The OC

by D P Lyle

  “Very visual.”

  “I’m a freaking poet.”

  “A regular Walt Whitman.”

  “I always liked Coleridge.”

  “I don’t think he’s gone,” Ray said.

  “Sure he is. He died a couple of hundred years ago.”

  Ray laughed. “I mean Morgan. If they’re a team, which might or might not be true, they haven’t reached the endgame.”

  Pancake grunted.

  “I know. I don’t like to dwell on that either. But maybe tracking him will give us what we need to drop some charges on them before they do something stupid.”

  “Hopefully when we finally run him to ground, he’ll have that phone in his pocket,” Pancake said. “Sort of put a bow on this whole deal.”

  “Odds are it’s gone and he’s moved on to another one.”

  Which is what the stalker had done. In each of the three cases. Smart enough to use one phone a dozen times or so and then dump it. Never to be heard from again. Actually, pretty clever and made getting any kind of fix on him almost impossible.

  “It’d still be fun to pick him up and shake his pockets clean,” Pancake said.

  “It would.”

  “Probably not the smartest move.”

  “No,” Ray said.

  “But it would be a hoot.”

  “At least that.” Ray finished his Dew and crushed the can in his fist. “I meant to ask earlier after you spoke with Graham Gordy. Anything useful come up?”

  Pancake shook his head. “Of course, he couldn’t use the NSA computers and had to do it all from home on his own time, but he managed to determine that the guy wasn’t plugged into a VPN or anything like that.” He grunted. “I didn’t think he was. He also said he’d done a pretty deep dive into the dark web but didn’t find any evidence of this guy tickling those wires.”

  “Makes sense,” Ray said. “For this, all he needed was a basketful of burner phones and he could remain more or less invisible as long as needed.”

  “Low tech,” Pancake said. “But highly effective.”

  Pancake gripped the steering wheel. He hated waiting. Stakeouts were part of the job and he had done it way too many times, but he still didn’t like it. Felt like it was unproductive time.

  The minutes crept by.

  “What do you think their play will be?” Pancake asked.

  Ray shrugged. “Based on previous adventures, they’ll try to nab Megan and take her off somewhere. If Dana Roderick is any yardstick, it won’t be pretty.”

  “Maybe we should just shoot this guy in the head and be done with it.”

  “I thought you wanted to wring his neck?”

  “Either way’s fine with me. So, when and where? Best guess?”

  “Soon and I don’t know. With Megan either at work or with us, they don’t have many opportunities. Making the transit from point A to point B would be her most vulnerable time.”

  “Lots of traffic out there,” Pancake said. “Pretty much all the time. At least from what I’ve seen.”

  “Makes it risky. A citizen in the right place at the right time could mess it all up,” Ray said. “Or get killed themselves.”

  “Which means they’d be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It’s all perspective.”

  “True that.”

  Pancake completed his demolition of the defenseless Cheetos and wadded the bag.

  “Feel better?”

  “I do.” Pancake pointed up the street. “Showtime.”

  The silver Toyota rolled up the street in their direction. It turned and disappeared down the parking ramp. A couple of minutes later Greg Morgan came out, climbed the few steps to the first floor, and entered the apartment.

  As planned, Pancake did a drive-by, made a U-turn, and when he again reached the complex, he descended into the parking area. It was mostly empty, everybody at work or off doing errands or whatever. Pancake slid into the empty slot next to the Toyota.

  Pancake slipped his Bluetooth earpiece in one ear. Ray called him. He answered.

  “All good,” Pancake said.

  Ray slipped his phone into his shirt pocket, where it would pick up his conversation with Morgan, or whoever this was. He walked up the ramp and out of sight. Pancake reached into the back seat and grabbed a black canvas bag. Inside he found the device and set about prepping it.

  He heard Ray’s knock and then Greg Morgan’s voice.

  MORGAN: “What do you want?”

  RAY: “I have a petition I hope you’ll sign.”

