“Chief?”
Ray’s glare plowed across the room.
His secretary stood at the door looking ready to run for cover.
He reached for calm. “Yeah, Mary Alice.” Damn it all to hell, he shouldn’t let that woman get to him like this.
“I’m going to lunch now. You want me to forward your calls to the switchboard?”
He nodded. “Sure. I’m headed out myself.”
Mary Alice flashed him a smile that didn’t go anywhere near her eyes and then hurried away.
He felt like a horse’s ass for allowing his secretary to see how the call had affected him. The dead last thing the folks in this town needed was something else to talk about.
14
3:00 p.m.
Clint left work a little early. Cook hadn’t argued. Maybe he was impressed with the cleanup job Clint had done the evening before or maybe he just didn’t want to cross him. Clint would bet his left nut the guy didn’t have an alibi for the night Heather Baker was murdered. Just one of many things he intended to learn about the good citizens of Pine Bluff.
That Emily Wallace wasn’t waiting outside to follow him home surprised Clint. Since he had an appointment, one only he knew about, he was glad. If she’d followed him he would have had to lose her.
He took a moment to check his vehicle, the hood, the trunk, and then the pavement beneath it. Clear. Then he settled behind the wheel and started her up. Considering the way people felt about him around here, he’d taken certain precautions. Like stretching a strip of cheap transparent tape across the gap between his hood and the fender on each side. He’d done the same at the trunk. If either were raised, the seal of the tape would be broken. Checking the pavement beneath his car for drained fluids would let him know if a brake line had been damaged and left to leak its essential contents. He’d used his lunch hour today to renew his driver’s license and to get the necessary insurance. He’d get around to visiting that lawyer about his mother’s estate eventually.
For now, he drove, enjoying the feel of the engine’s power and the wind whipping through the open windows. One neighborhood flowed into another until he slowed and made the right turn that would take him to the dead end of Red Bird Lane. The two acres of rolling green landscape with its fortress like residence backed up to the forested land trust that surrounded the lake. Prime real estate owned by the biggest snake in the grass in the whole state, if not in the Southeast.
Six hundred and twelve Red Bird Lane, the home of Sylvester Fairgate.
Old man Fairgate was dead now. He’d died two years ago. Whatever the ailment that launched him to hell, it was no doubt prompted by the evil bastard’s rotten deeds. Despite his name, fair had never been a part of Sly’s way of doing business.
Sly had been a banker. Not your typical First National or City Trust. Sly Fairgate had lent money to those desperate enough to pay 200 percent interest, compounded weekly. He never carried a balance for more than thirty days. Anyone who couldn’t pay in cash in that time frame paid in other ways.
An eight-foot decorative iron fence bordered the property. A couple of Dobermans paced near the gate and barked at Clint’s Firebird. It would take one glance for Sylvester’s only son, Sidney, Psycho Sid to those who knew him, to identify who was at his gate. The red Firebird was Clint’s calling card.
Sid was a different kind of bird, not cut from the same cloth as his father. Where Sly had been a balls-to-the-wall businessman, Sid preferred his games. The sadistic little prick liked nothing better than watching people squirm. Well, it was about time someone gave Sid something to squirm about.
Clint idled up to the ornate lamppost where the keypad and speaker box hung within easy reach. If he was privy to the right code as he used to be, he would simply enter it and the gate would open, but since he wasn’t he pressed the call button and waited for a response. He madesure he smiled for the camera strategically located on the massive pillar on the left side of the gate.
A full minute passed before the speaker crackled to life. “What the hell do you want?”
Psycho Sid. Clint’s lips tilted in satisfaction. He would know that voice anywhere. That the man sounded on edge made Clint all the happier.
“I have a bone to pick with your daddy.” Clint tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for a reaction.
Another fifteen seconds expired before, “My father is dead,” vibrated from the box. The words weren’t uttered like the guy cared much that his daddy was dead. Sid sounded more pissed off at the intrusion than anything.
“I guess that means my beef is with you then.” No use beating around the bush.
Another half minute or so passed before the metal scrape of the lock disengaging sounded and the gate slowly slid aside.
Clint applied just enough pressure to the accelerator to have the car roll up the paved drive. He parked in front of the house and got out, a little surprised that there was no welcoming party. Sly Fairgate had always kept at least four bodyguards on duty at any given time.
Maybe business was slow for Sid. Or maybe he was just too stupid to be afraid. Too bad for him. The kind of desperation that fueled his primary business, assuming it was the same as his daddy’s, made for unstable customers.
Not that Clint gave one shit if the lowlife got himself killed; he just preferred that it not be for a few days, since he had unfinished business with Sid and his dead daddy.
The one thing that could be counted on with men like the Fairgates was that they understood the value of information. All sorts of information. And none, no matter how damning to themselves, would ever be taken for granted. Whatever secrets old Sly had known he’d mostassuredly passed along to his evil offspring before he died. Knowledge was power. It was a rule of survival for their kind.
