by S. W. Lauden
“I’ve been seeing you on the news again. I like the story much better this time around.”
“Don’t believe everything they tell you.”
“I’m just glad to see you made it out in one piece. Is there something you were planning to tell me?”
She motioned to the empty apartment. He reached into his pocket and produced a check that covered three months rent. She took it from his shaking hand and considered her options.
“Does this mean you’ll be back in three months?”
“I’m not sure. I’m hoping you can hold off that long before you rent the place to somebody else. If not, I will understand. You should take the money either way, since I’m leaving without giving notice.”
It all sounded so strangely formal, but he couldn’t see any other way to maneuver through the awkward situation. Mrs. McMillan finally broke through the tension by ripping the check into small pieces and throwing them over her shoulder.
“You can pay me when you get back.”
“What if you aren’t here when I get back?”
“I’ll leave a forwarding address. Now give me a hug and I’ll let you get on your way.”
She spread her arms wide and Greg stepped into her gentle embrace. She gave him a few soft pats on the back and he planted a kiss on her papery cheek before stepping away.
“I think it will do you some good to get out of this town for a little while. Lord knows I lived a whole life before I ever discovered The Bay Cities. It’s helped to give me perspective.”
“Thanks, Ruth. Try not to miss me too much.”
“Hold on. What are you planning to do with the lizard?”
Greg looked over to where the aquarium sat on the edge of the futon. There was a small pile of clothes and couple of twenty-dollar bills stacked neatly beside it.
“Something tells me that Marco will be by to pick that stuff up later on today.”
She started toward the door, turning to face him again before she stepped outside.
“At least now I can take care of those termites. This place will be in much better shape when you come back.”
Greg watched her leave and then stepped through the back gate for the last time. He drove slowly with all the extra weight taxing the back shocks. It took him a little while to get to Ricky’s rehearsal space. The old padlocks sprung open when he slid the key in. He walked them over to the dumpster as soon as he had the door open. His stack of boxes took up the back corner of the room and engulfed Ricky’s desk.
He stood in the middle of the room catching his breath once everything was unloaded. A copy of CoreNoMore was sticking up from one of the boxes. Greg pulled it out, flipping it open to the last page. He still hadn’t read the whole interview and guessed he never would.
CNM:Bad Citizen Corporation called it quits after the third record came out. What made you finally walk away?
FD:It wasn’t fun anymore. Too much had changed.
CNM:The band changed or you had changed?
FD:Both. You know, every musician starts out as a fan. They sit in their rooms and listen to their favorite records over and over. Maybe they strum along on a guitar or bang on a drum. Then one day they form a band of their own, and kids start looking up to them. By the time we broke up I couldn’t even listen to my favorite records without wanting to smash them to pieces. The whole experience really screwed with my head.
CNM:Do you ever listen to the old BCC records?
FD:Once in a while. I like to hear Tim play guitar, since that’s all I’ve got left of him. And my buddy Ricky will spin them for me, too. You know, when he’s had a few. He and I still play shows together sometimes, but these days it’s strictly for fun.
CNM:Any plans to record any new music?
FD: You never know what might happen.
Greg put the magazine down. The silent musical instruments all around him seemed haunted somehow, daring him to make noise. He settled for giving Ricky’s electric guitar a soft strum with his thumb and turned to leave. The notes vibrated into nothingness as the metal door came down with a clang. Greg slid the new padlocks into place and secured them with a click. He was the only one with a key now.
There were a couple more stops left on his way out of town.
›
It felt good walking into the BCPD station with nothing to hide, probably for the first time in his life. The same old clerk was behind the desk. He greeted Greg with a big smile this time and picked up the phone without saying a word. Officer Bob and Marco emerged into the lobby a few minutes later. Greg couldn’t remember a time when Marco looked so rested.
“Dude, I slept like a baby. And they let me work out in the police gym this morning. Getting ripped, bro!”
Greg looked from Marco to officer Bob to confirm what he’d just heard.
“Least we could do. Your friend here helped us figure out Fitzgerald’s real estate scam.”
“So does that mean he’s free to go?”
“We’re not going to press charges, but I think we’ve come to an understanding.”
Marco nodded and batted his eyelashes. Officer Bob ignored him, turning to Greg.
“How are you holding up?”
“Good as can be expected.”
“I gave your Chief a call this morning and filled him in on all the details. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were in for a commendation.”
“I appreciate that, but I think my days on the force are numbered.”
“Well, I’ll let you discuss that with your Chief. But if you ever consider working closer to home, you should give me a call. Of course, there’s no guarantee that I’ll even have a job myself after what happened.”
“Come on. Nobody could have guessed that a parking enforcement officer would get this mixed up in some real estate racket.”
“That might be true. We still have to determine just how much she knew and how she got the information. It’s like she was right there in the middle of everything the whole time. You just couldn’t see her.”
