"Jack," a voice on the other end of the receiver said when he put it to his ear. He looked at the red digital numbers on the clock next to his bed. It was 3:04 in the morning.
The voice made Paine come fully awake.
"Bobby."
"How are you?" There was something in the voice Paine had never heard in Petty's voice before, a hard calm laced with something that sounded like spite.
"I've been waiting for you to call, Bobby."
Petty chuckled dryly. "I bet you have. I've had you hopping, haven't I?"
"You have, Bobby." Paine was searching for something truly false in the voice—the effects of alcohol, coercion, drugs—and found only chilling, clean directness.
Again Petty chuckled.
"What the fuck is going on, Bobby?"
"Nothing special, Jack. I've just made a change in my life. That's all." Chilling, spiteful directness.
"Why?"
"You were a cop, Jack. You know there are always reasons."
"What are they?"
"That's not something I want to get into. But I think you should forget about finding me. It would be better for everyone."
"Why?"
"Reasons, Jack." Calm, cold. "I realize that you're too fucking stupid to do that, though."
"Terry wants me to quit, but I don't want to."
"Why not? She told you, I'm telling you. It's none of your fucking business."
"It is."
Passion tempered spite. "Because we were friends? Grow up. That was another fucking life. People die. Sometimes they die while they're still alive. And when they get reborn, they're somebody else."
"I don't believe that."
"Believe it. I'm not the Bob Petty you knew, Jack. He's dead and buried." The voice became wishful. "I don't know if he ever existed. I think a long time ago he did. . . ." Petty paused. "I know he did. He was a little boy, and he believed in a lot of things, and that was me, Jack. That was the me you knew." The voice had hardened again. "So give it up, Jack."
"I won't."
"Because we were friends? Because Terry wanted you to? How is Terry, Jack?"
Paine said nothing.
"I want to tell you some things, Jack. And these are no lies. I despised you for a longtime, and didn't even know why. But now I do. It's because you're weak, Jack. You were weak when you drank, and you were weak when you tried to kill yourself. You were weaker when you couldn't do it. You know damn well what I'm saying is true. A lot of other people told you these things, but I never did because I felt sorry for you. You were the puppy the kid brings home and hides in his room. Nobody wanted you, Jack, so I took you on.
"Well, I was weak to do that. Your old man put a bullet in his head because he couldn't take what he did, what he felt he had to do, and you're just like him, Jack. Only you don't even have the guts to take yourself out. And I despise you for that.
"When all that shit came down before you got suspended, I was the only one who stood up for you because I knew you couldn't gut it out yourself. That wasn't friendship, Jack. It was pity!'
"You're hitting some good buttons, Bobby, but I still don't understand why you left."
"You still don't get it?" Petty's voice rose. "I'm dead, Jack. Dead and gone. There isn't any more Bob Petty like you knew him. That fucking family of mine, you, that job, it's all dead. None of it is alive for me anymore."
"What does the word 'tiny' mean, Bobby?"
There was a pause. "You get that from Coleman?"
"Yes."
Petty laughed, the sound of a man who doesn't care. "It doesn't matter."
"Where are you now, Bobby?"
"Listen to me." Petty's voice had softened a little. "I want you to know that I don't care about Terry. I mean that. Whatever happens with her is fine with me. The girls, too. They can do whatever they want. If Terry and you—"
"Tell me where you are."
Petty laughed harshly. "All right, Jack. Sure. If that's what you want."
Petty laughed again, and then the phone went dead in Paine's ear.
Paine called a number, got nothing, called another and let it ring a long time. Finally, someone picked it up. Paine could almost hear the cold stars singing to him.
"Billy?"
"Jack, I tried your office before, left another message."
"You have something?"
"Sure. He's in Tucson. Left New York this morning. No connecting flight."
"I need you for something else. You got anybody who can get armed forces records?"
"What do you need?"
Paine told him about the picture of Paine, Coleman, and Johnson. "There was one other, they looked like a unit. Everything you can get."
