Free Fall ec-4

by Robert Crais

  "I get in."

  Pike stopped at the drive and Cool T got out, and then Pike kept going. One of the guys on the low wall pointed at Cool T and Cool T pointed back, and then we turned the corner. Pike turned right, then right again, and we counted houses until we were in front of a tiny saltbox that would butt against the back of Alma Reeves's place. Joe said, "Here," and pulled to the curb.

  Ray said, "Let me get out first and go up to the house. Folks inside see a couple of white men sneaking up the drive, they'll call the police for sure."

  Ray got out and walked up the drive to the front door and knocked. After a little bit, Ray shook his head and motioned us forward. Nobody home.

  We went up the drive and through a neatly kept backyard and over a low chain-link fence and onto Alma Reeves's property. Cool T was standing in the back door, waiting for us and holding by her left forearm a young woman who couldn't have been more than seventeen. She looked scared.

  We trotted past two rows of nicely set tomato plants and across their yard and up three cement steps and into a small yellowed kitchen with a picture of Jesus on the wall. A heavy woman with gray hair was leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the dining room, saying, "Y'all stop that and get out of here. Y'all get out of here, now."

  Cool T pulled the door closed after us. He locked it. The heavy woman's voice got higher, and she said, "Cool T! Cool, what you doin', boy? I'm talking to you, Myron."

  Ray Depente said, "It's all right, Mama. Nothing bad is gonna happen here."

  Cool T jerked Alma Reeves's arm. " 'Less it has to."

  I said, "Cool."

  "Goddamn it. She the reason James Edward dead." He shook her arm again. "Fuckin' bitch, set me up like I'm some kinda chump, lie to me like that so a brother gets killed." Cool T raised his hand and Alma fell back against the refrigerator with a whimper and Pike stepped in and caught Cool T's arm.

  "No."

  The heavy woman said, "Alma, what is he talking about? Alma, you talk to me!" Nobody was looking at the heavy woman.

  Cool T glared at Pike, but then he let go of the girl and stepped back. When he let go, she stumbled back and fell. Cool T was so angry that he was trembling. He was so angry that his eyes were rimmed red again, and filled with tears, but the tears weren't because she had lied to him. "Goddamn it, this outrageous shit has been goin' on too long down here, brother on brother. This shit got to stop."

  Alma Reeves was shouting. "He made me, Cool. He said you was asking and he told me what to say. I didn't know he was gonna kill anyone. I swear to Jesus I didn't know."

  Alma Reeves was sitting on the floor, looking up at us, and I wondered how frightening it must be for these two women to have four men push into their home and act in this manner. I squatted down by her. "How did Akeem know that Cool was working with us?"

  She jerked away from me. "I can't be talkin' about all this. Don't you understand anything? I be talkin' about this and it gets back, I'm dead for sure."

  The heavy woman was pulling at her hair. "What do you mean, dead? Alma, what have you gotten yourself messed with?"

  Alma looked at her mother. Then she closed her eyes.

  I said, "Ray, why don't you take Mrs. Reeves into the living room."

  Ray took the heavy woman away. She begged us not to do anything to her baby. She said it over and over as Ray pulled her away, and hearing it made me feel small and foul and ashamed of myself. I said, "Look at me, Alma."

  She didn't move.

  I said, "Akeem doesn't know that we're here. No one but the people in this room knows that we're here, and no one else is going to know. Do you understand that?"

  She opened her eyes.

  "No one saw us come in, and no one will see us go out. We are going to move against Akeem. If you help us, no one will know. If you don't help us, I'll make sure Akeem believes that you turned on him. Do you see?" Small and foul and mean.

  She said, "Oh, you muthuhfuckuh."

  Alma Reeves said, "I got what you call a little dependency problem."

  Cool T said, "She went along with Akeem for the rock. She a crack 'ho."

  She flared at him. "I ain't no 'ho. Don't you call me that."

  I said, "Cool."

  He said, "She say she want to quit, so I got her in a program, but she didn't stay. That's why she diddle around with trash like the Eight-Deuce. 'Ho'ing for the rock."

