by James, Ed
“It sounds like he’s older than you, Kaitlyn.”
“Ten years.”
“What did I tell you about older men?”
“Mom, please.”
“How did you meet?”
“I worked in this bar. He used to drink there with his buddies. Then he started coming in on his own, and we hit it off. Went on a date and… You want me to fill you in on the rest?”
“I can imagine.” Mom lowered herself into her chair. “Where is he now?”
“At home, I presume.”
“You presume? Oh, Kaitlyn, he’s married, isn’t he?”
“Was. He’s single. Divorced back in San Fran. He’s not on the scene anymore.”
“What did you do?”
I down the milk in one go and wipe my hand. “Why do you assume it was me who messed up? Huh?”
Mom raises her eyebrows in that real judgey way, just like she always does. “I wonder why, Kaitlyn.” Her voice is getting real loud now. “Is it really over? Can’t you make up?”
“He’s not a nice person. Trust me. I found out the hard way.”
“We can sue him for paternity, okay? He’ll pay you and—”
“Mom. Give me a break, okay? This is all fresh to me. Sure, I want to take that bastard for all he’s worth, get on his medical insurance, get him to pay for Cole’s school and upbringing.” Almost slipped there. “But I need to sort myself out first. Okay?”
Mom stares at me for a few seconds, then rests her head in her hands, her elbows cracking off the wooden table. “How could you, Kaitlyn?”
“Had to learn something from you, huh?”
And that does it. She looks over, her face filled with fury, twisted up, teeth bared. Anger. Pain. Resentment. Disappointment. She snorts again. “That baby monitor is crackling and keeps cutting out.” She gets to her feet. “I’ll go to the store.” Acting like it’s all okay.
“Mom, the store is miles away. I don’t want to be alone.”
“It’s okay. They opened a new twenty-four hour one just around the block. Been real handy since… Well.” She grabs her coat and wallet. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Wait.” I walk over to the door and hug her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine. We’ll put it behind us, okay?” She smiles at me. “They opened a twenty-four-hour store last year, just after you left. They have everything. A whole aisle of paint. Can you imagine?”
“Mom, where’s Duke?”
She opens the front door and holds it. “He’s not well, Kaitlyn.” She pecks me on the cheek then leaves, the door clicking not slamming. Seconds later, her Honda sparks into life, spluttering like a heavy smoker.
Duke would never let it get like that.
Where is he?
I grab the monitor off the table and listen to Ky—damnit!—to Cole’s soft breathing and gurgling. He’s safe here. I’m safe here. Just for how long?
Thirty-Six
CHASE
01:15
“I’ll be in touch, but take care getting home.” Special Agent Lori Alves hadn’t let her good cop act slip any. “Sure you don’t want a lift back?”
“I’ll get a cab.” Chase smiled at her. “Or I might walk.”
“Okay. Well, good night.” She opened the Field Office’s door and let him out.
The cold air hit Chase’s face like a sheet of ice in north Alberta. His breath plumed in the air and freezing rain lashed his face. With a final nod, he walked off down Third toward Madison. Pretty much a straight run up there, mostly avoiding Capitol Hill. Be about an hour, but the rain was starting to do a good job of clearing his head.
He stopped at the crosswalk and glanced behind him. No sign of a tail, but he crossed the road and set off up Madison.
If the FBI had anything on him, they would’ve already presented him with it. They wouldn’t let him walk out the door. Unless there was a car following him. Maybe an agent on foot.
A homeless guy pushed his shopping cart over the road despite the cars flying at him. Two businessmen chatted about who was the best Batman actor.
Both would fit.
He sped off up the street. Maybe he should get a Lyft to drop him at his car down the street from Landon’s. And Jen’s. He waited at the next crosswalk, I-5 rumbling away below.
A car pulled up next to him, the window down. Marie Edwards, pouting at him. “You want a lift, friend?”
Worse than the FBI, he was now in the shit with Zangiev, someone you didn’t want to get in the shit with. He’d set off a powder keg. He checked back for any traffic in case he could jaywalk away from her, but there was a flood heading his way. “No, Marie. I’m good.”
“That’s a matter of perspective.” She grinned. “Mr. Zangiev wants a word.”
“He has my cell number. Get him to call me in the morning.”
“You know Boris. Not a man you want to mess with. He ain’t happy with the FBI visiting him. Not happy I’m on their radar too. I was in there for hours. Just got out.”
“I’ll avoid him then.”
“No, no, no. He wants to see you. Now.”
Chase tried to process his options. Nothing stuck, nothing seemed possible. Nobody around to hear his cry for help. Those possible tails had disappeared.
“Do me a favor, Chase, and get in the car, would you?”
“Okay.” Chase opened the door and took his time sitting down. Checking out the interior for anything suspicious.
Just Marie behind the wheel, dressed to kill. “You better put your seatbelt on.”
Chase reached up for the belt, but it stuck. He tugged at it, but it wouldn’t come. He twisted around.
Something pricked his neck.
Everything went black.
