by Hornsby, Kim
“That’s hard to believe that someone wouldn’t cherish you,” Pete had told her.
“I haven’t felt wanted by a man in a long, long time,” Nikki said.
Burn ran his hand through jet black hair then Pete realized that he probably looked a little rough around the edges himself. It had been a difficult few days.
“Time to move on, Marshal.” The guards could see Pete was surveying the situation.
If he got himself a doctor’s uniform with a clipboard, could he get past the guards? He might have to shave first. Quinn was in charge, they said. Although he’d never met her, Quinn knew who he was. Pete had been sitting beside Nikki when she called her daughter to say she’d left Louisa Lake. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you in about a week,” she’d said. There’d been a pause and Nikki laughed. “No, honey, nobody is making me say this. I actually have become good friends with Connie, and we’re on a boating adventure near Seattle. You can call me anytime. I’ll try to keep my phone charged.”
On the sailboat, he and Nikki had laughed over who Quinn thought Pete Bayer was, but now it didn’t seem so funny. Had Nikki told her daughter they were friends? He pushed open the double doors again and was immediately encountered by one of the guards. “You back?”
At the end of the hall, Quinn hugged her father and, as she turned to go back into the hospital room, Pete called to her. “Quinn?” She turned around. “Quinn, it’s Pete Bayer. Can I talk to you?”
The guard seemed to think this was inappropriate behavior and grabbed Pete by the shoulder to usher him forcibly out of the VIP wing.
“Here she comes,” Pete pointed at Quinn who walked toward him. “Come on, man. I know her.”
“What do you want?” Quinn did not look friendly.
“I want to know how your mother is doing. We’re friends.” He tried to appeal to her by looking defenseless.
Quinn took a wide stance that resembled a battle position, put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. “You have no right to know that. Not that or anything else about my mother.”
Where was this coming from?
“And furthermore, Mr. Bayer” —her words dripped with hatred— “return my mother’s dog.” She looked like this might determine his worth.
“What? You don’t have Elvis?”
“No.”
“Elvis jumped out of the van with her at the courthouse.”
Quinn’s expression changed to fear. “What?”
“You don’t have him, and I don’t have him.”
For the first time, Quinn looked truly horrified. Her hands covered her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
As Pete reached out for her, the guard knocked him back like he was some two-bit hustler. “I’ll find him, Quinn. Don’t tell your Mom.”
Pete didn’t know how he’d do it, but now he had a mission. His little buddy was missing. “When I find him, please let me see your mom. I know she’d want that.”
“She doesn’t even remember who you are. And what kind of friend would lead her into a situation that puts her life at risk, while he protects his witness to look like the hero.”
“I never would have—”
“Mr. Bayer, or whatever your name is…” She looked exasperated. “You are no friend of my mother’s. She hasn’t mentioned your name, and as long as I am in charge of this show, you will not be granted access to see her just to apologize for almost killing her.” Quinn’s words cut deep. “She’s been shot, mistaken for your witness, and is recovering from the unfortunate bad luck of even knowing you and your….your…people.”
He tried to interrupt, but Quinn was right. Nikki wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed if it wasn’t for him. “I’m sorry that your mom was shot. Please at least tell her that.” In the distance Burn was at the nurse’s station entertaining them, waving his hands and laughing along with their nervous giggles.
“Finding Elvis is the least you could do now.” Quinn turned and headed down the hall, not even glancing sideways at her father who was leaning on the counter, his face only inches from a nurse’s.
He watched the teenager disappear inside the hospital room. What was going on if Nikki didn’t even know who he was? Was she doing as well as he’d heard? He had to find that dog.
At the Justice Department headquarters, Pete called the police, the CIA, the FBI, everyone he knew and anyone who was at the courthouse that day, to see if they knew anything about Goldy’s dog. With the phone book on his lap, he called all the animal shelters, then went online to see if there was a photo of Elvis under the pet-finder sites.
Nothing.
