The Cold Spot

by Tom Piccirilli

  She was mad he was going to pay out and not get into an argument with Jonah, something that might lead to them pulling guns on each other. He wanted to ask her what the old man had done to turn her against him like this.

  Had his grandfather been the one who’d given her the scars? He couldn’t see Jonah as the jealous type and figured his grandfather would’ve let her walk away if she wanted to go. Did she have something on him? Or did she just not understand that Jonah wasn’t like other men and wouldn’t give a damn if she left? Did it all break down to her just thinking he’d be bitter if she dumped him, that he’d hunt her down and try to get her back? She fucked him but didn’t know him.

  Or maybe there was something else to it.

  He asked, “Why do you stick with him if you hate him so much?”

  “What makes you think I hate him?”

  “Every word you say.”

  Her expression hardened. “Where else could I go?”

  “You could go anywhere. Jonah doesn’t care what happens to you.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then what’s the problem.”

  “He won’t let me take Kylie.”

  Chase got out from under the hood, thinking maybe he heard wrong with the engine humming.

  “Kylie?”

  Nodding, Angie gave him a look that told him, This is why Jonah has to die. “Our daughter.”

  Stupid to think it, but the idea of Jonah having a kid kind of startled Chase. The fact that Chase’s own father was Jonah’s kid didn’t seem to enter into it. He just couldn’t see Jonah sticking around a child for long. Changing diapers, reading Dr. Seuss, all that. Was this any different because Angie was a partner in the bent life?

  “She’s twenty-four months,” Angie said. “The happiest baby in the world. Never cries, never frowns. Has a head of wild curly blond hair. Where she got it from, I have no idea. Dark eyes and golden hair. She walks and talks like a champion.”

  Chase thought, Does family get any stranger than this? He had a snuffed mother, a suicided father, a murdered wife, a heartless grandfather, and a two-year-old aunt. “Pictures?”

  “I had to leave them in Aspen when things went south.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In Sarasota with my sister, Milagro. Milly. She’s three years older than me, has a kid of her own. I told you I left my aunt’s house as soon as I could. She pretty much did the same. She got married to a professional surfer before she graduated high school. He doesn’t have much brains, been smacked in the head with his board too often, but he’s got a good heart and he likes children. He has to tour a lot, goes to Southern California, out to Hawaii, even Australia. But he makes good money and I left them with a wedge of cash to watch over Kylie. We go back to visit when we can, at least two or three times a year.”

  Chase stared at her. He toyed with the Chevelle’s idle so the noise would drown their voices. He moved closer to her. “I still don’t get it. So why don’t you leave him?”

  “He thinks it’s important. Blood. Family. He’d let me go in half a second, but he’d never let me take Kylie.”

  It surprised Chase. He couldn’t imagine Jonah ever caring so much about anything, except money.

  Angie said, “He’d pull her out of my sister’s house and take her along on scores, like he did with you.”

  “Don’t let him.”

  “I won’t.”

  It was always a gamble, being open and honest, in the straight life or the bent one. The knife was sharp enough to ease inside without you sticking your belly out to meet it. But they had somehow arrived at the place where the truth had to be spoken and had to be heard. He couldn’t figure out how it had happened or why he was willing to take the risk. There was no reason at all, except he was thinking of the baby he and Lila had never had.

  He said, “Is Jonah the one who beat the shit out of you so badly you needed the plastic surgery?”

  “No.”

  “Would he ever hurt the kid?”

  “No,” Angie told him. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t be sure. I can’t take the chance. Not with him. Not with my little girl.”

  He nodded, thinking, of course not. Where Jonah was concerned you could never take the risk. “I’ll help however I can, but don’t ever try to work me again like you did last night.”

  “All right.”

  “I won’t kill him.”

  “Then you can’t help me,” she said.

  “I can set you up with some cash.”

  “I’ve got cash. I can always get cash, but there isn’t enough money in the world to make him quit coming after us.”

  It was true, and he’d have to think about that. If the old man really did think blood was important, what went on inside of him where Chase was concerned? Strange, but Chase wanted to know and he didn’t want to know.

  “Did Jonah ever really talk about me?”

  “Yes. Mostly about the things I said. How good you were behind the wheel. How all the strings respected you even though you were so young. He did say he was sorry he didn’t come to your wedding. I think he was touched that you’d invite him after not seeing him for all those years.”

  Jesus Christ, Chase just couldn’t believe it. This had to be a setup. Probing Angie’s gaze, he hunted for the slightest sign of a lie. He didn’t find any. But there had to be more to it. He leaned back against the grille and let the thrum of the engine work into his chest, preparing him. “What else?”

  “He thought about tracking you down and killing you after you left him. You actually managed to hurt him. You’re lucky you ran. If he’d found you, you’d be dead and buried in some lime pit.”

  Chase worked on the car for another half hour after Angie left. He got the grease solvent, stepped inside, and washed up. The television was only a blue screen, the heist tape having run out.

  Jonah said, “I’ll make some calls. Maybe I can turn something up on this outfit.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You might call the wrong person. Someone you pissed off somewhere down the line who knows the crew and can alert them.”

