The Wanted

by Robert Crais

  Devon stared at me. Hard.

  “Ty?”

  Tyson twiddled the trackball, and managed a nod.

  “Carl has mad skills.”

  Amber said, “Do we still have to look for stuff on the other laptops?”

  “No. You did good. Thanks.”

  Tyson and Amber wandered back to the dining room, and sat against the wall. I watched them talk, and thought about Amber.

  Devon said, “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “We’re not. I’m thinking.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Thoughts.”

  “So not funny.”

  “Will you phone Carl’s mother again? See if he’ll take a look.”

  “Right away.”

  “In the morning, first thing. I should find out what the Hoops know, and whether someone at his company wants this computer.”

  “Okay.”

  “The problem is how.”

  “Of course. You can’t just walk in and ask.”

  I watched Amber and Tyson some more.

  “Do we have an insurance claim from the Hoops?”

  “Yes! Absolutely!”

  Devon found their file, and we went through their claim. The Hoops listed eighteen stolen items. The PowerBook was not listed among their losses, but they claimed five antique rings, two antique bracelets, a brooch, and an antique necklace. A description of each piece of jewelry was included, along with documentary photographs.

  I studied Amber.

  “What are you thinking now?”

  “That I can walk in, and ask without asking.”

  I got up, and showed the pictures of jewelry to Amber.

  41

  TYSON CONNOR

  TYSON STARED into the grocery bag, and called to his mother.

  “I thought you brought food. All I see is cereal, but we don’t have any milk.”

  His mother called from the living room.

  “The other bag. Look.”

  “I looked. Where?”

  Amber giggled, and whispered so his mother wouldn’t hear.

  “Eat the pizza box. Maybe you’ll like it.”

  Tyson made a face as his mother entered the kitchen and went to a bag by the stove. She took out packages and jars, and stacked them on the counter.

  “Here, Mr. I Looked. Chips. Fig bars. Dried apples. Nutella. Salsa. Trail mix. Try not to bite off a finger.”

  Tyson felt a wave of relief, and tore the wrapper off a fig bar.

  His mother glanced at Amber, and her face seemed to soften.

  “How’re you doing?”

  Amber made one of her little shrugs.

  “My mom kinda stresses me out.”

  His mother touched Amber’s arm.

  “I’m sure she does. Maybe we can talk later, if you’d like.”

  “About the police?”

  “That, and whatever else.”

  His mother went back to sit with Elvis.

  Amber said, “Your mom’s kinda nice.”

  Tyson swallowed the fig bar, and opened the bag of tortilla chips.

  “Yeah. Considering how much trouble I’m in. I hope we don’t go to jail.”

  “We’re too pretty for jail. Only ugly people go to jail.”

  She smiled so he’d know she was joking, but Tyson didn’t think it was funny.

  “I’m serious. What happens if the men who killed Alec find us?”

  Amber made her eyes wide.

  “Have you seen that guy Joe? With the arrows? He’s a beast. He’s kinda hot, too.”

  Tyson opened the salsa, and scooped with the chips. Joe was definitely a badass beast, and Elvis looked kinda tough, but Tyson kept thinking about Alec, and seeing himself in prison. Even juvie was bad. He was small and chicken, and he’d be trapped with gangbanging rapists and killers. Tyson shoveled in chips and salsa. He tried to think about something else, but couldn’t.

  “We can’t afford a fancy lawyer. Your mom has money, but my mom’s gonna go broke paying for this.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Amber. This is happening. We could’ve been killed like Alec, and we would’ve been caught anyway. We’re lucky Elvis found us. This is our chance to turn things around.”

  Amber nudged him, and whispered.

  “We’re going to be famous. They might even make a movie about us.”

  Tyson coughed, and sprayed bits of tortilla chips.

  She nudged him again, and glanced at Elvis and his mom. They were huddled over the PowerBook.

  “You think that’s the one they want?”

  “What?”

  “The laptop those men are looking for.”

  “I dunno. I guess so.”

  She nudged him again.

  “It belongs to a billionaire. If he’s killing people and doing all this to get it back, it’s worth millions. We could sell it back to him.”

  Tyson thought she was joking, but this time she didn’t smile. Amber was serious.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “We can help the cops arrest him for killing Alec, and we’ll be heroes. We can get an agent, someone really good, and have him pitch us to a studio. We’ll be stars.”

  Tyson studied her face and the way her eyes were bright and excited.

  He was thinking up something to say when Elvis came over to them and showed Amber pictures of jewelry.

  “Recognize these?”

  Amber deflated like a popped balloon.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have them?”

  Amber made an awkward shrug, like she was embarrassed.

  “The necklace and the bracelets. I didn’t keep the others.”

  “Where are they?”

  “My sister’s. In my closet.”

  “Hidden? So your sister couldn’t find them?”

  Tyson wondered why he was asking.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Cole seemed to be thinking, and Tyson wondered what he was thinking about. Cole finally nodded.

  “Okay. That’s good. That’s very good.”

  Cole snatched the bag of trail mix and a fig bar, and went back to his mom.

  Amber whispered again as soon as Cole left.

