Going to the Bad

by Nora McFarland

  He took notes on a laptop while I answered basic questions such as my Social Security number and age. Then he started in on Rod’s relationship to Bud, Bud’s history of small-time offenses, and what scams or deals Bud might currently be involved with.

  Finally I lost my temper. “You haven’t asked me a single question about Rod being missing. All you care about is trying to nail my dying uncle with some kind of trumped-up charge.”

  Handsome turned the laptop so we could all see it. After a few clicks, a piece of grainy video began playing without sound. At first I didn’t know what I was looking at. That’s when the backhoe burst into view. Glass shattered and wood splintered. Almost as quickly as it appeared, the machine backed up. It only got a few feet before the snarl of debris forced it to stop.

  “Is this Pawn Max last night?”

  Handsome turned. “You know about that, do you?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead I watched as two men in black entered through the hole left by the backhoe. They even wore ski masks to hide their faces. One smashed jewelry cases and threw the contents in his bag while the other hurried behind the counter.

  Handsome pointed to this second man. “He’s taking the records.”

  He was right. As soon as the man had the binder in his bag, they both left.

  Handsome stopped the video. He pointed and clicked a few times and brought up a still image. “This is a blowup of the second man’s arm as he reaches under the counter.”

  A small section of wrist was visible between the man’s black sleeve and glove. He appeared to be wearing a watch.

  “And?” I said.

  Handsome clicked again and zoomed in closer. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a watch. It was a tattoo of a watch. I’d only ever met one man with that design inked on his wrist. Bud Hawkins.

  This was unnerving, but I still managed to say, “I have no idea what I’m looking at. It could be anything.”

  “It’s your uncle, and you know it.”

  I waved a dismissive hand. “This grainy, blurry image will never hold up in court.”

  “It won’t have to since he’s not going to live long enough to be charged with felony burglary.”

  Lucero pushed off from the wall. “A little respect for her loss.”

  Handsome gave him a dirty look, but downshifted from mean to merely hostile. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that I’ve identified suspect number two as one Bud Hawkins.”

  I didn’t say anything, but by not denying it, we all knew I was agreeing.

  He clicked a box and the original video returned. “My first question has to be, who is suspect number one? Who’s helping him?”

  Handsome’s head turned from the monitor. His eyes stared into mine with an intensity that both challenged and accused.

  “It wasn’t me.” I pointed to the monitor. “That guy is both slower and taller than I am.”

  Lucero laughed. “That describes the entire male population of Bakersfield.”

  Handsome ignored the joke. “I know it’s not you. I can tell the difference between a man and a woman.”

  “Glad to know the Sheriff’s Department is training you for that. Is there a special remedial class or did they get you a tutor?”

  Lucero walked to the table and sat on the edge. “Remember that thing we talked about in the hall. You know, where you say things you shouldn’t, and the blah, blah, blah.” He smiled, but his height relative to mine felt intimidating. “Maybe try and control that.”

  I stood. “That was the controlled version.”

  Handsome followed me up. “Where was your boyfriend last night?”

  “In LA. He drove back early yesterday morning.” Then I got it and had to laugh. “No way Roddy helped Bud drive a backhoe into a pawnshop. You are so off base.”

  Handsome didn’t let up. “You and your boyfriend are up to your necks in something with your sleazy uncle, and we’re not leaving here until you tell me what it is.”

  Lucero continued his role as good cop. “I understand how you might have felt obligated if your uncle got into trouble and asked for help. Blood is thicker than water and all that.”

  “Or maybe it was the other way around,” Handsome countered. “Maybe you’re the one who asked your uncle for help. Is all this some news story that got out of hand?”

  “We don’t drive construction equipment into buildings.” I smiled. “It’s not even a ratings period.”

  “Fine, Lilly,” Lucero said. “We’re totally off base and chasing our tails.”

  Handsome didn’t like the sound of that, but he managed to stay quiet.

