by L. T. Ryan
"Anything else?" I asked.
Vernon shook his head. I figured he'd take us through another round, but there was no point. I knew it, and he realized it. He led us outside, behind the station.
"I take it you can make it back to Billie's from here?"
We were already walking and didn't respond.
"Jack," he said. "Don't leave town. We'll need to talk to you again soon."
Chapter 25
"Who's Darrow?" I said. "What's his deal?"
Reese didn't lift her gaze from her cell phone. I craned my head. Looked like she had a crossword puzzle up.
I rolled the twist cap from the beer bottle in my palm, pressing the sharp points into my flesh. They left deep, dark indents in my palm. I tossed the cap over her phone. It bounced off the table and landed in her lap.
She took a deep breath, glanced up at me. "Where'd you hear that name?"
"Nowhere."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because."
"That attitude is not going to get you far, Jack."
"Come on, Reese. If you know something, tell me."
"I thought I warned you to keep your head down. Now you're asking about Darrow. Tell me where you heard the name."
I took a long pull from the bottle, draining about a third of it. The carbonation burned a touch going down. The hoppy bitterness drowned out the sensation.
"Well," I said. "I heard it from a kid."
"A kid?"
"Yeah, a kid."
"What kid?"
"On my way back to Ingrid and Herbie's, from here. When I found their bodies. Before I got there, there was that group of kids huddled around something on the ground. Little bastards wouldn't show me. When one started talking, another said, 'Darrow don't like no one talking,' or something like that. I got the boy to confirm Darrow drives the old dually I keep seeing."
"I'll start by saying that if you continue down this line of questioning outside this room you'll be opening up a can of skunk that you can't shove back in. The smell is going to envelope you. Probably me, too. We'll be screwed."
"And we'll stink. At least it'll be together."
She rolled her eyes at me.
"We'll be in the crapper because Darrow doesn't like anyone talking, right?"
She nodded. "Precisely."
"This guy scare you?"
"What guy?"
"Darrow."
She shrugged. "Not sure what you mean."
I rose and paced the perimeter of the apartment, moving books and the few knickknacks she had placed on shelves and window sills.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.
"Checking to see if the place is bugged," I said.
"You're not going to give this up, are you?"
"Have you known me to give up on anything?"
"For a while I thought you'd given up on me. Hell, took you long enough to find me."
"You think this was planned?" I opened a random book to a sketch of an elephant. It was decorated like it was going on parade in India.
She nodded. "From the moment I saw you in the bar, I knew you'd been searching non-stop for me."
"Happy accident, McSweeney."
"You only call me McSweeney when you're trying to hide your feelings." She swiped my beer and finished it. "Some kind of buffer that allows you to address me as one of the guys or something."
"Now you know everything about me, huh?"
"You're not that complicated, Noble."
"You're right about that."
"So are you saying you're not happy to have found me?"
"I was."
"But now?"
"This whole double homicide and possible murder-one indictment against me changes things a bit."
She rose and crossed the room, stopping inches in front of me. She smelled like heaven even after the ride out of town, standing in the desert, and sitting in the interrogation room. Her hand wrapped around mine. She placed her other on my chest, nails digging into the muscle.
"Let it go until the morning, Jack."
I followed her to her room, and managed to forget about everything that had happened, for a little while at least.
Chapter 26
I left my watch on the pillow. It was something my father had given me the first time I returned home as a Marine. I slipped out of the apartment. Reese would be pissed at me for leaving without waking her, but at least I was coming back. She might not forgive me for taking her keys and leaving in her car.
The street was deserted. The night watch had gone, and no replacement had come to take their place. Maybe we were off the hook with Vernon. Or perhaps he knew we wouldn't leave. Either way, when we parted yesterday he seemed resigned to the fact that our story was legit and he'd have to look elsewhere to find the killer. Anger had led him down the wrong path with me. He was thinking straight now, and would run a proper investigation.
Or call in folks who could if his department was incapable.
The old muscle car roared to life with a flick of the key, loud enough that I feared it would wake Reese. I imagined her flying down the stairs at that moment, bursting through the door and blocking my escape. I eased out of the garage onto the dirt and gravel. She was nowhere to be seen.
I drove toward Herbie's cousin's shop, but turned a couple blocks early onto a residential street.
The old GMC dually was parked in the same spot I'd seen it last night, in front of the unassuming Cape Cod. It was white, with blue trim and a stained front door. I drove past the house, turned, and parked a few houses down in a spot with nothing to obstruct my view.
Bacon saturated the steady breeze that blew in through the open driver's window. My mouth watered, stomach clenched and growled. I hadn't eaten. Hadn't had a cup of coffee. The latter would have been most helpful.
Five minutes passed with no action on the street. It was barely seven a.m. Not like the people here had to brave a lot of traffic to get to work. If their shift started at eight, they could leave five or ten 'til and make it on time. If they worked out of town, they were gone by six.
My cell phone buzzed. I diverted the call to voicemail. Only one person had the number, and I wasn't ready to talk to her.
