Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) Read online

  After a while she finally gave up. She got out of the pink SUV and lit up a cigarette. She puffed and puffed at it. Smoke poured out from the corners of her frowning mouth. She took a last drag on the cigarette, crushed it under her heel, and came over to me with a pleasant smile on her face.

  “For five minutes you have been sitting here watching me try to back that big trailer into that little site and you have not laughed at me or made any faces like most men do when they see me trying my damn hardest to get the job done and I would just like to say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “My name is Betty.”

  “Rip.”

  “Rip, would you mind helping me out?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Back my trailer in for me?”

  I smiled at her.

  “Yes,” I said. “I can do that for you. But then how’s that going to help you the next time? Wouldn’t you rather learn to do it yourself?”

  Betty shrugged.

  “Sure,” she said. “But I have already tried to learn to do it myself and you can see how well that went and I am not so sure you can teach this old dog a new trick especially when this old dog has some trouble remembering the new trick she was taught yesterday.”

  “I know it’s not easy getting the trailer to go the way you want it to go when you’re backing up. What makes it difficult is that you have to steer in the opposite direction from where you want your trailer to go. You have to turn the steering wheel to the right if you want your trailer to turn left, and you have to turn it to the left if you want your trailer to turn right. It’s not very intuitive, is it?”

  “Not at all. My brain does not work that way.”

  “Nobody’s does. The key to backing up is to place your hand at the bottom of the steering wheel. Most people place it at the top. I saw you were doing that, and it’s why you had to steer in the opposite direction from where you wanted your trailer to go. Try placing your hand at the bottom of the steering wheel. Then when you turn it to the right your trailer turns right, and when you turn it to the left your trailer turns left. It’s very intuitive.”

  “I will give it another shot.”

  I watched. In one smooth arc Betty backed her trailer into the site. It took her ten seconds to do it.

  I clapped.

  Betty came out of the pink SUV with a huge grin on her face. She took a little bow and lit up another cigarette.

  “I am good, am I not?”

  “It was very smooth, Betty.”

  She drew on her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

  “You like my pink trailer?”

  “I’m sure it has all the comforts of home.”

  “Not a dishwasher.”

  “You don’t have a dishwasher in there?”

  “Nope, I left him at home.”

  “Husband?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He doesn’t like to camp?”

  “He does not like to camp and that is okay with me but I cannot let it stop me from doing the thing that means the most to me and that is camping and fishing and relaxing. I have such a hectic lifestyle with my job and my handicapped son that I look forward to any weekend break that I can possibly get and most people think I have lost my mind because I camp all by myself and I cannot believe that in this day and age anybody can think that a woman should not camp on her own. Campgrounds and RV parks are safe and the gates are closed during the night so that nobody can drive in from off the highway and I often feel safer at campgrounds and RV parks than I do when I am at home in the house where I have lived for the past forty years. But I still keep mace with me and a wooden bat and my key fob with alarm and I carry these weapons on my person and sleep with them and have them near me at all times when camping and I am never without a weapon. I wear a whistle around my neck because it is an inexpensive way to call for help and so I am never worried but I am prepared and cautious at all times and I keep a pair of heavily used work boots outside my trailer so that anybody who thinks about breaking in will think about it twice because they will not want to mess with a man who wears size thirteen boots and sometimes I also keep a large dog bowl outside my trailer.”

  “Nobody’s going to mess with you,” I said.

  “Do you feel safe at campgrounds and RV parks, Rip?”

  “Only when you’re around.”

  CHAPTER 45

  IT WAS TIME to find Anna.

  Ian Sanders, my friend at the United States Marshals Service’s Technical Operations Group, had determined that Anna’s car was located within a few blocks of the Gateway Arch in downtown St. Louis. I hoped it was still parked there. Otherwise I would have to contact Ian again to get updated information.

  Ian had described Anna’s car as a black Infiniti sedan. There were bound to be more than one black Infiniti sedans located within a few blocks of the Gateway Arch, but only one of them would have the license plate number Ian had given me.

  The fact that Anna owned a car made me wonder why she had been hitchhiking when I met her. Where was her car at the time? Was it stolen? Getting repaired?

  I had a lot of questions for Anna, and I intended to get some answers.

  It was eight a.m. when I mounted my motorcycle and motored out of Heaven on Wheels RV Park. Downtown St. Louis was only ten minutes away. I made it there in seven.

  It was rush hour. The city streets were congested with buses and trucks and cars. Taxi drivers leaned on their horns. Pedestrians moved like ants. Hundreds of them. Scurrying across streets.

  I stopped for a moment to admire the view of the Gateway Arch. It was on my list of places to visit. The list would have to wait.

  I drove down Walnut Street. There were no black Infiniti sedans anywhere in sight. I drove down Market Street. No luck there either. Chestnut Street. Nothing. Pine Street, Olive Street, Locust Street. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  After a while I decided to check parking garages. The first one I went to had six levels. I parked on the street, walked into the garage, and checked each level for Anna’s car. I spotted one Infiniti sedan. It was not black.

