Where I Can See You

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “You’re sure about this?” Sloane asked.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Hud inched the door open and peered inside. Light from the jukebox still flickered colors of the rainbow across the floor and ceiling, eating away at the darkness. It looked like a slow dance at a high school prom, only one with the odors of beer and grease permeating every chair, table, piece of cloth, and square inch of the bar instead of acne cream and anticipation. The rest of the lights were off, and there was no one to be seen—but that didn’t mean no one was hiding behind the bar. A freezer in the kitchen hummed, and a Budweiser clock ticked; a plastic team of Clydesdales and a red wagon slowly toured the hours, never arriving at their destination.

  Hud knew Tilt kept a billy club behind the bar, and he assumed that was just the first weapon within reach. Warding off trouble took a strong spine, which there was no doubt that Tilt Evans possessed, but it also took solid backup. A gun of any kind spoke loudly when it came to settling disputes that a billy club wouldn’t. Tilt had never spoken of a gun, had always shied away from talking about his military experience in Vietnam, but there was no doubt the man knew something about firearms. At least he had at one time.

  “Let me clear the room,” Hud whispered.

  Sloane nodded, agreed to stay back and cover him.

  Hud pushed slowly into the bar, sweeping the entirety of it with his .45. He didn’t announce himself or call for Tilt. He figured there was no sense in that. If he was wrong, if Tilt walked in and asked him what the hell was going on, then a simple explanation would suffice. Especially if Tilt was innocent, not involved in the shootings in any way. But if he was involved, then there was no use in taking any chances. Hud would rather look like a fool than die a careless death.

  He eased his way to the bar, and then behind it after making sure that neither Tilt nor anyone else was crouching behind it in wait. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth once he was certain that the bar was empty. He flipped on his flashlight just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Sloane stayed put, covering the door.

  Nothing looked out of place, with the exception of a white bar towel crumpled on the floor and two dirty beer glasses in the sink ready to be washed. Hud shined the beam across the bar to the corner where he had first seen Goldie, only to see it how he expected to: Empty. He trailed the light slowly across the room, checking each table for anything out of place. He found everything in its place, just like it would have been at closing time. From there, Hud’s attention was drawn back to the bar and the shelves behind it.

  He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the shadowy mirror, his bruises still obvious, the swelling mostly gone. His face looked like the face he was accustomed to looking back at, less battered, but there was still pain lurking under the skin, a reminder of the hit he’d taken from the oar and the shards of glass exploding from the windshield. He heard the report of the rifle distantly, in his memory, close enough to cause him to tremble, to wonder if the person who pulled the trigger knew him, wanted him dead, out of the way. Or was it meant to just scare him off?

  With the flick of his wrist, Hud scooted the beam of light to the shelf where he saw the picture of his mother and Burke’s father. He stopped and stared at a bare spot instead, questioning whether that was the right place. Quickly, he searched the rest of the shelves. All of the pictures, trophies, and trinkets from Tilt’s past were untouched, where they were supposed to be, a shrine to youth, vigor, and the championship season that had given Tilt his name.

  There was an outline left behind from the missing picture. A thin coat of dust had been stirred up and not cleaned off. A trophy had been knocked over and not set back up. Someone had been in a hurry to take the picture, to make sure it disappeared.

  Hud stood back from the spot, looked over his shoulder at Sloane, who was exactly where he had left her, comfortably stiff in her position as backup. He couldn’t explain his moment of stasis, why he longed to see the picture of his mother again. The flashlight in his hand quivered, and the beam shook like weak lightning. And in that moment, Hud saw the picture next to the empty spot where the picture of his mother and Sheriff Burke had been. He had to step up and look closer.

  This picture looked to have been taken at the same time as the one with his mother, at a big fancy party where everyone was dressed up. The men wore black ties and all of the women were decked out in formal evening gowns. And like the previous picture, this one was in black and white, but there was no mistaking the identity of the two people dancing together, smiling at the camera like there wasn’t a worry in the world, like happy endings really did come true. The man was Tilt, tanned and triumphant, and the woman, just as beautiful and perfectly put together as he remembered her, was Helen Burke, the chief’s mother. She looked completely comfortable in Tilt’s arms.

