Hit&Run

by Freya Barker

  “I can’t have you up in McInnis when your focus is elsewhere. I need someone to stay behind, coordinate transport of people and supplies, liaise with authorities...”

  “Isn’t that Bree’s job?”

  He turns to face me on a deep sigh.

  “Bree is taking over your detail. You’re taking over hers. That’s the way it is for now. Think of it this way; it gives you a chance to keep an eye on your Ms. Perkins.”

  “I don’t need...” I start protesting but I don’t get very far. Yanis lifts a hand to stop me.

  “What you need is to get your head out of your ass and quit being a martyr. You’re so intent on paying for transgressions that don’t exist, you can’t see a shot at a good thing when it slaps you in the face.” He rubs his hands over his face before clapping a hand on my shoulder and giving me a firm shake. “Look, I don’t know if this girl is the one, but for fuck’s sake, don’t blow it off before you have a chance to find out.”

  I try to grasp at thoughts, but can’t seem to focus on just one, let alone form any coherent words at this point.

  “You’re like a fucking brother to me,” Yanis says in a much softer voice, as he reaches for the door. “And a royal pain in my ass.”

  ROSIE

  “Do you have a minute?”

  I’m in the men’s restroom off the lobby, restocking paper hand towels when Jake walks in. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him tonight, I was just more successful avoiding him earlier. He’s got me cornered now, blocking the doorway.

  “I’d rather not talk to you.” I turn my back and continue filling the dispensers.

  “That’s fine,” he rumbles in the deep voice that sends a little shiver down my back. Damn him. “You don’t have to, I’ll do the talking.” I hear him let out a deep sigh when I don’t respond. “I thought you should know the entire production is heading back out to McInnis tomorrow, for a couple of weeks of filming.”

  I can’t stop myself from whipping around and asking, “Are you?”

  Jake shakes his head, hiding a grin as he checks out the toes of his boots.

  “Nah. I’m staying here. Keeping an eye on things.” He slowly looks up and meets my eyes. “On you.”

  All day I’ve been struggling with what he told me this morning. Feeling used, shocked, angry—but also finding understanding for some of his reasoning. Everything is not black and white in this world, I should understand that better than most, I lived in that gray area for many years.

  I might be able to appreciate his motivations, but I can’t get over his methods. The fact he took one look at me, and came to the conclusion I was an easy target to manipulate, stings like a motherfucker. Christ, was I really that weak? That stupid? I’d promised myself, after allowing a man to string me along and use me for over a decade, I would never let that happen again. And here I am.

  So he can turn on the charm with those dark brooding eyes, and that deliciously gruff voice, but I’m no longer going to fall for it.

  “Sounds good,” I bite off, immediately dismissing him as I grab my cart and force him to step aside. Without looking at him, I walk out and head toward the ladies’ room. My next stop.

  Work provides a welcome distraction and any lingering frustration is taken out on the remainder of the public bathrooms. They sparkle. Maybe I should’ve saved some of that energy for the bathrooms at home, they could do with a good cleaning too, but it’s usually the last thing I think about when I’m home. Maybe when I’m off tomorrow.

  During my break, I patiently listen to Grant lament about his boyfriend leaving town with the rest of the film crew, and I’m embarrassed to admit I’m almost relieved when it’s time to head up to do the second floor. I’m not even thinking about it until I push my cart out of the elevator, and almost run into a large body. It takes me a second to recognize him.

  “He asked me to meet you here. He had some things to do.”

  I look at Dimas, slowly raising my eyebrow. Things to do, my foot.

  “Thanks,” I say curtly before starting down the hallway, but he quickly catches up and moves ahead.

  Like Jake had done the night before, Dimas checks each space thoroughly before letting me inside. I realize they do it more for my peace of mind, than anything else, but it makes being here easier all the same. There isn’t much conversation at all, and at some point, he actually starts helping; collecting garbage and dirty towels for me. The floor is done in no time.

