Coldwater

by Tom Pitts

  She looked at him, regarding his obvious hangover. “And you want to go back?”

  “I can’t think of anywhere else, my brain is too frazzled. Besides, it’s walking distance. C’mon, I’m buying.”

  At San Francisco General, on the sixth floor of building two, in Ward 85, Gary Carson moved his finger. The first flicker of his digit went unnoticed, but while a nurse technician was checking the bank of machinery plugged and beeping to keep him alive, he noticed the surge of activity on the monitor. When he turned to check the patient, he saw the finger move, then the whole hand.

  At first the nurse frowned at the hand, as if he’d caught it doing something it wasn’t supposed to be doing. He checked the monitor again, then, reflexively, his heavy metal clipboard. He watched the hand now, seeing it twitter and shake. He gently removed the gauze that had been taped over the patient’s eyes to keep them from drying out, and damned if he didn’t see a flutter of the eyelids.

  He murmured, “Looks like someone is waking up,” and left the room to fetch the head neurologist on duty.

  It was a different staff but the same crowd as the night before. Being a weekday, they didn’t have to wait and were seated in a quiet booth near the back near a large saltwater aquarium.

  When they were settled in and the waiter had poured them two more cups of coffee—Linda getting decaf and Calper making a point of saying he needed his “leaded”—Linda broke into the subject once again.

  “Are you telling me the kid who broke into that house, the animal I watched murder his friend in cold blood, is the Perkins’ nephew?”

  “That’s it. He’s the golden goose. Ol’ DeWildt brought me on as an interventionist. Someone who could lasso his kid, bring him in from the cold. I realize now the whole plan was to knock the kid off.”

  “His own son,” Linda said again. She’d said it at least six times since she walked through the door of Calper’s apartment.

  Calper sipped his coffee. “It’s strange though. They initially brought me in for surveillance. The kids—three of ’em, Jason, Juliet, and Bomber—were running wild in Hollywood, then out in Irvine. I tailed ’em and reported back to the old man. I thought the job was over when they made me.”

  “But they brought you back.”

  “Yeah, when they found out they were up in Sacramento. This was after what happened to Juliet.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  “She got jumped. Beaten half to death. I figured it was just an occupational hazard of the lifestyle they led. I didn’t know she was pregnant. I didn’t think—not then anyway—DeWildt was behind it. Now I realize they set me up for it.”

  The waiter appeared and took their orders. Neither had a chance to peek at the menu, so Calper began to order the brunch special for both of them. Linda halted Calper with her hand and asked the waiter if she could please just get a Cobb salad, reminding Calper it was a little late for breakfast.

  When the waiter had retreated, she asked, “So why did they think it was you?”

  “It happened the day I met her. For the first time. They were in a motel room in Irvine, an old Motel 6 that’d been turned over and downgraded, a real shithole, and she comes walking right up to my car. Tells me she knows who I am and knows I’m working for the old man.”

  “That was it?”

  “No, she says to go tell the old man to fuck himself, that Jason is never coming home. That they’re in love and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m thinking she’s on drugs and it was the speed talking, but she says DeWildt’s name. At that point I figure there’s no point in hiding anything. I tell her, okay, I’ll pass the message, thinking the job is over now. I’ve screwed the pooch and probably won’t be getting paid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t do what I was supposed to. I was supposed to tail ’em, get a bead, then, eventually, bring in the boy. When I got spotted by the kids, I hit the road. The attack happened later that day. They had someone else waiting to go in. Didn’t matter that I wasn’t the one who went after her, it looked like I was orchestrating the thing. Apparently that was by design. When my cover was blown, they pulled me off. I didn’t hear from Taber again for a month.”

  “Taber?”

  “Ashton Taber, DeWildt’s in-house attorney. He’s a wormy little fucker. Anyway, they called me up and said Jason was up in San Francisco, probably at Ronnell’s place out at Ocean Beach. By the time I got to the city, they tell me he’s up in Sacramento. So that’s where I went.”

