The Perfect Prey

Twenty

The sun smacked him in the face, making his eyes snap open to a startling sight. Staring back at him were deep blue eyes and a bright row of teeth. He breathed deeply, adjusting to his surroundings. The blinds were up and at an odd angle, letting the mid-morning sun flood the small bedroom.

He cleared his throat and said, “Hey.”

The steady smile didn’t waver.

“What time is it?”

Still no movement, just a smile.

He reached out and grabbed the smiling face and pulled the small boy onto his bed.

The boy giggled loudly as he started to tickle him and said “Why did you open my blinds?”

The boy lay back, gasping between laughs and said one of the eight words he knew. “Uncle.”

“What do you need, you little creep? More tickling?”

The boy shook his head.

He rolled out of bed and got dressed while the boy stayed on the rumpled bed. In the small, adjoining bathroom, he brushed his perfect teeth, slapped on a splash of Pierre Cardin, calling out to the boy, “Where’s your mom?” It was rhetorical-he knew the cute little boy would never answer him.

As he wandered through the small house the boy followed him. Then he heard, “Man, this is late for you.”

He followed the voice into the kitchen.

“I’d still be snoozing if master-pooper hadn’t opened my blinds.”

The woman turned and gave a look at the boy. “Why’d you wake up your uncle? You know he works late.”

He said, “That’s okay. I got a lot to do today.”

She turned and smiled. “Oh yeah, what’s her name?”

“Holly.”

John Stallings knew how to play this first interview with Gary Lauer. He’d been under the microscope himself, and he didn’t want to be the cause of someone else going through the wringer if it wasn’t deserved.

He and Patty waited outside the PMB for motorcycle patrol officer Gary Lauer to finish the pre-shift roll call, the ritual for all major police departments that gave sergeants a chance to go over a few procedures or bulletins with their patrol officers right before they hit the streets. Stallings knew the motorman would have to cut through the side door to get his heavy Harley-Davidson Electra Glide from the parking lot. He saw an angular, dark-haired man about thirty strutting through the garage. He wore a tailored uniform that showed off his biceps. He looked more like a marine than a cop.

Patty said, “That’s him,” and nodded toward the young man.

As Lauer came closer, Stallings noticed the straight scar across his dark left eyebrow that Ronald Bell had mentioned. It intrigued him that tiny Yvonne Zuni hurt a guy like this.

Lauer smiled and nodded as he approached, his brown eyes scanning the JSO IDs around Stallings’s and Patty’s necks.

Stallings stepped away from the patrol car he’d been leaning on and said, “Gary Lauer, right?” He held out his hand.

The younger man shook his hand and said, “You got him.” His eyes flicked over to Patty for a quick appraisal.

“I’m John Stallings, and this is Patty Levine from crimes/persons.”

“Everyone knows you, Detective.”

Stallings cleared his throat and said, “That’s not completely accurate, but I appreciate it.” He focused back on the sharp young man in uniform. “I have a couple of questions and think you might be able to help me.”

“Sure, anything.”

He knew not to hesitate. “Were you over at the Wildside Monday night?”

Lauer paused as if he was thinking about it. That made Stallings’s radar ping instantly. Why deny it? Why think about it? It was only three nights ago.

Finally Lauer said, “Why?”

“Were you there?”

“Yeah, I think I stopped by for a beer.”

“That really the kind of place you stop by for a beer?”

The young man kept quiet and shifted his gaze from Stallings to Patty. “What’s this about?”

“Just one of our cases. We’re looking for witnesses.”

“How’d you know I was there?”

“Then you were at the Wildside?”

Now he had regained his composure and said, “Yeah, I was there, but I wasn’t in cop mode.”

Stallings didn’t think this guy would ever be out of cop mode.

Patty said, “What kind of mode were you in?”

He looked at her with a smirk and said, “Pussy mode.” He held her cold glare.

Stallings thought about Lauren running into a creep like this and felt his face flush red.