Next he phoned vet clinics, the SPCA, and all animal rights groups in the Seattle area. No one had seen Elvis or turned him in. From the Louisa Lake surveillance tape, he printed a photo and made a hundred copies to distribute around the downtown area. He hoped the poor little guy was still alive then, on a whim, called the city to see if anyone had found a dog body on the streets downtown. He got nothing.
After posting “lost” signs, he considered putting an ad in the paper. What should he offer as reward? Having exhausted every option he could think of, all that was left was that someone had grabbed the dog, knowing it was Goldy’s.
He put an ad in the Seattle Times and on Craig’s List, offering two thousand for the safe return of a small four-year-old dog that looked like the photo, answered to the dog’s name—which would remain a secret—and recognized him.
Elvis had to be out there somewhere and Pete had to be the one to find him. Did Quinn think she could keep him away forever? He knew Nikki’s cell phone number, the address at the lake, had her daughter’s information, and with great connections in surveillance and law enforcement he’d get through eventually. But something told him that timing was absolutely essential here.
He dialed Nikki’s cell number then realized Quinn would probably answer. He hung up. She’d want to know if he’d found Elvis yet. Maybe if Nikki was listening, she’d hear Quinn say “please don’t call her, Mr. Bayer.”
The phone went to voicemail and the sound of Nikki’s words made Pete’s heart jump.
“….I’ll get back to you.”
“Nikki, this is Pete. Please be okay.” He paused, trying to figure out what he wanted to say to the woman who was now so far away from him. “I’m worried about you. If you get this, call me.” He left his number. It might be weeks before she checked messages. And she might not even remember him or want to see him after this. After all, he’d left her bleeding on the sidewalk, while he took Cathy Vanelli to the courthouse.
****
The next day Pete got the call he’d been waiting for. At least one of the calls he’d been waiting for.
“I have Goldy’s dog, but it’s gonna cost a lot more than two thousand,” the voice said.
The scum knew it was Goldy’s dog. Shit. He sounded young which was good. “Name it.”
“I know that dog is worth a million to Goldy.”
“Ha. Ha. I doubt that.” Pete was already planning how he’d catch him and throw him in the slammer.
“I’ll bet he is, and I’ll wait another day for you to find that out.”
Maybe he wasn’t a kid after all. “Hey, wait, pal.” Negotiation wasn’t Pete’s strength, but he had enough training to know how to proceed. “It takes a day to put money together if you want cash, and I’m assuming you do.” Pete wished he could trace the call but with cell phones...
“I’ll call you in a few days then.”
“Wait. You want money, and I’d just as soon get the dog, so let’s stay on the line and do it.”
“Get the money tonight then.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, but no dog is worth a million. Not even to Goldy. I know that for a fact. She just adopted him. Besides, she has other dogs. Plus she’s in intensive care, worried more about her health.” Pete was hoping this tactic would work. “Tell you what. She might be able to put a hundred thousand together by tomorrow. You’ll never get any more
than that for the mutt. He’s a barker and pees in the house.” He waited. A hundred thousand was a nice reasonable amount. Besides, Pete didn’t plan to bring any money he couldn’t take back to the bank afterwards. Only the top half of the bills would be real anyhow.
“Two hundred.”
Pete sighed, like he was upset about the deal. “One hundred twenty.”
“One fifty. Cash in a black duffel bag.”
“Hold on, kid. Send me a photo of the dog with today’s paper. Make sure the date is visible.”
“I’ll call later with instructions.”
The photo came through with Elvis standing in the middle of an unidentifiable room peeing on today’s paper. This person knew what he was doing. Fuck!
****
Merilee, the blessed assistant, had arrived from L.A. and had taken over all areas where Quinn felt incapable. The two were constant presences in the hospital room, and, of course, Burn was gone. He’d flown back to LA, feeling out of place almost anywhere now, except Tinseltown. “Everyone is boring and normal here,” he’d joked. She’d tried to smile. Nurse Nancy seemed particularly distracted after his departure.
Then Gateman called with bad news. “We heard from Shakespeare.”
“Send it.” Nikki was getting weary of the game. She opened her email.
Goldy, My Love:
I’m heartsick waiting.
Must I come to you?
I wait patiently. I listen. She speaks yet she says nothing, what of that?
