Joel Goldman - No way out

I was standing in the middle of the room. She rose from the sofa, closing the distance to half an arm’s length, putting herself in easy reach.

“It’s down to you. I’m overdue at home.”

“Let me drive you.”

I shook my head. “Joy left me three voice messages and three texts while I was asleep. I called her back so she knows I’m here, which is bad enough, but having you drop me off is no way to end my day.”

“What about tomorrow? If I’m going with you to see Nick Staley, how will you manage that?”

“I thought you had to get back to San Diego.”

She smiled. “I moved some things around and bought a few days. I hope I made the right decision.”

I got lost in her eyes. “I’ll take the bus to the courthouse and meet you there.”

“Funny, isn’t it? There’s nothing going on between you and me, but the three of us are acting like there is. I lured you to my hotel room. You’re itchy just being here because Joy is jealous, and we’re scheming how we’re going to be together without her knowing about it. The past has a long half life, and we’re living it-again.”

“I’ll tell Joy everything, and you didn’t lure me.”

“Then why not let me drive you home and pick you up in the morning?”

I didn’t answer, not certain what I really would say to Joy, if anything, knowing that she’d react the same to the truth, a lie, or silence.

She studied me, nodding. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I lured you, and I’m not certain why. You hurt me, and I’ve been angry with you for a long time. I tried to stay with the anger all day, but I couldn’t.”

“Well, at least the day wasn’t a total loss. You got me in your bed.”

She smirked, smacking me on the arm. “Smart-ass! All the good it did me. You didn’t even budge when I took your cell phone out of your pocket.”

“Better that I didn’t.”

She dipped her chin, then raised her head, sweeping her hair to one side. “Yeah. I know. It is what it is.”

“Joy is a good…”

She interrupted, putting her palm on my chest. “Person. I know, and so are you and so am I. Good people make life harder. You can’t hate them forever, and you can’t forget why you loved them. You won’t have any trouble getting a cab. They’re always lined up across the street at the Intercontinental Hotel.”

“One question before I go?”

She crossed her arms against her chest. “Of course. I forgot that you’re always on the job.”

“You had Bonner under the microscope tonight. Is he lying about what he knows?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? He’s a lawyer. They all lie.”

I entered the code on the garage door keypad when a car came to life across the street, pulling into my driveway as the door rose, high-beam headlights blinding me, a replay of the gun dealer robbery. I pulled my gun from its holster, holding it at my side as I backed into the garage.

“Put your gun away, Jack. It’s me, Ammara. I’m getting out of the car, so don’t shoot me.”

The passenger door opened, and she stepped out, her lean frame familiar but not enough to put me at ease since I didn’t know who was behind the wheel or why she’d shown up like a thief instead of an old friend.

“Kill the lights.”

She motioned to the driver, who cut the engine and the headlights. I blinked, clearing the starbursts from my eyes as the driver’s door opened. The driver, burly and broad shouldered, a ball cap pulled down over his brow, stepped out, using the door as a shield. I guessed he was holding his gun out of sight, waiting to see what I would do.

“Jennings,” Ammara said, “put your fucking gun away before I tell Jack to shoot you. This isn’t a raid. And, Jack, please put your gun away too, before this ATF asshole ruins our friendship.”

I slipped my gun into my jacket pocket. Ammara walked toward me, her arms open, embracing me as a round of shakes rocketed from my belt to my chin, buckling my knees. She leaned into me, bracing her body against mine until the shakes passed. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or embarrassed so I settled for both, pulling away when I could stand on my own.

“Don’t expect me to say I’m glad to see you. Why didn’t you call, give me some notice?”

“Wasn’t up to me. Jennings and I came by a couple of hours ago. Joy told us you were out and she didn’t know when you’d be home. She made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for company. The message you left said you were in a hurry for information and, it turned out, Jennings was in a hurry too, so we decided to wait in the car. While we were waiting, he asked me about the stories he’d heard about you, about what happened at the Bureau and with Wendy. I told him the truth, but I didn’t think he’d pull something like this.”

“Guy’s a jerk, lighting me up like that.”

“Yeah, but now he’s your jerk. He’s running the investigation into the stolen guns you asked me about.”

Ammara was near my height, all lanky muscle from her college days playing volleyball. I looked over her shoulder as Jennings stepped toward us.

I had asked her for help, giving a thumbnail sketch of the two cases I was working and a quick summary of what I needed, some of which I figured she’d have to get from ATF. When she reached out, odds were that Jennings had reached back with his own wish list. Nobody in law enforcement gives anything away for free, pissing matches over pride and turf too often leaving everyone with nothing to show for it except wet shoes. This was shaping up the same way.

I was still twitching, my left shoulder jerking up and down, alternating with my bobbing chin. Jennings watched me with curious eyes as if I were a magician and he was trying to figure out my sleight of hand. Ammara said he’d heard the lingering rumors at the FBI. People from DC to KC still believed that the shakes were a scam I’d used to duck the indictment I deserved for covering up Wendy’s involvement in the drug ring, and that her death was more convenient than tragic. It didn’t matter that Ammara had told him the truth. He came at me the way he did to see how I’d react, testing the rumors against his own eyes before deciding whether to work with me.

“Satisfied?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, but I had to see for myself. Braylon Jennings, ATF,” he said, his hand extended. “Can we go inside and talk?”

I ignored his hand. I didn’t blame him for testing me, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.

“I don’t want to wake my wife.” Ammara stared at me with raised eyebrows. “Ex-wife. Forget it. It’s complicated, but whatever we’ve got to talk about, we’ll do it right here. You first, Jennings: what do you want from me?”

He tilted his head to one side, weighing the advantages of going first or last, giving in with a sigh. “Ammara says you’re interested in the robbery of a gun dealer last month?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

He knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it. I’d passed his first test, and it was time to take another.

“I was having lunch yesterday at LC’s Bar-B-Q when a guy named Frank Crenshaw used one of the stolen guns to kill his wife. A woman named Roni Chase was with Crenshaw and shot him but didn’t kill him. She went to the hospital last night to see how he was doing, but somebody killed him before she could say hello. The cops say Crenshaw was killed with a handgun registered to her. She’s being arraigned in the morning, and I’m helping with her defense.”

“You were there when it happened, when Crenshaw shot her?”

“You know I was, so what’s the bottom line?”

He nodded. “We’re interested in Crenshaw, how he came into possession of that gun.”