Cherry Bomb

Alex gets put on hold, music comes on. She recognizes the tune as MC Ice Koffee. What the hell is wrong with the world when someone like that is pop u lar?

“Would you like me to co

“Actually, I think I’ll just drop by. What room is he in?”

“We can’t give out that information, ma’am.”

“No problem. Can you co

“Just a moment.”

Alex endures more hip-hop before a woman answers.

“I believe you had a guest there to night, single man, in his forties, blond hair. His name is Alan Daniels. Can I speak to his server?”

“That’s me. I waited on him.”

“I promised to buy him di

“Let me check. Here’s his ticket. He charged it to room 212.”

“Thank you.” Alex disco

CHAPTER 21

SOME URBAN LEGENDS are too good to be false. There’s the one about the crazed man, high on PCP and adrenaline, who displays superhuman strength and snaps police handcuffs in half while being arrested. And there’s the oft-repeated tale of the desperate mother who lifts up a car to save her child trapped beneath it.

So there was a precedent, however slim, that I could leap from the RV to the bus solely fueled by fear, determination, and adrenaline.

My footing was good, and I measured my steps perfectly, launching myself into the air at the very edge of the roof, my new Nikes gripping despite the drizzle, my aim true and sure.

Halfway there I knew I wasn’t going to make it, and three-quarters of the way there I knew it was going to hurt, bad.

I held my hands out in front of me, slapping palms onto the top of the bus while my ribs slammed into the side. The wind rushed out of me like I’d been, well, hit by a bus. Bright motes punctuated red and black splotches in my vision, swirling around and adding a shot of disorientation to the pain cocktail. My jaw co

As anticipated, my palms found no purchase on the slick bus top, and my ribs contracted and expanded, giving my body a springboard push off the side, and then I was falling backward through the cool Chicago night, wondering if the twinkling skyscrapers above me were the last things I’d ever see.

I may have shrieked a little.

But, incredibly, when I hit, I didn’t hit hard, and I managed to remain lucid enough to wonder why. Rather than cold wet asphalt and hot sticky blood, I felt something semi-soft envelop me, wrapping itself around my legs and shoulders.

There was an “uumph,” which didn’t come from me, and then another small drop, and I stopped flailing long enough to see I was sitting in someone’s lap.

Phin.

No time for thanks, or apparently even a tender glance, because he roughly shoved me off and then just as roughly grabbed my armpit and yanked me to my feet.

I sort of remember ru

Two blocks later Phin jerked me into an alley. We pressed our backs against the wet brick of an office building, the scent of old garbage mingling with the ever-present car exhaust. I was breathing like an asthmatic on a hay ride, and Phin was bent in half, hands on his thighs, sucking just as much wind as I was.

I inventoried my aches and pains. Jaw hurt, but a quick tongue probe proved I still had all of my choppers. Ribs hurt, but nothing seemed broken. Left palm hurt, and I squinted in the darkness and saw I’d scraped it trying to keep hold of the bus’s roof.

Amazingly, I still had my purse. Even more amazingly, I wasn’t dead. I stared at Phin.

“You saved my life.”

Between breaths he said, “I knew you were going to go after me, figured you wouldn’t make it, so I ran around to play catch.”

“My hero.” I coughed. “Except that’s bullshit. You didn’t think I’d go after you. I practically shot you.”

He gri

“The Feds chased me around the bus, and I just happened to be there when you fell.”

That made more sense. “Well, thanks.”

“My plea sure. Thanks for not shooting me.”

He stared at me hard again, and I didn’t mind as much this time. But when he moved in for the kiss I forced my elbow between us and gave him a less-than-delicate jab. The exhilaration of being alive was soured by the fact that I was now a federal criminal.

“They’ll question Harry, but I don’t know how long they can detain him for. He’ll deny knowing you were wanted, lawyer up, and probably be on the street again tomorrow.”

Phin gave me some space, rubbing his sternum.

“So what’s our next move?”

“We need to go through Alex’s files, see if there’s a mention of a cop named Lance in her past.”

“Your partner have the files?”

“No. They’re probably with the lead detective. Guy named Mankowski.”

I searched through my cell phone numbers, found the right one. Mankowski was a good cop-smart, honest, sort of looked like Thomas Jefferson.

“Got my files in the trunk, Lieut. Figured I’d get some reading in on the road.”

“I need to see them, Detective.”

“Might take a while. I’m in Indiana. Gary. Was following up with some of Alex’s hometown friends. Sorry I missed the funeral.”

I glossed over the sentiment.

“We can come to you, Tom.”

“Might not help. Car is in the shop. Radiator blew. If it’s locked in the garage I can’t get it until morning.”

“You up to speed?”

“Sergeant Benedict filled me in. I know we only have a few hours left. I could maybe find the mechanic, get him to let me in, but there are three boxes of files. A lot to read.”

“You go through them yet?

“Just enough to know that Alexandra Kork is a serious wack-job. But I haven’t seen the name Lance mentioned anywhere.”

I crunched the numbers. Three-hour round trip to Indiana, and several more hours to read through that stack-if Tom could even locate the mechanic. Maybe he could fax them, but there were hundreds of papers, and faxes weren’t exactly lightning quick.

“See what you can do.”

“I will, Lieut. You can also try that Crime Lab cop. He had the files checked out before me. Really into her case. I heard he was writing a book about it.”

“Which cop?”

“Weaselly little guy named Hajek. He might know who Lance is.”

Hajek had told me he read the files for research. It was for a book? Now I wondered if he’d actually been hitting on me, or simply wanting an interview.

I thanked Mankowski and hung up. I could call Hajek, even though he’d been less than receptive to my previous plea for help. News of my retreat from the Feds would be all over the airwaves by now, and once Hajek heard about it he’d never give up the information. Assuming he even had any information.

I stared at Phin, saw him looking at me with concern. I didn’t return the sentiment. I had so many conflicting feelings about Phin right now that remaining neutral was my best course of action.

I called Herb.

“Talking to me is an aiding and abetting charge.” I explained the situation.

“I’m hoping you thought all of this through, Jack. Is this guy worth it? Can you even trust him?”

I thought about having Phin in my gun sights, almost pulling the trigger, and didn’t have an answer.

“I need a cop’s address. Scott Hajek. CSU guy, lives near the Crime Lab. If I call Dispatch it’ll throw up red flags.”

“Call you back in two.”