Gridlock: The Third Ryan Lock Novel

by Sean Black

  Kevin, freshly showered, his hair still a little damp, kept his arm round Wendy. One of the things that Ty had noticed about him was how tactile he was, with none of the inhibitions that seemed to affect kids as they grew into their teenage years when parental contact was about as welcome as herpes.

  Wendy’s mother hovered inside the hallway, arms folded, eyes filled with uncertainty. Ty smiled at her. ‘They’ll be fine. You have my guarantee.’

  ‘They’d better be,’ she said firmly.

  Ty knew better than to argue. He’d rather go ten rounds with a field full of Taliban than an overly protective Valley mom.

  ‘You crazy kids ready?’ he asked Kevin and Wendy, who were already hand in hand, consumed not so much by a teenage surge of lust as by a simpler delight in each other’s company after an extended separation.

  On the way out, Wendy’s mother pulled her daughter to one side, drawing an eye-roll and ‘Mom!’ as they ran through a checklist of ‘Do you have your cell phone?’, ‘Okay, keep it on silent in the movie theatre’, along with what seemed to Ty like a thousand other rules and strictures. After the fourth or fifth do or don’t, he tuned out, keeping his eyes on the quiet suburban street behind them, with its neatly trimmed lawns and American flags snapping tight in the warm Santa Ana winds.

  Finally, she was done, and there was a hug for both Wendy and Kevin. ‘Remember what I said,’ she said sternly, to all three of them.

  ‘It’s burned on to my mind, ma’am,’ Ty said.

  In the car, Wendy and Kevin rode together in back, Ty doing his best to keep any rear-view glances disguised behind his sunglasses. He kept his eyes on the traffic around them, alternating his speed. A car full of cholos dug past, with a dramatic blare of its horn, as they drove down Van Nuys Boulevard, its occupants’ arms dangling out of windows, a gang sign thrown by one, the kid’s fingers contorting into an unlikely tangle as he showed his allegiance.

  Ty thought about Lock and Raven, and how worried they were about the stalker, but the dangers in Los Angeles were more random, more casual, more mundane than any shower-scene finale in the last reel of a low-budget slasher flick. A quick glance revealed Kevin with his arm around Wendy, oblivious to anything else.

  Ty smiled to himself. Young love, man.

  Despite all his bravado, he regretted not having found the connection that Ryan and Carrie shared. Ty didn’t have a problem attracting women. Didn’t have a problem getting them to go to bed with him either. It was the stuff that came after that he struggled with. In his twenties it hadn’t bothered him. That was what your twenties were for. Love ’em and leave ’em, although in Ty’s case it had been more hump ’em and dump ’em. But that shit got stale. Maybe Kevin had something to teach him, not the other way around.

  Kevin was at the front of the line for the concession stand, his arm still around Wendy’s waist. Cradling a big tub of popcorn, he carefully took out a twenty-dollar bill from his jeans pocket and handed it to the kid behind the counter, watching carefully as he was given his change. Ty had noticed that for Kevin everyday transactions seemed to require unflinching concentration.

  People filtered past, mostly families with kids. The movie Wendy had chosen was the sequel to a huge kids’ franchise by Pixar, a selection that made Ty’s job easier. A lone adult walking in to watch the movie would stand out. The thought made Ty’s next decision easier as well. He went across to Kevin and Wendy.

  ‘You have your phone on, Kev?’

  Kevin struggled to wrangle the monster tub of popcorn and vast container of soda to one side long enough to pat the lump in his left pocket where his cell phone was tucked away. ‘I’ll switch it off. I know the rules,’ he said, with an eye-roll for Ty, much to Wendy’s amusement.

  ‘No, keep it on.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put it on silent. I’m going to hang out here. Let you two guys have some space. You don’t want me sitting behind you like some old maiden aunt, do you?’

  Kevin and Wendy exchanged a look, delight creeping in at the edges of their mouths. Then Wendy frowned. ‘But Mom said …’

  Ty put up his hand. ‘I won’t tell her if you don’t. Now, listen, I’m going to be just outside the door. If anything happens you yell out. Okay?’

