American Static

by Tom Pitts

  Steven brought his gaze back into the car. “You’re retired?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t mention that? Like you, I’m just a regular citizen in way over his head.”

  “Is your friend retired, too?”

  “Ha, no. But I’m afraid he’ll be retired against his will if we don’t do something about finding out where he is.”

  Steven began thinking about Teresa again.

  “Don’t worry, we’re going to find her, too,” Carl said. “This is the real deal though, no movie or TV show. These guys are for real and they play for keeps.”

  “I know that. Don’t you think I know that by now? I was with him. I saw what he did with that fork. I saw what else he did when we came back.” The words came out in a torrent of emotion. “That’s why I’m scared. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill Teresa, if he hasn’t already. He’s out there with his big fucking shiny gun and he’s got her and he’s looking for me.”

  “Shiny?” Carl asked.

  “What’s going to happen if we go to the cops—even if he is your friend? If Quinn finds out, he’ll kill her. Just like that. I know it. He doesn’t care. He acts nice, but he just…just…”

  “I know, son, I know,” Carl said. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know what to tell the kid. He didn’t know what drove a man like Quinn. He had no idea why Quinn grabbed the girl or what he intended to do.

  “Steven,” Carl said. “Steven.”

  Steven’s focus was once again pulled back to the present.

  “I still need you to help me find this place. We’re at Twenty-second and, let’s see,” Carl looked up to find a street sign, “Guerrero, it looks like. Which way do I turn?”

  “Left,” Steven said. The streets had once again become an understandable grid, the blue dot on the GPS catching up to their position. “Follow Twenty-second all the way down and we should eventually hit Alabama Street.”

  They turned and had gone less than one block when Steven said, “Stop the car.”

  “What do you mean, stop? I thought you said we keep going—”

  “That was them. Stop the car.”

  “Who? That was who? Where?”

  “Teresa and Quinn. I just saw them. They were on that street we just passed.”

  “You sure?” Carl found it hard to believe. The kid must have been traumatized, maybe slipping in to shock.

  Steven shouted, “Turn.”

  Carl took a hard right on Valencia Street. Tires squealed and people in the crosswalk jumped back. Steven grabbed at the padded door handle and missed it. The inertia of the turn threw him across the seat toward Carl.

  Carl said, “A man doesn’t spend thirty years on the police force without learning some tactical driving skills.” He raced to the end of the block and yanked the wheel over for another hard right. A half-block up was a side street, San Jose Avenue, an alley by San Francisco standards, but wide enough for two lanes of traffic. Carl took another right onto the alley and slowed. They saw no one. No moving cars. No pedestrians. Carl sped up the block, looking for anywhere the two may be hiding, but the street was empty. Just as he reached 22nd Street, the same spot where Steven thought he’d seen Quinn and Teresa, Carl saw something he did recognize. Tremblay’s Ford drove right in front of them on 22nd, in the same direction they had just gone.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Carl said.

  Manuel lost sight of the car containing Carl and his young friend when they turned left on 22nd Street, but he was still only a few car-lengths behind Tremblay and Tremblay was sticking close to Carl. He made the left as the light turned yellow and stuck close, too. Tremblay had slowed down in front of him. He looked ahead and didn’t see the Acura.

  Tremblay braked, then took a hard right on the corner of Valencia. Manuel started to follow, but before he could get half-way down the block, Carl’s Acura darted across the side street behind him. Manuel barely caught the flash of green in his rearview. There was no way to tell if the old man had seen him. Manuel was left with the decision to stay on Tremblay, or stick with the old man.

  He performed a quick three-point U-turn and pulled right onto the side street and followed Carl and the boy.

  The side street, though, was void of traffic. There were no other cars at all, only his and Carl’s. He was made. No way had he gone unnoticed. He’d practically rammed up against the other vehicle’s back bumper. Carl’s car tripled in speed and barely stopped at the next stop sign.

