Jason came around. He put his arm across her shoulders. She didn’t move.
He searched for words that might fit. Something about what you couldn’t help, couldn’t expect. You could only do so much. Teenagers.
Nothing came out.
His iPhone vibrated in his pocket.
Kathy reached for the empty glass and saucers and pulled away from him. At the sink, she rinsed the dishes and leaned over to slot them into the dishwasher. Then she rose and stood in front of the running faucet, looking out the window above the sink, into the backyard.
“He wasn’t a gang member, you know. Nothing like that. And he wasn’t a druggie. He just had some friends that used, and he tried it a few times. That’s no reason to write him off. I never did. You never did.” Sunlight from the window made the straight ridge of her nose glow. “Maybe I overreacted. If I had taken it in stride more, maybe it would’ve just passed. A phase.”
“Maybe so. Maybe not. You did all the right things, Kath.”
She turned off the water but left her palm resting on the handle. Her eyes returned to the window.
“You sleeping at all?”
She frowned. “I got a prescription. But every time I go to take it, I think about that dream.” She swallowed. “No. Not sleeping.”
“It’ll be different at the ranch. Don’t you think?”
“Sure. Sure. But I have this weird thought that Greg’s out there, wandering around lost, wanting to come back, and if I leave here he won’t be able to come home. He won’t be able to get in.” She turned to him. Her eyes were dry.
The iPhone vibrated again. Three buzzing tones floated out of his pocket and through the room like a fly against a pane of glass.
“Somebody’s trying to reach you.”
“They can wait.”
Her hand appeared to force the faucet handle further. But the water was already off. “Well. Thanks for coming by. I appreciate it. I’ll keep in touch.” She stepped past him, and he followed her to the door.
“I’m thinking of bringing on Brenda Tierney while you’re out. You know her?”
Kathy was in the dark foyer now, reaching for the knob, cranking it and pulling the door open, letting the light stream in. She leaned against the edge of the door. For the first time, Jason noticed that she stood stooped, her neck at an angle, as if the thoughts and sorrow in her head carried too much weight.
“Of course. She works in HR.” Kathy reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and brought her face up next to his.
Her lips touched his jaw briefly, and she withdrew. “Good-bye, Jason.”
No words occurred to him. Even after all she’d done for him, all the days she’d covered for him and planned for him, propped him up when he was dragging. After all the ribbing and laughing. After the tears when she confided in him through her divorce and Greg’s rebellion. After strings of ten-plus-hour days. She had worked for him and stuck by him in every downturn and upswing for four years. All this, and no words of support entered his mind.
“Call me when you’re back,” was what he said. “There’ll always be a spot for you.”
As if that would help.
9
Tom Cole’s pate tingled with the beat of the sun. Even this early the Hollywood air was stiff with smog.
He’d spent way too much time on Flip since seeing his bruised hands, but what could he do? Of all his parolees, this one disturbed him most.
Now Tom was back for another official visit. As soon as he mounted the stairs, the little men with pitchforks got busy in his knees. They jabbed with every step, and he cursed them silently, pulling himself up by the banister. His steps were slow, tired.
He’d been up since 3:41. The homicide dick had apologized for calling him at home so early, but Danton couldn’t wait until a decent hour after finding the flag Tom had placed on Flip’s information in the Law Enforcement Agencies Data System. Tom had stared at the clock, watching the digits turn as he talked to Danton, nagged by the image of Flip’s damaged hands.
A teenager. Beaten to death and dumped behind a gas station. Last Tuesday.
They had gone over the evidence. The stolen car with the teenager’s blood in it had been left three miles south of where the body had been found. No fingerprints other than the owner’s. All the blood in the car belonged to the kid. The techs were still working on the fibers recovered from the kid’s body, but the only conclusive findings matched what was in the car or the last places the kid had visited.
