A thread of unease lifted within Ken’s chest. He wasn’t sure how to play this. Obviously, it could be a trap. Isaacs might be wearing a wire and fishing for an admission of guilt. But if the man had witnessed the shooting—and judging by the grisly details he mentioned, he likely had—why would he need such an admission? He could’ve snapped a picture of Ken at the crime scene.
That meant the offer to track down Pete’s dealer might be legit. Isaacs had never mentioned his older daughter before, but if narcotics had ruined her, that would explain why he gave Ken a pass. Seeing Hogwild eat a bullet must’ve been cathartic for Isaacs; he probably fantasized about doing the same to his daughter’s dealer.
Ken knew one thing: he had to kill someone tomorrow. With that in mind, he might as well find a meaningful target.
Meeting the cop’s eyes, he said, “Mind if we eat out back?”
“Not at all,” Isaacs said.
A tennis ball bounced across the shadow-streaked backyard. The ball rolled from dark to light to dark again. Hopper gimped through wet grass and snatched the dirty yellow ball between his jaws. He must’ve smelled the pizza, because instead of returning the ball to Robby over by the picnic table, he dashed straight for Isaacs.
“The fuck?” Robby yelled. “What’s he doing here?”
“Bought your dinner,” Isaacs said, setting the boxes on the table. “Least I could do after what went down at the ballpark earlier.”
Robby froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Relax,” Ken said. “I think he’s on our side.”
Robby stood, his expression horrorstruck.
“Have a seat,” Isaacs said. “Enjoy the pizza while it’s hot.”
“Lost my appetite,” Robby said, his eyes lingering on Issacs. With a nervous twitch, he headed for the house. “Watch yourself, Ken.”
Ken sat and flipped open a pizza box. Steam rose toward the night sky. He wolfed down the first gooey slice he grabbed. Any meal might be his last, so he made each bite count. Across the table Isaacs chewed at a leisurely pace.
“So,” Ken said, reaching for another slice, “who around here deals fake Oxy?”
“Tough question.” The bench beneath Issacs creaked as he shifted his weight. “If you’re intent on tracking down the exact supplier, you’ll likely end up dead before you get concrete answers.”
“But you said you knew who was behind Pete’s death.”
“Wrong. I said I knew who was responsible.”
“What’s the difference?”
Isaacs blew out a heavy breath. He dropped his crust into Hopper’s mouth and faced Ken. “There’s a narc in my department who took the midnight shift back in January. The only guys who willingly take that shift are ones who can’t sleep or got a good reason to be on duty at that hour. This one—Jim Tormon’s his name—has botched two drug busts since taking the job. Drug trafficking is a pet peeve of mine, so after the second failed bust, I started following Tormon around, the same way I followed you today. One night last month I caught him responding to a complaint about suspicious activity. He arrived on the scene and let a dealer walk right past him. Didn’t stop him for questions or nothing. Just radioed dispatch and said nobody was there.”
“You sure it was a dealer?”
“Positive. We have pictures of the asshole at the station. No reason a narc like Tormon wouldn’t have recognized him.”
Ken wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. “Why didn’t you report Tormon?”
“Report him?” Isaacs laughed. “I’d be pegged as a rat. I got enough problems, Fujima. Last thing I need is to stink like a rat. Hell, even if I’d caught the whole thing on video, there’s no guarantee it would sink him. He’s got connections—you know how it is.”
Ken did know. But he also knew he couldn’t go around shooting cops based on circumstantial evidence. There was a chance Isaacs had misinterpreted the situation that night. Or he might have a grudge against Tormon for reasons unrelated to drug trafficking.
“Is that the only time you caught Tormon helping a dealer?”
“Yeah, but I can’t follow him at all hours. Usually I tail him on my days off. I realize it’s a small sample size, but I’m telling you, Tormon’s dirty.”
“So you say,” Ken said.
