“Hello?”
“Aunt Nora?”
“Katherine? Is that you? Katherine where are you?”
“That’s not important,” I say.
“It is very important, Katherine. You’ve skipped bail. You’re a wanted criminal for Christ’s sake! Your poor mother is worried sick. You’re all over the local news.”
“I know, I know. I just called to tell you something.”
“Okay, out with it,” she says cautiously. “Though, I have to say, I don’t want to hear any confessions from you, sweetheart. I prayed every day for that man to disappear. I’m so sorry it had to be you that made that happen. So, please don’t tell me anything that they’ll force out of me in a courtroom.”
“This is the last time you’ll hear from me. I’m going to disappear. I love you and Mom, so much. I hope that one day she can forgive me.”
The line is silent. I can’t hear her breathing or any background noise. Then there is some murmured whispering and shuffling of the phone.
“Hello?” I ask. “Aunt Nora?”
“It’s me, dear.” My mother’s voice fills me with relief and overwhelming feelings of loneliness. Instinctually, I straighten my posture and take a deep, calming breath before speaking.
“Mom?”
“Do you still have the key?” she asks.
“What?” My hand seeks out the charm on my necklace and I press it into my skin.
“The key, Katherine. Do you still have it? Marilyn says that she’ll—”
“The key? That’s all you care about, right? Well, you can tell Marilyn that it’s gone.”
“You don’t mean that, baby.” The word baby stabs at me like a terrible lie. “Just come home and we’ll get you the best lawyers. All you have to do is give up the key.”
I pull the phone away from my face and press the end call button. I stare at the lifeless device and wonder when money became more important than her own daughter. When did my own mother trade me in for high-end cars and Botox? I delete my mother’s number from the recent calls list, swipe the tears from my eyes, and rejoin the others. The group’s conversation stalls when I sit down.
“He’s going to put my stuff in the front yard. Jerk,” I say.
My comment breaks the ice as the girls begin to bash my nonexistent boyfriend, suddenly warming up to me as the victimized girlfriend. After that, it’s easy conversation all the way back to LA, until they ask for my address.
“Oh, I hate to be trouble. Just get to where you guys are going and I’ll call someone to pick me up,” I say.
“No can do,” the driver says, “We’re heading down to San Diego.”
“Oh.” I pause, frantically searching my brain for something that won’t destroy my cover story. “You guys could just drop me off at work. I need to pick up my paycheck anyway.”
The scenery changes quickly as we approach Los Angeles. The highway splits into five lanes, a wide path leading toward a murky skyline of bar graph buildings against a blue sky. I’m wide-eyed at the window, loving the palm trees that line the streets and the colorful graffiti along the way. I search every hill for the Hollywood sign and every corner for celebrities. The RV navigates its path through the city and soon we’re parked in front of the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard.
The girls offer a tight smile and Ryan looks nervous. Dave gives me a big thumbs up as I step to the door.
“Umm, Lisa? Would it be okay if I call you sometime?” Ryan asks. “You know, so I can let you know when we’re back in town?”
“Sure,” I say, holding my hand out for his phone.
I suppress the giggle that wants to erupt from my throat as I enter the numbers 867-5309 into his phone. Meanwhile, the song supplying my fake number keeps playing in my head. Jenny I got your number. I slide the phone into his waiting hand and I’m out the door before he can check it.
The RV rumbles down the street and I give a wave as I watch them go.
9. HIM
I wake to absolute quiet and a bar of golden light peeking through the gap in the curtains. Details come to me like still photographs in a slide show—the floral-printed wallpaper, the blank television, my bare chest, and sheets around my hips. Still tired and reeling from the previous night’s events, I bring my hands up to rub my face only to get smacked in the forehead with the attached and empty handcuff.
“No, no, no, no,” I mumble.
Panicking, I look to the other side of the bed to find it empty. Cool sheets and her pillow’s indention are all that’s left of Katherine Percle. I jump up and throw on my jeans while searching the room. My head spins as I check the bathroom and closet, making sure she’s gone. I feel dizzy and nauseated. I lean over the sink, sucking in deep breaths. My pulse thunders in my ears and I can’t calm the rage building inside.
“Fuck!”
My scream does nothing to calm me. With no thought, I raise my fist and throw it forward. The mirror shatters, jagged pieces pointing in toward the center. Blood paints my knuckles and the pain finally brings me down.
Once I clean my wounds, I throw everything into my bag and slip into my shoes. I check the room one last time, making sure she’s left no clue, nothing of herself. I throw the door open and find Boots there. He drops his cigarette and crushes it with the heel of his boot before pulling a pistol and pointing it at my chest. I slide my shades down over my eyes and feign indifference.
“Give me the girl,” he says. His voice is a deep rasp with a heavy Southern twang.
He’s leaned against his bike, all shiny chrome and leather, wearing a smirk that just asks to be knocked off. He looks dirty and worn out, wearing the same clothes from three days ago. Besides his cold grin, his face is hard and lifeless. He looks like he’s been in the business too long. He’s me in fifteen years.
“She’s gone,” I say.
