The Animals After Midnight

by Jeff Johnson

  She wasn’t thinking about Hank.

  So I was.

  Delia made migas without asking. Scrambled eggs, chilies, tortilla strips. We ate at the table. I’d changed into dry jeans and a T-shirt. She was wearing my Ramones hoodie and my best black pants, the ones I reserved for court, rolled up and tied at the waist. She looked like a hobo from an old black-and-white movie.

  “You look vintage hobo in those pants,” I said around a mouthful of food.

  “Your pants, dumbass.” She chewed. “This Riley guy, they said he was able to hack bank security cams, traffic cams and the like?”

  “Yep.”

  “And he has a photo of you from Denver.”

  “Yep. And he was taking them the whole time he was setting us up. So yeah, he has quite a few now.”

  “Facial recognition.” Delia put her fork down. “Tie that in with any mention of Denver and there you go.”

  “How long has this site been running?”

  “Six, seven weeks. I’ve been loading photos, profiles on the new guys, that kind of shit. Content wise, I started with you. So about that long. It all adds up. This guy has been looking for you for a long, long time. Any way he could have guessed you’d wind up here in Portland?”

  “I never mentioned it. I almost went to Boulder.”

  “That must be why he sent the dead mineral dude first. To make sure it really was you. You say Santos came back?”

  “That’s what Gomez told me. Turned over a new leaf, based on my bullshit. I should warn him how bad an idea that is.”

  She didn’t say anything. I got up and went into the kitchen. It was closing on five a.m., so last call. I poured myself a glass of scotch and carried it back out. She eyed it but stayed quiet once again.

  “You think Dessel can figure out how he found me and trace him based on the website deal?” I drank a little. Delia finished eating and put her fork on her plate.

  “No. My guess is he’s here, in Portland. They can find out all kinds of things looking at the Lucky site, but the damage is done. Once he found you? Shit. He’ll never look at that site again. Too risky for one thing, but now he can look through your bedroom window.”

  It was my turn to be quiet.

  “He wants money, Darby. That’s all.”

  I looked up, confused. There was no way she could have misjudged the situation so badly. She’d lost a shade of pink in the last thirty seconds. Her eyes narrowed. The knuckles on her hands were white.

  “Delia,” I began, shaking my head, “I—”

  “Dessel might have already figured this out,” she continued softly, “but if he hasn’t, I’ll clue him in. You, ah, you wanna take a bath with me?”

  I was stunned. Delia winked, but she wasn’t smiling.

  “A bath?”

  “Yeah, dude. You, me, bathtub. C’mon. Bring the hooch.”

  Delia got up and walked into the kitchen without another word. I stared after her. A moment later, I heard the faucet running. The tub was filling. I got up. I finished my drink. Then I walked slowly after her.

  She was sitting on the toilet, fully dressed. When I came in, she motioned for me to close the bathroom door. When I did, she motioned me in. I knelt next to her and she whispered into my ear.

  “Darby, I think there’s a mic in your house somewhere. He wasn’t watching you through your bedroom window. He was filming. This Riley guy is making a video of you.”

  I drew back. We stared into each other’s eyes. Delia reached out and took my hands, and I realized they were shaking. We sat like that as the steam rose around us. Finally, she let go and turned the tap off. I watched as she reached into the hot water and splashed it around a little.

  “Quit staring at my ass,” she said loudly. “I got a pimple? What the fuck?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said. “I mean you do, but, lemme take a better look.”

  “This better not be going where I think it’s going.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” I went on, “but I think I can tell the difference between a McDonald’s ass blister and a Doritos brand butt volcano. Just, hold still! Something’s coming out!”

  She slapped my arm. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, whispered, “I’m gonna kill this fucker way better this time.”

  Delia whispered back to me, a hot gust of chili. “I can help.”