  “Do you believe that some men are born to kill, like say a lion? That they are predators and are only doing what they know to do? That they can’t help themselves but to kill. It is as natural as breathing to them. They carry no guilt or regret, just the urge to do it again . . .”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “You’ve seen that behavior?”

  “Sure I have. The streets are a jungle all their own. You know that. Not just in Detroit. Everywhere.”

  “And that’s why you think Burke’s father was capable of killing your mother?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw him as a predator, but he only lives in the memory of a little boy. What did I know about things like that back then? I didn’t know what a predator was.”

  “You knew Burke as a boy, his son. Was he a bully?”

  “Aren’t you really asking me if he was a predator?”

  “Sure, I suppose I am.”

  “He liked the girls. More than one at a time. We talked about that. He always played the field, was chasing after one girl or another. Does that make him a predator, or was he just horny? I don’t know.”

  “What about you?”

  “Am I predator?”

  “Yes.”

  “My quarry would be justice if I were. How am I supposed to know?”

  Hud shined the flashlight at the base of the door that led into the kitchen and saw a single drop of fresh blood. It would have been easy to miss in the dim light, with untrained eyes, but he zeroed in on the red dot straight away. The out-of-place towel had set his vision searching for anything else out of place. He put his finger up to Sloane, letting her know that something was up and to maintain silence. There was no way to know if anyone was in the kitchen.

  The blood was at the base of the swinging door. After making sure that the drop was blood, Hud flipped off the flashlight, let his eyes adjust, then eased open the door far enough so he could peek in, see if there was a body on the floor or someone holding a gun on him. But there was neither. Instead there was more of a mess than Hud had anticipated. A stainless steel prep table sat on its side, with tubs, bins, pots, pans, and silverware scattered everywhere.

  He flipped on the flashlight, wedging it between the door and wall to keep it open while he brought himself up in a crouch. His .45 was leveled toward the back of the kitchen, just below the beam of light. There was no sign of anyone, just the aftermath of a melee, a fight, an attack, it was hard to know exactly what had happened. Tilt was gone, and the backdoor of the kitchen was standing wide open. Hud stood up and swept the light across the floor, followed a trail of blood to the door, then covered the rest of the room, looking for that elusive body, or evidence of one left behind, but there was nothing. Nothing but blood.

  Hud moved back to Sloane. “Looks like something went down in the kitchen,” he said “How far away is backup?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had the radio turned down.”

  “I’m going out,” Hud said. “Meet me back at the car.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Hud didn’t answer. He made his way into the kitchen as carefully as possible, making sure not to step in the blood. The small kit
chen smelled like a vegetable salad with bleach dressing and an underlying layer of constant grease. The fryer lid was open, and heat radiated out of it as Hud passed by. There would be no late-night tenderloin for anyone on this shift.

  The trail of blood was consistent, drops not puddles. A nose broken, perhaps, or a minor gunshot wound, it was hard to tell. Or whether the person wounded was running or walking. And then it stopped, vanished. No matter where he looked, there was no sign of the blood.

  Satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, all Hud knew was that he wanted out of the kitchen as soon as possible. He had a bad feeling inching up the back of his spine. More than that something was wrong. It was familiar. Like a setup. He’d barely survived the last one he’d found himself in.

  Hud didn’t know what to expect when he stepped outside. Another oar careening toward him. A gun barrel pointed at his head. Or a shot out of the dark.

  The .45 led the way, sweeping into the cold darkness, his finger on the trigger, ready to react at any sound, any hint of movement. But there was nothing to see or hear. Just Tilt’s car parked in its normal parking spot, like it always was. Hud stopped and took a breath. The air was still, and all he could hear was the beat of his own heart. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, urging him to tense up, to overreact, to overlook something. He took a deep breath, glanced past Tilt’s car to the Crown Vic to make sure Sloane had returned, was all right. She was. Her face reflected back to him from the driver’s seat, lit by the computer, the dashboard.

