Stagger Bay Page 12

  “But I’ve played that role before, haven’t I? And you, you’re so very very frightened here aren’t you?”

  “You’re a bastard,” she hissed. “You’re nothing like your brother.”

  “I never claimed not to be one. And as for Karl? He could afford to think he was nice sometimes, he always had me. You're right about us being different though: After all, he's dead and I’m still breathing in and out for the time being. Maybe I should be more like him, play patty cake with you and not do dick for seven years.”

  “Do you really think we dragged our feet all that time?” she asked, eyes wide. “Do you really think your own brother would let that happen to you? Karl and Sam have always trusted me, and you can too.”

  “You’re the one who’s not playing fair here, Elaine,” I said. “You just don’t like having suspicion aimed your own way, but if you take a step back you’ll see my point.

  “Of course I’m grateful for you getting me sprung – that buys you payback from me whatever your motives, whatever you’ve got cooking. But that’s my only son’s neck you’re hanging on. I have to have some reason to trust you before I can get comfortable with letting you stay that close to him.”

  She grabbed a double handful of my tattered work shirt and pulled me close enough I heard her heart beating in her bird narrow chest; saw her pulse throbbing on the side of her thin neck.

  “I won’t let you turn him against me,” she breathed into my ear. And then she let go.

  Chapter 32

  Our local TV station was a few blocks over, wedged between a candy store and a gun shop. The station was a rinky-dink affair, but sufficient to the needs of Stagger Bay.

  A few network news vans were in the parking lot, the nearest out of Oakland from an East Bay station. Even from half a block away I recognized the beautiful redheaded anchorwoman standing by the side of the van, sipping her coffee.

  When she saw me rolling up, her mouth opened and the coffee cup tumbled from her grasp to slosh its steaming contents into the gutter. Then she put her news face back on and started slapping the side of the van with her dainty little hand.

  Behind her I saw our local station’s excuse for an anchorman, standing in the entrance to his studio. He saw me but didn’t try to approach – he’d made some on-air remarks during my trial seven years before that had been less than kind, and he probably figured I wouldn’t give him the time of day now. He was right.

  By the time I reached her, her cameraman was backing her up and another assistant flanked her. The camera tracked me as I approached, making me feel like I had a bull’s eye painted on my forehead.

  “Markus,” she said with a grin, sticking the microphone up at me like a weapon. “This is news.”

  Her cameraman stepped back and adjusted his lens focus to include us both.

  “I’ll keep this short,” I said, facing the camera’s bulbous insectile eye full on like an opponent. “I’m speaking to the coward who killed the Beardsleys seven years ago. I’m talking to the human waste who’s terrorized the people of this town ever since.”

  “You think you can hide behind your connections,” I said, keeping my words slow, my tone reasonable and light. Still, I was involuntarily swaying back and forth like in the moments before I’d charged the school.

  “But your time is coming. I’m calling you out, if you have the courage to face me.” Rage built as I spoke, that same old dangerous, addictive electric heat wanting to course through me as I threw down the gauntlet here. My face was cramped with the effort of staying squeezed down into clarity. “I’m coming to get you, I swear. I swear it on the life of Officer Kendra Tubbs. I swear it on the lives of every one of your victims.

  “I’m going to be the last face you ever see,” I promised.

  I nodded at them to indicate my sign off. “Thanks,” I said, turning to go.

  “Wait,” she said, dancing around to block my path. “I have about a million questions to ask you. Who were you just speaking to, what killings are you talking about? What’s this about connections? You’re saying you weren’t just wrongfully imprisoned, you were framed? Why aren’t you working with the police? Are you alleging some kind of cover-up? Just what is it you’re planning to do?”

  “The questions will have to wait. I think you can see I’m busy here.”

  She snorted. “Sure. You’re giving someone a poke to see which way the cockroaches scuttle in response. You’re flushing out a ghost, that’s basic media strategy.”

