The Watchman

by Robert Crais

  Pike got out of the car, took off the long-sleeved shirt, then went to the trunk. He looked through the things Ronnie had left. He drank half a bottle of Arrowhead water, then collected his SOG fighting knife, a pair of Zeiss binoculars, the little .25-caliber Beretta, and a box of hollowpoints for the .45. He wouldn't need anything else.

  Pike got back into his car, then drove to a Mobil station located on the other side of the wall outside his complex. He parked behind the station next to the wall. Pike bought gas there often and knew the staff, so they didn't mind. Before he left his car, he fitted the .25 to his right ankle and the SOG to his left. He made sure the Kimber was loaded, then clipped it behind his back.

  Pike went to the office and waved at the man behind the counter.

  I have to leave my car here for a while. That okay?

  Whatever, bro. Long as you want.

  Pike moved quickly. He dropped into the condo grounds behind a flat building that faced an enormous communal swimming pool. A lush curtain of banana trees, birds-of-paradise, and canna plants hid a sound wall baffling the pool equipment, and continued around the pool and walkways. Pike slipped behind the greenery and made his way across the grounds.

  People were still out and about, but Pike moved easily, twice covering almost two hundred yards to avoid an opening thirty feet wide. Pike didn't mind. He enjoyed the freedom of not being seen.

  Pike worked his way from pod to pod, around three parking areas, and finally to his condo. He did not approach his door, or try to enter. He took a position behind the rice paper plants at the corner of his building, and settled down to watch. It was a good spot with a clean view of the parking lot and the buildings that faced his own. If they were waiting, they would be inside his condo or positioned with a view of his door. It wouldn't make sense for them to be anywhere else.

  Pike studied the cars in the parking lot, and the curtains on the far windows, and the wall of plants that was exactly like the wall of plants in which he was hidden. Pike never moved, and for the first time that day did not feel the passing of time. He simply was; safe in his green world, watching. He watched until he knew the shadows between the branches and how the lowering light dappled through the leaves, and which residents were home across the way and which were not. Two hours later, Pike was finally satisfied no one was hiding, but he still didn't move. If someone was waiting for him, they were inside his home.

  Pike watched the world grow golden, then burnish to a deep copper, then deepen with purple into a murky haze. Cars came and left. People banged through their gates, some wearing flip-flops on their way to the pool. Pike watched until it was full-on dark and his world behind the green was black, and then he finally moved, rising with the slowness of melting ice. He crept along the side of his condo, checking each window as he reached it, and found that the second window had been jimmied. Raising the window had tripped Pike's alarm.

  Pike peered inside but saw only shadows. Nothing moved, and no sounds came from within. He removed the screen in slow motion, then slowly raised the window and lifted himself inside.

  The room was dark, but the doorway opening into his living room was bright. Pike had left on the lamp. He drew the Kimber and crept into the living room, moving with absolute silence. No one sat on his couch or on the Eames chair in which Pike read. The only movement came from the fountain in the corner-a bowl with water burbling quietly over stones. Pike listened beyond the water, straining to feel the sense of the space, but the only sounds were the water and the whisper of the air conditioner.

  Pike found no one. They had tried to be careful so Pike wouldn't know, but an address book was missing from the kitchen, and the phone in his bedroom was in a place Pike never left it. The clothes in his closet were not in their usual positions.

  Pike returned to the living room. His television sat in an entertainment center opposite the fountain, along with a CD player, a TiVo, and other electronics. A security camera Pike had installed himself fed into a hard drive stacked among the equipment. Pike turned on his television, then watched the recording. Single-frame captures taken in his living room had been made at eight-second intervals, so the pictures appeared as a jerky slide show. A man with a pistol entered from the same room through which Pike had entered. He wasn't wearing a mask or gloves or face-black; just a dark T-shirt and jeans and running shoes. His hair was longish, and straight, and dark. He was Anglo or Latino, but Pike couldn't tell which. The pictures showed his path in sharp jumps-first as he entered, then across the room, then at the stairs. A man could cover a lot of ground in eight seconds. Then the man was at the front door, and now a second man entered. This man was smaller than the first man, and wore a dark shirt with the tail out over jeans. His hair was also longish and dark, but his skin was darker, and Pike decided this man was Latino.

  In the next picture, the first man had returned to the kitchen, and the second man was kneeling at the door. A small black case was on the floor, and the second man seemed to be holding the doorknob with both hands. The pictures progressed, and Pike realized the second man was making keys. The first man returned from searching the house as the keymaker tested the keys.

  Pike froze the picture. It was the best view yet of the first man, showing a three-quarter shot of his face. Pike took out the pictures Bud had given him, and compared them. The keymaker wasn't among them, but the first man was one of the three men who invaded Larkin's home. He wasn't the man who beat the housekeeper, but he was present.

  Pike backed up the images until he found the best angle on the keymaker, pressed a button, and a laser printer in the entertainment center hummed. Pike tucked the new pictures away.

  The remaining security captures showed the two men leaving.