  “He’s really a great guy—a good man,” Dimas says while we’re waiting for the elevator.

  “I don’t know what he told you,” I start, but he doesn’t give me a chance to finish.

  “Nothing. That’s not like him. But I have eyes; I’ve been up in the surveillance room all night, and I’ve seen him trying to connect with you all over the hotel. I watched him go into the men’s bathroom after you, and follow you out not two minutes later. I watched as he stood in the hallway, his eyes still on the ladies’ room, long after you disappeared inside.”

  The ding of the elevator is a welcome sound, because this conversation is making me restless. The instant the elevator opens, I slip inside with my head down, but it’s clear Dimas isn’t done when he blocks the doors from closing.

  “I don’t doubt he did something to piss you off—the man wasn’t graced with any social skills, so he’ll probably do it again—but I know for a fact he’s a good man.”

  I lift my head and glare at him. He holds my eyes for some very uncomfortable seconds, before removing his hand and letting the doors close.

  Annoyed, frustrated, and even more confused, I make my way down to the hotel basement where the laundry facilities are. The large industrial-size machines run almost nonstop to keep up with the steady supply of dirty linens. I usually begin here, stacking my cart with clean sheets and towels before I start my shift. I end here too, to drop off the dirties I’ve collected.

  I’ve just started a load with towels when the phone in my pocket buzzes. A look at the screen shows my home number, and I quickly check the time; two thirty. That can’t be good.

  “Hillary? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Rosie. I swear she was sleeping before I turned in, but when I got up to use the bathroom, she wasn’t in her bed and the front door was open. I looked around the block and I can’t find her. Dora and Les Shipman from next door, along with the neighbors on their other side, are looking and I just came back to call you.”

  “How long?” I ask, already taking the stairway, two at a time, to the lobby.

  “I can’t know for sure, anywhere between forty-five minutes and two hours.”

  “Hang up, and call the police. I’m on my way.”

  I fly through the door and into the lobby, making a beeline for Grant, who sees me coming.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mom’s gone missing. I have to get home,” I tell him, diving into the small office behind the front desk where I left my purse and keys.

  “Hold on,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulder when I try to rush by. “Let me call someone to go with you. You’re shaking, I can’t let you drive like this.”

  “Let me go, Grant. There’s no time,” I bite off, jerking out of his hold and bolting for the back door.

  I hoof it to my car; click the key remote to unlock, to find the damn thing doesn’t work. I try again, once more without success. When I go to unlock the door with the key, my key ring slips from my shaking hand and clatters to the pavement. My eyes blur with frustrated tears, as I drop down to my knees and use both hands to search. My fingers snag on the key ring and I scramble to my feet. Quickly, I unlock the door and jerk it open, sliding behind the wheel. I buckle up, start the engine, and turn on the lights by rote, when my door is yanked open and I about jump out of my skin.

  “Move over.”

  I’m still so stunned; I blindly follow Jake’s order and climb over the gearshift and into the passenger seat. In seconds, we’re hustling down the road.

 
; “What are you doing?”

  “Saw you almost throw down with your buddy and rush downstairs. He tells me your mom’s missing, and you shouldn’t be driving. So I’m driving.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but then wisely shut it again. Mom is missing. I could use all the help I can get to find her.

  “Hillary is calling the police,” I say instead, wiping at the tears of frustration.

  “Good.” He throws me a quick glance before scanning the road in front of him. I’m not sure how fast we’re going, but I don’t think my Cruiser has ever hit these speeds. Not on city streets anyway. “Take my phone from my pocket,” he instructs, lifting his right elbow to give me room. “I need you to speed dial three and put it on speakerphone.”

  I do as he asks, and in seconds, Dimas comes on the line.

  “Rosie’s mom’s missing. I’m in the car with Rosie to look for her. Can you make sure GJPD has been notified? Her nurse, Hillary...”

  “Glenwood,” I fill in.

  “...Glenwood, was supposed to call it in. Make sure dispatch knows Mrs. Perkins has Alzheimer’s and is extremely confused. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to have EMTs at the ready.”

