The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 4-6 Read online

  She wanted out of Las Vegas. The tourists didn’t see the shit people like her and Tyrone lived with everyday. This city was a money magnet, and with money came every sort of criminal element.

  Shit, a Mafia gangster built Vegas.

  She put the dress on but would need Tyrone to zip it up. Her arm still hurt from their big fight two days ago. She had to watch her mouth. She knew that, but sometimes he said things that were too hurtful. He laughed at her because she was sad her dog died. He had been a good German shepherd. Trained well, too. She had no idea how he got out of the trailer after she went to work. Tyrone said when he got home the front door was wide open. He almost called the cops thinking they’d been broken into.

  Rocky was found out by the road, his head nearly taken clean off from playing Frogger with the cars.

  It was so unlike Rocky. But he was dead and there was nothing Kristi could do about that now.

  Barefoot, she walked through the trailer and found Tyrone in front of the TV. A rerun of some sitcom played on such a low volume she had no idea how he could hear it. Maybe he only watched it for the chicks. On screen, two different hotties in tight V-neck tops argued about which one was going to date some guy.

  Kristi looked around the kitchen. It was overrun by empty beer cans and discarded pizza boxes. The small two-bedroom trailer reeked of stale air and vomit. For a man who was in debt up to his gonads, he sure spent a lot of money on takeout. Tyrone’s friend had lent them the trailer when they got kicked out of their apartment for not paying the rent. They were supposed to be gone last month. By Monday, Tyrone’s buddy would come to evict them, then they would be royally screwed. No place to stay, no money and a mounting debt.

  She had begged Tyrone to leave Vegas with her. They could start fresh somewhere else, just the two of them. But he was always knocking her idea down. His friends lived here. His life was in Vegas. After her dog died, she just wanted to stop living in the trailer that reminded her of him. At least by Monday they’d be gone.

  It was as if Tyrone lived oblivious to the world around him. The hole he dug might bury him if he didn’t do something about it soon.

  She had been the one who came up with the idea for the scam. So far, it looked like it was going to work perfectly. She had to leave within the hour and everything would work out. They would be okay again.

  “Can you help zip me up?” she asked, trying to keep quiet enough to not interrupt his show, but loud enough to be heard.

  “Zip it up your own fuckin’ self.”

  He was in one of his moods again.

  What a great night to be going out.

  “Tyrone, I’m doing this for you. The least you can do is help me get dressed.”

  He mimicked the sound of a baby. “Oh, widdle widdle baby girl can’t get dressed by her widdle self?” He smacked his beer can down on the table by his chair and turned to her. “Zip what?” he snapped.

  She turned slightly and showed him her back. With a hard tug, the zipper raced up and caught her skin at the base of her neck.

  “Hey!” she yelled. “Take it easy. That fucking hurts.”

  “Well then, next time do it yourself. I’m not your fucking servant.”

  She turned back around. He was already drinking from his beer can again. She got down on her knees beside his chair. Something wet and mushy squished under her legs.

  What the hell …

  “Tyrone?” she said in her soft, mothering voice.

  He stared straight ahead, his eyes locked on the TV, ignoring her.

  “Tyrone?” she said, louder.

  “What?”

  “If this works out, we’re getting a cool ten grand tonight. That’ll help, right?”

  The contempt in his eyes when he turned to her was a far cry from the way he used to look at her when she used to wear this dress.

  “You are such a stupid bitch,” he growled. “You think ten grand will fix us up. I owe Maxwell Ramsey almost fifty grand and my payment is late. Do you know what he does to people who are late? You should because you’re with me. We together.” He pointed at her and then at himself. “Maxwell hurts people who owe him money and he hurts the people they love, too. That’s you, baby.” He raised his voice, obviously drunk. “The love of my life.”

  She wanted to cry. Tyrone’s heart was so big. She’d seen it before. He loved her and had shown it to her by taking her out for dinner. They’d been together over four months now, but after losing his job and getting kicked out of their apartment he had changed.

  He had stopped being a runner for Big John two months ago and that was when he stopped making money, at least the kind of money he could gamble with. Becoming a professional gambler just wasn’t in the cards for Tyrone. Borrowing fifty-thousand dollars from Maxwell Ramsey had been a huge mistake, but they went way back. Big John had Tyrone make routine deliveries. But now Tyrone was put out on the porch, as he put it. Used up. Over. Finished.

  When they fought a few days earlier, she had cried over his comment that since they couldn’t afford food anymore, it was a good thing Rocky was dead, because they sure as hell wouldn’t be buying dog food.

  But that was the past. She understood Tyrone. He was a man like any other and he had held jobs and gone through lots of money in his life. He’d done it once, he could do it again. He just needed a break. And when he got it, Kristi wanted to be there for him.