  Pike turned off the television. He stood in his empty home, listening to the fountain. It was the good sound of a stream in the deep woods, natural and comforting.

  Pike powered up his cell phone and called Ronnie.

  Ronnie said, Yo.

  I need you and Dennis on the house. Two men, twenties to thirties, dark hair straight and on the long side, five-eight to five-ten. The shorter guy is probably Latino.

  They at your place now?

  No, but they'll be back. They made keys.

  Ah. You want'm field dressed?

  Just let me know.

  Pike reset the alarms, reset the surveillance camera, then went to his fridge. He opened two bottles of Corona, poured the beer down the sink, then placed the empty bottles on the counter. The counter had been clean when the men were here, but now the bottles stood out like tall ships on the horizon. When the men returned, they would see that Pike had been home. They would tell themselves if he came home once, he would come home again, and they might decide to wait.

  Pike wanted them to wait.

  Elvis Cole LARKIN CONNER BARKLEY wouldn't talk to him. Cole asked about the property owners and tenants near her loft, but he might as well have spoken in a foreign language. Her lips pulled into a pensive bud, and she stared down the street as if Pike's car had been a shimmering mirage.

  I can't believe he left me like this. He dismissed me.

  Cole said, The nerve of him. That cad.

  Fuck you.

  That's the second time you've hinted at sex, but I still have to refuse.

  Larkin crossed the street without waiting for him and went directly to Cole's car. Some people didn't appreciate humor.

  Cole decided to give her some space, so they drove back in silence. He couldn't blame her for being tired of answering questions and talking about the same things over and over, and he didn't want to get down on her for showing the strain. He still had questions, but the answers would keep until later.

  On the way back to Echo Park, he stopped at a small grocery store in Thai Town, figuring the odds were better she wouldn't be recognized at a small ethnic market. He expected her to give him an argument when he asked her to come in with him, but she didn't. She seemed calmer by then. She quietly inspected the stra
nge labels and odd packages while he filled two bags with food, milk, a kid's drawing pad, a plastic ruler, and two bottles of plum wine. The only time she spoke was when she saw the wine.

  I don't drink.

  You can watch me. You want anything special? Fruit? Some kind of dessert?

  I don't want anything.

  She said nothing else. Her slack expression returned, and Cole felt even worse for her. Back in the car, he dug around in the glove box for his iPod and dropped it in her lap.

  You know how it works?

  He won't let me have it.

  He'll let you have this one.

  Larkin held it, but made no attempt to listen.

  When they got back to the house, she took a bath. She didn't tell him she was going to take a bath or anything else; she disappeared into the bathroom and soon the water was running. Cole put away the groceries, then brought the pad and his notes to the table. His notes completely filled the backs of each page of the accident report, and described in detail every building and business in Larkin Barkley's neighborhood. Cole set to work drawing a map, building it block by block, one block per page. He divided each block into boxes to represent buildings and labeled each building with its address. He listed the names of the businesses as well as their phone numbers and any other notes he had made.

  He was finishing the first map when he grew worried. The water had stopped. It had stopped running a long time ago, but Larkin was still in the bathroom.

  Cole went to the door and knocked.

  You okay?

  She didn't answer.

  Cole tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked again. Harder.

  Larkin?

  I'm soaking.

  At least she wasn't killing herself.

  Cole returned to the table and went back to work. The tub glugged as it drained, and water ran again, but he let her soak. If she wanted to look like a prune, that was up to her. After a while, she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. Cole completed his map of her street, then set to work charting the surrounding streets. He was convinced that Meesh and the Kings had been in the area for a purpose. They had been going to or coming from a target destination, and that target was likely one of the buildings or businesses on his map. Cole was also convinced the feds believed the same; twelve of the sixteen people Cole interviewed had also been questioned by agents of the U. S. Department of Justice. Pitman, Blanchette, and at least two other agents had questioned them about the accident, the Kings, and Meesh.

  Cole thought nothing of it until he went through his notes to build a timeline of events. Then he discovered a discrepancy.

  Cole worked steadily for almost an hour before Larkin came out of the bedroom. She came out wearing fresh five-hundred-dollar jeans, a tight black Ramones T-shirt, and the iPod. She looked fresh and clean without makeup or jewelry, and her feet were bare. She stretched out on the couch with her feet hanging over the arm, closed her eyes, and rocked to the iPod, her right foot moving with the beat.

  Cole said, Hey.

  Her eyes opened and she looked at him.

  Cole said, The feds didn't know Meesh was Meesh until you identified him?

  No.

  That's what they told you?

  Yeah. They got all excited when we finally had his name.

  Cole returned to his timeline, but didn't really work after that. The twelve people who had been questioned by the feds had all been questioned the day after the accident. The very next day. All twelve stated the feds had shown them pictures of two men, and all twelve had described the same two pictures. It was as if Pitman knew or suspected Meesh was the missing man even before he met with the girl, and had lied about what he knew.

  Twenty minutes later, Cole saw movement and glanced up. Larkin rolled off the couch, went to the window, and peered out at the street. The day was dimming, and soon they would have to pull the shades.

