Bad Citizen Corporation

by S. W. Lauden

  He watched her dissolve into the chair as he stood up to leave. He could hear her sobbing uncontrollably in the background. His skin was bristling with righteous indignation as he strode across the lawn knowing that his work was done.

  He wasn’t even all the way to the El Camino when he was overtaken with the urge to go back and comfort her. The shame left him paralyzed as he stood with his fingers under the door handle. The only answer was to get in the car and drive.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The yellow police tape was ruffling in the breeze at the edge of the motel parking lot as Greg drove past. He could see big black and white signs posted on all the doors. Trespass warnings.

  It wouldn’t be long before the bulldozers arrived to make way for another mini mall. Maybe a month, two at the most. In the meantime all the cockroaches that previously inhabited the motel were forbidden from coming back. He knew where Marco had gone, but he couldn’t speak for all the others.

  Greg had seen those signs on plenty of factory doors in Virgil Heights over the years. Businesses seemed to come and go, but there was always another one right behind the last one. All it took was an idea, a little cash, a license and a new sign—the American dream in a box. The image got him thinking about his nightmares again. Was it possible that there was a door that nobody knew about? He knew it was crazy, but it was also better than nothing.

  The preliminary hearing was already scheduled for Tuesday. A little extracurricular police work couldn’t do any harm. Besides, it might take his mind off of Junior. He stepped on the gas and merged onto the freeway, heading north. The Circle Jerks were singing “Wild in the Streets” as he changed lanes.

  He tried to call the Police Chief while he was driving. It went straight to voicemail. It was Sunday morning so that meant he was either in church or on the golf course. Greg decided not to leave a message. Tuesday would be here soon enough.

  Freeway traffic near The Bay Cities was always congested on weekends, but it opened up as Greg passed the airport and headed east. Then he caught another little snarl as he made his way through downtown. The skyscrapers danced around the crack in his windshield. He cursed under his breath as he listened to the El Camino creak and groan. All four lanes started to flow again fifteen minutes later and he soon found himself taking the first off ramp for Virgil Heights.

  The streets were empty as he wheeled the car to the area where the shooting occurred. He parked the El Camino on the main street about a half a block from the entrance to the alley. His impromptu plan was to retrace his footsteps along the sidewalk in hopes that it would pry loose a memory. Everything looked different without the trucks and the workers milling around. He thought he did a pretty good job of getting back into the headspace from that day.

  Picturing the look of terror on that woman’s face was a good place to start. His heart started pumping as he chased the imaginary suspect in the blue hat.

  He rounded the corner of the alley and took a few steps away from the empty street. On the day of the shooting it was like he had stepped from a concert into a sound proofed room. He tried to imagine the kid with the blue hat trying to climb the wall behind the dumpsters. His memory was playing with the speed at which these events occurred, but he knew that they ended in a standoff either way. Him and the kid alone in an alley.

  His memory was only playing the final scenes from his nightmare now. Greg followed the kid’s arm to where the finger and thumb were outstretched, pointing at the forgotten door in the wall. He blinked a few times and still only saw bricks. He let his head drop and started to laugh out loud.

  It took him several minutes to recover. He eventually managed to search the entire alley for good measure. Still no gun. There might never have been a gun. The thought of taking over Eddie’s L Bar didn’t seem so absurd all of a sudden.

  He turned and walked back out to the main road. The streets were still deserted when he turned the key and shifted into drive. He had the urge to swing by the station, but knew that word would get back to the Police Chief before he even got to the on-ramp. His best bet was to head back home and finish moving Ricky’s things into the rehearsal space.

  He flipped a U-turn midblock and almost hit a big American sedan that was headed his way. He swerved to avoid clipping the bumper and saw Manny sitting in the back seat waving a semiautomatic pistol out the window.

  Greg jammed his foot into the accelerator and swung wide to make the turn. He checked the rearview mirror and saw the other car was gone. The terrifying thought crossed his mind that there had never been another car, that his nightmares were starting to seep into reality. But he wasn’t having that kind of luck these days.

  He slowed down a little going through the next intersection. There was half a second to brace himself before the very real second car clipped the tail end of the El Camino. It sent him into a sideways skid that he managed to correct by turning into it. He heard wheels squealing in the distance and listened as the other car rumbled down the block parallel to the one he was on.

  If he went left he might risk a head-on collision. If he went right he would be heading further away from the freeway ramp. He slammed on the brakes and sat idling in the middle of the block. He knew they had heard him stop but he wanted to see how they would respond. No matter what happened, getting out of his car would be suicide.

  He listened as the car on the next block slowed down, probably to listen for him. They were crawling forward at only a few miles per hour. At that rate he might have enough time to place a call to the VHPD. He reached for his phone and started punching in his password on the locked home screen. The rumbling engine in the distance was getting louder as he tapped the phone icon and started to dial.