The Cape Cod's front door swung open. Out strode a thin, pretty blonde woman, probably thirty to thirty-five years old. She left the door open and crossed the yard. A yellow lab with happy-butt disorder came out, tail wagging so hard his rear moved damn near a foot in either direction. I thought he was going to flip over. The blonde turned, bent over and petted the dog, then shooed him inside. A little boy, maybe six or seven, came out a few seconds later. He had a red book bag larger than him strapped to his back. He was going to have a hell of a problem with his back later in life. What did a kid need with that much stuff on a daily basis?
The boy followed the woman to their grey minivan. She held her arm out, aiming something at the vehicle. The side door creaked, then slid open on its own. Once the boy was secure in his seat, the woman ran back to the house. She leaned inside with both hands pressed against the door frame. Her hair fell to one side and hung down over a foot. She yelled something indecipherable, then jogged back to buckle in the little boy.
And then the blond-haired boy from the day before, the apparent leader of the eleven-year-olds, appeared. He dragged his book bag across the yard, leaving behind a trail of matted down grass. He stopped mid-way and pulled a cell phone from his pocket.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered, replaying his warning about Darrow in my head.
The front door remained open. A figure walked past. I tried to make out who it was, but I could only see shadows inside. Was it the older guy? Darrow? I doubted it. Why would the kid refer to his old man like that? Maybe the guy was his stepfather. Made sense, given the age difference between Darrow and the blonde woman.
"Come on, Roy," his mom yelled.
The kid swiped the screen of the phone, shoved it in his pocket, then picked up his bag with both hands. He ran ac
ross the yard and jumped into the front seat of the minivan. The vehicle rolled backward a few feet, and came to a jarring stop. I looked toward the house. A bare arm stuck out in the sunlight. The rest of the figure remained a shadow. The woman stuck her arm out and waved it, then continued away from the house.
Reese's car heated up over the next several minutes as the sun rose above the houses and trees. The wind had faded, leaving behind the lingering aroma of breakfast. I considered going up to the house. Knocking on the door. Breaking in. Whatever. Every fiber of my being, my instincts, all told me not to do it. It would make things a hell of a lot worse if I was found breaking and entering. Hell, even knocking on the door and having the guy open it would make a mess of things. Especially if he carried the clout I thought he did.
And if he was the kind of man I'd pegged him for, he'd notice things. Like an unusual vehicle parked on the street a few houses down from his. And with that thought, I decided it was time to move on.
I drove to the end of the street, hung a right and parked at the edge of the business district. As I cut the engine, the phone buzzed again. This time I answered.
"You got some damn nerve," Reese said.
"I know. I'm sorry," I said.
"Damn right you are," she said. "But not as sorry as you're going to be."
"I had to take care of something." The breeze picked back up, cooling the sheen of sweat on my forehead.
"What could you possibly have to take care of here?"
"Remember what I asked you last night?"
She paused. Her breathing rattled over the line.
"About that person, or name, or whatever?" I said.
"Jack, you need to leave that alone, OK? Whatever you're doing, stop. Come back here and I'll fill you in."
"OK, sounds good."
"I'm serious, Jack. Come back now."
"You got it."
"Dammit, Jack."
I hung up. She knew I wasn't coming back yet. And I wouldn't until I had an answer for all my troubles thus far.
I got out and took a walk down the road. Passed a few folks along the way. They studied me with curious eyes. One nodded. Another smiled. I responded in kind. Someone yelled from the other side of the road. I glanced over and saw two women arguing. I tried to figure out what their disagreement was about, but the low rumble of a diesel engine overtook their voices. I swung my head toward the source. Toward the truck. Linus stared down at me from the driver's seat. He smiled a bit too much for a guy I'd recently beaten the piss out of.
Then I felt why.
Someone drove a foot or shoulder or maybe a baseball bat into my lower back, sending me to my knees. A thud at the base of my skull drove me the rest of the way to the ground.
Chapter 27
Crystal River, Florida, 1988
"Now you and me are gonna have some fun." His hot, foul breath coated Jack's neck, making its way around his face. The same cheese puff and whiskey smell nearly gagged him. The man's grip relaxed. "Scream and I'll kill you."
Jack squirmed out of the hold, lunged forward, and spun around with his hands ready. His gaze honed in on the pistol aimed at his head.
"Scream, and I'll kill you," the guy repeated slowly. A smile broadened on his face. His top and bottom teeth were crooked and stained yellow. One of them was so black it must've been dead.
Stay calm. Stay alert. Stay in tune with your body and surroundings.
The words continued to echo in his father's voice, Sean's voice, Molly's voice. They competed with each other until they melted into one unified voice, shouting into Jack's consciousness. Jack had only used his father's lessons in practice and occasionally in the schoolyard when someone got out of line with him or someone who couldn't defend themselves. When he'd asked his father what he had been teaching him, his dad told him it was the only self-defense he'd ever need. That was good enough. He figured everything else was for show. The most important thing was to neutralize your opponent. And Jack did that well, even though he'd never faced a real-life opponent of this size.
"How you feeling right now?" the guy asked, smiling while he undid his belt with one hand.
Jack said nothing.