  Riley was listening. I knew it. I could feel it. I’d known it for weeks. I reached out and splashed the water around. It was amazing, but I could feel all of the bones in my hand. Delia watched me. Watching me think must have been fun for her, like watching a dog play fetch with a Rubik’s Cube. I tried to catch up.

  “Fuck those feds,” I said, conversationally.

  “No shit,” she said, relieved. “They dangle you out as bait every chance they get. They think they got shit on this guy, good for them. Go get him. Since they can’t even find their own car keys it doesn’t matter one fuck. We find the guy and we pay him. End of story.” She splashed the water around. “Mmm. That feels good. Shame it’s so small. I read about these implants they got in Thailand, supposed to be just the bomb diggity.”

  “Right. Maybe you can get some titties while we’re there. A caboose.”

  “I honestly don’t know what we see in each other, Holland.” She flicked some water in my face. I smiled.

  “No one else can stand us.”

  I played with the water a little more. The windows were still cloudy with steam when she pulled the plug, and as the water drained we went through the motions and chatter associated with getting dressed. When we were done, I realized how tired I was. I drank two pints of water at the kitchen sink and then went into the bedroom. Delia was lying in Suzanne’s place, her eyes closed. I took the blanket from the edge of the bed and gently draped it over her. I was about to go out to the couch and sleep there when I realized how it would play to our one-man audience, so I lay down next to her.

  Rain hit the window. Chops and Buttons came in from the couch and jumped up on the bed. Chops curled up on Delia’s pillow in the crook of her cheek and shoulder and Buttons stretched out on her stomach. I realized then that the cats hadn’t slept on the bed for a long time. Not since Suzanne left. I was just getting back to it myself.

  I lit a last cigarette and smoked. As I did, Delia’s breathing changed, from waking to sleep. She snored a little. I thought over the events of the last twenty-four hours. Riley, back from the dead. My hiding in Old Town, ending all this long while, since the day I took ownership of the shop, was done. The cat was out of the bag. With the help of a complete psychopath, I’d taken the last step toward being a real person, a citizen, and it didn’t feel good at all.

  In the morning we split up, fast. Delia went to the closest 7-Eleven and called Dessel, told him to meet me in an hour at the place where we swap fishing stories. It was raining, because it’s always raining when shit goes down. I took a succession of cabs to the bad café. I was an hour late, but I doubted anyone could have followed me.

  “You dicks,” I hissed, sitting down across from them. “You’re using me as bait again.”

  Pressman looked a little surprised, but it was hard to tell because he was so exhausted. Dessel was apologetic.

  “Delia, right?” He shook his head. “I knew she’d figure it out.”

  “Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to trust you guys?” I took Dessel’s coffee and gulped it down. He motioned at the waitress for more. Dessel put his hands on the table.

  “Darby,” Dessel began, “we went back and forth about it. About if we could rely on your acting chops. The jury is still out. Put yourself in my position, just one time. Yes, we think he’s making another one of his videos, and this time the star of the show is you. Now, all three of us want to catch this guy and put him away or put him down. Either or. Right?”

  I glared.

  “For the moment, you’re safe. He’s still filming. How do we know? At the end of every video, the star has lost everything. This is a project that
just entered the last phase of production. While he’s filming, we have a chance of catching him, but only if your performance rings true. The minute you go bad actor, the narrative changes. Get it? We couldn’t tell you.”

  “Plus we figured you’d kill this guy at some point,” Pressman said. He tapped his temple. “Do your whole psycho thing.”

  I sat back.

  “What happened last night?” Dessel asked. “You and Delia went back to your place. Then what?”

  “She started a website,” I said. I took out a piece of paper and slid it across the table. Dessel took it and put it in his coat without looking. “All the information is there. It’s live, but hardly any visitors yet. It’s like a store with no sign and paper on the windows.”

  “And?”

  “Delia figures there’s a mic in my place. Some kind of bug.”

  They looked at each other.

  “You feed this bug a false trail?” Pressman asked. “You did, didn’t you.”