“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“There’s still the matter of Ricky’s murder.”
“It’ll be almost impossible to find the guys that did it. I think I mentioned it at the hospital the other night, but Quincy said she flew them in for the job. Maybe you should start in her home town?”
“Any idea where that might be, Mr. Salem?”
“Sorry Officer B—” Greg paused mid-sentence. He swung his head to where the sun was glaring in the cloudless ocean sky. “Sorry, Chief. I guess I never really got to know that much about her.”
“You aren’t the only one. It looks like all of the information she gave on her application was bogus. Let me know if you remember anything else she said to you up there. I’m guessing you’ll be thinking about that night a lot over the next few months.”
They shook hands and went their separate ways. Greg opened the passenger door and moved his hiking pack into the bed of the El Camino. The weight of it briefly made him doubt his plan to strap it on his back.
Marco climbed in and pulled his door shut. He was already buckled in by the time Greg made it around the car and climbed behind the wheel. The opening guitar riff of Bad Religion’s “Recipe For Hate” came blaring from the speakers as they pulled out of the parking lot. Neither of them spoke again until the song was over a couple of minutes later.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you over to my old apartment so you can grab a few things, including Godzilla. What you two do after that is up to you.”
“What do you mean, your ‘old apartment’?”
“I just need to get away for a little while. Clear my head.”
“I know things got a little weird the last couple of weeks, but you can’t just bail on me. You’re the only thing that’
s keeping me clean at this point.”
Marco could have said anything else at that moment and Greg would have been fine just dropping him off on the side of the road.
“Come on, Marco. I don’t think you want to depend on me too much right now. I’m barely hanging on myself.”
“Dude, those drugs that got stolen from my hotel room were worth a couple hundred thousand. I’m a dead man if I stick around The Bay Cities. Your nightmare might be over. Mine’s only beginning.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re stuck with me. Get used to it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was a slow day at Eddie’s. The pool tables were empty, there was nothing playing on the jukebox and no games on TV. Roger was engrossed in a lengthy newspaper article. Bill was bored out of his mind and hungry.
“Man, I’m starving.”
“Go get a slice of pizza across the street.”
Roger responded without even looking up.
“I’m sick of that place. Besides, my doctor told me I need to lay off the carbs.”
“Uh huh.”
“I wish there was somewhere else to eat around here.”
“Go to Juan’s. It’s just a few block down the boulevard.”
“No, thanks. I don’t like Mexican food.”
Roger set the paper down on the bar and slid the reading glasses from his nose.
“You don’t like Mexican food?”
“It’s gross. I don’t know why people around here get so excited about it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Calm down, Roger. Jeez. That’s the most I’ve heard you say all day.”
“Hey Eddie, come here.”
Eddie looked up from his crossword puzzle and took a few steps over to join his friends.
“You guys ready for another round? This isn’t a public library, you know.”
“Guess what Bill just told me? He doesn’t like Mexican food.”
“Bullshit.”
Eddie leaned in to give Bill a piece of his mind.
›
It was dusk by the time the El Camino finally broke free of the city highways and started the windy one lane ascent into the Angeles National Forest. They had stopped by the apartment to collect Godzilla and then did a quick shopping trip at a sporting goods store to outfit Marco for the trip. He was fast asleep with his head bumping against the car window as they flew past the last couple of suburban outposts on their way deep into LA’s forgotten wilderness. His new wool cap was pulled down over his eyes and his fleece jacket was zipped up to his chin.
Greg’s phone call with the Police Chief in Virgil Heights was short and sweet. He told Greg that his position would be waiting for him if he ever changed his mind.
The phone was still in his lap and he was looking down occasionally to watch the reception drop from four bars to one. It wouldn’t be long now until they were totally lost to the world. He turned his headlights on and watched the grey road unfolding beneath his wheels. The iguana eyed him suspiciously from the dashboard.
Acknowledgments
First things first, I wouldn’t have made it this far if it weren’t for the endless patience and tireless support of my wife, Heather, and our two beautiful daughters. From there, the list gets long, so bear with me. High fives for my trusted inner circle of readers—Scott Ross, Ken Basart, Jeff Solomon, Jeff Whalen, Heather Havrilesky, and Travis Richardson—thank you for pushing me to make the book better. To my incredible lawyer, Kim Thigpen, who is equally skilled at dissecting contracts and plots; and Marc Soulema, my law enforcement sounding board from the LAPD. Every new writer needs a strong editor, and I am very lucky to have Elaine Ash in my corner. To Colleen Dunn Bates and Patty O’Sullivan at Prospect Park Books for introducing me to my publisher. And last, but most certainly not least, a round of applause for Tyson Cornell, Julia Callahan, Alice Marsh-Elmer, and Winona Leon at Rare Bird Books.