  “All right, Tilt,” Hud said softly to the lake, to no one, to the universe. “What the hell happened here and where in the hell are you?”

  Darkness surrounded him, engulfed him. There were no stars overhead, no lights on anywhere near that he could see immediately. It was like the entire population had taken the final exodus from the lake, the doom and gloom too much to bear, the prophecies of its demise had finally come true. But that was hard to believe. Backup was on the way, and there was plenty of life in motion beyond the hotel. He just couldn’t find it.

  Hud took a breath, relieved that there was no immediate danger that he could see or feel, and took a broader look around him.

  He stepped out to the edge of the water and looked across the lake, let his eyes fall first to the spot in the darkness that held Gee’s shop, then trailed down to Burke’s parents’ house on the point. It sat directly across from the hotel. A distant light burned in the window. Or maybe it was a porch light. It was hard to tell. Too far away.

  The picture of Tilt and Helen Burke flashed in his mind, and he had to wonder the same thing he had wondered about Burke’s father and his mother. Were they sleeping together? Having an affair? Then? Now?

  He took another deep breath as another question, another realization, roiled to the forefront of his consciousness. If Tilt was hurt, gone, in danger, was Helen Burke safe, in trouble? Would he go to her?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Hud slid into the passenger seat of the Crown Vic, juggling as many thoughts as he could. Before he could say a word, Sloane said, “Are you all right?”

  “We need to find Tilt Evans.”

  “I’m already ahead of you. I put out the call. County and state are looking for him. It’d be easier if we had a description of a car to give them. You’re sure that’s his?” Sloane flicked her head to the lone car sitting in the parking lot.

  “Yes, I’m positive. Just like I’m positive that we need to find Goldie Flowers.”

  “Okay, I think you’re right about that.” Sloane nodded and took a deep breath. “Lancet called while you were in the kitchen. Pam Sizemore’s kid was a patient at the doctor’s office that Kaye Sherman worked at. There’s another link in the chain. Your theory about the reason for the drug swap looks like it might have some weight.”

  Hud closed his eyes, pushed away the images of blood drops and turmoil inside the bar, and thought about what Sloane said for a long second. The present was replaced with the past. Red faded to black and white as Kodak pictures danced out of the darkness of his mind. His memories mixed together into a sour recipe of anger and loneliness. Somewhere close by he could smell a hint of jasmine perfume. “A mother will do anything for her kid if he’s in pain, no matter the cost to herself,” Hud said as he opened his eyes and came back to reality. “In my mind anyway. Just because we found meth in their trailer and things were a mess with Pam and Timmy, living in a way we don’t approve of, doesn’t mean that she wasn’t a good mother.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I talked to the kid. All he wanted to do was go home, go back to his mother. If she were a monster, a chaos queen, he would have been slightly relieved, more comfortable in some place stable. I didn’t sense that at all. The kid loved his mother and she loved him. All you had to do was talk to him to know that.”

  “And that love might have got her killed?”

  “Maybe.” Discomfort suddenly coursed through Hud’s entire body. He felt like he was sitting on a roller coaster, waiting for it to launch. His teeth clenched almost out of his control, and his fists balled tight. His body was so tense that it threatened to snap in half. Pain in his face returned, along with the memory of rage and isolation. He knew the kid’s state of mind, his panic, his loss.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Just . . . wait. Look, we need to go, we need to get going.”

  “Where do we need to go?”

  “To Burke’s parents’ house. I think his mother and Tilt are connected in a way that we might not have known about before now. At least, that I didn’t know about. If Tilt’s in trouble, she might be in trouble. He might have gone to her. It’s the only place I know to check for him. He never spoke of a personal life, a life outside of the bar, so even that’s weak, but we need to check on her. What else are we going to do? Drive around looking for a needle in a haystack? Or go back to the office?”