“It’s your call,” Isaacs said, rising from the bench. “If you want to keep shooting two-bit dealers, be my guest. Just remember that shooting one dealer creates a job for another. On the other hand, if you want to make shockwaves around town, go after Tormon. That’s what I’d do if I didn’t have two daughters it could blow back on.”
“Hold on. Why are you encouraging me?”
“You asked my daughter for info, remember?”
“Right, but what do you get out of this?”
Isaacs glared, like he’d never been more insulted. “Weren’t you listening? Jess hasn’t been home for years because of people like Hogwild and Tormon. There’s only so much I can do to clean up the streets and alleyways, but you…if you’re game enough to blow away a dealer in broad daylight, you might just be the sick solution this city needs. Now, I’m not necessarily encouraging you to repeat today’s act, but if you’re hungry for more, I’ll feed you whatever info you need.”
Ken shut the pizza box. His stomach hissed with heartburn as he glanced down at his cast. Thankfully, Isaacs didn’t know about the weapon’s curse. He probably wasn’t even aware there was a gun lurking inside the cast. That needed to remain secret, but he saw no reason to hide his interest in Tormon.
“Tell me,” he said. “Where can I talk to Tormon?”
“You going after him?”
“Just want to ask him some questions.”
“He’ll be at a fundraiser next weekend.”
Ken shook his head. “I need to see him by tomorrow morning.”
“That soon? What’s the rush?”
“Can I see him by then or not?”
Isaacs checked his watch. “Tormon starts his shift soon. I wouldn’t recommend approaching him while he’s on duty. If you want to catch him at a casual spot, he usually stops for coffee after his shift.”
“Where at?”
“Place called the Cabin Café. It’s a sit-down restaurant. He likes to read the paper at the back booth while he drinks his coffee. Guy’s got a thick goatee and an ugly scar on his cheek. You can’t miss him.”
“What time will he show up?”
“Most days he pops in after 8 a.m.”
The timing made Ken uneasy. He shot Hogwild around 9:40 this morning—there was no telling how soon the gun-induced cravings would kick in. Though he liked to believe he could stave off the urge to shoot for at least twenty-four hours, an 8 a.m. meeting with Tormon might be pushing it. And that was if the man showed up promptly. If Tormon didn’t show—or if he proved innocent—Ken would need a fallback plan.
Perhaps Isaacs could help with that.
“Need one more thing,” Ken said. “Local dealers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Any of them operate near the Cabin Café?”
Isaacs nodded slowly. “If you promise to be careful, I can jot down some names and addresses. Why, what’s your plan? Trying to lead Tormon into a trap?”
“No,” Ken said, “just trying to schedule my morning.”
Chapter 40
Never did Ken expect to drive into a high school parking lot with a gun, but this morning was special, and if all went smoothly, he wouldn’t be here long. He claimed parking spot number twenty-seven—Angela’s spot—and turned on the country music station. Luke Bryan sang an uplifting tune, but Ken couldn’t register the lyrics. All he heard was the sound of his own huffing breath. He shuddered in the driver’s seat. Sweat evacuated his pores, and he began to stink like a pile of old gym socks. The inside of his cast felt so clammy he wondered if his skin had liquefied.
Shortly after seven o’clock, buses and cars trickled into the lot. Pontiacs claimed spots while more expensive veh
icles from well-to-do families caught the shine of the morning sun. Teachers also parked. Mrs. Mathis, the art teacher, gave Ken a puzzled look as she passed him in her Saab. Then finally, dead ahead, Angela’s silver Jeep swung into the lot. Upon reaching her spot, she braked and lowered her window. Her hair was in a high, tight ponytail that tugged on her hairline and left her looking agitated. When she lifted her Hollywood-style sunglasses, she didn’t appear thrilled to see him.
Ken exited his car; he had roughly two hours till kill time. Earlier, while fine-tuning his plan to interrogate Officer Tormon, he remembered what Hannah said about enjoying his remaining time in Pennsylvania. That got him thinking about Angela, and before he could talk himself out of it, he’d driven to Morgan High. Showing up here was risky, but he promised himself that he’d leave immediately if struck by any homicidal urges.
