Coyote by Rhonda Roberts Page A

you’llstay on your heart diet for the next year and I’ll give her to you for your birthday.’
    We both snorted at that — but for different reasons.
    â€˜So you want to buy one of my paintings?’ An apron-clad, middle-aged man wiped down the table and set out our cutlery and menus. He waited for an answer, but there was the hint of a twinkle in his eye.
    I shot a look up at the painting. It was just signed ‘Jake’. ‘Yeah.’ I pointed at Des. ‘It’s his birthday soon.’
    Then I noticed Des had that peculiar, overly alert look on his face. I hadn’t seen it for a while.
    And that Jake had a similarly intent expression.
    They’d recognised each other … or something like that.
    â€˜You’re the detectives that just moved in upstairs, aren’t you?’ asked Jake. He was medium height with a receding hairline.
    Des was still watching him.
    â€˜That’s right,’ I said, now embarrassed at making fun of his artwork. He had an open, honest face. ‘I’m Kannon Dupree.’ I stuck out my hand and we shook. ‘This my partner, Des Carmichael.’
    They shook too, but it was awkward, forced.
    â€˜Welcome to my humble abode. Most of the Zebulon eats here.’ He nodded at a table down the aisle from us. ‘Those four guys run the computer software company on the floor directly below you.’
    I perused them. All four looked bleary-eyed and rumpled — like they were wearing a cross between tracksuits and their pyjamas.
    Jake read my expression and chuckled. ‘Yeah, they sleep in their office. They mainline coffee and I make ’em eat a meal every now and again … But if you want anything, I don’t deliver. I’m open seven daysa week but not the same hours every day. Opening times are listed next to the cash register.’ He nodded up at the painting above us. ‘Gotta schedule in time for the ladies.’
    Des studied Jake’s face. ‘What did you do?’
    Jake, his expression suddenly frosty, studied Des in return. He decided to answer anyway. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
    It was like they were speaking in code.
    Jake left us to read the menu. It was pretty standard fare for a bar and grill.
    â€˜What’s up with you?’ I asked Des, after making my choice.
    He was watching Jake tend to another table. ‘He’s an ex-con.’
    I glanced up at the sultry multi-nippled woman above us. ‘Well, that explains a few things … But remember you’re not a cop any more, Des — so play nice.’
    Jake came back and took our orders. I went for coffee and a burger and fries, and managed to blackmail Des into having orange juice and a chicken salad.
    Jake gave Des another once-over then said, ‘I have nothing to be ashamed of in my past. I was charged with fraud. Financial fraud. Like I said, I didn’t do it. Everyone in the Zebulon knows about it.’ He shot a cynical look around at his patrons. ‘No, correction — everyone in San Francisco knows about me.’
    Des studied him, then decided to play nice. He stuck out his hand. ‘Let me do it right this time, Jake.’ They shook with feeling and Jake left to get our orders.
    â€˜You’re that sure he’s telling the truth?’ I said in mocking disbelief.
    â€˜Oh yeah. He wasn’t lying.’ Des resented my question.
    â€˜Really?’ I teased.
    â€˜Well, maybe he’s telling the truth …’ he said begrudgingly. ‘Of course, I’ll check out his story. If I’m wrong I’ll let you know.’
    We both snorted again. This time for the same reason.
    If Des was wrong I’d know about it all right. He’d come down here and interrogate Jake to within an inch of his life … until he was satisfied that the poor guy wasn’t any kind of real threat to Rewind Investigations.
    I looked up at the five-nippled subject above us. ‘If