by Julie Kenner
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?”
“Nope. No one.”
“Then you must have lived all your life in a cave. Let me have the honor of being the first.” He tapped the brakes as they approached a red light, then turned to face her dead on. “Sweetheart, you’re a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks. Coming from you, that means so much.” She flipped open the map. “So what street am I looking for?”
He told her, and she did some contortions, twisting and turning and folding the map every which way as she muttered to herself about grid E-4.
“Are you reading that map or making a paper airplane?”
“Any airplane I make would get us there safer than your driving,” she countered.
“Just navigate.” He nodded toward the map.
She frowned, but didn’t argue. “Not going to do me any good to find Al if I’m dead when I do it,” she muttered, but since she didn’t look up at him, he didn’t bother to answer.
“Here!”
He slammed on the brakes as she craned her neck and turned around in her seat. “What?” he asked.
“There.” She pointed. “You were supposed to turn there.”
“A little warning would be good.”
“Then maybe you should have pulled out the map half an hour ago.”
Since she was right, he kept his mouth shut. Just shifted the car into reverse and then hit the accelerator.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screeched, one hand clutching the dash. “We’re moving backward!”
“You said we passed the turn.”
“Well, yeah.” She twisted around, looking over her seat in the direction they were heading. “But I figured you’d make a U-turn. You’re going to get us killed.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just—”
“Here!”
He hit the brakes again, spun the wheel, and whipped the car around the corner. “See?” he said. “We’re back on track.”
“You’re insane.” She sat back in her seat, shooting him a dirty look as she tightened her seat belt. “You know that, right?”
“I’ve long suspected it, but until I start talking to imaginary friends, I figure I’m just this side of sanity.”
She raised an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at the microcassette recorder resting on the seat between them.
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, okay. Until they start talking back, I figure I’m this side of sanity.”
“Don’t be too sure,” she mumbled. She leaned back in her seat, staring straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Hello? You’re supposed to be navigating. If I’ve missed another turn, I’m holding you personally responsible for anyone we hit backtracking.”
At that, she cracked a smile.
“Ah!” He took his eyes off the road and pointed a finger at her. “Uh-huh. I saw that. That was a smile.”
“So? Even people who are completely nuts can be amusing.”
“I’m not that nuts,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“No, but you’re teetering on the precipice.”
“I can live with that,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s great balance.” At least, he used to. Since he’d met Jacey, he was beginning to wonder if he was losing his grip, or if the world as he knew it was tilting on its axis.
Jacey wasn’t sure how, but they actually survived the drive into Van Nuys. On the way, they passed two accidents, a couple of rival gangs fighting it out for a prime street corner, and a businessman getting mugged in front of the Stop & Shop.
None of that worried her.
David’s driving…that was terrifying. Exciting—especially in that amazing car—but terrifying.
Now, though, they’d pulled up in front of Al’s old address, and nervousness about David’s driving was replaced by nervousness about seeing Al again. With any luck, she’d be seeing him in just a few minutes…and he’d be just as thrilled to be found as she was to find him.
“This is it,” David said, pushing his door open slightly. “You ready?”
Jacey hesitated. She’d thought she was, but now, faced with the reality of seeing him again, she couldn’t seem to get her fingers to close around the handle.
“Jacey?” He’d swung one leg out of the car, but now he twisted back around to look at her, concern on his face. “You okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.” Her fingers tightened on the handle and she pushed the door open. “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” Sure. That had to be it. Just nerves. This is what she wanted. To see Al. To pick up where they left off. To find out if they had a chance.
“You’ll do fine,” he said, his right hand squeezing her left.
She met his eyes, surprised by the compassion there. In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to expect a lot of things from David Anderson, but compassion wasn’t on her list.
“Jacey?”
She blinked, pushing open her door. “Right. I’m ready.” She turned back to smile at him. “Here goes nothing.”
He walked around the car and met up with her on the sidewalk. “You know, he probably won’t even be here.”
“Are you trying to worry me or help my nerves?”
David laughed. “Just telling the truth.” He nodded toward the apartment building. “Not exactly the best neighborhood.”
She had to agree. The apartment building itself wasn’t so bad, but the house next to it was so rundown that Jacey was certain that whoever lived there dealt crack—or worse. Still, this was Los Angeles, and a gem of an apartment could be found in the crappiest of neighborhoods. When she mentioned that to David, he just shrugged.
“I suppose,” he said.
“And this is a security building. I bet the actual apartments are very nice.”
“Or he doesn’t live here at all.” They’d reached the security buzzer, and David was bending over, reading the names next to the apartment numbers. “No Alcott. Apartment two seventy-three lists someone named Brad Stemple.”
“Oh.” Part of her was relieved that Al’d had the good taste to move to a better neighborhood. But mostly, she was disappointed. If he wasn’t here, they were back to square one. Or David was.