  His finger was on the Call icon when the second car rolled into view, perpendicular to the El Camino up ahead. Greg froze as the windows came down to reveal two pistols pointed directly at his car. The phone flew from his hand as he dropped down across the bench seat and covered his head.

  The next sound should have been gunshots. He heard laughter instead. They were either trying to coax him into sitting up, or making their way up the block on foot to finish the job up close. He eased the car into reverse and started slowly backing up without looking. He felt like a U-boat captain navigating his way through a minefield blind.

  The other car squealed away in a cloud of white smoke that poured from its spinning rear tires. The scent of burning rubber filled the air as he lifted his head to peek across the dashboard. He had never been so thankful to be looking down an empty street.

  Greg threw the car into park and climbed up onto the seat. He turned to survey the damage to the back of the car. A full quarter of the bed was crumpled in on itself over the rear wheel well on the passenger side. He wasn’t even sure that he would be able to drive it home. His phone started ringing just as he was getting out of the car to take a closer look.

  “Greg, I saw I missed a call from you. Is everything all right?”

  The Police Chief was waiting for a response. The only sound coming out of Greg’s mouth was uncontrollable laughter.

  “Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. Wherever it is.”

  “You know exactly where I am.”

  “Jesus Christ, Greg.”

  “There was no gun, Chief. I shot him and he never had a gun. That’s what I’m gonna tell them on Tuesday. I just want this all to be over.”

  “Sit tight. I’ll send the boys out to look for you.”

  He hung up and waited for the sirens.

  ›

  “It’s just a car, dude.”

  “It’s barely even a car at this point.”

  “What do you mean? You just drove all the way back here from Virgil Heights.”

  “Look at it. It’s like a half crushed beer can that’s been stepped all over.”

  “The engine runs and the wheels spin. I’m no mec
hanic, but I’m pretty sure that makes it a car.”

  “Have you ever even owned a car?”

  “Technically, no. But I’ve driven a bunch of them. Whatever. All I’m saying is it doesn’t look any worse than when you first got it.”

  Greg could still picture the El Camino sitting on blocks in his father’s driveway. The engine was shot and the body needed work. He and Tim had dedicated long weekends and late nights under the hood trying to get it running again.

  His chest swelled with pride as he pictured the day they finally drove it down the boulevard for the first time. His brother was in the passenger seat beside him and his father was waving proudly in the rearview mirror.

  “That was a long time ago, Marco. I don’t have that free time any more. Or the energy.”

  “Shit, dude, all you’ve got is free time. Let me help you with it.”

  “You just said you weren’t a mechanic.”

  “So?”

  They took another slow lap around the El Camino. The street lamp shining down on it seemed like a crime scene black light to Greg. The back half of the car and the windshield were obvious. He found another scrape, ding or dent every couple of inches.

  “This car was almost perfect ten days ago.”

  “We’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

  Marco had been through Ricky’s files again while Greg was out.

  “It was mostly invoices and stuff like that. But it got me thinking about what your girlfriend said this morning. How did you meet her anyway?”

  “On the beach, and she’s not my girlfriend. What’s your point?”

  “She’s smoking hot. And about half your age, old man.”

  “Not about Quincy. What were you saying about Ricky’s files?”

  “Oh, right. What kind of name is Quincy?” Greg punched him in the arm to get him back on track. “She said that she met Barrett putting up ‘No Parking’ signs outside one of his job sites in South Bay. And we were already pretty sure that the addresses on Ricky’s list were some of Barrett’s sites that he was raiding. So I went and checked.”

  “You walked around South Bay checking out these addresses on your own? Pretty impressive.”

  “I grabbed your skateboard. Much quicker that way. Plus I had a crazy amount of energy all day. I could barely sit still.”

  “That happens when you sober up. What did you find?”

  “A lot of the jobs are long over, but a few of them still had those lawn signs up. You know, the ones that say ‘Another beautiful renovation by your friend in the construction business’ blah blah blah. All of those signs were Barrett’s. But that’s not the weird thing.”

  Marco paused for dramatic effect. Greg crossed his arms and scowled in response.

  “Okay, okay. Six of the houses were for sale. And the for sale signs all listed the same real estate company as we found in Barrett’s office.”

  “Sand Castle Estates?”

  “Right. So I called the number. A receptionist answered, so I started asking a lot of really specific questions about one of their properties. It didn’t seem like she had anybody to hand me off to. Then I started dropping names of other real estate companies I’ve worked with…”

  “Wait. When have you worked with any real estate companies?”

  “Never, but she didn’t need to know that.” Marco smiled and tapped the side of his temple with his index finger. “Point is she finally let it slip that this real estate company was a subsidiary of Bay City Developers.”

  “Mikey’s company? Not that surprising that he and Barrett do business together. Why does it matter that the houses were for sale?”

  “Dude, do you have any idea how hard it is to buy real estate in South Bay? You’re either waiting for some old timer to kick the bucket, or you’re paying two or three times the market value in cash.”

  “More real estate expertise from The Bay Cities News?”

