Chaser (Jinx Ballou Bounty Hunter Book 1) Page 5

  At the door, I hugged her. “Thanks, tía. I can always count on you for a reality check.”

  “Darlin’, my reality check bounced years ago.” She cradled my face in her long, delicate fingers. “Go out there and get you a new client. Show those pendejos you won’t be bullied.”

  “I will.”

  “And be safe out there in that crazy-ass world, you hear?”

  “Always.”

  8

  After Juanita’s, I dropped by my house for a change of clothes. Since I was trying to drum up business, something a little dressier than my Pearl Jam shirt and jeans was called for. I was no fashionista, so my selection of business attire was limited. I debated between the federal agent style of a dark suit and blouse or something more casual like a polo shirt and jeans. I compromised with a white button-down shirt and khakis.

  Juanita’s comments inspired me to put on some makeup, but I kept it minimal. A little eyeliner. Mascara. Neutral lipstick. I was proud to be a woman, but I tended to follow my mother’s philosophy of “less is more.” As for my hair, I went with a simple ponytail. I was applying to be a bounty hunter, not a receptionist.

  When I was satisfied with my look, I headed out into the blistering summer heat with a leather notebook filled with a thrown-together résumé and copies of body receipts I’d earned over the years.

  One by one, I worked my way down a list of bail bond agencies I’d contracted with in the past, starting in downtown Phoenix, then heading east to Scottsdale, Gilbert, Tempe, and Mesa. When that yielded nothing, I doubled back and tried bail bond shops in Avondale, Goodyear, Glendale, Peoria, and Surprise.

  None of my conversations were as confrontational as the one I’d had with Sara Jean and Big Bobby, but the bail bond agents’ averted eyes and clipped tones told me everything their words didn’t—I’d been blackballed.

  By midafternoon, I’d had enough. My voicemail showed three messages from Conor. I ignored them. I should have been slipping into my Wonder Woman outfit and celebrating sci-fi/fantasy culture with the costumed hordes at Phoenix Comicon. But even that held no appeal when I had no idea when I’d get my next paycheck.

  While I calculated my next move, my phone rang. Caller ID showed it was my father.

  “Hi, Dad, what’s up?”

  “Hey, cupcake. I’m calling to say how impressed your mom and I are with the article in Phoenix Living. When you told us you were interviewed, I didn’t realize you talked about being transgender. Kudos to you for being so bold.”

  “Yeah,” I grumbled. “Wasn’t exactly how I planned it.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I never told that reporter I was trans. He dug it up some other way.”

  “How do you feel about that?” My father, ever the psychologist.

  “Angry, hurt, maybe a little scared. The bail bond agency I worked for fired me when they found out. I’ve been banging on doors all day trying to find work.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best.”

  “The best? How is this for the best? How’m I supposed to pay my bills if I can’t find work?”

  “Being in the closet is no way to live, always afraid someone’s going to find out your deep, dark secret. Before you came out to us, you were so miserable. Living with a secret is like a cancer. It eats away at your self-esteem and peace of mind. You’re a beautiful, smart woman who happens to be transgender. I want my daughter to be proud of who she is.”

  I sighed. “I am proud, Dad. It’s just I work in a very macho, testosterone-driven business. Not everyone gets it, you know?”

  “Maybe you could go back to being a cop.”

  “I don’t want to be a cop. I like what I do.”

  “And that’s important, I know.” I heard him sigh. “Trust the process, sweetheart. One thing this transition taught you was that you can get through anything. It made you tough. Sometimes I wonder if it made you too tough.”

  “I’m okay, Dad. I’ll figure this out.”

  “I know you will. Oh, by the way, your mother wanted me to tell you she’s been shopping again for you.”

  “Dad, no! I told her to stop. She keeps buying me those god-awful polyester dresses that look like they’re from the 1950s.”

  “She’s trying to be supportive. Just humor her next time you see her.”

  “I’d hate to reinforce bad behavior. Isn’t that what you always say?”