Patty said, “How’d you do?”

“I’m afraid I went home all alone.” He winked at Patty.

Did this asshole really think he was charming? Or was he playing a game to piss them off? At least Stallings understood the scar on his eyebrow.

Stallings said, “You know any of the staff there?”

“A few.”

“Any band members?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about the drummer from the other night, Donnie?”

“Donnie Eliot? Yeah, he’s okay.”

“Know where he lives?”

Lauer shook his head. “We’re not close or anything. He’s just a good drummer. He usually plays downtown at the Bamboo Hut.”

Stallings made a note.

Patty pulled a photo of Allie Marsh from her battered notecase and held it up. “Ring a bell?”

He glanced up at it. “Maybe. Lotta tail running around that place.”

“Why is a cop your age running around that place?”

He gave Patty a flat, steady scowl. “Why’s a chick that looks like you a cop?”

Stallings realized things had gotten personal and out of hand. He tried to turn the interview back. “Look, Gary, we’re just wondering if you saw or heard anything that might help us.”

“Help you what? I don’t even know what you’re working.”

“It’s a death investigation. Looks like she overdosed on X, and we’d like to know her source.”

“Shit, everyone in that place has X in their system.”

Patty said, “What about you?”

“I’ll take a pee test right now.”

Stallings held up his hands. “Relax, Gary, we’re all cops here.”

“You’re not treating me like a cop. You’re treating me like a goddamn scumbag.”

Patty didn’t have to say anything. She just shrugged.

Stallings could see the anger in Lauer’s face as he turned away from Patty. He looked at Stallings and said, “I can’t think of anything right now. But if she keeps talking to me like that I’ll call PBA.” PBA stood for Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association, the police union.

Stallings had reached his limit. “Call anyone you fucking want. She’s right, it’s weird that you hang out in a place like that. You can call PBA and maybe I’ll call IA.”

The two men locked their eyes, and no one looked like they were going to back off.

Patty Levine wasn’t used to driving John Stallings around, but he’d asked her to pick him up at the little house he was renting over in Lakewood. It was eight in the evening, and they were on their way to the place where Gary Lauer had told them they could find Donnie Eliot. The Bamboo Hut had nothing to do with bamboo and little to do with huts other than being small and dingy. She looked across at her partner and wondered what was going through Stallings’s mind as he silently stared out the window at the passing Jacksonville streets.

The tiny club sat on the first floor of a rundown office building and was known for its music. The weekends saw kids jammed into the stuffy room, but week-nights were a different story. Patty knew Stallings was on a mission and right now all he wanted was to find out who gave Allie the Ecstasy and the circumstances of her death.

A large black man standing next to the door said, “Five bucks each.”

Patty was about to pull her JSO credentials when the large man looked past her and said, “Oh shit, I didn’t see you there, Detective Stallings. Come right in.” He opened the door and even performed a slight bow as if Stallings were royalty.

Patty smiled, not bothering to ask what Stallings had done to deserve such treatment. She had learned in her time as his partner that it was just as likely that he had scared the man with physical violence as it was that he had paid the rent on the man’s apartment.

Stallings smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Curtis.”

Inside, the bar stretched from front to back with tables sprinkled across the dirty linoleum floor. It was way early by bar standards. In a couple of hours this place would be pulling in a decent crowd.

The stage had instruments on it but no performers. She hoped their information was right and Donnie Eliot was here. They had a lot to talk about.

Stallings said, “Let’s find the manager. He’ll point us to Donnie.”

“Think he’ll mind talking to the po-po?”

“Not really my concern.” He looked up and his expression changed immediately.

Patty said, “What’s wrong?”

He just pointed.

Patty followed his finger to a group of girls sitting at the table closest to the bar. At first she didn’t see the problem; then, after a moment of study, she understood his attitude.

Sitting in the middle of the girls was his daughter, Lauren, dressed like a college student and sipping a drink.