Live Bait

Malcherson sat quietly at his desk for a long time after he left.

43

Magozzi and Gino were at the big front table in Homicide, making copies of the reams of paperwork they’d all accumulated since the night Arlen Fischer and Morey Gilbert had been murdered. Paul Shafer was in Malcherson’s office now with a couple of his FBI henchmen, formalizing the turnover of the Fischer case and all related evidence. They’d be here in a few minutes to collect it.

McLaren wheeled in a dolly with four large boxes he’d retrieved from the evidence room. ‘This is the last of the stuff we took from Fischer’s place.’ He stopped at Gloria’s desk and wiped his forehead. ‘You want to give me a hand with this, Miss Gloria?’

She held up ten black-enameled fingers and wiggled them. ‘Look at these and tell me how much of a fool you are for asking such a stupid question.’

McLaren put a hand to his heart. ‘I am a fool. I am anything you want me to be. All you have to do is ask.’

‘I want you to be gone.’

‘I want you to be my woman.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ She slammed out of her little cubicle and stomped away on her black platforms.

He gri

‘A regular Lothario, that’s what you are,’ Gino said, grabbing a box. ‘You know, McLaren, if you ever lifted anything heavier than a pencil with those little chicken wing arms of yours, you wouldn’t have to ask a woman for help.’

‘Who’s Lothario? And where the hell is Langer, anyway? I swear, that guy finds something else to do every time we’ve got to bring these boxes upstairs.’

Magozzi stepped away from the table when his cell rang.

‘Hey, Magozzi.’

‘Hey, Grace.’

‘I saw the news. I’m sorry about your friend, Marty. That must have been terrible. Are you okay?’

God, he loved it when she worried about him. ‘Not really.’

‘Maybe I could come over tonight, cook you supper, we could open a few bottles of wine.’

Magozzi took a few more steps away from the table and lowered his voice. ‘You want to come to my house?’

‘I have a present for you.’

Magozzi’s spirits spread their little wings and tried to flap. ‘You’re not going to Arizona?’

‘Sorry, Magozzi. A

Splat. Spirits squashed under Grace MacBride’s boot.

‘This is a different present.’

‘So it’s a going-away present. Goddamnit, Grace, that sucks.’

‘You’ll like it. I’ll be there at seven.’

Magozzi closed his phone and decided that he didn’t give a damn if Grace MacBride went to Arizona or the moon. Gino was right. He needed a life. He needed a woman – preferably one who’d help him buy a sofa. Oh, he’d let her come over tonight, they’d eat a little, drink a little, and maybe he’d even bend her over backwards once and kiss her until her boots blew off, but then, by God, he’d kick her ass out. That’s what he was going to do.

Gino looked over at him, brows raised. ‘Grace?’

‘Yeah,’ Magozzi growled, sounding like a real man, a man who didn’t care, a man who was taking charge. He wondered if the silly grin he felt on his face spoiled the image.

Harley Davidson was behind the wheel of the custom-built forty-five-foot RV, his beefy, tattooed arms draped over the big steering wheel, his solid frame enveloped in a Co

The storklike man next to him folded long, scrawny arms over his bony chest and pouted. ‘It’s my turn. I want to drive it. You drove to the airport, I should get to drive back. So pull over.’

Harley’s eyes darted right – you couldn’t look away from the road too long in this baby or you’d take out a subdivision. Roadru

‘Oh yeah? Why not?’

‘Well, gee, lemme think. Number one, you do not, and never have had a driver’s license. Number two, the only thing you’ve driven for the past thirty years is a bicycle. The brakes are not on the handlebars in this thing, you dipshit.’

‘Would you guys quit fighting?’ A

A

‘He missed you,’ Grace said. She was slouched on the opposite couch, booted feet stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. ‘We all did.’

Roadru

‘Honey, I sure did. It’s in that little black bag right there.’

Roadru

‘Let me tell you, Phoenix is a shopper’s paradise if you’re into the Urban Cowboy look. They put a cactus, a cow skull, or a piece of fringe on damn near anything. That came from a specialty bike shop a few miles out of town.’

Roadru

Harley glanced at him, then did a double-take. ‘Jesus Christ, Roadru

‘A man with boobs your size shouldn’t be criticizing.’

‘These are not boobs, they are pecs.’

A

‘You should have heard them when they were putting this rig together,’ Grace said. ‘Couple of old bickering hens.’

Roadru

Harley glanced at him. ‘Are you kidding? You look like a goddamned carrot.’

A

‘Turned out great,’ Harley boomed, loath to be left out of any conversation within shouting distance. ‘Our Gracie cracked the case with that face-recognition software she put together.’

‘You go, girl. That thing’s going to make a jillion dollars when you get it down to idiot level and put it on the Web. So what was the case all about?’

Grace closed her eyes. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘The lady wants to know,’ Harley said. ‘And I’m the man to tell her. You see, A

Roadru

‘What?’

‘Harleyey tied a ninety-year-old man to the train tracks so he’d get smushed.’