  “You got me there, cupcake.” He laughed. “I’ll try to talk to her. You’ll be by for Sunday brunch?”

  “I will.”

  “See you then, sweetie. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  When I hung up, I decided a little bang-bang therapy might improve my mood. I drove north to Glendale and spent two hours punching holes in paper targets at the Westgate Shooting Range. There was something deeply satisfying about the explosive power of firing off a few boxes of ammo. Especially when the figures on the targets looked a lot like Big Bobby Mills.

  By the time I was done, my wrist was throbbing and my bank account was a hundred bucks leaner. But I no longer felt the need to go all Bruce Willis on anyone, so the world was that much safer for everybody.

  I hopped into the Gray Ghost and sent texts to Becca and Conor, saying I’d had a crappy day and asking them to meet me at Grumpy’s Bar and Grill. Both responded with confirmations they’d be there. Becca rapid-fire texted me, desperate to know what was wrong. I replied that I’d fill her in at Grumpy’s.

  With my dinner plans in place, I called Rodeo. He answered after a couple of rings.

  “Jinx. Uh, hey.”

  “I got paid for the Colton job. You can pick up your check tomorrow at the Hub.”

  “Just mail it. You got my address.”

  I sighed. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Don’t be coy with me, Rodeo. You heard Big Bobby fired me.”

  “He called me down to the office and told me. I’m sorry, Jinx. But you had to know there’d be consequences for coming out so publicly as . . . well, you know.”

  “Come on, Rodeo. You’re a big boy. You can say the word. I’m transgender. Big friggin’ deal. Is this going to be a problem between us?”

  “Of course not. Happy to have you as part of the LGBTQ family. Truth be told, I’m a little disappointed you told that reporter before you told me.”

  “I never told that reporter I was trans.” My grip tightened on the phone. I took a deep breath, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole again. “Anyway, I’ve been beating the bushes all day to drum up some new business for us. Should have something lined up soon.” I hoped.

  He didn’t respond right away. I wondered if the call had dropped. “Rodeo? You still there?”

  “Actually, I’m still working for Liberty.” His voice was pinched.

  “You what? How?”

  “Big Bobby hired Fiddler and me as full-time employees. He’s bringing everything in-house. I’ll get a regular salary, health insurance, paid time off, the works.”

  “But you work for me, Rodeo,” I said between clenched teeth. “I’ve been training you for six months.”

  “And I’m grateful. It’s just that. . .”

  “What?”

  “Big Bobby said if I continued to work for you, he’d blackball me as well. I’m sorry, I can’t risk it.”

  “How can you, as a gay man, turn a blind eye to what he’s doing to me? What happened to loyalty and community solidarity?” My eyes felt as if they were throbbing.

  “First off, I’m not gay, Jinx. I’m bi.”

  My face warmed at my misguided assumption. “Sorry. My bad.”

  “Second, loyalty doesn’t pay the bills. I need the money and the bennies. My daughter’s got severe nut allergies. Have you seen the price of EpiPens lately? So unless you’ve got big-paying jobs already lined up—”

  “I got some leads,” I lied. “And I’ve still got a few smaller outstanding jobs from Liberty.”

  “Ji
nx, they’ve been reassigned to Fiddler. He’s the one leading the Liberty in-house team.”

  “Fiddler’s leading the team? After he left us in the lurch on the Colton job?”

  “He had an emergency come up.”

  “Yeah, an emergency. He’s been having a lot of those lately. Working on his crew is the worst idea in the history of shitty ideas. You’re an idiot if you can’t see that.”

  “You think insulting me will get me to change my mind?”

  “Rodeo, you’re gonna get yourself killed working with him. What’ll your daughter do then?”

  “I survived Afghanistan. I can handle Fiddler. And FYI, he wants you to mail him his check too.”

  “Fiddler can kiss my ass. I’m not paying him squat after he disappeared yesterday.”

  “He’s not going to be happy, but I’ll let him know.”

  “You do that, Mr. Benedict Arnold.” I hung up. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was feeling seriously hangry. I needed food and friendly company.