  “Shit,” whispered Manuel to himself.

  He checked his rearview and saw Tremblay’s car racing up behind him.

  Manuel said, “Motherfucker.”

  Quinn had Teresa tucked into a doorway on San Jose Avenue right before 22nd Street. He saw the way her eyes lit up when the Acura passed them. He knew it was trouble. Now, still in the doorway with his body pressed up against hers, keeping her still and hidden, he whispered, “Who was that in that car? I saw the way you looked at them. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a voice loud and defiant. Too loud.

  Quinn’s lips peeled into a snarl. He bared his teeth. The straight white lines parting just enough to promise a nasty bite.

  Teresa flashed back to the head-butt he’d delivered to Sofia. Her face was only a few inches from his. She was sure Quinn would chew a hole right through her cheek. He looked animal, inhuman. She didn’t say anything more.

  With his one free hand, he dug his index and middle fingers up under her sternum and pushed.

  “Who was in the car?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “I know.”

  Quinn heard a short squeal of tires somewhere on the block and turned his head to see the car. A green Acura passed in front of them. An old man drove and in the passenger seat he saw, he was sure of it, Steven.

  “Fuck me,” he said.

  The tire squeal, though, had come from too far away for it to be this car. He stayed pressed against the door, squeezing the air out of Teresa. Seconds later, another car drove by.

  A blue Ford Focus. Tremblay. My old friend Tremblay.

  He was in the same car that he’d chased Quinn in earlier that day. Tremblay was speeding, staring straight ahead, focused on something else. The other car. Tremblay was following Steven.

  Pinching Teresa in the neck right above the collar bone, Quinn leaned out from the doorway and looked down San Jose Avenue. Both the first car and Tremblay’s were driving away on the next block. But a third car had wedged in between them and was racing up on the first.

  “Fuckin’ idiots.”

  Teresa repeated, “You’re hurting me.”

  In the intensity of the moment, Quinn didn’t notice how hard he was pinching her neck. He let go and quickly grabbed her again at the elbow. “Sorry, but it’s the best you’re gonna get from me.”

  He dragged her back into the street now. She was stumbling, probably hoping to stall long enough so her friends would come back around and see them.

  “Let’s go,” Quinn said. “It’s time for us to hitch a ride.”

  Carl’s phone went off. Steven held it in his hand. Carl said, “What’s it say.”

  “Caller name withheld.”

  “Lemme see that.”

  Carl took the phone and hit answer as he made another right to round the block. Tremblay.

  “You know you got a tail?”

  “Where are you?” Carl said.

  “Right fucking behind you, you dumbfuck. You got one of Alvarez’s boys riding your ass.”

  Carl checked his rearview and saw the Charger drawing up close behind.

  “Who is that?”

  “You don’t recognize him? He was at the restaurant. I’m right behind him.”

  “No, I don’t recognize him. I’m trying to keep from running anybody over. Did you see them?”

  “See who?”

  “Quinn and the girl. They were right there.”

  “Where?”

  “You really back th
ere?”

  “Where did you see them?”

  “The boy saw them. Two blocks back. I’m going round for another look.”

  Tremblay had already hung up the phone.

  Quinn pulled Teresa by the arm all the way down to the corner of 22nd and Guerrero. There was a four-way stoplight and he walked up to the first car he saw, a late-model Subaru station wagon. All four windows were partially rolled down. Without hesitation he threw his bag into the backseat and reached in and unlocked the door. He got in first, dragging Teresa behind him.

  The driver, a meek bespectacled man in his thirties cried out, “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Police business,” Quinn said. “When the light turns, drive straight ahead.”

  “Police business? You can’t just jump in my car. I’ve got—”

  By then Quinn had his .45 out of his bag and was pressing it to the back of the man’s head. Hard, just below his right ear.

  “Drive straight and listen to my instructions.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Teresa started to say something. She didn’t even get out the first syllable. Quinn gave her an icy stare that froze her and left her mouth hanging open.

