by Dan Glover
"That sounds like some scary shit, Reilly."
"You have no idea. That's just touching the surface. There are entire government agencies devoted to nothing but gathering information on virtually everyone in the United States, Europe, and the Middle East. Hell, it won't be too many years before every person in the entire world is
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"As easy to listen to as if they're standing in the same room."
"Why did you quit the FBI, Reilly?"
"I didn't. Well... maybe technically I quit. I did some people a favor. My superiors weren’t amused. I was given a choice: resign or face dismissal. I thought if I resigned it'd go easier on me. That's what I was led to believe."
"But it didn’t?"
"Not exactly... government agencies were all made aware of the circumstances of my case."
"What about the private sector?"
"The need for my services is negligible as of yet... no one knows of this technology."
"So what do you do for a living, Reilly?"
"I wait for Danners Forthright to call. Once or twice a year him and Liza need my help. Otherwise I work odd jobs... do some roofing, remodel a kitchen... stuff like that. I make enough to pay the rent but that's about it."
"Jesus... that must be tough."
"Seriously, I think it's gonna be harder by far on my mother. She's been so proud of me, especially after I got accepted into the Bureau. I was the first one in my family to graduate from college. That was a struggle in itself. Mother was the one who saw me through, working three jobs at a time just to help with my tuition and dorm fees. Once I got hired on with the FBI I was able to pay her back... I bought her a house in a good neighborhood. Got her out of East Los Angeles. Told her I paid cash for it but really I was making monthly mortgage payments. Until... well, until I couldn’t any longer."
"Oh no... that's horrible, Reilly. So she had to move out?"
"Not yet... I keep hoping I can hold off the bank until I'm able to find work again. But soon, real soon, I'm going to have to break the news to her... she still thinks I'm with the Bureau."
"Jesus, I wish I could offer you some help, Reilly."
"Well, Allen... like my old grandpappy Pete once told me... boy... it is what it is. Thank you for the thought, though."
"Man, I tell you, with that kind of technology it seems everyone would be busting down your door."
"Maybe one day, Allen. But for now I sell my locator app to certain select people... those I can trust... folk like Liza and Danners who can make use of it. That brings in a few dollars each month too. And if they don't pay up I simply change the password so they can't access it any longer."
"So tell me, how much does something like that cost?"
"That depends, Allen. Are you going to be using it professionally or privately?"
Chapter 59—Pigs
(Flying and Otherwise)
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So Sally knew. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Sally Lupo had been a pig but she was never a stupid woman. Paula got the feeling Sally knew about her affair with Hank all along. But why would she stay silent? For the children, most likely. A messy divorce wasn’t conducive to a happy household. Knowing him the way she did, Paula figured Hank would fight Sally tooth and nail for custody of the kids, as if he really gave two shits about any of them.
The woman was surprisingly genial about the affair, as if she'd accustomed herself to the betrayal long ago. And of course Paula knew she wasn’t Hank's only extracurricular activity. The man had a virtual harem, from the way he bragged. But then again any man who claimed he played around that much was bound to be a liar. No... it was more of a show they put on for one another. She too admitted infidelities that never happened. To make the man jealous... a man she was fucking behind her husband's back.
The news came out rather incidentally. They'd been sitting at an outdoor café on Sunset drinking a nice Quintessa Bordeaux and talking over old times when the discussion somehow turned to the night the four of them—Allen, Paula, Sally, and Hank—had partaken in a game of strip poker. Sally quietly remarked how nervous she'd been.
"I never even let Hank see me naked and there I was, my tits hanging out like beaver tails right in front of everyone. What was I thinking?"
"If I recall, you were the one who suggested the game, Sally."
"I did? I don’t remember things that way at all. I thought Hank brought up strip poker."
"Oh no, Sally. Hank didn’t want to play... remember? He must've been shy about showing off his assets, or lack of them."
"Well, I suppose you'd know all about that too, Paula."