  Kevin gave a solemn nod.

  ‘Okay, go have a good time.’

  Kevin scrambled to take Wendy’s hand. Ty watched as they headed across, handed over their tickets and disappeared inside the movie theatre. He waited a few moments, followed them, handed over his ticket but stopped shy of the door leading into the theatre. He took a seat next to a big cardboard promotional display, featuring a family of cartoon racoons and settled in. Besides the fire exits, there was one door in and one door out. He kept an eye out for any lone adults but it was only families, or single parents with kids.

  He sat back and watched a young middle-class African-American couple and their kids as they raced ahead through the door, squealing with delight, and felt suddenly empty. Man, Lock didn’t know how lucky he was.

  Forty-eight

  Raven’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘He’s staring at me.’

  Lock realized she was referring to Clayton Mills. But he was more interested in the presence of the bodyguard. ‘Ignore him.’ He put his hand out and touched hers. ‘Pretend like we’re two people having breakfast. You were going to tell me why you can’t eat eggs.’

  Raven put down her menu and folded her napkin over her knees. ‘Okay, so Vince Vice, his movies went way beyond hardcore, right?’

  Lock shrugged, still tense, still waiting for it all to kick off. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m more of a Tom Hanks guy.’

  ‘Well, they did. He got off on pushing the actresses as far as he could. The sex got violent too. He’d choke you. Force you to gag.’

  Lock put down his menu on the table. ‘And that has what to do with eggs?’

  ‘He’d ask you to eat fried eggs before a shoot so that when you threw up it was more visual.’

  A waitress circled the table. She was pretty and blonde and perky, in the way that only people who don’t really understand what the world is truly like can be. This part of LA was full of people playing at being waiters, or parking attendants, or fitness trainers or, Lock thought cynically, in this case, cops. ‘Are you folks ready to order?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll take some coffee but make sure it’s really hot,’ Lock said. ‘I mean scalding.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Just some toast, thank you.’

  ‘No eggs?’ Raven prompted.

  Lock smiled. ‘I’m not really in the mood.’

  ‘And you?’ the waitress asked Raven.

  ‘I’ll take the French toast and some coffee.’

  The waitress jotted down their orders.

  ‘Hey,’ Raven said, ‘I did tell you it was a gross story.’

  But Lock had tuned back into the conversation between the world’s most unconvincing waiter and Mills.

  ‘This isn’t what I ordered,’ Mills was saying, his voice low and barely contained, the words spat out, clipped and deliberate.

  ‘I’ll take it back and get it sorted with the chef.’

  ‘No, forget it. Just gimme the check, will ya? In fact, here.’

  At a nearby table two men, way too well dressed and manicured to be straight, craned their necks to get a better look. One whispered something to his companion, which drew a laugh that was a little too loud.

  Lock took it as a signal to turn round and take a quick look. As he did, he caught Mills tossing a ten spot on to the table in disgust before rounding on the two men.

  ‘What the hell are you looking at?’

  Eyes down, they sank back in their chairs as Mills rose from his table and stalked past them. Lock tensed, his right hand wrapping around the handle of his Gerber knife once more.

  By now Mills was level with him and had caught his eye. Lock looked right back.

  ‘You have a problem?’ Mills snarled.

&n
bsp; Lock got up from his seat, his focus on Mills’s hands. In the movies, bodyguards seemed to search people’s eyes but it was hands and feet that always posed the most danger.

  Very slowly, he inched the handle of the knife to the very top of his pocket, ready for fast deployment.

  Mills raised his hands, muscles tense as he shifted into a fighting stance.

  But the bodyguard was making his move. He had a gun in his hand and it was aimed towards them.

  Lock dove towards Raven, taking her to the ground and covering her body with his.

  All hell broke loose as diners scrambled for cover. The shot went high and wide. Cops appeared from all directions.