  “Not a good time, Teresa.”

  The driver was moving forward, waiting for further instructions. He was scared out of his mind, but had enough instinctual self-preservation to control the car. Quinn knew that wouldn’t last, though. Within a few blocks this candy-ass would run a light or get in a fender-bender that would draw the heat or immobilize them.

  “You got a phone?”

  The man nodded.

  “Let’s have it. Throw it to the girl.”

  The man picked up an iPhone from the front seat and tossed it back toward Teresa.

  “Take what you want,” he said.

  “I intend to,” Quinn said.

  They reached 19th Street and traffic was slowing down, backing up from other cars waiting to make left-hand turns.

  “Get in the right lane. Take a right.”

  The man made the right.

  “See the second left, that little street? Pull in there.”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Stop being a pussy.” Quinn looked at Teresa, a smirk on his face, but she was drawn, white, and as fearful as the man in the driver’s seat.

  The man made the turn and half-way up the block Quinn told him to stop. He cowered over the wheel, awaiting his fate.

  Quinn said, “Gimme the keys and get out.” Then he turned to Teresa, the gun pointed at her face. “You sit still, don’t move a muscle.”

  Quinn hopped out of the back and opened the driver’s door for the terrified man.

  “C’mon, c’mon. Let’s go.”

  The man got out and he and Quinn stood face to face on the sidewalk. Quinn held out his left hand and the man gave him the keys to the Subaru.

  Quinn pushed the barrel of the gun deep into the man’s stomach. He smiled.

  Teresa cried out, “Please don’t. Please.”

  Quinn was ready to pull the trigger, drop the man and buy them a few more minutes, but something about Teresa’s plea stopped him. He glanced at her. She was leaning over in the back seat, eyes wide and wet.

  “Lucky day, Mr. Subaru. The girl took a shine to ya.”

  Quinn got into the driver’s seat and fired up the car. He told Teresa to climb over into the front seat and put on her seatbelt as they pulled away.

  ***

  Peters hung his head down. His whole upper body was leaning forward. His hands were zip-tied to the back of the chair, anchoring him so he could lean no farther. He watched drops of blood spatter on the floor between his feet. His nose was broken, he was sure of it. Probably a couple of ribs, too. There was a loud ringing in his right ear and he probably had a concussion or worse.

  He stared at his feet. The wicked smaller man had smashed each of his pinky toes with the ballpeen hammer. The damage was concealed by his shoes, but the pain was excruciating. He felt the swelling toes push against the canvas along with the warm, wet blood in his shoe.

  Alvarez’s voice came back into focus. He squatted in front of Peters with the hammer raised in his hand. “Why would you come here looking for her if you didn’t know who she was?”

  Peters was afraid to answer. For over twenty minutes now Alvarez had been asking him about a girl. Some young girl named Teresa. He had no idea who they were talking about. Each time he answered, professing his ignorance, he was delivered another blow. He’d tried to explain why they were there, why he and Carl felt the need to come to San Francisco. It sounded ridiculous even to him now—taking time off, going out of your jurisdiction on your own dime, to try to find a man who may or may not know something about a homicide. It shouldn’t have even been his case to begin with. Homicides were investigated by the Sheriff’s Department. They were right; he was only a patrolman, why would he do this?

  Alvarez’s questions took a turn. “What about the reporter? Hmmn? You know who I am talking about, don’t you?”

  “Reporter?” croaked Peters. “What are you—”

  Crack. The ballpeen came down again on his toe. The same spot. The same crushed pinky. The pain connected immediately with his brain, white and hot. He winced and tried to suck in air through his nose, but his nasal passages were caked with dried blood. They must have him confused with someone else. This must be a case of mistaken identity.

  “Friedlander. From the Chronicle? Are you saying you’ve never been in contact with him? We’re going to find out everything eventually. You may as well tell us now and save yourself some pain.”