  MORGAN: “Not interested.”

  RAY: “It would greatly help if you would.”

  Pancake stepped out of the car and inspected the area. All clear. He knelt next to the front wheel well of the Toyota.

  MORGAN: “Help who?”

  RAY: “You and the other tenants. You see, they want to tear down this complex and another one just up the street. To put in another shopping center. What we need is more housing, not more concrete and coffee shops.”

  With a rag, Pancake wiped the dust and grime off a portion of the frame.

  MORGAN: “I don’t live here. I’m just visiting. So I don’t really give a shit.”

  RAY: “Maybe the renter is here?”

  MORGAN: “She’s not. Have a nice day.”

  Pancake heard the door slam just as the magnetic GPS snapped against the metal frame. He checked his iPhone app. A blinking red dot stared back at him.

  Ray came down the ramp. “All good?”

  Pancake nodded and climbed in the car. “Let’s roll.”

  “It’s him,” Ray said. “No doubt now.”

  CHAPTER 46

  NICOLE LIKED RAY’S plan. It seemed simple and straightforward, and just might work. If she didn’t screw it up, that is. She would head over to the The Cannery and hook up with Abby while everyone else laid back and waited at her condo. So she could have some girl-girl time and see what she could pry out of Abby about her life. Hopefully, she’d say something useful or slip up on some fact or maybe even drop clues about her newly minted “roommate,” or whoever the dude was. Worth a try anyway. Phase two of the plan would await Pancake’s arrival.

  As Nicole walked almost literally across the street to the restaurant, she felt tension gather in her back. Not that she was afraid of Abby or anything like that. After all, she had a bunch of Krav Maga classes under her belt. Her goal was to trick Abby into revealing something she wanted to keep hidden. Something that would create a connection to Salt Lake City and Henderson, Nevada. Nicole simply had to do so without revealing the suspicion that now surrounded Abby. No pressure there.

  Megan had done her part today. She had played it cool and casual and had gotten Abby to join them for dinner. According to Megan, Abby hadn’t hesitated to accept the invitation and hadn’t conveyed an ounce of suspicion. Now it was up to Nicole. She slapped her game face on and called on all her acting classes to play the role of clueless friend. She climbed the stairs to the entrance door.

  When she entered the bar, she saw Abby. She sat on a barstool, looking at her phone, her purse on the bar top.

  “Hey there,” Nicole said.

  Abby twisted toward her. “Hey.” She looked beyond Nicole. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’re coming. Ray and Pancake are doing some last-minute stuff on some case they have back in Gulf Shores. Jake and Megan are primping. I decided to come on over so you wouldn’t think we had bailed.”

  “I just got here myself.”

  Nicole climbed up on the adjacent stool. “I’m buying. What are you drinking?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “I’m thinking maybe a margarita.”

  “Hmmm. That does sound good.”

  Nicole waved to the bartender. He came their way and Nicole ordered a pair of Cadillac margaritas.

  “So, Jake’s primping?” Abby smiled.

  “Yeah. He takes twice as long as me.”

  “He doesn’t need it.”


  “He is pretty, isn’t he?”

  Abby laughed. “He is.”

  Nicole shifted her braided hair so that it hung over her other shoulder, the one away from Abby. “Megan’s moving slow. This’s all wearing her out.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it progress day by day. Particularly since we got back from Malibu.”

  “Yeah. That was creepy. Guy taking pictures and delivering those dead flowers. Way up there. Then coming back to find her condo had been broken into.”

  “It’s more than creepy,” Abby said. “It’s scary and makes her feel vulnerable for sure.”

  The margaritas arrived. They toasted and took sips.

  “Your guy?” Nicole asked. “The dude that harassed you? How long did that go on?”

  “Several months. Around seven or eight.”

  “Did you ever consider pulling up stakes and running away?”

  Abby eyed her. “Megan asked me the same thing this morning.”