"Sure." Rader paused. "Tell you what. I'll meet you tomorrow at a special place in Tucson. You know where I mean?"
"I know where, Billy. Two o'clock?"
"Let me get back to the scope, Jack. Never should have put a phone in here."
"See you tomorrow, Billy."
20
Circling in to Tucson Airport, he could not locate Kitt Peak, and soon gave up, concentrating on the beautiful dry city itself, nestled into the sandy mountains of lower Arizona like a solitary desert bird. Tucson was like no other place he had ever been. From the air it looked lonely, an earth city set in an alien landscape of brown, dry mountains and desert bluff; from the ground, it was transformed into a Disney version of any other American city—clean, wide, with the same stores as any other city but under a clear blue wide sky.
The sky, he knew, was not quite so clean, because once he left Tucson behind in his rented Ford and began to climb into the dry summer heat of the mountains, sloping up gently through cactus fields and Indian towns, the orange haze that covered Tucson like a bowl became evident.
From the top of Kitt Peak, the ancient sacred Indian mountain that held eight of the largest telescopes in the world at 7,000 feet, Tucson was only a hazy brown memory forty miles away.
Paine was early. He parked the Escort and wandered down to the solar telescope. There was a tour just going in, and he joined it.
Down into the bowels of the mountain, 700 feet, and into a small dark room. Above them, the odd white tube of the Heliostat let in the burning harsh light of the sun and let it fall onto a large white table, where they watched an image of the solar disk covered with groups of sunspots, each a black magnetic pimple.
There was a short film in a nearby room, the sun flaring before him, throwing long tendrils of white-hot gas from its surface into space. Paine watched it, ever fascinated by the violence of the seemingly benign yellow disk that lit and warmed our planet, and barely felt the hand on his shoulder.
He turned, seeing Billy Rader's bearded smile in the near darkness.
"Howdy," Rader said, but some of his usual effusiveness was gone.
"What's wrong, Billy?"
"Later."
When the film ended, they filed out of the cold shaft of the solar telescope and up into real sunlight.
"What is it?" Paine asked.
"Plenty of time for that," Billy said. "Let's look at the rest of the scopes."
They went first to the 108-inch telescope, a massive squat tube, the largest on the mountain. Paine and Rader stood regarding it from a galley, separated from the telescope by a flat plate of glass.
"Not like MacDonald Observatory in west Texas, hey, Jack?" Rader said, putting his hand on the glass. "They let you go right up and touch the sucker there."
"And they've got cops like Landers in Texas, too."
Rader laughed. "Ole Landers has got problems right now, Jack. Somebody said something earthshaking to him yesterday, and he up and took a long leave of absence." Rader laughed. "Probably be working at the Motor Vehicle Department when he gets back."
Paine said, "You've got that much power down there, Billy?"
Rader looked at him levelly. His face became serious. "Not really, Jack. It's just who you know. I know a lot of people. Too many. Sometimes I can't do anything
at all."
"What happened?"
Rader smiled, but his eyes stayed flat. "Little while, Jack. Let's see the rest."
They saw the other telescopes, the sixty-inch used for planetary research, the relatively small thirty-inch. Billy insisted on stopping at the gift shop, and bought a dark blue T-shirt with the Andromeda galaxy spread across the front that said Kitt Peak National Observatory on it, along with some postcards. "Got a great telescope postcard collection," he explained. "Come on, let's go look at the scenery!"
They moved away from the other tourists, down a sloping stone path to the edge of the cliffs that gave them a panoramic view of Arizona below them. The air was thin and dry the scene magnificent—wide, flat desert plains dotted with mountain ledges, purple ridges of rock to the far and beautifully bleak horizon.
"No getting away from the heat, eh, Jack? But if you gotta have heat, this is the kind you want. A hundred degrees, but dry as a bone."
"Sure, Billy."
Billy Rader found a seat on one of the cliffs and sat down, dangling his feet over the edge. Paine stood beside him and looked down; there was only a drop of about fifty feet before a second slim ledge fell off a thousand feet below.
