There goes the Weekend

  by David Rogers

  There goes the Weekend

  Copyright© 2013 by David Rogers

  davesworldpublishing@gmail.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased or lent for your use, then please return to your preferred ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of original fiction set in Georgia. Some real locations and businesses have been used to set scenes, but all such trademarks are the respective property of their owners. All depicted characters are fictional and not intended to represent specific living persons.

  Cover map data Copyright©2013 Google

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter One – Freaky Friday

  Chapter Two – Busted

  Chapter Three – You’re coming with me

  Foreword

  Zombies

  Chapter One – Freaky Friday

  “Beth, I don’t suppose our wayward aggravated batterer turned up last night?”

  The mousy looking blonde at the desk looked up and shook her head with a rueful smile. “Afraid not Darla.”

  Darla frowned. “Great. Oh well. Oh, and good morning.”

  “Morning.” Beth leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out as if she were stiff. Darla headed for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, then turned with a raised eyebrow.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since six.” Beth admitted.

  “You shouldn’t burn the candle so much.” the brunette observed as she blew on the coffee to cool it.

  “I really want this guy.”

  “Yeah, well so do I. And not just because we’re on the hook for twenty-five grand either. He’s a bastard.” Anyone who beat his wife, repeatedly, deserved to be disowned as far as Darla was concerned.

  Beth nodded. “I’ve been running through his file making notes.” She stretched one more time, then picked up a legal pad from her desk. Flipping back two pages, she detached them and held them out. Darla walked over and took them, but paused to take a long sip of coffee before looking at the papers. “He’s got family down in Macon, but I don’t know.”

  “I do.” Darla said, her eyes flicking down the paper. “He won’t be there.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Trust me.”

  Beth frowned. “Seriously, how? This is too big to just guess at it.”

  “I talked to his parents and his brother yesterday. They were all shocked – like really shocked – that he’d been arrested for anything like aggravated assault.”

  “Sure, they always say that.”

  “No, I think they really didn’t know.”

  “You’re kidding, right? How can they not know his wife’s been hospitalized three times? That he’s been arrested twice before?”

  Darla shrugged. “I guess he puts on a good face. Anyway, from the read I got on them over the phone, I doubt they’d welcome him down there. Especially with all this still hanging unresolved.”

  “It won’t be resolved until he’s doing time in lockup.” Beth observed darkly.

  “Well, he’s not missed it yet.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve only got until Tuesday to turn him up or we’re out the bail.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “You’ll find him you mean.”

  Darla shook her head. “No, us.”

  “I’m not leaving this office!” Beth’s voice fairly squeaked. “I’m administrative.”

  “I’ll do all the running and handcuffing, but we both know it’s going to be a team effort to track this loser down.”

  “Whatever, so long as I don’t have to do any tackling or punching.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to break a nail.”

  Beth shuddered. “I still don’t understand you.”

  Darla grinned. “You don’t have to. Just help me figure out where this guy is so we don’t have to forfeit twenty-two five to Fulton County.”

  “Like I said, I made some notes.”

  Darla looked back at the papers. When they wrote a bond, they took as much information as they could get; and if it wasn’t enough they wouldn’t write it. And Beth had dug up quite a bit more in the hours she’d been at the office. Work history going back to high school. Credit history for the same period. Both his car loans, the most recently not even two years old. Residential records. Banking records. Known acquaintances, family, co-workers.

  She could smell it. Somewhere in here was what they needed to find this guy and make sure he made his Tuesday morning court date.

  The bell above the door clanged, and Darla turned. A scruffy looking man met her gaze as he closed the door behind himself. “I need to talk to someone about bonding a friend of mine out.” he asked uncertainly, letting his eyes flick down and up her from head to toes and then back up.

  Darla didn’t mind, didn’t begrudge him the look at all. She was used to it. She dressed specifically to – slightly – emphasize her figure and sexuality. Fitted black slacks and a stylish black dress shirt that she wore loose around her waist made her look like someone’s idea of a upscale secretary that was slumming it a bit. In her experience, men who had mentally fitted her into the ‘hell yeah’ box were easier to take down when she revealed they had misfiled her. Her proper placement was under ‘hard ass’.

  “We can help you with that.” Darla said, stepping aside so the man could see Beth.

  “I’ll need to take some information down from you. What’s your friend under arrest for?”

  “DUI.”

  Darla kept her expression blank. Customers were customers, and cash flow was always good; but if it were up to her, anyone stupid enough to drink and drive would have to rot away in jail until their trial. And then rot some more after being convicted. That was her personal least-favorite offense.

  While Beth got the man settled in the chair in front of her desk and started filling out a file, Darla sat down at the other desk. It wasn’t as personalized as Beth’s, since Darla didn’t spend much time here. It was mostly just to make the office look more filled up for the benefit of potential clients. But occasionally it was useful as more than just window dressing.

