Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) Read online

  I noticed that a bearded guy standing behind the cash register had no visible tattoos. I walked over to him.

  “You work here?”

  He tugged at his beard.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “How come you don’t have any tattoos?”

  “I do,” he said, and started to drop his pants. “Wanna see em?”

  “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

  He pulled up his pants again.

  “You looking to get a tat?” he said.

  “I am.”

  “What kind you want?”

  “The temporary kind.”

  He tugged at his beard again.

  “We can do that.”

  “Good.”

  “One problem though.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Temporary tattoos,” he said, “only make you cool temporarily.”

  “I’ll risk it,” I said. “Can you make them look real?”

  “No problem, man. How many you want?”

  I reached into my pocket and took out the folded sheet of paper.

  “I want these tattoos,” I said, pointing to the photo of Axel King.

  “Those’re prison tattoos.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Okay, man. Let’s do it.”

  From the tattoo parlor I went to Goodwill. There I bought used clothes. I got everything in black. T-shirt, leather jacket, jeans. No shoes showed in the photo of Axel, but I figured he was the kind of guy to wear boots, so I also bought a pair of black boots.

  Next I went to a costume store named Lucy in Disguise. There I bought a set of plastic teeth that were yellow as corn. The wig I bought made me look like a rock star. The hair was long, blond, and greasy.

  After making my purchases I went to the dressing room and got changed. I put on the black jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and black boots. I placed the blond wig on my head, the plastic teeth in my mouth. Then I stood staring into the mirror. Axel King stared back at me. The resemblance was remarkable. Hair, teeth, clothes, tattoos. It was a convincing disguise.

  It was so convincing that I knew I would have to be careful. If any law-enforcement officers spotted me, they would mistake me for Axel, and they would arrest me.

  As I motorcycled down the highway I felt my long blond hair whipping about in the wind. I turned my head to look at the rattling Volkswagen Beetle beside me. The driver, a thin old woman, stared at me. As soon as I gave her a big yellow smile she made a disgusted face and looked away.

  When I got to the strip joint I parked out front. The red neon sign on the building said BARE ASSETS A Gentlemen’s Club.

  A gentlemen’s club is supposed to be a private club for honorable men of the upper class. Bare Assets was neither a private club nor a club for gentlemen. It was a strip club. A titty bar. To call it anything else would be an act of poetic license.

  In the strip club a naked woman was on stage. She wriggled and writhed around a polished chrome pole that ran from ceiling to stage floor. White mist floated over the floor. Music pulsed.

  It was late afternoon and there were few customers, a biker and a UPS guy sitting at the bar, a few businessmen sitting at a table.

  I sat down on a bar stool at the far end of the long bar, near the empty dance floor, away from the stage. From where I sat I could see the club owner’s office door—Carlos’s office door. Inside was where Viper had killed Big Red. The murdered man had been lured to his death by a young red-headed stripper. I wanted to talk to her, ask her some questions about that night, see if I could learn anything.

  A cocktail waitress came over to me. Her top barely covered her nipples. Her breasts were fake. I wondered if customers tipped her with Monopoly money.

  “Two drink minimum, mister. What’ll ya have?”

  “I’m looking for one of your, ah, dancers. A redhead?”

  “You mean Charity?”

  “Her name’s Charity?”

  “Yeah, her stage name.”

  “Why’d she pick that name?”

  “She figured people like giving money to charity.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Uh-huh. Well she ain’t working here no more.”

  “She quit?”

  “Just stopped showing up, like she disappeared or something.”

  My gut told me otherwise. Charity had not disappeared. She had been murdered. Viper had gotten rid of her. He was going to try to get rid of everybody who knew about the murder of Big Red. He was going to try to kill Carlos and Anna.

  I was going to stop him.

  CHAPTER 59

  MY PHONE RANG. I looked at the caller ID display. It was Anna.

  “Anna, everything okay?”

  “What’s that loud music, where are you?”

  “At Bare Assets. Hang on a minute.”

  I stepped outside.

  “Okay,” I said. “Now what’s going on?”

  “Viper left a voice message.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He wants to meet with me.”

  “When?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight. Yes.”

  I hadn’t expected it to be so soon. I was hoping to have a little more time to prepare, at least another half day or so.

  “Where’s Viper want to meet you?”

  “A house in the middle of the woods.”

  “He ask you to confirm the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do it yet?”

  “I wanted to check with you first.”

  “Go ahead and leave him a voice message. Keep it simple. Tell him you plan to show up with the baseball bat and the DVD. You don’t need to say anything else after that. Just hang up the phone.”

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “See you soon.”

  I had expected Viper to set up the meeting in a remote location. It was a predictable move. His next move would be to kill Anna when she showed up at the house in the woods. Then he would kill Carlos. Viper would have to kill them both. Otherwise he would risk the possibility that one of them had made a copy of the DVD, and would use it against him once they were set free.