Thirty-Seven
KAITLYN
01:20
I walk down the hall, past the room Cole is sleeping in, and stop outside the door with the Man Cave sign. Sounds like Pulp Fiction. Again. I ease the door open and peer in.
On the giant screen, John Travolta and Uma Thurman are dancing barefoot. Duke’s splayed out on a sofa, tugging on a hand-rolled cigarette. Smells like dope. Baseball cap and green overalls, like he’s just been toiling in his workshop. But he’s super thin and looks a generation older than Mom. “Kaitlyn?” He doesn’t sit up, but his eyes are wide like a scared cat. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside and it’s like an icebox in there. The window’s open wide. “Mom went to the store.”
Some pictures hang on the wall, a long row, all artfully framed, all black and white, with Duke rocking on a stage with a Fender Jazz bass, weighing about eighty pounds more, looking about twenty years younger. I was there, and it was only two years back.
Duke turns off the screen and takes another rasping toke on his joint. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s a long story.” I smile at him. “Not so long ago you’d have given me hell about a joint.”
“Times change, Kittycat. This is medicinal, not recreational.” He twists his bony neck around to exhale at the open window. “I have cancer.”
It hits me like a train. I collapse into the seat opposite. “Cancer?”
“Smoking this helps manage the pain.” He takes off his cap. His hair’s almost entirely gone. “Getting chemo, but it’s stage three. Docs says it’s still hopeful, but I think he’s just stringing me along.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No.” He fixes me with a hard stare. “Why would you?”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Duke.”
“You gotta go sometime, right?” He laughs and takes another pull on his joint. As the smoke claws up to the open window, his face darkens, like we’re about to have one of those chats. “I overheard the conversation with your mother. You kinda went too far, Kittycat. Don’t speak ill of the dead. Didn’t I teach you that?”
I don’t have an answer for him. “I’m sorry, Duke. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s been
a hell of a day.”
Duke pushes himself up and—my god—he’s like a walking skeleton. Skin and bone, literally. One final toke, deep into his lungs. He stubs out his joint in an ashtray, leaving the roach in a pile. “When you left, it broke your mother’s heart.”
“I just wanted to go to college. That’s all.”
“And she wanted you to go too, but that course wasn’t right for you.” Smoke wisps out of his nostrils. “How’d that work out for you?”
“I dropped out, okay? Fell in love with the wrong man, had a kid, and that relationship fell apart. I’ve made such a mess. I’m such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess. You’re just young. I could give you a load of stuff about having your whole life ahead of you, but… Well. You’re defining it now. What you do at your age shapes your life.”
“You had a second chance.”
“That was different. Don’t count on second chances.”
I know I could open up to him, tell him the truth, and he wouldn’t judge me. Maybe he would even help me decide what the hell to do. But I don’t.
Duke stares at me for a few seconds, then yawns. “I’m tired, Kittycat, and I need to sleep. Can I see your boy?”
“Sure.” I help him up and he’s like Gramps—Mom’s dad—just before he died. Duke’s only like fifty-three, though, whereas Gramps was eighty or something. I open the door to my old room and Cole’s asleep in his crib.
Duke leans against the crib, but I swear to god he wipes away tears. He whispers, “He has your face.”
“I know.” I have to cover my mouth and swallow something hard down. “I know.”
“Good night, Kittycat.” He kisses my cheek and shuffles off, each step seeming to hurt like a knife in the back. Their bedroom door opens and closes, and I’m still standing there, watching Cole just breathing.
Then the front door opens and footsteps thunder toward me. Mom stands in the doorway, holding up a box for a fancy baby monitor, the exact same model that was in Ky’s room when I took him.
Cole’s room.
I put my finger to my lips.
She smiles at me, then joins me at the crib and starts opening the box. Usually, that kinda thing would take hours of screwing around and swearing over the instructions, but she attaches it in seconds. She takes my hand and leads me back out, closing the door behind us. She holds up the other monitor and the sound of Cole’s breathing is crystal clear, like I’m at the movies, not the pair of tin cans stuck together with string like my old one.
“Come on.” Mom leads me back to the kitchen. “They had some clothes on sale too. I bought them for Cole.” She passes me a paper bag. “Here.”
Makes me think of Keegan’s act of charity and how I repaid that. “I can’t take them, Mom.”
“Listen to me, Kaitlyn. I want the best for my grandson. Okay?”
I swallow down fresh tears. “Okay, Mom.”
Day 2
Wednesday, October 14, 2020
Thirty-Eight
CHASE
07:30
Something cold slapped across Chase’s face and he jerked awake. Pitch black, fabric rubbing against his temples. A loud drone. Meaning he was in a car, maybe.
How long had he been out?
Someone gripped his arm and took off his mask. Light burst through the windows, making him squint. They were crossing a bridge. Was that Bellevue over there? Meaning the freeway across Mercer Island.
Edwards was behind the wheel. Chase was in the back, Marie next to him, popping bubblegum as she texted someone. She held a dripping cloth, and a sleep mask rested on the leather upholstery between them.
His skull hurt like someone had gone to town on him with a sledgehammer. He reached up to check for injuries, but something jangled. Cuffs. He tried moving his wrists, but the cuffs were locked in somewhere.
