Chapter 37

Riding With The King

Intro Song: Shut Up and Drive, Rihanna

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay, folks. Both my husband & I contracted COVID for the 1st time; I was down & out for almost 10 days & he ended up in the hospital for a week. Be careful! That's also a warning I could give to our favorite characters…

Punctual as always, Carl Davis pulled up to 2110 Drexel Avenue, the address Mick had given him as his residence. His curiosity was piqued as it was the same address as the P.I.'s business location. The lieutenant hopped out of the Escalade and stood on the sidewalk for a second, glancing around to orient himself to his surroundings. Always know where you are and what's around you. It was a habit engrained in all cops – at least it was for all good ones who'd survived a long time… He'd been in and around the area on a fairly routine basis in the due course of his duties as an officer, but he'd never been to this particular building.

The location, however, had certainly had its share of police activity.

Carl had heard about the incident involving a 911 call from Lee Jay Spalding, when Mick had allegedly shot him. He hadn't worked that crime scene, but he'd made it his business to know all about it. The thought caused him to shake his head. How anyone could have believed that a scumbag like Spalding would suddenly become a model citizen was beyond his meager powers of comprehension. Apparently, St. John hadn't bought it either. If only people would judge based on character instead of prejudice or supposition...or deviousness. May as well ask for half ownership in Apple while you're at it…

"Remember that," he admonished himself aloud as he walked through the ornate iron doors into the building lobby, and headed for the elevator. It sat open, as if awaiting his arrival; he hit the button for the top level, and stood, hands on hips, as the car glided smoothly to the penthouse floor. Carl made his way into the gleaming hallway, not sure what to make of it. The dark, rich wood floors and modern art that graced the walls were incongruous with the image he'd assembled of the mysterious Mick St. John. Then, he heard distinctive guitar notes that brought a surprised smile to his face. "Breezin', huh? Didn't take Mick for being a George Benson fan," he muttered.

Now even more intrigued, Davis headed toward the music and the two doors he had spotted when he left the elevator. One, at the end of the hall, had opaque glass with the private investigator's name etched in simple lettering, clearly marking his business entrance. The other, along an adjacent wall opposite the elevator, was solid gray, and not nearly as inviting. Carl chose the safer path and walked to the office door. He began to turn the knob, then stopped, unsure if he should just enter without announcing himself.

"Come in, Carl... it's open. I'm almost ready."

"Oookay," Davis said. Just how acute was St. John's hearing to hear him over the loudly playing guitar solo. Then, he spotted the small security camera embedded in the wall next to the front door. Mystery solved, detective. Carl entered the office... and stood stock-still as he admired the lavishness of Mick's work space.

The backdrop of large view windows behind the main desk filled the wall and extended into the ceiling. They were clearly treated as the light managed to be bright without glaring, and the room wasn't hot. The open feeling contrasted well with the dark woods and earth tones throughout the room. Mixed in with the usual things one would expect in an office - file cabinets, chairs, tables, computer - were some far more elegant items. What looked like original paintings of famous jazz musicians were prominently displayed, along with a number of tasteful art objects on pedestals. A couple of the pieces Carl recognized. Life as a P.I. must not be all bad...

The detective quickly realized that the office was connected and open to Mick's personal apartment. Curiously, he glanced through the short hallway into the living quarters. Even with his limited view point, Carl could see that the owner's tastes were reflected in his home as well. He glimpsed dark columns cut with red horizontal neon lights and more artwork. Contemporary, masculine, and well designed - this was not the residence of a typical private investigator, at least not any that he knew. It was much too polished, and expensive compared to those he'd visited. He let out a low whistle in spite of himself. Turning away to plop down in a chair in front of Mick's desk, he muttered under his breath, "I'm in the wrong line of work."

"Don't make too much of it."

Carl almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden appearance of Mick St. John. "Jesus, man, you're like a damn ghost! Knock on wood or something when you show up like that!"

"Sorry. Occupational hazard."

The mirth in St. John's eyes, however, caused Carl to seriously doubt the sincerity of his apology. "Yeah, well, do that to the wrong person and you'll get shot."