  When I got to the campground I parked my motorcycle behind my motor home and knocked on the entry door. I had the key but didn’t want to use it. I wanted Anna to answer the door. Her reaction to my Axel King disguise would tell me whether it was a good one or not. If she recognized me, others could too. If she failed to recognize me, then I would be good to go.

  I could see Anna peeking out the window.

  “Can I help you?” she said through the window.

  “Yeah, I’m here to see Rip.”

  “Are you a friend of his?”

  “Yeah, I came to drop something off. Can you open the door?”

  “Just leave it out there.”

  “It might get wet. I think it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

  “Put it in a plastic bag.”

  “Can you just open the door?”

  “Sorry.”

  Anna disappeared from the window. I knocked on the door again.

  “Look, buddy,” she said through the window. “You better leave me alone or I’m going to call the police.”

  “Anna, it’s me—Rip.”

  She pressed her face closer to the window.

  “How did you know my name?”

  “I told you. I’m really Rip. This is a disguise.”

  “Prove it.”

  “You have a crack like the Liberty Bell.”

  Anna opened the entry door.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

  “Wanted to see if you’d recognize me.”

  “What’s the disguise for?”

  “Part of the plan. Listen, I need to hurry. There’s a whole lot to do before midnight. What’s the address of the place where you’re supposed to meet with Viper?”

  Anna told me.

  I turned on my laptop,
Googled the address. A map showed the location. I took a couple of minutes to study satellite imagery of the area. The house was set in the middle of ten acres of wooded land. A gravel driveway led from the paved road up to the house. I filed the image away in my mental vault.

  Next I unzipped Anna’s duffel bag and took out the DVD. I burned a copy to a blank DVD, put it in a plastic case, and pocketed the case. Then I returned the original DVD to the duffel bag.

  The next step of my plan was to talk to the boss of the Romano crime family. But first I needed to do some research. All I knew was that the Romano crime family and the Bruno crime family were bitter rivals. I needed to know more. So I went online and read some articles about the criminal underworld in Pottsland.

  I learned that the rivalry between the two crime families began during the Prohibition era. At that time both families were active in bootlegging, gambling, loan sharking, narcotics, and prostitution. The competition between the two families led to a gang war. Guns blazed. There were a series of murders.

  The bloody onslaught led to the brutal execution of crime boss Joseph “The Shadow” Romano. His body was found on a farm near Kansas City. All of his teeth were knocked out. His jaw was shattered. Forty pounds of flesh had been carved from his mutilated corpse. He had been strangled, doused in gasoline, and set on fire. His death sparked a rivalry that never ended between the two families.

  Over the years both families became adept at veiling themselves in legitimacy. Most of the family members avoided prison sentences, though a dozen were arrested under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. They were charged with bookmaking, extortion, gambling, loan sharking, money laundering, murder, and narcotics trafficking. Only half a dozen of the family members were ever convicted.

  One article I read said that the current boss of the Romano crime family, Frank Romano, had an office in the back of a pool hall on Hawthorn Street.

  When I had finished reading about the crime families I turned off my laptop and sat thinking for a while. I thought about the rivalry between the Brunos and the Romanos. I thought about Viper and Big Red. The former was a Bruno, the latter a Romano. The Bruno had murdered the Romano. I wondered if Frank Romano knew about it. If not, he soon would.

  In my bedroom I opened the safe and took out my weapons. Glock Twenty-two. Glock Twenty-seven. Taser. Pepper spray. I put the weapons in a backpack and carried it to the garage of my motor home.

  Rope went into the backpack. Matches went in. Other items too.

  In the living room again I asked Anna if she had a photo of Carlos she could show me. I had no idea what he looked like.

  “Here’s a photo of Carlos.”

  “Thanks. Now I’ll recognize him when I see him.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “Bring Carlos back here.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay here.”

  “But I’m supposed to meet with Viper.”

  “Change of plans. He’s meeting with me instead.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous?”

  “Not for me.”

  CHAPTER 60

  IN THE DEEPENING twilight I motorcycled through the streets of Pottsland. Hawthorn Street, located on the north side of town, was in an upscale neighborhood. It had coffee houses, fancy boutiques, a small theater. The pool hall, named Cue Tips, stood atop a big hill. I circled the block once, parked around the corner, and dismounted.

  Locked inside my saddlebag were my guns and my Taser and my pepper spray. These weapons would have to remain in place. The hired muscle in Cue Tips would search me. They would find no weapons.

  Time was running short. My meeting with Frank Romano would have to be brief. There were other things to do before midnight.

  I started toward Cue Tips.

  “Axel,” a voice behind me said.

  I turned to see a stout guy with a ragged handlebar mustache that drooped two inches below his chin. He thought I was Axel King. I had to play along.

  “Hey,” I said. “Long time no see.”

  The guy stepped closer. He had Budweiser breath. His handlebar mustache made him look like a walrus.

  “Long time no see? The fuck you talking about, Axel? You saw me in Jefferson City just the other day.”

