by Nikki Soarde
It was mutual. Tate had been as driven to flaunt his sordid business dealings in Sam’s face as Sam had been to catch him and see him off the streets once and for all. There was more to it than Pete, and maybe even Sam, had understood.
And maybe that had something to do with the disappearance of the two men. Pete finally acknowledged that question, just as much as his need to find Sam, was the driving force behind his current obsession.
A sharp nudge from Kyle’s elbow jolted him back to the present. Pete’s pale green eyes focused on the front stoop of the Barton abode. The screen door had slammed shut behind a slight figure in ratty jeans and a Philadelphia Penguins T-shirt who was already tearing down the street toward them. His skinny legs were pumping and his tousled brown mop waved wildly in the humid breeze. As he ripped past the cruiser, Pete caught a glimpse of the boy’s face. His chin was set, but dirty tear tracks blatantly advertised that ten-year-old Tanner Barton was not a happy camper.
Already regretting it, Pete erupted from the car. He ignored Kyle’s protests and sprinted after the kid, who had already ducked into an alley at the end of the block. Pete heard the soft thuds of Kyle’s footfalls behind him as he skidded to a halt and peered warily around the corner of a small variety store that had apparently gone belly-up. The windows behind the metal bars had been smashed in and the front door was boarded over. No one had bothered to clean up the broken glass on the sidewalk and Pete could just make out the carnage that vandals had wreaked inside the abandoned establishment.
At the far end of the alley, huddled in a corner against a chainlink face, was Tate Barton’s son. Pete could hear the soft sobs echoing against the dirty red brick and littered concrete. He motioned to his new partner.
“You stay here. One guy is a lot less scary than two.”
“Are you nuts? If his mother finds out you talked to him without her present—”
“Shut up!” His whisper was harsh and edged with anxiety. “I know what I’m doing.”
Pete heard Kyle muttering objections as he strode cautiously toward the boy. He stopped about eight feet away.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said softly as he lowered himself to one knee. He knew how intimidating his size could be. He knew bouncers that would cross the street to avoid him, and usually he took full advantage of the intimidation factor, capitalizing on his size and husky voice to frighten unruly perps into quiet submission. But this boy was no perp, and Pete had no desire to either intimidate or frighten him.
The boy looked up in surprise. The tear tracks had disappeared. Now his face was one enormous smudge of sorrow, and despite himself Pete’s heart went out to the tike. He hadn’t asked for this life. He hadn’t asked for a pimp for a dad and a whore for a mom. But that was the hand he had been dealt and if there was one lesson Peter Gruber had learned it was that no one could run from his roots. He had to face them and make the best of whatever shit his parents had shoveled onto his plate.
“Who’re you?” asked the boy with a sniffle.
“My name’s Pete. I just saw you running and I could tell something was wrong. I wanted to check and see if you were okay.” He paused and allowed a concerned frown to furrow his brow. “Was somebody chasing you? Do you want me to take you someplace safe?”
Tanner’s eyes skimmed over Pete’s features. The gaze was intense and a little unnerving coming from one so young. Those familiar blue eyes continued to evaluate his light cotton shirt, pale gray blazer and blue jeans, until they finally settled on Pete’s pride and joy—a pair of authentic alligator skin boots.
With another sniff and a final swipe at his eyes he returned his gaze to Pete’s. “You a cop?”
Pete blinked. Completely taken off guard by the kid’s insight, he stuttered out the most inane thing he’d ever said. “N-no. I-I sell life insurance.”
It turned out that was the best lie he could’ve told. The kid grinned. “You tell folks you’re gonna shoot ‘em if they don’t buy?”
Pete rolled his eyes in exasperation. His shoulder holster. The kid must’ve caught a glimpse of the leather when he knelt down. “Okay, you got me, kid. I’m a cop.” His left foot began to tingle so he shifted slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about little kids. I’m here to help. That’s my job.”
The kids eyes turned cold. “Liar. Cops don’t help. They—” He clamped his mouth shut, obviously censoring himself.
