The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel

by Piccirilli, Tom

  “We’re sort of emotional types too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. I can see that. I can understand that.”

  I reached out and put a hand on my cousin’s shoulder. “How do you feel about it, John? Are you willing to go back to Los Angeles?”

  He brightened. “Of course. It’s been my dream to try again. I guess I’ve been scared to make the effort, a truly serious effort, because I’ve already had my ass handed to me once, but if my grandfather has some faith in me, if he’s learned to put his faith in me, and he’s willing to back me, then I don’t see why I shouldn’t try. I’ve got some cachet now, believe it or not. My horror flicks are pretty hot, they move well, the fans know me.” The planes of his face fell into a frown. “But I don’t think I really understand what anybody expects me to do for Dale. I mean, I haven’t even met her. She doesn’t know me at all. Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves a little? It all feels … rushed, you know?”

  “That’s how you know it’s right. When everything comes together to move you forward to a particular place. Fortune favors the bold.”

  “You’re worried about her. You’re worried she’ll get in deeper with Simon Ketch. You want her off the Web show.”

  “I do,” I admitted. “And you’re going to help me do just that.” I pulled out the ten grand. “Here. It’s just some start-up cash. So you can rent a nice place.”

  He tried to back away. “You don’t have to give me money. I have money.”

  “Take it anyhow. I expect you to watch over my little sister while she navigates her way through a business that ruins a lot of people. You already know something about it. Take advantage of your name and use it to open doors. Don’t let Will’s or Perry’s failures shove you into a corner. Use their earlier successes as a springboard, John.”

  “You sound like you want to come with us.”

  I had this many times beforeetpn’t thought about it. “Maybe I’ll pay you a visit a couple months down the line.”

  “Right.” His voice was full of vigor. He hadn’t had a good shot of optimism in a while. “Yes, absolutely. I tried to make it in the biz, but not hard enough. Grandpa … my dad … they never thought I should go into moviemaking in the first place. They kept saying I didn’t have the aptitude. The right attitude.”

  “Prove them wrong. Even more wrong than they already are.”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “I want to do a documentary on Collie too.”

  “Oh Christ,” I said, “no, don’t. No.”

  “People are very interested in him. Right before the execution he was on television a lot. He did dozens of interviews. He wasn’t sorry for a damn thing. No regrets at all. Calmest-looking guy I ever saw on death row. People nowadays, they’re intrigued by anyone who can keep some sort of cool about them. Your average guy is coming apart, falling to pieces, living in terror. He’s losing his mortgage, he’s got no health or life insurance, he’s neck-deep in credit debt, he’s on unemployment and it’s running out.”

  “And you think people are going to admire a spree killer who wound up strapped to a gurney and was put to death?”

  “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that,” John said.

  “I bet you wouldn’t.” I tensed up and my ribs ground together all wrong. I swallowed down a grunt. “Listen, I watched a couple of your films. I thought they were well made. Chic. Sleek, despite the material. You can always fall back on making more horror movies, if that’s what you want, if that’s what’s hot, if that builds your cachet. You could go work for Sal Domingo’s outfit if it comes to that.”

  “How do you know about him, Terry?”

  “Perry told me. Just keep any of the ugliness of the biz from my sister, John. Do you understand? You’re not in charge of her, but you are watching over her. I’m trusting you with one of the few people that matter to me in this world.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me, I mean. And believing in me.”

  He was dreadfully naive. Hollywood would grind him up all over again, even with a few connections and his last name. But Dale would learn from his mistakes. She’d watch him in action and understand what not to do. She might wind up turning it around for him.

  “When do you think you’ll be ready to go?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing keeping me here. I don’t have any work slated. I haven’t dated anyone in six months. I can pack up my cameras and film equipment, my editing machine, all that, clothes. Start making some calls to rental agencies in L.A. I don’t know. A month or two? When does Dale want to go? Doesn’t she still have school?”

  “We’ll work out all the details over the next few weeks.”

  He smiled at me. It was Collie’s smile. It slid inside me like a shiv. He stuck out his hand and I shook it. He held on for a long while, like we were partners now, our fates entwined. Perhaps they always had been. I felt it too. He was blood of my blood.">“No, you didn’t.”tp

  “Let’s have dinner this week,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  I stood at the top of the stairs and watched him walk down. I had a strange sense of déjà vu, but I didn’t know why. I had no memory of this, but there was still that powerful sense of repeating the past. I listened to his voice recess in the depths of the house, my mother and father answering him. The high flutter of her false but pleasant laughter.

  I waited until I heard the front door open and shut. I waited until the television was on and Gramp’s cartoons were doing vicious things to one another with frying pans and shotgun shells.

  I moved down the steps and out onto the back porch. I took up post. My gaze strayed to the woods. The oak, maple, and pine flailed in the wind. Leaves whipped around wildly, circling and rising in funnels like dust devils. I heard a car approaching. I slipped around the side of the house and watched Dale’s boyfriend pull his 4×4 halfway up the driveway. They kissed almost modestly.

