Veteran Avenue

by Mark Pepper

  Whether it was wise to have left the safety of her home, Laura wasn’t sure, but she quietly suspected she was being a bit too ballsy for her own good. Her bravado with Joey had seemed genuine enough at the time, but now it felt like a sham. She had always believed she had been borrowing drop by drop from her husband’s pool of courage over the years, making herself a stronger, braver individual by dint of his deeds. It certainly took considerable strength of character to let the love of her life fly away to unfriendly lands for covert missions the rest of America was oblivious to.

  But this was different. This was her potentially facing mortal danger. This wasn’t some peril she was experiencing vicariously through her husband; this was Laura DeCecco in the line of fire – perhaps literally since events had moved on from Roth’s threat to frame her. That particular threat had been to secure her husband’s skills in the drugs bust, but Joey had not only failed to provide the back-up requested – a passive betrayal through neutrality – he had then positively declared war on the man. So how much more vicious would Roth be now in his retribution? Considering he had one of the most heinous curriculum vitae of any cop in the country, would there be anything he’d find anathema? She doubted it. He had beaten his own wife half to death, so why would he have any qualms about killing someone else’s? And she didn’t at all believe her being pregnant made her untouchable, rather more of a delicious target; two dead for the price of one bullet.

  So why was she out in the open? Where was the sense in that?

  No sense. She was stubborn, always had been. She had never let anyone push her around, and, whatever her fears, she wasn’t about to now. Had there been a waiting game to play, she might have felt differently. If Roth had been destined for jail, she may have stayed in the shadows until he was locked away. But Roth wasn’t going to jail. Internal Affairs didn’t have the evidence and his wife didn’t have the guts or the inclination. Larry Roth was out there. And if revenge really was a dish best served cold, there might never be a time Laura would feel completely safe.

  The only option was to face the situation. If it was going to happen, then bring it on. Get it over with.

  Satisfied there was no silver Corvette on her tail, she zipped the Sig back inside the fanny pack and got out of the Civic.

  Riding the elevator to the stores on level six, she was physically alone but accompanied by a floating seasonal melody that issued from the ceiling. Carol singers celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus on Christmas day in Bethlehem long ago.

  Unconsciously circling her palm around her swollen belly, Laura began to cry.

  Watching DeCecco’s wife hurry to the bank of elevators, Larry’s worst fears were realized. Her movements were all wrong, completely at odds with her condition. He had never seen a pregnant woman move but slowly, ponderously. Equally, he had seen too many nervous individuals in his job not to recognize the signs in her. She looked shit-scared; trying to hide it, but, to the eyes of a seasoned cop, failing.

  Larry had not been able to check on her state any earlier. Despite waiting up the road from the DeCecco family home, he hadn’t managed to get a good look at her because she’d driven straight out of the garage in the Civic. So he’d followed her to the Beverly Center. Staying two cars behind, he was aware how sinister it must have looked. Had she noticed the tail he would have been branded a stalker and no words from him could have persuaded otherwise. But if she was checking at all, it would have been for a silver Corvette, and circumstances had put him behind the wheel of Hayley’s Beetle. Time wasn’t all he had lost while barhopping; somewhere along the way he had also managed to lose his precious car keys.

  No, there was no question – DeCecco had made his wife aware of the situation. So she probably also knew about the Armenians, Kevin Mallory, and what Larry had done to his own wife. Which meant she now had to fear far more from him than simply being framed for a crime she had not committed.

  He couldn’t just drive away. If he was going to become that better person, it was imperative he set the record straight with her, restore to her that mythical, maternal glow, because the shame he now felt for stealing it literally shivered through him, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. How could he have threatened a pregnant woman, even via a third party? Whatever the gripe with his partner, he had no right to involve anyone else. He had to apologize.

  The problem was how. How to get close enough to say the words? The moment she saw him she would scream and run away, or, worse, grab the nearest mall cop. So Larry stayed in the Beetle and just watched as she stepped into the elevator and rose into the mall. She would have to come back down sometime.

