Earth to Emily

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  I kept browsing, looking for gifts for Greg and Farrah. I hardly knew them, but I would be with them over Christmas. They had so little, I hoped I could find something they’d like. I ended up with a multi-item hair-dryer set with brushes to straighten, curl, or diffuse, for Farrah, and a Swiss Army knife for Greg. I picked several ornaments from the tree display for Laura, Mickey, and Jack’s secretary, Judith.

  Jack would be harder. Or so I thought, until I ran across a collector’s set of hardback, signed Tony Hillerman books. I stacked the small knife package on top of the books, which went on top of the hair-dryer box, which was itself stacked on top of the horse box. I gripped the ornaments in one hand and lifted the tower of boxes. I walked behind it, my head craned around to see where I was going, and set it on the glass display case beside the register, dropping the ornaments there as well. I prayed fervently as I did: Dear Heavenly Father, please don’t let me inadvertently purchase stolen goods. Or at least not regift to anyone things stolen from their own place. Amen.

  The tall woman rang me up, which gave me time to study her. She was attractive, her shoulder-length hair worn in natural-looking curls. She wore a small diamond ring and gold band on her left hand. She didn’t smile, though, and she seemed distracted. She had to enter several of my items into the register more than once.

  Her hands shook, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. “One ninety-nine thirty-two. Will that be cash or check, ma’am?”

  “Check, please.”

  “I’ll need to see some ID.”

  “Of course.” I handed her my driver’s license and started writing a check. “Is Alan here?”

  “He’s in back.”

  “I’m a friend of his, would it be okay if I ran back and said hello to him? Let him know I did my shopping here?” I gave her my most winning smile.

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  I looked up at her. Enormous tears threatened to spill. I pulled my eyes down quickly and finished filling in my check. In the memo line, I wrote If you need help, call me, and added my phone number. I handed it to her. “Thank you, ma’am, and Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you, Merry Christmas to you, too, and God bless you.”

  I exited, and the bell jingled again behind me. I moved fast, depositing the presents and my purse in the trunk of my Mustang. I dropped my keys and phone into my deep skirt pocket and slammed the trunk. “Not a good idea,” the woman had said when I asked to visit Alan. Which made it sound like a really good idea to go see if he was in trouble. Like maybe the delivery guy was here with stolen merchandise again. If he was, I could get a picture of the license plate this time, which would make a great photo to stick in Jack’s Christmas present.

  Dusk had fallen over Amarillo, as had lower temperatures, even while I was in the store. I walked quickly along the front sidewalk. I hadn’t exactly dressed for running around outside. I didn’t have anything but a light jacket that ended at the waist, over a thin black blouse and tank top. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. My high-heeled black boots and black maxi skirt looked great for impressing my boss, but now the wind whipped my skirt around my thighs as it distributed a dumpster’s worth of trash around the parking lot. At least in the all-black clothes I had on the bad guys wouldn’t see me as easily, I thought. I rounded the corner to the side of the strip mall, and the sidewalk ended. My heels teetered as I stepped off the concrete. Gravel, glass, and bottle caps littered the pavement. I kept a close eye on the ground, squinting in the near-dark.

  I came to the back edge of the building. The alley extended to my left behind another strip center and to the right behind Alan’s. Dumpsters lined the alley behind each business. An eighteen-wheeler was parked halfway down to my right. I was pretty sure it was behind Alan’s store. Its headlights were on and pointed in my direction, limiting my vision, but it didn’t look like there were any humans out between it and me. I decided to move fast from dumpster to dumpster until I was close enough to get a good shot of the truck’s plates.

  Keeping tight to the backs of the buildings, I hurried down the alley. My boots crunched glass and squished foreign substances I didn’t want to identify. Nausea rolled over me in a wave, but I couldn’t let myself think about it. I came to the first dumpster, panting, and I took a moment to catch my breath and peer around the trash can. Still no humans in my path.

  Three dumpsters to go. I dashed around the next one and back to the building, tripping over something when I was a foot away from the wall. My toe smashed into a hard object, with nothing between it and the obstacle but soft, supple leather. I bit my lip to keep from screaming in pain. I caught myself with one hand on the wall and held still. Stars danced before my eyes. When the fireworks and shooting pain subsided, I hobbled along, using one hand on the building to steady myself.

  I reached another dumpster. Tears in the corners of my eyes made it hard to see, and I began to wonder if this was a really bad idea. I put weight on my foot and winced, taking it back off again immediately. A door flew open beside me. A huge black woman in a tent-like red wool dress stepped out, holding a stuffed black trash bag.

  She studied me for a moment. “Child, you look a fright. You be needing a hand?”

  I shook my head, half-smiling. “No, I was just walking down to visit with Alan, you know, at ABC Half-Price Resale, and I stubbed my toe.”

  She clucked. “It’s dark as Satan’s heart out already. Here, I’ll turn my light on so you can see where you’re going, hon.”

  She leaned in and messed with something I couldn’t see and the light was on before I could scream, “No.”

  “You’re so sweet.” I pasted on a big smile. “Well, I’ll be heading toward Alan’s now.”

