Jeff Shelby - Wicked Break

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where did the bullet hit you?”

She winced when I said bullet. “Just below my collarbone, I guess. They said it went out my back.”

“That’s good.”

“Unfortunately, it hit my collarbone,” she said. “It’s fractured.”

That was going to make her uncomfortable for a while. “How long will you be here?”

“A couple more days,” she said. “They wanna make sure there’s no infection and that it starts to heal okay.”

“I’m sure it will.”

She glanced at me. “Yeah.”

We listened to the host of the show ramble on about colors.

“What happened at your apartment, Rachel?” I asked.

“I already told the police.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to bring it up again. But can you tell me, too?”

She sighed, kept her eyes on the show. “Someone knocked on the door. We thought maybe it was you again. I opened the door, but no one was there. I walked outside to see if anyone was around. I didn’t see anyone, so I guessed someone was just messing with us.” She went silent for a moment. “That’s when it happened.”

“Did you see the gun?”

She shook her head.

“Any cars you recognized?”

She shook her head again. “There were a bunch of cars on the street. I heard this big bang. Then I felt something hit me-hard. After that I don’t remember a whole lot other than being in pain.” She looked away-I could tell it wasn’t easy for her to talk about what had happened. She was still scared and still confused. And she had a right to be.

“I told you I got in a fight,” I said. “It was with some other guys looking for Linc-skinheads, Rachel. Do you know anything about them? Or have you seen them around the apartments?”

She wiped the tears off of her face and took a deep breath. “Skinheads? No. That doesn’t sound like Linc.” She sighed and turned back to the TV. “Does Linc have something to do with what happened to me?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I started to feel guilty for coming. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and I wasn’t helping. “Can I get you anything, Rachel?”

She sighed again and her eyes fluttered. “Um…some more water, maybe?” She turned to the side. “There’s a pitcher, but it’s empty.”

I grabbed the pitcher off the table and stood. “Be right back.”

I walked down to the nurses’ station and had them refill the pitcher with water and ice. When I walked back into the room, Rachel was asleep.

I set the pitcher back on the table, found the remote and switched off the television, and moved quietly out of the room, letting Rachel get the rest she needed.

After getting back from the hospital and a night of thinking more than sleeping, I woke to find Carter drying himself off out on the patio in the sunshine, his board on the concrete next to him.

He shook his head and water sprayed from his hair like from a Labrador’s coat. His wet trunks dripped the ocean all over the ground.

He plopped down into one of the chairs. “I’m getting old.”

“Why’s that?”

“Little fourteen-year-old kid just put on a demo out there,” he said, motioning to the water. “Snapped the board like it was glued to his feet. Just ripped the ocean a new one. I looked like a robot out there compared to the little shit.”

I leaned against the doorjamb. “Maybe I can help you recapture your youth.”

He ran his hand over his face. “How’s that?”

“Do some things that might get us in trouble.”

His mood brightened. “Gimme five minutes.”

Ten minutes later we were headed east on I-8 to the college area and Linc Pluto’s apartment complex.

I told him about the shooting on Mission, but didn’t mention anything about seeing Mike and Liz. I had other things to worry about.

“For sure they were aiming for you?” he asked, twisting in the passenger seat of my Jeep and adjusting the seat belt around his large frame.

“Seemed like it. I was the only one standing there.”

“The Camry is pretty standard stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

He straightened up in the seat. “The young bangers do the setup while the older guys make the hit. Kid probably moved up a rung by getting you to stand still for the hitter.”

I nodded, thinking he was right. Even if I had pegged the Camry immediately, about the only thing I could’ve done was scamper back into the bar, making me an even easier target if they’d chosen to come in.

I took the southbound exchange to 805. “Really bothers me that they knew where to find me.”

Carter shrugged his big shoulders. “Yeah, but come on. People know you down there. They know you’re a PI. Hell, you use that bar as much for an office as you do anything else.”

“Still. Bunch of gang members stick out in South Mission. Anybody that knows me would’ve known they weren’t looking to hire me.”

Carter nodded. “Probably. Bigger question, though, Noah, is why.”

“Why what?”

“Why does some gang have you on their radar?”

I’d been bouncing the same question around in my head and hadn’t arrived at an answer. The only connecting line I could draw to that was Linc’s possible relationship with Deacon Moreno. I wasn’t sure how I fit into that equation and the connection seemed shaky at best.

As we pulled into Linc’s apartment complex, I hoped that something there might be able to offer some answers.

The crime tape was gone from the front of Rachel and Dana’s apartment and the complex looked as quiet as when I’d arrived the first time.

Carter leaned forward in his seat. “Jesus. What a dump.”

“Pretty much.”

“Kid lives here, there wasn’t much in his trust fund.”

“Or it was a convenient place to hide.”

Carter turned to me. “From what?”

I opened the door to get out. “Let’s see if we can find out.”

I glanced around the parking lot and street, looking for anything out of place. I kept expecting to see Lonnie and Mo show up somewhere and I didn’t want to be surprised.

Carter came up next to me. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Come on.”

We walked to Linc Pluto’s door.

“You got a key?” Carter asked.

“No,” I said. “That’s why I brought you.”

I knocked on the door and got no response.

I looked at Carter. “All yours.”

He grinned and motioned for me to step aside. I did, and he took a couple of steps back from the door. Then he stepped forward, lifted his right leg, and jammed his foot into the door near the lock. The door snapped open and slammed against the wall inside.

Carter swept his arm toward the door. “Right this way.”

I looked at him. “I meant that I wanted you to pick the lock.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Shoulda been more specific.”

I shook my head and went into the apartment. Carter followed. I inspected the door and saw that the lock was still in place. Carter’s big foot had just splintered the wood in the frame. I shut the door behind us and it closed like nothing had happened.

The apartment was as neat and clean as Rachel and Dana’s was messy and dirty. An expensive-looking leather sofa rested against the longest wall, a square glass table in front of it with several magazines stacked in the middle. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall across from the sofa and several audio and video components were lined up beneath it. Large photographs of the ocean hung in dark wood frames. A computer hutch with an office chair stood in the corner near the kitchen.

Noticeably absent was the presence of any photos of people. It all looked nice, but it felt empty and lonely to me.