"You like sitting like that, Billy?"
"Shit, yeah. Makes me feel like God. Even if I am an asshole."
"What happened, Billy?"
"Well," Rader said, scratching his beard, looking at the vista spread below him, "what happened is I can only do so much, Jack. What happened is that I can't help you anymore."
"Why not?"
Rader stared out at nothingness, and then suddenly spit out into it. "Because I can't."
"That's the best you can do?"
"We all do our best, Jack. I almost didn't even come today. Yesterday I got my buddy in the Pentagon out of bed and made him sit in front of his computer and tap a few codes in. He was only too happy to do that, considering the poker money he's owed me for five years. So far, so good. Then he calls me back early this morning, and—" Rader looked up at Paine, the flat look back in his eyes "—he tells me a couple of things and then tells me to forget them."
Paine looked down at him and waited.
Billy Rader stood up, stretched, and turned his back on the spread of Arizona before them. He stared at the high white dome of the 108-inch telescope. "I think you should go home, Jack, go back to fishing. Better yet, come back to Texas with me and look at the sky. We could drive out to MacDonald Observatory."
"What did your man tell you, Billy?"
"I'm not going to tell you, Jack. For a couple of reasons. One of them is I like you a lot. The other is, I like me a lot."
Paine said, "Did he tell you anything?"
"Oh, he told me, all right. Because he's stupid, and thought he'd be paying off that bet. I guess he did. What he did was break national security."
Paine waited.
Rader looked at him closer. "You're not going to quit, no matter what?"
"No matter what."
"All right, then, I'll tell you this much. Your friend Bobby did some very bad things in a place called Cambodia." Paine waited, unblinking.
"Shit, Jack," Rader said suddenly. He looked at the sky at the telescope, at Arizona beyond the cliffs. "You won't go home, forget about it?"
"No."
Rader sighed. "Maybe this will help. You knew I'd tell you, anyway." He looked at Paine. "Looks like your friend's going around the mountain. Seems he thought he was doing his business in Cambodia for the old red, white, and blue, but in fact his little covert operation was unauthorized." Rader's stare was trying to make Paine give up. "Looks like he couldn't handle that, Jack, knowing he did the wrong thing for the wrong reason."
"Thanks, Billy."
"Jesus Christ! Don't you see the big picture? Mr. Clean Marine found out he was dirty and couldn't take it! That's all there is!"
"Maybe," Paine said.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Find out why he's in Tucson."
"Christ!" Rader stomped his foot like an angry horse, looked back at Paine. He reached into his pocket, took out a slip of paper.
"Here," he said, handing it to Paine.
Paine looked at it; on it was a name and address.
Billy Rader said quietly, "That's the other guy in his unit. My friend at the Pentagon gave it to me."
"Thanks."
"You're an asshole, Jack." Rader began to walk away. "I'm gonna have me another look at that big telescope, then I'm going home. If you want anything, don't call me."
He stopped, turned and smiled. "Go ahead and call me, Jack."
"I will, Billy."
21
The address turned out to be a jewelry store on the edge of Tucson, an ornate little house at the end of a cluster of houses that stood out because there was a sign over the front door that said, “Enrique Quinones, Jeweler,” and because the house itself was painted turquoise blue. The trim was painted in silver, which made the place look like a large, square piece of Indian jewelry.
When Paine asked for Quinones inside, saying, "Bob Petty sent me," the woman he asked, a walking advertisement for the place, with black hair pulled back and knotted, dark skin, almond eyes, Indian turquoise jewelry around her neck and on her ears and hands, said, "Sure, wait a minute," and went into the back. Paine stood in what should have been the living room, but which had been turned into a showroom, with glass cases, wall shelves with fluorescent lighting above them, a counter with a cash register, Navajo rugs on the floor. Easy listening music floated out from speakers behind the counter. An air conditioner purred softly in one window. Paine smelled Chinese food cooking somewhere in the back of the house.
