I started in the living room, analyzing the destruction as if it was a huge three-dimensional signature. I walked around speaking each question, each observation into the recorder.
First, must get to Snipes. Only common case we’ve had recently. What is connection to attacker? How did this guy find me? He’d already killed Arnie and trashed his place. Arnie told him nothing. My name on something on Arnie’s place? A call to my office to see if I was in? Ask Kelly. Arnie: was the ambush an attempt to surprise and capture him? Why? Information? Just a hit? He knew Arnie was careful and quick. How? Why the second shot? Overkill? Angry? Frustrated?
I looked at the living room: the TV screen shattered, the CD and tape player destroyed, all the videotapes dumped, the art on the walls slashed, the glass shattered, the seating overturned and slashed.
He felt he had all day. No hurry. Knew when I’d come home? How? Maybe he was on drugs, didn’t care if I came in? Not a pro, wasted time on pointless damage. Angry. No effort to hide search. Didn’t care if I knew. Why? Thinks I stole something of his. Thinks I know who he is and he knows me. No mystery to keep secret. Why not come in alone? Why grab Sam?
I walked into the kitchen. There was food and broken china and glass all over the floor. The drawers were turned over and piled in a corner. Cupboards were open and everything in them had been swept onto the floor, or the counters.
Why did he hood Sam? So she couldn’t identify him. He didn’t want to kill her. A message to me? So there’d be no mistake about who did this? Why tell her about the key? He thinks I’m a thief. Key? Drugs? Therefore I won’t go to the cops about this. Thinks it’s going to be settled between us. How right you are, my friend.
I stepped over the books in the doorway into my office. He’d ripped off the shelves and dumped them on the floor. My word processor screen was shattered. Sam’s manuscript was dumped on the floor, but he hadn’t destroyed it. Illiterate bastard didn’t know its worth. Small blessings. My files were all over the floor along with the contents of my desk. Only the floor safe and my gun case were untouched.
The bathroom had linens in the tub and toiletries in the sink. The toilet tank was uncovered. This guy works alone? Why? No friends? Can’t trust anybody? Does his own work. No, not true. Had girl help him with Arnie. But does his own work. He’s there on the scene, no hired stand-ins.
I pushed open the bedroom door and stood there. I started to gag at the bloodstain on the bed and walked back to the living room. Impulsive. Got angry about safe. Took time out to rape Sam, not finish his job. Didn’t toss the bedroom. Likes surprise. Odds in his favor. Ambush on Arnie. Maybe waiting for me when Sam came home first? Not there long. Didn’t see her leave for bookstore. Didn’t want to face me. Wants to kill me. Thinks I stole a key of his. It’ll be an ambush.
What did Sam say? Right-handed, white, no accent. Breath—tobacco and alcohol. Gasoline or oil on hands. Tall as me, strong as me.
I clicked off my recorder and went back to the bedroom. I pulled down a suitcase and tossed some clothes into it. If I needed anything else, I’d buy it. I walked over to the bathroom, came back with a few toiletries, and tossed them in. Zipping up the bag, I carried it to my office. A checkbook and personal phonebook went into one pocket.
I unlocked the gun case and pulled out a box of .45-caliber hydroshock slugs, and tossed them into the other pocket.
Under a mound of papers and books I found the picture of Sam that had stood on my desk. The glass was cracked but the picture was unharmed. I slipped it from the frame and stared at it.
Sam, sleek and brown, was standing in the clear blue water on a clean white beach. She had a quizzical look on her face, almost a squint. Later I asked her if it was the sun. She said no. She had realized that she was happier than she’d ever been before and she was wondering when it would end.
I memorized her features. The thick chestnut hair framing her face. Her widow’s peak. Her bright green eyes, so often mischievous. The deep dimpled smile, generous and easy. With that in my suitcase, I picked it up, turned off the lights, and left the house.