  Lock twisted his head in time to see the bodyguard take a bullet to the chest, going down slowly as screams filled the café. A nearby table went over, spilling food and coffee across the floor.

  More cops appeared, as patrons pushed each other out of the way, making for the door. Two, in plain clothes, rushed past Lock. He watched as a baton crashed into the back of Mills’s knees. His legs folded, and someone grabbed the scruff of his neck and forced him to the ground.

  Lock took Raven’s arm and pulled her to her feet. As she staggered up, he saw Mills turn and look at her. There was something in the way he did it that told Lock they had met before. Clayton Mills knew Raven and she knew him. He was sure of it.

  Behind them, the bodyguard convulsed, as blood poured from his mouth. Then he made a rattling sound and went limp. Paramedics rushed to help him, but Lock knew it was too late.

  Forty-nine

  Legs spread, hands cinched tight behind his back by cuffs, Clayton Mills was draped across the front of an LAPD cruiser. Lock stayed within earshot as Hill went through Mills’s wallet for ID.

  ‘Go on, man,’ Mills was saying. ‘Check me out. Then let me go.’

  ‘And why do you think I would do that?’ Hill asked.

  Mills’s head twisted again, neck muscles rippling like taut steel cabling. ‘Because I haven’t done anything you can arrest me for.’

  ‘You admit making a threatening phone call?’ Hill pressed.

  ‘Making a phone call? That’s a crime now?’

  ‘Nope, but killing someone is.’

  Mills broke into a grin, then began to laugh. ‘Dude, I just got out of the pen a few days ago. I’ve been in there for the past four years. My probation officer’s number is in my wallet. Call him if you don’t believe me.’

  Hill’s face betrayed nothing but the slight sag of his shoulders told Lock that this was news. The FBI agent walked away to make the call as Mills was hauled to his feet and put into the back of the radio car. He sat there with a look of amused satisfaction on his face.

  Less than two minutes later, Hill was back. He nodded for one of the uniforms to let Mills out of the car. ‘Release him.’

  Mills stared at Lock, and grinned. ‘Nice meeting you, tough guy.’ He rounded on the cops. ‘You’ll be hearing from my attorney about this. Police brutality is what that was.’

  Outside the café, the bodyguard was being wheeled out on a gurney, ashen-faced cops watching its progress towards an ambulance. Down the street, next to the radio cars, the crowd that had gathered to watch the show parted as Clayton Mills walked through. Lock followed as far as the Range Rover, which was parked less than half a block away.

  No one else was following Mills as he turned to stare at Lock for a few seconds, laughed and walked on, whistling to himself.

  Fifty

  From inside the sanctuary of the Range Rover, Lock watched Levon Hill approach an agitated Raven. The cops stood around outside, and studied the sidewalk, sipped coffee or, in one case, kicked the curb in impotent frustration.

  Outside the café witness statements were being taken from those who hadn’t already fled. Forensics personnel were moving around carefully inside. A police shooting of a civilian, even under these circumstances, had to be investigated thoroughly.

  For his part, Lock was less focused on the screw-up than on the look that Mills had given Raven and the way she had reacted to it. She was scared of him – Lock didn’t doubt that for a second. As someone who was intimate with fear in its many incarnations, he knew when someone was faking it. Raven hadn’t been. She was terrified. But that, and the shooting of the bodyguard, still left a residue of questions. Questions that he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer to.

  Clayton Mills couldn’t have killed Stanner because he’d been in prison.

  Popping open the central console, Lock clicked on the wi-fi system and extracted a small Windows-based laptop computer. He dug out the USB memory stick that Raul had given him, jammed it into a port at the back of the laptop and waited. A few seconds later a folder popped. There they were: the photos Raul had taken of Raven.

  Lock double-clicked – and groaned. There were at least a thousand images. Although most would be near duplicates, it still left a lot of ground to cover, especially as he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure of what he was looking for.

