Jeff Shelby - Killer Swell

I laughed. “I’ve missed you.”

His hand shrank to a middle finger.

Minton was medium height, with a gut that was anything but medium. He had on a white coat over a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt that barely contained his girth. A thin dark mustache snaked over his upper lip. The dark hair on his head was thinning, a fact he tried to cover up by buzzing it short. Dark gray eyes stared me down.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t have time for you. Go away.”

“Can’t.”

“Door’s right behind you. Turn around and put one foot in front of the other. You’ll get it.”

I looked over the counter at him. “Why so bitter?”

He folded his arms across his chest, reminding me of a fat, angry Buddha. “Last time I saw you, I found you in the back, having moved a body and copying some records. Then that big asshole that follows you around picked me up and pinned me in the corner of the room until you were done.” He pointed a finger at me. “You fucked the whole thing up.”

“You didn’t answer the bell and I was trying to do my job.”

He waved a hand in the air, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Whatever, Braddock. You pissed me off and I don’t like to be pissed off.”

I smiled. “Me either. But I’m not leaving.”

Minton stared at me for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Two minutes.”

I nodded. “You get a DB last night?”

He pulled a clipboard off the wall behind him, looked at it for a moment, then nodded. “Yep.”

“Kate Crier?”

Minton looked again, then back at me. “Yep.”

“Cause of death?”

“Still to be determined.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “One minute left.”

“Looked like strangulation from what I saw,” I said.

His left eye twitched. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He gave a small shrug. “Couple other things I need to look at.”

“Like?”

Minton thought about it for a moment, then looked at the clock again. “Like your two minutes are up.”

“That wasn’t two minutes,” I protested.

“Was in my world.”

I didn’t want to push it because if I was going to learn anything about Kate’s death, I would need his help. I pulled a card from my wallet and placed it on the counter. “I’d appreciate a call when you know more.”

“Well, hell,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll get right on that, Mr. Private Dick. Emphasis on Dick. Just for you.”

I smiled. “Got two tickets behind the plate for Friday’s game. Dodgers are in town.” I opened the door to the hallway. Minton was the biggest baseball fan I knew. Great seats were his weakness. “Yours, if I get a call by the end of the day.”

He muttered something under his breath.

I turned around. “What?”

His mouth curled into a disgusted frown, most likely due to the fact that I knew he would never turn down great seats.

“I said,” Minton replied, spinning on his heel and heading toward the back hall, “fuck off.”

Minton’s statement about a “couple of other things” rang in my ears as I walked back to my car. I tried to remember what else I’d seen when I’d opened the trunk of the car, but the only thing I could recall with any clarity was Kate’s face. I knew there would be no shaking that.

I was pondering that thought when I saw a guy sitting on the hood of my Jeep. He was twirling my radio antenna like a baton, watching it very closely as if he wanted to perfect the move. Another guy was leaning against the white Lexus parked next to the Jeep, watching him.

The guy with the antenna looked up. “You Braddock?”

“No,” I said. “Me Tarzan.”

He dropped the antenna on the asphalt and looked at his partner. “Funny, you think?”

His partner rotated his head in my direction, squinting into the morning sunlight. “Very.”

The guy on the Jeep slid off the hood and tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck. He was about my height, with a square head and more fat than muscle. His face was dotted by acne scars, heavier around the chin. His black hair was slicked back off his forehead, so tight it looked like it hurt. He wore a white tank top, black cotton sweats, and construction boots.

He looked again at his partner. “So. We gonna do this, Ramon, or what?”

Ramon was shorter and dressed a hell of a lot better. He wore a gray silk shirt and black linen slacks, expensive leather huaraches on his feet. His black hair was cut short, long sideburns creeping down his cheeks. A gold hoop dangled fashionably from his left ear. His eyes were flat and cold, like steel.

He held out a hand to his partner. “Easy, Manny.”

“Yeah, Manny. Easy,” I said.

Manny scowled, and I doubted that anything came easy for him.

Ramon looked at me. “Can I ask why you are here, Mr. Braddock? Visiting the medical examiner?” He spoke softly with a heavy Hispanic accent.

“You can ask. Sure.”

Ramon eyed me for a moment, then a small smile crept onto his lips. “But you won’t answer?”

I shook my head and wrinkled my nose. “Don’t really feel compelled.” I looked at Manny. “Sorry. Big word. Compelled means ‘gotta.’”

Manny continued to scowl. “Dude, you are not funny.”

“Guys,” I said, preparing for the confrontation. “Sorry, but I can’t hang out with you anymore. Things to do, places to be, you know the deal.”

Manny stepped in front of my car door and smiled.

I returned the smile. “In about ten seconds, Manny, you are gonna wish you had chosen breakfast instead of me this morning.” I looked at Ramon. “Unless you have any more questions, I’m going to kick his ass.”

Ramon shrugged, then nodded at Manny. Manny lurched at me and swung. I stepped inside the swing and thrust my right palm up under his chin. His teeth cracked together, his eyes slammed shut, and he took a step back. I moved to the side, lifted my leg up, and jammed my foot into the side of Manny’s knee. A muffled scream emerged from the broken teeth and blood in his mouth as he crumpled to the ground.

I stepped back and looked at Ramon. “You next?”

He didn’t look impressed, which concerned me. He cocked his head to the side. “Mr. Braddock. Do you know the name Alejandro Costilla?”

I watched Manny curl into a tight ball on the sidewalk. Alejandro Costilla. My life had suddenly become a lot more complicated.

I looked back at Ramon, trying not to show him anything. “No.”

Ramon let the same small smile I’d seen earlier crawl back on his lips. “You are a liar, Mr. Braddock.”

I picked up my antenna and got into the Jeep, the window already rolled down. “I’ve been called worse.”

Ramon nodded, shoved his hands in the pockets of his expensive pants, and leaned in the window, so his eyes were at the same level as mine. “Yes, I think you are a liar, Mr. Braddock. But that is your choice.” He turned to Manny and offered him a hand, but Manny was busy hugging his knee to his chest and bellowing in pain. Ramon shrugged and looked back at me. “I believe Mr. Costilla will have an interest in speaking to you about your visit this morning.” He winked. “So I’m sure I will see you again. Soon.”

I drove off before he could really scare the crap out of me.

“Did you use your Jew Kung Fu?”

Carter was stretched out on one of the deck chairs on my patio, a pair of sunglasses and blue board shorts the only things on his body impeding the rays of the sun. I sat in the chair next to him, recounting my morning, as we watched the sunbathers and tourists stroll by on the boardwalk.

“It’s called Krav Maga, moron,” I replied, irritated by his political incorrectness.