Kirk Russell - Shell Games

“Fuck if I know.”

Marquez studied the rest of the room. A mattress lay on the floor. A couple of blankets and a sheet were rumpled near the bottom. A beanbag ashtray with butts and a couple of roach ends sat just off the bed and the room smelled like cigarette smoke and sex. Marquez moved toward the bed and stripped the blankets, first one then the other with Bailey watching.

“This is like maid service, Jimmy. We’re making it easy for you to wash your sheets. Think of it as an opportunity.” Bailey didn’t respond. He pulled the bottom sheet and checked the seams, then lifted it and looked underneath, frightened the spiders but didn’t see anything. Meanwhile, Cairo went through the closet, pulling clothes out, checking the pockets of the pants and shirts. “How long have you been out of the house, Jimmy?”

“We’re filing suit today to get my boat back.”

“Seventeen thousand lawsuits a year in California and hardly any of them go anywhere. Seems like everyone is suing us this week.”

“You’re going to get your ass kicked.”

“Are we?” Marquez paused, looking in the faded blue eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Bailey moved into the hallway, muttering, slamming the wall with a fist, a move Marquez interpreted as a signal. Alvarez fol-lowed Bailey outside. Cairo picked up the beanbag ashtray, said he was going to take it in the kitchen and look through it more care-fully. Marquez held a finger up, meaning don’t say anything, mouthed “follow my lead.”

“We’re done in this room,” Marquez said. “But I want to take another look at the kitchen. Let’s go top to bottom on the kitchen again.”

“You got it.”

Marquez pointed at the door, signaled that Cairo should leave and shut the door behind him, which he now did. Then it was quiet in the room and Marquez waited, heard a faint scraping, a foot, knee, elbow, something moving to a more comfortable posi-tion. He’d seen a tiny piece of insulation on the closet carpet, but no ladder or anything to climb on, so it must have been done while they were knocking on the front door. He looked around for something to stand on. There was a dresser but it looked heavy to move, so he quietly opened the door again, walked out to the kitchen and got the broom he’d seen earlier.

Cairo came back with him. Marquez stood in the closet and with the broom handle reached overhead, lifted the access hatch, and slid it to the side.

“You may as well come down, so we don’t have to climb up and get you.”

Feet dropped through the hole, then legs, and he helped her down. She wore panties and a T-shirt, and once on her feet she dusted insulation off her shoulders. She shook her hair and looked defiantly at Marquez.

“Did you like that?” she asked.

“What were you doing in the attic?”

“That’s a stupid question if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Why hide? Mark wouldn’t care, would he? Have you talked to him yet?”

“Are you going to guilt-trip me now?”

“I’m asking.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly waiting by the phone for him.”

“You haven’t heard from him?”

“No, and if you’ll excuse me I need to use the bathroom.”

Meghan Burris came out of the bathroom wearing cutoff jeans and a tube top. She walked straight out the front door and Marquez followed her out on the off chance he could reach her. They’d allowed Bailey to leave the living room, some-thing they wouldn’t ordinarily do with a suspect, and Bailey had gone to his Suburban. There wasn’t anyone they knew about that Bailey could call to warn that his house was being searched and Marquez wanted to send a message to Bailey’s lawyer, wanted the lawyer to know they were confident and coming after his client. They were building a case. Send a signal they didn’t need to confine Bailey; they already had him.

Meghan Burris’s blonde hair carried a purple streak that ran down the center of the back of her head and a lacy tattoo snaked its way down her lower back and under the waist of her pants. She turned to face him as he called her name.

“You already searched me when you helped me down. Do you want to do it again?”

“Why don’t we talk before you get with Jimmy?”

“Why do I have to talk to you?”

“Let me tell you what we’re seeing. Give me a few minutes. It might be worth it to you.”

She looked over at Bailey who was in the Suburban on the phone, motioning for her to come get inside. When she turned back toward Marquez instead, the driver’s door swung open and Bailey called her like he was whistling a dog home.

“Meghan, come here.” When she didn’t, Bailey hustled toward them, the phone still pressed up against his ear. “Don’t even fuck-ing have a conversation with him.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Jimmy.”

“I’m telling you to get in the truck. We’re leaving.” He reached for her arm and pulled her onto the driveway before Marquez caught his wrist.

“Go finish your phone call, Jimmy.”

“You’re really the big fucking guy, aren’t you?”

He let go of Bailey’s wrist, answered, “Tell your lawyer about it.” He didn’t hear what Bailey said as he turned away. Marquez moved out on the lawn with Meghan. He knew she didn’t like anything about law enforcement. That radiated off her and had when they’d visited Heinemann’s boat. But he also felt that there was probably a tipping point with her, a point where survival would kick in and it would be more in her interest to help them. He knew he had to rattle her cage a little and after Bailey backed off he turned to her. “You don’t want to go down with Jimmy.”

“Like I would even know how to poach anything.”

“I’m not talking about poaching.”

“Anything else you found is Jimmy’s, not mine.” She meant a little bit of cocaine near Bailey’s bed that had been dumped into the carpet and left a white streak in the dirty brown shag. They’d debated trying to do something with it as a way of holding Bailey. She hooked her thumbs in the front of her shorts and her eyes turned with a different challenging light. “You don’t really have anything to say, do you? You just want to get him and you want me to help, and now you think you’re going to scare me.”

“Does Jimmy have you selling drugs on campus?”

“No.”

“We saw you do a couple of deals. Are you doing that on your own?”

“This conversation is over. You are like total bullshit. All of you people are.”

“We followed you after the conversation on the boat because we need to find Mark Heinemann.”

“So you can mess up his life.”

Marquez nodded toward Bailey. “He’s working with some bad people and you’re going to have to choose which side you’re on. There’s not going to be any middle ground.”

“Ooh, pretty scary. I’m so worried now I can hardly think. Look, do you really think he talks to me? It’s real simple, okay. He took me to dinner and we got high and he was real sweet last night so he could bring me back here and fuck me since Mark is gone. Do you want to write that down or do you already know about stuff like that? Now, he’s hung over and you kicked his door in and tore up his house and he’s an asshole again. So do you really think he talks to me? Get real. I’m out of here.”

She turned and started toward the Suburban. “Don’t leave just yet.”

“What, are you going to threaten me now?”

“No, I’m not. I’m going to give you a phone number you can reach me at.”

“Why would I want it?”

“The people Jimmy and Mark are messing with are as bad as they come. I’ve been twenty years in law enforcement and not all of it Fish and Game. I’ve come across one of these people before and I promise you that Jimmy and especially Mark don’t have any idea who they’re dealing with. They’re way over their heads.” He handed her the card at an angle Bailey couldn’t see.