  “So what? Maybe it’ll rattle them. They’re already gone. There’s nothing left to lose.”

  “Are you in or out?”

  “And I can say out and you’ll still sell the house and pay me the money.”

  “We’ve been through that. Now it’s time for you to tell me if you’re still going to help me or not. If not, load up and go.”

  Chase thought about the crew and how loyal they’d been to one another. Marisa Iverson taking a beating, a gun to her head, and still not giving up the driver.

  And here Chase was asking, repeatedly, after promising to pay a hundred k to his own blood, if his grandfather was going to help him. And the old man still not saying anything.

  Jonah stared at him, dead-eyed. “I’ll stay. But if you don’t want me calling anyone, then how are you going to find out anything about these crew members who might’ve grown up in Cleveland?”

  Chase said, “I’m going to talk to the cops.”

  When Chase walked into the squad room of Lila’s old precinct he spotted Hopkins immediately. The cop was filling out forms on his desk, writing so slowly that it seemed the pen was hardly moving. He looked nervous, jumpy and pale, like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. Chase could tell he’d been taken off active duty, probably because everybody including the police psychiatrist could see he was falling apart.

  Chase wondered if he’d ever been a reliable partner for Lila. If for one stupid reason or another it was Hopkins who’d inadvertently made some mistake that had gotten her killed. The thought of it moved through him, gaining heat and strength, until his vision turned a gleaming red at the edges and his chest was tight.

  “What are you doing here?” Hopkins said.

  “I came to talk to Murray and Morgan.”

  “About what?”

  “About whether they’re making any progress tracking down the
ice heisters.”

  Hopkins gave him a look that said he’d never really seen Chase before in his life. This wasn’t a grease monkey schoolteacher in front of him anymore, and he was wondering where that guy had gone.

  “If they had any information, I’m sure they would have phoned to let you know.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “No.”

  Hopkins’s body language gave off all the wrong signals. He smelled of peppermint gum and a hint of scotch, a pretty disgusting mix. No more fucking cake and coffee. Hopkins wasn’t even slick enough to drink vodka on the job so that nobody would pick up on it. He was one of those mooks crying out to be caught and helped because he needed the attention. Chase felt a powerful wash of pity and loathing.

  Scanning the desk, Chase noticed there were no photos. He pulled open the top drawer and Hopkins let out a frustrated grunt from the center of his chest. Inside the drawer were three framed photos of his wife and daughters, and a snapshot of Lila taken at one of the barbecues. The photo was ripped down the middle and Chase, who’d been sitting beside her, had been torn out.

  He tapped the photo against the desktop, staring at Hopkins, trying to figure out if the guy was worth anything to him. Maybe he could still be put to use, or maybe Hopkins was too damaged for that now. He had to think about it.

  With his lips crawling, Hopkins went, “Look, I’ve been meaning—”

  Chase tossed the photo down, turned, and made his way to the other side of the room to where Murray and Morgan were each talking into a phone.

  They both looked up at his approach and each of them frowned. He got close and listened in on their conversations. Murray was talking to his wife, telling her he was sorry he had come home so late last night and hadn’t woken her the way she’d made him promise. But he had to put in the extra hours, the chief was breaking his ass. He pulled a face and glared at Chase, trying to spook him off. The vibe got ugly fast. That was all right. Chase continued standing there.

  Good to see that Morgan was actually working the case. There was an intensity about him. He had two days of gray beard stubble and was bracing somebody hard over the phone, trying to get a line on somebody else. He scrawled in a notebook. He nodded, his chin bobbing. The next time he looked up at Chase he narrowed his eyes and tried to sort of climb away, hugging the phone to him. Chase stepped closer.

  He was talking about some hooker and her pimp and a couple of gangbangers who’d hit a couple of banks in Roosevelt. It wasn’t the right crew, but at least he was doing something. The cops would have a lot of misleading information. The manager of the diamond merchant’s was in the morgue. Having Marisa’s face on camera was worthless. Everything else would lead them to a dead end, and the aggravation would only get worse.

  Murray told his wife he’d bring home her decongestant and hung up. He looked at Chase, sighed and said, “What can I do for you?” Doing the Fuck off, twinky thing again, but not having as much fun with it this time. He was tired and frustrated and seemed resigned to dealing with numerous pains in the ass this afternoon.

  Might as well lay it on the line.

  Chase asked, “Do you have any suspects who were born in or have some kind of a home base in Cleveland?”

  “What?”

  “Cleveland.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “You got anybody who might have been based there?”

  “Why the hell are you asking about Cleveland for? What is this?”

  Murray stood, stepped up, and tried to get in Chase’s face. One heavy paw with a lot of liver spots lay on Chase’s chest, pushing. Chase resisted, turned aside, and focused his gaze on Morgan.

  Hanging up the phone, Morgan looked at him the same way that Hopkins had. With a lot of confusion and a little respect. He squinted at Chase, trying to get a bead on him. Raised his chin a little and scratched his stubble.

  “You look like crap,” he said.

  “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

  “Neither have we. What do you want?”

