by Robert Crais
Tyson had phoned Amber three times and Alec four times on the night Alec died, the longest call being his first, to Amber, which had lasted almost twenty minutes. Alec had phoned Tyson once. Most of their calls lasted between five and eight minutes, with significant gaps between calls. These gaps were probably when Alec and Amber were speaking. I wondered if Alec knew the men who were chasing him, and why he was being chased. I wondered where the chase began, and why it ended as it had, his car flipping over a guardrail, alone in the middle of nowhere. Alec could have delivered himself to police stations, Sheriff’s substations, fire stations, LAX with its army of airport police, or a thousand other brightly lit, crowded places. He could have phoned the police instead of Amber, and told them someone was chasing him and that he feared for his life. He didn’t. Alec was a wannabe actor with a gun in a bag he showed to girls to impress them. Alec was young, childish, and stupid. Like Tyson and Amber.
The beer and I went outside, and considered the canyon. The night was clear. Homes on the far ridge and along the slopes glittered with golden lights. Families ate dinner and watched television and read books. I wondered what Ben was doing. And Lucy.
I went inside to check on Devon. Her door was still closed, with light beneath, but now I heard crying.
I got my phone and Tyson’s number, and took them out onto the deck. I didn’t want Devon to hear.
I dialed, and the inevitable beep was my permission.
“My name is Elvis Cole. I’m helping your mother, which means I’m helping you. She’s worried. Let her know you’re okay. Do it, boy. If you don’t, I’ll kick your ass when I find you.”
I hung up, thought for a moment, then texted the same message.
Father of the Year.
I had more to say, but those things I would tell him in person.
If I found Tyson Connor before the men in the shiny black car.
If I could keep him alive.
23
TYSON CONNOR
TYSON FLOPPED BACKWARD on the living room floor, spread his arms and legs, and made snow angels in the deep blue shag rug. Amber was amazing. Jazzi’s apartment with the incredible shag rug and hot tub on the roof was amazing. Jazzi was Amber’s sister. She was a flight attendant on private jets, and flew all over the world with rock stars and celebrity DJs and basketball players. Amber and Jazzi hated their mother, so Amber lived with Jazzi. Jazzi was gone a lot.
Amber was taking a shower, so Tyson went into the kitchen, and scrounged a PowerBar, a bag of pickle and sea salt flavored potato chips, and a Diet Coke. Amber and Jazzi didn’t keep much food. Tyson was always starving, and couldn’t get over how little Amber ate.
Tyson carried the snacks into the living room, and watched red and white streamers on the Ventura Freeway. Tyson had seen freeway traffic at night a million times, but seeing the red and white ribbons from Jazzi’s window in her awesome apartment changed them into a scene from a movie, super clear, hyper real, and perfect the way life should be perfect. The view was even better from the roof.
Jazzi’s apartment was on the second floor of a two-story, six-unit building in Woodland Hills. The building was right out of a design magazine, with hip black tile and gleaming steel and rough earth-colored stone. Nothing like Tyson’s house. Amber had taken him to the roof one night to see the hot tub. They hadn’t been in it yet, but she promised they would. The night he saw it with Amber, the hot tub glowed like a magical pool, filled with shimmering green light. Tyson had wanted to slide into the water, and stay in the glow forever.
Tyson was angry at his mother for messing it up. Alec and Amber had freaked when he told them his mother knew about the burglaries and wanted him to turn himself in. Now Alec was missing, and probably wouldn’t speak to him again. Amber thought they didn’t have anything to worry about, but Tyson wasn’t so sure. He managed to sneak eleven thousand dollars from his room the night he left home, and he’d kept all his new clothes at Amber’s since his mother made such a stink about the Barneys jacket. If he decided to run, he had money and clothes, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to run.
The running water stopped, and the hair dryer came on, high-pitched and loud, even behind the door.
Tyson wondered if his mother had called the police. He hadn’t checked his old phone since they got the burners. His old phone was on his mom’s account, so Amber was scared the phone company could figure out their location if his phone was on. Tyson was pretty sure this wasn’t possible, but Amber didn’t believe him.
The hair dryer was blasting. Amber jumped in and out of a shower, but took forever with her hair.
Tyson hopped off the couch, and hurried to Jazzi’s bedroom. Jazzi’s apartment had two bedrooms. The larger bedroom belonged to Jazzi, and Amber used the smaller. Amber’s stuff was in her usual room, so Tyson was bunking in Jazzi’s room.
He knelt on the floor beside the bed, took his old phone from his backpack, and pressed the power button. His mother had sent a million texts, and they began loading the instant his phone went live. Zzt, zzt, zzt. All these texts, one after another, ordering him to come home, demanding he respond, pleading. She was livid, but he knew she was worried about him. Tyson felt pretty bad, and kinda guilty, and then he came to a text much longer than the others.
It stopped him.
MOM: I left this same message on your voice mail. Your friend Alec is dead. You must know, don’t you? He was murdered, and the men who murdered him are looking for you and Amber. You are in terrible danger, baby. You took something these men want. A laptop, I think. They killed Alec, and other people. They are trying to find you and that girl. They will hurt you. Baby, do NOT go home. They searched the house, and might be watching. Please call. I hired a man. He’s helping us. These people killed Alec. Please, baby. I don’t know if you are alive or dead. I don’t know if they found you. Please don’t be dead. I love you. I want to take care of you.