  By then he might have figured out how to say hello and not scare the poor woman half to death.

  For more than an hour, Laura wandered aimlessly around Bloomingdales and Macy’s and a bunch of smaller boutiques whose names she didn’t even register. In and out of the stores she ambled, under the bright lights of the consumer heaven, bedecked with the added tinsel and sounds of the season. Trying to find interest in material objects she might ordinarily have craved, but that now appeared as so much empty aspiration. Even the baby sections – especially the baby sections – left her feeling emotionally hollow, as though she no longer dared to presume a future in which such items might be of use to her.

  She was exhausted. She needed to sit and eat something. She went down to the California Pizza Kitchen at street level, but the food only made her more tired, her energy further depleted by the process of digestion.

  There was no option. Home. She wanted her bed, regardless of what dreams or nightmares lay coiled in its springs. The security system could be armed downstairs while she slept upstairs, the gun within easy reach. She put another call through to Joey to update him, then returned to the elevator and pressed for level two. This time she was joined by a party of shoppers. Folk either side of her held onto carrier bags bulging with garish parcels, and Laura felt her heart suddenly and wonderfully soar. In a year from now this horror would be behind them, and she and Joey would be buying gifts for their son. He wouldn’t understand the fuss, but they’d still squat down by his buggy and point it all out to him: the decorations, the à cappella singers, the bearded man in the red suit, cloned in every mall across the country.

  Laura smiled. When the door slid open she headed out towards her car, and Larry Roth already seemed to her like the ghost of Christmas past.

  Someone had stuck a flyer on her windshield, no doubt advertising some whacko weight-loss regime. Laura didn’t bother to check. She snatched it from under the wiper blade, balled it and dropped it.

  Then she noticed. The windshield next to hers was clear. Down her row and opposite, there was not a single flyer. In fact, nowhere could she see another leafleted vehicle.

  Her eyes were drawn to the crumpled paper by her feet, and her heart sank with her focus. Other eyes were on her, she was sure of it. She was being watched, and knew her paranoia was not to blame for what she felt.

  Holding the Honda’s wing mirror, she lowered herself to squatting and took out the Sig. She smoothed out the note and checked the signature first to confirm what she already knew. Staying low, she read what Larry Roth had written.

  Dear Mrs DeCecco, don’t be alarmed, I come in peace! I didn’t know how else to do this. I wanted to say sorry. I didn’t mean what I said to Joey. You have to believe my threats were empty. I wish neither of you any harm. I admit I was annoyed with your husband but I can let that go as well. I’ve made mistakes and hurt people but I’m not a bad person. I want to explain over a coffee. We can chat. I think I need to talk – that may be the whole problem. I’m watching you now and will come over when you put this note down. Please don’t be scared. Please. Sincerely, Larry Roth.

  Fuck that, Laura thought. Trust Larry Roth? The man who had deceived Kevin Mallory, leading him into a lethal hail of bullets; who had threatened to kill an informant; threatened her; threatened Joey; beaten his own wife; wiped out a gang of drug dealers like some dark ave
nging angel from a Marvel comic. Now, practically overnight, he was a reformed character? He seriously expected her to believe that?

  Around her were the footfalls of her fellow Angelenos, coming and going, laughing and talking. Door slams, short tire squeals, engines starting up, cutting out, growing or fading on the ramp. None of that worried her. It was what she couldn’t hear that bothered her, the silent figure sitting in his parked car watching her. How on earth had she failed to spot him?

  If she ran he might shoot her or find her someplace else, perhaps without warning next time – no bullshit note on her car.

  She wanted this to be over. Activating the laser sight beneath the barrel, she crawled away to another vehicle. Joey had often talked about his recon training – the element of surprise. She could gain it now. Larry would be expecting a quivering, sobbing wreck beside the car, begging for mercy.

  He wouldn’t find it. Instead, her red dot would find his heart.