  “Done.”

  The line goes dead before I even have a chance to say thank you, but it feels good to know things are being done.

  “Thank you,” I say to Jake instead, who quickly reaches over and gives my wringing hands a squeeze.

  When we turn onto Centennial Road, we are right behind a police cruiser, and another one is just pulling into the driveway up ahead. Jake parks my Cruiser along the curb and I’m already getting out before he even turns off the engine.

  “Ma’am, hold up,” I hear one of the officers coming up the driveway call out when I run past on the front lawn, but I’m not listening. I’m aiming for the open door where I see Hillary waiting.

  “Anything?”

  “Sorry,” Hillary apologizes, looking over my shoulder. I turn as well to see Jake walk up with the two officers.

  I’m impatient to get out there and look, but Jake assures me we have a better chance of finding her fast if we do it in an organized fashion.

  “Ms. Perkins, has your mother run off before?” one of the officers asks. I think he said his name is Conti.

  “Run off? She’s just confused, she has Alzheimer’s; she forgets where she is. She’s only wandered out of the house once before, but that was during the day and she ended up in the neighbor’s yard three doors down. Never in the middle of the night.” I don’t even notice I’m wringing my hands again until Jake puts his on top, stilling my movement right away. I instinctively flip a hand, palm up, and let him slip his fingers between mine. He squeezes my hand to get my attention.

  “Does she have any favorite spots she likes to go to? Places that might be familiar to her?”

  His comforting voice and warm touch steadies me, and I focus on his question.

  “The corner store—we sometimes walk to get milk, if it’s a nice day. She likes the cemetery. Visiting my dad’s grave.”

  One of the reasons Mom never wanted to move was because our lot backs up to the large cemetery she buried Dad in. She still wants him close.

  “Have you checked there?” Officer Conti turns and asks Hillary, who shakes her head.

  “The gates are locked between ten at night and seven in the morning. She wouldn’t be able to get in.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he tells her before turning to me. “Why don’t you take me along the route you would normally use if you were to visit the cemetery? Ms. Glenwood can stay here with my colleague, in case she comes back.”

  I’m already up and out of the chair, eager to get moving. To do something. But I don’t let go of Jake’s hand.

  We walk south on Centennial and just where the sidewalk runs right alongside the fence, Jake spots something. He lets go of my hand and bends down beside the fence, picking something off the ground.

  “Do you recognize this?” he asks, holding up a strip of fabric; the small, pink flowered pattern very familiar to me.

  “Her nightgown,” I whisper, my eyes already attempting to scan the cemetery beyond.

  “She must’ve tried to climb over,” Conti suggests.

  “Succeeded is more like it,” Jake counters, staring off into the darkness as well, before addressing me. “Is your dad’s grave close?”

  “It’s farther to the south,” I explain, pointing in the general direction, when something occurs to me, “but the pond is right behind that building.”

  “Pond?”

  “She likes feeding the ducks.”

  Officer Conti starts talking into the radio clipped to his shoulder, but I ignore him, step up to the fence, and wrap my fingers through the chain links. It’s not that high, between four and five feet. Determination can make things possible, and before anyone even notices, I’m up and half over.

  “You can’t just climb over,” the young officer protests, startled. “I’m having dispatch contact someone to open the main gate.”

  “It’s dark, the woman could be hurt, or worse, she could have fallen into that pond.” Jake swings himself over the fence like it’s nothing, while I’m still trying to work out how to get down on the other side. His solution is to grab me under my arms and pluck me off, setting me safely on my feet. “You wait for someone to open that gate and it might just be too late. We’re going.”

  With that, he grabs my hand again and pulls me along, weaving between the silent graves. Halfway to the pond, I hear whimpering and start running. We find her lying on her side on the path that runs from the building down to the water. Her torn nightgown like a beacon in the dark night.

  “Maxwell,” is all she whispers on a continuous loop, until the ambulance doors close her in a good twenty minutes later.

