Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery Part 7

They both whirled around. Listening to directions was obviously not their strength. Then again, I wasn't sure what was.

"What the..." Brittany said.

Stephanie's body went rigid, then she turned back around. "I don't know him," she said, anger etched on her face.

I studied her. "Really?"

"What?" She threw up her hands. "I may have seen him around, so what."

"Okay," I said, studying her.

She pretended not to notice. "I need to use the bathroom," she suddenly announced, dragging Brittany with her.

We made our way through the throng to the bathroom. Women shouted 'hey' and other more colorful greetings as I followed Stephanie and Brittany into the ladies' room.

"Dude, you are so in the wrong place," a woman dressed in an all-leather outfit said to me as she finished washing her hands.

"I'm her bodyguard." I pointed to Stephanie as she and Brittany vanished into side-by-side stalls.

The woman eyed me. "You need a better story," she said as she walked past and out the door.

I shrugged. Stephanie and Brittany's voices carried over the thudding base from outside.

"He's so obvious with those sideburns," Stephanie said.

"I am so telling him to back off," Brittany replied. "We can handle this."

Stephanie let out a string of curses. "What does he think he's doing?"

What does she think she's doing? I thought. Do they not think I can hear them? They really thought I was stupid. They knew Sideburns, but in what context? Did he have anything to do with Forrest McMahon? It was a question I was going to pose to Stephanie when she wasn't quite so drunk. I'd do it in the morning, when she was hung over and maybe not wily enough to lie to me. I chuckled to myself and a few women gave me funny looks.

Snorting sounds came from one of the stalls.

"Hey, better share," Stephanie said.

I bent down and saw their hands under the walls of the stall, then more snorting came from Stephanie's stall. I let out a heavy sigh. Was I a bodyguard or a babysitter for the c.o.ke Queens? I thought again about Forrest McMahon, and his knowledge of Chancellor Finance. I needed to know the connection, so I could get out of this mess.

"Are you two about done?" I asked. My patience was wearing thin and I was tired of women staring at me, wondering why I was in their domain.

Toilets flushed and they came out of the stalls, sniffling and rubbing at their noses.

"Are you happy now?" Stephanie huffed as they washed their hands, her irritation clearly showing.

I infuriated them even more as I poked my head into the hallway before letting them follow me. We went back to the main room, but I didn't see Sideburns, or the guy he'd been hanging with. I hoped they left, and I wondered if I could get my two charges to call it a night as well. Guarding Stephanie was difficult in this environment. But they hit the dance floor, high and energized, and we didn't leave until the club closed.

The two hung on each other as we left through the alley entrance off Broadway. They staggered a bit, definitely feeling no pain.

"You weren't too bad," Brittany said as we turned onto Broadway. "For an old guy."

"You shouldn't be driving," I said. "I'll call a cab."

"Don't be silly. I'm fine," she said, but she dropped her keys.

"Give me those," I said, but she was quicker.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed them off the ground and took a few steps back. "I'll be fine," she repeated as she stumbled off the curb. She almost went down, but righted herself, laughing the whole time.

"Didn't you hear her?" Stephanie asked as she pushed me back. "She's fine. Besides, you're my bodyguard."

"Hey," I yelled as I tried to push past Stephanie.

Everything after that happened too fast. Brittany began to jog across Broadway toward her car. I hollered after her to watch the traffic as the light at 11th changed. Then a dark car turned from 11th onto Broadway and barreled toward Brittany. It slammed into her and a sickening crack of metal on flesh and bone carried into the night. Her body flew up into the air and landed hard on the pavement. The car continued on down Broadway and disappeared around a corner.

People screamed. Stephanie shrieked hysterically. I ran into the street toward Brittany's p.r.o.ne body. As other rushed up, I knelt beside her. Blood pooled underneath her head. She gazed up at me and tried to speak. Then the sparkle in her eyes faded to black.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"I need a drink," Stephanie said as we got into her car.

I shook my head as I put the key in the ignition. "I think you've had enough tonight."

She sniffled, then inhaled loudly through clenched teeth and glowered at me. I couldn't blame her for being on edge. We'd just spent the last hour talking to the police. After the hit-and-run, someone called 911 and an ambulance soon arrived, along with the police. We watched as they put Brittany's lifeless body on a stretcher and then into the ambulance. Then we answered numerous questions about the accident.

It all happened so quickly that I didn't have much to tell them: the car was a black or dark blue Honda, or maybe a Toyota, but I couldn't be sure; I didn't get a look at the driver and I had no idea if there was more than one person in the car and I didn't get a license plate number. In short, I wasn't helpful at all. As I talked to them, my eyes kept going to Stephanie and her outfit. It looked so much like Brittany's. And then my stomach knotted up. Was this really an accident?

