“I get that.” It’s what I could feel in his house. His spirit was still there for sure.
Lawrence takes a deep breath, then stretches his legs out in front of him. “Anyway, after hearing my story, this guy I’d never met offers me a place to live. He says he likes my story and that lots of superheroes have tough beginnings. He tells me that I’ll have to work for him, help out with watching the house for break-ins from my old crew, and help around the house, but that if I did that, I could stay until I had enough money for college. So I did.”
I put my arm around Lawrence and give him a squeeze. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t tell many people.”
“So do you think the queens you lived with are the ones we’re looking for? Do you think they could have killed Casey Senior?”
“No. But if that’s what really happened, I have an idea who it could be. And . . . if it is them, then Casey Senior’s death is on my hands.”
I shift on the bed as a car door slams outside. I throw myself backward on the mattress and yank up the shade on the window over L’s bed to see the street below. A quick glance assures me it’s not Matteo, so I turn back to L and motion for him to continue.
He nods and continues, “Casey Senior was horrified to find out that there was so much crime going on right under his nose. You know, I believe he really did think he was a real superhero. Anyway, I told him about how we’d been stealing items from the houses and giving them to various drug dealers in exchange for drugs—all types. Heroin, weed, cocaine. I didn’t even use the drugs, but I was the fetch-and-steal boy to support everyone else’s habits. So after hearing my stories, Casey Senior decided that he was going to make a formal complaint to the police department and that I could give them all my inside knowledge so that they could crack down on the problem and stop it cold. It was a great idea, until the police officer arrived and I recognized him as one of the drug dealers I’d stolen stuff for.”
“Yikes.” My pulse speeds up. I’ve been right to worry about crooked cops. Lawrence has already had brushes with them in the past. Maybe even someone who is recognizable today.
“Yeah. I managed to make enough hand gestures that Mr. Casey realized there was something up. I slipped out of the room, and he ended up just reporting that someone had attempted to break in through the downstairs window, and the officer left. Mr. Casey got kind of . . . excited then. He loved a good story, and a dirty cop, in his mind, was the best kind of story line. He asked me all sorts of questions and . . . well, we sort of started following the drug dealers around.”
I can see where this is going. “You followed them around, and he wrote about it.”
“I guess he did. At the time I thought it was a game, sort of like my job working security was also my job to rid the neighborhood of my previous friends.”
L tells me about some of their escapades, many of which ring eerily true to the comic. Following a dealer to a warehouse in LA. Watching boats unload cargo into the warehouse. How they followed dealers from different rings and how Casey Senior suspected that the rings were planning a showdown. Everything falls into place in my head like a huge game of Tetris.
“Lawrence, this is huge. You guys should not have been out there tailing these guys.”
“I know that now. At the time, though . . . it just seemed fun. Mr. Casey would come back from these trips so excited to work, and before I moved in, I guess he’d been really down in the dumps, feeling like he didn’t make enough of a difference in the world writing comics. I never paid attention to what he wrote. I just knew that spying on bad guys was fun.”
“You were Swoosh.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Hooded Falcon’s sidekick.”
“I guess so.”
I contemplate all that he’s just revealed. “But after he died . . . surely you could have said something then. Especially if you thought maybe he got killed for investigating these guys.”
“Mr. Casey had told me that he prepared evidence for the police. Now I think maybe he’d found proof of the cop’s involvement, something the cop couldn’t deny, though at the time I just thought it was general ‘we followed drug dealers’ stuff. He was going to seal it in an envelope and send it to three different detectives so that he could be sure it got addressed. When he died and that big bust happened, I just figured that he’d done what he promised. That his information had put all of those men in jail and that his spirit could rest well knowing he’d done what he’d set out to do.”
“That’s really romantic.”
“It’s stupid is what it is, if you’re saying that these guys are still in business. I don’t know how they avoided that bust, but it’s apparent they’d kill to keep their secret.”
“And you don’t know where the information went?”
“Like I said, I thought he sent it. Then he died, and Casey Junior resented me. Thought I’d brought trouble into his house—and he was right. So then I got fired, and here I am.” Lawrence stands and brushes his hands on his pants.
“Thank you for telling me, Lawrence.” I stand and follow him down the stairs into the shop. Still no sign of Matteo, which is good. But now I have so much more to weigh in my head.
He turns to give me a brief hug. “Don’t ever lie to me like that again, okay?”
“Deal. Thanks for the dye job. I’ll just grab my comic and head to the office to sign off for Andy.” But I pull Lawrence’s apron off my proof copy and stop dead, staring at the front page. This is definitely my copy. There’s the telltale splatter of coffee on the back cover from my breakfast that I ate in the car, so it’s not like someone snuck in and put a new cover on it. This is the cover that came out of the test-print run, but it’s not the cover I saw Andy send to the printer. I must have looked only at the back cover when I brought it in. Someone changed the test-print file after I’d seen Andy send it off. I flip forward to the second page—it’s exactly as I remember it, but the first page is a single panel, which we never do. Not only that, it’s not a finished drawing. It’s a sketch. A sketch I’ve seen before.