  I looked at her in new appraisal. This news lady was no dummy.

  A scowl crossed her porcelain face. “You want to use me to send a message? That’s fine, that’s the way this game is played. But you owe me tit for tat: I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

  I grimaced – she had a point whether I liked it or not. “I give you my word that when the time comes – when it’s all over – you’ll be getting the exclusive.”

  She twirled out my way, hugging herself delightedly. “We’ll be a cinch for an Emmy,” she told the cameraman.

  “Hell yeah,” he replied.

  Chapter 33

  It was a nice afternoon for a stretch of the legs. I headed back toward the Gardens, which was only about fifteen minutes on foot; Stagger Bay was a walking town at heart.

  People on the street looked at me and pointed, many with smiles on their faces. A little boy riding his trike in a driveway waved at me. A car filled with teenagers stopped in the middle of the street; they called out my name and pumped their fists.

  I waved and nodded and smiled back idiotically at people like I was running for office. For them? As an act? Hell, even I didn’t know.

  But I also noticed a few drapes twitching aside in windows without anyone showing their face; a couple people hurriedly leaving their yard work to go inside their houses as I approached. Not all the people of Stagger Bay were that thrilled with me. The honeymoon was over, probably before it ever began.

  How many people knew about the Driver and approved? How many figured Reese was a good cop, serving the ‘real’ community? How many of Stagger Bay’s Citizens felt I should still be behind bars, innocent or not?

  Despite the waves and the greetings and the apparent approval I was receiving from so many, I was still in enemy territory and every smile hid sinister intent. Or was it fear the smiles hid even here in the nice neighborhoods?

  Victims or predators, people just going through the motions to get along or people willing to stand up – who was which and which was who? I had no idea where any of these people stood.

  I cogitated nonstop as I walked, scraping together what few pieces of data had been handed to me so far, trying to follow the thread of clues into the center of the maze Stagger Bay called a heart. I was handicapped by knowing absolutely nothing about police procedure, other than what had been inflicted on me personally in my own life. Still, the Canon provided a template – I had all the tools I needed to take a stab at things.

  Mr. Tubbs? Grieving father or not, he was involved in the goings on up to his neck. As a hillbilly Godfather, he had to be part of the backroom deals. All folded up like a deadly Chinese treasure box, his cracker barrel good ole boy routine masked some deep waters. He’d as much as admitted he’d framed me but that didn’t prove he had anything to do with Reese murdering Karl, or the Driver’s hideous shenanigans.

  Elaine? I didn’t trust her any farther than I could throw her, even though I figured I could make that tiny lawyer arc through the air quite a ways before she bounced a few times. Still, her getting me freed, her dropping Karl’s name, and her being important to Sam bought her a little something no matter how predatory her motives. Even if she was dirty as any other lawyer, that didn’t automatically mean she was in bed with the enemy – and if she was gaming, I didn’t care if she gutted them as long as she didn’t get in my way.

  Hoffman? I had no idea how much I should beware of him, how much I could trust him if at all, or how to make best use of him if he proved a
good game piece to work. Rick was a labor-intensive guy to work with for sure.

  Big Moe and the 18th Street Crips were trying to use me as an expendable human cruise missile, which was understandable and probably their most honest motive. Them and the rest of the Gardens folk weren’t necessarily my enemies, but they certainly weren’t automatically my friends either. Still, we were on the same page enough whether they knew it or not, that we might be able to work together without tripping each other up too much.

  And Sam… I had no certainty what his intentions were here, but it didn’t seem there would be any fairy tale endings between him and me. He was as insolent, obnoxious, and manipulative as any other teenager; and besotted with Elaine to boot. Which way would he flop if Elaine’s games and my agenda suddenly conflicted? I had no reason to think it’d be in my favor.

  The hilarious thing? The only person involved I liked thinking about was Reese. He was my avowed enemy but at least I knew exactly where I stood with him, no games or tap dancing. Maybe he reminded me of a rabid junkyard dog who’d forgotten where he’d buried his bone, but he’d also had the decency to show his true colors. And of course, we both had Kendra in common.

