I scurried around the side, found that the gate Carol Marie had driven through was unlocked. I scooted the gate back a bit, eyed the car, then slipped through the crack and darted in. The giant octopus towered over the building, over me. I made my way past a giant tentacle that curled down the side of the building and came to a filthy window, the glass thick with grime and its ledge covered with pigeon shit. As if Carol Marie had been gobbled up by the building, there was no sign of her, no lights, no sounds from within.
I couldn't resist. Moving up to the door Carol Marie had slipped through, I took the handle, pulled it, and stepped into a dank and black space. A bit of light dribbled in from the glass garage doors, and ahead of me I saw huge brushes, rollers, great tubes that had once carried hot air, and endless pipes and hoses that twisted like the car wash's namesake. I scanned the area, saw nothing moving, heard nothing fidgeting. If there was an office here, I thought, Carol Marie must have disappeared into some cloistered managerial space.
I heard a foot scrape along concrete, nice and long and slow. But it wasn't from somewhere inside. I turned. Through the window I'd tried to peer through moments ago, I now saw a figure, the features indiscernible. It was obvious, though, that it wasn't a woman. No, it was a man, big and thick, of that there was no mistake.
Great. I was caught somewhere between the unseen Carol Marie and some thug who was slowly making his way toward the door. At first I assumed this guy was here to meet Carol Marie, but his movements were so slow, so tentative. I saw his shadow pass the grimy windows, saw him stop and listen and try to ascertain who and where, what and when. It all looked so familiar, not unlike my spying actions. So was this guy looking for Carol Marie, too? Had he been waiting here, expecting her to enter the abandoned car wash, or could he have followed her as I had? If that was the case, of course, it meant he knew I was here also. My heart began to beat wildly.
“Why? Because Carol Marie knew by then that you had followed her? Is this when they were waiting for you behind the door?”
I nearly panicked in fear of violent things to come, and my mind, fearful of what Loretta's sister could be involved in, scattered in search of understanding. To whom had she been speaking on the phone and exactly what couldn't they stop? Loretta's letter came immediately to mind, and I realized that Loretta might not be contemplating suicide but someone else might be plotting murder. Then I took a long jump in an entirely different direction, leaping to what everyone thinks of in relation to modern American crime: drugs. The cotton clothes Carol Marie so nicely imported could be brought into the country sewn full of pouches of heroin or cocaine. Nothing these days was impossible, and perhaps nowhere could be better for dealing than the suburbs where deceit and mistrust flowed so freely yet were so well concealed.
There was no time for such wild speculation, though, and I reached out, felt a pipe that ran from floor to ceiling. I stepped along, for the figure behind me had reached the door, was now pulling it cautiously open. I saw the round shapes of a couple of barrels next to a closed door. I had no choice but to hide behind the barrels; there was nowhere else to take shelter. My best hope was that Carol Marie wasn't expecting this man, because he'd most certainly seen me enter the building. If they were together, though, I could only imagine the two of them rooting me out and what would ensue, particularly if either one of them carried a gun.
As my feet slid over the gritty concrete flooring, I searched for but still saw no sign of Carol Marie. I stepped over a bar along the floor, recognized it as a pipe used to keep a car moving straight through the car wash. I stopped at a column lined up and down with water jets, scanned farther ahead and saw two more doors, and wondered where the hell Carol Marie could have gone. Glancing back I could no longer discern the man. I thought I heard a faint noise, the near silent sound of a step, but I couldn't be sure. As quickly and quietly as I could, I moved over to the two barrels that sat near the wall, and then I knelt down and cowered into the dark behind them.
Peering out, I more clearly saw the figure now creeping into the car wash. Not too tall, not too heavy, the clothing plain and undistinguished. I felt a strong sense of familiarity, but couldn't make out any of the features, the face entirely wrapped in darkness. He moved into a small triangle of light that beamed in from outside, leaned against a pipe; I saw a pale brown shirt, the material thin. And then I spotted a raised hand holding a small black gun.
It all happened much too quickly after that. Things occurred so swiftly that I barely had time to react. Off to my left something creaked. I turned, noticed the door immediately to my left was slightly ajar. There was no light, only blackness, but hadn't it been closed only seconds ago? Then only inches to my right I heard something scratching and moving. Oh, Christ. Oh, shit. I saw a long, low thing. Pointy nose. Long skinny tail. I'd cornered a rat.
Still hunched over behind one of the barrels, I inched out. I scanned the faint light for the man with the gun, could see nothing besides the wilted brushes and hoses of the car wash. What should I do? Could I do? Stay half hidden in this rat-infested corner? Make a break for the door?
Hanging on to the top of the metal barrel with one hand, I scooted farther around. Then suddenly from behind me I sensed a whoosh of cool, damp air. I started to turn around. It was too late. The door behind me had opened. There were two dark, towering figures. They came rushing out, came charging right at me. The first was larger, holding something high in the air. It looked like a baseball bat. And that's what it felt like when it whipped through the air right at me and into me, smashing me on the back of the head. I had tried to turn away and duck, to shield myself with my hands. But it was too late. My head reverberated with a giant, dull thunk, and then I fell forward.