11
The Bed-a-Bye Motel had all the comforts I sought. A firm bed, a working air conditioner and phone, and no obvious spores, molds, or fungi. I registered as Barney Rubble and paid cash.
Once in the room, I set my bag on the dresser, sat down on the bed, and called a friend.
“Speak,” a bass voice growled.
“Wardell, it’s Leo Haggerty. Is the Rev there?”
No answer. I guess he was checking.
“Leo, what’s happening, baby?” the Rev sang into my ear.
“Too much, Rev. I got trouble enough for you and me. I need some help.”
“Talk to me, buddy.” The Rev is Reverend Schafrath Brown, minister of the Church of Divine Intervention and Street Justice. He and his sidekick, Wardell Blevins, also do some part-time bounty hunting. Arnie and I had worked with and against them before.
“There’s a guy hunting me. He’s already killed Arnie …”
“Shit, man, I’m sorry to hear that. Who’d you piss off, the Terminator?”
“I’ll let you know when I find him. Right now, I’m lying low, but I need somebody protected. I don’t want this bastard getting ahold of anyone close to me and hurting them.”
“You want Sam covered?”
“No. I’ve got somebody on her. It’s a girl, Randi Benson. She’s a student at Bolton Farms School. I’m her legal guardian. I’m going to call her right now and describe you and Wardell to her. Go to the dormitory called Forsythe Hall and call up for her. She’s in Room 16. When you get her, lose yourselves.”
“For how long?”
“Until this is done. I’ll call my answering service every day and leave a message. Check for it at midnight. No message for three days, assume I’m dead. When it’s all over, I’ll come in person to the church and I’ll wait there until you show up. Bring the girl to the church. Don’t turn her over to anyone but me. Got it?”
“Done, buddy.”
“Thanks. How’s my credit these days?”
“No problem. We’ll square this when it’s over.”
“Thanks, Rev. One last thing. Three days and no message, call my attorney, Walter O’Neil. He has my will. He knows who gets what. Okay?”
“All right. Good luck, man.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
Three rings later and I heard Randi’s sleepy voice mumble “Hello?”
“Randi, it’s Leo. I’m in a lot of trouble and you may be too, so pay attention.”
“What’s the matter?” Apprehension cut through her fog.
“Somebody’s trying to kill me and I’m afraid they may go after you to use as leverage against me. I’m sending two men out to guard you. They’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. Go pack some things for yourself and wait for them. When they come to the dorm, they’ll call up for you. Go down with another girl. If it’s not the two guys I describe …”
“Isn’t Arnie one of them? I know what he looks like.”
“No, honey, Arnie won’t be one of them. Arnie’s dead. Whoever killed him is looking for me.”
“Oh God. Who did it?”
“I don’t know yet. We don’t have time to talk. Just listen and do as I say.”
“Okay.”
“The two men are Schafrath Brown and Wardell Blevins. Brown is short, five feet five or so, dapper, bald head, pencil-thin mustache. Wardell’s a beast, six feet eight, three hundred pounds. Has one of those Whoopi Goldberg hairdos, looks like a tarantula on his head. He cracks his knuckles constantly, drive you crazy.
“You can trust them. They’ll protect you until it’s all over and you’re safe. Then they’ll bring you to me. If it isn’t them, go upstairs, lock your door, and call the police. Use 911. Then call me on my beeper. Do you remember the number?”
“Yes. Why can’t I be with you, Leo?”
“Because I’m the target, honey. I’m the last person you want to be ar
ound.”
“How about somewhere with Sam?”
“Randi, the guy who’s after me attacked Sam today at the house …”
“Oh no, is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. She’s alive. She’s at the hospital and I left her with a bodyguard. I have to disappear for a while and try to find out who’s after me and why. Now go do what I said, and Randi …”
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell anyone, I mean anyone, that you’re going anywhere or with whom. You want to disappear, understand?”
“Yes. I’m scared, Leo.”