  Alma Reeves was the kind of unhealthy thin that doesn't come from dieting. Who needs protein and vitamin B when you can suck on a crack bong? Ray came back in the room. I said, "What did Akeem tell you to say to Cool T?"

  "That the cops was gonna lean on a brother be sellin' rock at the park. He say I was supposed to tell Cool, then call him and tell him right away."

  "Alma, this is important. Did Akeem say anything about a girl named Jennifer Sheridan?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  "It's very important, Alma. He's already killed James Edward, and I think he wants to kill her."

  "I don't know. I'm not over there that much. I don't know."

  Pike said, "Where does Akeem live?"

  "He in a place just off Main over here." She made a little hand wave toward the east. "Used to be a rock house." She told us where it was and what it looked like.

  Ray said, "Shit. That means it's built like a fort. There'll be reinforced walls and steel on the doors and windows."

  Cool T laughed. "What you fools thinkin' about doin', stormin' the 'hood like at Normandy?" He laughed louder.

  I said, "Reconnoiter. We go, we watch, we learn whatever we can learn, and we maybe try to pick up Akeem when he's alone. If someone comes, we follow them. Whatever we can do."

  Cool T said, "What about Alma?"

  We looked at her. "I didn't know Akeem was gonna kill that boy. I swear I didn't. Why I wanna tell Akeem now I told you?"

  Cool T said, "Crack. Crack 'ho do anything for the rock."

  Alma screamed, "I can't help it. Don't you call me that."

  Cool T went to the little dinette and pulled out a chair. "Maybe I'll just set a spell." He gave me sleepy eyes, eyes that were tired maybe from seeing too many brothers killed by other brothers. James Edward Washington eyes. "Make sure she don't call up old Akeem."

  Ray said, "Thanks, Cool."

  I looked back at Alma, and then I found a notepad and a Bic pen on one of the counters. I wrote down a name and a phone number. "You want to get into a program and try to get off this stuff?"

  She stared at me.

  I dropped the pad into her lap. "There's a woman I know named Carol Hillegas. She runs a halfway house in Hollywood. If you want to get into a program, give her a call." I looked at Cool T. "If she wants to go, call Carol and take her over there. It won't cost anything."

  Alma Reeves stared down at the pad.

  Cool T got up from his chair, came over, and took the notepad out of her lap. "Crack 'ho ain't gonna do nothin' to help herself. Maybe I'll give a call for her."

  We went out as we came, through the backyard and over the little chain-link and out the rear neighbor's drive to Pike's Jeep. Ray Depente gave directions and we made the short drive to Akeem D'Muere's.

  D'Muere's house was maybe five houses from an intersection, and we could see it well. It was a small cinderblock with an ill-kept front lawn and a couple of overgrown roses that looked like they needed water and heavy steel grates over the windows. Rock house. When we edged to a stop at the intersection, Floyd Riggens came out of the house, punched a black guy who was maybe nineteen years old, and knocked him down.

  Then Warren Pinkworth was running out of the house and pulling Riggens away, and Eric Dees was coming out of the house, too.

  I said, "Well, well."

  Pike's mouth twitched.

  More of the Gangster Boys came out of the house and Pinkworth shook Riggens like he was an idiot. Riggens did a lot of finger jabbing toward the kid, but he didn't try to get back into it. He walked out to the street and got into a seda
n. Akeem D'Muere came out after Dees, and the two of them argued, but they probably weren't arguing about Riggens.

  Pike said, "If these guys are willing to risk being seen here, whatever they've got going must be falling apart."

  Ray Depente twisted in his seat. "What are we going to do?"

  "Watch."

  Ray didn't like that. "There the motherfuckers are, right there. Shouldn't we call the police? They can see for themselves."

  "See what, Ray?" I looked at him. "Dees is conducting an investigation. He's questioning Akeem D'Muere and other members of the Eight-Deuce Gangster Boys for information they might have as to my whereabouts, or the drug deal James Edward and I were trying to put together."

  Pike said, "Uh-huh. And these guys might know.

  Two of them were found dead at the scene. Probably been a parade of cops through here."

  Ray's jaw worked and his eyes were wide.

  I said, "Can you get back from here okay, Ray?"

  He looked at me.