  “Seems like a long time to me.”

  “Life in the fast lane’ll do that to you.”

  “Zoom zoom.”

  “What’re you doing in Pottsland?”

  “Got business here.”

  “Yeah, me too. Hey—you ever take care of that thing?”

  “What thing?”

  “You know, that thing you were planning, the inside job.”

  “Oh—that thing. Yeah, I took care of that.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “How’d it go? Well it went along good for a while, and then it got a little rough, not everything went as planned, there was a problem, nothing too serious, but we got through it and everything worked out in the end.”

  “Cool.”

  I nodded.

  “You know what you need, Axel?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You need a disguise, man. I recognized you from like a mile away. All those warrants you got out on you now? Man, I’m telling you, you’re crazy not to get a disguise.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.”

  “You do that.”

  We bumped fists and went our separate ways.

  CHAPTER 61

  PARKED IN FRONT of the pool hall was a white Hummer tricked out with tinted windows, oversized tires, and spinning chrome rims. An air freshener shaped like a knife dangled from the rearview mirror.

  Opening the front door to Cue Tips, I could hear the thwacking and clanging of billiard balls. I stepped inside and looked around.

  The dimly lit place was divided into three sections. One section for the pool hall, one for the bar, and one for the office. There were eight pool tables, all of them occupied. The Cardinals game played on TVs mounted in corners.

  I headed toward the office in the back. One thin pool player, no expression on his face, looked up from the table to watch me.

  Outside the office door stood a man built like a rhinoceros. He wore a silver sport coat over a black T-shirt. His hair was combed smoothly back from his forehead.

  I watched as his hand went swiftly into his open sport coat and came out with a knife. It hit the dartboard dead center.

  I clapped my hands.

  The big guy, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, stepped over to the dartboard to retrieve his knife. I figured he was one of Frank Romano’s bodyguards, and that he owned the Hummer with the knife air freshener.

  “That your Hummer out front?”

  He nodded casually.

  “Nice ride.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I’m Axel King. You probably heard of me?”

  The guy blinked.

  “Or not,” I said. “Listen, you work for Frank Romano, right? I’ve something he needs to see. It’s right here on this DVD.”

  His eyes glazed over and he became unavailable. As if I were not even there. He hurled the knife at the dartboard again. It hit dead center again. He went to the dartboard, pulled out the knife.

  “The DVD,” I said, “it shows Big Red getting iced.”

  That got his attention. He looked right at me.

  I waggled the DVD at him.

  He put away the knife, buttoned up his sport coat, disappeared into the office. Probably checking with his boss.

  While I waited I watched a game of pool. A short guy chalked his stick as he walked around the table. He bent over the green felt and tapped in an easy shot. His next shot was more difficult. The cue ball banked off three rails and tapped the seven ball into a side pocket. For the next few minutes he ran the table while his opponent sat frowning.

  The office door opened and the big bodyguard appeared again. He motioned for me to assume the position. I spre
ad my arms and legs while he patted me down.

  His hand went into a pocket of my leather jacket and took out a bag of Hershey’s milk chocolate eggs. It was a big bag, a hundred eggs or more, each individually wrapped in colorful foil. After a brief moment the hand returned the bag to my pocket.

  Frank Romano was sitting behind an antique mahogany desk when I entered his office. His hair was silver, his skin perfectly bronzed. He leaned back in his leather swivel chair, smoothed his red tie, and put one foot up on a slightly open desk drawer.

  Behind Frank, leaning on the wall, was another bodyguard. He wore his hair in a tight ponytail. The collar of his navy sport coat was turned up. His eyes never blinked. He stood motionless, hands at his sides, bulge of a gun on either hip.

  The other bodyguard shut the door behind me and crossed the room to stand behind Frank.

  I sat down in the guest chair in front of the desk. It was a hard wooden chair. The back struts dug into my spine. I did not complain.

  Frank sat studying me, his elbows resting on the soft arms of the expensive leather chair, his steepled forefingers tapping softly against his lips. He pursed his lips, relaxed them. Pursed, relaxed.

  “So what’s this shit about a DVD?” he said finally.

  “Big Red,” I said. “He’s part of your, ah, organization?”

  “Maybe,” Frank said, playing it cool, not showing much interest.

  “I heard he worked for you.”

  Frank shrugged.

  “Big Red was murdered by a member of the Bruno family,” I said. “This DVD shows what happened.”

  Frank swiveled his chair around so he could look at his two bodyguards. They stood motionless, without expression. Frank leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to look at me again. His lips pursed, relaxed.

  “Let’s watch it,” he said.

  The ponytailed bodyguard came around the desk to take the DVD from my hand and slip it into the DVD player. The TV flickered to life. It showed Viper bursting into Carlos’s office and grabbing the baseball bat from the far corner.

  While the video played I kept my eyes on Frank. His expression, as he watched the brutal murder of Big Red, went from reserved to disturbed. The change was subtle, barely perceptible, but noticeable if you looked closely.