“I know. These guys’ll protect you. You’ll be okay. Now go.”
“Leo.”
“Yes.”
“Please be careful. I love you.”
“I will and I love you too. Now scoot.”
I lay back on the bed and laced my fingers behind my head. I had a slight head start on Arbaugh and Rhodasson. Neither one struck me as a dummy. They’d start cross-checking names and places pretty soon and be back looking for me. Sam, holding back what the man had said to her, gave me another half-step lead. If it was going to keep me alive to meet him, I’d better be on the job early tomorrow.
I pulled out my address book, flipped to the blank pages in the back, and made notes for the next day. A shower did nothing for me. Stripped to my shorts, I reloaded my Colt with the hydroshock shells. Hollowpoints, guaranteed to expand to .90 caliber on impact. I dropped a couple of slugs and found my hands trembling again. Fear, rage, anticipation? All three, I guessed. My mind was filled with the faceless man. I could focus on him. Any thought of Sam in the hospital and my mind fled. I saw her but felt little.
Didn’t I love her? Why was I so empty now? Maybe this was one of those changes that Dr. Berger had promised me. I tried visualizing Arnie. I could see him. I could say he was dead, but I didn’t believe it. Nothing there. I’m a stone all right, all the way through. I stood up and walked aimlessly across the room a couple of times. When I sat down, I pulled out the Colt and reloaded it. I sat and fiddled with it for a while. Stay frosty, stay empty. I had things to do.
In bed, I lay there staring at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep. I had no thoughts, just a crackling energy that I couldn’t dissipate.
12
I spent the night tossing and turning, like I was sleeping on a spit. At seven I gave myself permission to stop trying to sleep and move on to showering.
By eight I was sitting in my car on I-95 sipping lukewarm rehydrated carcinogens and wondering how commuters endured “The Crawl” twice a day. To find affordable housing near D.C. now meant living in your car for four hours each day.
Thirty minutes later, I crossed over the Potomac and rolled past a graffiti-enhanced sign that read “Welcome to Washington, A District of Colombia.” Amen to that. I’d been born and raised in D.C. But these days it was no place to live. The drug wars had made it Murder City, the most lethal place in America two years running. The police chief had announced that the killings would stop when the turf wars were settled. That was a comforting bit of news. The city’s hospitals couldn’t treat their cardiac patients because the operating rooms were full of gunshot victims. There was a growing backup in autopsies because the medical examiner’s office couldn’t keep up with the deluge of the dead. All that medical work, and the city schools had to cancel some athletic events because they couldn’t provide trainers for the games. It’s easier to shoot bullets than baskets in the capital city.
I called my secretary.
“Franklin Investigations. How may I help you?”
“Kelly, it’s Leo. I’m not coming in today. Transfer any calls to Stuart, okay. If it’s an absolute emergency, you call me on my beeper, and I’ll decide who should handle it.”
“Okay, Leo.”
“I want you to do something for me. Call the Fairfax County Morgue. Find out if they’ve finished the autopsy on Arnie Kendall. If so, see if the death certificate has been filed. When that’s done, have somebody from the office go down and sign a release for the body and get his personal effects. Call a local funeral home, have them pick up the body, cremate it, and keep the remains until I can pick them up. Send someone by with a check from the office.”
“Do you want me to phone in an obituary, Leo?”
“No.”
“Will there be a service?”
“No. No service.”
After a brief silence Kelly said, “Okay.”
“One last thing. Were there any calls for me yesterday, just asking if I was in or what my schedule was?”
“No. None that I can recall. I gave you all your messages yesterday.”
“Maybe this caller didn’t leave a message or a name. Just wanted to know if I was in.”
“No. I always ask for a name. If they wouldn’t give me one, I’d remember that. There weren’t any calls like that.”
“Okay. Thanks, Kelly. I’ll be checking in later on.”
“All right, Leo.”
