“Seeing the shit.”
“Seeing the shit. And at the same time, thinking about my beautiful baby. Take in the shooter, the guy bloodying his wife. Drag yourself home. Rick’s a good guy. But he’s in his own world. He’s do anything but talk about our baby. If I brought him up, Rick would change the subject. So I learned not to. I just tried to sleep and forget. But it’s so hard to sleep. When you finally do, and the alarm goes off, getting out of bed is the last thing you want to do. But two things happened to change all that.”
“What were they?”
“The first was, as crazy as it sounds, I found a kind of strange comfort on the streets.”
“Helping?” Jimmy said.
“Yeah. A thirteen-year-old girl is raped by some horrendous animal down her block. The perp is in jail, but nobody cares about the girl now. Not her own family, and definitely not Child Protective Services. I stop by, we have a Coke, just talk. She’s incredibly grateful and I feel like I’m doing something. Or the little Guatemalan kid whose dad was shot in the liquor store on Gardner, I would go by and see him too. It’s not changing the world, but it is something. To them and to me.”
“What’s the second thing?” Jimmy said.
“The second is, this case … and working with you. I wish we’d been made partners a long time ago.”
So did Jimmy. Like nothing else.
They sat in silence for a moment. Jimmy felt like a teenager, a knot in his stomach. After all this time, had he finally drawn the royal flush? He looked over at the hotel and then back towards Erin. She was looking at him. He brushed a strand of hair off her face. Her eyes held his. He didn’t know what they were saying… . He leaned over and put his lips on hers. She pulled as close as she could—and then closer, like she had found what she wanted and was never going to let go. Jimmy always wanted to feel this way—it was the first kiss of the rest of his life.
53
Casey
The sky rolled out of black into electric blue and Casey and Dragon were the first customers into Starbucks when the UCLA kid unlocked the door. Casey needed her big green chair, to fall into its felt, be sheltered by the soft cushions. The kid gave them the coffees for free, and in huge mugs. She slipped into her chair and Dragon sat on the couch next to her. The chair’s soft prickles on her back felt good—about the only thing in her life that did. Tulip filled her head and would always fill her head. Dragon looked into her moist eyes. Casey took a sip of the coffee. It warmed her. But did nothing for the pain.
“It’s more than Tulip,” Casey said. “It’s Paul … and the jerk … It’s everything.”
And then Casey told her …
Back at the Chateau. Casey was dancing with Paul. The Neville brothers were singing their sweet song.
You know life is too short to have sorrow. You may be here and gone tomorrow. You might as well get what you want. Baby, baby don’t leave. Baby, baby don’t leave …
It was their last night in the great, soft bed. Casey jumped in first, still wearing the bathrobe. Paul was still on the balcony, looking down over the Strip. He took a big swig from the champagne bottle. Casey had drunk only a little, but Paul had almost finished it off. Tomorrow they would be on their way.
“Coming?” she said.
“In a second.”
They would travel together. It would be like being married. Not really married, but sort of. Live together, cook together, and if Paul wasn’t seeing anyone, sleep every night in the same bed.
She fell asleep. At some point, she woke up as Paul kissed her on the forehead and said, “I love you, Casey.” The words surged through her veins like wave of heat, and she slipped back to sleep.
Bright rectangles of light shot through the French doors, stretching across the carpet. Casey was alone in bed, but heard dripping water in the bathtub. She slid off the sheets, pulling the bathrobe belt tight, and opened the bathroom door. And saw Paul in the bathtub, the water crimson with blood. She screamed and raced to him. His head was just above the water. She yelled his name. But nothing. She dropped her arms into the water and shook his head. Nothing. She shook him again. Still nothing. She lifted Paul’s arm and saw a jagged cut on his wrist, and on the other, the same thing. She called his name over and over and over again.
She sat on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around them.