  “No, you’re right. Okay,” Sloane said.

  Flashing blue and red lights appeared in the rearview mirror, drawing Hud’s attention away from Sloane. He stopped, took a breath. “Looks like backup is here. Lights, no siren. That’s nice. Glad no one saw them coming . . .”

  “This whole thing is out of everyone’s comfort zone,” Sloane replied sternly.

  Hud knew the tone and was reminded that he was a passenger in her car, and, in truth, in the investigation. “You’re right. Look, my guess is we’re the closest ones to the Burke’s house. We need to go. Don’t put out our destination on the radio, and they need to kill the goddamn lights.”

  “Burke’ll go ballistic.”

  “Let him. He’ll come for me. I can take it. You know that.”

  “Why not tell him?”

  “Aren’t you the one who warned me about him?” Hud snapped. His concern for her tone or position fell completely away.

  Sloane stared at Hud, her face awash in the lights from the cruiser that had parked behind them. “Yes,” she whispered. “But I didn’t mean it like that . . .” She stopped. Just stopped. Then nodded, like she knew exactly what Hud meant, and maybe more. “Okay. I’ll do it your way.” Simple beauty and complex understanding twisted her face into a level of resignation that Hud had never seen before.

  The radio started to chatter louder, talking directly at them. Backup was Deputy Moran, which was a mild relief to Hud. Varner had a bad attitude, and the rest of the department was virtually unknown to him. It was difficult to process the lack of time he’d spent on his job here. At least he knew what to expect in Detroit. He still didn’t know where he was or who he was dealing with on a regular basis in his own hometown.

  “We don’t have time to explain to Moran what’s going on. Just tell her to follow us.”

  There must have been more than desperation in his voice that motivated Sloane. She nodded, picked up the mic and did exactly what she was told.

  While she was doing that, Hud dug into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and speed-dialed Lancet.<
br />
  He answered on the first ring. “What do you want, Matthews?”

  “I need you to check on something for me,” Hud said, doing his best to ignore the hard-ass tone in the detective’s voice. He expected to hear something like “Do it yourself,” or “I don’t work for you,” but instead he heard nothing but distant cellular static and Sloane and Moran talking back and forth in his other ear.

  The Crown Vic finally started to move, and they lurched into the darkness toward Burke’s childhood home. Being a passenger was difficult for Hud. He had never trusted anyone behind the wheel but Gee.

  “What?” Lancet said.

  “I need you to get some background on Tilt Evans for me. More specifically anything relating to Chicago. Is he from there, maintain any relationships there? He might be the hub we’ve been looking for. If we can establish a clear motive, we’re one step closer to shutting the shooter down. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little tired of waiting for a bullet to blow the back of my head off.”

  “You really think Tilt Evans might be that guy?”

  “No, I didn’t mean to imply that. I don’t know. My gut says no, but all of the information swirling around in my head says, who knows? It’s possible. If there’s a Chicago connection, he might be involved, or know who is. We need to check him out deeper. Sloane and I are tracking something down now. It might not be anything or it might be something. I think we have a short window of time before our shooter strikes again. They’ve gone quiet after each incident. This isn’t a rampage, though it might be a reaction to what’s happening every day. They might be trying to quiet anyone who knows who they are.” Hud was hoping to appeal to Pete Lancet’s inner detective, get past the departmental rivalry that existed whether he liked it or not.

  “I never did like that arrogant son of a bitch,” Lancet said back to Hud.

  Hud didn’t say anything right away, didn’t defend Tilt. He wasn’t going to debate Tilt’s character with Lancet. “Look at the Shamrocks, too. See if there’s any ownership link to him, or anyone named Evans. I dug for a little while but came up empty handed. It was a brick wall. But I didn’t know what I was looking for. I could have been looking right at what I needed and didn’t know it.”