  With her own heart thrashing, adrenaline surging, her whole body shook like she was lying naked on ice. Inside her, the little one was already reacting to his mother’s state and kicking like crazy.

  Shit, where’d she gone? Had she fainted? Was she hiding? Larry waited vainly for her to pop up into view again. One minute. Two minutes. Fuck. This was bad. He had to speak to her. Had to. The wording of the note meant nothing unless he could get close enough to prove he meant no harm.

  He punched the dash and swore, got out of the Beetle and quickly picked a route through the vehicles, an apology running on a loop in his head.

  The concrete between the Civic and the car alongside was bare. She hadn’t fainted. So where the hell was she?

  ‘Mrs DeCecco?’

  He squatted down and checked under both cars, then stood up again.

  ‘I’ve got a gun, Larry. Don’t make any sudden movements. Believe me, I am extremely liable to shoot you.’

  She was behind him and he had no reason to doubt her. Her voice was jittering with nerves, but the words were spun around a sinew of steel.

  ‘Should I put my hands up?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. No! No, just keep them away from your body. Don’t draw attention. I don’t want anyone calling security.’

  Larry didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Shut up, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I’m not armed,’ he said, which was true if he ignored the Tactical One-Hander down his sock.

  ‘Shut up!’

  Several seconds passed and she didn’t speak. For Larry, the silence was ominous. He ventured a question. It seemed fair under the circumstances.

  ‘Are you going to shoot me?’

  ‘I want to. I should.’

  ‘But you’re not going to.’

  ‘Turn around.’

  Larry did so, slowly, and swallowed past a lump in his throat. Her aim was low, and he was joined to her gun by a line of red light. It jiggled around his belly button like some weird umbilical cord. If she pulled the trigger he’d be gut-shot, and he knew from his years on the street what a shitty wound that was.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said humbly, ‘that’s some serious hardware. Joey give you that?’

  ‘My God, I want to kill you. Does that sound bad? When I’ve got a new life growing inside of me, to be thinking of killing someone?’

  Larry tried to make his shrug not appear dismissive. She was livid, a product of intense fear. There was a real chance he might get shot today.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘How dare you put me in this position. How dare you. What gives you the right to fuck with people’s lives?’

  ‘I’m sorry. That note, it’s the truth, I didn’t want you to be scared any more. I thought – ... Mrs DeCecco, are you okay?’

  Her face screwed up again. Suddenly, she looked more fearful than ever. Eyes like marbles, her mouth fell open as she drew in a hoarse breath.

  ‘Mrs DeCecco?’

  She staggered a little, and Larry was no longer her focus. The two-handed grip on the gun changed to one and the barrel dipped to the concrete. She screamed and her free arm wrapped across her stomach like she was trying to keep something in.

  Horrified, Larry realized she was.

  Dodge was nervous as he stood on the stoop, waiting for his knock to be answered. He looked back over his shoulder, requesting encouragement. From the Jeep, Ginny smiled and her boyfriend gave a thumbs-up, but Dodge was already feeling the wind die in his sails. He was chasing ghosts and didn’t even know where the graveyard was. The trail would begin and end on the doorstep of this Venice bungalow, and what would that do to his head?

  His first impression of the woman who opened the door was that she was sick. Her color was bad. Seeing the suitcase, she made an understandable assumption.

  ‘I’m not buying,’ she said, and shut the door.

  He turned back to the Jeep and shrugged.

  ‘Try again!’ Ginny shouted.

  With a lackluster fist, Dodge rapped on the wood. Shortly, the woman reappeared and stared at him through the glass, her arms folded, a symbolic bar against his intrusion.

  ‘I’m not selling,’ he told her. ‘I’m looking for someone who used to live here.’

  ‘You must have the wrong address; I’ve been here for ever.’

  Dodge smiled; perhaps it did feel that long to her.

  ‘I’m going back a few years,’ he said. ‘Nineteen seventy-seven. February.’

