The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [16]
“I should throw your ass in jail, but I’m going to give you a break,” Cheeks said. “Get out of here, and don’t stick your nose in this investigation again.”
“Don’t you want to get a statement from me?” I asked.
“No.”
“You want to pretend like I was never here?”
“That’s right. You were never here.”
Cheeks tapped the heavy Mag-Lite on my shoulder, and let me feel its weight. There was a strange look in his eyes, and I wondered if he’d been drinking. In the distance I heard the sound of sirens, followed by the mournful bay of every dog in the neighborhood. I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“I called 911, and alerted the Broward news media,” I said.
Cheeks’s mouth dropped open.
“Why?” he gasped.
“Because you’re screwing up, and it’s putting Sampson Grimes’s life in danger. I’m not going to let it continue.”
“You’re going to talk to the press?”
“Only if you don’t play ball.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sampson’s kidnapper was helped by a guy who calls himself Teen Angel,” I said. “I want you to talk to every pervert in the lockup and county jail, and tell them we’re looking for this guy. Chances are someone knows who he is.”
“What if I don’t?”
I had not forgotten Cheeks’s threat in my office.
“I’ll ruin you,” I said.
Cheeks nodded solemnly. For a moment I thought he was agreeing to my request. He lifted the Mag-Lite off my shoulder, and held it directly above my head. The strange look returned to his eyes.
“Fuck you,” he said.
I raised my arms as he brought the Mag-Lite down. The flashlight hit my forearm, and sent a shock wave through my body. I threw my shoulder into Cheeks’s chest, and sent him staggering backward. Leaping up, Buster grabbed the sleeve of Cheeks’s shirt, and shredded the fabric. Cheeks pulled his arm free, then stuck his hand into his pants pocket. I instinctively went for my Colt.
A deafening sound made us both look skyward. A police chopper had dropped out of the sky, and was shining a spotlight into the grove. Moments later, dozens of birds and other small animals exploded out of the trees.
The chopper hovered directly above us, and lit up the clearing. Cheeks glanced upward, as if willing the chopper to leave. He had lost his chance to hurt me, and brought his hand out of his pocket. I lowered my arm as well.
“I want an answer!” I shouted over the chopper’s din.
Cheeks tossed his Mag-Lite to the ground. The strange look left his eyes, and he was acting normal again. I untied Buster.
“Now,” I said. “Before everyone gets here.”
“All right,” he said.
CHAPTER NINE
A half hour later, I pulled into the Sunset Bar and Grill on the northern tip of Dania Beach, parking my car so it faced the ocean.
I pulled back my shirt sleeve, and inspected my arm. Cheeks’s Mag-Lite had left a purple welt the size of a golf ball. It also hurt like hell. Fighting with Cheeks had been a mistake. Cheeks was a cop, and in the long run, he could hurt me a lot more than I could hurt him.
I walked down to the shoreline with Buster. The tide was coming in, and I pulled off my sandals and stuck my feet into the tepid water. I had tasted despair many times in my life, and the ocean always restored my spirits. It wasn’t long before I was feeling better, and I went inside.
The Sunset was a rough-hewn building, half of it sitting on the beach, the other half on wood stilts over the ocean. I rented a small studio above the bar, which was what four hundred and fifty bucks a month got you these days. It wasn’t much, but the ocean view made it feel special.
I was greeted with a chorus of boozy hellos. Sitting at the bar were the same seven sun-burned rummies who’d been drinking there since I’d started renting my room. I called them the Seven Dwarfs because it was rare to see any of them standing upright. I took a stool at the end of the bar, and stared at