  I kept looking.

  Four parking garages later I decided to try something else. The something else turned out to be lunch.

  Pappy’s Smokehouse made the best barbecue sandwich in the world. Tangy with a kick. For side dishes I ordered baked beans and applesauce, though I was tempted to try the fried corn on the cob.

  After lunch I hit the streets with a renewed energy. I headed back toward the Gateway Arch, my eyes scanning the streets, looking for Anna’s car.

  Two hours passed. Then I finally spotted a black Infiniti sedan. It was parked on Washington Avenue. I checked the license plate. It was Anna’s car all right. But Anna was nowhere in sight.

  I parked my motorcycle down the street so that she would not see it. Then I walked back to the Infiniti.

  Pressing my face against the glass, cupping my hands around my eyes, I could see inside the car. On the passenger seat was a map of St. Louis. In the back were a few crumpled food wrappers. Otherwise the car was empty. I did not see a black and red duffel bag with the St. Louis Cardinals logo on it. That would have made it too easy.

  What I had to do now was stake out the car and wait for Anna to show. I needed a place to hide out until then. Somewhere out of sight. My eyes darted back and forth, looking for the best spot. I found it. A narrow concrete alley.

  From the alley I could see Washington Avenue and Anna’s car and some buildings across the street. Alley shadows cloaked me from view.

  Time passed slowly. Three p.m. Four. Five.

  Now it was time for dinner. I ran down the street to a Chinese carryout on the corner and bought a container of chicken lo mein. I ate it in the alley. An alley cat became my new best friend.

  As the night wore on I began to wonder if maybe I should go look for Anna. She couldn’t have gone far. There were some hotels close by. Within walking distance. Maybe Anna was staying at one. But the
n why would she park on the street?

  I decided to stay put. Anna would have to show up eventually.

  Darkness gathered. Streetlights came on. I yawned.

  There were some garbage cans in the alley. I went to them. Opened some garbage bags. Found a wire hanger. Straightened it out. Searched the bags some more. Found a putty knife.

  I went to Anna’s car. Looked around. Nobody was watching me. Nobody cared. I jammed the putty knife into the space between the roof of the car and the top of the passenger door. Using the heel of my hand, I tapped the knife deeper into the space, wedging the door slightly open. I inserted the straightened wire hanger into the gap. Guided it toward the unlock button. Pressed the button.

  A click.

  I opened the door and got in. Nobody had seen me. I locked the door. Then I clambered over the passenger seat, stretched out on the backseat, and shut my eyes.

  CHAPTER 46

  THE SMELL OF coffee woke me. I knuckled my eyes, stretched my arms, yawned into my fist. Daylight was breaking.

  I took out my phone and checked the time. Six-fifteen. A late start for me.

  When I sat up in the backseat of the car I could see where the coffee aroma was coming from. On the dash stood a big Styrofoam cup of coffee. Beside it was a white paper bag.

  Somebody had brought me breakfast. Without waking me up.

  I leaned over the front seat as far as I could. My hands grabbed cup and bag. A banana muffin was in the bag. A note too. The florid handwriting was familiar. I read the note.

  Rip,

  Sorry about everything.

  Come see me when you wake up.

  Anna

  There was an address on the note. A St. Louis address. Not far. Just down the street.

  Questions ran through my mind. Why did Anna leave the note? What was she up to? Who eats banana muffins for breakfast?

  I got out of the car. Went to a garbage can. Threw the banana muffin inside. The coffee too. I figured maybe they were drugged. Or poisoned. Anna could not be trusted.

  Pinching my lower lip between forefinger and thumb, I considered my options and formed a plan. First of all I needed to eat some breakfast. Then I needed to walk to the address Anna had written on the note. After that I needed to make sure I wasn’t being led into an ambush.

  I breakfasted at a coffee shop. I did not order a banana muffin. I had a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich.

  After breakfast I walked to the address listed on the note. The condo building looked expensive. Twelve stories of nothing but glass. Elegantly manicured landscaping. Expensive.

  I circled the block once before entering. The lobby was marble. Marble floors, marble walls, marble everything. It was staffed with a security guard. He was reading the front page of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

  “Good morning,” I said to him.

  He gave me a disinterested look.

  I took the elevator to the ninth floor.

  I got out, marched down the hall. When I reached Anna’s door I took out my Glock Twenty-two and stood listening at the door. No sounds. I pounded on the door. Hard. As if a fugitive were inside.

  The door opened. It was Anna.

  “Rip, I’m sorry that I . . .”

  I pushed past her.

  I raised my gun.

  One by one I checked each room. Each closet. Under the bed. Out on the balcony. Inside washer, dryer, refrigerator.

  Nobody was hiding. Anna was all alone. It was not an ambush.

  I holstered my gun.

  When I returned to the living room I saw Anna sitting on one corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her. She was holding a black and red duffel bag with the St. Louis Cardinals logo on it.

  “You looking for this?” she said, handing me the bag.

