The Color of Sin

by Paul Westwood

  Chapter 14

  It was an uncomfortable night as pain in my shoulder bit into my sleep. Pauline kept me quiet, stroking my hair and covering my face with butterfly kisses. When I finally woke in the morning, I felt tired and confused, but knew that I had to get back to work. Keith wouldn’t be in Vegas forever. I thought he was coming back here for something - perhaps to kill me. I couldn’t wait around and let that happen. I had to find him first.

  After extricating myself from Pauline, I pulled myself up off the bed. I looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. I went and showered. The hot water began to work its magic, bringing some semblance of consciousness back to my sleep deprived brain. When I got out, I took off the bandage on my shoulder. The wound underneath was purple and yellow and stitched shut. I dug through the cupboards and found some Band-Aids which I used to cover the more oozing parts. Afterward I returned to the bedroom and saw that my companion had left. I quickly dressed, picking a button-up shirt that could be worn loosely over a pair of blue jeans. I went into the hidden weapon cache in the closet and got out Ruger LC380, a compact pistol that could easily be carried. I stuffed it into my waistband.

  When I was done, I went out to the main room. Pauline was in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker as if wishing the device could magically brew faster than it was.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  She harrumphed in my direction.

  While she was busy ignoring me, I had a quick breakfast of string cheese and a handful of nuts, followed by a glass of water with three aspirin. I then began heading toward the front door. It was only then that Pauline spoke.

  She said, “Devon?”

  I stopped with my hand on the door knob. I slowly swiveled to face her. “Yes?”

  “It’s not going to last much longer between us, is it?”

  “Something must have brought these ideas on.”

  She scowled at me. Those pale cheeks turned a fiery red. “The problem with you, Dev, is that you know me too well. You found a broken woman and made her whole again. You took a drunk and made her sober. Now I’m just supposed to wait around for the next miracle to happen. I won’t have it. I can live my own life without your help and without that damn superior attitude of yours.”

  I took a step backwards, the bottom of my spine striking the door knob. I said, “You’re frightened.”

  “Of course I’m frightened. I’m worried about you, Dev. You go running off, almost get drowned and then kicked around like a football. You end up shot and in the hospital. After only one night of rest, you’re ready to run off for more adventure. I don’t want to be stuck here, hoping and praying for you to come back through that door. Don’t you know that I love you? It kills me thinking that something bad could happen to you.”

  “And I love you,” I snapped back. “Don’t worry, Pauline, I’m just going off to look at that car. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Damn you,” she spat out as I went out the door.

  I set the alarm and headed down to the parking ramp. This time I took the Impala. Before heading toward Keith’s car, I stopped at two locations. The first was the gas station where I topped off the gasoline, checked the air in the tires, and made sure there was enough oil in the crankshaft. As I worked, I thought of Pauline and my curse with women – I was too afraid of commitment, forever hoping that something better would come along. I knew that I cared for her, but she had been damaged. Was it love for a bird with a broken wing or something real? I didn’t know.

  When I was done with the car, I went over to the nearest wireless store and picked up a cellphone to replace the one that was sitting on the bottom of Lake Mead. The salesman tried to shove the latest model on to me, along with additional insurance and all the other bells and whistles. Instead I got the same one as I had before with no change to my plan. At the rate I was going through cellphones, why pay for the extras? Anyway, I didn’t have the time to learn a new layout. It’s a modern misconception that everything must be in a constant state of change, even if that change just complicates matters.

  Returning to the car, I found there were several voice messages. All except one were from Pauline, her voice becoming more and more frantic with worry. The last message was from Ray Diaz, my jewelry connection.

  He said, “Hey, Dev, this is Ray. I’ve got a line on that Keith character. He’s been busy selling gold to a sort of friend of mine named Johnny Weis. He runs this little dive of shop called Heartland Pawn over on Oakwood Street. I had to pry the story out of Johnny since he’s getting a good cut of the action. According to him, he’s wholesaling the stuff to jewelers. He is supposed to be meeting Keith tonight at ten. I thought you would like to know.”

  I smiled to myself. That was one clue I could follow up on once I had visited Keith’s Lexus. I started the car, fighting the lunch hour traffic as I headed to the Strip. Manhattan Street cuts right through the heart of the casinos, which looked strangely forlorn in the daytime. Without the impressive array of neon lights, it was like a model without her makeup or dinner without dessert. But no one else seemed to mind; the sidewalks were gutted with people and the streets were crowded with cars. There was a feeling of restlessness in the air as people waited for the blanket of night to return, which is when the real action started.

