But I didn’t go back. It would look silly, and I would feel stupid. Instead, I kept sloshing along, waiting for my breathing to slow to a gentle wheeze. I couldn’t decide if I was happy that Carla still knew me, or if I was terrified that she knew more of her past than just me. Was I being paranoid? Maybe I was, but seeing Carla made it clear that there were things I had to do before I got to know her again. I couldn’t afford to be entangled or distracted when Kumar and I went to Arno’s garage.
Chapter 19
By the next morning the rainstorm had gone by and an oily smelling wind blew down LaSally. It was much too early to be awake, let alone outside, and the bright sunlight shining directly in my eyes and reflecting off the wet pavement made me squint.
Let Kumar wait a bit, I thought, while I ambled over to the cat house. It wouldn’t hurt him.
I knew I should try visualizing exactly what would happen at Arno’s house. I could have planned the day’s events while I walked. I could have thought through the possibilities in my head. I could have thought about consequences.
But I didn’t make myself think ahead. I had this feeling that Providence would guide me. I’m not a big believer in anything greater than luck, but at that moment, I didn’t know if I was in the right or not. Allowing things to happen as they might made me feel less responsible for the eventual result, which Providence would select from all the possible futures. It’s like flipping a coin to decide important questions that have no obvious answer. Let the universe choose for you.
So, instead of devising a strategy, my thoughts lingered on Carla. I’d fallen for her without understanding why, only to discover she was from my past; that I’d been in love with her before. Could I hope for the same from her? Was her love for me, if indeed she’d ever had a love for me, as deep-seated as my love for her? Were the memories and burned-in synaptic paths that caused her attraction to me far enough away from the scrambled places in her mind to be saved? What exactly had the police forced her to forget, and what doors into her past had their interference opened? I didn’t know, I couldn’t know until I tested it out. That would have to wait.
Outside the police station, their electronics and their dogs sniffed me up and down to make sure I wasn’t carrying any bombs or weapons into the police station. The guy behind the raised desk looked knowingly down at me, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he knew that he thought I knew. I looked knowingly back and hoped that was the right thing to do. He said Kumar was waiting for me.
Kumar came cruising out of a side corridor a few minutes later, long coat swaying behind him as he walked. He said, “Follow me,” in passing, and I followed behind him out the front door. He stopped at a black four-door car. Wire screen and bulletproof plastic divided the front of the car from the back.
Kumar slid into what appeared to be a cockpit rather than a driver’s seat. There was a steering wheel, but that’s where the similarity to a regular car ended. Touch screens and displays wrapped around him as though he were playing a VRcade game. They lit up when he started the car. He ignored them. For the first time in my life, I climbed into the front seat of a police car. I felt disoriented, like I shouldn’t be there. Kumar gave me a surprised look. He’d apparently expected me to sit in the back, but he didn’t say anything.
I focused on a tiny flashing red light perched atop a display, which showed a street map centered on the police station. I was already regretting the decision to trust Providence or the notion that some universal constant should decide my fate. Suddenly, I wanted to plan the whole thing. What if Kumar wanted to take the money with him without a receipt? What if Kumar wanted to arrest Arno, and Arno pulled a weapon on him, or even me? How mad would Kumar be when he found out that the money was in my pockets, and no longer in the garage? What if Arno’s kids were right there, watching? Possibilities blossomed in my mind and crowded out all useful thought.
“What else can you tell me about Chen?” asked Kumar, glancing sideways at me as he drove through another red light.
“I don’t really know him all that well, and why are you so interested in him? Has he done something illegal?”
Kumar grunted. “I guess he has, and more than once I might add. Do you know where he is?”
“No, he moves around a lot. I don’t know where he moved after I saw him last.”
“Don’t fool with me, Benny. I know you know more than that. Give me something, so I know you’re on the level.” Chen had said Kumar would try to get more information about him from me.
