Chapter 9 – On the Trail
"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Bucky asked, his eyes shifting nervously. "Like maybe in my office?"
Givens' eyes narrowed just a fraction and then he nodded. "Sure."
I was yanked backwards by the belt loop in the back of my jeans as I started to follow Bucky and then Givens elbowed his way past me, his hand resting on his gun. It took a second to realize he wasn't being a jerk. I was being stupid. Who knew what was waiting for us inside those open bay doors? But this was Bucky, who I'd known since high school. Sure, he was a creep but he wasn't going to try to kill us, right? Then again, the way Givens was watching him, I started to think maybe it was a possibility.
Givens paused and looked over his shoulder at Lula and Tim. "You two stand watch. Make sure nobody sees Bucky informin' to us."
"I'm real good at being a lookout," Lula told Tim proudly. "See that? I already got marshal skills on account of my experience as a assistant bounty hunter."
The truth was, Lula was a horrible lookout. If cops showed up while I was someplace I shouldn't be, Lula took off and left me to fend for myself. I was pretty sure Tim wouldn't take off but then again he had a pretty weird relationship with Givens.
Great. The more I thought about things, the more freaked out I was getting. I wondered if Givens felt like this. Probably not. Givens wasn't the freaked out type. He was the type who knew what somebody was going to do before they did.
Bucky led us into a small, cluttered office area set off to the far right in an alcove of the garage. There was a battered wooden desk piled with repair manuals, parts catalogs, and had a grease-stained computer. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, sighed and peered up at Givens. "I don't even know where to start."
"Start with hiring him," I said before Givens could speak. Since I'd known Bucky for years, I thought he would probably feel more comfortable with me asking the questions. Givens' hand dropped to my shoulder and squeezed gently, a sign that I was doing the right thing. Maybe he was also telling me I redeemed myself and he wasn't going to torture me for the rest of the day. No. I'd never get that lucky.
Bucky leaned back against the desk, arms folded across his chest, defensively. "I didn't hire him. I was told he was working for me."
"Bobby Barroni?" I asked.
"Yeah. The thing is, I don't think Bobby had much say in it, either." Bucky nodded at me. "You know the story about what happened to the dealership, right?"
"I just thought it was the economy," I said.
Bucky snorted. "Let's just say funding wasn't tied to the economy. Barroni owned the place but he was owned by somebody else. I don't know who and I don't wanna know. What I do know is that little punk Bravo came on, couldn't tell a spark plug from an intake manifold and was banging the assistant sales manager and the receptionist before he was there a week. I gave him bullshit jobs, like driving customers home while we did repairs and picking them up when their cars were ready. He always took a little extra time with the hot women and they always tipped him extra. Then he started screwing Carla."
There was something in Bucky's voice and I asked myself what Givens would do. That was easy. He'd go with his gut. "Were you and Carla an item first?"
Bucky blinked and then he seemed to deflate. "Yeah. We were. The story was Bobby was the one who started screwing around first and she figured she had the right to do it too. She liked to drink but then when she started hooking up with Bravo, I think she might've gotten into other things."
"Was Bravo dealin'?" Givens asked.
"Not that I saw but there were always girls coming around. Never guys. Just girls."
There was a lull and Givens let the silence sit for a minute while he stared hard at Bucky. It was a stare that seemed to say he knew Bucky was holding back and that he was going to stand here and wait until Bucky spilled his guts.
"Bravo did other deliveries for the dealership. Supposedly it was add-ons, like floor mats and stuff but…" Bucky paused again and he looked down at his grease-stained hands. "Bobby took over the record-keeping for the service department around then. It just seemed like we were selling a lot more optional shit than we used to, is all." When he looked back up at us again, he had the look of a man who'd just stepped out of a confession booth, like a great weight had been lifted and his soul was shiny and clean again. "That's all I have to tell you. Probably you should go talk to Carla. It's not noon yet, so she's probably still sorta sober."
I wondered if my mother knew all the things her friend Carla had been doing. I hoped not.
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We walked back outside where Lula was jutting her lower lip out at Tim and her eyes were narrowed. I could only imagine what conversation took place out here while we were inside.
"I'm tellin' you a forty-five is better than a Glock," Lula insisted. She turned to Givens. "You got a opinion on the subject?"
"Depends what you're shooting," he answered. "Also what you're comfortable with. How accurate are you with your forty-five?"
Lula couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if she was standing up against it. "I ain't bad."
"Tim should take you down to the range and give you some lessons later. But first," Givens flashed his good old boy grin at Tim who shot a sarcastic grin right back, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd go visit the local PD and find out what you can on Bobby Barroni. Talk to Art, see if he can't get the ball rollin' on getting' everybody on the same page and then let's try to start a task force with Morelli, assumin' he's the right guy. Steph?"
I shrugged. "We don't really talk about his job."
"Too busy doin' the nasty," Lula put in. "I don't blame you. That man is fine." She looked over at Givens. "Bet the Badass doesn't talk about his job either." Then she cut her eyes to Tim. "We're gonna have to work on you."
Tim rolled his eyes. Apparently, he'd given up trying to convince her he was just as big a badass. "Come on. Let's go to the police station and you can keep ragging on me on the way."
Lula froze. "What we going there for? Can't we just call them or something?"
"It's hard to see crime scene photos and files over the phone," Tim explained. I was amazed at how patient he was with her, despite the way she was treating him.
"I guess you can drop me back at the bonds office then. I got a lot of filing to do." It looked like Lula's preference for avoiding the police was about to put an end to her career as a junior-junior marshal.
Givens cocked his head slightly and looked down at her, no doubt putting two and two together. "You know marshals are federal, right, Lula? We outrank the local PD and we get to boss them around. You sure you wanna catch up on your filing?"
The last time I'd seen Lula with the expression of adoration she was beaming in Givens' direction, Tank had just proposed to her. "We? I'm one of the we?"
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic junior marshal badge like the one he gave me in Kentucky. "You're one of the we but you have to do what Tim says. He's the senior marshal, even if he's a shitty dresser and has a stupid name. Okay?"
"Okay," she said.
Ohmigod. Lula was making cow eyes at Givens.