Nothing put Flip at the scene. Tom’s gut told him with absolute assurance that Flip had done this, but with no evidence, Danton wouldn’t haul him in just to listen to him lie. Danton knew interrogating a convict like Flip was pointless unless you had something on him, and even then he’d deny it. All Danton said they could do was watch him and hope he made a mistake.
Sure Flip was going to lie. Tom had been at this long enough to know that. But there were other potential victims out here, and maybe if Flip knew he was suspected, he’d lie low. Maybe it would keep some other teenager alive. It was worth a try. If Danton wasn’t willing to do it, Tom would do it himself.
Tom’s nostrils tingled with the dust floating in the air in the hallway. A radio played a tinny version of Tom Petty singing about refugees. Behind another door the senseless music and audience uproar of a game show blared. Finally he came to number 312. He waited for a moment, listening. No voices, no movement inside. The game show noise from down the hall reached a crescendo and was abruptly cut off by a commercial jingle.
He knocked.
The door opened and the man stood before him. Flip turned his back and marched away to collapse onto the sofa. Dust from the impact puffed into a column of light cast into the room from the window.
Flip squinted. “Close those blinds, will you?”
Tom hesitated. But Flip looked more like a hospital patient than a convict at the moment.
He entered the room and left the door open. The smell of Flip and soiled surfaces and dirty dishes rose up to meet him. The stench was sour, like something a caged animal might emit. He went to the window and tried to open it for fresh air, but it was painted shut.
“You need to talk to your landlord about these windows.”
Flip’s eyes were slits against the sunlight. “Just drop the blinds.” He brought a hand up and turned his head and let his hand fall back to the sofa cushion next to him.
Tom didn’t close the blinds. The sunlight warmed his back. The holster resting at his kidney grew warm too.
“You just going to stand there staring at me?”
“I guess you really are sick. Have you been to see a doctor?”
“No.”
“So what’s the matter with you?”
“Close those blinds!” Flip’s hair was mashed flat into his head on the left, and the sofa had left an imprint on that side of his face, where it was meshed and red like something grilled. Under his eyes, shaded circles drooped, the color of old bruises.
Flip’s mouth snarled upward. He rose from the sofa and came at Tom with an arm raised. Tom fought the reflex to reach for his weapon and stepped aside. Flip grabbed the string controlling the blinds and swung it to one side. The blinds cascaded down to angle the light away from the floor.
Flip returned to the sofa. “What do you want, anyway? I didn’t miss a meeting.”
“Just wanted to say get well soon.”
Flip snorted. “Okay, now you believe I’m sick and I didn’t skip town. You can go.” He lay inclined on the sofa with one leg extended to his side, one foot on the floor. His jeans were once black but already showed gray patches on the thighs and knees. He hadn’t been out that long. He must have been wearing them every day.
“Manny’s not going to hold that job open for you forever. You better take some vitamins, Convict.”
That brought a squinting eye open. He held the one eye wide, Popeye style, for a minute, then let it drift closed again. “I can find another job.”
/> “You’re out of work. That’s a violation.”
“What do you want me to do?” He started cursing and Tom let him.
“You need another copy of the conditions of your parole?”
“You think I want to be sick? I’ll go back as soon as I can.”
Tom moved away from the window and behind the sofa, toward the kitchen entrance. The dishes piled in the sink rose well above counter level now. A couple of flies pirouetted in the space above the putrid stack.
Broken glass littered the floor in the corner. A brown stain decorated the wall. It looked like a jellyfish, tentacles sagging downward.
“You need a new maid.”
“Why don’t you get out of here?” Flip’s voice, pointed in the other direction, seemed disembodied. Tom turned and looked at the back of Flip’s round, black-stubbled head propped to one side against his fist.
He wandered into the bedroom. The blinds in here were drawn to block out the sunlight. Sheets now covered the bed, or nearly covered it. On one corner the sheet was peeled back to reveal the gray stripes of the mattress. Imagining Flip making a bed brought a grin to Tom’s face.