  I shot a glance down the last ten well-lit yards. So well lit that I could have taken a picture of the license plate on the truck, if it weren’t for the fact that the woman was watching me.

  “You be careful now.” She tossed her garbage in the bin. “I’ll wait here until you make it safe and sound ’fore I turn out the light.”

  There was no way I was walking out into the alley when it was lit up like an operating room. I wracked my brain for a way to get the light out and the woman inside. Inspired, I pulled out my phone and turned on its flashlight.

  “Silly me, I forgot about this. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to keep you out in this cold.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh yes, this is great.” I shined the flashlight all about to demonstrate how great it was, like an epileptic radio operator sending Morse code.

  “All right.”

  “Merry Christmas, and thank you.”

  “God bless you and yours.”

  I waved, and she shut the door behind her. The light went off. I heaved a relieved breath. Last dumpster to reach, then I could lean out and get my shot. I turned off the flashlight, tested my wonky foot—it was better—and ran, in what passed for a sprint in my current footwear and injured state, along the building. It was almost anticlimactic to have made it. I crouched at the edge of the trash bin and leaned around. I snapped the picture, checked the focus, and took another for good measure.

  I smiled. Jack would be so surprised. And then I heard the voices.

  ***

  “What have we here, Freeman?” a man asked.

  I couldn’t hear well enough to recognize it, but the tone wasn’t a nice one.

  Alan’s voice replied, “You’re getting what you want.”

  “I never thought I wouldn’t.”

  “Then, please, can’t you leave me alone?”

  A third man spoke. “Hey. How ya doing?”

  The sound of skin slapping against skin was unmistakable.

  “I can’t complain. And you?” first man said.

  “I could use less hours and more money, but it could be worse,” third man said.

  “Feliz Navidad.” First.

  “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too.” Third.

  A short, skinny silhouette saunte
red around the rear delivery door and toward me. I slunk back around the dumpster, out of sight. I had barely seen the guy, but I was sure I hadn’t recognized him. My heart hammered so loudly I wanted to clap my hands over my ears, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. The tractor-trailer roared to life, and I crouched and ran back to the building. I managed to wedge myself between the dumpster and the wall before the big rig rolled by.

  Holy cow, that was close. With the noise of the eighteen-wheeler gone, I could hear Alan and the first man talking again. I moved out to peek around the dumpster. I couldn’t see Alan or anyone else. I decided that they must be standing inside the delivery bay.

  “Are you here to rub it in?” Alan said.

  A car engine revved somewhere nearby and drowned out the other man’s answer.

  What the fudge were they talking about? Alan spoke again, but I couldn’t understand him either. The engine noise stopped but Alan’s voice moved away from me. I needed to get closer, but I had to find a better place to hide. There looked to be a door well on the building, about fifteen feet away from me. I wasn’t sure if it would provide enough cover. I leaned out to get a better view, but saw nothing. The men had disappeared, and so had their voices. I crouched down behind the dumpster again. I’d just send Jack a text with the picture. I pulled it up and putzed with the lighting and contrast for a few minutes until the license plate was clearly visible.

  A hand clamped over my mouth, and an arm wound around my body. The arm jerked me into an unyielding chest. My heart seized and felt like it would explode.

  A man’s voice said, “Not a sound, understand?”

  I nodded, the movement of my head restricted by the hand pressing into my mouth.

  “We need to talk. I’m going to remove my hand, but if you scream, things will get worse before they get better.”

  I nodded again.

  The hand slipped away, and the arm loosened around me. I whirled to find myself in the grasp of Officer John Burrows.

  ***

  Burrows hustled me out of the alley and to the front of the strip center by my car. He let go of my arm. I bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath. He wasn’t even winded. His eyes roamed the parking lot and street. For the first time, I noticed he was in plain clothes, dressed for stealth. Dark jeans. Black hoodie. Black baseball cap. His exposed white face glowed in the low light like a beacon, though.

  “What”—pant, pant—“was”—pant, pant—“that”—pant, pant—“all about?”

  “Trying to keep you from interfering in police business and getting your damn self killed. Now, get out of here.”

  “I thought you”—pant—“wanted to talk to me?”

  “Not here.”

  “Where?”

  “Later. Right now, we both need to leave before someone sees us together. Or at all.”

  Before I could respond, Burrows disappeared into the parking lot. I heard an engine rev, but with the interference from Amarillo Boulevard traffic noise in the background, I couldn’t fix on the location. I stood up, searching for interested faces. No one was looking at me. I pulled out my keys and got in the Mustang.

  I put my head on the steering wheel, still breathing hard. The car beside me started and pulled out of its parking space, but I didn’t even glance up. What had just happened? Clearly, Burrows was keeping tabs on someone. It could be Alan. Or it could be me. He had shown up at my orthodontist’s office that morning, after all, and he didn’t wear braces. The thought of a police officer tailing me all over town made me sick to my stomach.