I leaned on the door, scrunching into the corner between the door and the seat. I wasn’t trying to get away from him, but I didn’t want to be close to him either. Looking out the side window, I could see the traffic behind us in the side mirror and this was the third time I’d spotted a blue Fairchild a few cars back. Kumar had apparently arranged for backup. I supposed this was good, but I knew he would have assigned hand-picked allies to the job. They would be of no help to me if things got difficult.
Kumar kept glancing at me. I finally said, “Look, Kumar, if you can’t find him, maybe you should consider a different line of work.” He almost drove into the stopped car in front of him, but the autostop slammed us to a halt with a hand’s width to spare. His reaction gave me some extra measure of confidence.
I was proud of myself for that slice. I was trying to be tough, trying to get in the mood I’d have to be in to handle Kumar and Arno at the same time, along with the backup that followed us.
“Benny, don’t start getting slap with me. I can still put you in jail and have you wiped clean without too much trouble. I just want to see if you’re with the program. I’m on your side remember? I get credit for arrests leading to convictions. That’s how I get paid, and I could use the commission on an arrest as big as the killer of Judge Kimbanski. So why should I keep you out of jail, keep you from getting wiped?”
I was wondering the same thing. “You mean like you had Carla wiped?”
He again looked startled, then he said, “Yeah, Benny. Just like Carla.” We were driving in the shade of a building, but he still squinted.
There have been a few times in my life when I’ve been truly scared. The worst was when a city bus was bearing down on me, the driver leaning on horn, and I stood transfixed in the street staring at it, unable to decide which way to go. I looked at the logo between the headlights and calmly imagined the imprint of that logo which the forensic evidence specialist would dutifully report finding on my forehead during the autopsy. Then a big dark-skinned guy dressed all in black grabbed me by the collar and pulled me back to the sound of screeching brakes. All he’d said was, “Damn fool.” I couldn’t say a thing. All I could do was stare at the asphalt and imagine my body lying there in a splatter of blood, a lump of smashed meat.
And I worried that if the moment came, and I had to act, I’d freeze again, just as I had in front of the bus. I’d always been in control before. I was never in a hurry, so I always had the best hand. Except for that time with the bus.
Now, I was letting the future get out of my control. That logo was still coming down the street toward me, and there was no one to pull me out of its way at the last second.
Kumar had something else in mind and it had to be more profitable than arresting me. He was quiet while we drove to Arno’s part of town. There were houses and trees and parkways and little kids playing in front yards. Everything looked clean and fresh from the rain the night before. There was a wet, slippery shine on the concrete and the tires snickered as we drove down Arno’s street.
I looked in the rear view and didn’t see the Fairchild, but they would know where we were going.
We pulled up to Arno’s and Kumar turned in under the overhanging maples. He drove up to the house and stopped the car before I realized I hadn’t told him where to turn. Kumar had been to Arno’s house before. I could tell because he didn’t look around; he didn’t scan the place like a cop. That bothered me a little. I started to have a bad feeling. “Come on, Benny. Let�
�s get your brother out of bed.”
How did Kumar know that Arno always slept late?
Chapter 20
I rang Arno’s door bell. We waited. Kumar watched me, I watched the door. Denise answered. “Hello detective,” she said. Then she suddenly realized I was there too and added, “Oh, Benny.” She looked wide-eyed for a moment then backed up letting us into the house. She was shaking.
Arno came out of the kitchen drying his hands on a towel. “Detective, Benny.” He nodded. “What can I do for you?”
“Benny says he keeps a stash of money here. We’d like to see it.” Kumar seemed too relaxed for what might be a confrontation.
I hadn’t heard the Fairchild pull into the driveway yet. They probably weren’t backup. They were probably there to keep other people from pulling into the driveway while Kumar was there. It wouldn’t do to have visitors.
There was a polished brass stallion, which reared on a table by the door. I watched Arno, but in a reflection on the horse’s hind quarter I caught Kumar shaking his head. They were talking without me.