  “Delia’s idea. We were talking about Riley before she put it all together. Story goes now that we think he wants money. Knows I have it, knows he wants it. I’ll try to pay him off and steer clear of you guys at the same time.”

  They were relieved. Dessel rubbed his face.

  “Where’s Lopez?”

  “Small problem there,” Dessel said from behind his hands. “She really hates me, for one thing. Finds Bob here disgusting.” He lowered his hands and gave me a red stare. “Wants you in the electric chair.”

  “Great.” The waitress refilled Dessel’s coffee and gave me one. We all nodded and smiled and she moved off.

  “What are you guys gonna do?”

  “She’s at a computer lab, tied up for the moment. Figuratively, I mean. But she filed a protest.”

  “Your problem,” I said. I sipped my terrible coffee.

  “Our problem, Holland,” Pressman said. “We’re in this together, remember?”

  “Right. So what now?”

  “The question of the hour.” Dessel poured sugar into his coffee. Dumped. Then he stirred. “Me and Bob are gonna go fuck with this hacker we know. Guy actually lives in his mother’s basement, if you can believe that. Totally cliché. Feed him this website data and set him loose. You?”

  “Dunno.” I had to go get money out of the U-Store-It, and that was going to be a super huge problem with so many people following me. There was a good chance that Riley wouldn’t be waiting this time. I was going to telegraph a different plan, and I’d already learned he wasn’t watching the rail lines. They watched me brood. “I, ah, I have some personal shit to take care of.”

  They looked at each other, then me.

  “Darby, I have to call my dad later and check to see if the new meds are making him dizzy. Bob here has a colonoscopy at three. My sister is in the middle of a divorce. Bob’s youngest daughter is in rehab. What personal shit are you talking about?”

  “Fucking Delia,” I growled. “She’s marrying a musician.”

  They laughed, like it was the first time they’d laughed in weeks. People turned at the other tables and smiled at the joy of it, the sincere delight. I smiled, too. Dessel finally wiped his eye.

  “Do tell,” he managed.

  “Hank Dildo.” I shook my head. “Thing is, she’s so smart! You know that. But-but—”

  “My daughter is the same way,” Pressman said, his smile turning a little. “So much talent. Started with pills, just like they always do. But there were a couple boys in the mix she could have done without.”

  “I sort of pictured Delia with another artist,” Dessel said, shaking his head. “But a real one, like a painter or something.”

  “Me too,” I said, “but noooo. Dude sniffs glue. I mean, that’s a real thing. He spray paints his hair. Why? Because he has lots of spray paint. He inhales it.”

  “That isn’t good.” Dessel sipped. “You want us to look the other way while you kick his ass? Say the word. We admire Delia.”

  “Nah. Thanks, though. No, I was thinking I should just bribe him. Money talks. I have a little cash. I give it to him and tell him to fuck off until she comes to her senses. He says no, then maybe you guys look the other way.”

  “Think he’ll go for it?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. He has this other chick. Maybe the two of them can run off together.”

  “I wish I’d thought of that,” Pressman said thoughtfully. “This one guy, I knew he was trouble. But every time I tried to talk my daughter into going one way, she went the other.”

  “Okay then,” Dessel said, trying to wrap it up. “Darby. What do you need from us?”

  “Not much for the moment. I’m going to lose my tail as soon as the sun goes down. From here I go to the shop, but after dark I’ll be off the radar for a few hours.” I still hadn’t told them that I thought I’d seen Riley at my storage space. I wasn’t completely sure I had, for one thing, not in the light of day. But I couldn’t risk Lopez finding out about the place. There was too much evidence inside. There was more. Riley must have been watching me on the traffic cams, and putting that together with the equipment in my house, he’d known where I was going. For whatever reason, his surveillance didn’t cover the outside of the Montage or the train tracks. I had to go back, and now I could.