  It was a few blocks of this when I saw a silver Lexus parked in a parking lot. The car was on the very edge of the asphalt, right next to the road. I pulled into the same lot, paid the parking attendant an exorbitant sum, and found one of the few spots left in the back. I shut the engine off and then opened the glove box. I pulled out an old-style folded map, the type that used to be given away at gas stations. Playing the part of tourist, I got out of the car and began to look bewildered as I studied the street. Unfolding the map, I took a few steps between the cars, paused, and then examined the symbols and lines on the paper.

  I did this a few more times until I was at the rear of the Lexus. I then pulled out my cellphone and pretended to dial a number, all while juggling the map. Eventually I feigned a clumsy move, letting the paper flutter to the ground. I got on my hands and knees to retrieve the lost item. As quick as I could, I pulled the tape free from the gas trunk, and retrieved the phone I had placed there. I stuck this in my pocket along with the map and then got up, dusting my clothes free. I walked next to the driver’s side of the car and saw nothing inside that would provide any clue of the owner’s whereabouts.

  Wondering what my next move could be, I joined the throngs of tourists. I walked in the blazing sun and felt hot and tired. After a few blocks of this, I ducked into a restaurant for lunch. It was crowded with customers waiting in line to eat some corporate mulch. I bypassed this and headed straight toward the bar where I had a whiskey and ginger ale, along with a hamburger. As usual I didn’t eat the bun. Against my better judgment I skipped the second drink and instead began to watch the people passing by the window.

  I really wasn’t looking at them; instead I was thinking of what to do next. I could roam through the city all day without finding Keith, especially if he was smart enough to remain holed up somewhere. If he was smart, a quick flight out of the country or a run down to Mexico would keep him safe from the reach of the law. But that wasn’t the man that I knew. Instead he would be out in the open, in a place that would be overlooked. Perhaps one of the luxury hotels, or even shacked up with another woman. But now that I knew about the meeting at the pawn store, I didn’t have to do anything but wait.

  A cellphone rang a few times before I recognized it was mine. I looked at who was calling, hoping it wasn’t Pauline trying to track me down. To my relief I saw it was Melodie. I picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Dev, this is Melodie. I’m at the hospital. It’s Cleora – she’s slipping fast. The doctors don’t think she’s going to last the day.”

  I felt the ever present specter of death momentaril
y squeeze my heart, sending my mind spinning into darkness. “I’ll be there in a moment,” I found myself saying.

  I threw a couple of dollars on the table and left. The crowds of tourists that swarmed around me seemed alien and remote. They weren’t part of reality. Instead they lived in an artificial world with misconceptions built on falsehoods and shallow dreams. The sickness in my expression must have been visible since my fellow pedestrians stayed clear of me. As I walked past Keith’s Lexus, out of habit I looked through windows again, hoping to see some overlooked clue. There was nothing. I got inside my own car, started the engine up, and left the parking lot. I joined the traffic and headed toward the hospital.

  Resisting the urge to go racing through the streets of the Strip, I instead drove slowly. There was no haste since Cleora would be dead no matter what I did. And perhaps that is the worst part of living, knowing that someday you will die. It doesn’t matter if you lead a great heroic life, or were just a simple nobody, the end eventually comes for us all no matter how hard we struggle against the inevitable. But it isn’t the dying who deserve the most pity, but those who survived, knowing the world would never be the same without the deceased. Cleora’s daughter, Madison, would never have the chance to really know her mother. And without an income, her sister Kim would struggle to raise the remaining children.

  I reached the hospital without incident. After circling the block a few times, I gave up and parked inside the ramp. It was crowded with cars but I found a spot on the very top. After taking the stairway down a few flights, I took the connecting walkway to the main building. Outside Cleora’s room, I found two grief-stricken women, Melodie and Kim, talking to an unhealthy looking doctor with sallow skin, a long nose, and strained eyes. The kids were being kids, not really understanding what was going on and instead were busy chasing each other in a boisterous game of tag. I went and listened to the adult conversation.

  With practiced sympathy, the doctor was speaking. “Miss Kinney was doing quite well with no signs of any immediate danger. Yes, she was unconscious for some time, but considering the damage she received from the assault, it was hardly surprising. It was her body’s way of coping, shutting everything down until the healing was done. All I could do, medically speaking, was to help her along.”

  Kim said, “I was with her last night. She opened her eyes. She smiled at me before falling back asleep.”

  “That’s what makes this new development so totally unexpected.”

  I asked, “What development is that?”

  The doctor blinked a few times at me. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “A friend of the family.”