  The cell went off in Alvarez’s pocket and he dug the phone from his jacket. The screen read Home.

  His tone turned tender as he answered. “Teresa? Sweetheart?”

  Quinn laughed on the other end. “Sweetheart? You kidding me? I’m pretty sure she’s not gonna buy that act and I know I definitely don’t.”

  “You…you…” Alvarez was at a loss for words. “What do you want? Where is my daughter?”

  “She’s right beside me. Careful with that word, I don’t want her to hear you. You’ll spoil my surprise. Yeah, she’s all right, too. In case you were going to ask.”

  Alvarez held his breath, waiting for Quinn to make his move, his demands.

  “You sound as chipper as ever, Ricardo. I bet you didn’t think you’d be hearing my voice anytime soon.”

  “How much?”

  “How much? How much for what? What do you think I’m doing? Kidnapping her? I don’t think so. You should be asking when. When am I going to show up at your door. When is the other boot gonna drop. When is your façade going to crumble.”

  “I know about the reporter. Tremblay is picking him up right now.”

  Quinn laughed. “Bullshit. I just saw Tremblay. He’s down here in the Mission chasing my ass around. He might as well be chasing his own tail because he’d have better luck. Shit, Ricardo, you got a whole wagon train on my ass down here. Whatever happened to being discreet? These yahoos should’ve had parade banners on.”

  Alvarez wasn’t sure if this was a bluff or not. He hadn’t heard a report from Manuel, and Tremblay wouldn’t answer his phone.

  “I just wanted to touch base” Quinn said. “Let you know I’m doing good and I’m right on track with fucking your shit up. Tell you what though, the cell battery is running low so I’m gonna—we’re gonna—have to call you back.”

  Alvarez, not wanting Quinn to hang up, said, “Do you actually have her? Let me speak to her.”

  To Teresa, Quinn said, “Hey girl, say hello to this punk who calls himself your father.”

  The way Quinn said father, the almost sarcastic tone, threw Teresa off. All she could think to say was, “Hello?”

  Quinn punched the end button and dropped the phone on the seat.

  “What do you think of this car? You think we look like one of those well-to-do lesbian couples in one of these things? I hear they lov
e the Subaru station wagons. Is that true?”

  Teresa slumped down in her seat. She didn’t laugh. It looked to Quinn as though she were about to throw up.

  “C’mon now. You’re not gonna go into one of those drug convulsions are you? You already getting sick for a fix? You just had some a while back.”

  “No, I’m not getting sick. You’re the one that’s sick. This whole thing, what you’re doing, is sick.”

  Quinn laughed. “Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.”

  ***

  Carl and Steven pulled over. The Charger whizzed past them, the driver keeping his eyes straight ahead. Carl saw in his rearview that Tremblay was pulling up behind them and stopping. The cell started ringing again.

  “It’s that Panzer guy again,” Steven said.

  “Don’t answer it.”

  Tremblay got out of his car and walked toward them. Carl told Steven to stay in the car. Steven was glad to do so.

  “You sure you saw ’em?”

  “The kid did. That’s good enough for me.”

  Tremblay eyed the back of Steven’s head through the rear window.

  “You never told me the deal about the kid. Who is he?”

  “Quinn found him on the roadside up north. Brought him along to try to lure the girl. Almost worked too, until the boy got wise and took off with her.”

  Tremblay’s gaze hadn’t broken.

  “That’s it,” Carl said. “He doesn’t know anything more than what I’ve told you. Now it’s time for you to enlighten me a little further.”

  Tremblay’s phone went off inside his pants pocket. He pulled the cell, looked at it, holding a finger up to Carl.

  “This should be interesting.”

  He hit the answer button and immediately Alvarez’s voice blasted through the tiny speaker. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Hello to you too, Richard.” He turned away from Carl so the conversation could not be overheard. “What’s up?”