Pete sighed and decided to try a new approach. “So, what tipped you off? I’m not your typical cop. That was a pretty good guess for a little kid.”
It took Tanner a moment to decide whether he should be speaking to someone who was a potential threat to his way of life, or if he should immediately sprint for the safety of the Philadelphia slums. Pete could see tiny muscles flexing as if he were fighting with himself over whether to stay or go. But something held him there. He licked his lips. “The holster and…and I can just tell.”
Pete cocked his head on an angle in a way that he knew made him look innocent and inquisitive. He had learned that trick from the best. “You had a lot of experience spotting cops? Somebody teach you that? Like a big brother, maybe?”
He knew full well Tanner had no siblings, but he hardly wanted to advertise to the boy the fact that he probably knew more about Tanner’s life than Tanner did.
The boy nodded slowly. “Yeah.” But then he stopped and blinked and Pete saw a fresh swell of tears threatening to breach his defenses. “My…my daddy. He taught me.”
Pete felt his heart speed up but determinedly kept it from pounding loud enough for the boy to hear. “Oh, yeah? Who would that be? Who’s your daddy?”
In a flash, a look of fierce defiance sprang to Tanner’s eyes. He stood and thrust his hands in his pockets, stuck out his chin, and said with conviction, “Tate Barton. Tate Barton was my daddy and…” his façade was already cracking, “and he hated cops. He wouldn’t want me to talk to you, so leave me alone or I’ll start screaming.” His eyes glittered with a street-savvy look that should have been beyond his years. “And I’ll scream rape.”
Pete jerked his head back in surprise. The kid sure knew how to strike fear into the heart of a cop. The threat of a sexual molestation charge was akin to holding a Colt 45 to his temple. He stood and stepped back quickly. “Okay, okay. Honest, kid, I was just trying to help.”
“Bullshit,” spat the urchin. “You’re all a bunch of fucking liars!” The tears burst through the dam as he darted past Pete and hit the street. But his voice echoed in the stillness of the filthy alley. “Liars! All of you! I hate you. All of you!”
When his yells and the soft thud of his footsteps had faded, Pete walked with heavy steps back to the mouth of the alley. Kyle stepped out of a doorway and warily approached his partner. “So?”
Pete pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up, drawing the warmth deeply into his lungs and reveling in the first hit of nicotine. He was going to quit. One of these days when he could get through a day without feeling like his life was about to fall apart he would quit. He tapped off some ash. “So… Without meaning to, I think that kid gave me a little piece of the puzzle.”
“Oh, yeah? And what was that?”
“He slipped up and referred to his daddy in the past tense.”
Kyle’s eyebrows lifted marginally as he waited for the rest.
“And I can’t say for certain, but I’d bet my next pack of Marlboros that Tate Barton is dead.”
“And what about Sam?”
Pete didn’t want to share what he was thinking with his partner. He didn’t want to face the possibility of it himself, but it was too blatant to ignore. The idea had been flitting around in his mind like a pesky mosquito ever since his conversation with Elsie. She had said Tate wasn’t a killer, and he had finally admitted to himself that he agreed with her. But that left another, even more disturbing possibility he would never share with his partner’s ex-wife.
He started back toward the cruiser and kept his voice low. “Again, I don’
t know for sure, but I wonder if Sam killed Tate, and now he’s on the run.”
“Shit! You actually think Sam Riven is capable of that?”
Pete shoved his key into the lock and pulled open the door so hard he was surprised it didn’t come off in his hand. He slid in behind the wheel and glanced once more at the Barton home. Pete hated to admit it but in a strange way he had lost Sam to Tate Barton years ago. “Yeah. I hate to admit it, but Sam is definitely capable of that.” Kyle slid into the seat beside his new partner and watched him with wide, incredulous eyes. He was so young it made Pete’s heart ache. “You see,” Pete cleared his throat as he revved the engine and put the car into gear, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”
* * * * *
Three blocks away in a vacant lot littered with candy wrappers and old needles, Tanner Barton hunched down in the sparse shade of a twisted old oak. The branches were gnarled and the trunk split. Only a few branches had managed to sprout leaves this spring, and even those had done so grudgingly. The tree was dying but it provided a sparse shade, and the closest thing to nature in Tanner’s limited experience with the great outdoors.