Tyson was reading the text when Amber giggled.
“Dude. She’s really good.”
Tyson startled, and felt like a dork. Amber was right behind him, and had read the text over his shoulder. Her crooked grin was kind, and made her beautiful face even more amazing.
Tyson said, “You think it’s true?”
Amber rolled her eyes, and pushed to her feet.
“It’s a story. She wants you to call.”
“I’m worried about Alec. How come he hasn’t called?”
“Alec is probably under his bed. He totally freaked when you dropped the mom bomb. I told him she was only being dramatic, but Alec, I know Alec, I’m sure he saw policemen everywhere. He’s a drama queen.”
She swayed to the mirror, and checked herself out. Tyson felt mesmerized. She was the most beautiful, funny, sexiest woman he had ever seen, and she was wonderful.
She spread her hands, and posed. She wore tight black pants, and a shimmery silver top.
“Look okay?”
Tyson said, “Hot.”
Her smile was blinding.
“Thank you, sir. You’re sweet.”
Amber changed the fall of hair across an eye, and considered herself again. She pancaked a hand in a kind of ‘en’ move, then came back and knelt in front of him. She gazed into his eyes, and her face was thoughtful.
“I hope your mom doesn’t tell, but if she does, we’ll figure it out.”
“I know.”
“I’m worried about Alec, too. He gets involved with sketchy people, and doesn’t think. Alec isn’t a thinker. I hated that gun.”
Alec had started carrying a gun, and talked about buying a Porsche, and showed up at clubs wearing these hundred-thousand-dollar watches they stole. This was how people got caught and ended up in jail, so Amber made Alec give her the gun, and straightened him out. Amber wasn’t just pretty and nice. Amber was smart.
Tyson said, “Alec’s really nice, but I didn’t get the gun.
I’m glad you took it away from him.”
Amber was quiet for a moment, and seemed thoughtful.
“That car. The one he said was following him. I know he’s all about the drama, but that was so weird, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he was followed? For real?”
“I don’t think he made it up. He sounded scared.”
“Maybe he cut off some dude, and the guy got mad. You know how Alec is.”
Amber smelled of cherries, soap, and clean mountain air. Her bottomless eyes were concerned, and searched his for answers.
She touched his cheek.
“I hope he’s okay.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Her beautiful eyes saw him, and Tyson fell into her eyes. Amber talked to him, and had since the day they met. She spoke, and heard his answers. She asked his opinion and laughed at his jokes, and when his jokes weren’t funny she never made fun of him. They talked for hours, about everything, and she never made him feel stupid, or ashamed, or treated him like a weird little geek. Here was this amazing, beautiful woman, and she didn’t see the Tyson other kids saw. She treated him like he mattered. She opened her world to him, and her world was magical. Amber was magic.
She suddenly sat back, and grinned.
“I don’t want to sit here all night. Let’s go out.”
Tyson felt a queasy stab of anxiety.
“I dunno. What if the cops are looking for us?”
She stood, and grabbed his arm to pull him up.
“I look too good to stay home. Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”
Tyson said, “Ha ha.”
“Get dressed. Maybe someone at the club heard from Alec.”
She went to the door.
“Wear the blue jacket. You’ll look really hot. And you’re hungry. You’re always hungry. We’ll eat.”
Tyson smiled as she left the room. Amber made him feel like the person he had always been on the inside, and no one had seen, until now.
She called from the living room.
“Hurry up. We’ll take my car. It’s nicer.”
Tyson was changing when his old phone buzzed. He had forgotten to turn it off, and another message had loaded.
He scooped up the phone, hoping Alec had texted, but the message came from an unknown number. He opened the window and stared.
My name is Elvis Cole. I’m helping your mother, which means I’m helping you. She’s worried. Let her know you’re okay. Do it, boy. If you don’t, I’ll kick your ass when I find you.
Tyson glanced to see if Amber was coming, and quickly deleted the message. His mother had mentioned a guy who found out the watch was stolen, and this was probably him. Tyson was furious. She was making up stories to scare him, and paying this dude to harass him. His mother was totally out of control.
Amber was right. He should have turned off the phone, and left it off.
He touched the power button to shut down the phone when it buzzed with another incoming message. This time he knew the number. Another message from Cole.
Tyson opened the window.
I mean it.
A-hole!
Tyson turned off the phone as Amber shouted.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“Coming!”
Tyson stuffed the phone in his backpack, pulled on his jacket, and left.
24
JOE PIKE
AS TWILIGHT DEEPENED TO NIGHT, Pike sat in shadows between a hedge and Devon’s house. The air grew chill in a way he liked. Overhead, stars struggled to be seen through the glow cast by millions of Valley lights. During those hours, Pike watched for black cars and movement. A black Trans Am with a missing grille rumbled past, wheezing blue smoke. A black Chevy coupe with acne corrosion passed in the opposite direction, and two aging black pickups. No gleaming four-door sedans. No police detectives decked with jackets and ties.