She had been too shocked to think of a witty answer, a repartee as they called it France or Germany or some fucking place besides where they sat. She'd felt the blush all the way down to the assholes of her shoes. Was it just an innocent remark? Or was Sally inferring that she knew how Paula was indeed privy to Hank's infirmity prior to that night. Despite his bluster and bravado the man had a member the size of his little finger.
"I think we were all just a little drunk, Sally."
"I'm sure you're right. It's okay though, Paula. I've made my peace with Hank's philandering. It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it never did. I'm probably as much at fault as him. I never much liked sex."
"Really... why not, Sally?"
"What was there to like, Paula? I mean, Hank used to climb on top of me, grunt a couple times, roll off, and fall asleep. I was left with a mess between my legs. All those years I never got anything out of it other than pregnant."
"You've never had an orgasm, Sally?"
"Oh sure I do... by myself. Not with Hank."
"Oh my God... that's horrible."
Sally shrugged her shoulders as if it meant nothing to be married to a man who didn’t care enough to pleasure her. Of course her record with Hank wasn’t impeccable either. The man always finished too fast. But that's where the toys came in. She thought of all the nights Sally lay beside Hank, unsatisfied and frustrated, and yet unable to talk to him, to suggest... well... kinky things.
Sally must've played the good wife. Submissive. Fat Sally, good for carrying babies, raising children, and little else. Paula knew all about that role. She played it herself with Allen. The man wasn’t all that different than Hank even before the drinking started. Now he was virtually impotent.
"So you said used to... does that mean you and Hank don't do it anymore?"
"Oh Christ no, Paula... I never initiated sex. He did. And that hasn’t happened in a good seven... maybe eight years now. How is he with you?"
"Do you mean Allen?"
"You know who I mean, Paula."
There'd been a mean light shining in Sally's eyes that she'd never seen before, as if the woman was enjoying her discomfiture way too much. Even though she'd lost weight she still had the little beady pig eyes that were all but squealing in delight at making Paula squirm.
For some reason the thought came to her that Sally had access to Hank's arsenal of guns. The man collected them obsessively, sometimes taking them off suspects and not turning them in. Sally picked up her purse, fumbled inside of it, and pulled out something so quickly that it caused Paula leap off her chair in shock... and then she slowly sat back down. This
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Could get complicated.
"It's only a journal, Paula... here, take it. What... did you think I was going to shoot you or something?"
"No... well, maybe. I guess I'm just a little on edge. I didn’t realize..."
"That I knew about you and Hank? I guess I should've said something earlier, but how does one start that discussion? But forget that, Paula... this is something you might like to see. It belonged to someone who may have had something to do with your daughters' disappearance. Remember Jonathan Baker?"
"Who?"
"How about Thomas Johm?"
"How strange... I've just recently heard that name, Sally."
It was as if she was remembering someone else's life. Ever si
nce she put down the Xanax, memories were floating to the surface... a flotsam of things she must have done and yet had filtered the thoughts out of her mind like she was a sort of living robot capable of suppressing images too terrible to know.
The same loop kept repeating itself... she'd done it for Allen. But what had she done? The man had never been what anyone would call stable, even in his youth... in her youth. Silly dreams... even more ridiculous decisions, all of which teamed up to lead them inexorably to here. But where were they? Where were the girls? Was that what this was all about? What was in that journal Sally had in her hands? Did she dare look?
Sally Lupo knew. Paula didn’t know how the woman came by her knowledge of the twins' whereabouts, but she knew. She must have shuttled that incident off the same way she'd done so many times yet now it was coming back to her. The twins were at Sally's the day they vanished, or they were supposed to be. Why hadn’t the police picked up on that? Did it have something to do with Hank Lupo?