The last thing I heard as I collapsed on the cold concrete was a gunshot and a long frightened scream.
Chapter 16
I didn't know how long I'd been out, half an hour at least. Maybe not quite. And when I woke up, I was lying face forward on the ground, my head turned to the side, one cheek pressed against the cold concrete floor. Instinctively, I started to push myself upward, and as I did a huge wave of pain pounded my head and nearly flattened me again. Oh, shit. I brushed the dirt from my face, pinched my eyes shut, carefully touched the back of my head, and winced in pain.
Only the faintest light was seeping from outside, and I looked around, certain that I would see another body or two lying around somewhere, but there was nothing. No voices, either. Only complete silence and no lights. I reached up, felt for the top of the metal drum, and pulled myself to my feet. Still rubbing my head, I scanned the area. The door right behind me, where the two had come hurtling out, was now open. I stepped into the middle of the line where cars and soap had once so freely mingled, and peered all the way down to the far end. That door, the one I'd passed through from the rear parking area, was flung wide, now freely swinging in the night air. Perhaps too stunned to fear anything, I walked openly down the middle of the car wash, seeing no one. When I reached the large garage door at the rear and peered out through the filthy glass, I noted that the white Ford Taurus was gone as well. It didn't make any sense.
I glanced one last time into the long car wash, peered through the brushes and rollers, and called, “Carol Marie? Carol Marie, are you here? Are you all right?”
But even as I said it I knew she wasn't lying wounded, that the place was empty, and I turned to—
“Wait, don't leave. Not yet,” beckoned a distant voice.
I leaned slightly against the large garge door, took a deep breath, as a faraway voice echoed through my head.
“Yes, just relax, that's good. Let your breathing deepen your hypnotic involvement. Breathing in… and out.” After a moment, the soft voice called, “Become completely absorbed in the experience of being in that car wash. Feel the throbbing on the back of your head… smell the odors of that musty old building. Replay the scene and look for things you saw or heard or smelled that weren't important then but are now.”
“Exactly. So just think back over it, let it all unfold once again. You can slow it down and study things that you missed the first time. Let all of your senses contribute pieces of memory.”
I let my breathing come slowly and rhythmically, and at the same time banished the pain from my head. Yes, that's right, I told myself. Back time up before the pain. Think back before you were struck. Let go of the pain and return to when your head didn't hurt.
It was as if I separated from the present. Using the skills Maddy had taught me, I left the present part of me standing there against the filthy garage door. I floated up. I floated away. Not too far away. And then I saw myself coming down Fullerton, driving my small red rental car.
“Was there anyone behind you?”
I was keeping a careful eye on Carol Marie up ahead in the white Taurus, so I didn't really notice anything else. All my attention was focused on her and what she was doing and where she was going. I noticed no other cars, nothing really until I turned the corner that the Octopus Car Wash sat on, then parked on the narrow street.
“And then?”
Two cars passed me. It was a narrow, quiet street, and I distinctly noted several vehicles.
“Visualize them. Experience that memory a little more intensely.”
Not a car but a van popped to mind. That was the first vehicle. And there was a guy and a girl sitting up front. Next came… came…
“Came what?”
I saw the headlights. They were broad, set at a distance.
“So it was a large car?”
Yes, it was big. A big vehicle rolled into my memory, cruised the edge of it. I don't know why, but I just assumed it was an American car. It had that sort of a big Detroit look.
“Color?”
Dark.
“Dark brown?”
Maybe black. Maybe not. I couldn't tell. The light was faint, the image equally so. I strained to see the image in my mind, but I couldn't work miracles. I couldn't dredge up what wasn't there.
“That's okay, just go on. What next?”
A car door. As I slid open the gate of the car wash, as I spied Carol Marie's Taurus parked in the fenced area, I heard a car door shut. A gentle bang that stood out above the hum of the city.
“One door or two?”
It just went thump.
“Once?”
The sound bounced again into my head. Not thump thump. Just thump.
“So just one person got out.”
Yes, that meant only one door had opened and closed. Which meant that whoever had followed me— undoubtedly all the way from the suburbs—was probably not in the van, but in the large dark sedan. And he got out and—
“He?”
Well, I guessed I'd noticed that, too. Of course. When the dark brown or dark blue car had driven by I had seen a vague, very smoky shape behind the wheel. Nothing all that specific; it was just that the figure was broad, mannish-looking. Later, in the car wash, it was a man, so he had to have been the one in the car. And he'd followed me just as I'd followed Carol Marie, which meant undoubtedly that he'd been behind me all the way from the suburbs. From the mall or perhaps earlier.
“Do you have any idea why?”
It sprang into my head: because he was looking for the same thing I was.
“Excellent. Can you describe him?”
My memory bounded ahead. Sped up the story, skipped over the unimportant crud, and then slowed again. I was inside the Octopus Car Wash. He was outside. The first time I saw him he was little more than a threatening shape. Just an indiscernible figure lurking behind the murky glass. No. I couldn't see him then.
“But later you did.”