Philadelphia boasted vast parklands with trails for walking and biking. But they might as well have been on the other side of the world for as accessible as they were to Tanner. Besides, inner-city parks weren’t the same as being out in the wilderness for real.
He had always dreamed of going fishing and hunting and camping. He had seen pictures of mountains and oceans at school. It was all so big and strange and wonderful…and unreachable. But Daddy had promised that someday he would see those things. Someday, when Daddy had enough money stashed away and when he could trust Calvin to take care of things for a while, he had promised he would take his son out into the country—to his special place—to do all those things. They would hike and shoot and sit around a campfire. They would look at the stars and sleep in a tent. He had promised, and Tanner had clung to that, had dreamed of it for as long as he could remember.
But now those dreams were shattered. Now all he had left was a mom who hardly seemed to know he existed and her new boyfriend who looked at him as if he’d like to squash him like a bug. He had lost the only person who had ever really loved him and he had his mother to thank for that. Even as grief settled in the pit of his stomach and the tears flowed fresh and hot, he could feel the first stirrings of hate. The thought of what had happened to his dad pierced his heart like an old dirty needle, and he felt his heart gush bright red—red as the lipstick that adorned his mother’s lying mouth. She had killed his daddy and he would never forgive her for that. He couldn’t get away from her but he could loathe her.
And one day…one day, he vowed, she would pay.
Chapter Seven
Late July, Calgary, Alberta
Luke picked listlessly at the fare on his hospital tray. The sausage was greasy, the potatoes dry and the beans—well, he didn’t even want to think about the beans. He no longer appreciated his food and he blamed Marnie.
Thoughts of her always brought a smile to his lips. She was his ray of sunshine, his glimmer of hope in a dark tunnel that seemed to have no beginning and no ending. She had become his friend and his teacher and tomorrow he would be going home with her.
The cast on his shattered leg and the last of his bandages had come off that morning and he was staying one more day to make sure he was fully mobile and to complete the last of his sessions with the psychologist. He didn’t like her. She was cold and humorless, and when she looked at him he felt less like a human and more like bug under a magnifying glass. She was fascinated by his case but could care less about him.
Marnie, on the other hand, saw him. She didn’t seem to see the scars or the handicaps. She didn’t care that he couldn’t read or that he had forgotten how to drive. She saw just him, and when she talked of adventures to come he almost found himself believing he could be happy and whole again—that he could make a life for himself outside.
Outside. He had been in the hospital so long—in a way, his whole life—that it was hard to imagine a life outside it. But Marnie had promised she would show him treasures and wonders like he could barely imagine. And among them was good, fresh, home-cooked food.
She had whetted his appetite with the treats she had brought him. Brownies, cookies, cakes, and bread that was at once chewy and tender. She had brought him fresh fruits and samples of cheese that had completely spoiled him for the blasé hospital food that was his lot day in and day out. But that was all going to change very soon, and he had to restrain himself from leaping from bed and jumping up and down with glee at the very thought of it all.
Instead, he gazed out the window of his private room and tried to make out the mountains that skimmed the horizon. They were distant and often cloaked in mist, but nevertheless they were beautiful and they called out to him. That was another entry on Marnie’s list of things to show him. She had promised to take him hiking through the Rockies, experiencing their vastness, sipping from their icy streams, and gazing up at the stars that were so close you could reach out and pluck them out of the sky. Her brown eyes glittered whenever she talked about it, and it made him wonder if those mountains, even with their wild, untamed beauty, could ever approach the beauty he saw shining in her eyes.
