Sparkle

by Rudy Yuly

  He tried the handle. It was open. He went inside.

  The EMT crew arrived at the zoo in less than five minutes. Although Joe hadn’t moved after being shot, the police had searched and handcuffed him. After that, they’d basically left him alone and turned their attention to keeping curious zoo visitors and employees back.

  But Joe’s cell phone, on the ground beside him, kept ringing—two different rings. One would stop and the other would start, over and over. It was starting to bother the cop who’d shot him. She picked it up and answered.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Detective Louis,” the voice on the other end said. “Is Joe there?”

  “Detective?”

  “This is Detective Louis of Seattle PD Homicide,” the voice said. “I’m calling for Joe Jones. Who is this?”

  The cop knew damn well who Louis was. “This is Patrol Officer Gonzales,” she said. “If this is his phone, Mr. Jones…has been shot.”

  Chapter 60

  Joe and Eddie’s house was cool and dim. Mark knew Eddie was there, but he didn’t know where—or what he was up to. He only knew he had to get the gun and dispose of it properly. As for Eddie? He didn’t know. The chances of him being able to communicate anything meaningful to the police, either in his own defense or against Mark, were slim. But he was really, really starting to hate the guy. And the deeper he got into the whole fucked up situation, the more he was truly starting to believe it actually was all Eddie’s fault.

  One thing was certain. If he was going down, he was going to take Eddie Jones with him.

  “Hello?” he called out, trying desperately to keep his voice calm and neutral, and from quavering with the overwhelming fear he felt. The place was silent as the zoo’s snake house after hours.

  “Eddie? Hey, Eddie, where are you?”

  Mark moved into the kitchen. It was empty. He opened the door to Eddie’s basement and slowly walked down the stairs. He held Eddie’s ball in one hand. The other was in his jacket pocket, on his hoof knife.

  It was even darker downstairs.

  “Hey, Eddie. I’ve got your ball. I’m ready to trade with you. You don’t want a gun.”

  When he was reached the bottom stair, the door at the top slammed behind him. He yanked his hand out of the pocket with the knife to grab the railing, nearly fell down turning around, and ripped a hole in his pocket with the wicked curved blade.

  “Funny, Eddie! You got me that time!” He crept back up the stairs. He felt a cold anger welling up in him. Maybe it was really time to end things. For the both of them. “Come on, Eddie. You said you wanted to trade. So let’s trade.”

  When he reached the top he stopped. He turned the knob warily and pushed the door open a crack. He backed down one step, grabbed the handrail, reared back, and kicked the door with all his might. The heavy slab bounced off the wall, flew back and nearly hit him in the face. He pushed through clumsily and went into the kitchen.

  Everything was quiet.

  “Let’s just trade and I’ll go, okay?” His voice sounded unsure even to himself.

  Another door slammed upstairs and Mark visibly flinched. Now he was truly livid. He took the ball out of his pocket and held it like a weapon. He took a deep breath, strode through the living room to the stairs and looked up.

  It was dark up there, too. Why was the house so fucking dark? He looked around for a light switch, found on one the stairs up to the second floor, and flicked it on. It threw some light, but it didn’t do a damn thing for his trepidation.

  He headed up gingerly. His knuckles were white around the ball. It was gloomy and clammy cool in the narrow upstairs hallway. The door to Joe’s room was the only one that was shut. Mark tiptoed over, pushed it open, and peeked inside.

  Eddie stood across the room with his back turned, rummaging through Joe’s drawer. The bag was lying in plain sight on the bed. Open. Mark could see the gun from where he stood.

  He shook his head. He put Eddie’s ball in his jacket pocket, walked over and grabbed the bag containing the gun.

  “Hey, Eddie. Bad move.”

  Chapter 61

  No time like the present.