  “Celebrities don’t get into trouble, you yo-yo. They only get more famous. We’ll be the burglars who turned out to be heroes, and everyone will love us.”

  Tyson stared into the bag of chips, and felt queasy.

  “That isn’t going to happen.”

  Amber frowned.

  Tyson searched her pretty eyes, but now they seemed watchful and hostile.

  “We broke into houses. We stole stuff, and Alec is dead. We’re the bad guys. Bad guys aren’t heroes. Don’t you get it?”

  Amber stared at him for the longest time, and then she stepped away.

  “You don’t get it, and you never have.”

  Amber walked out into the living room, and sat on the floor against the wall. Tyson felt anxious and scared, and knew she was right. He didn’t get it. He had never gotten it, but now he was beginning to understand.

  Amber was crazy.

  42

  ELVIS COLE

  THE NIGHT CRAWLED past between fitful naps, the lullaby hiss of the freeway broken by rumbling trucks and the burping roar of drilled-out choppers. I gave up on sleep at four-fifteen and drifted into the kitchen. The floor was dirty. I hadn’t noticed before.

  I Googled the Hoop Security Group on my phone. HSG provided specialized security services for the other eight Hoop companies, as well as their clients and business partners, ensuring cutting-edge protection against data loss, cyber attacks, and external security threats. Job applicants with experience in law enforcement, the military, and those
with security clearances were given preference.

  The man had his own police force.

  I called Pike, and sketched out my plan. Pike had been awake for almost sixty hours, but he answered on the first ring. All Pike, all the time.

  Pike said, “Maybe you shouldn’t do this alone.”

  “What, you think I’m not tough enough?”

  Pike hung up in his usual way, but something about this familiar act made me smile.

  I grabbed the last fig bar, and sat with the PowerBook while I ate it. Derek’s mother or father or both had made this little machine their son’s resting place, but nothing of Derek’s true nature or joys or interests had been included, as if the sum of their love had not been Derek’s life, but on those events leading to his end. The single short piece reporting his death felt like a period ending a sentence.

  I crept into the bedroom where Devon slept with Tyson and Amber. I touched her arm, but she was already awake. She rose without a sound, and followed me to the kitchen.

  “I’ll talk to Cassett, and make sure Tyson and Amber are safe. If I can’t get back to the safe house, you’ll have to take them in without me.”

  “Are we going to surrender?”

  “I’ll let you know after I talk to her, but yes. She’ll go for it.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “She will, so have your lawyer ready to go. Call her first thing. We’ll want to deliver the kids fast, so these bastards won’t have time to react. They’ll be thinking about me.”

  “Why you?”

  “I’ll set it up that way. Be ready.”

  She gazed at me in the dim kitchen light, and suddenly kissed me. A quick peck on the lips, nothing more.

  “That fucking woman is a fool.”

  Tyson and Amber slept until I woke them, and staggered through their morning as if nothing unusual was happening.

  Devon phoned Carl’s mother at ten after eight. I spoke to Carl, explained about the PowerBook, and asked if he’d try to help.

  The Carl’s voice was a sneer.

  “Do. Or not do. There is no try.”

  Hyuk-hyuk-hyuk.

  Star Wars fan. Of course.

  The Carl didn’t drive, so I’d have to bring the laptop to him. He also wanted six hundred dollars. I agreed, and told him when to expect us.

  “Us? Is Tyson the King of Dickland coming?”

  “Yes. There a problem?”

  Hyuk-hyuk-hyuk.

  Tyson looked sick when I lowered the phone.

  “Do I have to go?”

  “Man up.”

  Amber told me the jewelry was in a bright red shoe box at the back of her closet in Jazzi’s apartment. She wanted to come, and accused me of gender bias when I refused.

  I took Devon aside.

  “Is she nervous about her mom coming back?”

  “We talked a little last night. That family has serious issues.”

  Nora had promised to call when she booked a flight, but still hadn’t called. Neither had Rick.

  I checked the time. There was nothing more to ask, or do, except deliver the PowerBook to Carl, get Lillian Hoop’s jewelry, and talk my way into the Hoop Security Group. The trick would be talking my way out.

  Tyson looked miserable as we drove to The Carl, and neither of us said much. We each had our reasons, but our reasons were different.

  He said, “Are you scared?”

  Maybe our reasons weren’t so different.

  “Yes.”

  “Please be careful.”

  I wanted to touch his head, but didn’t.

  I walked him up Carl’s drive and through the gate. The Carl was waiting outside, dressed in his business suit and bow tie. He glanced at Tyson, and fidgeted. He looked awkward and uneasy, and barely made eye contact. Tyson wasn’t much better.

  Tyson said, “Hi, Carl.”

  The Carl said, “Hi.”

  I gave him the PowerBook.

  “Tyson knows what we’re looking for. Do. Or not do. There is no try.”

  The Carl didn’t laugh, and neither did Tyson.

  I drove to Jasmine’s apartment, and let myself through the gate with Amber’s key. The bright red shoe box sat at the back of her closet exactly as Amber described, but finding Lillian Hoop’s jewelry took several minutes. The shoe box contained so much jewelry it looked like a treasure chest. I finally found the pieces I wanted, tucked them into a Ziploc bag, and let myself out.

