Blood of Angels

by Marshall, Michael

  'The guy's gone missing,' Lee said patiently. 'The cops were always going to talk to his friends. Point two, Karen held the party which was his last known location. So they're going to talk to her too. All of this is predictable. The cops will soon come to figure he's just blown off somewhere and he'll be back, but in the meantime they've got to go through the motions.'

  'But he won't be coming back,' Brad said. 'Remember? He's not going to be coming back,'

  'I know that. But so long as he's gone, he's just gone. Nothing more. Pete's a world-class stoner. They'll already know that about him. I tell you now that their assumption will be that he just lit off. Figured he'd go snowboard pro and headed for Colorado. Or he's asleep under some skanky chick nobody knows about and will be back when he has to borrow some cash. They have to look busy but they'll lose interest soon enough. Cops are poor and live in crappy little houses and they hate people like us.'

  'She won't, though,' Brad said. 'Pete's mom won't lose interest. Ever.'

  At that moment he got a mental image of her, strong enough to make the real world fade away. Maria Voss was small and slight—Pete's dad had contributed all of his son's height and bulk—and she had long black hair and big brown eyes. The vision held for a second and then suddenly her eyes were full of tears, full in the way the ocean was full. Brad had never seen this happen in real life, but he knew exactly how it would look. Her face started to crumple and he could almost hear the scream that was fighting its way out of her mouth.

  'Lee, this is real bad.'

  'Nothing has changed. Brad, listen to me. Nothing has altered since the moment the bullet went into his head.'

  Brad flinched. 'Christ, man, that's…cold.'

  'Listen to me. You've got to get your mind around what's happened here. All this was going to happen right from that moment. We can't go back before the bullet, so we have to live in the world that comes afterwards. This is not our fault.'

  'Of course it's our fault.'

  'We didn't kill him.'

  'We took him out there. We should have, we should have…'

  'What? We should have what? What could we have done?'

  'We shouldn't just have dumped him.'

  Hudek shook his head firmly, a man who either believed he was right or who was simply no longer countenancing alternative views.

  'Hernandez nailed it. Once it happened, there was nothing else to do. Pete was already dead. There was no point us going down with him, and that's all that would have happened.'

  'Hernandez, right, yeah. Our good buddy. Has he called yet? Have we heard anything out of these so-called friends of ours?'

  'No. But we will.'

  'You're dreaming, Lee. We're nothing but a problem to them now. We're baggage. We're fucked.'

  Hudek reached up and took him by the shoulders. Just looked into his eyes. Brad looked back, and all he saw there was calmness and strength of purpose. Slowly he started breathing more easily.

  'Go home,' Lee said. 'Take a nap. Jerk off. Play some Xbox. Do whatever the fuck you have to do, but chill out.'

  •••

  Brad went home. He tried some Xbox, and only then realized that almost every single game he owned involved shooting people. He didn't want to do that. He tried a driving game instead but it just meant going round and round in circles, and his head felt like it was already dizzy. In the end he lay on his bed. From there he could see his photo boards. They were covered in pictures from the last five years, at first laid out neatly and then just all over, on top of each other and four deep in some places. Parties, big school events, snaps of everybody hanging out. Good nights, happy days. Pete was there, of course. There was one of him and Brad in the back of Lee's old car. One of him in Brad's back yard. One of a bunch of them after a big game back at school, arms around each other, mouths wide in victorious bellows.

  Eighteen months ago. Was it really only that long?

  His phone rang. It was Steve Verkilen, the guy who'd lain in a parking lot next to Pete with duct tape around his mouth. He was breathless.

  'Shit, dude. You heard? I just had Pete's mom on the phone. She sounded way strung out.'

  'I heard,' Brad said, evenly. 'The cops came by Karen's. You any idea where he is?'

  'Not a clue, man. Not a clue. Haven't seen him in days. Was supposed to meet up with him at Karen's party but I was wiped and didn't make it.'

  'