Walk Away, page 17
“Where’s Flickers exactly?”
“It’s right on Lincoln. Hell, I’ll draw you a map.”
“I’ll find it. And you listen to me, I will come back and kill you if you’re lying to me,” Camaro said. “I know where you live.”
“I promise I’m not lying.”
Camaro considered hitting him again. She saw the fear lit behind Loren’s expression. She took one step toward him, and he shrank against the wall. He was taller than her by inches, but in that moment she was the larger of the two.
“Don’t meet with Derrick tonight,” she said. “And do yourself a favor and stay clear of Lukas if you see him. His world is about to get bloody.”
“He’s out of my life,” Loren swore.
Camaro turned away and headed for the way out. Loren did not call after her.
Chapter Forty-Six
LUKAS LAY IN bed beside Vicki with the sheets pooled over his crotch. He smoked and used a water glass as an ashtray. She lay curled up, her back to him. Occasionally she shook, and the tremor passed through the mattress. He touched her idly. “That was good,” he said. “You’re real good.”
“Please don’t,” she said. He heard her crying.
“Jake was too soft on you. Always a gentleman, right?”
For a while he thought she wouldn’t answer, but finally her voice came. “Yes. He was always good to me.”
“And now you’re good to me. See how that works? It says in the Bible that if a man dies, his brother has to take his woman on. So I’m only doing what God says to do. You hear me? Open up your mouth and talk.”
“I hear you,” Vicki said, her voice faltering. “I’m really glad you’re around.”
Lukas smiled. “It’s not so hard to be grateful. And I appreciate the help you gave Jake getting this deal together. Working capital is hard to come by for an entrepreneur like me. Can’t get a loan from the bank, can’t get investors without someone putting their nose in your business.”
“If I give you more money, will you…will you go?”
“Why do you want me to go? Didn’t I just say I was doing God’s work here?”
“You can’t stay here forever. They’ll find you. People will wonder why Brendan isn’t in school. That thousand dollars I have is all yours. And then you can do your business wherever you need to go.”
Lukas took a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled toward the ceiling. The swirling cloud was caught in the failing light from outside, murky and oddly alive in its way. “You ever been to Los Angeles?”
“No.”
“Better than this goddamned place, that’s for sure. Just sunshine and money and ladies all day long. I’ve been all over this country, but LA is the center of the world. New York City? It’s bullshit. You want to make a name for yourself, you go to LA.”
Vicki was completely silent.
An ugly thought crossed Lukas’s mind. He frowned. “You don’t have to wait too much longer,” he said. “It’s not like you don’t got it going on, but a town like this is too small-time for a guy like me. I was happy to let Jake be the point man here, but he’s gone. I got to make new plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“What’s it to you?”
“It’s nothing, Luke. I was only asking.”
“Well, mind your own goddamned business. I tell you what I want to tell you. The rest of the time you keep your mouth shut. You hear me?”
Vicki didn’t answer. After a while she slid away from him and got off the bed.
He looked after her. “Where you going now?”
“I want to take a shower.”
“All right, you do that. And when you come back, I might want to dirty you up again.”
“Okay, Luke.”
“‘Okay, Luke,’” he said mockingly. He considered throwing his cigarette at her. “You really are a dumb bitch. And your son’s retarded. Get on out of my sight.”
She fled, and Lukas chuckled to himself. He tipped ash into the glass. He thought of Camaro and the dead cop touring around town in the cop’s car. He’d only seen Camaro from a distance, but he’d recognize her instantly when he saw her again. Some things never left his mind. Underneath the sheet he stirred thinking of her.
He heard the shower running. He dropped the cigarette into the glass and got up.
Chapter Forty-Seven
THEY PARKED TWO blocks from Flickers because there was nowhere else to put the Hyundai and walked back, their collars turned up against a cold wind coming off the bay. The streets of Carmel were quiet, and most of the little boutique shops and galleries were closed for the night. It was possible to hear the party sounds from Flickers from a hundred feet away.
A crowd spilled out of the front door and onto the sidewalk. Cigarette smoke whipped away on the air, but a distinct haze was visible inside the entrance, lingering around neon lights and low-wattage bulbs.
Camaro tried to look past the thicket of bodies, but it was impossible to see more than a few feet inside the door. She shook her head. “We’re going to have to go in.”
“You want me to take point?” Yates asked.
“No. We don’t know if he’s inside. Watch the front. If he rolls up on the place, somebody has to be out here to catch him.”
“Shout if you need me. That’s if I can hear you.”
She elbowed her way through the first layer of humanity and managed to get inside the door. The throng was like a living organism growing out of the bar on one side of the place, casting out thick feelers in every direction. Camaro was barely able to make out the man and woman tending bar. Voices were raised in a loud jumble, backed by music blaring from speakers placed here and there along the perimeter. Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” rocked the house, Robert Plant’s vocals cutting through everything like a clean, sharp blade. The walls were festooned with license plates and bumper stickers.
There was no clear place to start. Camaro set out perpendicular to the bar, skirting the edge of the space. Her path would bring her all the way to the far corner, then hook around to the other side and back up again. Tables were scattered all around the center, shadowy figures huddled over them in conversation. Some faces she could see easily and some not. She searched for Derrick’s.
Clots of bar-goers fell into her path, and she struggled to get around them. It took a few minutes to make the back of the bar, and there she could better see the booths that were set up along two walls. Little electric tea lights glowed in each one, a touch of class in a place bereft of it. Only a few people looked up as Camaro sidled past. The men gave her a second glance, and the women frowned. None of them were Derrick.
She finally reached the farthest corner and turned back toward the front. Her eyes roved over everyone she passed, scanning left and right, catching glimpses between moving shadows. Up ahead there was a hallway that broke out through the wall opposite the street entrance. A lit sign declared RESTROOMS. Camaro used that as her progress marker, getting closer step-by-step.
She was coming to the end of the booths. Camaro reached another, where a man and woman sat opposite each other, yelling to be heard. The man glanced up, and in that instant they locked eyes. “Nic Thompson,” Camaro said. She could barely make out her own voice above the din. The woman turned to look at her. It was Rosalinda.
Camaro was shoving her way toward the booth when movement near the restrooms caught her eye. She looked through the sea of bobbing heads and spotted Derrick emerging from the back hallway. He saw her in the same moment and spun away.
“Out of the way!” Camaro yelled as she bulled through the people ahead of her. Men and women tumbled over, yelling in surprise. She stepped over them and kept going, spearing her way between the last dozen of the crowd to reach the restrooms. The hallway was clear, the doors to the restrooms closed.
She hit the men’s room first, slamming the door open. A man jumped at the urinal and sprayed himself in the leg. No feet showed under the wall of the single stall. Camaro rushed to the ladies’ room next, kicking it open to find two women near the sinks, checking their makeup.
Camaro ran to the back of the hallway. There was a door marked OFFICE and another with the label FIRE EXIT—ALARM WILL SOUND. The latter hung slightly open. The alarm did not sound.
Cold air smacked her in the face as she burst out into the alley behind the bar. Her ears were ringing from the noise inside, but she still heard the slap of running feet. She looked left and saw Derrick at a dead run. Camaro sprinted after him.
He made it to the end of the alley long before she did and hung a right. Camaro’s heart pumped as she dashed the final distance and skidded around the corner onto another quiet street. Derrick was twenty yards distant, running hard. She went on.
Derrick crossed a street at speed. Camaro closed the distance. She bounded off the uneven sidewalk onto the asphalt and was suddenly awash in the oncoming headlights of a car. Tires squealed as the car careened to a stop, only inches from Camaro. She was frozen in the glare, momentarily dazzled.
The man behind the wheel lunged out of the car. Camaro saw a gun, and then she saw his face. “Don’t move! Hands where I can see them,” Way commanded. “Piper, get after that guy!”
Camaro moved to run again, and Way stiffened behind the gun. She stopped. Hannon exploded out of the passenger seat and ran after Derrick, who was a block away and moving fast.
“He’s gone,” Camaro said. “Shit!”
“Put your goddamned hands where I can see them. Lean over the hood of the car. Interlace your fingers behind your neck.”
She obeyed. Way approached her without lowering his weapon. He kicked her feet apart. “Who is that? It wasn’t Lukas Collier, so who was it?”
“It’s nobody,” Camaro said.
“Don’t give me that shit,” Way said. He hit her on the back of the head, and her forehead bounced off the hood, leaving her momentarily dizzy. “Who was it?”
“Somebody who owes me money,” Camaro said.
Way grabbed her by the elbow and wrenched her around until she fell back against the hood. He forced his leg between hers and pressed the muzzle of his automatic into her cheekbone. “Was it Loren Masters? How about Nic Thompson? Derrick Perkins? Which one? You’re onto Lukas, so tell me which one knows where he is.”
Camaro stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Way leaned into her, pressing the gun harder for emphasis. “I could put a bullet into you right now. Resisting arrest. I should. You want to kill Lukas Collier as much as I do, except I do not get in line behind you.”
“I’m on a public street. I’m not breaking any laws,” Camaro said. She looked into Way’s eyes. They were fevered.
“You’re not breaking any laws? You’re chasing a suspect. Do you think you’re the law? Because you’re not the law.”
“I know I’m not the law,” Camaro said.
Way scowled. “That’s right. I am the law. Me. I’m the man. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Keith?”
Way tensed. Camaro turned her eyes, but not her head. Hannon was there. Her face was stricken. “Keith, what are you doing?”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Way said. “Just walk in the other direction.”
“I can’t do that. Put your weapon away.”
“I said walk!”
“Keith, I can’t. I won’t.”
“She’s interfering with our investigation,” Way declared. “That’s obstruction.”
“Keith, put the gun away.”
He was slow to respond. Camaro looked from him to Hannon and back again. Way took the pistol out of her face and holstered it under his coat. He backed away.
Camaro rose from the hood. She felt her cheek and the impression of the automatic’s muzzle. She looked to Hannon again.
“Go,” Hannon said.
“Piper, she’s going to screw this all up.”
“Go, now!”
Camaro turned from Way and moved. She expected a bullet in the back. It did not come. She ran to Yates, and neither marshal followed.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“HE PULLED HIS weapon on you?” Yates said. “He put it in your face?”
“Yes.”
Yates shook his head slowly. They sat in the parked Santa Fe on Lincoln Street, alone except for the occasional car slipping slowly past. Carmel went on as if nothing had happened. “This is a problem.”
“You think?” Camaro asked.
“If they were down here looking for Jake’s buddies, then they’re on the same trail we are. It’s only a matter of time before they talk to Loren Masters and find out you rousted him. Unless you think you put enough of the fear of God into him that he keeps his mouth shut.”
“He doesn’t want me coming back to him,” Camaro said.
“Okay, then. So the big question is, who gets to Derrick first. If it’s us, we have the advantage. If it’s the marshals, then we lose everything. I’m not prepared to let all of this slip through my fingers. Not when we’re so close.”
Camaro pounded her fist on the armrest. “He’s gonna disappear. Now that he knows the sharks are out, he’s going to get in his car and drive until the heat is off. We’ll never find him.”
Yates was quiet awhile. “That’s not necessarily so.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been at this a good long time, and the one thing I’ve learned is that people in general aren’t that smart. They like familiar places and faces, and they don’t like to stray far from the things that make them comfortable. Now if it were you or me, we’d be gone in a heartbeat. But Derrick, he’s not a bright boy.”
Camaro digested this. She turned over the conclusion in her mind. “He’ll come around again.”
“I won’t say I guarantee it, but I’m leaning that way. We might not see him at that bar again, and he’ll probably steer clear of his work, but that doesn’t mean he won’t pop up at home, even if it’s to make sure he gets his toothbrush.”
She looked at her watch. “I can’t go at this all night. I need to see my sister. We can link up again in the morning. I’ll come to where you are.”
“I understand,” Yates said. “I’ll take you to the hospital now.”
They drove out of Carmel. A waning moon broke through a temporary breach in the clouds, giving the cold woodlands a silvery mantle. Once Camaro saw a fox at the side of the road, its eyes glowing, before it broke for cover and vanished completely.
“How long have you been doing this?” Camaro asked.
“This? You mean skip tracing?”
“Yeah.”
“Got to be forty years at least. Forty…three? Something like that. After the service I kind of bummed around awhile doing this and that. Worked construction, fixed cars, cooked food. Pretty much anything a man could do to earn a paycheck. Lot of lean years. Then I heard from a friend of a friend that a bail bondsman was looking for someone to track down some skips. His usual guy had appendicitis. I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground, but I figured, how hard could it be?”
“Was it?”
“Sometimes. Like I said, most crooks are lazy as hell. You’d be surprised how many you can round up just by knocking on doors and asking politely. That’s why I don’t much like the term ‘bounty hunter.’ People get this idea in their head that it’s all about kicking down doors and busting skulls when it’s not like that at all. The damned TV shows don’t help any.
“Anyway, I’ve been letting my son handle most things for a few years now. Got my own bail-bonding operation, so it’s pretty much paperwork and phone calls every day. Long hours are the worst part, but my wife and I have been putting away a good amount for a while, and when the time comes I’m going to step away completely. Except…”
“Your son,” Camaro said.
“My son,” Yates replied, and they left it at that.
The Santa Fe wound its way up the drive to the hospital, and Yates let Camaro out with a good-bye and a promise to call. Camaro stayed long enough for him to pull away and then went inside. She knew which way to go, and she went on her own.
A sheriff’s deputy was stationed outside Annabel’s room, sitting on an uncomfortable-looking chair and reading a copy of Entertainment Weekly. He stood when she approached and put up a hand to halt her.
He asked for ID. Camaro did as he wanted. The deputy made a satisfied noise. He opened the door for her, and Camaro stepped into darkness.
The only illumination was the soft light from the window cast by that same moon. Camaro heard the whisper of Annabel’s sleeping breath. She could just make out her sister’s form beneath the covers, looking small and frail in the dimness. The second round of surgery was complete, and she was still alive.
She sat in the chair next to Annabel’s bed and said nothing. For an hour she simply listened.
A soft rapping came at the door. Camaro straightened up. “Who is it?”
The door opened, and a man in a jacket and tie stepped through. He looked as though he was sliding into his sixties, his face lined but not unpleasant. He stopped respectfully just inside the threshold. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Lewis Brock. I’m a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“That’s all right, I can do most of the talking.”
He came in and closed the door behind him. He moved to the side of the bed and looked down at Annabel. “I happened to be here when you came in. I wanted to see how she was doing.”
“She’s making it,” Camaro said.
“Have you talked to the doctor?”
“Not yet.”
“You should. She has some good news for you. Internal damage wasn’t as bad as they feared, and if your sister makes it through the next twenty-four hours or so, she’s going to be all right. Or as all right as you can be after something like this.”
Camaro put her hand on Annabel’s hand. It was cold.
“I understand you’ve taken some hits yourself.”