Stephanie was no help, either. The cops may not have known she was c.o.ked up, but there was no way they could miss the booze on her breath. She was a blabbering mess and couldn't even corroborate the color of the car. She kept repeating, "I'm next," and "When will this end?" interspersed with sobbing. I kept getting confused looks from the cops, who wondered about her confusion. I tried to comfort her while they interviewed other witnesses. Then they circled around and questioned us again, probably to see if we'd remembered anything more. Finally, we were allowed to leave.

"I need a drink," Stephanie repeated as she put on her seatbelt. "Coffee," she snapped hurriedly before I could rebuff her again.

"Okay," I said.

"I want a caramel macchiato from Starbucks."

I glanced at the dashboard clock. "It's three o'clock in the morning. I know Starbucks is open early, but I doubt this early. How about I take you home so you can get some sleep?"

She choked back a sob. "I don't want to sleep. Isn't there somewhere we can go and sit for a while?"

I thought for a second, then started the car. "I know an all-night joint."

She leaned her head back on the seatback. "Fine."

"Are you going to be sick?" I asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe she's gone," she mumbled.

I contemplated her for a second, then pulled out of the parking lot onto Broadway, and ten minutes later I turned into a Denny's parking lot. Her eyes popped open and she gaped.

"Are you kidding me?" she said.

"It's open all night and you'll be able to get a cup of coffee."

She groused as she got out of the car and took a few unsteady steps. I put a hand on her elbow and guided her inside where a waitress with tired eyes showed us to a booth near the back. I waved off the menus she tried to hand us. "Just coffee," I said.

She strolled off, looking disappointed. Probably wanted a bigger bill so she could get a bigger tip.

Stephanie looked around distastefully. A few tables were filled with others her age, their outfits indicating they'd been clubbing as well. Two men sat separately at a long counter. Both were in clothes that had seen better days, and both needed a shave. "What a dive. And, gawd, look at these people." She wrinkled her nose. "And the smell."

"Food?"

"I am not in the mood right now."

I held up my hands. "Sorry."

The waitress returned with a coffee pot and two cups. She poured each cup, eyeing Stephanie's disheveled face as she did. She gave me an odd look, then left.

Stephanie's hand shook as she picked up her cup. "Not bad," she said after she took a sip. Then she set it down and stared out the window.

I pushed my cup away, not really caring about it. We sat in silence for a few minutes.

"How are you doing?" I finally asked.

She turned to me and for the first time I saw something more than a spoiled rich girl. She was suddenly human, defenseless, and vulnerable.

"She was my best friend." Tears filled her eyes and she swiped them away.

I nodded. "I know."

"I've known her since middle school. We went to high school together, then college."

"Smith."

The tiniest smile crossed her face, then vanished. "Yeah. My father told you that."

"Yes."

"What else did he tell you about me?"

"Not much. Just where you went to college, and that you haven't really been interested in working since you got out of school."

She acknowledged that with a shrug. "I don't know what to do. I don't really care about anything."

I knew the feeling. I burned through a number of jobs before becoming a detective.

"What did Brittany do?"

"Not much. She's got a trust fund, too." She forced a little laugh. "I don't think my father liked her, like she was a bad influence or something. Like he knows anything."

"You don't like your father, do you?"

"Neither do you." She raised her eyebrows. "What does he have on you?"

"What makes you " I began but she interrupted.

"Don't." She held up a hand. "I may be a b.i.t.c.h, but I'm not stupid. I could tell the moment I walked into his library that you didn't want to work for him, so the only way you'd agree is if he was holding something over you. Besides, that's how he does things. That's how they all do it. They use people."

"Who's 'they'?"

"My father and all his cronies."

"So he uses people and thus creates enemies."

"Something like that."

"There's something I've been wondering," I said. "About tonight."

"What?"

I hesitated, wondering if it was too soon to say what I'd been thinking. "Don't you think it's possible that what happened wasn't an accident? Was that car meant for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if," I paused. "This isn't easy to say, but what if someone, an enemy of your father's, was trying to kill you, and he mistook Brittany for you? It makes sense. Your father is worried that someone will try to get to him by hurting you. That's why he hired me, to protect you."

"You're doing a lousy job."

I nodded. "Maybe so, but "

"No," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly swiped at them.

"You two were wearing almost identical outfits. In the dark, you look almost the same. The driver could've mistaken Brittany for you, right?"

"No," she snapped. "That's not possible."

"Then why did you keep saying that you're next? What did you mean?"

A shadow of fear crossed her face. "I never said that."

I stared at her. She was pretty toasted, so was it just drunken talk? "Regardless, I know you're scared," I said. "But we'll get you through this."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay." I sat back and shut my mouth.