Sharon Sala - Nine Lives

Halfway through the file, she ran across a notation regarding a former roommate named Danni Chester, and an old address on the south side of the city. It was the only thing in the file that could be construed as a permanent link to another person. It was almost a year old, but it was a place to start.

She checked her cell phone for messages, but there were none. As she was gathering up her trash, it occurred to her that she hadn’t checked the answering machine at her apartment. She got out of her car, dumped her trash, and was just about to call home to check it when her cell phone rang. When she saw who was calling, she decided not to answer it, but then changed her mind.

“Hello.”

Wilson winced. The clipped tone of her voice didn’t bode well for this becoming any kind of a pleasant conversation.

“Cat, it’s me, Wilson.”

“What do you want?”

He winced again.

“I thought maybe I could come by with your charm.”

“I’m not home. I’m working. Call me later.”

She hung up in his ear.

He disconnected. Then, disgusted with her and also with himself for still trying to connect with what appeared to be a certified bitch, he threw his cell phone on the bed and kicked a throw pillow that had fallen on the floor.

Wilson’s call distracted Cat enough that when she hung up, she forgot she’d been going to call home. Instead, she got back in her vehicle, slammed the door and drove out of the parking lot in a huff, leaving rubber behind as she went.

* * *

Charity considered her new look a sure cure for the warrant that was bound to be out for her arrest. Her long blond hair was now short and red. She’d had her eyebrows dyed to match, and was wearing five earrings on each ear, the fake kind that looked pierced but really weren’t. She’d traded her designer clothes for an off-the-rack mini-skirt and little-bit-of-nothing top covered by a white fake fur coat that barely cupped the bottom of her backside. She’d found a pair of high-topped black boots in a thrift store that went over her knees, and for a last bit of flash, wrapped a thin red scarf around her neck.

Finally she was ready to split. All she needed to do was pick up her stuff from Danni’s apartment and get to the bus station. After that, her troubles would be over.

Cat hadn’t been outside Danni Chester’s apartment building for more than fifteen minutes when she saw a cab pull up to the curb. She tensed, leaning forward as she watched the door open, but when she saw the female getting out, she leaned back. Wrong woman. She noted that the cab didn’t leave, then went back to watching for Charity.

A few minutes passed, and then the same redheaded woman came back out, this time carrying a small suitcase. Another woman walked out with her, her arm over the redhead’s shoulder. When they hugged, Cat’s focus moved from the redhead to the other woman.

She grabbed the file on the seat beside her and thumbed through the pages until she found a mug shot of Danni Chester, who’d been arrested more than once for prostitution. After a couple of glances, she recognized the woman standing by the cab as Danni Chester, which told Cat she needed to check out the redhead, if for no other reason than to exclude her from the hunt.

She checked the mug shot of Charity one more time, then tossed the file onto the seat beside her and got out of her car. She patted the outside of her coat, making sure her gun and handcuffs were still in the waistband of her pants, and then started across the street.

The closer she got, the faster she went. By the time the redhead was opening the door to get into the cab, Cat was at the back rear fender.

“Hey, Charity…love your new do,” she called out.

Charity Kingman was smiling as she turned. It wasn’t until she saw that Cat was a stranger that she realized she’d just given herself away. Then she saw Cat’s badge and the handcuffs in her hand.

“Well, shit,” she muttered.

Danni Chester started to shove Charity into the cab when Cat pointed at her.

“What? You in a big hurry to go to lock up with her?”

Charity sighed. Danni was a friend. She didn’t want to get her in trouble, too.

“Don’t, Danni. You don’t want to fight Cat Dupree.”

“Never heard of her,” Danni said, giving Cat a rude lookover.

“She’s Art Ball’s bounty hunter. Everyone knows her,” Charity said.

“Never heard of you, either,” Cat said and pointed at Danni. “Get out of my way.”

Danni blinked rapidly and took a couple of steps backward. On closer inspection, the Dupree woman looked a little too scary to mess with.

Charity spat out the gum she’d been chewing as Cat calmly handcuffed her.

“Hey, honey, button up my coat for me, will ya? I’m freezing here.”

Cat eyed the long stretch of bare legs between the hem of the mini-skirt and the top of the black boots, then the size of the breasts pushing at the low-cut sweater, and snorted lightly.

“Cold boobs are the least of your worries,” she stated, and then took Charity by the arm.

“Wait!” she cried. “My bag. Danni, get my bag out of the cab!”

Danni took the bag and sent the cab driver on his way.

“Please,” she asked, as she held the bag out to Cat. “Can’t she even have her things?”

Cat kept on walking, pushing Charity along in front of her.

“The state of Texas is about to provide all she’s going to need for the next year or so.”

“Danni, keep my things for me,” Charity asked.

“Let me know where you’re going!” Danni called after her.

Cat opened the back door to her SUV and gave Charity a little push as she got her inside. Then she leaned in and buckled the seat belt.

“Thanks so much,” Charity snapped.

Cat eyed her without answering.

Charity opened her mouth to say something else, then Cat leaned in.

“I didn’t put you in this position, you put yourself in it. So don’t give me any crap. I’m not in the mood.”

Charity’s nostrils flared in anger, but she stayed quiet. She didn’t have to like the bitch, even if she was right.

By the time Cat got to the precinct to turn Charity in, she felt feverish. She started getting shaky and weak down in booking. A drunk had thrown up in a waste basket by the door, and two homeless men were trying to report the theft of their shopping cart from outside the alley near a Chinese restaurant. Along with the heat being pumped through the overhead vents, the mingled odors were appalling. She could feel her stomach starting to roll.

The desk sergeant was asking her something about Charity Kingman. She could see his mouth moving, but his words were all running together. When she looked away, the wall behind the desk started to melt. That was when she knew something was wrong.

“I don’t feel so good,” Cat muttered, and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “If you have any more questions, call Art’s Bail Bonds. She’s one of his.”

She walked away without looking back, telling herself that she would feel better once she got some fresh air. But it didn’t work. The cold blast of air just made her shiver.

She started across the parking lot toward her car, thinking that if she just got inside, she would be okay. But the more she walked, the farther it appeared to be. There was a part of her that knew she shouldn’t drive, but she wanted to go home—needed to go home. There might be word about Mimi. There had to be word. You couldn’t just “lose” a friend like you lost a wallet. She had to be somewhere.

Wilson’s day had been just as productive as Cat’s. He had turned in a bail jumper over an hour ago and was walking through the parking lot to his truck when Joe Flannery hailed him.