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“Are you always such a prick?”
“I think I’m wonderful.”
“I bet you do. I need to get ready.” I brush past him and head to the bedroom.
“You snore, by the way.”
“And sleeping next to you is like lying in a bed full of hot coals.” I slam the door and stand on the other side, trembling. Inviting him into my bed last night was a mistake—
But staying here for the foreseeable future is going to be much, much worse.
Chapter 12
Angelo
If I never had to go to the Two Lane Inn ever again, I could die a happy man.
I’ve seen a dozen places like it back home. Beat-up motor lodges ring Philadelphia like ticks ready to suck the blood from weary, unsuspecting travelers and folks desperately in need of short-term housing. They’re places for working girls and dealers to sling dope and suck dick, the sort of place that needs to be burned to the ground just to get it clean. The Two Lane’s seen some shit, and now it’s seen the death of five cartel guys all at once. I doubt that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened here.
“What’s this guy’s name?” Sara asks as we sit in the car and case the joint. The front office is a glass-fronted section in the bottom left of the building with huge advertisements for cigarettes blocking the view of the inside.
“Wally Batt,” I say and glance at her. “You didn’t have that memorized?”
“Believe it or not, he wasn’t high on my priority list.”
“Pity. Wally’s an interesting guy.” I nod at the files in her lap. “Take a look.”
She flips through until she finds the short informational dossier on Wally. “Oh, wow,” she says quietly. “That’s one hell of a rap sheet. Why didn’t I see this before?”
“Cops basically ignored him, that’s why, which is strange. Whenever someone ends up dead, it’s always the criminals the cops bother first. And yet, nobody questioned good old Wally. Criminal motherfucking Wally.”
“Breaking and entering, grand theft auto… How’s this guy not stuck behind bars for life?”
“No clue. Good lawyer.” I shrug and open the door. “Let’s go see what Wally remembers from that day.”
She hurries after me, her heels clacking on the pavement. There aren’t many cars out in front of the Two Lane, and I wonder how this place stays in business. Cheap building, cheap workers, cheap everything is probably how. Not much overhead on a place like this if nobody gives a shit about keeping it clean.
“This time, I’m taking the lead,” she says as she yanks the door open.
“Hold on,” I say, but too late. She’s already striding into the lobby looking about as much like a lawyer as it’s possible to look. She’s about to spook this idiot and she’s got no clue. It’s a small space, rundown and stinking like cigarette smoke. An old TV sits in the corner playing a sitcom. The walls are stained yellow, the single chair for waiting patrons has a deep slash on the seat covered by a piece of duct tape. Magazines fill a side rack, all of them out of date.
Wally sits behind a computer clicking away. He’s in his forties, balding, heavyset with a mole under his left eye and bushy brows. His shirt is wrinkled and his jeans are too small, and he looks up with a scowl like we’re interrupting something important.
“You folks need a room?” he asks and looks Sara up and down. “We do hourly if that’s what you need.”
I try not to laugh. The fucker thinks she’s a hooker.
“Wally Batt?” she asks. “I was hoping I could have a word.”
He instantly shuts down. I can see it happen. One second, he’s curious, the next it’s like he pulls on body armor and gets ready for war. He leans back in his rickety chair and crosses his arms over his big chest. “And who’s asking?”
“My name’s Sara Bray, I work for Klein and Houndson representing—”
She doesn’t get another word out before Wally leaps to his feet, the chair clattering down behind him, and bolts for a back door. Sara’s too stunned to do anything but stand there as he yanks it open, his pants falling off his ass, and darts into the back.
“Good one,” I say and try not to laugh. “You really got him talking.”
“But I didn’t even, and now he’s just—” She gestures at me. “Well? Do your job! Fucking catch him!”
“Your wish is my command, oh, lovely ice queen.” I sketch a bow as her face turns red with rage before I step out front and walk leisurely over to the side of the building.
Guys like Wally, they need to be finessed. With a rap sheet like his, any lawyer or cop or anyone with any connection to the criminal justice system is instantly suspect. Walking in here and telling him that she works for a law firm—that was basically begging him to run away.