The vampire pictured the keepsake jar of bullets he'd extracted from himself over the years, and bit back a laugh. "Uhm...thanks for the advice." His expression shifted. "Seriously, though, this," he began, his hand making a sweeping gesture, "is not a big deal. I got lucky - some lucrative cases, good investments, and a decent portfolio."

"Well, if this is nothing, I'd sure as hell like to see something."

The private investigator decided that the best course of action was to say nothing. What could he say? Hey, Josef Kostan's been managing my portfolio for the past 50 years and bought me Apple stock when it launched…? Damn, they'd barely been in the same room for ten minutes and it was already awkward. The muffled ring of his phone mercifully broke the silence.

Mick pulled his phone out of his jean pocket and smiled at the familiar blond image. "Gotta take this, I'll be back in a sec." He began walking toward the hallway into his private residence, speaking into the phone as he went. "Just give me a minute." As an afterthought, he paused and turned back to the detective. "You want something to drink?"

Carl shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, I'm still on duty... can't have what I'd really like yet."

Mick nodded sympathetically, then kept going into the living area of his penthouse. He was admittedly nervous about having a cop anywhere near his home, but Carl couldn't do any harm in his office – he'd made sure that all his personal files were safely locked away. Honestly, he actually had some level of trust in Detective Davis – at least as much as he was likely to have for any human cop. The man had a solid reputation as an honest cop. And despite a few rough patches earlier in their acquaintance, Carl had shown him decency in some difficult situations - Club Valis, in particular, as well as several crime scenes where he was sure Carl had spotted him but hadn't ordered him to leave. Maybe Beth was right, and he should give someone a chance. Speaking of whom...

"Hey," Mick finally said once he'd reached his kitchen, "I can talk now." He listened to the soft female voice, and nodded. "Yeah, Carl's here," he responded in low tones. "Huh? Oh... oh, yes, I saw your text just now. Sorry I missed it earlier, I was getting things organized before Carl came. How did you hear about what Talbot did?" He frowned into the phone as he listened to Beth. Just planning to take on this case has prompted their biggest fight as a couple and he felt like he was tiptoeing around landmines. "Well, yes, Jamie's essentially accurate, but I don't like Davis running to her with that information and then her dragging you into it." That last statement prompted a long response from Beth. He waited her out, then admitted, "I know I should have told you, but I didn't want you worrying – or stepping in. Look, I was wrong and I admit that," he hastened to add when she started to protest. "I have to get going." He reached for the large thermos sitting on his counter top, shaking it to ensure that the seal was talk about this secure. "Yep, all packed - taking my drink with me."

Grabbing his cap from the other end of the counter, he jammed it into his coat pocket as he scooped up his keys. "No... Beth, it's all right. Look, I want to get the bastards that planned Josh's murder almost as much as you do. Besides, it'll give me a chance to get a friend on the cop side of the fence."

Listening intently as he wandered into the living room, Mick paused, reaching under his coat to touch the grip of his gun in its holster at his back. He fervently hoped that it would be an unnecessary accessory on this trip. "Okay, I'll be nicer than my normal self then, if I want to have a friend. Got it!" He grinned as he headed back to where he'd left Carl, purposefully still on the call. "I promise, I'll be careful. Carl is gonna take good care of me," he announced as he entered his office area, looking pointedly at Davis as he did so.

The waiting officer understood the invitation and loudly proclaimed, "Yeah, I'll keep him outta trouble, Beth."

"See? Nothing to worry about," Mick tried to reassure his still-unconvinced girlfriend. "You have Carl's word on that… yeah, I gotta go too…" He smiled. "Love you. See you tonight." He frankly couldn't wait to get this whole ordeal over with so that he and Beth could get back to some degree of normalcy. Tucking the small thermos under his arm, he turned his attention back to his guest. "You ready?"

Carl rose from his seat. "Yep."

"Okay, let's get the fun and games started then. Can't wait to hear more details about children being murdered." Mick's face was grim. "I certainly hope we can help catch these bastards."

"Welcome to my world," the lieutenant responded. "Must be nice to not have to deal with this kinda crap if you don't want to." His expression darkened and he growled with almost palpable hatred, "Child rapists and killers... the lowest form of scum in my book."