  If they could pay the fifty grand back, they could start living again.

  “Maybe after I get the ten grand tonight, I could milk the idiot for more.” She waited to see if Tyrone wanted to snap at her again. It was okay with her if he needed to because it allowed him room to air his anger. Once all the rage was out, sex was better. When he was drunk or stoned or angry, sex was horrible, or too rough. Or nonexistent. “Can you get a small time extension from Maxwell? Maybe I can get all the money within a couple of weeks—”

  He turned towards her, his face red. “Why do I put up with you? Are you really that stupid? Or wait, are you trying to be a fucking comedian?”

  She lowered her head and stared at the carpet in front of her bare knees.

  “Ask him for an extension,” he shouted. “He’s not my fucking bank or a high school teacher waiting for my essay. No, he’s a small-time-gangster-loan-shark motherfucker.” Tyrone jumped out of his chair and threw his beer can across the room. It smacked against the empty fish tank that sat propped up on cement blocks.

  He stomped into the kitchen and grabbed another beer from the fridge. She knew to be quiet and let him vent on his own. Speaking to him when he was angry only added bruises to her already growing collection.

  “Maxwell Ramsey has a reputation to keep.” The beer can popped as he opened it. After a long chug, he continued. “I owe him fifty grand like yesterday, bitch. I don’t come up with the money, you know who be losing a finger or a toe, or worse? Me, that’s who.” He lowered his voice and walked back to the chair. “It’s better I stay here in the trailer. He doesn’t know where I am. You go get that ten grand from your little pet asshole. Bring it back here. Maybe we take off. Start a new life.”

  She lifted her head and wiped her hope-filled eyes.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Sure, baby. You go get the money and come back here. But don’t tell nobody where you going, woman. Come back after midnight when all these fucking nosy neighbors are asleep. Sneak in the back way. We’ll take the money and leave before the sun rises.”

  She was afraid to get her hopes up too far. “Are you … serious? Would you really go away with me? Just like we talked about?”

  “Course I’m serious. Just don’t fuck this up. Make sure you get that money.” He took a long pull from the beer. “What, you think Ramsey is all-seeing, all-knowing? How the hell he gonna find me in Canada?”

  She clapped her hands together and chirped. He gave her a sidelong glance and frowned. She didn’t care. When she was happy, this was how she showed it.

  “Let’s do it,” Kris
ti said. “Let’s leave Las Vegas behind. We can do it. Ten grand should take us a long way.”

  He set his beer can down and turned to her, his hands out, palms up.

  “Take my hands.”

  She did, tentatively.

  “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you this time.”

  His hands tightened on her fingers, softly grinding the knuckles together.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me what you’re going to say to this idiot you’re meeting tonight. Oh, what’s his name again?”

  “Jake Collins.”

  “What you gonna say? What you gonna tell him?”

  Kristi shrugged. “It’s easy. He thinks I’m pregnant. We drank too much at that party and ended up sleeping in the same room. I joked around in the morning saying he had been so good in bed. I wanted to tease him and make him feel like he pleased me. I was just joking. I thought nothing of it. I mean, he flirted with me so much the night before. And my girlfriend thought it was hilarious.”

  “Yeah, I know all that shit. What you gonna say?” Tyrone asked again.

  She could tell his patience was wearing thin.

  “I got his business card. You remember, I found it when we were packing to come live here. Anyway, I called and told him I got pregnant. I asked for money for an abortion and to go away, to leave him alone—hush money. He agreed to bring me ten grand in cash. There’s nothing really to say to him, Tyrone. He’s flying in from Phoenix right now. Once we meet at the New York, New York bar, Cowboy Ugly on the second floor, I get the money and leave. His wife and kid never need to know. I don’t think he wants small talk. There’ll be nothing to say.”

  “Oh, man, do I have to tell you everything? Yo momma ever teach you about men?”

  “I guess so. What are you saying—”

  “You tell that dirt bag, once you already have the money in your purse, that he got you pregnant and that you need another forty grand or you will keep the baby and he’ll pay child support for the next eighteen years. And on top of that, you will have to tell his wife, too. He needs to think that his life is over without forty more grand.”

  “But I’m not pregnant.”

  Tyrone’s hands squeezed tighter.

  “I fucking well know that, but he doesn’t. Just listen.”

  Her knuckles ground together, making it hard to concentrate on his words. If she tried to pull away, he would hurt her worse. Better to just wait until he let go.

  “He will agree because he’s married,” Tyrone said. “And he doesn’t want his wife knowing about his little mistake in Vegas. Doesn’t he own some big company or something?”

