A Desperate Place for Dying

by Scott William Carter

  "Watch the case, okay?" Alex said. "Those don't come cheap. And broken glass is murder on book jackets."

  "Sorry. It's just—Janet's dead because of this guy. And he's out wandering the streets, a free man, not even a decade gone by. It's not right."

  "No, it's not."

  "He agree to rat out his boss or something? When I was shadowing Pellarona, all I kept hearing was that the only man more ruthless than his enforcer was the man who kept him on a leash."

  Alex pointed at the screen. "That's why I was digging through the files. Turns out he did get a lesser sentence for helping the Feds go after Pellarona. So the jury tampering got him a new trial, but his plea is what got him out in six."

  "Wow. I'm surprised Pellarona didn't have him killed. He could get to him even in prison. He'd done it before."

  Alex swiveled his chair around to face Gage, leaning so far back that the front wheels came off the ground. "He probably would have. If he'd lived. Pellarona died a few hours after the plea bargain. The official story was that he fell off the roof of his high rise, a total accident. There was no evidence of wrongdoing, so what could they do? And it wasn't like anybody in law enforcement wanted to work too hard on that one anyway."

  "Right. There's always an amazingly high rate of fatal accidents in the mafia." Gage shook his head. "Wow, that took guts. How did he do it when he was behind bars?"

  Alex shrugged. "Somebody owed him a favor, I guess."

  "That was some favor. And I'm surprised that some of Pellarona's other lieutenants didn't come after him. With Pellarona out of the picture, they would want the second in charge gone for sure."

  "Well, that's where things get interesting," Alex said. "This is just supposition, but the thinking was that he did agree to step aside, but he obviously didn't make the deal with just one person. He made it with three of them, each of them thinking they were being handed the keys to the kingdom. There a bloodbath. Two of them ended up dead. "

  "And what, Bruzzi took over the outfit from prison?" Gage said.

  "Nope. The whole thing fell apart. So in the end the Feds won anyway, even if it wasn't the way they drew it up."

  Gage leaned against the counter, staring idly at the paperbacks Alex had set there but not really seeing them. He was trying to make sense of this whole mess, but there didn't seem to be any sense in it to be found. "The Bruzzi I knew never would have done this," he said. "First, he was loyal to a fault. Never in a million years would he have given up Pellarona."

  "People can change in prison. He was there a year before he got the new trial. That's plenty of time to realize just how far loyalty will take you."

  "Yeah, okay," Gage said, "even if I buy that—which I don't—this was also a pretty stupid way of trying to make a takeover bid. The odds were low—and he lost. Bruzzi may come across as a bit of a meathead, but it's all an act. The guy's as sharp as they come. He would have forged an alliance. He would have ensured that one of them took charge. This messy outcome— no way."

  "If you say so," Alex said, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. "So he didn't tell you what he wants, huh?"

  "Nope. I'm assuming he's here for revenge. I'm sure from his warped point of view, I ruined his life. But obviously just killing me isn't enough, or he would have already done it. He probably wants me to suffer. And watch me doing it."

  Alex grimaced. "Now there's a pleasant thought. I assume you're going to bring the police in on this?"

  "Not yet," Gage said.

  "Garrison—"

  "I will eventually. Just not until I have something I can hang on him."

  "Don't be an idiot," Alex said. "This is no time to play cowboy with a cane. You got more than yourself to worry about now. Zoe. Carmen. An over-caffeinated bookseller who'd be just peachy never having to stare down the barrel of a gun again."

  "All right, all right, I hear you."

  "Not to mention all those cats. How many do you have? Five?"

  "Those aren't mine," Gage insisted. "They were Mattie's; Zoe refused to give them away when she passed."

  "I don't remember you putting up much of a fight. Anyway, my point is—"

  "There's only four, by the way. Four cats."

  "My point is," Alex continued, raising his finger like a school teacher, "you shouldn't try to handle something like this on your own. It would have been stupid ten years ago, and even more stupid now."