I called Sam’s room and got no answer. Damn, what if she was going in for the D&C right now? Shit. I thought about turning around and going to the hospital. No. I wasn’t going anywhere near her or anyone else I cared about. I was shit drawing flies. My best chance of staying alive was staying away from places this guy already knew about.
If I wanted to stay a step ahead of Arbaugh and Rhodasson, and I dearly wanted that, I had to make my move now.
I pulled into the visitors’ lot at the station house, parked, and trotted up the front steps. Inside, I signed in, went through the metal detector, and turned in my gun. Outside the interview rooms I told the officer on duty who I wanted to talk to and why. I was photographed and my identification was checked. He let me into interview room 3 and told me to wait.
I took a seat with my back to the door and did as I was told. Behind me, the door opened and closed. I didn’t stand up. The man I wanted to talk to came around the table and held out his hand.
I took his hand from the outside, twisted it over, and bent it back. Smiling, I looked up into his startled face.
“Hello, Harold. Nice to see you again.”
“Jesus Christ, let go of my hand. You’re breaking it.”
“Sit down, Harold, and look glad to see me or you’ll jerk off with your left hand from now on.”
Harold tried to smile while I kept the pressure on.
“Real simple now, Harold, tell me what you stole and from whom?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whimpered.
“Too bad.” One quick twist and Harold groaned and rose up on his toes.
“Here goes the whole arm, Harold. Say goodbye.”
“All I gotta do is holler and they’ll throw your ass out of here.”
“That’s right, but the first thing I’m going to do when I leave here is belt a cop and get myself thrown in here with you. See, I’m under a death sentence out there, Harold. And you put it on me. So, if I’m going, I’m taking you with me. First exercise break, Harold, and you’re mine. Once more, Harold. What did you take and from whom?”
“All right, all right. I was looking to split town. I was out on bond, but no way was I gonna stand trial. So I was at this party with Bonnie.”
“Who’s Bonnie?”
“My old lady. The one your friend busted up when you came to get me.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, there was a party going on. I was trying to get some dough together so I could skip town. Anyway, I didn’t get a hell of a lot. Not enough to go very far on. So I was hanging out, drinking, and this one guy, he’s bragging that he’d ripped off something big. So I hung around and watched. He kept patting his pants when he talked about it. He got pretty ripped and shacked up with Renee. When he was out, I slipped in and went through his pants. I figured I wouldn’t get caught.”
Well, we all knew how that turned out. “Then what?”
“Renee must have seen me sneak in. She told him who I was. Next thing I know he’s
in here visiting me. You know the rest.”
“Yeah, but tell me anyway.”
“I told him you guys ripped me off. That you were bounty hunters from the bonding company and when you were searching me you found the key …”
“What key? You didn’t have any drugs on you.”
“No, a key. You know, to a locker. So I told him the bonding company’s name. Figured he could take it from there.”
Harold chewed on a thumbnail.
“Harold, we’re not done yet. Where’s the key?”
“I stuffed it in the back seat of the car when I was getting out at the station. I had to roll over on my belly so I could slide out. That’s when I did it.”
“Why didn’t you keep it with you?”
“I didn’t want to give it to the property people. They might have gotten curious and figured out what the key was for. I didn’t need to get tied to any more trouble. Or they might have ripped it off. That happens all the time down here.”
“Really? That’s awful. Well, we’re almost done here, Harold. What’s the guy’s name?”
“I don’t know. I never met him before.”
“Give me a description.”
“About your size. Real strong. Skin’s real tan, looks like leather. He’s a skinhead. Has a mustache and a beard thing. I don’t know what you call it.”
“A van dyke?”
“Yeah, that’s it. He doesn’t have any lips. I mean, not really. It’s just his mouth looks like a fucking scar. It’s weird.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“What about his work?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s Renee?”
“Just a cunt. It was her party. She dances with Bonnie.”
“Where?”
“The Diamond Slipper on Georgia Avenue.”
A Fistful of Empty Page 5
