No Gun Intended Read online

  I stared at him. Then I laughed. Then he laughed and let me go. “Right. We’re gay. They didn’t tell you.”

  “No! It’s a pleasure, truly! I’m all yours!”

  He led me by the hand into the living room, where Drew jumped up and gave me a similar greeting. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

  “Bourbon.”

  We all settled in around the coffee table, which presented an astonishing array of cheeses, nuts, fruit, crackers, olives, and sliced bell peppers. The conversation was lively, to say the least. We were talking over each other, finishing each other’s sentences, and laughing luxuriously. Even Luis, who is usually so self-contained, seemed looser than I had ever seen him. Drew even talked him into a second beer—a rarity for Luis.

  As for me, I was getting slightly bombed. Two bourbons, and I was loopy. By the time we sat down to dinner, I was guzzling Pellegrino, trying to regain my equilibrium. We all marveled at the perfectly cooked pasta with asparagus, in a light lemony cream sauce, and the warm, home-baked bread, and the crisp arugula salad. I found myself relaxing, really relaxing, for the first time since I arrived in Portland.

  Sal and Drew, both great cooks, told me about the bakery, and how the previous owners simply were ready to retire, and they jumped at the chance to buy it. Drew was a high-school English teacher and didn’t make a lot of money. Sal was an actor, who had made some bucks in voice-overs and advertising, but was mostly in love with indy films. They told me they were smart with their money (they sure knew how to find beautiful furniture and fixings in thrift stores), but needed other partners for the bakery business. Enter Sylvia and Jeff, as giddy with the new enterprise as Sal and Drew were for each other.

  I liked them so much that I dropped my reservations about my parents becoming local merchants. But after they served their homemade éclairs for dessert (holy moly!), I begged their forgiveness for cutting out early. I was woozy with booze and sugar and I wanted to call Mickey.

  They insisted that Mom and Dad and Luis stay for a while to play poker; apparently it had become a bit of a ritual of late (when did my parents ever play poker?). I had never imagined Luis as a poker player, but he did come from Las Vegas, so, whatever.

  I kissed everyone good-bye, reminded Luis that we had to head over to the billiards club later, and closed the front door behind me. I gently descended their stairs to the street and looked over at my parents’ house.

  And froze.

  Someone was sitting on the front porch.

  A man, I could tell, by the overcoat and the fedora-style hat.

  I ducked behind a tree and peered around it.

  The man was fiddling with something, maybe his phone. I hadn’t turned the porch lights on, so it was hard to see.

  I adjusted my position. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and was about to light one, when I darted out from the tree and ran across the street.

  “You don’t smoke!” I yelled.

  Mickey stood up and caught me as I flew into his arms.

  “Only when I fly three thousand miles, worried sick about you, and don’t find you home.”

  We kissed and kissed again. “You used to smoke?” I murmured.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “You’re not starting up again?” I kissed him.

  “No. Just a moment of weakness. I’ll throw them away.”

  “You found the boy?”

  “Yes. Alive and well. I’ll tell you all about it. You were across the street?”

  “Mmm. Sal and Drew. Mom and Dad’s new business partners. You’ll love them. But you’re not going to meet them right now.”

  He studied my face, a slight smile on his lips. “No? Why, do you have something else in mind?”

  I brushed his black hair from his forehead and locked onto his dark brown eyes. “They’re going to be playing poker over there for at least an hour, I figure.”

  He smiled, picked me up, took the front door key from my hand, and carried me over the threshold as effortlessly as Richard Gere spirited Debra Winger out of the factory in An Officer and a Gentleman, with all of her coworkers clapping and cheering. We didn’t have an audience, but then, we didn’t want one.

  ***

  It was blissful to be lying naked in bed with Mickey, snuggled up against him, listening to him tell me about the missing kid. “It was my last lead. A duplex in Queens. I sat in the Mustang for three hours, waiting for someone to come in or out. Then, bingo, I see an older kid, tall and skinny, come up the sidewalk with a messenger bag over his shoulder.”