  “But you’re obviously sitting on a bunch of information. If you’re truly worried about Rod, then you need to start sharing. Otherwise this will end badly.”

  They didn’t seem to have any idea about Carter King and Warner’s stolen brooches. For a moment I thought about telling them everything, even about Kincaid and the meth.

  “I know you sent officers to interview the owner of Pawn Max,” I said. “I know she told them Bud was very upset when he saw a certain piece of jewelry in the store.” I pointed to the monitor. “I suggest you find out who pawned the brooch and talk to them.”

  Handsome bristled. “I intend to interview that individual later today.”

  “Good.” I waited for him to add something more, but he only stared at me. “So what are you going to do about Rod?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Handsome shook his head. “By your own words, he’s only been gone for a few hours and there’s no sign of violence at his house.”

  Lucero tried to intervene. “Maybe we should—”

  Handsome cut him off. “You know what I think happened? I think he’s gotten sick of being your adorable, half-grown German shepherd puppy and left you.”

  I turned to Lucero. “Get me out of here right now before you have to arrest me for assaulting an officer.”

  Handsome protested, but Lucero could tell I was serious. As he walked me back out the maze of corridors, I thought about the video from the pawnshop break-in.

  It couldn’t have been Rod. Years spent as a wimpy teenager getting picked on for his geeky hobbies had left him with a passion for physical fitness. He rarely skipped his daily trip to the gym. If Rod had been the first man in the video, he would have been notably faster and stronger than Bud.

  Which gave me an idea. The two figures had been fairly well matched. Was the second man as old as Bud?

  What other friends his own age did Bud have? Mrs. Paik’s husband—Bud’s loyal comrade through war and fighting fires—had disappeared fifty years ago. Leland Warner was in bed with a heart condition.

  That’s when I remembered Carter King. He’d have to be roughly Bud’s age. Given his history, he’d have no moral scruples about robbing a pawnshop. Had he and Bud partnered to discover who’d pawned the brooch?

  Or had they partnered long before that? Was that the nasty truth Rod was attempting to shield me from? Had Bud conspired with Carter King to steal Erabelle’s jewelry?

  I started the news van and did a U-turn with the intention of returning to Rod’s house. I passed a pickup just cranking its engine. I almost slammed on the brakes, but managed to control myself.

  I got to the light and made a right over the train tracks. I saw a pair of headlights follow in my rearview mirror. What if Bud’s attacker was inside the vehicle, or maybe Carter King? They could be one and the same.

  I had to act, but I didn’t want to do it alone. For the second time that night, I took Merle Haggard Drive to Rosedale. I drove my news van all the way behind the strip mall and parked next to the van.

  Bouncer and his mother were still there doing their illicit work. He heard me and came out the back door. “Why are you back?”

  “I don’t want to cause you or your mom problems.” I glanced down the alley, but didn’t see the pickup.

  Just in case, I pushed past Bouncer and entered the back room. “Let’s talk about this inside. I could use
a pair of strong hands to help me with something.”

  His mom still sat at the table slicing pages out of Bibles. “Don’t you have friends to help you?”

  “They wouldn’t be good for this kind of thing. I need someone strong.”

  Bouncer puffed up. “What exactly is the problem?”

  “I’m being followed. The guy might be dangerous.”

  I explained what I wanted to do and why I’d need help. Bouncer agreed partly because he liked using his main asset, his muscles, and partly because he would have done anything to ensure I didn’t hurt his mom. I also wondered if I was the recipient of a little bit of that chivalry the dancer had mentioned.

  Before we left, Bouncer went to get his coat. As soon as we were alone, I asked his mom, “Were you and Carter a couple?”

  “For a few months. We covered El Centro, the Salton Sea—all those towns down there at California’s butt hole—pretending to be father and daughter.”

  “Why father and daughter?”

  “Partly the age difference, and partly because you sell more Bibles that way. Folks like families when they’re buying religious stuff.”

  Bouncer walked in wearing a leather jacket. “I’m ready if you are.”