No... don’t go there, Paula. Hank is a good man. He's searched for those girls for years. He was still in the service at that time... probably wasn’t even home. The man was in the Navy. He must have shipped out for months at a time... but why did it seem as if he was home when the girls turned up missing? Hadn't he come by the house with Sally expressing his incredulity at their disappearance?
Today Sally'd sounded as lonely and depressed as Paula felt. Before they'd split up they made plans to meet again later in the week. Just knowing they'd be together buoyed Paula's spirits. Should she tell Allen who she was keeping time with? It might allay his concerns. No... the man wouldn’t believe her anyway. He was by now doubtlessly convinced she was playing around on him again. And of course she was.
Besides, it looked as if Allen had made a new friend too. Reilly Cooper was at the house more than she was. The man looked decidedly gay but Paula told herself lots of men cultivated that look these days. When she asked Allen where they met he told her that Reilly was an old work associate. But Allen hadn’t worked in at least a decade. Oh, what difference did it make if he wanted to lie to her?
Home and sitting in her bedroom Paula wondered absently whatever happened with the psychics Allen had hired to find the girls. Where they still working the case? Or had they given up like everyone else? She opened up the journal Sally had given to her and began to read.
Chapter 60—Loose Ends
(And No Sleep)
"Did you need to see me, Captain?"
"Lupo... tell me what you know."
"About?"
"Come on, Hank. Don’t play stupid."
The deaths of Johm and Olay weren't as much of a blow as they would've been a year ago. Yeah, the men had lived pretty much past their usefulness. One was a psycho and the other a life-long loser. Whoever did them in had done him a favor. Still, the fact that both man knew his name disturbed his sleep. Too, the method of their killings disconcerted him. Someone wanted information. He assumed the name Roy Presti hadn't come up, otherwise he might well've been paid a visit by now. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t surface sooner rather than later. And when it did... well, he didn’t like to think how loudly he might sing under the same circumstances of those men's final hours.
"If you're talking about Johm and Olay, nothing. I'm not part of homicide. You know that, Captain."
"What about those two dicks working the Picany case? Are they making any headway? I hate waves, you know."
"No... I'd give 'em another week or two and they'll wrap things up. Simply nothing to find. Plus Picany'll run out of money soon from what I hear."
"I don’t like it, Lupo. Those two murders are too close to home."
"If I was you, Captain, I'd put someone we can trust on those cases. They fall under our jurisdiction, right?"
"Yeah, but trust is a tough commodity to come by these days, Lupo. Any thoughts?"
"I'd get Doyle on the horn, Captain. I know he's not part of us, but he's tough. Won't let up until he's rattled all the bushes to see who falls out."
Lupo was right. Sure, he had a damned good hunch who was behind both killings but what he didn’t know was how to handle it. Bill Doyle in homicide might manage to get things done. The man was rare thing... a good cop. Too good for the Captain's taste but some men were like that.... they took their jobs seriously. Like women. Women were always by the book. Still, Doyle was the obvious choice. He was like a pit bull... once he sunk his teeth into a case no one could shake him loose.
That fag of a psychic bothered him too. The man was a canker that wouldn’t heal. How close was he to knowing the truth? Forthright already had a record... he'd done time for murder one... was lucky to be absolved before they slid the intravenous needle into his arm and administered the fatal dose. Damned shame. Be a lot less to worry about without a Danners Forthright walking around in the world.
"I'm up nights, Lupo, and you know how I hate losing sleep. Tell me that pair of psychics are going to fall off a tall cliff and I'll make it worth your while."
"I'll see what I can do, Captain."
Lupo was lying. The man had a certain tenor to his voice whenever he wasn’t telling the truth. The Captain noticed it years ago. It was one of the things that endeared Lupo to him... he liked that he could be read so easily. Still, he'd pay a million bucks to hear about McNairy and Forthright having an accident... a fatal one at that.
He considered calling in a favor. He knew people. People who would be happy to erase trouble, for a fee, of course. If the little queer began getting too close for comfort, that was a valid option. On the other hand, what would his partner do in that case? McNairy might well go ape-shit over Forthright's death. And from what he heard, she knew a lot of people too.