  “You knew who it was?”

  “I wasn’t sure, but he looked like the older brother. So I came up behind him as he was entering the building and grabbed him. I forced him inside, and there was Matthew, sitting on the floor in the living room watching a Transformers movie, eating tortilla chips.”

  “His brother took him?”

  “Yeah. What a jerk. Roscoe. A twenty-year-old asshole. He told Matthew that their parents were going away for a while and that Matthew was to stay with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Roscoe has daddy issues. Wanted to freak out his parents.”

  “Why didn’t Matthew call his parents? He must have had access to a phone. Didn’t he see his picture on the news?”

  “He was having a pretty good time. No school, watching movies, hanging out with his cool older brother, who kept him away from any news. Matthew didn’t know he was a missing person. Anyway, I cuffed Roscoe and called the parents and the police.”

  “What about the police? Why couldn’t they find him?”

  “I was lucky. Roscoe moved around a lot. He has money. He’s good at hiding his trail.”

  I snuggled closer. “I don’t think you were lucky. I think you were a brilliant Asta Investigations private eye.”

  “Hmm. As it turned out, I solved two cases at once. Roscoe was dealing drugs. He was shipping them in puppets.”

  I propped myself up on my arms and looked at him. “Puppets?”

  Mickey laughed. “Stuffed animal puppets. I found a couple of them in his messenger bag.”

  I shrieked. “With cocaine hidden inside?”

  He pulled me back down on the bed next to him. “Yes. I got a call tonight. Apparently Roscoe used all sorts of warm and fuzzy animals. Teddy bears, and polar bears, and lions and tigers and penguins and kitty cats and…”

  “Bonkers! How’s my kitty?”

  Mickey kissed me. “Fine. Vicki in the downstairs flat is watching over him. They get along famously. He yowls out by the fire escape window and she calls up to him, “Bonks! I love you!”

  I giggled. “He’s such a flirt.” I glanced at the clock. “We have to get up and go to the billiards club. Luis will probably be home any minute.” I rolled away from Mickey and jumped out of bed. “Ready to rock and roll?”

  “What, again?” he answered, with a smirk.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tipsy Mom fell all over Mickey when he opened the door for her, Dad, and Luis. Dad gave him a man hug, and Luis held him like a long-lost brother. I was happier than the ending of an awful, sappy Hallmark movie. Name one, any one, if you can. It doesn’t matter.

  I had sobered up considerably, having, um, exercised with Mickey, followed by gulping down three espressos from my parents’ machine. So I didn’t allow for much greeting time. “Hey, boys, it’s time to go play some pool. Let’s vamos.”

  Luis laughed. “Amiga, you speak just like a native.”

  I knew he was kidding. “Bueno. Chop chop.”

  “Annabelle, darling, what is your hurry? That place will be open for at least another couple of hours, and, holy crap, Mickey just got here, and I think we should all chat for bit, don’t you, Mickey?” Mom squeezed his hand.

  “Sylvia, there’s nothing I would rather do than sit and chat, but my partners here, it’s
their case, and they’re in charge. We’ll have lots of time tomorrow.” He kissed her hand.

  “He’s a keeper, Bea.” Mom beamed at me, and then back at Mickey. It was enough to make me hurl.

  “Um, Mom, I know. I live with him, remember?” I traded glances with Dad, who smiled his usual calm, it’s-all-okay smile. “Really, Mickey, Luis, let’s get out of here.” I picked up Dad’s car keys from the counter and jingled them. “Okay with you, Dad?”

  He nodded. “Be careful, have fun, maybe Mickey should drive? You’ve had a couple?”

  I considered this, then tossed the keys to Mickey. “Sure. I’ll navigate. Hasta la vista!”

  Mickey disengaged from Mom, Luis shook Dad’s hand, and I hustled out. I heard Luis say, “Thank you, Jeff. We will take good care of the car and of your daughter,” and Mickey echo him with, “Yes, we will. No worries there.”