  Now she scooted the chair in close enough to the keyboard so she could comfortably reach, then – once the computer woke up from its sleep cycle – started clicking the mouse and using her tried-and-true two fingered typing technique to look things up.

  Beth might be the faster typist, but Darla preferred the printer to taking notes by hand. Her handwriting was atrocious. Even she couldn’t read it half the time. She generated a list of day labor sites in the area and let the printer run it off, along with some maps in case her GPS got confused over any of the addresses. Then she did the same for all the active construction sites that were likely to hire any temps. Finally she pulled up the guy’s file photograph and ran off a dozen copies of it as well.

  Even with her slow typing, she was done before Beth had finished with the paperwork on the customer’s DUI friend. Darla grabbed the papers off the printer, stacked Beth’s handwritten sheets of notes atop them, and made a phone out of her forefinger and pinky as she strode for the office’s front door. Beth nodded slightly as she continued filling in forms, but kept her attention on the client. Darla left her to it and went out into the corridor.

  They shared the old office building with two other businesses; a paperwork office for a cleaning company, and a small independent insurance office. She didn’t meet anyone else in the hallway as she headed for the back door, the one that opened out to the small parking lot. Her Crown Vic was in the second spot labeled for “APG Bonds Employees”, right where she’d left it. She slid in and fired the big engine up and opened the glove compartment. The GPS took a minute to wake back up after she plugged it in and stuck it on the windshield again. But it eventually cooperated, and with its top down view of the surrounding roads to help guide her, she backed out of the space.

  * * * * *

  “Gracias, buena suerte.” Darla told the pair of Hispanic guys who’d still agreed to talk to her after she’d made it clear she was just there to ask questions, not to hire.

  “Usted también señora.” the more talkative one said as she pulled her vibrating phone out of her pocket.

  The display showed “Office”. She waited until she was ten feet from the group of men in the Home Depot parking lot waiting – hoping, really – for someone to come by and hire them for some task before she answered the call. “Wow, that guy must’ve been really drunk if it took you this long to get him out.”

  “No, we just got a little busy.”

  “That’s good.” Their fee was ten percent of any bonds they wrote, so odds on were the morning had generated a decent amount of profit. The DUI guy alone had probably made it a good morning; DUI bail tended to be set rather high these days.

  “Any luck?”

  Darla sighed as she neared her car. Rather than getting back in, she instead sat on the hood. “No. I’ve flashed his picture around most of the morning and made some stops at sites where he knows someone, but no joy.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Bethany, such language. You’re supposed to be cute and sweet.”

  “I can be cute and frustrated all at the same time.” Beth replied

.

  “I suppose it’s allowed, but keep on like that and I’ll have to start taking you out with me on busts.”

  “No thank you.”

  Darla could hear the shuddering in Beth’s voice and laughed. Her friend was an excellent partner, but she was a physical coward all the way through. Just the thought of violence made her queasy. Fortunately for their partnership, all she had to do was the paperwork. Darla handled the violence.

  “Is there anything I can do to help from here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not having trouble finding anything?”

  “No, I printed some maps for the places I’m not familiar with, and I’ve got the GPS . . .” Darla said, then trailed off.

  “What?”

  “GPS.” Darla said slowly.

  “What about it?”

  She hopped off the hood and opened the car door. Dropping down in the driver’s seat, she reached across to the sheaf of papers she’d dumped on the passenger side floorboard. “I don’t know . . . something about the GPS.”

  “It helps you find things.” Beth pointed out in a patient tone.

  “Right.” Darla said distractedly as she rifled through the papers and pulled out Beth’s notes. “And . . . I think it might just help us find our guy.”

  “How?”

  Darla grinned as she found the information. “Our guy drives a 2011 F-150.”

  “Right, so?”

  “He’s still making payments on it.”

  “I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “You never do the reading.” Darla said, still grinning.

  “Sure I do. I just read things about how to run the office and leave all the leg breaking stuff to you.”

  “He’s got a car he bought new from the dealer.” Darla said.

  “I – ooooooh.” Beth said, finally catching on. “What’s the number?”

  “Didn’t you keep any copies of the notes you gave me?”

  “Give me the number or I’m going to forget to renew your tags.” Beth said in a mischievous tone. “Try explaining to the cops that you’re a good girl when they’ve got you on the side of the road an expired license plate.”

  Darla laughed and read off the number for the Ford dealership.

  Chapter Two – Busted

  “Okay, I’m at the location.” Darla said into her phone.

  “See the truck?”

  Darla scanned around as she pulled into the parking lot. The bar’s front lot only had room for maybe ten cars, and none of them were the big blue F-150 the guy drove. She angled her Crown Vic around the side of the building so she could check the back lot.

  “Darla, see it?”