  43

  HARVEY AND STEMMS

  HARVEY EYED the snapshot of Jasmine, and glanced up with sneering contempt. His face was twisted with revulsion.

  “What’s wrong with you, Stemms? You’re disgusting.”

  Stemms was surprised.

  “See those calves? C’mon. She’s hot.”

  “She’s a child, you pervert. A little girl playing soccer. Jesus. My skin is crawling.”

  Stemms had copped the pic from Jasmine’s old room at her mother’s place, the freak with the incense and weed and creepy lips. The snapshot caught Jasmine as she planted to deliver a downfield kick during a soccer match. Big deal. The little shorts, sweaty, the curve of her muscular calf.

  Stemms put the picture away, sorry that he shared.

  “You’re being dramatic. She’s gotta be what here, fifteen, sixteen?”

  “You disgust me.”

  “It’s an old picture, Harvey. She’s grown now. A legal adult woman.”

  “You cop her panties, too?”

  Harvey made sniffing sounds. Sniff-sniff-sniff.

  Stemms gave him a nasty grin.

  “The panties from her apartment were fresher.”

  Harvey tried to keep scowling, but finally laughed.

  “She gets home soon enough, you can enjoy those calves for real.”

  Stemms slurped his lips.

  “More than her calves, brother.”

  Harvey suddenly sat taller, and squinted ahead.

  “Here we go. Exit.”

  Stemms guided the Chrysler off the 405 at the top of the Sepulveda Pass, and turned toward Mulholland Drive.

  Stemms patted the dash.

  “I like this car. Gonna miss it.”

  Harvey squinted ahead, searching for the drop.

  “On the left. Swing around, and come back.”

  A tiny Park & Ride lot sat across lanes on the opposite side of the street. Stemms continued up to Mulholland, swung around, and guided the Chrysler into the entrance. He parked in the first available space, but left the engine running. They studied the surrounding cars.

  The Park & Ride was built so freeway commuters could leave their cars when they hooked up for carpools, but being isolated, unguarded, and next to a freeway ramp, the little lot was mostly used for dope drops, middle-aged make-out sessions, and gardeners needing a convenient place to change their oil.

  Harvey said, “Your side?”

  “Couple in the Prius, man and a woman. Male in the pickup. They’re nothing.”

  Harvey got out first, three-sixtied the area, and slapped the roof, letting Stemms know he saw nothing suspicious.

  Stemms turned off the engine, checked around his seat a final time, and got out.

  “Gonna miss you, car.”

  He tossed the keys onto the floorboard, and closed the Chrysler for the last time.

  They had been told to be in this place, and given a time frame, which meant people knew where they would be, and when they would be there. This left them vulnerable, and neither man liked it.

  Stemms walked along the row of parked vehicles to a clean, new, white-on-black Mercedes S-class sedan. Harvey trailed ten feet behind, hand on his gun, head on a swivel.

  The Mercedes was unlocked.

  Stemms slid in behind the wheel, found the key, and immediate
ly backed out. Harvey swung inside the instant Stemms braked, and Stemms hit the gas. Neither relaxed until they were up on Mulholland, and certain they weren’t being followed.

  Stemms took a moment to feel the ride.

  “Not bad. This is kinda nice.”

  “I liked the Chrysler.”

  Harvey always grumped when they changed cars. Attachment issues.

  Stemms parked at an overlook so they could adjust the mirrors and seats, and figure out the controls. Stemms was flipping through the owner’s manual when Harvey’s phone filled the big car with a bouncy, familiar tune. Who’s peeking out from under a stairway? Calling a name that’s lighter than air?

  A motion alert from Jasmine’s apartment.

  Harvey pasted Stemms with a nasty grin.

  “Sounds like your girlfriend, pervo! Let’s see if she’s naked!”

  Harvey bent to open the video feed from Jasmine’s apartment, but Stemms stopped him.

  “The song, that’s The Association.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you were sticking with Psycho.”

  “Don’t be a douche. We’re partners.”

  “I love this song.”

  Harvey glanced over and smiled again. His smile was peaceful, and his voice gentle.

  “I know.”

  Stemms was so moved he teared.

  “Jesus, Harvey.”

  Harvey tapped his phone, filling the car with the cheery, upbeat music.

  Who’s peeking out from under a stairway? Calling a name that’s lighter than air?

  Stemms taught himself to play the opening bassline when he was seven years old, the first time he held a string instrument. The lady in the next apartment listened to an oldies station. Stemms heard the song playing, the bassline intro, the bright happy bouncy melody, and even when the song stopped playing on the radio, Windy played again in his head, and played over and over like someone had hit the replay button, the rest of that day and all night and the next day, and the joy he felt filled him like magic. Windy. Written by Ruthann Friedman. Produced by Bones Howe. Recorded by The Association in 1967, a long-ass time before Stemms was born. The first music he played. The first time he was touched by joy.

  Harvey just sat there, smiling the gentle smile, eyes kind.

  Stemms reached out, and touched Harvey’s face. Harvey kissed his finger, just the once, then pulled himself together and turned to his phone.