  I was ruffled. Do I want my friends to take care of me? I thought. Sure, and I hope they think I take care of them, too. But if I’m a partner in this operation, then why is it that I am the one everyone assumes needs to be taken care of? I mean, I have acted swiftly in situations that have called for it. I’m nervy and strong and I can run fast, and I fired a gun once when I had to, and while I don’t want to ever do that again, I would if I had to. So what is this taking care of the little missus thing because…?

  “Annabelle?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re mumbling to yourself.” Mickey was waiting for me to get in the passenger side of the car.

  I opened the door and got in. Then I turned to face him and Luis, who was in the backseat. “Look, I love you both, and you both love me, right?”

  They nodded.

  “And we’re partners?”

  They nodded again.

  “And we take care of each other, right?”

  More nodding.

  “So you don’t have to tell my father that you will take care of me.”

  “Babe, it’s just a nice thing to say to your father. No big deal.” Mickey stuck the key into the ignition.

  Luis leaned forward. “Annabelle, we trust you and we depend on you.”

  “I’m not a little girl.”

  Mickey laughed. “I should hope not.”

  “You know what I mean, Mickey. I don’t want to be condescended to.”

  He reached over and patted my knee. “Okay. I get it.”

  “I’m an equal partner.”

  “Sí,” said Luis.

  I looked at Mickey, expecting a response. He paused. “You will be an equal partner, once you have more experience and get a license. Come on, Annabelle, you haven’t been trained as a police officer. You don’t know very much about detective work. You have good instincts, and you’re gutsy. That’s more than half the battle, but you still need experience. And partners protect each other, and Luis and I will always protect you.”

  “Okay. I get that. And I’ll prove my worth to both of you, you’ll see.”

  Mickey put his hand behind my neck and pulled me toward him. “Hon, you already have. Really, this is not an issue.” He kissed me. “Let’s go find out if so-called Hank Howard was a regular at the Uptown Billiards Club. Do you have a picture of Claudia?”

  “Yup.” I patted my purse. “Let’s vamos.”

  Luis chuckled.

  ***

  The Uptown Billiards Club is located on the edge of the Pearl District. It’s another Portland night spot with an old-fashioned feel that’s authentic and cool. A small dining room offers seating for a couple dozen patrons, while a long bar lines a big room with several pool tables. The place was hopping when we got there.

  We didn’t start asking questions right away. Instead, because it was late, we saw a free table and I racked up the balls. Mickey and Luis were about to discover that I have a suppressed pool-shark alter ego. I like to call her “Ripley,” after Sigourney Weaver’s lead character in Alien. Ellen Ripley could kick anyone’s ass, even disgusting out-of-space monsters that can hatch in humans’ stomachs.

  Come to think of it, maybe that movie had something to do with me not wanting babies.

  Luis chalked his cue and broke, got one in and missed on his next shot. Then Mickey hit one in and missed on his second shot. And then, wow, it was one of the best moments of my life. I ran the table. I was on fire, so much so that other people took notice and watched. Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off me. I figured he was about to get down on his knees and ask me to marry him, the way he was looking so in awe. Luis grinned and chatted with the bystanders.

  After I gently nudged the eight ball into the far corner pocket, I threw my arms straight up in the air and laughed. A biker-type dude came up to me and asked me if I’d play him. He was a little drunk, and he got too close to me. I saw Mickey start toward me as I graciously declined. “No. Back off, now, or your nuts will find their way to your Adam’s apple.” Biker dude sneered at me and turned away, just as Mickey got to me.

  I put my hands on my hips and smiled. “Coming to my rescue?”

  “Yes, and not ashamed to say it. What did you say to him?”

  “Not important. Want to play another game?” I put my arm around his waist and grinned.

  “Several more games, all kinds of games, all the time. But let’s have a drink now, see what we can learn, Minnesota Fats.”