  "We have to find Jennifer Sheridan, and Dees knows where she is. Dees would've told Thurman to hide her, and he's worried, so he'll make contact. We're going to follow him when he leaves. Do you see?"

  Ray Depente didn't move.

  Akeem D'Muere said something sharp to Eric Dees, then went back into his house. Dees stood for a moment like he wanted to do something, but then he walked out to the street. Pinkworth and Riggens were out there, sitting in Riggens's sedan. There was another car behind them, but that was probably Dees's.

  I said, "Ray."

  Ray stared past me at the crack house, and then he nodded, maybe more to himself than to me. He said, 'Tell me that this sonofabitch is going to pay for James Edward."

  "He'll pay. I promise."

  Ray Depente turned heat-seeker eyes my way. "Bet your ass he will."

  Ray Depente got out of the Jeep and walked back the way we had come.

  Pike shook his head. "Hate to have that sonofabitch mad at me."

  "Uh-hunh."

  Eric Dees finished speaking to Pinkworth and Riggens, then climbed into his own car. Pinkworth drove away first, and when Dees drove away, Pike and I followed.

  CHAPTER 26

  It didn't take long. Eric Dees went west toward LAX, then climbed onto the San Diego Freeway and headed north, up through Los Angeles and the Sepulveda Pass and into the San Fernando Valley.

  He left the freeway at Roscoe, turned west again toward Van Nuys Airport, then pulled into the parking lot of a Tommy's hamburger stand where Mark Thurman was sitting at a window table, waiting for him. Jennifer Sheridan wasn't around.

  We snapped a turn into a Nissan dealership next to the Tommy's just as Mark Thurman left his window table and came out to meet Eric Dees. Pike eased the Jeep toward them along one of the aisles of new Nissans, and parked behind a row of vans. We got out of the Jeep and moved up between two of the vans and watched.

  Dees got out of the car, and Thurman hugged him, and Dees hugged him back, slapping Mark Thurman's shoulder the way you do when you're moved to see someone that you haven't seen in a while and they are someone you care about. Cars moved in and out of the lot, and Hispanic guys who looked like they did yard work and women who looked like they worked in offices came out of or went into the Tommy's, and looked at Dees and Thurman as they did, but Thurman and Dees seemed not to notice, nor to care. Dees put out his hand and Thurman gripped it tight, as if he were using it to anchor himself.

  Thurman seemed tired and drawn, but then, so did Eric Dees. They looked nervous, and they looked glad to see each other, and they didn't look like homicidal co-conspirators rendezvousing to foil justice and commit evil. I wasn't sure what they should look like, but they didn't look like that. Pike said, "What?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. It's not the sort of meeting I expected."

  Pike nodded and maybe his mouth twitched.

  A balding salesman in a bright blue Miles Vandeveer sport coat smiled his way over and said, "That's an outstanding little van you're looking at there, gentlemen. You wanna trade in this old clunker, I'll give you a fair deal." He slapped the side of Pike's Jeep. Hard.

  Pike's head swiveled toward the salesman. "Clunker."

  I stepped in front of him. "We're just looking, thanks. If we have any questions, I'll come get you."

  The salesman gestured at the van. "Great new five-year, fifty-thousand-mile warranty with these vehicles." He looked back at the Jeep, and this time slapped the hood. "Be a big step up from a maintenance hog like this old bitch."

  I said, "Oh, man."

  Pike leaned toward the salesman and said, "Look at me."

  The salesman looked.

  Pike said, "Touch the Jeep once more, and I will hurt you."

  The salesman's smile faltered, then failed. He swallowed hard. "Yes, well. I'll be in the showroom if you gentlemen have any questions."

  I said, "That will be fine."

  He made a last stab at the smile, couldn't quite manage it, and walked backwards until he bumped into a green Stanza. When he hit the Stanza, the impact turned him around, and the fast walk became a sort of skipping hop, as if he had to go to the bathroom. Then he ducked into the showroom and peered out at us through the glass. A saleswoman with red hair came up beside him, and he started with the big gestures, filling her in.

  I said, "Great, Joe. Nothing like a little restraint. What if he calls the cops?"

  Pike gave sullen. "Clunker."