  She paused slightly before telling him: ‘Kindly get off my property, I’m tired.’

  Dodge watched with a frown as she retreated into a back room. This was certainly the address on Marie’s old letter, and Marie had certainly stated her intention to move away.

  But what if she hadn’t?

  ‘Mrs Olsen?’ he called. ‘Marie Olsen?’

  After a moment, she moved into view, framed by a doorway down the hall.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘My name’s Dodge. Harry may have mentioned me in letters home. Spec Four Dodge L Chester, Seventy-Fifth Infantry Rangers. You are Marie Olsen, aren’t you?’

  She barely acknowledged her own name. She had been instantly transported, and Dodge knew how easily that could happen. As though in a trance, she approached, her expression one of bitter-sweet memories, nostalgia battling truth. She unlocked the door, pulled it wide and went into the front room. Dodge accepted this silent invitation. He nodded to Ginny and John and took his case inside.

  Marie was already seated. It appeared she needed the support. Close up, he reckoned his earlier assessment had been kind. She was more than just ill; she was dying. In the war he had seen the life ebb from countless individuals, but once or twice he believed he could have pointed to the fighting fit who were all set to piggyback the Grim Reaper into battle. Sometimes death could taint a person long before the bacteria worked their stench into the flesh.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ she said. ‘You must forgive my rudeness a moment ago. I’m not too receptive to visitors. It’s been a gruelling week, one way or another.’

  ‘We can postpone this to a better day,’ Dodge said sympathetically, but desperately hoped she wouldn’t want to.

  ‘There won’t be a better day,’ she said, strangely balancing her doom-laden pronouncement with a hearty smile. ‘Now, I want to know: why should a friend of Harry’s be knocking on my door after all these years?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, I didn’t know where you were until today.’

  ‘I’m intrigued.’

  Dodge gave a lopsided grin. ‘To be honest, it’s not you I’m looking for. Well, not just you. It’s your daughter Hayley.’

  A brief cloud, dark and troubled, dulled what little light remained in her eyes.

  ‘I see,’ she said curtly. ‘Do you have war stories for her? Because she doesn’t need them right now.’

  ‘Just one. Perhaps if you hear it first you can decide whether or not she hears it. Do you have the time?’

  Marie smiled inscrutabl
y. ‘Enough to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Actually, it’s in two parts, the story. One of which it’s best you hear from my daughter and her friend. They’re outside. Would it be okay if I brought them inside?’

  ‘Why not?’ Marie said. ‘Let’s have a party.’

  The Cedars-Sinai Medical Center was thankfully less than a block away. Larry paced the corridor outside the delivery suite like an expectant father, but his worries were tenfold. He wasn’t just concerned for the wellbeing of mother and baby; he now truly feared for his own life. Having narrowly avoided the 9mm wrath of Mrs DeCecco, he still looked destined to die at the hands of her hubby. When DeCecco learned what had befallen his wife, Larry’s noble motives would count for zilch.

  He stopped pacing for a moment and tried to resign himself. Events had overtaken him and stolen the lead. Until certain people acted on those events and brought him up to date, he was in limbo. DeCecco was one, Hayley another, and then there were the suits from Internal Affairs. He guessed it was apt payback. How must DeCecco’s wife have been feeling, packing a gun, awaiting his ambush, wondering how her happy days of pregnancy had vanished in a stranger’s threat, pondering when that stranger would allow her normal life to resume?

  Behind him, the swing doors flapped back together, and Larry turned to see Doctor Haslam, the obstetrician who had received them. Garbed in green gown and cap, his mask was pulled down off his face, revealing a cautious smile.

  ‘Congratulations, you have a son. They’re both doing fine, but we did have to perform an emergency C-section. The baby was becoming tachycardic and I didn’t feel it wise to wait.’

  ‘Oh. But it’s okay now?’

  ‘Absolutely. Don’t worry.’

  Larry nodded. ‘Is she awake?’

  ‘Yes. Laura opted for a spinal. Better for the baby.’