  “Call me Ripley.”

  We made our way to the bar and ordered three beers. The bartender plopped the bottles down in front of us. “Nice shooting, sister,” she said. She was small—petite, even—but wiry-strong and multi-tattooed with rose branches snaking up and down her arms.

  “Thanks.” I tipped my bottle toward her and took a swig. “Nice place here. We’re from New York and Las Vegas.”

  “Come back anytime. It’s fun to have good women players in here.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Mickey.

  “Greta.”

  We introduced ourselves, and then clinked glasses while Greta left to wait on other customers.

  “Annabelle, you have many hidden talents, is what I think,” said Luis.

  “Well, I just exposed the best one.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Mickey whispered in my ear, then kissed it with just a touch of tongue. I shivered down to my toes.

  “Get a room,” said a deep voice behind us.

  We turned around to see Biker Dude, too close, again. Before either of us could respond, he grabbed the top of each of our shoulders and pushed us down on the bar. Greta got to us quickly, but Luis was even faster. In a second he was off his bar stool and on the gorilla’s back, pulling him off of us. Like he was a bouncer for the place, Luis shoved Biker Dude’s right arm in a hammerlock and ushered him toward the door. People made a path for him, and I could hear him say, “Do you understand what I am saying to you? You should not come back tonight, because if you do, you will have many damaging things done to you, things I do not even want to talk about, they scare me too much.” Someone opened the door, and Luis shoved the guy outside.

  Luis sat back down after shaking a few hands, and swallowed some beer while Mickey and I smiled broadly.

  Greta brought us all another round. “I owe you, mister. Julius there, he’s a little, uh…overwrought. Thanks.”

  After a while the bar thinned out and Greta came to our end to chat a bit. This was the opportunity to find out what we had come there for in the first place. I pulled out the picture of Claudia. “Greta, do you know this girl? She’s mixed up in something, and we’re trying to help her.”

  “Cops? Really?”

  Mickey shrugged. “Yes and no. Used to be cops. Now we’re PIs.”

  She raised her eyebrows in a way that showed she was impressed. “No kidding? Never met a PI before.” She studied the picture, then flicked her finger against it. “Nope, sorry. I don’t recognize her.�
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  “What about Howard Hanks?” I asked.

  “You mean Hank Howard,” Mickey corrected me.

  Greta froze. “You know about Hank?”

  “It looks like you do, too,” said Mickey.

  “He was murdered.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who did it?” Greta’s voice wavered.

  “No.”

  “Were you friends?” I asked.

  Greta smoothed her short blond hair and grabbed a rag to start wiping the bar. “He was my ex-boyfriend. I told the police all about him.”

  Luis rested his hand on Greta’s, which was furiously rubbing at a spot. “We are very sorry about your loss. We do not mean to distress you in any way. Can you tell us, though, if Hank ever talked about someone named Claudia?”

  She stared at him. “Huh? No.” She backed up, away from the bar. “Hank wasn’t all bad. He had drug problems back East. He was trying to go straight. We were talking about getting back together…What’s this all about, with this Claudia chick?”

  “She was mugged. There was a mix-up with a gun, it ended up with me by mistake…”

  Mickey interrupted me. “Just one more question. Do you know a Wesley Young or Loren Scranton?”

  Greta shook her head. “No. Look, I have to clean up here. You guys want anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Greta. We’re sorry, really.” I pulled out one of my business cards and tossed it on the bar. “We’ll be in town for a few more days, in case you think of anything that might help us.”

  “Sure thing. “ She didn’t look at us.

  Mickey dropped some cash for Greta, and we stood to go. I glanced over my shoulder as we were leaving to see her talking on her cell phone. It looked like she was reading my card to someone on the other end.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mickey drove us home, with the help of my phone’s GPS. There are about a half dozen bridges in Portland, linking the east and west sides of the Willamette River, and out-of-towners like us needed directions.