  The killer looked down and saw two hands. Strong, capable hands that had closed around throats, plunged knives and pulled triggers. Rid the world of deserving victims fat and thin, young and old. So many fear-wrenched and tear-washed faces. So much remorse for the things that had been done and couldn’t be undone. It was a dangerous mission, to bring justice to guilty ones who couldn’t be dealt with in any other way. It was a danger that required constant vigilance and absolute ruthlessness. If those hands could talk—well, if they could talk they’d probably have to be cut off and disposed of.

  Eddie Jones, dangerous or not, genius or retard, had to go. Now. He might be miles away, he might be utterly clueless, but the killer’s nearly infallible intuition said he was way too close. Whatever bizarre urge had motivated the janitor to go to the thrift store, to shake the door of the dressing room the killer had sheltered in, had sealed his fate.

  But along with every picture of Eddie’s impending demise, a mental image of the little Silver girl popped up and blocked it, staring, calm and unreachable. Maddening. She was a stain against an otherwise spotless history of justifiable homicide.

  Her image forced the killer to fight against spitting the taste of ashes from a dry and bitter mouth.

  Chapter 62

  Joe was on his back.

  He felt young.

  He was looking up at his father pumping the air with the fly ball he had just caught. Even though his dad had knocked him flat to catch it Joe was happy.

  Because Dad was happy.

  Dad looked down at Joe and smiled. The smile was new and warm as sunshine. Then he reached down his hand—and at the same time seemed to move up and away.

  “I guess you’re coming with me,” Dad said. “If that’s what you want.”

  All Joe had to do was reach up and grab that big, hairy paw and they would float away together. Hadn’t he hated his dad? Not true. He loved him. Loved him deep and long and wide. He could go with him. It was tempting—so tempting.

  “C’mon, Joe,” Dad grinned invitingly. “You know you want to.”

  “I can’t. I have to stay and take care of Eddie.”

  “Bullshit, Joe. Eddie can take care of himself. He knows it. You know it, too. That’s not a good enough reason to let you stay.”

  Joe couldn’t bring himself to disagree. There was no use trying to lie.

  “Are you in hell?”

  “You would know,” Dad said.

  “What’s it like?”

  “You’d like it,” Dad said. “You’d feel right at home.” He started to fade, and Joe knew he had to decide quickly.

  Louis flashed his badge and waded through cops to where Joe was lying on his side on the ground, cuffed and bleeding. It was a shitty policy, but the cops almost never did first aid when they’d shot someone. A combination of AIDS and liability meant they simply cuffed the suspect and waited for the EMTs. It was less than two minutes since the cop who shot Joe had answered the phone—not quite five since Joe had been shot. Louis was only a block from the zoo when his call had finally been answered. He’d wanted to find Eddie as much as Joe had, and the zoo seemed like the right place to start.

  Louis’s heart sank when he saw Joe

  “Take the handcuffs off this man, immediately,” he ordered angrily. “He’s a friend of mine.” He knelt down over Joe as the uniformed officer did as he asked.

  “Stay with me, Joe.” Louis spoke as calmly as he could, his face close to Joe’s ear. “Listen to me. The Walker girl’s going to be all right. I don’t think it was Eddie. I don’t…” he trailed off, realizing he probably wasn’t being heard. He gently rolled Joe onto his back and scanned his torso. Serious. Upper chest wound.

  Joe opened his eyes and looked up at Louis. “I made…more trouble,” he said weakly.

  He’s still conscious.

/>   “Yeah.” Louis felt Joe’s neck. “I don’t know. Just stay with me, okay?” Joe’s pulse was thin and fluttering.

  “I want to stay,” Joe said.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Louis applied direct pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. “I want you to stay, too, Joe. Where the hell are the EMTs!”

  “Things are going to change,” Joe whispered.

  “Yeah, Joe. They are. Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk too much.”

  “Eddie didn’t do it,” Joe said.

  “Yeah, Joe. I just need to know one thing. Where is he? Where’s Eddie?”

  “He left…took off from…the hospital.” Joe was fading.

  “I know,” Louis said. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He came here. I think he can take care of himself. At home…” Joe lost consciousness.

  The EMTs arrived with their gear and Louis moved quickly away so they could do their work.