  “Hang on.” she said patiently as she got past the building and looked around the back lot. “Yeah, bingo.” The big penis extension of a truck was in a space near the back door. She slid her car into a spot near it and shut off the engine. She double-checked the plate number against the paperwork she had with her. “Yeah, that’s his ride.”

  “Okay, call me back when you’re done kicking his ass.”

  “Will do.” She folded the phone up and tucked it away in her left front pocket. She locked the car behind her, then opened the trunk and looked around to make sure no one was in view to see her before she reached inside. The taser went onto the right side of her belt, hidden by the shirt. Extra pair of handcuffs and a fistful of zip ties went into her back left and front right pockets respectively. The tracker anklet she tucked into her back right pocket. She considered the vest of body armor for a few moment, but decided it probably wasn’t necessary.

  Closing the trunk, she headed for the bar. She checked the Beretta she had holstered at the small of her back without lifting her shirt, but all was in order. Just in case. The back door opened into a dim hallway that needed cleaning. Walking past the bathrooms and the door that presumably led into the ‘kitchen’ before opening out into the main area, she saw nothing that dissuaded her from immediately labeling it as a dive. Grimy, lived in, comfortably smudged. Nothing was wrong with any of that; it just wasn’t her preferred atmosphere.

  There were a couple of televisions mounted up near the ceiling, all of them tuned to ESPN. There was also music playing, classic rock blasting just loudly enough to drown out conversations you weren’t a part of. The place had seats for maybe fifty people, but only a few were filled. It took her less than two seconds to spot the skip – sorry, possible skip – and she headed over to the barstool he was perched on without hesitation.

  “What’ll you have honey?” the bartender asked in a voice that wasn’t entirely bored as she reached the bar. His tone made it clear that he was bored and wanted to be somewhere else, but that he was currently enjoying the view.

  “Bud in a bottle.” she said as she sat down on the stool right next to her guy. There were ten other empty ones at the bar she could have picked. He turned to look at her, and she smiled sweetly. “Hi, remember me?”

  Tom Duffs stared at her for a few moments, then frowned. On his rough features it made him look like he was about to start a fight, but Darla judged he wasn’t ready to go that far. Yet, anyway. “You’re that bitch who works at the bond place. The one my wife used.”

  “That’s right.” Darla said. “And you’ve been naughty since we bailed you out.”

  “I ain’t done nothing.” Duffs grunted.

  “That’s right.” Darla repeated. “You ain’t done nothing. You missed your appointment with us Wednesday so we could verify you were still in the area. And you’ve ignored all our calls to your phone and house for the last forty-eight hours.”

  “So?”

  “So, we’re on the hook for your bail.” She nodded at the bartender as he set an opened bottle of Budweiser in front of her. “You’re due in court 9:30am Tuesday, and based on your actions so far lets just say we’re not entirely confident you’ll be there.”

  “How stupid do you think I am?” he asked dismissively as he lifted his own drink, which was in a glass beer mug.

  “You don’t want to know. What you do want is for me to put this on you so we can both go our separate ways until Tuesday morning at seven.” She pulled out the anklet out and put it on the bar next to her beer.

  “What’s that?”

  “GPS tracker.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Nope, you’re wearing it or you’re in violation of your bond contract and I’m hauling you back to County.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “The hell I can’t.” Darla said, her tone losing most of the sweetness and filling in a big dose of hard ass in its place. “We’ve got your signature on the contract, which makes it as legal as you like. You agree to any provisions or measures APG Bonds deems necessary or we revoke your bond. If that happens, you either go back into lockup or you’re immediately registered as a fugitive by the cops. Even if you show up on time Tuesday they’ll still haul you in for having violated your bail.”

  “I ain’t wearing no damn tracker.”

  “It’s not so bad.” Darla said with a smile, lifting her beer for a sip. “We have the good ones, so they’re comfortable.”

  “There ain’t no way I’m letting some stuck up bitches know where I am all the time.”

  “Don’t make this hard. And we can track your truck anyway, so this is just an extra bit of insurance.”

  “My truck?”

  “Sure.” She sipped from the beer again, then set the bottle down. “You’re not real good with paperwork I guess. It’s in your purchase agreement with the dealer. They have a tracker in your truck until you finish paying it off.”

  His mouth tightened into a thin line as he compressed his lips together. Darla waited. They were fast approaching the moment, where he’d decide whether or not he was going to cooperate or not. If he did, then she was out a morning’s annoyance and five bucks for the beer. Of course, the beer and the cost of tracking him down would get billed to the credit card his wife had used to secure his bond. And Darla’s time, at thirty an hour.

  “No.”

  “Tom, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Darla sighed, getting off the stool and standing next to him. Actually, just out of his reach. “Twenty seconds, then I’m out the door and you can go back to drowning your sorrows in Budweiser.”

 

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