  9

  I threaded my way south through rush hour traffic to Grumpy’s. The place was packed. I nabbed the last empty booth and ordered my usual—a Grumpy Burger all the way, Cajun fries, and a Four Peaks White Ale to wash it down.

  Grumpy, a pudgy Vietnam Vet with silver mutton chop sideburns, had opened the bar and grill after being discharged from the army in 1973. The place had become a local landmark, having won Phoenix Living’s “Best of Phoenix” award in the Bar and Grill category more than twenty times.

  As I waited for Becca and Conor, my mind drifted back to the article and my argument with Hensley. I tried to compile a list of people who might have outed me. The thought that any of my close friends or family might have blabbed to Hensley about my trans past decimated my appetite.

  I looked up and caught Grumpy looming over me as I nibbled unenthusiastically on a french fry.

  “Something wrong with my cookin’, kitten?” He chewed absently on an unlit cigar.

  “Don’t start with me, Grumpy. I’ve had a crap day.”

  “That so? Something ’bout that article in Phoenix Living, I reckon.”

  I buried my head in my hands. “Geez Louise, not you too.”

  “Ah, don’t go fretting, girl. I don’t care what you are or what you been. Long as your money’s green, you’re all right in my book.”

  I sighed and offered him a weak smile. “Thanks, Grumpy. At least somebody doesn’t think I’m trying to corrupt Western civilization. Big Bobby at Liberty Bail Bonds fired me over this. Can you believe it?”

  Grumpy huffed. “World’s full of assholes, kitten. Just gotta move on.” He raised an eyebrow. “You can still pay for that dinner, right?”

  “Yes!” I laughed sardonically. “I’m fired but not broke. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Good.” He wandered toward the kitchen. “You’re a smart girl. I’m shore you’ll figure it out.”

  “Sorry I’m late.” Becca slid into the other side of the booth. She fanned her flushed, sweaty face with a menu. “Traffic’s a bitch, it’s a hundred and eight outside, and my car’s AC chooses today to crap out.”

  “Guess I’m not the only one having a lousy day.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that in your text. What’s going on? You and Conor having trouble?”

  After she placed her order for a black-bean-and-corn salad, I filled her in on the day’s events, including my suspicions about Conor.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. You’d think Phoenix Living would know better than to out someone,” she said between bites of salad. “And why would Liberty care about you being trans? It’s ancient history.”

  “Beats me. And people wonder why I keep it private.” I buried my head in my hands.

  “You don’t really think Conor told, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Someone did.”

  “It wasn’t me. When that reporter guy called—”

  “Wait!” My heart skipped a beat, and I looked up at her. “Hensley called you?”

  “Yeah, said he was doing background research.”

  “How’d he get your number?”

  “I figured you gave it to him.”

  “Geez, who is this guy? Anderson Cooper? What’d you tell him?”

  “That we both work at the Hub, you doing your bounty hunter thing and me working as an IT security consultant. What else? I mentioned I sometimes do skip tracing for you. He asked how we met. I said we’d been best friends since junior high. But not a word about you being trans. I’d never betray your trust, I swear.” She held up her hand as if taking an oath.

  “I know you wouldn’t. But someone did, and it’s bugging the hell out of me. And the way Conor was acting last night . . .” Bile burned in my throat.

  Conor slid into the booth next to me, which suddenly felt very cramped.

  “Jesus, love, ya look wrecked.”

  He started to put his arm around me, but I pushed it away, unable to meet his gaze.

  “What’s going on, Jinxie? Is this about the bit in Phoenix Living?”

  “So you read it?” It came out harsher than I intended. I locked eyes with him.

  “I did. On balance, I thought it was a great story. Painted ya as the brilliant, badass bounty hunter you are.”

  “Yeah,” I said sardonically. “Except for the part where Hensley outed me and called me a tranny.”

  “Aye, except for that.” He grimaced and let his gaze slide away.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Tell him what? That you’re trans? Ya know I’d never.”