She stayed that way. She had no idea how long. She felt as though someone was sawing into her heart, her guts. A pain that would never get any better. Then she saw it. Beside the bathtub was the razorblade Paul had used. It was tiny, like it had come from a disposable razor. It was stained with Paul’s blood. Casey slowly rolled the razor in her hand. It had to be sharp enough to take care of more than one person. Home was worthless. Asshole father. A mother who cares more about her jerk boyfriend than her own daughter. Come to Hollywood, get raped by Dennis, get raped by his disgusting friends. Sleeping in a freezing construction site. Have to suck dicks. All shit. What good was there anywhere? … Paul. All she had was Paul. And now what? Nothing. Take the razor. Be brave. It was on her wrist. It doesn’t feel so bad. It doesn’t feel like anything at all. Just push down hard and slice across. Go. Use it like he did, and that’s the end of the shit and the end of the pain. It has to be better than this. It couldn’t be worse. Go …
The telephone rang. Casey looked up, the spell broken. The razor was pressing down on the vein on her wrist, about to break through. The phone rang again. She let it ring until it stopped. She looked at Paul in the bathtub. Still so cute. She put the blade in her bathrobe pocket.
Night came. Casey was in the exact same place. Hours ago, the maid had knocked and Casey said they didn’t need anything. A lady from the desk downstairs knocked and asked when they were checking out. She said ‘tomorrow,’ and that was fine with them. The telephone rang a bunch more times, but why should she answer it? Who did she want to talk to? Who on the whole planet was really going to care that when they opened the door in the morning, there would be two dead kids and not one?
She went over to the tray on the bed for what was left of the strawberries—strawberries that they shared last night. She wiped the meat residue off Paul’s steak knife and cut a piece of apple. And then she went back to where she felt best, sitting on the cold tiles, beside the bathtub. She reached in her pocket for the razor. It felt good, having it there. She pulled her knees tight against her chest again.
There was a knock. She ignored it. But the knock came again.
“I told the lady before, we have everything we need.”
She heard noises. A key went into the lock. The door opened and shut, and before she could get up, standing in the bathroom doorway was the guy with the blue Mercedes—Mark Lodge.
He looked at Paul. “Oh, shit.”
Casey scrambled to her feet.
“What did you do?” he yelled.
“What did I do? What do you do? Pimp kids, then fuck them over.”
She hated him. She pushed past him, heading for the bedroom. As she flew by, Lodge grabbed her arm.
“Where you going?”
Casey couldn’t even look at the asshole. She pulled away from him. She was outta here.
“Where you going?” he said again.
Then she got it. She wasn’t going. Not yet. She grabbed the phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling 911. Gonna tell the cops what you did. What you did to Paul.”
There was fire in his eyes. But a second later, he seemed calmer.
“Look,” Lodge said, “let’s talk this through.”
“What for?”
“So we don’t do anything dumb.”
“Dumb?” Casey said.
“Let’s look at the facts. You’re here with a dead boy in the bathtub. How do you think that looks?”
“Know something?—I don’t care! I’ll tell them the truth.”
She leaned over to dial.
“And you think they’re going to be
lieve you had nothing to do with it?” Lodge said, getting angry again.
“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care!”
Lodge went over to her. “Give me the phone. Come on—”
Fuck him.
“Give it to me!”
Fuck him. She punched the numbers. It was ringing.
“I said to give it to me!”
He lunged for the phone and jerked it out of her hand. He slammed it back down. As Casey reached for it again, he thrust her down hard onto the bed with a strong open palm. Her head fell onto the room service tray, sending apples rolling to the floor. Casey jumped back to her feet.
“Take the phone!” she yelled. “You gonna take every phone in the whole city? The cops are gonna know what you did to him. How you killed him, you pervert!”
“Fuck you, you little whore.”
“Little whore?—now we’re talking about something you know all about. How many other kids you pimping? How many other kids you kill?”