From the other room, Flip called out, “You almost done with your search, Officer?”
He returned to the living room. “I appreciate the hospitality.”
“Like I got a choice.” Flip still rested his head against the fist of his right hand. The bicep of his bent arm was the size of a cantaloupe. Tom felt the reassurance of the holster nestled in his back.
“What’ve you been doing when you aren’t working or lying around here being sick?”
“I told you last week. Nothing. No bars. Not associating with any felons.”
“A model citizen.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He scratched his eyelid. “A freakin’ model citizen. Why don’t you get out and leave me alone?”
“You’re going to hurt my feelings, you don’t cut that out.”
Flip shook his head. He reached for the television remote.
“Leave the TV off, Convict.”
His head rose, and a shadow passed over his eyes for an instant, then cleared. “Sure. No problem, Officer.”
“What’d you do last Tuesday night? Just stay in, glued to the TV?”
“Tuesday night . . . ? Let’s see . . .”
Come on, deny it.
“Oh yeah. Tuesday night I went out to Santa Monica. Went for a walk on the beach.”
“You do a lot of walking on the beach at night?”
“It’s kind of my new thing. You know, go out there and contemplate stuff.”
“Meditate.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Meditate.” Flip’s eyes lightened. He was perking right up.
“How’d you get out there?”
“Took the bus, of course.”
“Why didn’t you take the Metro?”
“Don’t like being underground.”
“You’ll be underground soon enough. What number bus you take?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What number?”
“I don’t remember. Down by Fairfax I had to change lines.”
“You stop anyplace? See anybody?”
“I saw about a thousand people. It’s a big city, Officer Cole.”
Enough of this. It was pointless to sweat him, but they had no evidence at all. “Why’d you kill the kid, Flip?”
It took under a second for Flip to paste confusion onto his face. The hesitation was just long enough. “What kid? What are you talking about?”
“Did he do something to deserve it? Or were you just trying to stay sharp?”
“I got no concept what you’re talking about.” Tom eyed him.
A smile creased Flip’s face. “I am a model citizen, Officer. I don’t go to bars. Don’t associate with known felons. I go to the beach some nights. Meditate.”
Tom stepped to him. He brought his face down to his.
“You going to kiss me, Officer?”
“I know you did the kid. I know it.” He held up three fingers. “That’s strike three.”
“Get out of my face. You got nothing.” Breath like seeping garbage floated up to Tom’s nostrils. Flip’s eyes were empty holes. The emotion was flushed out of them. Shark eyes.
Tom stood away. “You’re going back in, Flip.”
“No.”
“You’re going back in. I’m going to see to it. Strike three and you’re out.”
“You got nothing. This is getting on toward harassment.”
“The parole board’ll be real interested in your side of things.”
Flip rose to face him. He said nothing. The expression on his face told Tom everything he needed to know. He measured the time it would take him to get to the Glock if he needed it.
Flip said, “You done threatening me? You done harassing me? You done?”
Tom stepped closer. Before turning to leave, he wanted to look longer in the flat pans of those eyes. Dead eyes. Hellish eyes. “Don’t get too comfortable outside, Convict.”
10
Posture prim as a schoolmarm’s, Brenda wore a chiffon blouse buttoned all the way to her neck. That creamy column rose to cradle her pristine jaw. Her cheekbones swelled underneath those green eyes, domed by delicate eyebrows. Her lashes were full and black, and her lids were penciled in black too. Jason had seen Serena pencil around her eyes, and for an instant he imagined Brenda standing before the mirror in the morning applying her makeup.
He patted her personnel file. “I talked to Margaret. She had nothing but good things to say. It took a little wrangling, but we got the transfer policy waived. You can start up here whenever you get her projects done. You’re working on the benefits package, right?”
Brenda nodded, blonde hair bouncing against her smooth forehead. “It’s for open enrollment this fall. I can have that done today. There’s not much left.”