“Hello?” The tinny voice cut through him like a knife, sending a tiny shiver up his spine and causing his head to swivel around far too fast. The fracture to his skull had healed, but quick movement and bright lights could still bring on vertigo or headaches. And with the sight of the small, overweight man with the sweat-stained armpits and the note pad, Luke could already feel the beginnings of a dull ache behind his eyes.
He took a moment to get his bearings before addressing his visitor. “Hello.” When the other man didn’t speak but just continued staring at him he felt goaded into saying more. “Do I know you?” He knew instinctively this man wasn’t a doctor, and while Luke had definitely been exposed to a daunting number of new faces over the past several weeks he remembered them all vividly. He’d never seen this man before.
For just a moment he wondered if this might be the person with the keys to his past—someone who knew Luke’s real name, where he came from, and what had happened to him. While that thought excited him, it also terrified him for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that this man made him uncomfortable. His steady stare was almost lascivious, and his greasy complexion repulsive.
“Uh…” Luke finally hazarded, “are you a cop? I’ve already told you guys, I don’t know anything.”
The police officers who had questioned him the week before had been polite and pleasant, but Luke had felt an unidentifiable awkwardness around them. When they looked at him he felt exposed and uncomfortable. He felt as if he were hiding something, and they were sure to see through the deception. But he had been completely powerless to discern where those feelings were coming from. All he knew was that he had been relieved when they left.
“Nope,” the greasy man answered. “I’m not a cop. I’m a reporter.” He extended a pudgy hand, which Luke pointedly ignored. “Gordon Zennie. Calgary Herald.”
“Reporter?” Luke knew the press was anxious for information about him. Marnie had told him all about it. But beyond posing for a picture that was printed in all the local newspapers, he’d had no contact with them. The doctors and Marnie had thought it best to avoid the stress of interviews, and he had wholeheartedly agreed. So far the hospital security staff and the local police had been successful in their attempts to keep his room number a secret and to keep unidentified visitors off his floor. “How did you get in here?” He tried to keep his voice even despite the unwelcome sense of panic that fluttered in his gut.
A wide grin broke across the round face. “I just walked in. No sweat.”
Luke frowned at the blatant lie. Despite the air-conditioning, beads of perspiration were pearling on the man’s jowls.
“You’re John Doe, right?” Zennie flipped open his steno
pad.
“My name’s Luke.”
Zennie frowned and pulled something out of his pocket. He studied the small slip of paper briefly and smiled again. “Nah, you’re him all right.” Then his eyes glinted like a vulture that had scented rotting meat. “Does this mean you’ve remembered something? Is Luke your real name?”
Luke swallowed and reached for the call button.
Zennie noticed. “Ah, come on, buddy. Gimme a break. This won’t take long.” He pulled up a chair as if he were settling in for keeps. “Just a couple of questions and—”
“Excuse me!”
Zennie stood and whirled around to face Marnie’s fierce brown eyes. “You his nurse? Hey, look, I was just—”
“Get out.”
Luke couldn’t help but smile at her fierce stance. He’d only seen her get her back up once before—when the psychologist had tried to talk her out of taking him home with her. She was usually so soft-spoken and polite that seeing her with a little fire in her eyes was a welcome change. It also stirred something inside him he didn’t quite understand.
Zennie didn’t budge. “This is a free country, you know, lady. I can talk to anybody I damn well please.”
“Not if they don’t want to talk to you.” She had already planted herself between Zennie and Luke’s bed.
“He was talking just fine. He didn’t seem to mind.”
Without turning around Marnie directed herself to Luke. “Do you want to talk to this man, Luke?”
“No.”
“There. Now go before I call security.”
In response to the call button, two nurses had already materialized in Luke’s doorway. “Is there a problem?” asked the charge nurse.
“Don’t you people believe in freedom of the press?” Zennie pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his glistening forehead. “Jesus. All I ask is five minutes. Five lousy minutes!”
The two nurses flanked him. “It will only take me two minutes to get security in here, sir. I suggest you leave without a fuss.”