It’s the Hooded Falcon and Swoosh kneeling in the middle of a dark panel, one holding out the bow to the other. It’s the same panel I admired in Lawrence’s journal.
“This isn’t the end . . .” written in bold comic script and the words “I know” are sketched in the Hooded Falcon’s dialogue bubble. Underneath the panel are four typeset words I didn’t see earlier. I read them now, and the bottom falls out from beneath my feet. “And I’ll find you.” It’s signed with the drawing of an arrow.
I’m eyeing Lawrence, the sense of impending doom as thick as the scent of dye and shampoo in the air.
I hold up the comic and point to the panel signed by the Golden Arrow. “I guess we know who has your journal.”
Lawrence mutters a string of curses a mile wide.
I pull out my phone to call Andy right this very moment but catch sight of a familiar car parking on the other side of the street. Crap, crap, crap. And a familiar gorgeous, hazel-eyed cop driving it.
“L, is your front door locked?” Usually when he has only one client, he locks it to avoid the homeless visitors.
“Yeah, why?” Lawrence picks up my frantic vibe and cranes his neck to see out the windows.
“Matteo’s here.” I do a bad impression of an army crawl, hit the one light switch that’s still on, and get back to my feet. “We need somewhere to hide!” I grab Lawrence’s hand and pull him along toward the back hallway.
“From your boyfriend?”
I chance a look over my shoulder. We have maybe ten seconds before Matteo can look in the front door. We’ll never make the stairway.
“We need somewhere where he can’t see us!” I’m hysterical now. “I’m not supposed to be here, and I’m definitely not supposed to be telling you everything I know about the case.”
Lawrence grabs me around the waist, opens the door to our left, and all but throws me in. He whips the door almost closed
behind us, then stands along the wall so he can peer out through the crack.
“Did he see us?” I pant the words, collapsed on the floor against a rack of clothes or coats. I can’t tell in the dark.
Lawrence is silent for a long minute. “He looked in, knocked. Now he’s going around the back.” I can see only a sliver of his face. The room is pitch-dark otherwise. “Did you lock your bike up back there?”
“Yeah.” Inwardly I groan. “Maybe he won’t notice.”
“Maybe.” Lawrence sighs, shuts the door, and flicks on the light. “If they have a warrant, we can just say we didn’t hear them knocking. You were helping me sort my costumes or something.” He peeks back out. “But I don’t think he saw us.”
My mind goes directly to the warehouse. Last time we spoke, Matteo mentioned that they were dropping surveillance. But L needs to know what he’s getting into. “If we do this, things could get sketchy. It involves breaking and entering. And perhaps narcotic smuggling.”
“Average Monday night for me.”
I laugh. “I shouldn’t get you involved.”
“Honey, that’s what real family is. They’re the people you call when the bodies pile up.”
I hesitate again. I want him to be fully aware of the dangers. “There’s a dirty cop. Someone leaked case info already. I’m really worried that if you go in for questioning, someone bad may recognize you. I think you should take a work vacation. I’ll see how the investigation is going. See if I can figure out who’s leaking info.”
“You want me to evade police?”
“Not evade exactly. Well-timed trip to visit your drag mom?”
Lawrence thinks for a moment. “I can lay low. I’ve done it before.”
I sigh. “Okay. Let’s do this thing. We’ll call anything related to this ridiculousness . . . Operation Janeway, okay? Like a code word.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Lawrence has his usual gleam and sass back, seeming more excited than worried about this whole fiasco.
“That we’re both terrible decision makers and likely going to end up in jail for this, but at least we’ll have each other?”
“Better.” Lawrence flashes me a big smile. “It means that we need to go through my closet. We are going to be the fiercest, most fabulous crime-fighting duo this town has ever seen.”
CHAPTER 21
Worrying about work should be illegal while your best friend is in hiding, your pretend boyfriend keeps asking if you’ve heard from him, and you’re analyzing every fact you know about a thirty-year-old murder in your spare time. I’ve spent most of the last three days avoiding Matteo. I think he’s convinced it’s because of what he said after our kiss and the fact that he’s trying to track down Lawrence to question him. I know it’s because I’m lying to Matteo. Not that I know where Lawrence is exactly, but the fact that he’s missing . . . that’s all me. Instead of sketching, I’ve been researching obsessively about the drug culture surrounding Casey Senior’s time of death.
I made some really interesting discoveries. Namely that Detective Rideout’s father had been questioned in connection with one of the drug busts right before Casey was killed. He was cleared of all charges by the police chief, but it gave me a little tingle of foreboding.
There’s a story here.
The fact that Rideout’s father and the police chief were chums isn’t lost on me. The chief, Tony Munez, became the star of Los Angeles for pulling off the biggest drug bust in LA history. Several rings, several head honchos, all at once. There was a freaking parade in his honor. So when he vouched for Rideout’s father, the city dropped the charges. Rideout’s father retired, but the Rideout I know trained directly with Tony Munez until the older man retired as well. Talk about hero worship.