Yes, later. When he crept into the car wash. Through the door and inside. As he stalked me, who was stalking Carol Marie. I cowered behind the two metal barrels or drums or whatever you call those things, and I peered back. And through the cloudy light I saw a man who looked familiar.
“Why?”
I didn't know.
“Hold the image of the man stalking the car wash. Describe his features. Pretend you're holding a photograph of him in your hands. Look carefully at it, study it. What do you see?”
A man of medium height. Not a fat man. Not a skinny one either. So he was broad. Yes, a broad man of medium height. With dark hair. I could tell that because his hair blended in with the dark light. So it was probably someone with brown hair. And he was white. I could see his skin. His hair blended in with the darkness. The skin of his face stood out against it, glowed slightly in the darkness. I took a deep breath. That was the description that came rattling out.
“Clothing?”
It nearly disappeared into the darkness. But not quite. He moved into a small patch of light, and then the color brightened. Light brown. Next I eyed him as his right hand reached out, took hold of a pipe. I focused on the broad shoulders, noted how they dropped down, then how the arms got suddenly thinner.
“A short-sleeved shirt?”
A short-sleeved shirt, maybe a tan one. Light brown. Like the pants. The pants were tan or khaki, too. And then I saw his other arm rise and this black thing emerge. The gun.
“Alex, he looked familiar because he looked like someone you'd seen before, someone you'd met. Look at the man stalking the car wash. He looked like—”
Ray Preston. That was who he looked like.
“So what did Ray do next?”
No, it only looked like Ray. The shape, the features. But it was a cloudy picture. A blurred one, not at all in focus. I could only look at it and think that it might have been Ray. That this person resembled him. I could in no way, however, be sure it was Ray. It could just as easily have been some ordinary thug. Or a policeman.
“Why do you say that?”
I started trembling. Staring at the trance-frozen shape, a caffeinelike jolt suddenly ripped loose and started shooting through my body. I had to be careful of this man. He was dangerous. I knew he would do me harm. Physical harm. More important, he was a threat that wouldn't quit, that wouldn't cease. He'd pursue me because he wanted me to stay out of this. Some clairvoyant part of me knew that was what he would later say to me.
“Say what?”
Some time in the not very distant future this lurking threat of a man was going to come screaming after me.
“Screaming what?”
Oh, God. I knew, I knew, I knew that as long as I was poking around in all of Loretta's business, he would continue to pursue me. And—
“Slow down, Alex. We'll deal with that later. You have nothing to worry about now.”
What? How fucking ridiculous. Of course I had something to worry about. My head began to ache in expectation. Throb. Oh, God. I was crouched behind those barrels, about to get clobbered. I was so stupid. So unsuspecting. They were behind there. The two of them.
“The two of who?”
Them! They came bursting out, right at me. I turned.
“And what did you see?”
Shit, it was a baseball bat. This guy with Carol Marie, the one who came leaping out along with her, was holding a goddamned baseball bat. I looked up. And, oh, shit. It really hurt. I saw it. Then I felt it. WHACK! I had my hand up to my head, and it smacked me on the knuckles, on my head. And I went tumbling over into darkness just as a gun was fired and someone screamed.
“Who screamed, Alex? Who?”
Carol Marie shouted out.
“Did she just yell or did she say something?”
Something. A word. I don't know. It burst over me, shot right above me like the bullet. It all passed over me as I dropped forward and tumbled into unconsciousness.
“But you heard it, Alex. Grab all that. Slow it down. Picture the bulle
t flying through the air so slowly that you can practically see it whiz by. And imagine that word passing by just as slowly, so slowly that you hear it loudly and clearly.”
I was passing out. All I felt was the pain. I'd been hit. I was dropping to the ground and into a black hole, into a sea of warm, black water.
“And as you fell into that hole you heard Carol Marie scream a single word. Reach out and let yourself hear it again. She shouted—”
Carol Marie's shrill scream rose in my memory, calling, “Billy!”
Chapter 17
I retreated to my motel and slept with an ice pack that night. A big one. I gathered a full bucket of ice from the machine in the stairwell, then went to my room, locked and chained the door, and set one of the lounge chairs in front of it. Next I took one of the white towels, dumped a pile of ice into it, and made a large, lumpy, and frigid pillow onto which I placed my aching head. As I lay on my side, I reached up with my left hand, the one that had taken part of the blow, and nestled it into the folds, and then I didn't move for a long time. Later I got up, found the aspirin in my shaving kit, took three pills, and stripped and took a long hot shower. I wondered if I could have a concussion. My vision was fine, though. I had no urge to vomit. I had only some bruised fingers and a head that felt way too big for this world. So I crawled back into bed, laid my head on the nest of ice. And moved only once in the night, sometime around three when I got up and took more aspirin.
The next morning I awoke with a hangover of pain. I lay there for a long time, not sure I wanted to move, and then I got up, took more aspirin, and drank two glasses of water. After almost fifteen minutes in the shower, I decided to be butch about the whole thing and ignore the pain. I really didn't want to have to hunt out a doc-in-the-box, one of those quick medical-treatment places. Nor did I want to call my sister and report my night at the Octopus Car Wash.
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