  "Why?" Gage said. "Because I'm a cripple now? Or because I'm getting old?"

  "Will you knock it off with the cripple crap?" Alex shot back. "You always trot that one out whenever you take offense to something. It has nothing to do with that. And Christ, you're still a couple years shy of fifty yet. Most people still think of that as young. Me included. Hell, if you qualify as old, then what's that cute blonde hanging around you for?"

  "Maybe she has a daddy complex."

  Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh shut up. You're not that much older than her. And I'm going to tell her you said that."

  "Fine. I'll tell Eve that you spend all day at your computer looking at porn."

  "Bastard. You'd be lying and you know it. I spend all day reading romance novels."

  "I don't know which is worse," Gage said.

  "Just because you're not in touch with your feminine side, pal, doesn't mean I have to be a Neanderthal too. Nora Roberts is a hell of a writer. And I'm not letting you change the subject. It has nothing to do with your bad knee or your age. It has to do with rust. You don't do this thing any more, remember? After that business last winter with Abby Heddle, you said you were done. You said nothing could drag you back into being a private investigator again."

  "And I meant it," Gage said.

  "Fine. Good."

  "What do you mean, good?"

  "The point is, your instincts aren't as sharp, so don't go pretending they are. It's going to get you into a lot of trouble. Just call the police, Garrison. Let them do what they do best."

  Gage grimaced. "They've yet to prove they can do anything best."

  "Well, call them anyway. Do it for me, okay?"

  Instead of answering, Gage turned his attention to the window, focusing on the glare of the sun on the gravel parking lot. From this angle, the sunspots glittered like gold coins. More than anything, he was mad at himself for letting this whole thing sneak up on him. His decision not to have a phone notwithstanding, it wasn't like he'd cut himself off completely from the world. How many newspapers did he read every day? Three? And a stack of magazines every week on top of it. But this—it was like he'd subconsciously avoided learning anything involving Janet's death. Was it the guilt? The pain? He'd recognized on some level when he'd moved three thousand miles to the Oregon Coast that it was an attempt to wall himself off from the past, but he hadn't realized until now exactly how high he'd made those walls.

  Even so, in the old days there was no way somebody like Bruzzi could surprise him like that. It was embarrassing. He wasn't just walled off from the past; he was walled off from the present. Maybe Alex was right. He was too rusty to do anything but get himself into trouble—not to mention those around him.

  "So?" Alex said. "What are you going to do?"

  Gage watched a beige Toyota Prius roll into the lot. A young woman with curly red hair hopped out, nicely put together in a yellow summer dress and matching purse, but with a harried look about her, as if everything was held together with safety pins. He soon saw why. Not only did she unbuckle an infant from the car seat in the back, a little girl in a matching yellow dress, she went around to the other side and let out two boys with the same color hair, twins that might have been three or four. It was quite an ordeal, just getting them out of the car.

  She was about the same age as Carmen, and even looked similar except for the hair color. He wondered if Carmen wanted kids of her own. It hadn't come up yet. He wondered if that's what she wanted to see him about. Something like that, it could change everything.

  "Go see a special lady," Gage said.

>   "That's not what I was asking."

  "I know. I'm engaging in avoidance."

  "Well," Alex said, "I guess we all have to do what we're good at. You two still coming over tonight?"

  "You still want us to? With this thing with Bruzzi going on?"

  "He doesn't know about me, does he?"

  "I don't know."

  Alex stepped over to the window and yanked the cord which turned on the open sign. "Well, I'm willing to chance it. It's not like I was involved in that case, so he shouldn't have anything against me directly. If you think you're being followed, you can just bag out. Besides, you can't leave me alone with that woman."

  "Your wife? And here I thought you liked her."