  I stood, but asked her, “Is Carter dangerous?”

  “Nah. There was never any meanness in him. Just couldn’t stand to be weighed down by anything.” She looked at Bouncer, then quickly away. “He thought love meant being stuck to someone with Krazy Glue or something. He didn’t want that.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Christmas, 6:40 a.m.

  I drove out west of the city toward Interstate 5. Bouncer rode shotgun with me in the news van. My first instinct was for an immediate and even violent confrontation with the driver of the pickup that had been following me. Fortunately, I’m aware that my first instincts aren’t always good. Anxiety over Rod’s safety urged me to quick action, but I needed to pick the terrain with care.

  The sun would soon be up, but with all the fog, you wouldn’t have known it. Consequently, the pickup stayed close. It followed us through a series of house farms where stucco ranchers blossomed in rows like heads of lettuce.

  I wondered if Carter King lived in a similar neighborhood. A thief and small-time grifter hidden among the happy families. Would a man like that ever settle down to respectability, even late in life? Bud hadn’t. Maybe Erabelle had been the closest he’d ever come to becoming Allan Hawkins instead of good old Bud.

  The modern buildings ended and actual farms and orchards began.

  I took my eyes off the asphalt in my headlights to glance at Bouncer. “I didn’t want to say this in front of your mom, but there’s a chance that Carter King is the one following us.”

  “So?”

  “You won’t have any hesitation taking him down, will you? I mean, he was a friend of your mom’s.”

  “I get it. You think maybe he’s my dad.”

  I didn’t, but maybe I should have.

  “The math works out,” he continued. “But, you know, either way, he ran out on her. I have no loyalty to the man.”

  “Hasn’t Laurie ever told you who your father is?”

  “She said he died in the war and stuff, but I looked it up. There was no war in 1984.”

  I felt bad, so I said, “Maybe he was in Granada.”

  “Operation Urgent Fury was in 1983 and only nineteen men died.”

  I hesitated. “Lebanon?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His voice lost its indifference. “I figure either he’s dead or he’s gone, and they both amount to the same thing.”

  After a moment’s silence I said, “My dad’s dead.”

  “Then you know I’m right.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes until we reached a suitable orchard. I stopped at a narrow access road cutting into the almond trees. The pickup, now just a pair of tiny headlights in the rearview mirror, slowed too. “You good to go?”

  He lifted the roll of duct tape. “Ready whenever you are.”

  “Why would you even bring that?” I grabbed for it, but his hand jerked it away. “What is it with you and duct tape?”

  “It’s convenient for tying people up.”

  “Like you tied me up? By the way, how’s your eyebrow? How did that work out for you?”

  He struggled, not wanting to admit I was right. Finally he said, “There are two of us. You can rip the tape while I hold him down.”

  “Whatever.”

  I turned into the orchard. After driving a short distance I stopped. I jerked the van into park and slammed on the parking brake. My hand wrapped around the bat. The Mace was already in my pocket.

  I left the van idling and ran into the trees on my side of the van. Bouncer went the other direction with the duct tape.

  The orchard would have been a nightmare of fog and darkness except for a streetlight on the road. I went toward the hazy glow, but froze when I heard an engine. The pickup approached, idled, and backed up. The engine shut off, followed by the headlights. I wanted to go, but forced myself to wait. Then I heard it—the door opening, a long pause, then closing.

  I moved. I came through the final trees and hit asphalt. The back end of the pickup peeked at me through the fog. I removed the pepper spray and held it in the air defensively. I still had the bat in my left hand, but I reasoned hitting the wrong person with pepper spray would be better than hitting the person with a bat.

  I crept forward, passed the truck, and continued toward the entrance to the dirt access road. The sound of my own van idling reverberated off the trees and the fog, the rumble magnified and distorted.

  I reached the break in the trees and stopped. This was where I expected my stalker to be. Why else would he or she have got out of the truck other than to sneak to the access road and spy on my van? But no one was there.