I walk to the trunk and throw my bag inside. I can feel his cold gaze and the gun’s barrel following my every move.
“Well, shit. This bitch is turning out to be a worthy opponent. I just love the thrill of the chase. Though, I can’t imagine how she could have gotten out on you.”
His accent is thick. It makes him sound slow and dumb. His words insinuate that he knows exactly how Kat escaped. I’m furious at myself and at him for pointing out my failure.
“You’re Boots, right?” I ask, leaning against the car. I try to appear relaxed, though inside I’m on red alert. The feel of my own gun presses into my back and I know I can reach it if needed. Boots must know I’m carrying, but he doesn’t ask for my piece. That alone shows his arrogance. He doesn’t consider me a threat.
“The one and only,” he answers.
“What the fuck kind of name is that?”
He ignores me. “I know exactly who you are.” Boots sneers. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Well, I am the best.”
“Were,” he corrects, hitting himself in the chest. “You’re also known for your out-of-control temper and your mysterious past. Though I don’t think you’re such a mystery. I think you’re a punk kid who’s just about outworn his usefulness.”
Boots pulls the back the hammer and the click sends a chill down my spine. One squeeze of that trigger and I’m a goner. Behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I hold his gaze and stand my ground. He may not be able to see it, but I know he feels it.
“How’d you find us?”
“I followed the yellow brick road,” he answers.
“You work for Dragon, right?” I ask, stepping toward him.
“I work for justice.”
I laugh at his implied superhero status. “How noble of you,” I spit. I take another step toward him.
“I like to think so.”
I jump out of his line of fire and swing to hit him but he steps forward and blocks my arm. His gun goes clattering to the ground. He lands a fist to my ribs and all the air leaves my body. I’m a little surprised that the old man can pack a punch like that. I double over and he knees me in t
he stomach. Still reeling from the pain I spin and stand, throwing my elbow at his face. It lands on his nose with a crack. Rivers of blood pour over his mouth. I pull my own pistol and point it at his head. He only gives me an evil smile, white teeth painted crimson.
“Get off the bike,” I say. He follows my instructions with his hands up, seeming amused at my demand. When he’s on the sidewalk, I step to his bike and pull off the fuel line, tearing it in half and watching the gasoline leak onto the asphalt. “That should hold you up for a while.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. I always have a backup strategy,” Boots says, spitting blood onto the sidewalk.
“Stop fucking following me. I found her first.”
“I can’t do that,” he says. His smug expression tempts me to just put a bullet between his eyes right now. “I know that you don’t work for Dragon. So who hired you?”
I shift my weight and readjust the grip on my pistol.
“She doesn’t know, does she? Katherine?”
I push my piece into his throat. “I’ll end you right now.”
“When were you going to tell her?” My silence gives him the only answer he needs. “Oh, you weren’t.”
My anger boils over and I hit him in the temple with the butt of the gun. He slumps and falls to the ground, out cold.
“More like Puss in Boots,” I mumble before jumping in the car and speeding out of the parking lot. I check my mirrors to make sure I’m not being followed and speed toward the highway. Weaving in and out of traffic, I ignore the honking horns and middle finger gestures, only thinking of Kat and her whereabouts.
“Damn!” I shout. The sound of my own desperate voice hits me like a blow to the chest. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I’m off track. Kat did this to me. She slipped past every wall I built and brought me down like a house of cards. I won’t be outplayed. Not by this girl.
I instinctually drive south and decide not to tell my employer about this little problem. I’m confident I can find Kat again. As the mile markers tick by, I mentally scroll through every conversation with her. I revisit the inappropriate comments, all the random chatter, and every annoying admission until I remember her ridiculous bucket list.
I press the pedal down further, speeding toward the City of Angels.
* * *
My phone buzzes for the fourth time in the past two hours and I can’t ignore it anymore.
“What?” I say.
“Is that anyway to greet me, darling?”
“Natasha.”
“That’s better. I’ve been trying to get at you for two weeks now. Have you been avoiding my calls?”
“Isn’t that what exes do?”
Natasha was my only serious relationship in the past ten years. We started out strictly professional, a mentor and student. I’m not sure when things changed, when she got her claws into me, but she did. Soon, her training took a backseat to our fast and fiery relationship. She filled a void in my life. I craved her day and night.
It never went further than that physical desire for me. I wanted her body. I was never attached.
So, I took her under my wing and taught her everything I know. She’s a natural. Tall and blonde, an innocent face that gets her anything she wants. Anything, except me.
Our breakup was ugly. There were tears and threats on her end, empty nothingness on mine. She took a tire iron to my car before I could restrain her. It didn’t matter to me, material things are expendable, replaceable. She told me she loved me, that it couldn’t be over. It was the first time that I wished I could feel something back.
We went our separate ways, but still cross paths professionally. She likes to pretend we’re still friends. Because I’m a lonesome bastard, I like to let her.
“I hear you’re working a new case, darling. A girl?” I don’t answer. It’s never good to give Natasha ammunition. “Is she pretty?”
“She’s a target.”
“She can still be pretty even though she’s a target, no?” she asks while laughing.