  He clicked on the first picture. It was dark and grainy and it took him a moment to work out what it was. He only managed by studying the lighter edges of the frame, which revealed the open door of a limousine and a strand of red cord drawn tight to a brass pole. It was what was known to photographers as an up-skirt shot. Presumably it had been taken when Raven had got out of the limo and Raul had held the camera low enough to get a shot angling up between her legs.

  Lock clicked on to the next image. This one was the same shot but slightly clearer, the flash bleaching the top of Raven’s thighs linen white.

  He skipped ahead a few pictures. Finally he was on safer ground, although these images seemed in some ways as intrusive as what had gone before. They were mostly of Raven going about her day-to-day routine: leaving her house, dropping Kevin off, picking up dry cleaning, shopping at the mall.

  For the next fifteen minutes Lock glanced between the pictures and what was happening outside as Levon Hill talked Raven down.

  He was reaching the midway point in the folder when he stopped and went back a couple of images, shifting in the seat as he did so, making another check that Raven wasn’t heading back to the car.

  The picture itself was innocuous. Raven’s BMW was in the foreground, parked close to the curb, and she must have got out of it a few moments before, judging by her direction of travel and distance from the car. She was pushing open the door of a mailbox store. In the top left corner of the frame there was an intersection, but the street signs weren’t visible from the angle that the picture had been taken, which was going to make his task a hell of a lot harder.

  He’d been so engrossed in the picture that he’d forgotten to keep an eye on Raven. Now when he looked up, it was to see her coming towards him. Hill had given her a hug, a strange gesture for an FBI agent, but then Raven seemed to elicit strange gestures, especially from men. Once again, Lock thought of Stanner and his relationship with her.

  He knew he had to move quickly as he clicked on the picture and moved it over to the desktop. Then he opened a web browser and, using his Gmail account, sent the image to his own email address for safekeeping before deleting it entirely. Then he closed the image viewer and the folder. Next he powered down the laptop. While he waited for that to happen, he pulled out his cell phone and called Ty, reaching over at the same time to Raven’s purse, which was lodged in the footwell below the front passenger seat.

  ‘Just checking in,’ he said, opening the bag and momentarily struggling to find what he was looking for in the mess of cosmetics, cigarettes and half-empty packs of gum. There it was: a small, harmless-looking mailbox key. Quickly, he put it in his pocket.

  ‘He take the bait?’ Ty asked.

  ‘No, but I’ll fill you in on the details later. Did you take them to the movie at the Beverly Center in the end?’ He, Ty and Wendy’s mother had been unable to agree earlier on venues and show times.

  ‘Yeah, they’re just coming out now.’

  This worked f
or Lock. The Beverly Center was only a few blocks from where he was parked.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Take your time. Raven might be calling you in a few minutes to pick her up.’

  In the background, Lock could hear Wendy and Kevin talking, their voices light and giggly, all psyched up from their date together. He did his best to tune them out. Raven was steps from the car now.

  ‘But you’re with Raven, right?’ Ty was saying, confused.

  ‘Just hang back and this part of our conversation never happened, okay?’

  ‘Roger that,’ Ty said.

  Lock killed the call as the door opened and Raven climbed in. He waved his cell phone at her. ‘Just checking in on the kids. Everything’s cool.’

  ‘At least one thing’s going right then, I guess.’ Raven sighed, sitting next to Lock. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sure. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, digging into her designer purse and retrieving her makeup. ‘You look kind of spooked.’

  Lock did his best to force a smile. ‘You’re not?’

  Raven’s head ducked into her purse and Lock tensed. Then she came up with her cigarettes and he relaxed again. ‘Levon really helped to put my mind at rest,’ she said.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Lock, noticing a slight shake in her hand as she lit her cigarette. ‘Listen, I have a couple of quick calls to make before we leave. Is that okay?’

  Raven nodded, blowing out a puff of smoke, which clouded the air between them. ‘Take your time.’

  Fifty-one

  Outside the Range Rover the sun hung low over the rooftops of West Hollywood. At the nearby Beverly Center, cars laden with trick-or-treat goodies streamed out of the parking exits and families headed home to celebrate Hallowe’en.