  I snatched it from her hands, jerked open the zipper, yanked out the contents. A baseball bat. And a DVD.

  I dropped the bag on the floor and sat down at the other end of the couch and twisted my body around to face Anna.

  “A baseball bat and a DVD? You wanna tell me what the hell’s going on, Anna? You gave me that locker key and then disappeared from the bus station. You know what happened to me after that? Two goons broke into my motor home, and two cops harassed me and threw me in jail, and then the four of them harassed me in my jail cell, asking me questions about the locker key, wanting to know where the duffel bag was hidden. I told them to go stuff it. They knocked me out, threw me into the trunk of a car, drove me to a remote location, beat me like a piñata, and left me for dead. All because of that goddamn locker key you gave me. And now I find out it’s all about a baseball bat and a DVD. The hell’s going on?”

  CHAPTER 47

  “RIP,” ANNA SAID, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am I caused all that trouble for you. It was not my intent, I swear it wasn’t. All I was trying to do was get away from those two guys watching us at the bus station.”

  “The ones wearing Armani suits?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “You know them?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you had lied to me about that.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Needles and Viper.”

  “You know them only by their nicknames?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one’s got the scar and likes to chew on toothpicks?”

  “Needles.”

  “So Viper’s the one looks like a lizard.”

  “I guess he does look like a lizard, now that I think about it.”

  “Needles and Viper, what do they do?”

  “Mobsters. In the Bruno crime family.”

  “And why are they after that baseball bat and DVD?”

  “It’s a long story, you want something to eat or drink?”

  “Just tell me the story.”

  “Okay. My brother owns an adult entertainment club in Pottsland. It’s called Bare Assets. Carlos has owned the club for three, four years. He makes good money. The club is popular.

  “One day my brother gets a visit from Needles and Viper. This was about two years ago. They tell him the Bruno crime family would like to offer him protection. Carlos agrees to pay for it even though he doesn’t want it and he doesn’t need it. What else could he do? Mobsters were extorting him. If he didn’t go along, he’d have ended up in the Pottsland River. So he agrees to pay.

  “And so once a week for the past two years Needles and Viper have shown up at the club to collect payment. My brother always paid them and never had any problems. Until one night when they decided to get drunk at the club. They arrived at the club around midnight, collected the protection money from Carlos, and then started to drink. They drank a lot. They got loud. Obnoxious. You know how those kind of men can get, full of bravado, acting like they own the place. Carlos wanted to throw them out but knew that he could not. Not if he wanted to keep on living. So he just kept an eye on them, to make sure nothing got out of hand.

  “Around one o’clock in the morning a prominent member of the Romano crime family comes into the club. A man named Big Red. He’s wearing an expensive tailored suit, and he’s got a woman on his arm. She’s all dolled up in diamonds and a white sequin dress. Like Marilyn Monroe, you know? The two of them look like they should be standing on top of a wedding cake or something.

  “So they come into the club and sit down at a table. They order drinks and talk for a while. She’s all over him, running her hands over his body, smiling at him.

  “Meanwhile Viper is watching them from across the room. His fists are clenched on the table. His jaw is tight. The woman is one of his girlfriends, and Big Red is a member of a rival crime family.

  “Needles is sitting beside Viper, trying to calm him down. But nothing works. Viper’s face just keeps getting redder and redder.

  “Carlos is standing behind the bar, watching all this take place. He knows trouble is coming. He knows about Viper’s violent rage. But he doesn’t know what to do about it—if anyt
hing.

  “After a while Big Red and the woman get up to dance. They’re out on the dance floor, bumping and grinding. The strobe light is flashing. The music is pulsing. And Viper is seething.

  “He finally gets up from the table. He walks over to one of the girls who works at the club. A stripper. One of the really pretty ones. He whispers in her ear, and she shakes her head, and he whispers some more and hands her a big wad of cash, and she looks at it, looks at him again, and then she nods.

  “Viper takes out a key and opens the door to the club owner’s office—my brother’s office. He steps into the office and closes the door behind him.

  “Meanwhile the stripper struts over to the packed dance floor with a drink in her hand. She makes her way through the crowd, dancing as she goes, holding the drink close to her. She positions herself beside Big Red and the woman who looks like Marilyn Monroe. The stripper does a few grinds, spins around, and spills her drink all over the woman’s white sequin dress.

  “The stripper apologizes profusely. She grabs napkins from a table and begins to blot the woman’s stained dress. But the woman stops her. The dress is ruined. The woman is pissed. She storms off to the ladies’ room to clean herself up.

  “While she’s gone the stripper begins to dance with Big Red. She really turns on the heat, grinding her backside into him. After a few minutes of this she grabs him by the hand and leads him across the crowded dance floor and into the club owner’s office.

  “A minute later the office door slams open and the stripper comes flying out. The door closes behind her, and she starts to dance on the dance floor.

  “My brother is watching this from behind the bar, wondering what Viper and Big Red are doing in his office, though he’s pretty sure he knows. He keeps watching the office door, waiting for them to come out. But they never do. So finally he goes to check on them.