  “You know it. So what do you think the chances are of Mikey and Barrett getting hold of so many primo properties in a short amount of time?”

  Greg didn’t have an answer because his phone started buzzing.

  “Greg, it’s Eddie. Get over to Edie’s house right now. Something is terribly wrong.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Strobing police lights lit up the exterior of Junior’s house. The windows on her car had been repaired but “Locals Only” was still scratched into the paint. He cut across the front lawn and walked to the gaping doorframe. Officer Bob was standing just inside. Eddie and Mikey were screaming at each other in the living room.

  “Mr. Salem. I was hoping you would arrive before I left. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this is a potential crime scene.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Eddie says he made plans pick up his daughter and grandson for dinner. When he arrived the front door looked like this.” He motioned behind himself and into the living room. “House was empty when he came inside.”

  “Any signs of a struggle?” He swallowed and braced himself for the answer.

  “The living room and master bedroom are a little torn up. Whoever did this was looking for something specific. You can see for yourself when you go in. I know Eddie was anxious for you to get here.”

  Officer Bob stepped aside and motioned for Greg to enter the house.

  “Wait. Are you putting out any bulletins? Do you have patrol cars searching for them? Helicopter support?”

  “We’re not even sure this is a crime scene. Things have been a little hectic around here lately, maybe she took the kid on an impromptu vacation and just got a little carried away with packing. It happens. I’ll call you if I have any questions.”

  “Why would she leave her car in the driveway?”

  Officer Bob gave no response as he strolled out onto the lawn. Greg exchanged nods with a couple of police officers that came out of the bedroom wearing rubber gloves. One of them was carrying a fingerprint kit, which Greg knew was a good sign. He stepped aside to let them pass, taking a few tentative steps toward Eddie and Mikey. Eddie gave his former son-in-law a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  “We’re gonna find them, Mikey. Whatever it takes.”

  “I know. I know. It’s just…”

  Mikey staggered back to the couch, collapsing into the cushions. Eddie turned to Greg.

  “I’m glad you’re here. It’s the damnedest thing.”

  “What were you two yelling about just now?”

  “Me and Mikey? He was in hysterics so I tried to calm him down. I honestly thought I was going to have to slap him.”

  “I got the rundown from Officer Bob. Any idea at all what happened here?”

  “Not a clue. Edie and I spoke on the phone around seven and made plans to have a late dinner. I got here at eight thirty and found all of this.”

  Greg reached for a leather bound notepad that wasn’t there. Right next to his invisible badge.

  “Was Mikey supposed to be joining you three for dinner?”

  “What? No. I called him right after I called you. He was right down the street, so he got here in a couple of minutes. He’s pretty broken up about it. See for yourself.”

  The look on Greg’s face did not betray his conflicted feelings about Junior’s ex-husband.

  “For God’s sake, Greg. Whatever you think about him, Chris is still his son.”

  “I know, you’re right. Sorry. What did the police ask you?”

  “I don’t know. Same old bullshit. Where was I before I got here? Where were we going to dinner? Was anybody else here when I arrived? Nothing useful, if you ask me.”

  “They have to ask, even if it seems pointless. A lot of times people are in shock when they’re being questioned at a potential crime scene. We have to start from square one.”

  They both turned to lo
ok at Mikey. His head was tilted back and he was staring up at the ceiling. His lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. Eddie went over to sit with him and motioned for Greg to follow. Eddie took a seat beside Mikey. Greg lowered himself down on the edge of the coffee table so that they were face to face.

  “I can’t believe this is happening.” He kept his eyes on the ceiling while he spoke, breathing heavily through his nose. “I should have been here to protect them. Should have been here.”

  “That’s not what’s important right now.” Greg slapped Mikey on the knee to get his attention. Mikey brought his chin down and quickly lowered his eyes to avoid meeting Greg’s stare. “Right now we need to figure out what we can do to find Junior and Chris. Do you understand? That’s all that matters right now.”

  Mikey started sobbing at the mention of his son’s name. Eddie wrapped his arm around Mikey’s shoulder and tried to console him.

  “Greg’s right, Mikey. You have to pull yourself together. For them.”

  Mikey wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. Greg’s tone was sharp and direct.

  “Listen. The police won’t take this situation seriously until Junior and Chris have been missing for forty-eight hours. We need to do a little police work of our own until then.”

  “Like what?”

  “Mikey, when’s the last time you spoke with Junior and Chris?”

  “I haven’t spoken to Edie since that night you and I spoke out in the driveway. Chris and I usually talk on the phone a few times a week.”

  “Did Chris mention anything out of the ordinary? Anything he was scared about?”

  “He was talking about your friend Ricky a little more than usual.”

  “Yeah. That makes sense.” Greg felt the anger rising again, but managed to keep it under control. “I guess the two of them got pretty close before he… you know. Before he…”

  “Died?”

  “What about Jeff Barrett? Can you think of any reason why he would want to hurt them?”

  “What makes you think he’s involved?”