  Louis stood watching them for a moment. He looked down at his hands. The cuffs of his expensive white shirt were stained red. He heard a commotion at the perimeter and turned around.

  “Let me in! Let me to him!” It was a fine looking young sister, trying to push past the cop blocking her way.

  Louis walked over to her.

  “That’s my Joe!” she said breathlessly. “Please let me through.”

  “Who are you?” Louis asked.

  “I’m—I’m his girlfriend. I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”

  If anything could’ve shocked Louis more than Joe getting shot, this was it. “Girlfriend,” he repeated, numbly.

  “Yes. Please, sir, can I go through?”

  He took her by the arm and brought her as close as he could without interfering with the EMTs. “What’s your name?”

  “Lavonne. Lavonne Wilson.”

  “I’m Detective Louis.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Lavonne said.

  “Well, I sure haven’t heard of you.”

  “We’ve only been together a week. But we’ve been friends for years.”

  “Quite a week. How come you’re here?”

  “I called Joe. I was at the hospital—I was worried. Eddie wasn’t there, no one knew anything. Joe said come here and hung up.”

  Louis realized Joe might’ve gotten himself shot trying to answer her call. “He…just kind of lost it,” he lied. “He made some sudden moves, didn’t listen. The officer got spooked—an accident.”

  “Can I go to him?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is he going to…be okay?”

  “He’s going to be fine,” Louis lied again, this time without the slightest hesitation.

  “What will they do with him?”

  “Take him to Harborview. Hold on a second.” Louis walked over to one of the officers, pointed back to Lavonne. “This is this man’s wife. See if you can get her in the ambulance.” Another lie. He was going to have to go to church this Sunday. He walked back to Lavonne.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Where’s Eddie? Do you know?”

  “Good question,” Louis replied.

  Where the hell could he be? He kicked himself for standing there in a daze.

  “Joe’s going to be all right,” he lied again, hoping that saying so with enough conviction might make it true.

  Chapter 63

  Eddie turned to face Mark. His hands were at his sides and his face was peaceful. He didn’t look Mark in the eye. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. It was almost as if he were alone in the room.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to go digging around in other people’s trash cans?” Mark said, holding up the bagged gun between his thumb and forefinger. “Or is that what you professional janitors do for fun?”

  “I would like Jolie’s ball.” The words came slowly, and despite the lack of inflection they sounded normal.

  “Yeah?” Mark put the gun in his pocket and took out the ball. He held it in front of Eddie’s face. His breath was coming fast and reeked of terror. “You want the ball?”

  “Uh-huh. Okay.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay.”

  “All right. You asked for it.”

  Mark snorted and smacked Eddie hard in the face with the ball. Eddie reeled, but straightened up. His nose bled. It hurt. His knees were weak.

  A momentary urge to lash out passed through Eddie. Then he heard his mother’s voice.

  Just let go.

  “You shot Jolie.”

  Eddie’s voice was steady and mild. He felt a small hand enter his. He couldn’t see her, but he knew Lucy Silver was with him.

  “You don’t know anything about it!” Mark was panting, overdosed on adrenaline and fear. “It was an accident you fucker! She grabbed the gun and it went off. It was your fault. See this?” he pulled the gun out of the bag and held it up. “This was supposed to protect her against you, you freak. You’re responsible. You just can’t get it, can you? Yeah, I shot Jolie. But she was scared to death of you. She hated spending time with you. She wouldn’t have spent five minutes with you if she hadn’t been paid to do it. Do you understand that? I really need you to understand.”

  “You never know.”

  “You think so, huh? Well, I disagree. I do know. We’ll see who they come after, asshole.”

  Mark moved closer and pointed the gun at Eddie.

  “Or maybe not. Should we just end it here? You want to come with me? I didn’t want to hurt Jolie. And I’m sure as hell not looking forward to finishing the job. Get it? I’m not a happy camper! I’m not looking forward to fixing the mess you’ve made. How do you think it makes me feel? I’m going to miss Jolie. But you…maybe it’s not enough seeing you put away. Maybe I need to see you dead.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eddie said. “Okay.”