  Uh-oh. Had Megan slipped up? Dug where Ray had asked her not to? Was that suspicion she saw behind Abby’s eyes? She scrambled for something to say, finally landing on, “She did? You don’t think she’s thinking that way, do you?”

  “Do you?”

  “She’s never said anything like that to me,” Nicole said. “I think if she was leaning that way, she’d have talked to me about it.”

  “I agree,” Abby said. “She really admires you.”

  “As I do her.” Nicole took a sip. “So, did you? Ever consider running?”

  “Sure did. I couldn’t sleep. I looked over my shoulder all the time. Everywhere I went I felt like I was being watched.”

  “You called in the cops, right?”

  “For what it was worth. They couldn’t do much. Sort of like now with Megan. In my situation, they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything until the end when he became truly threatening.”

  “What exactly did he do that was so threatening?”

  “His texts became more personal, and crude. Telling me all the things he was going to do to me.” She shrugged. “Sexual things. But the final straw was when he confronted me in a mall parking lot. He grabbed my arm and tried to drag me into his car.”

  “My God,” Nicole said. “What did you do?”

  “I screamed and hit him with my purse. The police showed up in a couple of minutes and took him away. After that, they took my complaints seriously. But for the first six months, I was on my own.”

  “Stalkers have rights, I guess.”

  “It felt like he had more than I did.” She stirred her margarita with a finger and then licked it. “What about you? You had more than one episode. Were the cops very helpful?”

  “Actually, they were. But the Beverly Hills Police take that sort of thing seriously. It helped that my parents and Uncle Charles, of course, carry a bit of weight in that town.”

  “You lived in Beverly Hills?”

  Nicole shrugged. “That’s where I grew up. 90210 all the way.”

  “Sounds idyllic. Well, except for the stalkers.”

  “It was. I was lucky. I chose my parents well.”

  Abby laughed. Easy and relaxed. If she was acting, she had some chops. Nicole saw no hint of stress or concern or, more importantly, suspicion.

  “It sounds more glamorous than it was,” Nicole continued. “Sure, the neighborhood was cool. Lots of actors, producers, and other Hollywood folks were in and out of the house all the time. But I still had school and boyfriend issues like every girl. They just dressed better and drove better cars.”

  “Why did you move down to Alabama? Did the stalkers have anything to do with that?”

  “They did.”

  That was a lie, but Nicole sensed it’s what Abby wanted to hear. If she was involved in this, and had a partner who fired the salvos while Abby was near Megan and could feed off the terror that followed, she would probably get a similar thrill from hearing the fear and terror someone else had faced. Maybe the game was to drive Megan to give up her job and her life as Tiffany Cole had done. Or was her plan to kill her like Dana Roderick? Be cool, Nicole told herself.

  “Bet that was tough,” Abby said.

  “It was. But at least I got to live in Uncle Charles’ place back there. It’s impressive.”

  “Based on his Malibu home, I imagine it is.”

  “Also, I got this screenplay finished. So, all was not lost.”

  “To your movie’s success,” Abby said.

  They clinked glasses again.

  “What about you?” Nicole asked. “You grew up in Portland, right?”

  “I did.”

  “I’ve been there a couple times. Nice city. I really loved that area where all the cool restaurants and bars are.” Nicole snapped her fingers. “What’s that called?”

  “The Pearl District.”

  “That’s it. Fun area.”

  “I got into my share of trouble,” Abby said with a laugh.

  “What about your family? Any brothers or sisters?”

  A slight hesitation. “No. I’m an only child.”

  “Me too.” A sip of margarita. “Were you in Portland when you came here for this job?”

  “No.” A headshake. “I left there right after school and moved in with a distant cousin in Chicago. I stayed for nearly six months, but I couldn’t find a job there. Well, except for waiting tables or serving coffee, neither of which is my thing. Then I met a guy and moved with him to Tampa. That didn’t work. He was a dick.”

  “As guys are wont to be,” Nicole said.