  I reviewed what I’d seen and heard before Burrows interrupted me. The conversation made no sense. And what about the driver? Was he the one who delivered the hot goods? Or was he only a normal old delivery driver making his rounds? If normal, I’d peeved off a cop for nothing more than a hard working driver’s license plate. The circuits in my brain shorted. I put the Mustang in reverse, then noticed Burrows had pulled into the emptied spot beside me in a silver sedan, passenger-side window down. I lowered mine, too. A woman sat beside him in the passenger seat, a skanky-looking woman not wearing enough clothing for the weather. She chewed rhythmically, like she had a big wad of gum in her mouth. She didn’t look at me. Burrows didn’t either.

  He said, “You got a place we could meet where no one would see us?”

  Last week this man had arrested me when Mary Alice Hodges had called on the wrath of God, just because I was watching Betsy. He wasn’t any too nice about it, either. Then my phone had disappeared for days. I’d filed a complaint against him. He’d shown up at my orthodontist’s and my office, then grabbed me behind Alan’s store. Burrows scared me, and now he wanted me to meet him somewhere private? Whoa, big fellow.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Would you rather I take you in to the station again?”

  “For what?”

  “Criminal trespass for starters. I could think of a few more things if I needed to.”

  He looked away from me, holding up one hand and inspecting the back of it. The woman blew a bubble and it popped. She reached up and peeled it away from her face, put it in her mouth, and resumed chewing.

  My ears and cheeks burned. “Fine,” I snapped.

  I didn’t like the idea of meeting him somewhere secluded, but I sure didn’t want to be arrested again. I ran through the best possibilities I could think of. Jack was at the office. My gossipy mother would be home by now on a Monday evening. Then I had an idea.

  “What about the parking garage for the Maxor Building? Most everyone’s left for the day by now. The Downtown Athletic Club’s there, but people park on the first floor for it. I could meet you on the third.”

  Jack frequented the DAC daily, for the workout and the shower facilities. So far, I hadn’t caught the workout bug.

  “Wait. Isn’t there a restaurant in the building, too?”

  “It’s only open at lunch.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Pull in nose first by an empty space. Stay in your car. I’ll find you.”

  He threw his car in reverse and backed out quickly.

  “You’re welcome,” I called after him.

  I cruised down Amarillo Boulevard slowly, getting honked at twice by impatient drivers. The worsening weather seemed to have everyone on edge. I pulled off the Boulevard back into downtown on Polk and came upon the Maxor courtyard seconds later. White Christmas lights sparkled from the iron fencing and trees. Someone had decorated the Center City’s buckskin horse sculpture with a wreath around its neck. I turned on Fourth Avenue, then into the garage, winding my way up the darkened ramp.

  The third story was empty, and I picked a space far from the lighted elevator. When I’d parked, nose in, a car rolled behind me. Too late, it occurred to me that I should have told someone where I was and with whom before meeting a scary man I barely knew alone in a deserted parking garage. Well, it wasn’t like I didn’t know how to protect myself. I pulled out my Glock for the second time that day.

  The rear end of the silver sedan eased to the wall, its white backing lights illuminating the space for a moment. The engine noise ceased. A door slammed with an echoey sound. A tap sounded on the passenger-side glass, sharp and sudden. I jumped, instinctively half-raising my gun hand.

  “Put that thing away.” The window muffled Burrows’s voice, but I could hear him well enough to know he was irritated.

  I lowered the gun.

  “Not down. Away.”

  I tucked the gun back into my handbag, but I left the purse in my lap. I hit the unlock button, and Burrows got in.

  “You know how many people are killed each year with their own guns?”

  I didn’t answer him. He didn’t know me and had no way of knowing the hours I logged in gun-safety courses and at the shooting range, or that my best memories with my father involved either horses or guns. Sometimes both.

  So I changed the subject. “Who’s the woman in your car?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”


  It did to me. His evasive answer worried me even more. While Burrows wasn’t a large man, the interior walls of my car still seemed too close with him in it. I could feel the weight of the filed complaint against him in the air. I wanted this over with as fast as I could make it happen.

  “This”—I waved my hand around the front seat in the air between us—“feels wrong.” I breathed through my nose slowly. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “Am I under arrest?”

  Burrows readjusted in his seat to face me. “Not yet.”

  I turned and looked him dead in the eye. “So I have no legal obligation to talk to you?”

  “None.” He held my gaze without blinking. “But you need to keep your damn nose out of police business.”

  “I don’t have my nose in police business.”

  “Then what do you call tonight?”

  If that was police business, were they onto Alan’s part in the smuggling ring? If so, Alan needed help, and I had some of the evidence to help him here on my phone camera, possibly. Alan didn’t belong behind bars like a criminal, not for the assault charge, and not for getting bullied and intimidated into this. I held my breath and prayed for our client and his family.

  Finally, I answered Burrows. “Looking out for a client. I do work for a law firm, you know.”

  He shook his head and his voice dripped acid. “Don’t give me that crap. You were spying, and we both know it.”

  Louder than I’d intended, I said, “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” and smacked the steering wheel with the palm of one hand.

  The silence after my mini-explosion was oppressive. A car drove up the ramps behind us. I heard the thrump-thrump of its wheels and felt the slight vibration of the structure. The tires squealed as it turned and moments later the thrumps moved back in our direction. The car slowed as it came to us, and Burrows turned to watch it. I did, too. The driver rubbernecked at us then drove on.