"Wondering what I'm gonna do to you, huh?" He licked his lips. Jack wasn't sure if the man wanted to torture him or rape him. Either way, the man wouldn't get what he wanted without a fight. "Well, don't worry too much. Ain't nothing I've never done before. I should have it down to a science by now."
In those moments while the man stood there, planning his next move, Jack itemized the potential weapons in his room. There were trophies from football, baseball, and soccer perched on shelves out of his reach. Three baseball bats, one metal, one wood and one aluminum, sat in his closet. Between his mattress and box spring was his knife, a piece his father gave him. Said it had belonged to an Air Force pilot who'd been a POW.
None were within reach.
The guy stood in the way.
"Let's get started."
Chapter 28
My face pressed hard against the concrete sidewalk. It tore at my cheek. Dust filled my nostrils. Grit scratched my eyes. The guy smelled like he'd inhaled a dozen chili dogs a few minutes earlier.
He outweighed me by fifty pounds or more, and was experienced in jiu-jitsu or wrestling or something similar. He countered every move I made. I couldn't get to my hands or knees. The moment I planted my palm on the ground, my arm was knocked out from under me, sending me face first into the concrete again. Warm blood trickled down the side of my face. Pain radiated from the right side of my forehead. I felt another trickle pouring over my lips from my nose. The breeze stung the cuts and scratches.
I feigned defeat, letting my body go limp. My assailant lifted his weight off me as he went to pull my arms back.
Wrong move.
I pushed up with all the force I could muster and whipped my head back, then slung my right elbow around. Both collided with the guy. I'm not sure where I caught him, but it was enough to earn a couple grunts, and to force some of his weight off me. I pulled out from under him. Made it to my knees. Almost got to my feet. I clung to a store window in an attempt to pull myself up.
Car doors grated opened and slammed shut. Boots hit the ground. The sounds echoed between the row of buildings. Three men rushed toward me from both sides. I prepared for the onslaught. The first blow came from behind, catching me on the side just under the ribs. Another caught me on the jaw. A weathered leather cowboy boot connected with my gut. I had enough time to tighten my stomach, minimizing the damage. The next one I wasn't so lucky. It smacked dead center in the solar plexus. I coughed out any remaining air in my lungs and collapsed on my left side.
The assault continued for another minute, each man taking a turn. I never much enjoyed getting my ass kicked. Sure as hell wasn't going to start liking it today.
"He's had enough."
I couldn't see who said it, but my guess was Darrow.
"Back off boys," someone else said.
The beating stopped. The men formed a half circle around me, cutting off any escape unless I suddenly developed the ability to scale a brick wall in a matter of seconds.
I rolled onto my back. My arms and legs and stomach ached. Did I have a broken rib or two? Too soon to tell. My face felt as though a battering ram had smashed into it. Same for my chest. They yanked me off the ground, dragged me down the sidewalk. I glanced over and caught a glimpse of myself in the store window. A large gash spread across my forehead. One eye was swollen. Blood dripped off my face and stained my shirt. I looked like I was dressed for a zombie-themed costume party.
Practically felt like I was the real thing.
We stopped in front of the pickup truck. They twisted my arms behind my back and secured my wrists together with thick zip ties. The passenger doors opened and I was thrown onto the rear bench seat. Someone leaned on my legs as another man zip tied my ankles together. My mouth hurt too badly to open, much less think of a comment to make. Blood from my face spread a
nd pooled on the seat.
Linus threw his arm over the front seat, twisted, and peered down at me.
"Mr. Badass himself," he said. "Not so tough now, huh?"
I said nothing.
"Wanna tell me what you were doing hanging out in front of my house watching my wife and boys?"
"That was your wife?" I mumbled, apparently cohesively.
"Hell yeah," he said.
"Is she your sister, too?"
Linus laughed, but only for a second. He rose up, swung, connected his left fist with my mouth. Blood coated the inside of my cheeks, my teeth, and tongue. I managed to part my lips and let it trickle out, adding to the collection on the seat.
The truck lurched into first gear and pulled away. I wasn't sure where they were taking me, but I had a good idea who'd be there. We hadn't gone far when the truck stopped abruptly. The tires chirped on the asphalt. The smell of rubber filled the cab. Linus opened his door, stepped out, then pulled mine open. I expected to be dragged out. Instead I got a fist to my stomach. Everything turned black as they pulled and cinched a bag over my head. What was next? Torture? I wouldn't put it past Darrow. Whatever criminal endeavor he was involved in, he surely took on the role of brutal overlord as opposed to savvy businessman.
A few seconds later, we were on the move again. I lost track of how many rights and lefts we took. I tried to keep up with the seconds and minutes as the drive lingered on, but I struggled to remain conscious. The pain in my head intensified. I felt more nauseous with each turn. A concussion had taken hold.
We stopped again. The transmission groaned as Linus put it in park, leaving the engine on to idle for a couple minutes. Some country song played on the radio. It was never my genre. Sounded older, though. Linus alternated between humming and whistling the tune in the wrong key. I thought about telling him to shut up, but decided I ought to pick and choose my battles a little more carefully the rest of the day. Plus, I wasn't sure I could talk.