  “True. That’s when I decided to actually use my journalism degree and maybe get into broadcast news. I did some research, found this gig, and moved.”

  “By yourself?”

  Another hesitation. “Yeah. It was scary as hell. All the way across the country to a place where I didn’t know anyone. I wasn’t sure I’d like the job or the people. There were lots of unknowns.”

  “Ballsy move.”

  Abby shrugged. “It was but I’m proud of myself for doing it. Then meeting Megan? That was the icing. She’s great and has really been a good friend and mentor.”

  “She’s good people.”

  “You’ve known her a while?”

  “Years.”

  “How’d you get in this P.I. business?” Abby asked.

  “Only peripherally. It’s really Ray and Pancake. But Jake and I hang around with them a lot.”

  “Have they come up with anything new? Or anything at all?”

  “Not really. This guy’s pretty clever. He doesn’t leave many footprints.”

  “Sure seems so.”

  “There’s two pretty ladies.”

  It was Pancake. As planned.

  “Either of you looking for a tall, handsome, witty, redhead?”

  Nicole and Abby laughed.

  “I just might be,” Abby said.

  “Well, you found him.”

  The bartender appeared and took Pancake’s drink order. Took only a minute to pour a dose of bourbon over ice. Pancake lifted his glass. “To friends.”

  Nicole and Abby returned the toast.

  Pancake slipped his phone from his pocket and passed it to the bartender. “Take a picture of us. I can’t have too many pictures with hot chicks on my Facebook page.”

  Abby’s back stiffened slightly. She glanced around. She looked like she might flee. But Pancake laid one hand on Nicole’s shoulder, the other on Abby’s. He leaned forward so his head was between theirs, and the bartender snapped a couple of photos.

  Phase two complete.

  Jake, Ray, and Megan showed up.

  CHAPTER 47

  “HOW’D IT GO?”

  “Not well.” She placed her purse on the coffee table and flopped on the other end of the sofa. “They’re suspicious.”

  “How?”

  That was the question she’d asked herself as she drove from the restaurant to the apartment. Where had the mistake been made? Or was she overreading everything? She had run back t
hrough all the bar conversations, and those over the dinner table. No, she had read it correctly. She had good instincts. She always had and she knew to listen to her gut. Right now it said it was time to shut this down and move on. Too bad since they were just getting to the fun part. She had plans to amp things up, create even more fear, make it thick enough to taste. Her favorite part. Well, except for the end. When the pain and terror was right in front of her and she had total control over every ounce of it. That was definitely worth the price of admission. The months of planning, the months of worming into Megan’s life, and now that the payoff neared, they might have to cut and run. Not before the finale but before she had rendered all she could from this project.

  Project. She liked that word. It seemed to fit.

  “Did we do something wrong?”

  “No. I think it’s those friends of hers.”

  Greg Morgan sighed. He eyed his sister, Stacy. “I looked into them. Longly Investigations out of Gulf Shores, Alabama.”

  “Yeah. Things changed, at least to me, when Ray Longly showed up. His son Jake and his big redheaded friend seemed okay. Not a real threat as far as I could tell. But the dad? He’s no fool. You can see it, sense it, in his mannerisms, body language, face, the whole thing. It was like he was always absorbing information. Even when he was making small talk. I don’t think much gets by him.”

  “They have a good reputation as far as I could tell. What did they ask you?”

  “It was mostly Nicole. She came early. Actually, on time I guess, but she said the others were delayed and would be along soon. Looking back, I think that was the plan. For her to be all friendly and see what she could get out of me.”

  “Okay, again, what did she ask?”

  “Where I was from. Where I went to school and where I worked and lived. Did I have any siblings? That sort of stuff.” She stood and walked to the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  She grabbed a pair of Bud Lights, returned to the sofa, handing one to her brother. She twisted off the cap and chugged nearly half of it.

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “The usual bullshit. I kept everything vague and gave her nothing that was real or would lead back our way.”