  I heard a noise and saw movement directly in front of me. At the last moment I managed to take my finger off the pepper spray’s trigger. I had to drop the bat.

  “It’s me, you idiot.” I tried to whisper, but it’s hard when someone is holding you off the ground. “Put me down, Bouncer.”

  “‘Bouncer’?” He dropped me. “You don’t know my name, do you?”

  “Keep your voice down.” I tried to get up from where I’d landed. “We can talk about this later.”

  “I don’t believe it.” He dropped his voice, if not the subject. “I’m out here risking my neck to help you, and you don’t even have the decency to remember my name.”

  “I never knew it, okay?” I know I should have tried to end the conversation, but a girl’s got to defend herself. “You never introduced yourself, so stop acting all judgmental.”

  “Fine.” Bouncer pointed behind me. “I heard somebody get out of the truck. How did we both miss him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he went into the orchard.”

  I had an idea and looked toward the truck. “Or else he opened the door, saw the fog, and decided not to get out.”

  Headlights flashed on at the same time as the engine roared to life. Seconds later the pickup barreled forward.

  Bouncer tossed me into the trees like a rag doll. He wasn’t far behind, but I appreciated my flying head start. We both ended in the dirt on the side of the road just as the truck sped by.

  I thought the pickup was long gone, but out of the fog came screeching tires and the sound of an impact.

  Bouncer ran straight toward the crash. I found the bat and duct tape in the road, then hurried to catch up.

  “I got him,” Bouncer yelled. “Hurry, bring the tape.”

  The pickup driver must have lost control and swerved off the road. The vehicle had plowed through several yards of grapevines only to hit a wood storage shed. In the light from the one still intact headlight, I could see Bouncer holding someone. The man wasn’t especially short, but Bouncer was so tall that he easily held him by the back collar.

  “Let go of me,” the man yelled.

  Instead, Bo
uncer turned him around so I could see his face.

  Not Carter King, as I’d hoped. The light was poor, but the red tint of the man’s hair was still visible. It was Kincaid, the friendly neighborhood drug-dealing pharmacist.

  “Let him go,” I said to Bouncer.

  He did and Kincaid immediately went to the front of the truck where he’d hit the shed. “The bumper is loose. You know what this is going to cost me?”

  “I don’t care about your truck,” I shouted. “Where’s Rod?”

  He looked up from tenderly checking the hood for dents. “Who?”

  “My boyfriend, Rod. Where is he?”

  “How would I know?”

  Bouncer practically growled. “Answer the lady’s question.”

  Kincaid flinched and gestured toward Bakersfield. “Isn’t he back at that house? The Prius was still parked in the driveway.”

  “You know he’s not there.” I raised the bat. Kincaid shrank back. Even Bouncer looked surprised as I brought the wood down on the truck’s hood. “Tell me where he is.”

  Kincaid screamed at the sight of the dent. “How would I know where your boyfriend is? I spent all night following you.”

  I raised the bat again. “You’re lying.”

  “No.” Kincaid jumped between me and the truck. “I swear, I’ve been following you all night, even up to those crummy mobile homes in the mountains.”

  I lowered the bat slightly. “Why were you following me?”

  He glanced at Bouncer. “Can we talk about this somewhere private?”

  “No way,” Bouncer answered for me. “You get alone with her, first thing you do is run.”

  “Please,” Kincaid pleaded with me. “Certain aspects of my business require discretion, and we should talk about it privately.”

  I turned to Bouncer. “He owns a drugstore, but he’s selling meth on the side.” I looked back at Kincaid. “Now all three of us know, so let’s talk. Why were you following me?”

  Kincaid looked unhappy, but resigned himself. “I saw you last night out at the King place. I was getting gas and you pulled into the station by the freeway.”

  I remembered pulling off to check Sally’s missing dog flyer. I hadn’t seen Kincaid, but since he’d left the farmhouse well before me, the timing worked.