I’d thought I was going to be in the middle between them, but it turned out I was on one side, and they were both on the other. I tried to back slowly up toward the wall, but Kumar put his hand behind my back.
Arno said, “We can go out to the garage if you want to. Benny, is that all right with you? Do you want me to wait for a warrant?” Arno didn’t wink at Kumar, but he might as well have. He was still evaluating me. Was I still a killer for hire, or was I a liability? The dreadful part was, Kumar was evaluating me too.
“No,” I said, “let’s go.” I offered to follow Kumar, but he pushed me forward. Denise’s eyes were full and wet. There were no tears, but I knew she was in pain. This time, her pain was for me.
We walked through the house and out the back door. Arno led the way, and Kumar continued to follow me as we walked single file to the garage. I glanced back down the driveway and saw only the police car there. No Fairchild. Maybe the car hadn’t been following us. Fewer witnesses fewer problems.
Once we were inside the garage, Arno pressed the button and the deck came down, just as I’d left it. All my stuff right there.
“We can take it as it is,” I said. “All the stuff is moveable. We can take it to the police station and open it up under video.”
Arno produce a grunt from his stomach. “That’s not necessary, Benny. I’ll be your witness.”
Kumar motioned me to open the boxes. “Go ahead, Benny.”
I pulled the crates off the pile and opened them. I showed Arno and Kumar pictures of our dog. They smiled as though to a lunatic. I almost cried. We’d put Gusset down because he’d bitten my mother’s boyfriend on the ass while they were in bed. “You can’t have a dog that bites,” my mother had said. “There’s no reason for a good dog to bite no matter what somebody does. He’s better off dead.” Actually, I couldn’t remember much about Gusset, but even at the time, I had doubted he would be better off dead.
“Open the handprint boxes, Benny,” said Kumar. He didn’t bother to obscure the threatening tone.
Without me, they would need an expert and a lot of time to open those boxes and that assumed I hadn’t set traps with explosives, which, of course, I had. The traps were incendiary and easily triggered. They would have suspected I would set up something.
Sometime between getting out of the car and looking in the crates, I’d decided that Kumar and Arno were going to have to die. Just like the dog. Just like Gusset. Fire wasn’t the best way to go, but they had to be put down. Maybe they wouldn’t be happier dead, but I knew if I was no longer there to kill for them that they would hire someone else instead. Maybe they would even hire Carla, if they could get to the old Carla, and, if they couldn’t get to the old Carla, they would have to kill her eventually just as they planned to kill me.
They only needed me until the boxes were open, until they had access to the money, enough to pay for many more murders, and access to any incriminating evidence I’d stashed with the boxes. Then they could do what they wanted back in that garage.
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll open the handprint boxes, but don’t you need to put this on video or something to use as evidence at my trial?”
“Just open them Benny, if you agree they’re yours, then we don’t need any more proof do we?” He was still holding on to the pretext even though we all knew they planned to kill me as soon as the boxes were open.
I knelt down next to the first box. I could feel their eyes on my back. I could feel them waiting, not taking a breath.
I could imagine Denise in the house wringing her hands like little wash rags. She would wonder, but she wouldn’t interfere.
I put my hand on the lid and popped the clasp, taking care not to dislodge the trigger of the fire bomb. I palmed my slash thatcher out of my pocket as I stood up. “Watch out for this little knob right here,” I said pointing to the trigger. I wanted them off guard. I wanted them thinking I might still be unaware of their decision to kill me.
I looked for a reflective surface to see what was behind me. The side of the Moto was shiny. I couldn’t see their faces clearly, but I could see their hand motions and their posture in silhouette.
“That one has all the money in it,” I said. “The other one has the weapons and things like that.” Kumar bent down to peer into the box. Arno was watching him.
I let the thatcher peak between my fingers, pointed it at the box and ticked it. The beam hit the incendiary and the gelpack exploded into flames. Kumar leapt up, swatting his face and lunged toward Arno and me, his face melting, covered with the sticky, burning gel.
