Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [12]
He spotted Alexis Richardson among the treadmills. She waved to him. She was wearing tight blue leggings and a white tank top. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was jogging steadily on a treadmill that was running on high.
When she noticed Jesse, she slowed her jog, then turned off the machine but kept walking until it came to a stop. She stepped off and picked up her towel, patting her face before wrapping it around her neck.
“I’m a total fitness freak,” she said. “Have been since I was a girl. You?”
“I was a baseball freak. Till I got hurt.”
“You played baseball?”
“I did.”
“Were you any good?”
“Triple-A good until I tore up my shoulder.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I jog.”
“Jogging is good.”
“And I sulk.”
They wandered over to the juice bar and ordered a couple of healthy-looking sandwiches. They sat at one of the tables.
“You do this a lot,” Jesse said.
“Every day, if possible. I don’t really feel right unless I’ve done at least two hours. I start with the treadmill and end up with the heavy bag.”
“You work out on the heavy bag?”
“I do.”
“You box?”
“Not exactly. I kickbox. I was on my college team. It’s an artful sport. And there’s nothing quite like the exhilaration of a lethal kick.”
“You mean you’ve killed people?”
Alexis laughed.
“It’s just an expression,” she said.
They finished their lunch and she walked with Jesse to the door.
“Thank you,” Alexis said. “It was lovely.”
“Just like a first date,” Jesse said. “Do you kiss and tell?”
“Don’t tease me, Jesse. I like you.”
“Ditto,” he said.
Once home, Jesse stepped out of his clothes and into the shower. The steaming-hot water never failed to help ease the tensions of the day. He had just begun to feel better when he realized that someone was pounding on his door.
“Shit,” he said.
Then he hollered, “All right.”
He turned off the shower, dried himself the best he could, wrapped the towel around his waist, and gingerly made his sodden way to the kitchen, where he picked up his pistol. He press-checked it and went to the door.
It was Captain Healy.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Healy said.
Jesse stared at him.
Healy noticed Jesse’s gun.
“Were you planning to shoot me,” he said.
“You can’t be too careful,” Jesse said.
“Why don’t you attend to your dishabille,” Healy said. “I’ll see myself in.”
When Jesse returned, wearing jeans and a sweater, he found Healy on the top step of the porch, holding a piece of Jesse’s sliced chicken.
The black-and-white cat was standing directly in front of him, tentatively eating the chicken from his hand.
When Jesse stepped outside, the cat bolted. It leapt from the porch and dashed headlong into the bushes.
“I’m a cat person,” Healy said. “Always have been. We currently have six. My wife calls me the Cat Whisperer.”
“The Cat Whisperer,” Jesse said.
“Unlikely, isn’t it? I’m an anomaly.”
“That’s only the half of it.”
“So what do you know,” Healy said.
“Had to have been a newbie. Some low-life wannabe who came aboard when the operation expanded. Not a professional.”
“Okay,” Healy said.
“So he botches it. Dickwad thinks he’s hit himself a home run. Gets rattled when the owner discovers him. Goes ballistic and kills the guy. Mob boys won’t have been happy. Car theft isn’t meant to be lethal.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s what my gut tells me.”
“What about the killer?”
“Most likely pushing up daisies in Paradise Gardens.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna run a break tomorrow. I’ve convinced Hansen to buy me a couple of Hondas. I’m gonna station them at critical locations and surveil them.”
“And?”
“I’m gonna tail whoever shows up.”
“Don’t you mean ‘whomever’?”
“Try not to parade your ignorance. I wanna spot them. See what happens.”
“To what end?”
“Information-gathering. I don’t really care about the small potatoes. What interests me is the big fish,” Jesse said.
“Which reminds me, we’re having snapper for dinner,