“There’ll be a probation period. This is an important position—”
Her brow furrowed for an instant, then smoothed again. “I won’t disappoint you, Jason.” The natural pout of her lips curved upward, and the perfect row of her teeth appeared, wet and shining in the light from the window behind him. A dimple flashed in the pale pink rose petal of her right cheek.
“Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Billy’s voice snapped Jason’s eyes away. The kid held files grasped by the corners to keep their contents from falling to the carpet.
Brenda’s green eyes didn’t move off Jason.
Jason felt his face flush hot. “Give us two minutes. We’re about done.”
Billy stared at his face, must have seen that blushing.
“Sure. I’ll just wait outside.”
Jason nodded, and the kid turned away, shifting the files. He went around the corner.
Brenda’s green eyes held him fast, an expression of utter absorption. “I’ll finish up that project right away. If Margaret cuts me loose, I’ll be up here this afternoon or tomorrow morning at the latest. You won’t regret this, Jason.”
“Okay.” He stood, and she came up out of the chair, the smile dimpling her cheek again, teeth flashing. She reached a hand out, grasped his, held it. He shook it once and released, and she held his loose hand an instant before letting it go and turning her back, her calves buckling the underside of her skirt with each step as she left the room.
Billy entered. He took her seat and said he needed to go over three deals with him. One was a customer and two were prospects.
Focus was difficult. Jason stared at the numbers, but their meaning was lost. He rubbed his eyes and tried again. He ran a fingertip across the ratios and asset-turnover calculations. A trend. Look for a trend. “This loan’ll be okay. Sales are down, but the collateral’s worth more than the loan even in hard times.” He flipped to the owner’s personal financial statement. “These liquid assets look good. Just get current market values.”
The two prospects were less certain. Jason turned one down, an
d for the other he tightened up Billy’s suggestions for terms before sliding the pages across to him.
Billy looked at Jason’s scribbling on the terms. “I don’t know if I can win it with this structure.”
Jason reconsidered. An eight-million-dollar deal, fully funded on day one. Big enough to move his division’s numbers, and if a couple of the deals in Patricia and Dan’s pipelines closed in the next sixty days, he’d be a lock for kicking Vince off the top of the heap.
This loan wouldn’t go sideways for at least six months.
He took the pages back, crossed out his notes, and increased the size of the loan by two million.
Billy leaned forward in his chair to peek at the changes. “Whoa. I didn’t know I was that persuasive. You think Scotty will go for it?”
“You take the fun out of everything.”
Billy sank back in his chair. “I thought I was pushing the envelope as it was. Another couple million will compress those ratios pretty tight. They’ll have to grow a bit to pay it back.”
Jason flipped to the spreadsheets and looked at the ratios. At ten million there wouldn’t be much room for error. In fact, there would be no room for error at all. Especially in this economy.
Billy gathered the files. “Want to go talk with Scotty about it now? He’s in his office.”
Jason reached for his mouse and clicked into his calendar. He knew it was clear. “Let me take care of a couple of things.” He toggled back to the e-mail he’d been composing, hiding the calendar. “I’ll go over it with him in a little bit.”
“You don’t want me to pitch it to him?”
“No, you’ve got plenty of other things going on. I’ll run this one past him. You’ll get your chance to pitch it when it goes to committee.” He put his fingertips to his keyboard and began typing.
Billy waited for a moment. “I promised we’d have something to them tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll let you know.”
Alone in his office, Jason stared into his computer monitor. The words of his e-mail glowed back at him beneath the reflected shine from his window.
Scotty would never go for it. It was too much money for this borrower. Too thin on cash-flow coverage and collateral. But it would move Jason’s numbers. And it was a company with a respected name. He’d tried for their business himself half a dozen times before Billy got in. It would be a flagship account he could tout in the market. By itself it might slam the door on Vince.
Cash Burn Page 4