Say something.
Or I shall have to come for you.
“It’s his most feeble effort,” Nikki said. Judging by Merilee’s worried expression, her assistant wasn’t as confident. “Maybe he’s losing steam.”
“Let me read it.” Merilee moved in to analyze the letter and agreed. “I think the fascination is dying,” she said.
Nikki eased back against the pillows and considered the words that made up the letter, and when Quinn walked into the room, she knew it wasn’t fair to hide this stalker anymore.
“Come here, sweetie. I need to show you something.” Nikki downplayed the threat but Quinn’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not because of the stalker,” she said.
“What then?” Nikki asked.
“I’m thinking about your accident and how if it isn’t threats on your life, then it’s attempts. When will this end, Mom?”
“Soon, sweetie.”
“I was in class when I got the call from the police about you being shot.” She laid her head down gently on her mother’s uninjured arm and sniffled. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you. Daddy wouldn’t be enough. I need you, Mom.” Quinn cried quietly into the covers as Nikki stroked her daughter’s dark hair.
No, Burn would not nearly be enough and had never been even half. Burn had always fallen painfully short as a father, and Nikki wouldn’t do that to a child again.
When the nurse arrived to change her dressing, she watched the gauze unravel. Something about the sight of the white gauze made her remember a seagull sitting on something white, bobbing on the ocean’s surface. It was just a brief flash. She’d been on a sailboat. Her psychiatrist said she might get her memories back this way and advised her to let them drift in on their own. And now, here they were, like scenes from a movie she’d seen last month.
She and the Bayers had been on Pete’s sailboat, and when they went to Seattle, the bullet she’d taken had been meant for Connie. Dinner with the Bayers at the lake. Pete in her house, wet. Blood in the Bayers’ bathroom. Tony’s stitches. Hot crossed buns. Yoruba symbol. Connie’s wig. The thoughts were overwhelming and soon she became weary. As she watched the outside sky darken, she couldn’t help wonder what had happened to the strange Bayer family.
****
“What about this house, Mom?” Quinn asked. “It has a nice pool, overlooks the lake, and has a long driveway.” She snuggled in to her mother on the hospital bed, the laptop resting against Nikki’s knees.
“It’s pretty, but the baby’s room would be too far away from mine, honey.” Finally Nikki felt well enough to think about her future. “I don’t want to be sprinting down a long hall to get him.”
“Mom, you know he’ll be sleeping in your room until he’s ten.” Quinn was probably only half joking.
Now that they knew the baby’s sex, the pregnancy seemed real to both Nikki and Quinn, giving way to all sorts of ideas for their future. Planning for the baby had become their new hobby, and it was impossible to hold back the excitement, knowing he was six months away from making his appearance. Names were bounced carefully between them like an egg toss at a birthday party. The prospect of raising a son made Nikki giddy, even knowing it would be a challenge without a father. She’d need to discover what little boys like to do and how they do it.
“I’m looking for a simple house for a mother and two children—four bedrooms, a big playroom, a workable kitchen and a big safe yard for a little boy to play with his trucks in the mud.” The real estate agent got right on it. “This one looks nice.” Nikki read the spread sheet on a rambler on the Olympic peninsula. “Dock for yacht or sailboat” it said. Nikki remembered being on the boat with the Bayers. A sailboat without a name. There had been a large bed in the bow’s cabin and a seating area that turned into two beds. One for her, and one for Pete.
“Yes, it looks pretty, but maybe too far away from U Dub,” she said. Nikki recalled eating at the table while the rain poured down on the deck outside, playing a board game with Tony, and laughing, doing the dishes with Pete. Had they all become friends? Were Pete and Connie married? Remembering the smell of the ocean, Nikki got a flash of another scent. Musky, spicy. Pete. She’d had a huge crush on him. Her heart flipped at the memory.
Didn’t Quinn say the Bayers had Elvis? From what she could remember, her dog really liked Pete. Soon they’d bring her dog back.
****
Pete swore to himself as he approached the giant Christmas tree in the Nordstrom Center shopping mall. “Shit, we gotta be on our toes here, it’s really crowded,” he whispered into the microphone clipped on his inside shirt pocket.