She took a wild swing at him. He grabbed her fist before it hit, and took Casey by both arms and threw her back down, slamming her head against the bed backboard. The pain was sharp. She could feel her blood. “Help!” She yelled it as loud as she could. When she yelled it with Dennis, it didn’t do shit. But now she was in a fancy hotel. This time it would work. She started to shout again—but Lodge grabbed a pillow and threw it on top of her face. She screamed, or tried to scream. Barely anything came out. Lodge lay on top of her forcing the pillow down. The louder she tried to yell, the harder he pushed.
“Going to shut up now?! Going to shut up?!”
She was never going to shut up. She fought to break free—trying with everything she had to somehow get out from under him. But he was too strong. The pillow was coming down harder. She needed air. She couldn’t scream any more. She couldn’t breathe any more. He kept pushing harder. Air. She had to have air. And once she got it, she would scream and scream and scream until someone came.
Air wasn’t coming. She struggled, but he had her pinned. Her fingers spread out fighting the pain. Then they felt something. The steak knife in the sheets. She hated this asshole. He killed Paul and now was going to kill her. She lifted the knife—and drove it into Lodge’s back. His mouth popped open with an awful groan, and he let go of the pillow and reached back to take the knife out. Casey gasped for air. Lodge was still stretching for the knife—but before he could get to it, Casey did. She pulled it out and then rammed it in again. And again. And again. And again.
She slid from under him and scrambled off the bed. Blood still oozed out of Lodge’s back onto the bed. Her hands were covered in blood. She hated herself. She was fifteen and a murderer. But she had to get out. For her—for Paul.
Casey stood at the bathroom sink. The bar of burnt-orange Neutrogena getting slimmer as she scrubbed the blood off. She threw water on the back of her head, cleaning off the blood from when Lodge slammed her into the backboard. It would be dawn soon, and it seemed like she’d been washing up forever. The one thing that asshole was right about—no one would believe her—no one. And there was still blood on her—Lodge’s, Paul’s, and her own.
She cleaned everything off she could, then washed down the area around the sink. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was water all over her face, but no blood. She pushed her hair back looking for more. Only water.
She headed for the door. But then stopped. Casey looked over at Paul. Her last look at him. She kneeled down beside the bathtub. More than anything, she wanted him back. For an hour—ten minutes—one minute—just to tell him what a jerk he was. They could’ve gone off together. He didn’t have to do this. Why did he abandon her like this? But also, she wanted that minute to tell him how he was everything in the world to her. She leaned over the red water, put her lips to his cheek, and said, “I love you.”
Casey opened the door a crack and looked down the hall. No one. She found a door that led to the driveway. She glanced up at the Marlboro Man, cool, calm, and together—completely unlike her—and started running. Down the hill and into Hollywood.
As she finished telling her, Casey lifted her head and saw Dragon looking at her with a look she had never seen on Dragon before. Of confusion or shock—both, maybe … But of course Dragon would look that way—how often does the girl next to you tell you she killed someone?
“He deserved it, right?” Casey said.
“Definitely,” Dragon said softly.
Casey then felt an emptiness, a loneliness in every pore of her body. But telling everything somehow made her feel the tiniest bit better. She was very tired and the chair was nice. So soft, so comfortable.
54
Casey woke up when someone dropped down on the green chair’s arm. She opened her eyes to see Dog-Face. Where was Dragon?
It was pouring outside, and Dog-Face was soaked. Water from his coat ran down the chair to Casey’s jeans.
“What’s that?” Dog-Face said.
Casey didn’t answer. She was too tired.
“Over there,” he said.
Casey looked at the counter and the UCLA cutie was letting Dragon make a phone call. Dragon saw them, hung up and came over.
“Calling in late for school?” Dog-Face said.
“Yeah, right.”
“Who you calling?”
“What is this?” Dragon said, sounding angry.
“I just asked who you calling?”
“I called the hospital where Mary is.”
“But you didn’t talk to anyone?”
“You paranoid or what?”
“Wha’d they say?”
“I got a machine. The message said it’s too early to call patients.”