  It was getting dark as I walked, and Stagger Bay was the kind of town where they rolled up the sidewalks at sunset – except for the bars and hot-sheet motels of course. I was swinging around the back corner of the Arcade by the rolling steel doors where the trucks unloaded. The handful of stores was closed, and the parking lot was empty.

  The street lights popped on overhead, illuminating the Cougar idling thirty feet ahead of me, facing away with headlights on. The engine’s chugging sounded like the hoarse pants of a huge beast hyperventilating in exhaustion. The radio played some kind of oldies tune, 50s cruising music.

  Right here right now, I knew this was the Driver. The Cougar was his car, and he’d been trailing me the whole time I’d been back with me too stupid to pick up on it.

  I was shocked at his boldness. I hadn’t thought he would actually seek me out. My anger notwithstanding, I’d only hoped my little speech for that red-headed newscaster would stir enough of a reaction from all the guilty consciences to point which direction I should search. But then again, given what I’d seen so far in Stagger Bay, his arrogance seemed perfectly justified.

  I put my amazement away and my mouth tightened into its war grin as I realized just how happy I was to see him.

  Those red glowering taillights stared at me as if sentient. My depth perception was gone, and the taillight’s glow made it impossible for me to view the Cougar’s interior clearly through the rear windshield. All I could see was the Driver’s dark silhouette as he sat behind the wheel, wide and powerful looking.

  I walked forward quickly. I wanted to talk to this guy bad; I had some less than friendly thoughts to share. But he just tapped the gas a bit, maintaining a constant distance between us; I stopped.

  “Got your message. You wanted to see me?” the Driver asked, letting his beefy arm dangle out the window. His voice was a deep baritone that sounded forced.

  “I do. How’s about you get out the car and we have us a little chat about it?”

  He snorted. “Soon. Just wanted to show you something for now. Want to see something neat-o? Something peachy keen?”

  He reached over to the passenger seat and I tensed, ready to duck and bail if he pulled a gun. But when his hand rose back into view he held a little kid by the scruff of the neck. He turned the child to face toward me and her face glowed like a little moon from the interior: a tiny Asian girl with duct tape covering her mouth, her eyes glassy with terror.

  In a singsong chant the Driver crooned, “Looky, looky, I’ve got nooky.”

  The grin left my face. “You son of a bitch,” I said, my voice wobbling, a roaring in my ears. “Let her go. Keep it between you and me.”

  I sprinted forward. But he just tromped the gas again and the Cougar’s tires smoked as the car leapt ahead, fishtailing a bit until he spun the wheel over, hit the brakes, and skidded the car so it came to a halt broadside to me.

  He was about twenty-five yards away now. The Driver was still concealed in the darkness of the car’s interior, but even at that distance I saw the gleam of his teeth in the dimness, and that blond mop of his bulking around his head.

  “Good job, Markus,” he shouted over the Cougar’s chugging bass idle. “You really saved her.”

  He dragged the girl to him and held her so their faces were side by side. “Are you saved, child?” he asked her. “Are you impressed by Mister Markus?”

  Then, with mocking slowness, he pushed her head out the window until I saw her clearly in the streetlights’ glow. Her eyes begged but I stood there useless and trembling with my fists clenched hard enough to cramp at my sides.

  “How ironic,” the Driver yelled, still in that forced fake voice. “Been wanting to hook up with you for a while, but you keep running away whenever I get up the nerve to say hello.”

  “Please let her go,” I begged, my own voice raised over the Cougar’s engine. “I’ll do anything you say, whatever you want.”

  But he only laughed and shook his head. “No, she’s forfeit, though you make an interesting offer. Don’t waste both our time by pleading. Everyone’s making such a big deal out of you. I’m jealous you’re stealing my thunder so much – it’s me they should be afraid of, not you. Still, I must admit to being impressed with the work you did at the school.”