His friend Webber, from the department, answered. “Roger that.”
Pete’s own photo had been given too much press lately, for him to risk recognition.
When the perp approached the intended drop-off point for the money, Pete noticed him right away. It looked like he was alone, had a nervous, hungry look in his eyes and out of his depth with this felony. It was possible that he needed money for drugs.
Webber held the black duffel bag, trying to look like a dumb roadie. With long hair and worn jeans, he could’ve been one of Goldy’s stage crew. Pete watched the scrawny perp approach and reach for the bag.
“I’ll tell you where the dog is once I count the money.”
Was this kid working alone? Pete hoped so. He looked grossly inadequate but underestimating a situation too soon could be a mistake. They moved to a bench.
“Open the bag. Let’s see.”
Webber complied, dug through the bag to show the money was real and lifted some bills. “Don’t wave it around, you dumb fuck.” The kid knew that much.
“Now where’s the mutt?” Webber sounded like he had a date with a six pack of Budweiser and wanted to get this chore over.
Then the perp made his first big mistake. He didn’t count the money but instead, told Webber to zip up the bag. “I’ll call that number in fifteen minutes to tell you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Webber put a firm hand on the duffel’s handle. “Tell me now or we’re done. Goldy hasn’t even asked about this stupid dog.”
The kid looked like he wasn’t sure what to do, fidgeting, wiping his forehead, all signs that he was nervous. Pete smiled.
“Where is it? Come on, man. It’s just a fucking dog.”
“In a black bag at the service entrance to a restaurant around the corner.”
“Which one?”
Pause. “Charlie’s
Grill.”
“Charlie’s? You mean that place with the green awning out front and the—”
“In the back alley.”
Webber was buying time for Pete to get around the corner.
“You gotta come with me while I see if it’s him. It could be any stray dog, and you got some big dough in there for this.” Webber gestured to the duffel under his hand.
“No! I told you, behind Charlie’s!”
Good, the perp was panicking. Pete was half way to the service entrance when Webber spoke. “You’re not leaving here with the money until I check to see it’s the right dog. You could’ve brought me a fuckin’ dead Chihuahua. I gotta verify it’s him.”
There was a pause while the kid thought about what to do, then Webber said, “Tell you what. I’ll let you carry your money, and when I see it’s the dog, you can take off. I don’t want any trouble, man. I’m just a sound guy, not some fucking criminal like you.
Pete rounded the corner and saw the black bag up against the wall, behind a trash can, near the service entrance. He prayed that Elvis was inside and breathing. As he unzipped, a snarl erupted from within. “Easy, boy, it’s just me, just Pete.” Elvis snapped at his hand, his teeth penetrating the flesh on Pete’s palm. “Elvis.” He tried to use the high voice the dog responded to the best.
It was indeed Elvis, with his camouflage collar, and his big smile. “Elvis, you okay, boy?” The little dog jumped up on Pete’s knees and, clawing his way to kiss Pete’s face, tried to cover him with stinky kisses.
“It’s him, Webber. Affirmative.”
****
An hour later, Pete was handing over a twenty-two-year-old punk to the King County Police to be booked on one charge of theft and one charge of blackmail. Even though it would have been easy to just clip this guy on the side of the head for mischief then let him go, Pete had to remember that he’d been a punk once. And punks needed the reward and punishment system. He’d let the court system figure it out.
Sitting in the truck with Elvis asleep on his lap, Pete called Nikki’s cell again to tell her the good news, in case she knew that Elvis was missing.
Voicemail. “It’s Pete. I’ve got Elvis and I’ll bring him by the hospital right now.” He paused. “I feel so…so…terrible about what happened to you. So did Connie.” Elvis was snoring up a storm, and Pete had to speak up. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but maybe not. I’m also hoping everything is fine with the baby. Every since I felt her kick, well, I feel like I know her.” He stroked Elvis’s head. “I hope.” He chuckled. “Well, I’m doing a lot of hoping right now, so I’ll just head over to the hospital and hope to see you.”