Arno reached for his gun, which he had hidden in a pocket in his sleeve. I tried to punch Arno, but he slapped my fist away like I’d thrown a piece of paper at him rather than a punch. Kumar danced around the garage, screaming, trying to swat out the fire. He’d leapt around enough to ignite a box of filters, a bird house, and some wood fencing.
“Benny, you bastard. What have you done?” screamed Arno.
He raised his gun to shoot me. Kumar, now completely in flames, not even screaming anymore, ran into Arno, knocking his gun aside. Arno pushed him, then shot him in the chest. Kumar staggered, then dropped silent against the wall next to a stack of boxes which instantly lit.
I hit Arno on the side of the head, driving my flat palm against his temple with my whole body. He stumbled. Some of the gel had come off Kumar and stuck to Arno’s hands and chest. He dropped his gun and started flapping his hands trying to put the fire out.
I grabbed a set of hedge shears and whacked him over the head with the flat of the blades and he fell to his knees with a sickening crack, then pitched forward onto the floor.
I glimpsed someone with wiry black hair turning away from the window.
The fire spread. A gas can heated up enough to pop its lid and the fumes gushed fire, igniting some shop rags. I checked Arno. He wasn’t going anywhere without help. I thought to drag him out, but realized that I couldn’t do that. This would be my last murder, but it had to happen. Arno knew too many people in the right places to ever be convicted or even brought to trial.
I acted as a vigilante. I acted as a cold blooded killer. I still had it in me, and I found that vile, yet I hoped my disgust with my own actions indicated some good too.
Through the smoke, I found the other box, handed it open, pulled out the incendiary and tossed it into a back corner. The fire would reach there in a minute. I flung the contents of the box out into the garage floor. The police would find the weapons, the two bodies and the empty burned-out boxes.
I stood in the intensifying heat and considered staying, basking in the irony that the vigilante kills himself as retribution for past deeds. But I couldn’t do it. I was too weak. I opened the door and walked out into the cool morning air.
As I walked slowly down the driveway, I heard the second gelpack ignite with a whoosh. I didn’t turn around. I could feel the heat billow at my back.
<
br /> Denise looked out the kitchen window at me when I walked past. She could see the fire, but she wasn’t on the phone. Her finger tips were at her lips, almost as though she were praying. I could see her tears. I’ve remembered her in that pose ever since, the picture etched in my mind. I kept walking. I figured she would either tell the police I was there, or she wouldn’t. Or maybe the person whose hair I saw as they turned from the fire and ran might be calling the police at that moment to report me. Either way, I would be at ease with the result. I wouldn’t be happy, but I’d be at ease.
Out on the street, the Fairchild drove up beside me. The window rolled down. I was prepared to get shot in the head and actually accepted the idea, but Chen stuck his head out. “Get in, Benny,” he said.
Chapter 21
I climbed into the back seat of the Fairchild next to Chen. A woman with blonde hair pulled severely back into a ponytail was driving. I couldn’t see her face. The guy with the wiry hair was in the passenger seat.
Chen tapped him on the shoulder. “Send a team to the house, it’ll be on the police net soon enough. We want to be the first there.” He turned to me.
“I told you not to trust Kumar. I had a feeling Arno was in on this too, but I could never link him in. He always kept his hands clean.”
“Arno was my agent,” I said. “He set up the kills. Even the kid who kept Arno’s son off the soccer team. Even the woman who used to own his house. She wouldn’t sell. He didn’t even have the murders forgotten. Somehow he didn’t need to.” I was nervously trying to convince myself I’d done the right thing. I was shaking, staring at my trembling hands. My muscles sagged on my bones.
Chen didn’t say anything for a while. The wire-haired guy got through to someone and talked in low, urgent tones. Finally, Chen asked, “Did you leave anything behind that might incriminate you?”
Walking Shadow Page 13