  “But you knew he’d out me, right? That’s why you were acting so weird last night.”

  Conor sighed. “Hensley called and asked what it’s like dating a trans girl. Don’t know how he knew, but I told him it was none of his bloody business.”

  I punched him in the chest. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I was hoping he wouldn’t print it. Ya want me to have a go at him?”

  “No, I already did. Tried to get him to tell who outed me, but he refused and had security escort me out of the building.”

  “I could try to hack into his computer remotely,” Becca suggested with a devilish grin. “Maybe I can find out some answers for you.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t bother. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. It’s out there. I just need to focus on getting some new clients now that Liberty fired me.”

  “They didn’t!” Conor gasped. “Bloody bastards.”

  “Not only that, they hired my team out from under me. Rodeo and Fiddler are now Liberty Bail Bonds employees.”

  “I’m so sorry, love.” He put his arms around me, and I let him this time. It felt good. “Ya still going to Comicon?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Tomorrow’s priority is to find someone willing to hire me, then assemble a new team. Right now the prospects aren’t looking promising. Everyone I talked to today gave me the cold shoulder.”

  Conor kissed my ear. Becca clasped my hand. If nothing else, it was always good to know who had my back.

  “Ya try Bennett Bail Bonds in Mesa?” Conor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “West Valley Bail Bonds by the sheriff’s substation in Surprise?”

  “Told me they didn’t have anything for me, but they’d ‘keep me in mind,’” I replied with air quotes.

  Conor nodded knowingly. “How about Second Chance down on Washington by the ball park?”

  I nodded. “Same results.”

  “Why don’t you go back to working on Conor’s team?” Becca asked. “You’re always complaining how y’all never see each other.”

  Conor grimaced but didn’t say anything.

  “Definitely not,” I answered after an uncomfortable pause. “Things got awkward after we started dating. Then when Deez got shot, everybody blamed me.”

  “Who’s Deez again?” Becca asked.

  “One of my guys.” Conor shook his head. “And it wasn’t your fault, Jinx.”

 
“And yet suddenly I was Yoko Ono.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “We were making entry into a fugitive’s house. He was a meth cook.” Flashes of that day assaulted my mind. The reek of acetone and ammonia from a meth lab set up in a shed in the backyard. An explosion of glass as we made entry through an Arcadia door. A frightened child in the clutter-filled living room. Our team shouting commands to get on the ground, followed by people screaming.

  “A guy in an upstairs bedroom got the jump on me and threw me to the ground. I should have been able to handle the situation, but I . . . I’d spent the night before at Conor’s and was . . . I hadn’t gotten enough sleep.” I could hear my voice shake. My face felt hot. “Deez tried to pull the guy off me and got a bullet in the neck for his troubles. He spent two weeks in ICU.”

  “But he’s right as rain now, love. All water under the bridge,” Conor said. “Maybe Becca’s right. Give it another go.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said with a weak smile. “Tommy Boy, Deez, and Byrd are all great guys. I just don’t think it would work, especially now that I’ve been outed. Best I stick to running my own show.”

  “Well, shite.” He doodled aimlessly with a french fry in the ketchup on his plate. “There’s one place I don’t think ya tried.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Assurity Bail Bonds.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Didn’t they go out of business a while ago?”

  “The owner, Aaron Levinson, became ill a couple years ago and closed shop. After he died a few months back, his daughter, Sadie, opened a new office at the Arizona Center. Word on the street is she’s got a defaulted bond worth a few hundred grand about to come due.”

  “Sweet.” I grinned. “Best news I’ve heard all day.”

  “Just one thing.” His mouth became a thin slit across his face. His gaze clouded with concern.

  “What’s that?”

  He fidgeted in his seat. “Don’t mention my name when ya talk to Sadie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just a misunderstanding from way back. Nothing important.”

  “Nothing important? Really?” I cocked my head. “So not important that I shouldn’t even bring up your name? What kind of bullshit answer is that? Come on, dude, spill!”