  Cole said, If you're getting hungry I'll make dinner. I just want to finish this.

  She didn't hear him. She was looking up the street, then shifted position to look in the opposite direction.

  Cole wadded up a piece of paper and bounced it off her back. When she turned, Cole touched his ear, telling her to take off the headset.

  She said, Did you say something?

  If you're hungry I'll make dinner.

  Shouldn't we wait for him?

  Him.

  He might be late.

  I'm okay.

  She went back to the couch and resumed her position, only now her foot didn't move. Cole went on with his work.

  Was he really in Africa?

  Cole glanced up. She was still stretched out on the couch with her feet up, but now she was looking at him. Cole was surprised Pike told her about Africa. Pike never mentioned those days, and had rarely spoken of them even back when he was making the trips. Way it had been, Pike would say something like, I'll be gone for a while. Cole would say okay, and a few days later Pike would vanish. Couple of weeks after that, Pike would call, say something like, Everything okay? Cole would say, Sure, everything's fine, and Pike would say, I'm back if you need me.

  Larkin misread Cole's silence and made a cynical laugh.

  I thought so. I knew he was making it up.

  Cole tamped the pages together and settled back. He had done a lot of work on the map and now had more questions than answers.

  What did he tell you?

  He watched a woman cut off her own fingers. What a gross thing to say. Like I'm supposed to be impressed by that. What a gross and disgusting thing, trying to scare me.

  You changed your mind about dinner? I'm pretty much finished here.

  No.

  She wrapped her arms across her breasts and stared at the ceiling.

  Is he married?

  No.

  Ever?

  You crushing on Joe? I think Larkin is crushing on Joe.

  I asked him, but he didn't answer. He does that. I'll say something and I know he hears, but he ignores me. I don't like being ignored. It's rude.

  Yes, it is.

  Then why does he do it?

  I asked him once, but he ignored me.

  Larkin didn't find it funny.

  So he's the one who won't talk, and you're the one who makes a joke out of everything.

  Maybe Joe doesn't answer you because he figures the answers are none of your business.

  What about the courtesy of polite conversation? Here I am stuck with a man who won't talk. He never laughs. He won't smile. He has absolutely no expression on his face.

  Jeez, with me he's a laugh riot. I can't shut the guy up.

  You're not funny. You're one of those people who thinks he's funny but isn't. I'm bored, and he gets us this place with no television.

  Yeah. Having no television is hell.

  Of course you'd say something like that. You're his friend.

  Cole laughed.

  You're probably used to people trying to impress you-they're trying to be funny or get your attention or make you like them. Don't confuse that with being interesting. It isn't. Pike is one of the most interesting men you'll meet. He just doesn't want to entertain you, so he doesn't.

  It's still boring.

  Try reading. Beautiful rich chicks can read, can't they?

  The corners of her mouth made the curl.

  You talk a lot. Does that mean you're trying to entertain me?

  It means I'm trying to entertain myself. You're kinda dull.

  Larkin rolled off the couch and went back to the window.

  Shouldn't he be back by now?

  It's still early.

  She returned to the couch, but this time she pulled her feet up and crossed her legs. Cole could see she didn't want to let it go. She was frowning at him as if he was keeping something from her.

  Well, is it true? Was he in Africa?

  He's been to Africa many times. He's been all over the world.

  Why would
he do that?

  Joe didn't cut off her fingers.

  I mean being a mercenary. I understand being drafted and all, but I think it's sick, getting paid to play soldier.

  Joe wasn't playing. He was a professional.

  I think it's disgusting. Anyone who enjoys that kind of thing is insane.

  I guess that depends on what you do and why you do it.

  You're just making excuses for him. You're probably just as sick as him.

  Cole loved her certainty so much he smiled.

  That story he told you about the woman, did he tell you why he was there?

  Of course not.

  You still want to know?

  She stared at him as if it was a trick question, but when she finally nodded he told her. He told her the one story. He could have told more.

  A group called the Lord's Resistance Army was running around Central Africa, mostly in Uganda. They kidnapped girls. What they would do was, they'd blow into a village out in the middle of nowhere, shoot up everything with machine guns, loot the place, and grab the teenage girls. Not one or two, but all of them. They've kidnapped hundreds of girls. They take them as slaves, rape them, do whatever. It's the Third World, Larkin. It's not like here. Most of the planet isn't like here. You understand?

  She managed to nod, but Cole sensed she didn't understand, and couldn't. They didn't have police; they had warlords. They didn't have Republicans and Democrats; they had tribes. In Rwanda, one tribe would target another and hack a million people to death in less than three months. How could an American understand something like that?

  The people in those villages, they're farmers, maybe have a few cattle, but sometimes these villages get together and pool their money. They figured they needed professionals to stop the kidnappings, so Joe made the trip. Joe and his guys-I think he had five guys with him that time-they arrived in the afternoon. The morning of the day they arrived, a raiding party shot up another village and stole more girls. That woman's husband and her sons were murdered that morning. That's the first thing Joe saw when they rolled in that day, this poor woman mutilating herself.