Why couldn’t things be like they were in the old days... simply snatch the strays off the street, gut them and clean them, and plant them in a hole. No one cared. And they did all right. Made enough money to keep everyone happy. But then Olay got the idea to go for custom orders. Hell, it seemed like a great plan at the time. And it would've worked too, if that goddamned Johm hadn’t fucked up and snatched the wrong girls.
He claimed it was a mistake but by the time it was done, they couldn’t turn them loose. They knew too much. Did Allen Picany suspect what had happened? Probably... he backed out of the arrangement not long after that. Took up a new hobby: drinking. Fucking pussy. Still, how would he feel it it'd been his daughters who disappeared?
Picany was the one who hired Forthright and McNairy. The man should know better but maybe he thought enough time had passed. And maybe it had. Twenty years was a while. But there was no statue of limitations on kidnapping. And that was the least they were all facing, including Allen Picany. He had to know that. It was the liquor rotting the few brain cells he had left. Jesus, things were getting way out of hand. Pretty soon he'd have to buy a bigger ranch just to have a place to plant all the bodies.
The blacks down in Compton failed him. Hear tell it was the faggot who saved Liza McNairy's life. Of all things... killed three men outright. Sent the rest of the sloppy pants gang to hightailing it out of the neighborhood so quickly none of them had a chance to finish the job they'd been paid and paid well to do. He should've known better than to hire those cockroaches in the first place. Stick with your own kind. Instead, he'd gotten cheap. Tried to get by hiring some rags off the street to do a man's job.
Next time, he'd see to things himself. It was the only way to make sure. McNairy knew him well enough she just might show up if he called and told her he had information on the Picany case... news to share. Yep. She knew him well enough that if he told her to leave that cocksucker Forthright at home—that he couldn’t cotton queers—she'd believe him and do it. Give him a chance to take care of business once and for all.
Chapter 61—Magic
(And Madness)
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The drive to Oklahoma took forever. Watching the convoys of semi-trucks eternally plying the Interstateput him into a sort of trance where
old memories pushed up out of the graveyard of forgotten dreams where he'd buried them what seemed like centuries ago.
He'd never been sure of anything... not really. Oh, he let on that he was certain of things but most times all he had was conjecture. The dreams were fallible. He knew that. Yet if he interpreted them correctly the knowledge he gleaned through those visions might eventually lead him to the only reality possible.
Occam's razor—the law of parsimony—: he'd read about the conjecture in high school and over the years eventually took its meaning to heart. Given that competing hypotheses predicted equally well, the simplest—the one with the fewest assumptions—was often the correct one to use. That didn’t mean complex solutions weren’t better prognosticators, only that in the absence of predictive abilities, the fewer assumptions made, the better.
He made a good living predicting where old bones might be best found. That wasn’t what was important, however. He had money and plenty of it. No... the significance of what he did was how his skill set kept him in the good graces of Liza McNairy. She needed him. But hell, he needed her more. His power was always stronger when he was weak.
"Are you sure we'll find the twins in Oklahoma, Danners? That seems like the last place they'd end up."
"No, Liza. I'm anything but sure. But we have to go anyway."
He didn’t want to go. In fact, he'd rather drive Liza back to Compton and sit in the car while she made her sojourn into those cavernous abandons dotting the streets with empty windows weeping to the world like so many broken teeth and bloodshot eyes locked and staring into that interminable darkness waiting for, what? Their next victims?
If he didn’t go, he'd be failing everything that he'd so painstakingly built over the last few years. He'd let them all down. There were people counting on him. Liza... the Picany's... Cooper... even Hank Lupo. Though the man seemed to enjoy judging him in a harsh light, Danners could delve just beneath the surface... enough to know that Hank was on their side. When the shit hit—and it would—he'd be there.