  He chucked her under the chin. She got out and gave a brief wave. He hit reverse and she turned, not bothering to watch him go. He hit the road and gunned it hard. He drew attention to himself. If he was Lick 87 of the Rogues I hoped he kept pulling fake shenanigans and didn’t step up to the real thing. He’d get busted pretty quick. My sister started for the front door.

  “Dale,” I called.

  She walked around the house like she was headed for the gas chamber. We moved side by side to the back porch. I sat on the glider. She said, “It’s too cold out here.” I ignored her and waited. She finally sat beside me. Her breath smelled of hot sauce, antacids, cheap booze, and mints. She’d gone out last night to celebrate after the show. Or to diagram her getaway to L.A. Her gaze swiveled around the yard. She checked the back door to make sure our parents weren’t nearby.

  She got in close to me and I said, “Listen, were you serious about what you said last night? About moving to the West Coast?”

  “Yes. It’s already in the works.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve asked some friends of mine who are out there to help me get a place and a day job. Then I start hitting auditions.”

  It wasn’t in the works at all. It was smoke and empty talk right now. What friends could she have out in L.A.? People she’d met online? But the heat was there in her face. She was going to make it happen soon, even if she had to hitch out there on her own, thirty-seven cents in her pocket. She’d go on the grift, she’d snatch wallets, she’d get away with it for a while, and then she wouldn’t.

  “I’ve got ten grand for you,” I said.

  “What?”

  “And the names of some dramatic coaches and professional casting agents who might be able to help you in Los Angeles. Also the names of some studio folks who might help fast-track you into walk-ons, cameos, stuff like that.”

  She drew away. She was wary as hell. She had every right to be. It sounded like I was grifting her, telling her something that sounded too good to be true. In our family, it was possible.

  “How did you do this?�
� she asked.

  “Our">“No, you didn’t.”tp cousin John did it. He’s made a few small movies. Documentaries. Horror flicks. He lived on the West Coast for a while and now he’s moving back. I asked if he’d put you up for a while and show you around the town. You’ll be staying with him.”

  “Our cousin John’s a filmmaker?”

  “Yes. So’s Mom’s brother, Will Crowe, and her father, Perry Crowe.”

  Dale cocked her head. She licked her lips. She looked at me, then she looked away, then she looked at me. “We’re related to Will and Perry Crowe? The TV and movie producers?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And no one ever told me this?”

  “I only just found out about it myself.”

  “Mom is heir to Hollywood royalty?”

  “They’re not so fancy.”

  “And she never said anything? And nobody told me? You didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now, Dale. I only learned about it when I went to visit the old fucker. He’s stuck making horror flicks now. His company’s called All Hallows’ Eve.”

  “They own AHE, the horror movie production company?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I could work for them! Easy!”

  “Not so easy,” I said. “All the girls have to run around topless and get butchered.”

  “So what? I’m not bashful!”

  “I’m bashful enough for both of us.”

  For some reason that made her grin. “But what’s the money for? I don’t need that kind of money.”

  “Everyone needs money.”

  “I have money, Terry. ROGUES pays very well. I’ve got lots of money. I get paid in cash, off the books.”

  “Where do you keep it?”

  “In a bank.”

  “If it’s in a bank it’s on the books.”

  “In a bank deposit box.”

  “Good. Well, you can always use more. I’ll wire more if you need it. John’s got plenty too. This way you don’t have to work three waitress jobs to cover your initial costs. You can focus on acting and school.”

  “I told you I was quitting school.”

  “You are not quitting school,” I said. “You’re going to go to night school or summer school or whatever the hell you need to do to get a diploma and then start college. You’re staying away from this Simon Ketch prick and that Internet show. If you do this thing you do it right. All of this is nonnegotiable, Dale.”

  She let out an exasperated breath. “You’re still pushing me around, Terry. Don’t you see that?”

  “I see it,” I admitted. “But I’m right. I’m helping you to get out of here and to follow your calling. You still need a stable foundation of education. A high school diploma, a college degree.”

  “You never went to college!” the only one I had leftndor

  I glared at her. “You want to be me?”

  Her nose and cheeks were turning red. Her frosted breath iced up my throat. “What do Mom and Dad have to say about this?”

  “I haven’t told them a damn thing. That’s your job. You clear it with them. You talk it out and you explain yourself. You get their permission. You don’t run. You think things through and you do this the smart way. John knows the ropes. He can open a couple of doors with his name. You listen to him as much as you can.”

  “So he’s there to keep an eye on me?” she asked.

  My mother sat on the couch watching television. A breaking story unfolded. The set was too loud with people talking breathlessly into handheld microphones. The on-the-scene correspondent was impatient with the cameraman. He wanted a wider angle. He said, “As you can see over my shoulder … over my left shoulder … there … that’s it, right there—”

  His hair became winsomely mussed in the late afternoon breeze. A lot of cops milled in front of a bank in Hauppauge. I inhaled sharply.

  Gramp’s chin rested on his chest. He didn’t turn his head at all. His eyes were open and he caught me in his peripheral vision. I could see him in there trying to fight his way back to life. He mumbled some gibberish as I stepped close.