  "You know who I'm talking about. If I have to hear one more religious diatribe—"

  The door chimed, the woman with the kids entering the store, so Alex didn't finish. She wanted to know if they had any Winnie the Pooh books. Alex told her where to look. While they were talking, Gage headed for the door. When he opened it, he glanced over his shoulder. The woman was already leading her tiny expedition to the children's section. Alex turned his gaze to him, eyebrows raised.

  "One of them only has three legs," Gage said.

  "What?"

  "One of the cats only has three legs. So it's not really even four cats, technically. More like three and three quarters."

  "How charming," Alex said.

  * * * * *

  On the way back into town, he swung by the house one more time and also stopped briefly at the beach on the other side of the highway and down the hill, where Zoe often went when she wanted to be alone. Which was most of the time. He didn't find her in either place, so he continued into what most tourists considered the real Barnacle Bluffs: the funky little knick knack shops that packed the stretch of highway between the mall and Golden Eagle Casino on the north end. The Barnacle Bluffs Bugle was a walk-up above an old-timey candy shop, and even before he finished parking the van he could smell salt water taffy on the breeze.

  The sun was still playing its game of hide and seek, flaring briefly on the windshields of the parked cars. Getting out of the van, he hesitated with his cane—even after nearly a year together, he still didn't like her to see him using it—but ultimately his distaste for pain overruled his pride. Cane in hand, he was heading for the green felt stairs, stepping around a young couple with bags from the bookstore, when he finally noticed Bruzzi across the street.

  He was parked outside the movie theater, in a black Crown Victoria with New Jersey plates, a big hairy arm draped out the rolled-down window. He was looking in Gage's direction, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

  Gage froze. They stared at each other across the highway, tourists milling around them, a couple kids laughing and jumping off the concrete bench up the way. Bruzzi didn't look like he was there for a movie. He looked like he'd been there a while. Lying in wait. Watching like a wolf.

  Seeing him was like flipping the anger switch. Gage was walking toward Bruzzi before he even realized it, teeth clenched, an acid taste in his mouth. This was going to end now.

  Traffic forced him to wait. A couple sedans came between them, then a school bus spitting diesel that blocked his view entirely. When the bus passed, Bruzzi's Crown Victoria was pulling out of the spot, accelerating into the traffic.

  Gage took a few steps after him, not sure what he was going to do. He thought about swinging the cane. Smashing a windshield. Breaking a hubcap on the pretty car. Something. Bruzzi looked at him, nodding as if Gage was just a casual acquaintance, a neighbor who lived on the other side of the hedge. He came so close that the side review mirror nearly clipped him. He came so close that Gage could see his own reflection in Bruzzi's sunglasses.

  The man in the fedora standing there in the road—he didn't just look rusty. He looked old too. Old and crippled and powerless.

  Chapter 4

  As far as newspaper home offices went, The Bugle's headquarters wasn't the sort of place that showed up in movies and television shows—big, warehouse-like spreads filled with dozens of harried reporters and ringing phones and lots of activity that that gave the impression that this was a place where Important Things Happened. The Bugle's office was cramped and dark, probably no bigger than a broom closet at The New York Times, and there weren't any ringing phones or people rushing about, just one pretty blonde lady sitting behind a big metal desk, squinting at an extra large computer monitor.

  With the curtains open, the gray sweep of the ocean was visible over the rooftops of the buildings across the highway. Carmen gazed over her shoulder at him, appraising him with those knockout green eyes of hers. Never failed to get his heart racing—even now, when it was already doing double-time from his close encounter with Bruzzi. The eyes were all the more striking because they matched the color of her blouse. He thought her blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail, something she often did when she was working, but then he saw that no, the hair was just gone.

  "You cut your hair," he said.

  "Well, hello to you too," she said.

  "It's short."

  "My, aren't we effusive with the compliments today."

  "Sorry. It just—surprised me." Swinging around the herd of filing cabinets, he got a better look at the new haircut. He liked it before, but this short do was nice as well, especially the way it drew attention to her neck. "It's different, but I like it."

  "My heart flutters at your poetry of praise."