Her laughter is soft and flirty. It’s exactly the same every time, like it’s been rehearsed to the point of becoming a natural response.
“You’ve been trying to get in touch with me for weeks and you want to talk about my job? What do you really want?”
She says something just as someone cuts me off on the freeway. I slam on the brakes and barely avoid the collision.
“You dick!” I shout.
“Did you hear me?” Natasha asks. “I said, I’m offering my help. I hear it’s a big payout and I want in.”
My stomach churns as I picture Natasha and Kat in the same room. It’s the scene of a predator toying with its dinner. I can’t stomach the outcome.
“No. I’ve got it under control,” I answer.
“That’s not what I hear.”
“How? What did you hear?” I yell.
“Just that you found her, fucked her, and lost her.” Natasha laughs again, but this time it’s at my expense.
“Who told you?” I growl.
My fingers slide around the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles pop and crack from the pressure.
“You know the boys talk like a bunch of old ladies. It’s not every day that The Great and Powerful Oz loses a target. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Like I said, I’ve got it.”
“Alright, darling. But if you need me, I’ll come running.”
There was a time when I thought her use of the word darling was endearing. Now, it feels like nails through my flesh.
I end the call and throw my phone onto the passenger seat. Things are spinning away from me and even worse, my reputation is at stake. I’ve got to find Kat and finish this job. At this point, it’s the only thing that matters.
* * *
When I get to LA, I realize that Kat’s stolen the last of my cash. I find an ATM and restock my wallet, cursing her the whole time. I check into a shitty hotel. The red door’s paint is chipped and peeling, revealing a mint green color beneath it. There are scratches around the keyhole on the doorknob. It could be from years of drunk guests fumbling with the key or from people trying to break in. My gut says it’s a combination of both.
When I enter the room, I find the brown carpet stained and matted down in places. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner on top of cigarette smoke. I shove all worries of the room out of my head. It provides all that I need, just somewhere to regroup.
I take a quick shower, finally washing away Katherine Percle and my feelings of regret. I breathe in the steam and lean my forehead against the tile, staying there until the water turns cold.
When I’m dressed, I head out into the city. I walk down Hollywood Boulevard and take in the sights. In all my travels and all my jobs, I’ve never had a reason to come here before. I can say that I’m not impressed. At the very least, I thought it would be clean. Litter and trash accompany celebrity stars along the sidewalk. I read each name as I pass them and can only think of Kat when I don’t recognize most of them.
On the corner of Hollywood and Vine, I run into some kids asking for change. I give them a few dollars and show them the photo of Kat. They say they haven’t seen her. I believe them.
I grab a bite to eat and keep moving. As I finish off the hot dog, I make a mental note to get back to the gym when this is over. A month of eating convenience food is making me feel like shit. Fast meals, hotels, and endless hours in a car were not what I pictured when I got into this career. My mentor made it sound glamorous, like I’d be a hero. When I graduated high school, I knew I wasn’t heading to college. I’m not the brainiac type. I needed some way to prove my life wasn’t wasted.
After I left my foster home, I got into some trouble. Small robberies and stealing cars left me reaching for something bigger. I needed a purpose. Mickey van Sant gave me that.
He was big time. He drove fancy cars and always had a hot woman on his arm. He threw elaborate parties at his house with endless supplies of drugs
and alcohol. I never understood why he hung out with us trashy kids, why he let us into his world.
One night he took me aside into his private office. I sat in a leather chair while he perched on the end of his massive desk.
“Hey, kid. How ya doin’?” he said.
“Good, Mickey. Good. Thanks for that loan. I promise I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”
“Forget it. Look, I been watchin’ you. You got somethin’ special about you. Some kind of charm that these other kids ain’t got.”
“I don’t know about that.”
He tipped his head down at me. His look told me to shut my mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed. I did as I was told. “Now tell me how many books are on the second shelf behind you.”
“Seven,” I answered, surprising myself.
“And what color is my tie?”
“Maroon with white diagonal stripes.”
“What objects are on my desk?” he asked.
I squeezed my eyes closed tighter and made a mental picture of the top of his desk.
“There’s a crystal paperweight, two pens—one black, one red, a notebook, and an antique lamp with a crack in the porcelain base.”
“And?” he hedged.
I tilted my head and checked my mental catalog of items before blindly smiling up at him.
“Your ass.”
Mickey laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. My eyes opened and I checked the desk, finding exactly what I’d said. I’d been looking at details my whole life, never before realizing that I retained the information.
“I say you got somethin’ special, then you got it.” I nodded absently. “I been looking for an assistant, someone to help when cases get too much, ya know? So many jobs and only one me.”
“Yeah, I’d love to,” I agreed. At the time, I didn’t even know what he did. I just knew that I wanted his life or something farther away from what I had.
He leaned over and took my chin in his hand, pulling me forward roughly.
“You got a thick skin, kid? It ain’t no easy ride out there. You gotta be quick and smarter than them. You gotta check your emotions at the door. Can you do that?” He pulled my face up and down, nodding for me. “Good. Come back here tomorrow and we’ll get started. There’s some stuff we got to cover first. I trust you kid, but an open door may tempt a saint.”
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