by S. W. Lauden
Roger and Bill had been arguing for the better part of an hour. Eddie leaned in to listen as Bill jumped back in.
“So you’re telling me that, by your own logic, you drive up the freeway ramp and accelerate to merge into the first lane. Then you accelerate and merge again and again, gaining speed each time until you are finally in the fast lane. At this point you’re probably going a little faster than the speed limit.”
Roger was trying to ignore him, like usual. Bill was on a roll.
“Then, when you finally merge into the carpool lane—the lane furthest to the left—you slow down? That just doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m talking about the assholes that tailgate me in the carpool lane. It isn’t the fast lane. If they want to go faster than the posted speed limit, then they should get back in the fast lane.”
Eddie wandered over and dropped a couple of fresh beers down in front of them. He leaned in to listen for a moment before he joined in.
“What did you two figure out?”
“The carpool lane is not the fast lane.”
Roger nodded triumphantly and took a drink from his beer. Eddie started polishing beer mugs with a tattered bar towel. Bill looked over Eddie’s shoulder to watch the muted TV mounted on the wall.
“Hey, Eddie. Your boy Greg’s on TV again.”
They all looked up at the screen. A local talking head was giving some kind of commentary on police violence. Eddie yanked the power chord right out of the wall. Bill was already too drunk to notice.
“You hear anything from the police about the shooting here the other night?”
“I’m supposed to follow up with them in a day or two.”
“Shame about Ricky. Have you spoken to his mom?”
“Edie’s been spending some time with his family. I don’t really know them that well. Not since the kids were in school together.”
“Maybe we should set up some kind of a fund. You know, get some money together to help his family with funeral costs. I’m sure everybody around here would chip in a few bucks. Right Roger?”
“Count me in.” Roger patted the bar gently with the palm of his hand to get Eddie’s attention. “How’s Greg doing anyway?”
“I saw him for a minute yesterday. Seems to be holding up okay.”
“Gotta be tough for him, especially after everything he went through with his brother.”
“That thought crossed my mind, too. Hopefully the police will get some real answers this time around.”
Roger turned his attention to a newspaper spread out on the bar. Bill picked up where Roger left off.
“I heard that happened next door.”
“I forgot you didn’t live around here back then, Bill. Why’d you move here anyway?”
Hard to say if Eddie was actually curious or just wanted to change the subject. Bill didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Real estate, same as everybody else. This is about the only place where the property values go up anymore. Greg’s brother committed suicide, right?”
Eddie threw the towel down and started pacing behind the bar.
“Bullshit. That wasn’t a suicide. Timmy wouldn’t do that to Greg and his dad. No matter what the police said. He was a good kid, just a little screwed up from the drugs.”
Bill could see that Eddie was getting agitated, but didn’t let up.
“What do you think happened?”
“Nobody knows. The police overlooked a lot of things that made it seem like a robbery. All the money was missing, for one thing. And there was no note.”
Eddie’s voice was hoarse and his cheeks were flushed. He was getting short of breath as he went on talking.
“Greg thought the police weren’t interested in investigating the death of a junkie. I’m not sure he ever really got over it. And now this happens.”
Roger was the one who finally stepped in.
“Take it easy, Eddie. You don’t look so good.”
Chapter Twelve
Marco made a pretty good partner, after a little coaxing. The two of them finished their tray of drinks and then stumbled back to the motel like a couple of binge drinking frat boys. The room was completely empty when they arrived, much to Greg’s relief. They both fell into bed side by side and tried to sleep themselves sober throughout the afternoon. It was already early evening when Greg finally sat up hours later. He was still drunk, but filled with a renewed sense of urgency.
“Marco. You awake?”
He gave his companion a couple of shoves. When there was no response he punched him hard on the shoulder. Marco came to life with a howl.
“What?”
“Get up, man. We have some work to do.”
Marco pulled a pillow over his head as Greg jumped up. He was already fast asleep again when Greg grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him from the end of the bed. He was on his feet and chest to chest with Greg as soon as he hit the floor.
“Don’t mess with me!”
Greg brushed past him and opened the door. The room instantly filled with the smell of exhaust fumes. A battered taxi was idling in the parking spot just outside of Marco’s room. The driver was sitting in the front seat speaking on his phone when Greg approached and tapped on the window. The driver eyed him suspiciously and then pointed up with his index finger. The sign on the roof of the car said “Off Duty.” Greg pulled the car door open before the man had a chance to lock it.
“My friend and I need a ride. Name your price.”
The driver barked a few hushed sentences into his phone and hung up.
“How far?”
“A couple of miles. Over by the reservoir.”
“Fifty.”
“Fine.” Greg told the driver to hold on while he went back to grab Marco. “Let’s go. There’s a taxi waiting for us.”
“I’m staying right here.”
“Okay, but I would ditch those boxes in the bathroom if I were you. The police will be on their way over as soon as I can get to a phone.”