  Dale knew that whatever was going on, it was going to be bad. She’d seen Dad’s face too. She held her hand out, caressed me lightly on the wrist, then went to her room. I stood behind Old Shep and propped myself against the back of his wheelchair.

  My mother knew I’d been overdoing the pills again and said, “You must be hungry. I made lentil soup. I’ll get you some.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  She brushed past my father and put a hand on his chest, let it stray to his hair for a quick run-through on her way to the kitchen. We were constantly giving one another small reassurances. My father took up his seat in the center of the couch.

  I’d been keeping an eye on the papers, waiting for the heist to go down. I guessed at potential targets. I’d been wrong. The crew had bigger aspirations. They’d been pro and sharp and clever, but they never should have gone for a bank. Not with three crew members and a driver. The only ones who ever get away with robbing a bank are the dumbasses who reach over and snatch a handful of bills from the till. It’s easy to escape with a thousand bucks. But getting into the vault, trying to pull down millions, getting the feds on your ass, that was either overly ambitious or extremely stupid or both.

  Wrecked against a flagpole in the bank’s parking lot was the dark green ’69 Mustang fastback that Chub had sold the crew. It looked like a stray shot had taken out a tire. The driver had wiped out hard. His body was still wedged behind the wheel, neck turned at an impossible angle. It seemed like a million-to-one accident.

  “No matter how much you plan—” my father said.

  “No, you didn’t.”tp">The on-site correspondent turned his chin, listening to his ear-bud. “Early accounts state that the robbers may have gotten away with up to eight hundred thousand dollars—”

  How’d they get away? They had no wheels. They had to boost a car on the lot. Whose and how’d they get it? Carjacking at the corner light? Were they holding some little old lady hostage in the backseat of her own station wagon?

  The only reason my father could’ve known I’d want to see the news is if he knew that Chub was working with strings. The only way he could’ve known that was by following me. While I’d been wondering where he was going nights he’d been wondering the same thing about me. Except my father was a better creeper than I was. I’d never sensed him on my tail at all. Even with having to take the Donepezil he was just as good as ever. He’d found me out.

  My mother brought me a bowl of soup and a chunk of whole-grain Italian bread. I sat beside my old man and ate it without tasting it. He and I were going to have to have a long talk soon, but not right now. For the next half hour we watched as the story continued unfolding.

  They hadn’t been after the vault. They’d sat waiting at the back door of the bank for when the armored car brought in cash. I wasn’t sure if it won’t th

  Number seven. The expression on the face of the woman you once loved who no longer loves you.

  I’d only been this close to Kimmy physically one other time in the past five years. A couple of months ago I’d stood on her front walk, watching her and Chub and their girl coming out of their house. Scooter had run a few cantering steps down the walk, not watching where she was going until she’d almost crashed into my legs. I bent and hugged her and her face fell in on itself in shock and fear of a stranger. Kimmy had looked at me in surprise, Chub with a cautious curiosity. Maybe we could’ve started down the road of becoming friends again. If only I had said the right thing, or done the right thing, or acted in the correct manner. Instead, I’d bolted.

  I had to keep reminding myself that Scooter wasn’t my daughter.

  I had to remember that Kimmy was no longer mine.

  I wondered if Darla wanted kids. She had told me not to fall in love. I wondered why I was going to such extremes to never find love again. We Rands continued to be driven upon the rocks.

  I sai
d, “Come in.”

  They came in. Scooter looked down at JFK and stuck her tiny hand against his wide snout. He lapped at her and she squealed. She cut loose with some kiddie chatter that I didn’t understand. JFK got it though and jumped up on his back legs and gave her a kiss. She guffawed. Despite it all I couldn’t help smiling. I let out a chuckle. My laugh got a little louder. I wanted to hold her. I could go crazy with how much I wanted to hold the little girl, and the woman too.

  Kimmy was tense as hell. In our kitchen she checked left and right, looking for lurkers. JFK and the kid kept playing. I tried to smile. Kimmy’s eyes spiraled with anxiety. Some of it was because of me. The rest this many times beforeetp because Chub had to be on the run already.

  “I phoned,” she said. “You didn’t return my calls.”

  That meant Chub had given her my number. I hadn’t expected that. The toddler reached for me. I caught her chin between my thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t listened to my messages today.”

  She sat at the kitchen table and tugged Scooter onto her lap. I sat across from her in my brother’s seat. She looked hard at me, studying my tics and my tells, searching out my lies even before I’d had a chance to say anything.

  Scooter started reaching for items on the table. The centerpiece, the place mats, the salt and pepper shakers. All of it stolen, of course, all of it originally belonging to someone else, but ours now, stamped with our history. Scooter wanted to fill her hands. She wasn’t my kid but Chub was a thief too. Maybe she was destined to be a grabber. I looked at her and the powerful mantra filled my head. My girls. My girls. And neither of them was.

  Kimmy said, “Terry—”

  JFK did me the favor of drawing focus. He kept putting his paw up on the kid’s lap and she’d laugh. He’d turn his head one way and his ears would flop in that direction, and then he’d go the other way. She was a chatterbox. She spoke in a goofy singsong. For every dozen words I thought I might recognize one.