  The moment they drive off, I lose it.

  CHAPTER 9

  JAKE

  “How is she?”

  Dimas catches me just when I walk into the hotel.

  “Broken hip. She’ll probably need surgery.”

  “Damn, that’s tough,” he commiserates. “Rosie holding up okay?”

  “She’s got her mom’s nurse there with her, and Peabody just showed up at the hospital. Figured I’d be more use here.” I look around the busy lobby. With the big exodus of the movie people this morning, and the chaos it causes, security is a challenge. It’s hard to keep track of who belongs and who doesn’t with people constantly walking in and out. “How far are you?”

  “Yanis went ahead with a few guys to secure the site at McInnis. Thankfully, he took Drexler with him, that’s one headache less. But the other one is still in his suite, still drunk I’m guessing. Bree told me this morning that Drexler apparently gave him a good talking to last night. So good, one of the maids alerted security, the yelling was that loud.”

  I had been avoiding Steele—well, technically I’d been told to stay away from him—but I’d like a chat with him myself, before he leaves.

  “Has he said anything? Steele?”

  “About the accident or about Rosie?”

  “Either one, or both, I guess.”

  Dimi looks around and grabs me by the arm, pulling me toward a quiet corner. “We’ve been told to back off,” he whispers.

  “By who?”

  “Phil Drexler. He gave Yanis hell for questioning Steele. Not that the idiot said much, I think between his boss and the army of lawyers he has working for him, they’d already put a muzzle on him.”

  I can see why they would. It seems to be the preferred way of dealing with things in that industry; sweep it under the rug. It eats at me, by merit of our contract; we are complicit in that. From the frustrated scowl on Dimi’s face, I’m not the only one.

  “Drexler gone, you said? Then maybe I’ll go make sure our big star doesn’t miss his limo.”

  “Jesus, Hutch.” Dimi shakes his head. “You put one finger on the guy, Yanis will have both our asses and we can kiss our contract goodbye.”

/>   “Not to worry, I’m just looking for a friendly chat.”

  THE PLACE IS A PIGSTY.

  I haven’t been inside this suite for a few days, and it looks like a frat party went down here last night. Crumpled beer cans everywhere, a bottle of Jack—with maybe two fingers left in the bottom—sitting on the table, dirty clothes strewn over the furniture, and empty food containers on every surface. It smells like a fucking brewery.

  As does the man sitting on the side of the bed, with his head in his hands, when I walk into the bedroom after banging loudly on the door.

  “Tough night?” I ask, louder than I need to, just to see him flinch. The only answer I get is a groan.

  Oh yeah, that boy is hurting. Good. He’ll be hurting even more when I’m done with him.

  “Here’s the deal,” I start, moving to stand in front of him, trying to ignore the sour stench of booze, body odor, and old puke wafting off him. “Take the time to really think about this while you’re stuck in your goddamn trailer in the mountains; I have my eye on you. I’ve had my eye on you all along, and I have no compunction at all to use what I know to rip your career to shreds. And I’m not just talking about killing a man while driving fucking drunk. You’re an entitled asshole, who thinks the world should worship his micro dick, and doesn’t hesitate to resort to assault and attempted murder to get his way.” The whole time I’m reading him the riot act, his head remains bent, until I mention attempted murder. Then his head shoots up, shock on his face.

  “What? I never—”

  “Don’t,” I butt in; cutting him off before I land my blow. “I have some interesting surveillance footage I confiscated but didn’t destroy. Stuff the press will have a field day with, showing you in the hot tub, a couple of weeks back, with a pretty blond?” I get great satisfaction when I see realization settle on his face. “One step out of line from you, one misplaced word, and every major news outlet will anonymously receive a copy of that tape.”

  Without looking back, I walk out of the bedroom and out of the suite. I’d much rather have seen him forced to own up to his responsibilities, but this will have to do for now. He’ll heel; he won’t want those images of him drilling a guy’s ass floating around.