the best you’ve got?” I said. “He won’t buy it. Why would I let Luke Wagner buy me a car when I’m living with Gunner Wilson?” I eyed him in mock amusement.
He laughed. It started out lighthearted, and it ended up hard and bitter.
“You and Gunner aren’t fooling anyone but yourselves.” He fiddled with his keychain for a moment, leaving the cold remark hanging between us.
“Whatever,” I huffed, “but we’re celebrating my twenty-third birthday, got it?”