Mick motioned to Carl to walk ahead of him out the door, thumbing the electronic key fob as they left. "There's no shortage of heartbreaking stories on the P.I. side, but yeah, you're right, I do have the choice not to take a case - theoretically, at least." He punched the elevator button with unnecessary force to punctuate his sentence.

"Theoretically? So, there are cases you have to take, even if you don't want to?" Carl was genuinely curious.

As the two men entered the elevator, Mick explained. "Well, there are some cases I feel like I should take because it's the right thing to do - even if I don't want to or it's not what I normally do. Sometimes, people just get to you. You know?"

"Yeah, I know," Carl answered softly. "Women and kids always get me. Even though, sometimes, they can be criminals too... I just can't become jaded with them." His expression changed. "The day I do - I gotta quit."

Mick sagged against the side wall, eyeing his companion seriously. He thought back to Elizabeth Turner, and her kidnapped daughter, the then-four-year-old Beth, and closed his eyes briefly at the memory. "Mothers."

"Mothers," Carl repeated. "It's natural to want to protect 'em ... it's... primal, you know?"

"Must be, because mothers coming to me about their children in trouble always suck me in - even when my better judgment tells me to walk away. Especially if they are runaway teens."

Carl likewise leaned against the elevator wall behind him. "I hear ya. If I had a dollar for every sad or sick case I've been involved in because of moms and kids..." He tried to lighten the mood. "Well, hell - I'd be living like you."

Both men laughed.

The elevator opened onto the main building floor and they stepped out into the street. Mick stopped dead to drink in the image of the lone vehicle parked in front of his building. He inspected the black Escalade approvingly, hands on hips. "Wow, the police force has definitely taken a step up."

Carl stopped, fishing the key fob out of his pocket, and unlocking the car. "This? Carpool, actually. Hell, I didn't even know we had anything like this in the pool! Apparently, some bigwig donated it and we got lucky. I have no idea how we landed it for today and it makes me a little leery. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Though he, himself, was skeptical by nature, Mick was nonetheless surprised by Carl's apparent suspicion. "Someone must have been looking out for us today. Like my mother always told me, we should just accept our good fortune and say thanks. I'm taking it as a sign that this will be a good day."

"Hey... I'm not complaining! I'm just shocked that someone else didn't get this one first. It's almost new - only about three thousand miles on the odometer..."

Mick nodded. "Wow, sure is new; that's not enough miles to even break it in! Okay, let's see what this behemoth will do. I feel like I'm 'Ridin' With the King'! He grinned and slapped the detective on the back. Maybe this will go smoothly after all…

The two men climbed into the luxurious SUV, enjoying the extra head and leg room the outsize vehicle provided. In an unrehearsed, but almost perfectly synchronized move, both men donned their shades, then Carl started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

Their journey south had officially begun.

John Giles tapped the notepad in front of him impatiently as he listened to the man on the phone drone on. Finally, he interjected, "Yep, that should do it, David. Remember, don't use any of the special weaponry, okay? That's important. We don't want to kill him, not yet. We just want the cops to see him get shot - and recover - right in front of them. That'll get him on the run, hopefully make him relocate out of California – and that would make our jobs there easier later on. The less chance there is of having to deal with Mick St. John, the better."

Giles nodded as he listened to his caller for one last moment, then added, "Yeah, and call me afterward. Durand will want a report." He disconnected the call and sat back, doodling on the paper as he reviewed the conversation he had just finished. The San Diego detective had seemed very much on top of the situation - and very gun-ho about taking on a vampire. Maybe a little too gun-ho. It made him uneasy. Had he impressed him with the need to stick to the plan, and tempered that enthusiasm enough?

Christophe had been increasingly unhappy with his efforts since the failure of the plan to have Victoria Silver killed – a failure Giles blamed directly on Mick St. John. She should have been dead before Spector ever got there.The P.I. had shown himself to be a formidable opponent – one whom Crucis needed to neutralize before their operation reached California. And I need for this to go smoothly…

End Song: Riding With The King, BB King & Eric Clapton