  Their plates arrived, Linda’s Cobb salad and some kind of egg and potato scramble heaped with salsa for Calper. They picked up their forks and stayed silent for the first few bites.

  “How is it?” Calper asked.

  She shrugged and said fine.

  While they ate, the conversation turned more personal, Linda asking questions about Calper. How he ended up in this kind of business, how he found his clients, where he grew up, and was he married. She was mining for information but the result was pleasant conversation, something the both of them currently lacked in their lives.

  “What did you say you call yourself? A fixer?”

  “Sounds ominous, I know. But that’s what I do. I fix things. Problems. My first job was for a big-name director whose daughter was out on the streets selling herself. She hated her old man and was running on speed and spite. I managed to get her into a rehab without anyone knowing and that’s what kickstarted my career. Actors who went missing, tough-talking union reps, producers syphoning cash. There’re a lot of issues that need tending to when you make a movie. Especially these behemoths they’re spending two hundred mil on. They need a fixer. This is the kind of stuff I fix. I was never licensed as a private investigator and the name fit, so I used it. Like a tag line. I’ve even got cards. Wanna see one?”

  She shook her head with a mouth full of salad. The waiter came by again and asked if they wanted refills on their coffees. Calper waved him off, asking if he could return with the check.

  “So what were you asked to fix for the DeWildts?”

  “Just what I told you. The first job was only to find the son. It was another find-the-spoiled-rich-junkie case. At least that’s what I thought at the time.”

  “After all that’s happened, now what do you think?”

  “Since I’ve been back—recuperating from this damn bullet hole in my chest—I’ve been able to do some deep research. They say everything is out there online, but it’s not necessarily true. Sometimes you gotta head down to the courthouse and do some digging on your own. When the other brother, Bill Jr., died a little over a year ago, he left all his wealth to his sister. Combining that with what she already controlled left her with a bigger slice of the pie than Stephan. More juice. Then, a few months before your neighbors moved out, Abigail Perkins—the former Abigail DeWildt—filed a trust. A sort of living will that left all her shares—in other words, all her power—to Jason. It was a big ‘fuck you’ to her brother. If Jason produced an heir, the trust would transfer to the heir. The old man wanted no heir, that’s why he had me looking for them, because he wanted to make sure Juliet produced no child.”

  Calper took a bite of potatoes and continued talking with his mouth full. “How he knew she was pregnant, I have no idea. And I had no idea she was pregnant while I was searching for them either. Maybe Jason called to ask him for money. That certainly seemed to be his MO. Anyway, from reading the trust, I now realize Stephan wanted Jason alive, so the kid could eventually sign the shares back over to his father. I guess Stephan had a plan to bring the boy back into fold.”

  “What changed?”

  “I’ll tell you what changed: Ol’ Stephan did an end-run on the catch Abigail worked into the trust. The trust stated that if there was no heir then, in lieu of Jason’s death, all her stock was to be transferred to a kind of a charity, some philanthropic corporation she’d picked out.” Calper paused for a sip of c
old coffee. “Since the trust was filed—while all this shit was going on—Stephan bought out the corporation where the stock was to be transferred. Now, he’ll be able to bring it all back under his tent.”

  “If Jason dies.”

  “When Jason dies.”

  “What about Abigail herself? What does she have to say about this?”

  “Abigail is dead.”

  “What?”

  Calper leaned in. “Both the Perkins. They were killed in a car accident near Yosemite. No one knows what they were doing down there or how it happened. No obits, or services, nothing.”

  “You buy that?”

  “Of course not. It’s almost exactly the way William Jr. died last year. Stephan is consolidating his power. The man makes Machiavelli look like Mother Teresa.”

  Linda leaned back in her chair, the epiphany starting to take root. All she and Gary had been through. For what? The pointlessness was mindboggling. It was only a cruel twist of fate that trapped them in the vortex of one man’s insatiable greed.