  "Hmm." Taking his time, thinking of how to disentangle himself from the mess he'd made for himself, he settled into the cushioned office chair across from her. "Well, let me put it this way. When I first came in, I thought to myself, now who's that gorgeous woman sitting where Carmen should be? She's even better looking than Carmen. I actually felt a bit guilty having this reaction, so I was relieved when it turned out to be you with a new hair cut—a fantastic hair cut, I might add."

  Her response wasn't quite a smile, more of a dignified smirk, but it was a start.

  "Better," she said. "Not quite as good as saying, 'Wow, you looking amazing' right out of the gate, but better."

  "Can we rewind? I can go out and try again."

  "Sorry. No do-overs. I'm afraid a woman's memory has no 'undo' button."

  "I hope I can make it up to you somehow."

  "Hmm. I'm sure I can think of something."

  This time, he did win himself a smile, but it was all in the eyes—bright and smoldering, full of promise and desire. It was his favorite smile because it was only for him.

  "What, now?" he said. He glanced at the desk.

  "Tempting," she said. "Very tempting. After that hair debacle, though—"

  "Did I tell you how fabulous your hair looks?"

  "Nice try."

  "I said it right when I walked in the room. Maybe you didn't hear me. I think you were deep in thought. Focused on your work like the crackerjack reporter you are. Another reason I like you. Gorgeous and brilliant."

  "All right, Casanova, let's slow down a bit, okay? I'll settle for one kiss for now. The rest I'll take on layaway."

  "Layaway seems the appropriate term."

  "Don't spoil—"

  Gage kissed her, catching her a bit by surprise. She recovered quickly, one hand cupping his cheek. It lasted long enough that he heard an eighteen-wheeler barrel past the building. He tasted lemon tea and cherry Chapstick. When he pulled back, her eyes were open and she was smiling for real, a spontaneous parade of pearly whites. She met his eyes for a few lingering seconds, then shifted her gaze to her hand on his cheek, her fingers moving slowly across his stubbled skin.

  "Forget to shave again this morning?" she whispered.

  "A nasty habit of the retired male, I'm afraid," he replied.

  "You never seem to forget when I spend the night. And since when are you retired? I thought you were just really choosy about the jobs you took."

  He leaned back, smiling. "Nope. I'm retired. Close enough, anyway. In this s
ociety, a man who doesn't work has to accept one of two labels—unemployed or retired. Since unemployed implies the desire to be employed again, then I guess I'm retired."

  "Your logic is dizzying," she said.

  "I didn't make the rules. I just recite them to others."

  She returned her attention to the computer, clicking a few keys, one screen disappearing and another appearing. "Well. Since you're retired, I probably don't need to pass along this email."

  "Email? Who'd be emailing me?"

  "Emailing me, actually. You're the one who doesn't even have a phone, much less an email account, remember?"

  "What can I say? Henry David Thoreau is my hero."

  "Yes, mine too, but I should point out that his time at Walden ended after two years. Your off-the-grid excursion is going on six now. Anyway, that's beside the point." She nodded at the screen. "Since she apparently knows you, I think it's best you read this one regardless of how retired you are."

  "She?"

  Carmen gave him a look that could have meant trouble if he had any idea what this email was about. "I'll just print it for you."

  A couple clicks of her mouse and the laser printer whirred to life, spitting out a single sheet of paper. While he waited, his mind drifted back to Bruzzi. He was out there somewhere. Lurking. Even if Gage had wanted to put him temporarily out of his mind, he couldn't. Bruzzi was like a headache that varied in intensity but never disappeared completely.

  When Carmen handed Gage the paper, it was still warm from the printer. "The name Angela Wellman mean anything?"

  "No."

  "How about Angela Reid?"

  There was a flicker of a memory, but he still couldn't place the name. The way Carmen was staring at him, he could see the suspicion, the wariness. He looked at the paper.

  Hello Ms. Hornbridge,