“And you really thought they were gonna let you speak to her?”
“Yeah. Why not?” Dragon got pissed. “I tried something. It didn’t work, so what? Hey, I don’t need this.” She looked over at Casey and headed for the door.
Casey rubbed her hands over her face, pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes. It was starting all over—the same people, the same shit.
When Dragon reached the glass doors, she looked back at Casey.
“Doggie, you can be such an asshole,” Casey said, leaving the chair.
She’d rather be out in the rain with Dragon, than inside and dry with Dog-Face. Any day.
55
Jimmy
Jimmy could hear the shower running. He stretched under the blankets and looked around the hotel room. It was almost as if no one had been here last night. Two unopened Pellegrino water bottles were on the dresser. The TV armoire door was sealed tight, and so was the mini-bar. But he was here—and he couldn’t believe that the woman you hope—pray—dream—will be in your arms—actually was. That your imagination doesn’t match reality. She wanted to be with you as much as you with her. That her skin was softer than you could have imagined, her kisses had more heat than you could’ve imagined.
When they were making love, for a second, he felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades—her nails. Digging in. Not letting go. She apologized, but she didn’t have to—if he had nails that weren’t so short, he would have done the same thing. And for the first time that he could remember—when he woke up he didn’t hear the same chorus he heard every morning for years—I hate my life. It was gone.
Jimmy didn’t want to check his beeper. He did it anyway. He rolled onto his stomach, and stretched his arm down to the carpet to retrieve the pager. To see what misery awaited him, what was going to be the boot to kick him out of heaven.
A message. Shit. He pushed the button to retrieve it, then he felt a weight on his back. Erin. With her hair still wet, and wrapped in a towel, she lay on top of him. Her legs matching his, her head on his back, her lightly freckled arms draped over his.
“Forget the beeper,” she said.
“My dream.” He let it drop back to the rug.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Erin said.
“Accepted.”
&nb
sp; “You haven’t heard it yet.”
“I still accept. What is it?” Jimmy said.
“We turn off the pager. Turn off the phone, bolt the door and just stay here.”
“Till when?”
“Till the hotel runs out of food.”
She kissed the back of his neck, then his shoulders, and then the top of his head. He turned and found her lips.
She slipped off.
“Better check the beeper, detective,” she said.
He pushed the button.
“What’s it say?”
“My deep cover.”
“You have one? On this case?”
“I should have told you, but …”
“But never tell anyone about a deep cover,” Erin said.
“You’re not anyone. I’m sorry. Her name’s Robin English and she’s hanging out with the street kids. She’s new, couple of months out of the academy, so nobody knows her face.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Don’t know. But she wants to meet tonight.”
They pulled onto Sunset. Rain was crashing down, slowing the traffic to a crawl. Jimmy glanced to the side and saw Erin staring out the window.
“You okay?” he said softly.
“Just thinking. You know, about Rick.”
“What are you gonna tell him?”
“For now, that I worked all night, and had court in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time. Only usually, I sleep on the benches outside the third floor courts.”
“It’s tough.”
“The writing’s been on the wall for a while. It wasn’t going to last. But sure, it’s still tough.”
She lit a smoke. And Jimmy knew he had to deal with it too. But strangely, he sort of knew the way it would all go down—there are people you know forever but don’t ever truly know—his dad for example, and then there were others you just know everything about. Dani was like that. She wasn’t going to do cartwheels when they broke up, but in her heart she would get it. And in Jimmy’s heart, he prayed that she would get out of all this shit which was making her so unhappy. Become that teacher, maybe even in LA. Then she could still chase the dream, and if the stars miraculously lined up, he might see her in a sitcom or even a movie. Someone as great as Dani deserved someone like her, who was her age, and ready to go the distance. And maybe he’d get a birth announcement from her some day. Was it going to be easy—no way—he could already feel all the pain and heartache, but they both knew what they had was never going to really last.
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