  “A name,” Chase said. “Or maybe two names. A husband-and-wife team? Possibly from Cleveland. Maybe working with another pro, also from there.”

  They remained like that for a solid minute. Morgan in his seat, staring, reading Chase’s eyes and seeing something new. Murray with his hand on Chase’s chest, intermittently attempting to shove him away, then relaxing. Then pressing. His aggression was almost a postscript. His wife was clogged.

  They were three men of openly deep thoughts, saddled by convention, indignation, and a lack of results. This was Chase’s last chance. He held his desperation inside and tried to plant it in the ice, keep it cool and under wraps, but he could still feel it trying to break free. His breathing grew deeper. The moment stretched. His vision grew red again. Murray shoved. Chase set his teeth and thought, Once more and I’m going to have to knock him down, and that will not be good at all.

  “You stole the security tapes and file copies, didn’t you?” Morgan asked.

  “No,” Chase said. He could barely see through the red.

  Morgan said, “Sure you did,” and started to go through his paperwork. He tossed manila folders aside, flipped through pages. “Cleveland. Not husband and wife, but brother and sister. Earl and Ellie Raymond. Grew up there, still have ties. Very sharp customers. They’re heisters for certain, but they’re nowhere near New York, so far as we know.”

  “They work with anybody with a scar on his forehead?”

  Morgan stared even harder at him, tamping his teeth together, his wheels turning. Chase really didn’t like that look.

  Chase nodded, turning the name around in his head. Ellie Raymond. Murray backed away and said, “So what? We’ve got six sheets of suspects from all over the country. There’s no more of a line on them than on a dozen other possibles.” His tie was loose and he had ring around the collar. He turned to Chase and pointed a finger now, which was so much more accommodating than the palm in the chest. “You. You’re trouble. I knew it first time I saw you—”

  No wonder she wouldn’t give up the driver. He was her brother.

  “Thanks,” Chase said and walked away.

  On the other side of the squad room, he stopped off in front of Hopkins again. Since the guy was nothing but a desk jockey now, maybe he’d be bored or guilty enough to help. Chase couldn’t entirely trust him but he couldn’t trust anybody, so what the fuck.

  Chase said, “My mother was murdered fifteen years ago. I want to check the case files.”

  “You’ll have to send in the proper paperwork for a formal request, and you’ll have to read the file at the courthouse records office in the company of an officer.”

  “Can you make copies?”

  The question stumped Hopkins. Everything seemed to stump him. “I don’t know.”

  “If you can’t, steal them.”

  “What are you saying?” Hopkins’s face opened up, his eyes wide but not quite as wide as they would’ve been if he wasn’t drinking on the job. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “How am I supposed to steal records?”

  “Slip them under your shirt, like you do with your flask of scotch.”

  Hopkins’s expression buckled along its seams. “I don’t know if I can do any of that.”

  He could feel Hopkins wanting to appease him. To be a friend, a buddy, a comrade. To do any damn thing to take his mind off his own misery. He wanted to throw back a few brews and talk about old times, except they didn’t have any. More than that, he wanted Chase to tell him tales of Lila. Who knew how much she’d shared with the guy, but whatever it was, Hopkins needed more.

  So put him to use.

  Chase said, “Then go through them, work the case like you would any other. There’s something wrong with how it was originally handled.”

  “How so?”

  Chase thought, Besides the fact that they never caught who did it? He said, “I don’t know, but maybe you’ll spot it.�
��

  “My shift ends in an hour.”

  “Then do it tonight.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can get wasted afterward, Hopkins. Do this, and do it right. For Christ’s sake, be a cop.”

  The tension rose. Chase had pushed him pretty hard today, and it looked like Hopkins might have had enough. His wife and kids were in the drawer for a reason. The corners of his mouth tightened and his eyes hardened for a moment, and then he went to pudding again. That didn’t matter, so long as he got the job done.

  “Listen, about Lila—”

  Same way he’d phrased it last time, but with something a little different working to the surface now. His voice firmer, a bit rougher.

  Chase waited. “What about her?”

  “I just wanted to let you know…nothing ever happened between us.”

  Chase waited some more but that was apparently it. The guy revving himself up only to say that, like it was important. Pretending to come out with something of significance while he really held everything back.

  Chase asked, “Your wife left you, didn’t she? Took the kids?”

  “Yes,” Hopkins said. His breathing grew a touch more rapid, the peppermint-and-scotch aroma wafting to and fro. “How did you know that?”

  “You’re guilty for all the wrong reasons. I know there was nothing between you and Lila. She was my girl. You want to swoon over her photos, go right ahead. But I think you’d be better off straightening your ass up and getting your family back. Now, are you going to go check the files for me or what?”

  Next step, Chase called the Deuce and gave him his credit card number again, told him to drop everything else, this was a rush.

  Deucie called back three hours later. “Earl and Ellie Raymond. Live in Cleveland, play everyplace else. They’re troublemakers. They’re smart but a little too cowboy. Adrenaline junkies, they like it when they get into scrapes. They’ve put together strings with Kel Clarke, Slip Jenson, and Jason Fleischer. Those are the names I got.”