“Paging Dr. House.”
My head whips up, and I come face-to-face with Kyle. The red ball I’ve been throwing at the wall bounces away across the room. I forgot I was even throwing it.
“Sorry, was I bothering you?” I ask.
Simon’s sarcastic reply comes from behind me: “A slightly better noise to work to than jackhammering, but not much.”
Whoops. “I’m sorry, guys. I’ve got writer’s block.”
“We can tell.” Kyle’s annoyed expression melts, and he reaches forward to grasp my shoulder. “We’ve all been shaken up. This week has been crazy with that lunatic running around burning down buildings.”
It’s easier to agree, so I nod. “Yeah. That’s it. I think I need some fresh air. I just can’t get this villain right for the Hero Girls issue.”
“Well, if you’re stuck when you come back, let me take a look.”
Usually I’d respond with an “I got this, no problem,” but I am s-t-u-c-k stuck, and my brain can’t seem to come up with anything original. New MG thinks that just maybe having Kyle help won’t be so bad. My shoulders relax just a hair. “Okay. I’d like that. If I’m still stuck.”
I head out the office door and toward the elevator. I don’t know where I’m going exactly, but I have this constant need to move right now. Anything to alleviate the feeling of anticipation. Like the other shoe is about to drop and I’m not going to like it.
With a ding and a hiss, the doors slide open. I step inside, only to realize that Lelani already occupies the car. She’s cool and poised in a tweed skirt suit. If Casey Junior hired her for affirmative action, at least he hired someone who looks the part of an executive.
“Hello, MG.”
I offer a polite smile and turn to face the front. She may not be warm, but at least she doesn’t call me Michael. “Ms. Kalapuani.”
We wait for the doors to close, and I lean forward to press the “Close Door” button, even though it doesn’t hasten any movement.
The awkward silence stretches, though it appears I’m the only one who feels the awkward part of that. “So, uh, how are you liking Genius Comics?”
Lelani smiles. I note that her smile is made up of small even white teeth. The effect should be charming, but something about her smile reminds me of a shark. “I like it very much, thank you.”
I can’t help myself from prying. I really want to know why Casey Junior hired her. Was it just to have a skirt among the pants? “So did you work for a comic business before this? How does Genius compare?”
Her smile doesn’t falter. “No, I’ve never worked on this side of the industry. Before this, I acted in and helped market superhero adaptations for movies.”
“So you were an actress?” No surprise there; she’s gorgeous. But it’s an unusual résumé for a marketing executive.
The elevator begins to move. Thank God. “Among other things. I’ve been meaning to come find you and check in about your Hero Girls issue. I have some ideas.”
“Oh yeah?” And now she wants to meddle. Fantastic.
“Mr. Casey isn’t the most fond of it, but I’d like to become an advocate. We girls need to stick together, right?”
I study her face. She looks sincere. She sounds sincere too, but I can’t shake the feeling that Lelani’s Cheshire smile doesn’t reach her eyes. That she’s calculating. Maybe she’s sizing me up as much as I am her. Touché. “Right.”
The elevator seems to be taking forever to descend five stories. I don’t know that it’s ever felt this long. It’s on par with how I feel reading a Sentry issue.
Lelani breaks the silence first. “You’re a good writer, MG. The best on your team.”
I’m surprised at the straightforward compliment. Two points for no womanly, manipulative mind games. “Thanks.”
“But you tend to isolate yourself.”
Or not. Ouch. Has she been talking to Casey about our promotion? “Um . . .” is all I can manage. I’m not sure how to respond.
“Your characters, I mean.” She offers another smile that has me thinking she may have a hidden agenda. “I’d like to see Hero Girls play more with some other characters. Maybe get them into a few of the special team issues with our big hitters. Stuff
like that, maximize their exposure. It makes it harder to nix the project if it’s not all by itself out on a limb.”
Nix the project? I’m taken aback. Partly at what might be a veiled threat and partly at the genius of her idea. It’s so simply stated, so . . . spot-on, that I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before. And her comments about being a team player. Either she’s been reading my mind, or she’s incredibly insightful. Eerily so. Didn’t I just have this conversation with Ryan?
“And your villains. I think if we changed up what you’re doing just a little, we’d have more commercial success.”
And just like that, my hackles are back up. “My villains don’t need to be ‘changed up.’”
The elevator dings, the floor sways beneath my feet, and the doors open onto the polished marble floor of the lobby. I start to step out, planning on making a hasty excuse and exit, but Lelani’s cool hand on my arm stops me cold.
“I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean that. I only meant to say that your villains, your world, are so black and white. Good guys and bad guys.”
I huff, resisting the urge to shake off her arm. Who cares if I write Supes instead of Bat? Sure, the Falcon is a bit of a rogue, but he operates within the law . . . usually. He certainly has never set anything on fire like the Golden Arrow has. And while I love a good Han Solo in my love life, this is my writing we are talking about. “Well, of course there are good guys and bad guys. That’s what comics are all about.” She has to know that, being an actress and all.
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 21