Goddess of Justice Dwayne Clayden (i read book .TXT) 📖

She stepped back until she bumped into the wall. “No talk.” She glanced at the door. “Nyet. Not happen. Go.”

“Did you see …?” He made a gun motion with his hand.

“Nyet.” she screamed.

Brad held out his hands, but she kept screaming. The door burst open and the bouncer and two of the bikers stormed into the cramped room. The girl kept screaming and pointed to Brad. One biker grabbed him and as he tried to shove him off, the bouncer swung his fist into Brad’s gut. He nearly puked, then doubled over. The first biker held him up while the bouncer fired a half-dozen shots at Brad’s face. Pain surged in his nose and he tasted blood. He had no play against the three of them in this compact room, so he slumped in the arms of the biker.

The bouncer punched the side of Brad’s head again. The two bikers dragged Brad out of the room and through a back door. They tossed him on the ground. Each gave him a kick to the ribs, just for fun.

Brad lay on the cool gravel that dug into his cheek. The pain came in waves, then the storm lessened. He pulled himself into a sitting position. His head sparked with electric shots of pain firing around his face. He carefully reached up to his nose. It was swollen but didn’t seem to be crunched or facing the wrong direction. It was filled with drying blood and he breathed through his mouth, which hurt his split lips.

He took a deep breath and was thankful there weren’t any sharp pains in his side. At least his ribs were intact. His face, not so much.

He grabbed the wall and pulled himself up. The world spun, and his eyes wouldn’t focus. This time, no one was coming to save him. No one would nurse his wounds. He was alone and couldn’t reach out. He used the wall of the bar for support and staggered down the alley. By the time he reached the end of the wall, his vision had cleared, but he still stumbled as he headed toward his car.

Two cruisers, lights flashing, stopped in front of the Beacon and the cops raced inside. They didn’t glance at Brad as he headed down Sixteenth Avenue toward his truck. As he passed a sedan, one of the undercover guys glanced in his direction. “You gonna be okay, buddy?”

Brad waved his hand and headed into the 7-Eleven. While he waited for the clerk to pour a coffee, Brad glanced at the security mirror above the cash register. Ouch. His nose was swollen, his lips split in at least three places. The flesh around his eyes was red, which he knew would be black and blue by morning. It had been a while since he’d had the shit kicked out of him. In a weird way, it felt good. He hurt, but he was invigorated. He hadn’t learned a lot—well, except that he still did stupid shit—but he was sure all the girls from the tattoo parlor were working at the Beacon.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

It was 8:45 when Zerr drove past Brad’s former house on Thirty-Fourth Avenue. A dark sedan was parked farther down the block. Zerr continued to the entrance to Bowness Park and spotted another sedan parked on a side street facing the park entrance. “So much for the meeting tonight.”

“The IA bastards have the park staked out,” Steele said.

Zerr kept driving and eyed his rearview mirror. The second sedan pulled in behind them.

Steele glanced over his shoulder. “You going to lose them?”

Zerr shrugged. “No point. Let them follow us and feel useful. I’ll head to the northeast to search for the hookers. We have to find them tonight. But the cold will keep most people inside. We need some of luck.”

Steele peered out his side window. “It’s going to take more than luck to save Coulter.”

Zerr nodded, glanced out the window and chewed a fingernail. “One thing at a time. This is the one we can work on. Every piece of evidence that’s disproved is one step closer to clearing his name. Sturgeon has to figure out the crime scene evidence. We locate the girls and find out why they said they saw Brad’s car.”

“You probably meant to say we double check their information and see if there are any inconsistencies in their statements.”

Zerr grinned. “Like I said, get them to say they didn’t see the car.” He steered onto Edmonton Trail and headed north. The sedan followed.

For the next two hours, they drove back and forth between Edmonton Trail and Sixth Street northeast from Sixteenth Avenue to Thirtieth Avenue. They traveled these roads so many times and talked to so many people that when they passed a second, or third, or fourth time, the people on the street just waved at them.

Dispatch asked for units to respond to the Beacon Hotel Bar for an unruly patron.

“What about the Beacon?” Zerr said.

“What about it?” Steele replied. “You want to break up a fight?”

Zerr grinned. “I wouldn’t object to that. I was thinking—”

“That’s a first.”

“—maybe the girls had a few jobs. You know, make movies, strip, and turn tricks.”

“That’s a splendid idea,” Steele said. “You think of that all on your own?”

“Screw you.”

Zerr drove to Centre Street and parked the truck behind two cruisers. They pushed past a biker at the door and entered the bar. The lights were on and some soft background music played. They split up, and each wandered around the bar. As they passed the tables, some patrons quieted. Others, feeling the false courage of booze, heckled. Steele just grinned and kept walking. But he made a mental note that one night they needed to come back with the entire team and settle a few scores.

When they reached the far wall, they backtracked and met at the door.

“Did you see anything?” Steele asked.

“I’m not sure what we’re searching for.”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

“Oh, okay. I didn’t