  “At the school?” I asked, confused that would even matter to this guy.

  The Driver’s face moved forward a little more, and the light caught the lower part of his face so I could see his mouth. It was a muscular mouth, and somehow familiar. It looked like it could take a bite out of plate steel, chew it up, and spit it out – I wanted to punch that mouth, bad; I wanted to smash it in with a two-by-four.

  “You and me, we’re only good at one thing,” he said. “It’s what we were born to do. We take people’s lives for our own.”

  “Maybe so, but at least I kill men face to face, not take little girls from behind,” I blurted. “You only kill the weak.”

  His head pulled back into the dimness of the car’s interior and he yanked the girl back with petulant roughness, cramming her into the passenger seat like an errant grocery bag. “You shouldn’t have said that, Markus. Now she screams louder, and it’s all your fault.”

  He started driving away slowly, as if daring me to try catching the car again. “You keep this up, I’ll keep it up too. You especially won’t like what I do to the next one.”

  He stepped on it and the Cougar sped away with a guttural growl, Booker T and The MGs spilling out the window. I watched him roar past the hospital and disappear into the woods enclosing the Gardens. Out of sight now, I heard the Cougar turn right, head past the Gardens and all that new development, and finally move up Moose Creek Road. After a bit, I couldn’t hear the engine anymore.

  “I know you,” I said. “You disguised your voice. You’re someone I know.” But it was hard to feel any satisfaction at that tidbit with my shoulders slumped so low.

  Chapter 34

  I ran the rest of the way to Natalie’s. The Gardens were in an uproar when I got there: people shouted and ran up and down the block, doors were slamming.

  A Hmong woman was shrieking in the middle of the street, one blast after another, so loud and unrelenting I wondered that she could have that much breath inside of her. Her extended family surrounded her.

  I ran inside Natalie’s house without knocking, and snatched up the phone. “We already called,” Natalie said, but I ignored her as I jammed away at the buttons.

  A female voice answered in a clipped nasal twang: “911 dispatch, what is your emergency?”

  “We just had a stranger child abduction here. He took her up Moose Creek Road; we need an Amber Alert ASAP.”

  “What is your location?”

  “The Gardens.”

  The dispatcher was silent for a few moments. “Off
icers will arrive shortly to take your report, sir,” she finally said.

  “What’s their ETA?” I demanded. “We need police response, like right now.”

  “You need to calm yourself, sir. I cannot give you an ETA at this time.”

  I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle her. “Listen, bitch. While you’re dicking the dog here, he’s got her. You want that on your conscience?”

  “I don’t have to take that kind of attitude from the likes of you, Markus,” she said, and the line went dead.

  “You ever go to catch an elevator, but there’s someone already waiting for it that got there ahead of you?” Natalie asked in that same tired voice. “And you see the button’s lit up; you know that person pressed it before you even got there. But you still got to push that button anyway, more than once even, just in case that first person pressed it wrong or something.”

  She gave me a haunted look before walking slowly back into Little Moe’s room. I went outside.

  “He’s never done that before, grab somebody from right here in the Gardens instead of out in town,” Big Moe said, resembling Eeyore more than ever. “This is new. He’s stepping it up.”

  “We live in Stagger Bay too, but we’ve always been apart, even in the middle of all these goings on.” Moe gestured toward where the lights of Stagger Bay proper shone against the night sky on the other side of the wooded ridge. “They’re all against us; we’re outnumbered and outgunned. If we ever stand all the way up, the whole town will just march out here and wipe us off the planet.”

  We headed toward the entrance to the Gardens. Two black-and-whites were parked there nose to nose blocking the road, their strobing trouble lights spinning like idiot dervishes. Reese and another officer leaned against their rollers with riot guns in their hands.

  “There’s the Driver right there,” Moe said, indicating Reese.

  “How do you know?” I asked.