  “You’re hurting me,” Kristi whispered. She had to say something. Just when she thought his hands were too tight, they got tighter.

  “Focus, bitch. Don’t worry about your fingers. See, that’s what I’m talking about.” He clenched his teeth and breathed through them. “You gotta learn to focus on what’s important. You fuck this up with that asshole and you fuck up our whole life. A little pain in the knuckles ain’t hurt nobody. You get it?”

  She nodded, afraid to open her mouth in case she gasped or cried out. Tears edged past her eyelids.

  “You wanna go away with me, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Good, then fucking listen to what I have to say.”

  The pressure on her numb fingers magically relented and she breathed easier as he stopped squeezing and only held them. The blood circulating again tingled under the skin of all eight fingers.

  “What company he own?” Tyrone asked.

  “Something to do with metal or steel.”

  “And he was in Vegas five months ago at some convention at the Venetian?”

  “That’s where I met him.” She nodded. “The party was in one of those huge rooms upstairs. His company had blocked off an entire floor.”

  “Right, so what I’m saying is, this guy has the money to pay out large and you got the assets. You gotta do this before you show a baby bump.”

  She clucked her tongue. “But I won’t show a baby bump because I’m not pregnant.”

  He tossed her hands away. “Get out of my sight before I call an ambulance.”

  The dress was tight but she was able to stand up without ripping it and stared down at him. “An ambulance?”

  “Yeah, because I’m gonna hurt da bitch you don’t go get me my money.”

  Kristi headed for the bedroom and her one suitcase. She needed her makeup kit to finish getting ready. Maybe after she was all done up, Tyrone would smile when he looked at her again.

  She flexed her hands and winced at the feeling in her fingers.

  Why does he always have to show me how strong he is?

  She was ready in twenty minutes. She hoped Tyrone still had the money for the cab and hadn’t spent it on beer. She was already going to be late.

  She peeked outside through the small bedroom window. The rain had stopped.

  Good. Now my hair won’t get all fucked up.

  She slipped on her black heels, checked herself in the mirror one more time, grabbed her small purse and walked back into the living room.

  Tyrone was asleep in the chair, the beer can resting at a forty-five degree angle in his hand on the armrest.

  “Hey, Ty, where’s the money for the cab?”

  She nudged him. He grunted in response.

  “Tyrone, the money?”

  Nothing. He was out. A beer coma.

  She scanned the dirty kitchen and spied his wallet by the keys on the counter. Stepping over garbage, a pizza box and three crumpled beer cans, she made it to the counter by the fridge.

  After a quick look over her shoulder to make sure he was still sleeping, she opened his wallet. Inside she found three hundred-dollar bills. Another furtive glance back at him. Then she grabbed all three. In a few hours, she would return with ten grand. Three hundred was nothing to ten grand. Besides, he would probably still be asleep when she got back.

  All she needed was cab fare, but the extra could buy her a nice dinner, or maybe a new perfume.

  Maybe she could drop some money in a slot machine. If she hit it big, they could pay off Ramsey and live the high life somewhere else, away from the lure of fast cash and organized petty crimes.

  She slipped the money in her purse, and opened the door to leave.

  “Kristi?” Tyrone said behind her.

  She froze. Her stomach dropped to her ankles. If he saw her take the three hundred from his wallet, maybe she would need that ambulance after all.

  “Good luck,” he slurred out of his drunken stupor.

  She closed and locked the door, making sure the knob clicked tight.

  She didn’t breathe normally until she was six trailers away.

  Chapter 4

  Detective Collins watched Russell until he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. He waited a few heartbeats and then walked back into interrogation room four, grabbed Russell’s police file and the picture of Sarah Roberts. Before leaving, he plugged the recorder back into the wall and exited the room.

  Three steps down the hall and he entered the viewing room adjacent to room four.

  Munro was reviewing the recording of their meeting with Russell.

  “I knew that’s why you left,” Collins said.

  She looked up at him. “I’m still pissed. How come this is the first I’ve heard about these pictures and letters?”

  Collins peered through the two-way glass at room four. “The sheriff wanted to keep this particular anonymous tip anonymous.”

  “Even from me, your partner?”

  She didn’t sound angry as much as disappointed.

  “Even from you.”

  She grunted.

  “The letters are always addressed to me,” Collins said. “After I opened the first one, followed up the lead and made an arrest, I took the letter to the sheriff.”

  “What made you take it to him?” Munro asked. “Even a Crime Stoppers
lead gets followed up. Why was this one special?”

  He turned from the window and met her eyes. “Because it foretold the future.”

  “How’s that? A photograph? That doesn’t make sense. If he took a photo yesterday and then a crime happened, how could the photo be about the future?”

  “The photo doesn’t tell the future, the message does.”