“Look who’s back with us.” Edwards looked at him with a grin more gum than teeth. “You have a nice and restful sleep?”
Marie still typed on her cell, still chewing gum.
Edwards craned his neck around. “I said, he’s awake?”
“Next exit.” Pop, then another bubble almost immediately.
“Right.” Edwards pulled off the freeway and took the first off-ramp.
Chase made eye contact with Marie, but received nothing other than a dead-eyed glare from her. “What did you do?”
Marie smiled. She had either avoided her brother’s affliction or had some serious dental work. “Gave you a little prick. You enjoyed it.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere with a nice view.”
Chase tried to assess his options. Nothing came to mind.
“You should’ve learnt to keep your mouth shut, buddy.” Edwards pulled into a parking lot and tore across the bumpy asphalt toward a waiting Lexus. “Get out.”
“I can’t. You cuffed me in.”
Marie reached over him, blasting cheap perfume over his face. Click. “You’re good to go.”
Chase flexed his wrists, but his left burned with agony where she’d bent it back. He got out. Felt early, but the October sunlight was blinding. What the hell had she given him?
The passenger door of the Lexus opened and Zangiev took his time getting out, his face set hard. “Let’s go for a walk, Charles.”
“I hate that name.”
“I know.”
Chase followed him across the parking lot toward a viewpoint over Lake Washington to downtown Seattle on the left and Bellevue straight ahead. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Bartlett, you know me. And you know I am a man who doesn’t like agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I especially don’t like them being in my hotel, asking about my business and my connections to you and your family.”
Chase gripped the guardrail and stared down at the foaming brine. A long way to go. Could he push Zangiev over? Could he get away from Edwards and Marie in time? They both sat on the car’s roof, legs dangling down the windshield like kids in some teen movie. Both held guns, the metal catching the morning sun.
“Mr. Bartlett, did you talk to them? Did you mention my name?”
Chase gave up on any plan of attacking Zangiev. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Chase stared at the clustered towers of Bellevue over the choppy water. Fresh salt air tickled his nostrils.
“Let me put it another way.” Zangiev clapped Chase’s arm and sent a jolt of pain into his sore wrist, then pointed over the water. “I own a large chunk of real estate over in Bellevue. It’s a growth market for sure, and I have seven construction projects in various stages. One is building another skyscraper, which actually pains me as it’s getting too built up around there, don’t you think? Another is a mall. All across America, they’re mothballing them and here I am building a new one because there’s demand for it. But that’s capitalism. Supply and demand. And it all adds up to a lot of concrete, more than enough to lose a body very easily, and forever.”
Chase knew he had no choice but to give him the truth. He sucked in the fresh air, maybe for the last time, depending on how he played this. “Okay, so I told them about you.”
Zangiev’s eyes flickered. “Because you were worried about the missing baby?”
“You got any nephews or nieces?”
“I have a sister in St. Petersburg. I would do anything to protect her children.”
Chase had an angle now. Something to press and push and try to break. “Well, I was trying to help my brother.”
“The brother who you get along so well with.” Zangiev slapped a hand to his own chest. Sarcastic asshole. “What made you think I’d taken Ky?”
Chase gave him a shrug.
“Mr. Bartlett, I myself am really concerned about Ky. I’ve done everything I can to help the authorities find him. I even told the FBI what a little birdie told me about your marriage.”
Chase clenched his fists tight, not that there was any way he could lash ou
t at him without catching a couple of bullets.
So it was Zangiev who’d put him right in the middle of the investigation. Quid pro quo. The FBI no doubt had both their photos stuck to a board in a room somewhere, pins and threads connecting Chase to Zangiev.
But if they did have him in their sights, surely they wouldn’t have let him go without a tail.
Then again, he’d been unconscious for—he tried to remember the dashboard clock in the car—six hours, maybe seven. Enough time to start a manhunt for a missing prime suspect. But pinning his hopes of salvation on the FBI seemed like a forlorn idea.
“Mr. Bartlett, I simply cannot have the authorities investigating my businesses.” Zangiev gave him a sideways glance. “I can see you squirming and reaching and searching for an angle, so let me reassure you that your sole route out of here is to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god.”
“There a Bible I can swear on?”
“You’re not a Christian, Mr. Bartlett.” He smirked. “What do you know?”
“Nothing, I swear. I just saw you—”
Crack.
Zangiev’s fist shot across and a ring dug into Chase’s front teeth.
He tasted blood. “What the hell?”
Zangiev grabbed Chase’s arms and stared deep into his eyes. “What do you know?”
“That implies there’s something to know.”
Zangiev tightened his grip and made Chase look down at the rocks below. “Push is coming to shove, my friend. Speak.”
Out over the lake, sunlight cracked through the steel clouds, and it gave Chase a glimmer of hope. The truth can take on many different flavors. Back at the car, both Edwards siblings were now popping gum. “Your guy, Edwards, he paid me a visit, started putting the pressure on. Said that Landon was having doubts about your deal. If he talked to me about it, I was supposed to persuade him.”