“Seriously, dude?”
“Get in the taxi, Marco. I need your help figuring out what jobs Ricky and Barrett were bidding on.”
“So we’re just gonna go jump Barrett and beat the truth out of him?”
“No. We’re gonna go to his job yard and break into his office. He has to have files for all of his bids.”
“Bummer. I was kind of hoping we were gonna kick his ass.”
“It might come to that eventually.” Greg stepped aside and let Marco leave the room first. He closed the door behind him, but didn’t bother to check if it was locked. “Especially if he catches us in his office.”
They climbed into the backseat of the cab and immediately started formulating a plan. The driver pulled the taxi out into traffic and they inched their way along the boulevard. This end of North Bay was populated with mini malls and car dealerships. The commercial sprawl eventually transformed to suburban housing tracts as the boulevard wound toward the beach. In between was a small industrial area that surrounded a reservoir. Eddie’s was on one side of the tiny expanse of water, and Barrett’s job yard was on the other side. The area that lined the reservoir in between was rapidly being converted from workshops to business complexes.
Greg had the driver stop a few blocks from Barrett’s place and dropped three twenties into the front seat. They watched as the taxi flipped a U-turn and headed back along the reservoir in the direction of the boulevard. The silence overwhelmed them as they started walking along the frontage road. There were a few lights on in the offices around them, but the neighborhood was otherwise dark at that time of night.
The emptiness reminded Greg of Virgil Heights on the weekend. The mirrored office complexes eventually gave way to older brick buildings a few blocks down the road. Guard dogs were barking at them fr
om behind chain link fences as they passed. Neither of them had considered the possibility that Barrett might have guard dogs.
“You ever been bitten, Greg?”
“Not since I was a kid.”
“Well, I can tell you. It hurts like hell.”
Barrett’s job yard looked like a messy parking lot. Boxy white trucks lined the fence along the street. Gear of various shapes and sizes were stacked in neat piles around the lot between the trucks and the office. Curls of barbed wire lined the top of the fence and the gate at the entrance was chained and locked.
Greg grabbed hold of the chain link and gave it a couple of vigorous shakes and waited to see if dogs would appear. He was trying to figure out how to lift his partner up and over the barbed wire when Marco pulled the two halves of the gate apart and slipped between the bars. It was a tight squeeze, even for his thin frame.
“Something tells me that wasn’t the first time you’ve done that. You know there’s no way I’m getting through there.”
Marco turned and dashed off between two trucks and into the dark yard. He reappeared a few minutes later with industrial bolt cutters. The chain resisted at first, but eventually snapped under the incredible tension. Greg pulled the gate open and followed Marco into the yard. Marco was rounding the corner of a truck when Greg grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him back.
“Look up at the corner of the building. Cameras.”
Years of police work in an industrial district had taught Greg a thing or two about security. The camera was mounted high up on the wall and pointed at the open space between the trucks and the front door of the office building.
“No wonder he doesn’t need a guard dog. I bet he sits on the beach and monitors everybody from his computer all day. What should we do?”
“I’m going to pull my T-shirt over my head and run over to that truck near the wall. There’s a ladder in the back. I’ll climb up and cover the camera lens. He’ll know somebody was here, but he won’t know it was us.”
“You’re a criminal mastermind, Marco. Let’s do it.”
Marco scampered off while Greg hung back in the shadows. He could hear metal scraping against metal as his partner removed the ladder from the back of the truck and carried it across the yard. There were footsteps and then the sound of the ladder coming to rest against the building. Marco whistled loudly to let Greg know the coast was clear.
The camera was pointing up at the sky as Greg approached the front of the building. The door was unlocked and all the lights were out.
“Do you think somebody’s inside?”
“I doubt it. They probably just don’t bother to lock it since the front gate is chained.”
They entered the building and took a few tentative steps into the darkness. Greg could see two office doors along the far wall. “Barrett” was engraved on one of the nameplates. The door didn’t budge, so Marco used Greg’s credit card to jimmy the lock.
Greg would have killed for a police-issued flashlight right at that moment. Even the flashlight app on his smart phone would have been better than turning the office lights on. He didn’t think anybody would be able to see into the office window from the street, but he still felt exposed. The fluorescent lights flickered and revealed a small space with a couple of steel filing cabinets lining the wall on their right. A large wooden desk filled most of the room. There was a computer monitor and a keyboard on top of the desk.
“Check those filing cabinets and see what you can find. I’ll check the desk.”
Marco sprang into action again. Greg pulled open the three large desk drawers. They were mostly full of office supplies. He found a box of nicotine patches in the top drawer along with an enormous rubber band ball. Desk jobs must be miserable, he thought as he continued to rummage through the clutter. The monitor came to life as he jostled the drawers. Whoever used the computer last had logged out and it was password protected. He knew they were out of luck if Barrett only kept digital files.
“I found something. Check it out.”