  “When we get back,” Calper said, “if you can wait a few minutes, there’s a few things I’d like to check online. Some medical record stuff on Juliet. See if this baby story checks out.”

  “I thought medical records were private.”

  “I’ve got a friend who works at an insurance agency. They can get almost anything. I want to find out about this baby. How many weeks along was she, that kind of thing.”

  “You think the baby is the key, why all this started?”

  “You think it’s the key. It was the first thing out of your mouth when you walked in my door.”

  She set down her fork. “Gary and I, before we came to Sacramento, almost a year now.” Her upper lip quivered, as though it was holding back what she was about to say. It was the most personal thing she could divulge, and to share it with this stranger, this man she didn’t know, this man she came so far to accuse, seemed wrong. But she spoke anyway. “We lost one. A little girl. It nearly destroyed us. That’s why we were in Sac. Trying to rebuild. Trying to save our marriage, trying to save us.”

  Calper nodded like he understood, but he didn’t. The waiter arrived with the check tucked in a leather fold and Calper reached out and took it from him. He stuck cash in with the bill and dropped it on the table.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s walk back.”

  They walked back at a brisk clip. The late autumn air whipped around them in gusts. Their conversation slowed, and they soon slipped into an easy silence. A car rolled by with bass pulsing out of its speakers and Linda said, “You know, I’ve never really liked LA.”

  Calper smiled. “I hear that a lot.”

  They crossed Vine and turned left toward Calper’s apartment. Linda asked if she needed to move her car. Calper pointed to the car occupying a spot in front of his complex. “Is that it there? No, it’s fine. We won’t be long.”

  He opened the heavy metal gate and they walked into the open courtyard and past the unused pool. The small talk continued.

  Linda asked, “You been here long?”

  “Here or somewhere like it. There’s a million of these little apartment complexes in LA.”

  They trudged up the stone steps. Calper keyed the lock and swung the front door open into the musty dark. Linda followed him inside. As she turned to close the apartment’s door, a small wiry man appeared in the doorway. Backlit by the afternoon sun, she couldn’t see his face.

  “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

  Calper reached the kitchenette and spun around when he heard the voice.

  “Taber. What’re you doing here?”

  Taber didn’t answer, instead he said, “I see you have company. Branching out, I guess. Covering your bases, eh, Calper?”

  He shut the door behind him, evening out the dim light of the room. Linda saw him now. Taber was diminutive, pointed and insect-like, his mouth twisted into something other than a smile as though he were tasting something sour.

  “Taber, this is Linda. Linda, Ashton Taber.”

  Taber said, “I know exactly who she is.”

  It took a second for it to register, but Linda looked down and in Taber’s right hand, held tight against the seam of his jeans, was a big black handgun.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Nice fucking accessorizing, Taber.” Calper nodded toward the pistol. It was a Smith and Wesson .38 with a shrouded hammer. The snubnosed firearm looked unusually large in Taber’s small hands.

  Taber spoke slow and direct, trying to emphasize his shock, disgust, and anger. “What is she doing here?”

  “She’s looking for answers. She wants to know why her husband is sitting in a coma. Is that so hard to comprehend?”

  But Taber wasn’t listening. His eyes darted around the apartment. “Come out from behind the counter, Calper.” He raised the gun. “Don’t fuckin’ try anything either.” He swung the barrel toward Linda. “You too. Don’t be foolish. You’ve already got your husband living in a hospital bed, you don’t wanna join him.”

  Calper stepped toward Taber, slow and deliberate. “What’re you doing, Taber? What’s with the gun? We some sort of threat to you? What’re you thinking, pulling out that thing in my home?”

  “Shut up, Calper. Don’t fucking move. I’m trying to think.” The short barrel swiveled between Taber’s two targets, from Calper’s chest to Linda’s. He seemed to be calculating odds in his head, but the sour lemon look hadn’t left his mouth.