  Thurman and Dees went into Tommy's and bought a couple of Cokes and returned to Thurman's window table. Eric Dees did most of the talking. Thurman nodded a lot, and occasionally said something, but mostly he just sipped at his drink. Thurman looked scared. He looked like Eric Dees was telling him things that were maybe hard to understand, but necessary to hear. At one point, Thurman got agitated and spread his hands, gesturing broadly, but Dees reached across the table and gripped his shoulder to explain something, and after a while Mark Thurman calmed.

  The meeting didn't last long. Ten minutes later they came back into the parking lot and went to Eric Dees's sedan. Dees put his hand on Thurman's shoulder again, and said something else, and this time Mark Thurman smiled. Bucking up. Hanging tough. With Eric Dees telling him everything would be fine if he just hung in a little while longer. You could see it on his face. The pep talk by the old man. Then they shook hands and Eric Dees got into his sedan and drove away. Pike said, "Now what?"

  "We stay with Thurman."

  Mark Thurman crossed the parking lot to his blue Mustang even before Eric Dees had pulled away. He tossed his cup into a big cement trash container, climbed into the Mustang, and pulled out onto Roscoe heading east. Pike and I trotted back to the Jeep and roared through the car dealership and out into traffic after him. The salesman in the blue sport coat watched us go, then made a big deal out of saying something to the saleswoman who'd come up beside him. I think he gave us the finger.

  We followed Thurman up onto the 405 and climbed north through the valley past Mission Hills and the Simi Freeway interchange and the San Fernando Reservoir. I kept waiting for him to exit, and maybe head west toward his apartment, but he didn't. We continued north into the Newhall Pass and the Santa Susana Mountains until the 405 became the Golden State, and when we came to the Antelope Valley Freeway just before Santa Clarita, Mark Thurman exited and followed it east, up through the San Gabriels. I said, "Thurman's from Lancaster."

  Pike glanced at me.

  "Mark Thurman is going home."

  The landscape became parched and barren and more vertical than not. Pockets of condominiums clung to the mountains, and fields of low-cost housing spread across creek beds, and huge billboards proclaimed YOU COULD BE HOME NOW IF YOU LIVED HERE. Ten years ago, only rattlesnakes and sagebrush lived here.

  Thurman followed the freeway through the mountains past quarries and rock formations and drop sites for dead bodies, and then we were out of the mountains and descending into the broad flat plain of Antelope Valley. The v
alley up there is high desert, and the communities there grew up around top-secret military projects and government funding. Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier up there. Edwards Air Force Base is there, with its shuttle landings and Stealth fighters, and, beyond that, the Mojave Desert spreads out to the north and east, a hot dry desolate plain that is ideal for crashing top-secret government hardware. In the foothills of the San Gabriels there is water and fruit orchards, and, in the winter, there is even snow. But the valley is different. In the valley, there is only scrub brush and heat and cactus, and secret things that no one is supposed to know.

  Maybe six miles after we descended out of the San Gabriels, Mark Thurman left the highway and turned into a flat middle-class housing tract with stucco houses and azalea bushes and two-car garages so filled with the clutter of life that at least one of the family's cars had to stay in the drive. We turned in after him, and Pike shook his head. "No traffic and no movement. We follow him in there, he'll make us."

  "Then let him go."

  We let Mark Thurman draw ahead and turn and disappear from sight.

  We pulled to the side of the street and waited, and maybe five minutes later we started again. We made the same turn that Mark Thurman made, and then we drove slowly, criss-crossing the subdivision streets, and looking for his blue Mustang.

  Two streets over, we found it, parked in the open garage of a pleasant two-story house with a neatly kept lawn and a fig tree in the front yard.

  We parked in the drive behind the Mustang, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. Footsteps came toward the door, the door opened, and Mark Thurman looked out at us. I said, "Hi, Mark."

  Mark Thurman tried to shove the door shut. He was big, and strong, but he started the move too late and we had the angle.

  The door crashed open, and Joe Pike went in first and I went in after him. Thurman threw a fast straight right, but it was high over Joe Pike's left shoulder. Pike hit Mark Thurman three times in maybe four-tenths of a second. Once in the neck and twice in the solar plexus.