Greg jumped up and grabbed the file from Marco. The tab at the top was labeled “New Bids.” There were only a few stapled packets inside. The first couple of bids were residential, all of them in South Bay. The last one was for what looked like a big commercial job. The address was only a couple of blocks away from Eddie’s. The client’s name was at the top of the second page, Sand Castle Estates Realty.
“Isn’t that one of Mikey’s companies?”
Greg did a double take at his friend’s comment. Marco didn’t have time to explain himself thanks to the rapidly approaching sirens. They couldn’t be sure the police were headed their way, but it didn’t seem smart to wait around and find out.
“There must be a silent alarm.”
Marco shoved the folder into the back of his pants. Greg went for the light switch. They both bolted back across the outer office as the wailing got closer. It sounded to Greg like two police cruisers approaching from the direction of the boulevard. He flew through the front door of the building and started heading toward the back of the yard and the reservoir. Marco went straight for the front gate.
“Marco! This way…”
“We gotta split up. If one of us is getting arrested tonight it ain’t gonna be you. I’ll keep them busy. You try to find a way out to the water. I’ll meet you back at the motel if I can.”
Greg watched Marco sprint to the gate and out of sight, and then followed the building around to the back. The sirens came blaring up the street and stopped just outside the front gates. He heard an officer yell, “Freeze!” in the distance as he headed toward the reservoir. There were a few young trees in large wooden boxes lined up against the fence. He climbed the tallest one to the top and then jumped from the uppermost branch over the barbed wire. He landed hard on the gravel utility road that surrounded the reservoir. He stopped for a second to catch his breath and then jumped up and started running away from the job yard.
His heart was pounding as it tried to pump the alcohol through his bloodstream. The urge to stop was overwhelming. He knew that he had to get some distance between himself and the police officers. It was only the thought of another drink that kept him running until he was on the other side of the reservoir. He knew Eddie’s was nearby, but stopping in there was one of the worst ideas he could’ve had. They probably wouldn’t even serve him, at least not without a lecture. His El Camino would have come in handy right about then.
He decided to head back to the boulevard and catch a taxi home. It wasn’t likely that his partner had gotten away. And even if he had, Greg didn’t want to be caught in a motel room full of illegal drugs when the police came looking for Marco. Maybe another drink isn’t the best idea, he thought as he scaled the fence around the reservoir and dropped down to the street on the other side. Not if I’m going to pay Mikey a visit tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a relief to see his car parked outside of the apartment when he stepped out of the taxi. He slipped in through the back gate in case Mrs. McMillan was waiting up for him, and let himself into the apartment quietly. He headed straight for the bathroom and a hot shower, undressing as he walked. The water hurt his skin at first, but he let it wash over him until it ran cold. He stepped from the tub and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes and the skin on his face looked pasty and puffy. He needed a shave, along with another drink.
He found his phone sitting on the floor near the bed. There were fourteen text messages and two voicemails waiting. The first message was from Quincy, and all the rest were from Junior. He opened her latest text and responded with a simple “hi.” He could see that she was responding immediately and kept his eyes on the screen until words appeared.
Where have u been???
He didn’t want to lie, but there was only so much he could tell her for now.
Needed some
time alone.
Please don’t ignore me next time. I was REALLY worried.
I’m fine. You?
Better now. A little tired.
Get some sleep. Let’s talk tomorrow.
K.
He set his phone down on the bed beside his leg. The CoreNoMore magazine was there next to him, but he wasn’t in the mood to read about himself. Not while Marco was probably being processed down at The Bay Cities Police station. Besides, he knew it was going to be a long sleepless night without any alcohol to knock him out. The magazine might be a handy distraction in a couple of hours when he was fighting the urge to make a run to the nearest liquor store. In the meantime he grabbed the remote and decided to watch a little TV.
The local station was replaying the eleven o’clock news. Greg was hoping to catch a few sports highlights and maybe the surf report. The anchor was just wrapping up coverage of the national headlines when they cut to a reporter live in the field. Greg recognized the alley immediately and sat up in bed to take it all in. The camera was capturing a vigil in Virgil Heights where a small group of local residents were calling for an investigation into the police shooting of a young man who was in critical condition at a local hospital. The story was starting to gain momentum. He knew that he was running out of time.
Sleep was out of the question now, and he tried to convince himself that another night of drinking was a bad idea, too. He got dressed, grabbed his keys, and headed out to the El Camino without any kind of real plan. The sight of the cracked windshield hit him like a punch to the gut.
So much had happened in his life since he had rebuilt that car with his brother and his dad. There were ups and downs, but the world had always seemed right when he was behind the wheel of the El Camino. Until now. Right at that moment he was wishing that his brother and dad were with him to help him fight the sickening urge to go back out and drink. He was the last Salem standing.
He started the car and slipped it into neutral, letting gravity pull the weight down the sloping alley. He found it ironic that he could really only think of one place to go at that moment. Anything to avoid making the phone call he knew he had to make.