“You’re in my spot,” she said.
“You won’t need it today.”
“Oh really?”
“Remember what you said the other night?” He leaned his forearm against her door. “About how our lives are like the same old movie on repeat?”
She nodded tiredly.
He smiled. “How about calling off and joining me for breakfast?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I should be here for the students.” She picked at the sleeve of her floral sundress. “It’ll be a rough day for everyone.”
“It’ll be rough whether you’re here or not.” He shuffled in place. “Last night I realized how short life can be. For all we know, I could be gone tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be around.”
“Why risk it? Let’s grab breakfast while we can. I know a place you’ll love.”
“Let’s try this weekend instead.”
“Won’t work.” Sweat crawled along his gunhand. “Has to be today.”
“Has to?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why, is the world ending and nobody told me?”
“Yep. The Pentagon sent me to warn you.”
“So you’re in charge of national security now?”
“Right. I’ll brief you on the situation over breakfast.”
“Hmm…” An amused smile crossed her lips. “Given the urgency, I suppose I should join you.”
“Great. Ever heard of the Cabin Café? Haven’t been there myself, but I think you’ll love it. It’s off the beaten path, surrounded by woods. They’ve got a pond in the back and—”
“A pond? Funny… The other night this rude guy left me to drown in my own backyard pond.”
“Lucky you didn’t,” he said, cheeks burning. “Otherwise, the world would end without you.”
Grinning, she put her Jeep in drive. “Guess we should enjoy it while it lasts.”
Chapter 41
Though the restaurant promised an elegant cabin atmosphere, it was the furthest thing from romantic. The wallpaper depicted cartoonishly fake wood, the mahogany bar was covered in ketchup bottles, and the back booth they occupied faced a gravel parking lot. The duck pond was caked with algae, and many surrounding evergreens were brown with disease. As if that didn’t ruin the mood enough, the temperature outside topped seventy, and an A/C unit wheezed uselessly above their table. Ken sweltered inside his jacket, desperate to keep his cast tucked away.
Across the table Angela fanned herself with a greasy menu. “I know what I’m getting.”
“That was quick.”
“Spoiler alert. I’ve been here before.”
“Any recommendations?”
“To be honest,” she said with a mischievous smile, “I haven’t tried much of the food. This was a prime drinking spot back in college.”
“When was that? Last week?”
She threw a sugar packet at him. “No jokes about my age! Do you realize I’ll be twenty-six in a couple months?”
“Ouch. Good thing you look twenty-two.”
“I do not,” she said, blushing.
“Sure you do,” he said. “Although maybe not after your one o’clock class.”
“That one does take years off my life.” She rubbed her temples. “Way to remind me. Might as well order off the senior menu. Or pick out a casket.”
The mention of a casket sent his focus out the window. Other than his Camry and her Jeep, only three other vehicles were in the lot. None belonged to Officer Tormon, which left Ken both relieved and anxious. It was nearly eight o’clock; Tormon could show up at any moment. Once he arrived, Ken would pretend to receive an emergency call and say goodbye to Angela. Then he would follow Tormon, interrogate him, and do whatever was necessary.
A waitress came and took their orders. Angela requested the mushroom omelet and Ken ordered the same, despite his deep-seated hatred for fungi. Before handing his menu to the waitress, he asked, “Excuse me, can you serve wine this early?”
The waitress nodded. “What can I get you?”
Ken looked to Angela.
She shook her head. “None for me, thanks. New diet. You enjoy yourself though.”
He ordered a glass of pinot noir. The waitress collected their menus and left them to stare at the drab vista beyond the back window. Robins fluttered from the trees, settling in the mud along the grimy pond. Their beaks poked at the soil until they lifted morning worms. The pond itself remained motionless.