  “Wait a second, you brought that thing upstairs with you, didn’t you? You come here to kill me, Taber? Tie up loose ends for the old man?”

  “No. Fuck no. I came here to talk business and I find you consorting with the fucking enemy. What the fuck, Calper? What’s going on?”

  “I told you—”

  “Never mind. Save it. We’re going to the house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The three of us. Now. In your car.”

  Calper’s car was parked under an overhang near the rear of the complex. A seven-year-old Camry made before they changed over to hybrids. Taber pointed to the driver’s seat for Calper and ordered Linda to sit in the front on the passenger side. When they were seated, Taber got in back, saying, “What a piece of shit, Calper. With the money we pay you, you can’t get a nicer ride?”

  Calper glanced up into the rearview. “I guess I have a different set of priorities than you do, Ashton.”

  They sat for a moment, the engine not yet started, the windows all rolled up.

  “Okay,” Calper said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Cell phones.” He said it, but neither Calper nor Linda moved. “C’mon, c’mon. Cell phones, lemme have ’em.”

  They handed over the phones and Taber looked at them, wondering if he should be checking them for outgoing calls or turning them off. He set them on the seat beside him.

  “Start the car.”

  Calper turned the ignition and raised his eyebrows as if to say, what next?

  “Drive. Take the 101, not the 10. You know where we’re going.” Taber held the gun barrel behind Calper’s right ear, poking him with it every few seconds.

  They’d gone a few blocks north on Vine when an LAPD squad car passed in the opposite direction. Taber said, “You do anything stupid, cause an accident, get pulled over, I’m letting one go, right in the back of your head.” His voice ratcheted up once again. “I’m sick of this shit. Fucking sick of it.”

  “When did you start carrying a gun? Stephan give you a promotion?”

  “Shut up. I mean it.”

  “You ever even fire that thing?”

  “Just fucking drive, Calper. Do what you’re supposed to.”

  Traffic bogged the streets and the 101 freeway looked even worse, so they worked their way out of the grid of Hollywood streets and began to weave up into the hills, Taber telling Calper to t
ake a right here or a left there, stealing quick peeks over his shoulder. When they were deep in the hills heading west, Taber picked up his own phone and dialed, keeping it close to Calper’s head so he didn’t have to move the .38.

  “It’s me. I’m on the way there…I’ve got him with me…I showed up and found him with the woman…the woman from Sacramento…I don’t know…nothing…I don’t know…I’ve got them both with me…maybe forty minutes, traffic is fucked…all right.”

  He severed the connection and dropped the phone beside the others on the seat.

  “You forgot to tell him you’ve got your brand-new gun stuck in my ear.”

  Taber didn’t respond.

  “You should’ve let him know you’re bringing a kidnapping charge to his doorstep, he’d love that.”

  Taber jabbed Calper with the pistol once more. “You don’t know shit, Calper. You’re always trying to play it cool, but you don’t know shit. I wanna know what you and the Mrs. were up to.” He swung the pistol over and tapped the side of Linda’s head. “What the fuck were you two talking about? Huh?”

  Linda didn’t respond. She gripped her knees and kept her eyes set straight ahead. She remained frozen with her teeth clamped together, telling herself she’d been here before. She’d survived it then and she’d survive it now. One man with a gun, the odds were better than last time. She need only be patient and wait for the right opportunity. Hold still. Be patient. Wait.

  When they arrived at the DeWildt estate, the wrought-iron gates stood open. Otherwise the place looked abandoned. No cars in the manicured semi-circle driveway, the garages all sealed. No landscapers clipping and trimming like the last time Calper was here, just the house and the wind.

  Taber ordered them out of the car, snapping commands while he tried to time his own exit. “Go, go, go,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance with his gun.

  They walked, single file, up three wide marble steps and to the heavy oak double doors. Linda then Calper with Taber behind them, pistol at his hip. Before Linda reached the thick wiry welcome mat, the right side of the doors swung open. And Stephan DeWildt was waiting there, smiling.