Of course, if Al wasn’t here, that meant David was still on the case. Which meant Jacey would continue to see him. She frowned, surprised by how much that proposition appealed to her.
David reached out, touching her on the elbow, the tiny show of support tugging at her heart. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the end of the road. His name just might not be on the box. And even if he has moved, someone here might know where he’s living now.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll try another approach.” He pressed Stemple’s buzzer. “You hired me to find him. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
She nodded as static blared from the intercom.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Stemple?” David asked.
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”
“I’m not selling anything. We’re trying to find someone who used to live here.”
“Yeah? Who’s we?” The voice was slightly less gruff. But only slightly.
“My name’s David Anderson. I’m an investigator.”
“Good for you. Who’s the pretty little lady with you?”
David frowned, then tilted his head back, realizing that Stemple could see them from his window. He glanced at Jacey and she nodded. “Jacey Wilder,” he said. “My client. I don’t suppose you’d buzz us in?”
“I don’t suppose I would,” Stemple’s voice answered. “I got a life going on in here. You’re the one interrupted me, remember?”
David tilted his head back, his arms spread wide as if appealing to heaven. “And we appreciate any help you can give us,” David said, as Jacey tried not to grin.
“Quit sucking up and just tell me the name.”
“Albert Alcott.”
“Maybe…” He sounded doubtful, but he pushed the button anyway. “Albert Al—”
“I heard you the first time.”
David hit the intercom button and leaned in. “I take it you know him?”
“Hell yes. He used to be my roommate.”
“That sounds promising,” Jacey said.
David nodded, then spoke to the microphone. “Any chance you’ve got his current address?”
“His address? What kind of sick fuck are you?”
“Excuse me?” David looked at Jacey, but she just shook her head. Apparently Al hadn’t had the best taste in roommates. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you read the papers? He’s dead, man,” the voice said, and Jacey’s heart skipped a beat. “Al’s been dead for four months.”
“Dead,” David repeated. “Dead, as in deceased?” Maybe there was some new lingo going around, and Stemple was just telling them that Al had been evicted.
“Yeah. Got blown to bits when the heater at his office exploded. Nasty business.”
Or maybe not.
“Dead?” Jacey’s voice was barely a whisper, and David mentally kicked himself as he remembered why the hell they were there in the first place. So far, he hadn’t exactly been a font of compassion.
He swung an arm around her shoulder, feeling totally inadequate in the consoling widowed girlfriends department. “Jace? You okay?” Probably not the most appropriate comment. He tried to think of what Monroe would say—something suave and cool and designed to bring a smile to her lips. Nothing. Apparently, Monroe wasn’t talking.
She sniffled. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Another sniffle. “No. No, I’m not fine at all.” The sniffle turned into a gasping little sob, and David became absolutely, positively certain that he had no idea whatsoever what he was supposed to be doing.
He steered her toward the low wall that butted up against a row of sickly looking flowers. “Here.” He clumsily patted her on the shoulder. “Sit here for a sec, okay?”
She wiped her eyes with her forefinger. But she also nodded, and David took that as permission to head back to the intercom.
“Really dead?” he asked once more, just to be positive.
“For fuck’s sake, how many times do I gots to tell you? Dead. Kaput. Ashes to ashes and all that jazz.”
Okay. That sounded really dead. “When?” David asked.
“Last March. I remember because of my English class back before I dropped out.”
David blinked. That made no sense whatsoever. “Huh?”
“You know. Julius Caesar and the idea of March. That’s why I remember what day it was.”
“Oh,” David said, still not sure he was following the conversation, but not sure it really mattered. As far as old boyfriends were concerned, dead was dead. When didn’t much matter. “Well, okay, then. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, man. I should probably post a sign, what with all the people that was asking about him back then.”
David almost asked what Stemple meant, but he caught sight of Jacey sitting there looking forlorn. He thanked Stemple again, then clicked off.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, tears pooling in her green eyes. “I’ve had better days, that’s for sure.” Another sniff. Then a blink. Then a tear trickled down her cheek.
Aw, hell. David squirmed. Women and crying. That always got to him. Always.
“Come here,” he said, more gruffly than he intended, but she didn’t seem to mind. He perched on the wall next to her and held out his arm. She curled up against him, her face buried against his chest, and he patted her back with a stiff hand as her shoulders shook.
After a few minutes, she sighed, then sniffed and lifted her head. “Sorry about your shirt. It’s kind of…well…wet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her head back, looking deep into her eyes. “Better?”
“Yeah.” She licked her lips, pulling away from him to sit up straight. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he said. And the funny thing was, he meant it. Unlike most of the women he knew who would have locked themselves in the car until they’d pulled themselves together and fixed their running mascara, Jacey had actually let him help her. And it had felt pretty nice.
