Free Bad Bones (Claire Morgan) by Linda Ladd Page B

somewhere we can sit down and talk, Mr. Randazzo? Or do you need to turn off your skillet and get your coat on?”
    “Okay, okay, we can talk back in my office. Hey, Woodrow, come up here and finish cooking these steaks for the boys. I got business.”
    A little old guy came rushing up. He looked like he probably had cauliflower ears, too, under his knitted dark blue sock hat. He was wizened, to say the least. She didn’t use wizened much in official descriptions, but he fit that moniker big-time. He looked around ninety plus, grizzled as all get out, faded blue eyes, gold front tooth in an otherwise rather nice smile. He didn’t say anything but he nodded an acknowledgment of their presence and started checking on Randazzo’s meat.
    “Follow me, officers,” Dazz said.
    Well, at least he didn’t call himself Dazzle or Dazzler—that would’ve been a little much, even for a guy of his obnoxiousness level. His office was walled off from the bloody beat downs going on at the moment, which probably occurred every instant the establishment was open. Inside Dazz’s personal space, it looked like a showroom at Pottery Barn, especially when lined up against the hillbilly setup and sawdust on the floors outside his door.
    “Please take a chair. And that’s real leather, by the way.”
    They all sat down. Nobody said anything. Nobody was very impressed with the leather, either, real or otherwise. Nobody wanted to be there. Especially Claire.
    Loafers Aficionado Dazz said, “Can I get you a drink? Bourbon? Scotch? Beer?”
    “We’re on duty, sir.” Claire hated him. She really, really did. Even after five minutes, her you-loathsome-pig-you barometer was pushing its needle into the extreme disgust and annoyance range. She bet he beat his wife, too. “Is your wife well, Dazz?”
    “My wife? Yeah, I guess. I ain’t seen her in couple of weeks. Been out on the road with my fighters.”
    “What fighters?”
    “Not those guys outside. They’re just training for bare knuckles, tryin’ to get a start in the legit business. I decided to give ’em a chance, if and when Woody thinks they’re ready.”
    “So you do train your fighters?”
    “Oh, yeah. They need to know all sorts of moves. It’s mixed martial arts, you know. Not just street brawling. There’s a real art to it.”
    Could’ve fooled me , Claire thought, but she said again, “What fighters?”
    “Well, I got three or four that I usually travel with out here in these parts. A few other guys come along sometimes. I’ve got a big operation outta New Jersey. Top-notch. Lots of contenders.”
    “Right,” said Claire, going in for try number three. “What fighters?”
    “Paulie Parker, Frankie Velez, Malachi Fitch, Shorty Dunlop, to name a few of the best. I got a second tier, too.”
    “Where are these guys now?”
    “They’ve probably already landed in St. Louis. We got a gig there on Friday and Saturday. We were in KC last week, won all our bouts, too. I gave them time off to, well, you know.”
    “To what? Heal up? Get over their concussions? Buy themselves some boxing gloves?”
    Bud laughed.
    Dazz shook his head. “You don’t like our sport much, I take it?”
    “I don’t care to watch exploited young men beating each other up, no.”
    “I take offense to that, detective.”
    “You should. It was meant harshly.”
    He frowned. Claire frowned. Bud frowned, probably because she was frowning and he knew what that meant. She wasn’t in a good mood anymore. Her joy at the sunshine and bright day and Black being home was long gone. Gone to hell, in fact. Something told her that her loathing was starting to show. But the phony jerk sitting across from them made her feel woozy with disregard. Bud decided to take over, which was probably a good thing.
    “Okay, Randazzo. Let’s cut the crap. Do you know where Paulie Parker is right now?”
    “No, I sure don’t. But he’s a big boy. He don’t need no chaperone to baby him.” He looked directly