  “I see. This morning Miss Kinney suffered a massive heart attack. We were able to resuscitate her, but the brain damage was extensive. Even if she did recover consciousness again, there wouldn’t be anything there. Of course it is up to the family if they wish to continue treatment, but it is my recommendation that it is time to let her go.”

  “I can’t do that,” Kim sobbed, the skin of her face turning pink with anger.

  Melodie reached for her hand and held it.

  Kim looked at me, eyes brimming with tears. She asked, “What would you do?”

  I glanced at the doctor, feeling a disdain for the medical profession. I replied, “I know where there is life, there is hope. But if she cannot breathe on her own and it takes a machine to keep the heart beating, then that is no life at all. I suggest you go in and see her. You’ll find the answer with her.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the kids,” Melodie suggested.

  With her shoulders slumped forward, Kim swung open the door leading to her sister’s room open and disappeared inside. The doctor gave me an odd look and then skulked off, obviously happy to be free of this little drama. Melodie got busy rounding up the kids, taking them to a little waiting room around the corner. I followed, feeling angry at all the damn injustices in the world. Of course there was nothing I could do about it which was the most frustrating part. In the normal course of life you can throw money at a problem, or knock some sense into a troublemaker. Now I was just a bystander.

  After Melodie had settled the kids down in front of a television, she took my hand and pulled me down to sit next to her. We just sat there for a few minutes, both lost in our dark thoughts.

  She finally said, “You’re looking like hell, Dev.”

  “It’s been a tough couple of days. I got a line on Keith, the guy who did this to Cleora. I’m going to go get him tonight.”

  She paused before saying anything else. Her eyes focused on Madison, who was busy watching some cartoon. When Melodie finally spoke, her words were filled with understandable venom. “I hope you kill the bastard. You can promise me that much, can’t you?”

  I carefully replied, “I can promise you nothing since I don’t want you as a witness against me in any possible trial.”

  She gave me a weak smile in return. “Same old Devon – always cautious. It’s a shame that Cleora couldn’t stay out of trouble. And now she’ll never dance again. She reminded me so much of myself, back when I was innocent.”

  “I have a hard time imagining you as innocent,” I commented dryly. “You were, after all, my girlfriend for some time.”

  “Well it was true. I wasn’t always a dancer. When I was a little girl I wanted nothing more than a husband and a houseful of children. But now I feel it’s too late.” She looked at the kids who had their eyes glued to the television set. “It sounds rather silly now, trying to imagine me with children of my own, busy worrying their grades and what time to start the crock pot. Can you see me doing that?”

  “It’s never too late,” I replied. “You can quit the business and find yourself a better man than your boyfriend Angelo, or even me.”

  “A better man than you?” she laughed. “I have a hard time imagining that.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Now who is kidding who?”

  “I don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down. I mean you have something that so many men don’t – honor. You believe in something beyond money, a car, a bag of blow, or a good piece of ass. You follow your heart first. In this crazy world, that is something special.”

  “I’m not feeling very special right now. Instead I’m feeling damn tired; like an old boxer who has gone too many rounds with the new up-and-comer. I’ve got a sick lady at home and a dying one here, along with an old girlfriend telling me in no uncertain terms that she wants to be with me again. To tell you the truth, I don’t know which way to turn.”

  “By the way, how do you like your new little friend? Is she pretty as I am?” An undercurrent of jealousy was there.

  “Pauline? She’s different than you, all red hair and high ideals. At least with you, I know I could count on you in a fight.”

  That seemed to give Melodie some satisfaction. After searching my face, she said, “You have to leave, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “You’ll be okay here?”

  “I’ll get by.”

  I gave her a kiss on the cheek and then said goodbye to the children. They seemed more annoyed by my intrusion into their television time than anything else. I gave a final salute to Melodie and then began my journey back to the car.

  As I walked down the connection walkway to the parking garage, alarm bells begin to ring in the back of my head. There was something wrong here but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. After many years in this business I learned to trust my instincts. Instead of going onward, I stopped and scuttled off to the side so the other pedestrians could pass. Through the glass panels of the walkway I could see the sun and the traffic passing underneath. I waited there for a few moments, trying to think of what was bothering me.

  It was Keith. He had to be somewhere close by. Now that I thought of it, Cleora’s heart attack was no coincidence. It had to have been Keith who had come here to the hospital, perhaps slipping some
drug into her IV bag, or even giving her some injection. He knew that her death would bring me here. He only had to stake out the street leading to the hospital, follow me, and see where I had parked. Once he knew that, it would be a simple matter of setting up an ambush or even hooking a bomb up to my car. Keith was busy cleaning up loose ends before he got out of town. That meant once he was done with me, Pauline would be next. After that, perhaps Kim, her kids, and Madison would follow. Keith would want the killings done before the meeting at the pawnshop. After that, he could fly anywhere in the world.

