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“I LIKE WINGS,” he hungrily studies the bright-yellow menu glowing in the dark. “But anything’s okay.”
I keep my eye on the driver ahead, making out her vague silhouette. She’s a little shorter than I am, with narrow shoulders, and straight hair that brushes her collar.
“Wings it is with a few other things thrown in for good measure,” I reply. “Cajun spiced?”
“Just regular, please.”
I order a dozen of them, talking to the squawk box loudly enough that I don’t have to lean out the window.
“Two steak-and-egg biscuits,” I add my personal favorite. “A 12-piece box of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, Cajun pinto beans, extra hot sauce, butter and honey,” I’m in hog heaven. “Plus, two chocolate milks, and an iced tea.”
“Will that be all?” the squawk box asks, and gosh knows it should be enough, but it never is.
“And 4 cinnamon pecan twists, please,” I add. “Plus, lots of extra napkins, salt, pepper, forks, and that should do it.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of food,” Lex marvels. “More than we need, and kind of what your dad does.”
“It’s good as leftovers.”
“That’s what he says. And he’s not fat either.”
“That’s nice of you,” and I mean it. “In our family we feed people. No one should go hungry.”
“George says that too when he orders double everything,” Lex replies as I dig out my badge wallet, realizing I don’t know what’s in it.
I’m pretty sure I had close to 75 dollars before I was knocked out and held hostage, all of my belongings gone through, some items missing when I woke up. The spent cartridge cases I collected from the parking lot of the Point Comfort Inn, my breath mints were gone, in addition to all sorts of things inside my police truck, I have no doubt.
No telling what’s at large, hopefully my money isn’t, and I’m immensely relieved to discover it’s not. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Mom has a house rule that you don’t go anywhere without enough cash for an emergency, and it turns out I have plenty. In fact, more than before, and my NASA refrigerator magnet is accounted for, which also makes me happy.
Rolling ahead, I watch the Cherokee’s driver reach out the window for her order. Her tapered arm is sleeved in smooth black leather, her nails weirdly painted the same pearl-white as the car, and I stare hard enough at her flashy rings for ART to get the hint.
My Tahoe’s cameras zoom in on . . .
A silvery winged skull with ruby eyes . . .
A coiled snake . . .
A gothic wedding band . . .
The jewelry is smaller than what the hitman had on when I saw him dead inside his Denali. But it’s similar if not matching, and I watch her hold out a 20-dollar bill, telling the cashier to keep the change as I continue making assessments.
She’s ordered enough for two, suggesting she’s not eating alone, and that leads me to suspect she’s meeting someone since no one else is in the car with her that I can see. Striking me as vain and haughty, she’s a bit girly-gaudy, and I don’t like that she told the clerk to keep the change when there hardly was any.
“Why are you so interested in the Jeep?” Lex stares at it in front of us, and his question is the perfect opportunity for me to cue ART that I could use a little help.
“As I mentioned, I may have seen it before,” I reply. “And I’m wondering if whoever’s driving it might have a connection to the dead man in the Denali.”
“That’s pretty sick,” and Lex looks intrigued. “Why don’t you radio for backup?”
“The last thing I want is anything about this going out over the air.”
“You want me to take a picture of whoever’s driving? I could jump out and do it real fast.”
“I most certainly don’t.”
“Maybe we should follow it!”
“Absolutely not. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in custody and not my partner,” and as I say it, I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings.
“But you can’t let it get away!”
“I have no probable cause to do anything about it,” I reply as the Cherokee drives off. “More important, I have you in the car with me. And I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“Oh,” he says, and he seems pleased.
Picking up my phone, I call Fran because I can’t ask ART to do it when Lex is sitting in the truck with me.
“Major Lacey.”
“You’re on speakerphone.”
“He’s still with you?”
“We’re grabbing something to eat,” and I explain to her about the Cherokee as I watch it take a right on Commander Shepard Boulevard.
I give her the tag number and suggest she get someone to tail the pearl-white SUV and see where it goes.
“Obviously, we don’t want whoever it is alerted,” I add. “We can’t be sure what we’re dealing with and need to be careful.”
Ending the call, I pay at the drive-through window, taking the piping hot bags and boxes. The aroma is making me insane as I set everything in Lex’s lap.
“My favorite ever since I was a kid,” I let him know as we dig in rather savagely. “I’m afraid I’m a frequent flyer, which is why I spend a lot of time in the gym.”
“A frequent fryer, you mean,” he attacks a wing, licking his fingers.
“Well fried is a food group, at least to me, unfortunately. And nothing’s as good as what my mom makes,” I drape napkins over my lap. “I don’t know if she’s ever cooked for you when you’ve visited the farm.”
“No,” taking a slurp of chocolate milk. “Penny doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“What makes you think that?” and we’re back on Commander Shepard Boulevard, the pearl-white Cherokee nowhere to be seen.