He turned to Angela. “Bring your swimsuit?”
“Yeah, that and a tetanus booster.”
He laughed. “After breakfast I should throw you in.”
“Good luck getting a grip on me with that cast. Which reminds me, what’d you do to your hand? Schoolyard brawl?”
“How’d you guess?”
She snorted. “Seriously, what happened?”
“Can’t say. It involves national security.”
“Oh, come on.”
The waitress brought his wine glass on a serving tray and set it in front of him.
He raised the glass. “To the end of the world.”
Bemused, Angela lifted her water glass. “To the end of the world.”
They drank. Beyond the cheap medicinal taste, the wine’s sweetness smoothed him over. Though his mind was swamped with murder deadlines and a downpour of other worries, he savored the moment.
Sadly, the moment didn’t last. His gaze kept targeting the parking lot.
“Let’s play a game.” She clapped her hands. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone before. It can be serious or stupid, but it has to be something you’ve never told anyone before.”
“You must really want to know what happened to my hand.”
“Got that right.”
“Too bad I already told someone else.”
“You jerk. Let’s play anyway. It’ll be fun. Tell me something you never told another soul. That way it’ll be completely between us.”
“Hmm…” Thankfully Hannah and Robby knew everything that happened over the weekend, so he could disqualify his gunhand. Might as well have fun then. “Okay. In sixth grade I used to shave my toes.”
She burst out laughing. “Whaaat?”
“Never told anyone. Your turn.”
“Wait, wait. Why’d you shave your toes?”
“Because I was twelve, they were hairy, and I worried people in my Shotokan class would call me a hobbit.” He clinked her glass. “Your turn.”
“Okay.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never had a man walk away from my naked body until Friday night.”
His cheeks warmed. “Bet it won’t happen twice.”
“We’ll see.” She clinked his glass. “Next secret.”
Ken swilled his wine. He eyed its cherry-red tint and wondered how much he would have to drink before he could permit himself to talk about Olivia. Probably enough to induce alcohol poisoning. Looking across the table, he wanted to confide in Angela, but it hurt to talk about Olivia. About what happened.
“I…” He stopped himself. Tried to think of something to say. “I’m a coward.”
Angela blinked. “That’s your secret?”
&nbs
p; “Yeah.”
She tilted her head. “You gotta give me more than that. I mean, we’re all cowards to some extent. If we always did the hardest, scariest thing, we’d be dead.”
He squirmed in his seat. The vinyl cushioning emitted a fart-like sound that added to his embarrassment. He hurriedly clinked her glass and said, “Next secret.”
“Fine, we’ll play it your way,” she said. “My secret is that I’m a coward too.”
He snorted.
“See? Not so fun, is it?” She clinked his glass. “What’s your secret, fellow coward?”
Ken pinched his glass by the stem and slid it back and forth across the table. He’d rather be shooting someone than having this conversation. “Can I ask you something? How much do you know about me and my ex-fiancée?”
“Not much. Somebody at school said she ditched you on your wedding day, which is horrible.”
“Yeah.” He gulped the last of the wine. Like a man stepping off a diving board, he felt a rush as he said, “She was cheating on me.”
Angela frowned. “Ugh.”
“It had been going on for three years, long before I proposed. Back then I taught full-time at a private school in Scranton, and I always invited her to the faculty events—dinners, fundraisers, everything. There was one Dancing with the Stars–themed event. Couples entered to win Keurig machines and other prizes. Olivia loved to dance. I didn’t. She paired up with a drama teacher, and they won a Red Lobster gift card. He told her to keep it.
“One thing about Olivia is that she was organized when it came to finances. She had a drawer in our kitchen where she arranged our cash, credit cards, gift cards, everything. About a month after the competition, I was craving seafood. I wanted to take her to Red Lobster when she got home from work. I checked the drawer but found no gift card. When she got home, I suggested Red Lobster. She flinched like she’d been hit by a sniper.”
Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 18