  Wishing the ache away, I rubbed my shoulder a few times. I was putting off the decision I had to make – I could either turn around and go call a taxi, which would be the prudent thing to do, or scout out the area first. Against my better judgment, I took the second choice. Perhaps it was the matter of my foolish pride, but the car was the quickest way home. If Keith had somehow found where I lived, then I had to be there to protect Pauline.

  I started walking again, taking my time. The automatic doors opened and I was out in the parking ramp. Instead of taking the stairs, I began walking quickly along the concrete floors, taking the ramps upward to my destination. When I reached the second to last floor, I stopped and began to examine the surrounding area with as much detail as I could gather without looking suspicious. The lot here was crowded with vehicles of all different makes and models. A security camera was in the corner. A woman and child walked past, busy chattering. In the distance I heard someone laughing; the sound echoing strangely. Someone nearby slammed the door of a car and then the engine started up. These were all perfectly normal events but in my heightened state it was almost more than I could handle.

  I took the last ramp slowly, craning my neck upward to catch a glimpse of my car. It was there, tucked in the corner where I had left it. The afternoon sun blazed hotly on the concrete here on the roof of the parking ramp. I looked along the edges of the parked vehicles, trying to find a pair of feet from some crouching man in waiting. There was nothing that I could see. I kept wondering where the boom was going to be lowered on me. It was obvious that my Impala would be the bait, and he expected me to be coming through the door of the glass-walled enclosure located across the way from the car. This little structure was meant to protect the stairway from the elements and would also provide an attacker with plenty of forewarning of my coming. But how would he do the deed?

  I tried to put myself in his mind. If doing a long rifle shot, a moving target would be the hardest to hit. That meant Keith would wait until I was standing still or stopping to open a door. An explosive would just require proximity, but would be a messier job. It would also draw the attention of the FBI and the ATF, something that a man on the run wouldn’t want in these days of heightened security. That meant the first option was the more likely, especially since a bullet was a hell of a lot cheaper than dynamite or a handful of C-4. But where would he set up the shot?

  Feeling foolish, I retreated back a few steps to think this through. At this height Keith would either have to be firing from a hospital window or the roof of one of the nearby buildings. It wouldn’t be a difficult shot, and a good man, even with a bolt-action rifle, could get off two or three rounds before the surprised victim could react. But there was one weakness that a solitary sniper suffered from: the scope. It limited the user’s range of vision and made him zero in on a specific target area. Keith was expecting me to come up those stairs and through that door. If I instead came up from the ramp side, it would take him a few seconds to zero in on this unexpected direction, and that would only be true if he lifted his attention from the scope.

  I pulled the gun out of my pocket and jacked the slide, chambering a round. The damn thing would be worthless against a rifle. It was only in the movies that a pistol could hit anything beyond fifty yards. A smart sniper kills from a distance for a simple reason – safety. But nonetheless, having a little firepower on my side, even though it was futile, gave me some measure of bravado – if I got hit by a bullet, at least I could fire my pistol fruitlessly into the air to protest the whims of fate.

  I begin running, dodging and weaving as I went. I made it a few seconds without any kind of reaction. I felt foolish until there was a crack of breaking glass and, a millisecond later, the distant boom of a rifle. I didn’t look to see what had been hit – probably the windshield of a car - but from the direction of the gunshot, Keith was firing from the hospital. How he had sneaked a rifle inside that building was an interesting question that I didn’t have time to find an answer to. Instead I ran, pushing myself harder and faster than I ever had before. The fear of death has a strange way of bringing out unforeseen stamina.

  I dodged to the left just as another shot came. This time the lead ricocheted near my feet, sending lead and concrete fragments whining by. That had been too close for comfort. I ducked toward the nearest car and sheltered behind the thick wall, clear of his line of fire. In that brief second I had seen a figure at a window, holding a rifle and sighting through a scope. He was a good sixty or seventy yards away, closer than I expected. From my position I stayed in a low hunch, I began working toward my car. I knew he would be waiting for me to rise from my cover. This would be the best chance for him to get me and perhaps, with a little luck, I could manage to fire enough bullets from the Ruger to score a hit. It was worth the chance.

  I was a good fifteen feet away from the Impala, I readied myself by nervously checking the pistol, ensuring that the safety of was off. After taking a deep breath, and jumped up to my feet, extending the Ruger in the direction of where I had seen Keith standing. The window was empty. He was gone.