Blues in the Night by Dick Lochte Read Free Book Online Page A

display handkerchief.
    Furious, Lacotta grabbed the black man’s coat collar. ‘What man said that?’ he yelled.
    Grinning, the black man slipped a hand into the pocket of his long coat and brought hand and coat and maybe something else up near Lacotta’s mid-section. ‘The fat man. He say, “Bye-bye, asshole”.’
    With amazing speed, Mace kicked the black man’s ankle causing him to stumble away from Lacotta just as the gun in his pocket went off.
    Lacotta yelled and stepped back. Mace moved closer to the black man, his hand controlling the gun in the pocket, holding it aside as he head-butted the man.
    Blood gushed from the black man’s broken nose. He tried to pull free, but Mace held the hand trapped in the coat. ‘Lemme . . . LEMME,’ the man wailed as Mace spun him around, forcing the trapped hand into a position where the wrist could do nothing but break.
    When it did, Mace yanked the freed weapon from the overcoat pocket.
    He swatted the man’s head with it, sending him to ground. There, it was easier to use his shoe. He was kicking the man in the head when he felt someone grab his arm.
    He spun around, fist cocked for the punch, and saw it was Lacotta. Even then, he almost let loose.
    Lacotta backed away, a bit unnerved. ‘Let’s get outta here,’ he said.
    Mace blinked.
    The park was in silence. The ballplayers, the dog walkers, the strollers were all frozen in place, staring at them. The only thing in motion, as far as Mace could see, was the black man staggering away, cradling his broken wrist and spitting and snorting to clear the blood from his nose and mouth.
    Lacotta approached warily to take the gun and slip it into his pocket. He led Mace by the arm to the parked car. He said, ‘Still got your temper, I see.’
    â€˜Seems like,’ Mace said, though it had not manifested itself in years. There’d been one time, during his first week at Pelican Bay. But not in the next seven years on the yard there. And not in flare-ups in the meanest bars a man could find in Cajun Louisiana. Just two days back in LA and he’d gone off. What did that tell him?
    Mace got into the car.
    As they drove away, he asked Lacotta. ‘You hurt?’
    â€˜Naw. Maybe some burns on the suit, which is goin’ direct to Goodwill.’ Lacotta grinned, then started laughing. Soon he was laughing so hard tears appeared at the corner of his eyes. ‘I told you not to give that fuck the dollar, didn’t I?’ he said between bursts of nervous laughter.

NINE
    S tanding in front of The Florian, Mace watched Lacotta’s Mercedes glide away heading for the Strip. After the encounter with the gunman in the park, he realized he was operating at about eighty percent of normal, but his reflexes were off enough to make him feel uncomfortable. The midday warmth had his clothes sticking to his body. If he were home, he could strip and dive into the bayou to cool off and clear his head. He thought about the Florian pool. Swimming trunks hadn’t been at the top of his packing list. He supposed it wouldn’t be that hard to find a pair for sale in LA.
    His mind was on the therapeutic effect of a mile-long swim as he passed the entrance to the Florian’s parking garage. Which may be why he didn’t hear the clicks right from the jump. He was almost to the iron gate leading to the pool when he noticed the sound.
    He did an about-face, scanning the area.
    Nothing. No motion. No sound.
    He took another couple of steps toward the pool gate.
    This time, he was waiting for the click and was able to get a directional fix on it. There were only three vehicles parked in that section of the garage. The Jag sedan and the Lexus RX were sealed up tight. The grape-colored Cherokee with a bashed in front right fender had its windows rolled down.
    Mace double-timed it into the garage and the Cherokee to find a panicked man stretched out across its front