Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [91]
I stopped her with a full flying body tackle that 323
would’ve made Howie Long proud. Some body part of hers cracked loudly when we hit.
She screamed and I smashed her face into the bright blue carpet to quiet her.
I rammed the barrel into the base of her skull.
“Pipe down. Put your hands behind your back and I’ll let you walk out. If you fight me, I will knock you unconscious and drag your skinny ass outside. Understood?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good. Move ’em. Slowly. Palms up.” I switched the gun to my left hand and slid the Tuff-Tie off my wrist. Nyla was compliant. Once I had her bound, I dropped the gun in my pocket and yanked her to her feet. Her bare feet. Damn. I’d have to put her shoes on . . . unless tiptoeing through the snow would be an incentive for her not to run. At least she was dressed.
“Is anyone else here?”
“No.”
I propelled her forward. The messenger bag, her coat, and snow boots were the only items in the room.
“Put them on.”
She slipped her feet in the boots. I marched her to the wall. “On your knees. I wanna see you kissing that ugly fucking wallpaper.” She whimpered, but she did it.
I rifled through the messenger bag. First I found little packages of glossy magazine pages folded in squares and put in individual plastic baggies. I didn’t 324
have to open one to know it was a gram of crank, meth, tweakers, whatever the hell they called it; she had a thousand bucks worth of the illegal stuff, easy. Cell phone. Empty prescription bottles. Pipe cleaners. Condoms. Wallet with four hundred bucks and a South Dakota driver’s license. Mace. Car keys. Another ring of keys. And a little flowered notebook that looked like a diary/address book. I slipped it in my pocket.
Rule #2 in the PI biz. Never let them have it all. Give the client enough to keep them on the hook. Especially true now that I had trust issues with Big Mike. If I found information related to Martinez’s shooting in the book, I’d turn it over to Big Mike. If I found other information? I’d turn it over to Martinez. I draped the strap across my chest so the bag rested on my ass. After bringing Nyla back to her feet, I set the coat on her shoulders and zipped it up so it worked like a straightjacket.
“Do I need to gag you?”
“No.”
I popped my head outside the room. Coast was clear. I picked up the bolt cutters and dropped them in the passenger’s side of the truck bed in the snow next to the shovel before I helped her in and buckled her up. Glad I didn’t have to use the shovel on her. Once we were out of the motel parking lot she spoke.
“Don’t matter you’re Martinez’s old lady. You’re gonna fuckin’ fry for this. Kidnapping is illegal.”
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“Yeah? Last time I checked so was a bagful of meth. How do you know I’m not making a citizen’s arrest and taking you to the cop shop?”
Nyla’s head whipped around and I got my first good look at her. What a fucking mess. Greasy, matted hair. Glazed, bloodshot eyes. Snot dripped from her reddened nose. Her thin lips were chapped, cracked, and bleeding in places.
“Don’t take me to the cops. I’d rather be dead than in jail. They don’t understand how much I need—”
“Drugs? How long you been doing meth? Because the way I see it? You’re gonna be dead in two years.” I dug out the cell phone. “Your teeth falling out yet?”
Her tongue snuck under her lip, as if to check, giving me my answer.
“Well, you’re lucky. I’m not taking you to jail. I’m taking you someplace where you can answer some questions.”
Panic flared in her eyes. “I don’t know nuthin’
about it.”
“About what? Gonna have to be more specific, Nyla, because there’s questions about a whole buncha things.”
“Where you takin’ me?” Nyla licked her lips and didn’t seem to notice the snot and blood on her tongue.
“Look. Can’t we cut a deal? I’ll do anything you want. Sex, drugs, name it.”
Yeah, sex with her was some incentive all right. I 326
hit dial. The phone rang once before he picked up. I kept my gaze on Nyla’s as I said, “Big Mike? Where’s the