As the hour grew later, fewer cars passed, and Pike considered the dirty RV parked in a driveway three houses away. Earlier, after Devon left and before the sun set, Pike walked past the RV for a closer look. It faced the street with a FOR SALE sign taped inside its windshield. Three of its tires were flat, and weathered grime streaked its gray hide with stripes like a bloated zebra. The RV was parked facing the street so people could see the sign, but no one had taken the bait. The ink was faded from undisturbed months in the sun.
At five minutes after midnight, Pike left the shadows beside Devon’s home, and circled the sleeping behemoth. He cleaned thumb-sized spots high on the side windows and at the top corners of the windshield, both sides, left and right. When Pike finished this work, he parked his Jeep across from the RV and returned to the darkness beside Devon’s house.
Few cars and no people passed.
At one forty-five, a raccoon shambled down a drive, crossed the street, and disappeared behind a shrub. An hour later, a coyote trotted out of the gloom and up the middle of the street. The hill dog was thin, with lean shanks and long, sinewy legs, but its coat was rich, and it moved with determined purpose. Pike slowed his breathing, and watched.
The coyote passed him, but as it reached Devon’s drive, the coyote stopped.
Pike’s breath was so shallow and slow his chest barely moved, but the coyote’s snout came up, and swung toward him. Pike didn’t think the coyote saw him, but sensed a presence, or smelled him, and searched for Pike in the darkness. The coyote looked directly at him, but did not run. Pike wondered where the coyote had come from and where it was going, and if it would reach that place before dawn stole its safety. They were miles from hills and canyons, surrounded by humans in a human world. The coyote watched him, but did not run.
Pike spoke, a quiet word.
“Go.”
The coyote broke hard away from his voice, and vanished between shadowed houses.
Pike whispered.
“Be safe.”
At four a.m., Pike shouldered his pack and returned to the RV. The side of Devon’s house was fine at night, but he would need a hide during the day. Pike picked the lock on the flimsy door, and climbed aboard. He cupped a small flashlight with a red lens, and turned it quickly on and off to reveal the tattered interior. He put the light away, moved to the windshield, and peered through the peepholes he’d made in the dirty glass. The passenger’s side window gave him a view of the Connor house. The driver’s window let him see the street in the opposite direction. Pike lowered his pack, and settled in. Like the coyote, he would stare at the darkness.
At four-thirty, the first sleeping house woke. At four-forty, the second. A white station wagon appeared just before dawn. Small black letters spelled SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION DIVISION on its side. Chen, looking for Devon’s address.
Chen passed Devon’s house, stopped, backed up, and parked in her drive. Pike took out his phone, dialed, and Chen answered.
“Elvis said you’d be here. Where are you?”
Chen climbed out of the wagon and stared at the house.
Pike said, “Don’t turn.”
“I’m not turning. Where are you?”
“Three houses to your left and across the street. In an RV.”
Chen turned, and squinted at the RV.
“John.”
Chen turned away.
“Sorry. Where’s the window?”
“Gate to the right of the garage. The last window on that side of the house. It’s her office.”
Chen went to the gate and peered down the side of the house.
“Shit, it’s really dark. I’ll have to light it up.”
“Dog next door. He’ll bark. The neighbor is Mr. Watkins.”
“You coming, or you’re stuck in the van?”
“The van. But if you need me, I’ll come.”
“I’ve got it. Lemme get to work.”
Chen pocketed his phone and went to the wagon. He pulled on a blue Windbreaker with SID printed on the back in large white letters. He shouldered a large bag, turned on a flashlight, and let himself through the gate. Pike heard Toby. Barking. But after a while the barking stopped. Mr. Watkins must’ve come out.
By the time Chen finished and drove away, the sky was a bright blue dome.
Neighbors left for work or school in a building migration, but the migration finally slowed, and the street settled into a lethargic calm. Breakfast was an apple, a banana, a hard roll, and a bag of trail mix.
The day was only beginning, but Pike was prepared to wait.
He didn’t wait long.
The black sedan was only a few hours away.
PART III
THE GIRL WHO WANTED SOMETHING ELSE
25
ELVIS COLE
MY LOFT WAS BRIGHT with lavender light when I woke. The cat was curled by my head, snoring so softly he might have been purring. He smelled of damp earth and rosemary. Once, I woke to a squirrel’s head. Another time, a gopher. He meant well, but he’s a cat.
I was enjoying the lavender light when my phone buzzed. Chen.
“Get anything?”
“A couple of partial casts and some pictures. Thin, really shallow impressions, barely three-D, but I got some clean edges. Thank the drought. Dirt was hard as a table.”
“Same shoes in Pacoima?”
“Gotta run the pix through the computer, and get my hands on the Pacoima impressions, since, you know, Pacoima isn’t my case.”
“Thanks, John. Let me know.”
“One thing I can tell you. Dude was big, for sure. Size fourteens.”
One big, one bigger.
“One pair of shoes, or two?”
“On the face, one. One guy entered through the window and let in the other through a door. These guys know what they’re doing.”
“Because one guy let in the other?”