Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

black-bag technique. I get hot when you go all starchy on me.”
    She started to ask if he would really have burgled his way in. Then she decided she didn’t want to know.
    “Starch does it for you, huh?” she asked instead.
    “Every time.”
    With a roll of her eyes she got out and started prowling for likely hiding places for a key. It took her about twenty seconds to find the key beneath a broken chunk of concrete on what passed for the walkway from parking lot to the entrance of number seven.
    Shane took the key. “I’ll go in first.”
    “Why? Do you think she’s—”
    He bent and cut off Risa’s words with a quick, hard kiss. “I think I’m bigger than you, that’s all. Wait until I give the all clear, okay?”
    “No.” She rubbed her arms against the biting night air. “But I’ll do it. This time.”
    The key was gritty with dirt and worked just fine.
    Shane stepped into the dark room and drew a cautious breath. Stale smoke. Something bitter. Dust. Unwashed clothes.
    Old smells, not new. Not ripe.
    Not death.
    “Shane?” Risa asked softly.
    “So far, so good. Shut the door behind you.”
    The first thing they saw was an old wooden box. Shane sat on his heels near it and started memorizing addresses.

Chapter 47
    Las Vegas
    November 4
    Evening
    C herelle pumped another quarter into the slot machine and hit the button. Reels spun, colors flashed, and her quarter disappeared forever.
    “Shit.”
    “Not your lucky night?”
    The man who had asked the question was sitting two slot machines down and would never see the young side of sixty again. While smoke drifted from the cigarette stuck in the corner of his grin, he gave her an allover look that said he could guess her price within a dollar. The whiskey in his voice was like sandpaper on cement.
    If you only knew, asshole, just how much the stuff I have is worth, she thought savagely.
    But all that gold wouldn’t buy her a place to stay tonight, unless it was a jail cell. She could sleep in her car or she could take the senior citizen up on the business proposition that would likely be the next thing out of his mouth.
    Not yet, damn it. Not until I’m dead fucking broke.
    She stuck another quarter in, then another. The machine climaxed and gushed a nice pile of quarters. It wasn’t a big ol’ bell-ringer, but it was enough for a safe place to sleep and maybe even a few beers. She scooped the quarters into the plastic coin tub and headed for the cashier without looking back to see if the sandpaper man was disappointed or relieved.
    Ten minutes later she had checked in to one of the cheap motels that lined the highway from the interstate to the razzle-dazzle of downtown Vegas. She dragged Risa’s luggage into the room, locked the door, and turned on the TV. The only channel that came in was the all-news station. With a disgusted sound she threw the remote control on the bed and started to unzip her suitcase. She left the TV sound on, because she was tired of being alone. The talking lamp wasn’t much for two-way conversation, but it was smarter than most people she met.
    “It’s the second murder of a small-business person in as many days,” said the earnest female newsreader. “Police have asked anyone who was in the area and saw something suspicious to call the number at the bottom of your screen.”
    “Oh, yeah, that’ll help,” Cherelle said. “Some old granny that can’t find her own skinny ass with a magnifying glass is gonna look out the window and come up with a murderer. Jesus, there really is one born every minute.”
    From the corner of her eye she watched the TV. A part of Vegas rolled by on the screen that looked familiar. Frowning, she turned and stared at the TV.
    “Hey, that’s close to Tim’s house.”
    The news station ran the clip of its reporter interviewing a detective while a gurney rattled by in the background with a body bag strapped down tight. The same clip had run every half hour since yesterday.
    Cherelle bit the inside of her mouth. She had a bad feeling that she was watching what was left of Socks’s fence. She turned up the sound. Socks wasn’t mentioned, but the second bloody spot on the floor was.
    “Oh, man. Oh, shit. Is that what happened to Tim?”
    She listened. All she heard was what the cops didn’t know.
    The solemn newsreader picked up as soon as the tape ran out. “Since then the police have found a bloody trail down the alley and across the street. Then the trail vanished. No