“It’s just so strange, you know?”
He nodded as he hopped off the wall to stand in front of her. He didn’t know, not exactly. He’d never gone to visit a girlfriend and have her turn up dead. But he could imagine.
“I mean, I was prepared for him to have another girlfriend. Or be married. Heck, I could have even handled it if he’d decided he was gay. But dead?” She bit down on her lower lip until it appeared almost white. “That option hadn’t even blipped on my radar screen.”
“How about ice cream?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t notice the non sequitur.
Her brow furrowed; apparently, she noticed. “Ice cream?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, feeling a little like a bug under her curious gaze. “I mean, you’re a girl. And girls like ice cream when they’re…uh…depressed or in a bad mood or…” He trailed off. “Stupid idea?”
For a second she just stared at him, and he was starting to feel about two feet tall, when the corner of her mouth tilted up. “No. Not stupid at all. It’s sweet.” A tiny smile touched her lips before fading. “But I need to get to work.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s right.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, well, I guess we should go.” At least they could get moving again. Standing there and trying to make sure he said the right thing was becoming more and more difficult with each passing minute.
Once they got on the road, she curled up next to the door. Since he couldn’t think of anything brilliant to say, he didn’t say anything at all, and they drove in silence. Monroe, of course, would know exactly what to say. Hell, Monroe would probably smell a murder. But who would want to murder a pretty-boy Harvard wannabe?
David considered the point. Maybe the lawyer had hooked up with the wrong woman. Sarah maybe. And somehow Big Sal got tied into the whole mess. He scowled, his mind sorting through possibilities until she turned to him, drawing him out of his thoughts.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Sure. Fine,” he said, feeling guilty for not asking her that exact question. “Just thinking.”
“About Al?”
“Yeah, well, you know.” He fingered his tape recorder, but didn’t pick it up. He wasn’t about to confess that he’d been daydreaming about his novel instead of pondering poor Al. Not that pondering would do much good. Dead was dead.
“It’s just so horrific,” she said. “I still can’t quite believe it. It doesn’t seem real.”
He got off at the Wilshire exit and headed west. “It’ll take a while,” he said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. If there’s anything—”
“No.” She sat up straighter. “I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. “Believe me, I always am.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shouldn’t ask; it wasn’t any of his business. But he was curious, and at least if she was talking, he didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.
She barely shrugged. “Just that nothing ever seems to go the way I planned.” With a moan, she leaned forward, pressing her face into her palms. “Oh God, that sounds terrible,” she said, her voice muffled. She sat back up, turning to look at him. “Al’s dead, and I’m bitching because he messed up my plans. You must think I’m horrible.” “I think you’re honest,” he said, because it was the truth and because he wanted to make her feel better.
“Really?”
He nod
ded.
“Thanks.” They drove in silence for a few minutes until they got close to the beach. “Just pull over before you get to the Promenade,” she said. “Right here is good.”
She’d mentioned that she was working at a resale clothing store on the Promenade. Since that was a walking-only street, he maneuvered the Studillac into a loading zone a few yards from the corner.
“Well,” she said, sticking out a hand for him to shake. “I guess this is it.”
He nodded, suddenly realizing she was right. She’d hired him to find Al. Al was dead. End of story. End of his assignment. He took her hand in his, resisting the rather disturbing urge to pull her close and hold her tight. Instead, he just squeezed her fingers. “You take care, okay?”
She squeezed back, then pulled her hand away, her skin soft against his. “I will,” she said. Then she slipped out of the car, slammed the door, and walked away from him down the Promenade. For half a second, he considered parking and running after her, but what would be the point? The case was over. And without a case, he didn’t have a reason in the world to see Jacey Wilder again.
Not one reason at all.
Al eased his key into the lock and turned, the deadbolt sliding back without a care in the world. Good. At least one thing was going his way.
He slipped inside, shutting the door quickly behind him and silently praying that none of the neighbors saw. As far as they knew, he was still a dead man.
The familiar smell of stale grease and beer engulfed him, and he fought a gag reflex. For the six months he’d lived with Stemple, he’d never once seen the guy eat anything that wasn’t dripping with lard, or drink anything that could be sold legally to minors.
For about half a second, Al considered leaving. But he needed Stemple’s help if he wanted to find the diamonds and get the hell out of the country before Reggie found him again and rearranged his face. So he just parked himself in the forest green La-Z-Boy, cracked the spine on The Firm, and waited.
Four hours later, a key rattled in the door, and Stemple more or less oozed over the threshold, every one of his movements suggesting total exhaustion. Good. If he was still pulling double shifts at the mortuary, he’d be more open to the possibility of earning a little cash on the side by helping Al out.