  He really was okay. Something was happening—something more than this. He could feel it. Lucy Silver squeezed his hand again, and he knew it was true. If he just let go, everything would be okay.

  He looked Mark in the eye. It was something he never did. Mark glared back. After a long moment Eddie saw something glaze over in Mark’s eyes, and the energy shifted. Mark let the gun down.

  “No,” he said finally. “I’m not going to kill you. Because I don’t have to. Matter of fact, you know what? You can have your ball back. I know it’s special to you. Jolie never wanted it anyway. Yeah. That’s it. And you can keep the gun, too.”

  Mark wiped the gun carefully on his shirt without touching it with his hands. He popped out the clip, wiped it off, and threw it on the bed. He made sure the chamber was empty, wiped the gun again, and held it out to Eddie.

  “Take it. Take it if you want your ball.”

  Eddie reached out and took the gun.

  “Good boy. Now grab the barrel with your other hand.”

  Eddie did as he was told.

  “Very impressive,” Mark said. “Good job, Eddie.” Mark picked up the clip. “I’ll leave the rest of this dangerous evidence downstairs on my way out. Have a nice day. And stick around. As soon as I’m gone, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Don’t have to.”

  Mark whipped around. Detective Bjorgeson was standing in the doorway, looking at them both with a face almost as unreadable as Eddie’s.

  “What are you doing with a gun, Eddie?” Pinky said, a thin, unpleasant smile spreading across her face.

  “That’s the gun he shot Jolie with,” Mark said. “He just admitted it to me. I was going to go call you guys. Boy, am I glad to see you. I’m lucky I got out of here alive.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Bjorgeson said. She pulled her gun. “Just stand still. And shut up.”

  Mark swallowed hard. “Yeah, but he’s got a gun—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Pinky looked at Eddie and hesitated. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and opened them again. Then she bit her lip. Her face seemed to change, puff out slightly and redden.

  “Whatthefuck?”

&nbs
p; She rubbed her eyes one more time.

  “You never know.” Eddie said.

  “This is fucking crazy,” Bjorgeson said. She squinted hard and shook her head as if to clear it.

  “No it’s not,” Eddie said. The blood from where Mark smacked him with the ball had streamed down his face and onto his lips. It tasted like seawater.

  Pinky bit down hard to get her head clear. She looked around for a place to sit, and gratefully fell into a chair in the corner. She reached into the side pocket of her jacket, pulled out surgical gloves, and wearily pulled them on. “Are you going to arrest him?” Mark said.

  “How stupid do you think I am? I was standing there long enough to hear everything you said. Eddie,” Bjorgeson said it without looking directly at Eddie. “Give the guy his gun back.”

  “Uh huh,” Eddie said, holding the gun back out toward Mark. “Okay.”

  “Take it,” Pinky said. Mark reluctantly obeyed.

  “Now pick up the clip and put it in the gun.”

  “What?” Mark said.

  “Pick…up…the…clip.”

  Mark slowly did as he was told.

  “Put it in the gun.”

  Mark obeyed.

  “Now turn around.” Mark turned slowly and faced Eddie.

  “Now cock it.”

  The gun clicked.

  “Now point it at the janitor’s head. Do it.”

  Mark’s hand was shaking, but he slowly raised it into position.

  Eddie closed his eyes and noticed the new scent in the room. It had a cloying, unpleasant citrus tang. It was coming from Bjorgeson, and it was followed by a deeply unpleasant wave of recognition. Eddie had smelled it that day in the thrift store.

  “Now shoot him.”

  “What?” Mark croaked.

  “I’m not going to tell you again. Shoot him.”

  “C’mon—”

  “One last chance.”

  “I can’t shoot—” before the words were fully out a loud pop sounded and Mark stumbled forward into Eddie. Eddie caught him, held him briefly, and lowered him gently to the floor.