  “Fine.” Dessel leaned to the side and took his wallet out, put a ten on the table. “Bob, let’s go torment our geek for an hour and get him rolling, then I’ll drop you off at the clinic.”

  We all rose.

  “When I’m done tonight I’ll head back to the Lucky and pick up my tail again there,” I said.

  “Should be me and Bob this evening. Bob will have recovered from his afternoon of getting scoped. Maybe Lopez or the basement wizard will have something for us by then.”

  “What are you guys gonna do about her?”

  “Walk with us,” Dessel said.

  The three of us went outside. All three of us lit cigarettes. Pressman coughed and turned up his collar at the wet wind. Dessel seemed to find it refreshing.

  “Darby, this brings us back to the performance part of things,” Dessel began.

  “Your performance,” Pressman added. “Sorry, man.”

  “See.” Dessel searched for the right words. “When we first came after you, shit. You were just another chump. A guy we needed to lock up. That’s what Lopez sees. She reads your file and she sees criminal. Black and white, no in-between.”

  “They all come out of the chute that way,” Pressman said. He made a pained expression and rubbed his stomach.

  “You talked to her the other night,” Dessel continued. “You went for a drive, she said.”

  “Yeah. That was maybe not good.”

  “It actually was.” Dessel smoked. “See, it was the second time I talked to you, maybe the third, I don’t know exactly how or exactly why, but I started to like you.”

  I laughed.

  “Seriously! You don’t know what this job is like, Holland. Me and Bob, we actually signed up to catch guys like you. But it turns out that your garden variety criminal is fucking awful. No sense of humor. They’re stupid. Tacky. They smell bad.”

  “He’s saying that we, ah, we like chasing you, Darby. You’re a cut above.”

  “Jesus,” I said wonderingly. “Thanks, guys.”

  “We told her that just this once we’re working with you.” Pressman said. “One-time deal.”

  “And that we trust you,” Dessel said. “This one time.”

  “And she isn’t buying it?”

  “Nope.” Dessel messed up his hair a little more. “A file is just a file. You read about a guy and you still never get to know the real man. You are a criminal, Darby. All three of us know that. But right now we need one. You’re our criminal.”

  “What you have to do is convince her,” Pressman said. “Convince her that you have standards. Morals and ethics. Get to know her a little and she’ll get to know you. We need her to know you like we do. She wants Riley in a body bag b
ut she won’t come out and say it. She doesn’t know us either. Not like that. You’re our way in.”

  The Lucky Supreme was in a late afternoon slump when I got there. Chase was sitting at his station tinkering with a machine. One of the new guys, Larry or Barry, was gloved up and scrubbing down his station. Chase smiled when I walked through the door. The new guy didn’t.

  “Boss,” Chase called by way of greeting. “How’s it hangin’?”

  “Darby,” the new guy mumbled.

  “Dudes,” I said. “What day is it?”

  “Weekday,” Chase replied. He returned to his machine.

  “It’s, ah, Thursday, man.” New guy’s confidence was falling already.

  “Groovy. Calls?”

  “A few. People asking about names. Gomez is looking for you.”

  I sat down in Delia’s station. Chase put his machine down and smiled at me. The new guy vanished into the back and then I could hear water running.

  “You aren’t working today, are you?” He asked like he knew the answer.

  “Nah. Killing time.”

  “Feds still following you? What happened to your face?”

  “Yeah. No biggie.”

  Chase looked at the back and then leaned in fast.

  “New guys are set to freak out,” he whispered. “Somehow they found out about Nigel.”

  “And?” I could already see where he was headed.

  “Dude,” Chase hissed. “He might be in jail because of you. Indirectly, but still. It was your personal feds who took him down.”

  “You think the new kids are up to shady shit? Afraid of what might turn up?”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “Of course they are! Jesus, man!”

  He sat back and so did I. The door to the employee lounge opened and closed.

  “What about you? Getting cold feet?”