Quinones came out, holding a .44 Magnum at arm's length pointed at Paine. "Into the back," he said.
Paine went in front of him, down a short hallway past the kitchen, where the saleswoman stood in the doorway looking at the two of them with alarm. Behind her, on the stove, a wok loaded with vegetables steamed.
"Go out front, Maria, and take care of things," Quinones said.
"But—"
"Just go."
She went, slowly, looking back at them.
"Keep walking," Quinones said to Paine.
They passed a bathroom, a closed door, a linen closet. At the end of the hallway was an open door into a dim room and Quinones pushed Paine ahead of him into it.
There was a chair by the far window, and Quinones turned Paine, frisked him, and then sat him down in it. "Don't move your hands," he said. "Keep them on your lap or I'll blow your head off."
Paine said, "You like Chinese food?"
"Shut up," Quinones said, and then he jerked his hand forward, raising the butt of the Magnum, and hit Paine hard on the side of the head.
When Paine came back, he heard voices. He was on a low cot or mattress on the floor, on his side, his hands tied behind him, trussed to his bound feet. It was almost dark. The side of his head he had been hit on faced the mattress, and it hurt.
Someone snapped a light on in the next room, and Paine saw the outline of light around the door. He heard voices though the door, muffled but audible.
"Why don't you just go away?" Quinones was saying. He sounded scared.
There was a laugh, which sounded like Bob Petty's. "Sure," was Petty's reply.
"I don't like it," Quinones said.
Petty laughed again, a sardonic sound. "What choice do you have? You always were piss-kneed, Quinones."
"That was all so long ago. . .
"To me, it seems like yesterday."
"I just want it all to go away."
"That's not an option, Quinones."
"Please—"
"Just do what I say."
"Tiny—"
Petty's voice grew angry. "Shut up."
"What about your friend?"
"I'll take care of that."
The two voices stopped. Paine heard footsteps approaching his door. A key rattled metallically in the lock, and the door
opened. An outline stood there, in front of weak light. The door closed, leaving Paine and the figure in the darkness.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you, Jack?"
"You taught me, Bobby."
"Maybe I did."
Paine heard Petty feeling along the wall, and then a low-wattage light came on across the room. Everything looked sour yellow.
Petty came and stood over him. He was big and square, and looked more solid than ever. The sleeves of his shirt, a dark green one unlike the ones Paine had found in his closet, were rolled up. He leaned down closer and Paine tried to look into his eyes. In the bad light it was like looking into a face of stone. The eyes were like flat marble in a marble face.
"I hope you quit after this, Jack," Petty said flatly, and then he hit Paine in the face with the hard front of his fist and then hit him again.
Paine tried to move, to get out of the way of the blows, but there was nowhere to go. Petty hit him expertly in the face and the ribs and kidneys. Paine felt like a slab of meat on a butcher's table. After a while, to dull the hurt, he tried to detach his mind, to think of himself as a dead block of meat that he was examining from a distance.
Petty didn't speak, but went about his work methodically. After what seemed like days, from a receding place, Paine heard Petty grunting with exertion. Paine's left eye was nearly closed, but he looked up and saw that Petty was sweating. Petty paused for a moment to catch his breath before going to work again.
After what must have been years, Paine saw that the piece of meat on the butcher's block that was himself was in very bad shape, and he could no longer detach himself from that poor slab of beef and it became himself again and he heard himself cry out with each blow.
And then Petty stopped his work, and the heaving catch of breath and the crying that Paine had become was the only sound in the room, until he heard Petty say flatly, "I hope you realize I mean it now, Jack," before the room and the world got very dark and went away.
When Paine came back to consciousness there was a hint of light in the room from the next door. Daylight, perhaps, or a light on in a farther room. Paine managed to turn himself on the bed. His head, his body, hurt terribly. He lay on the mattress for a few moments, willing the throb in the slab of meat that was his body to subside, and finally it did to the point where he could move.
Summer Cool - A Jack Paine Mystery (Jack Paine Mysteries) Page 8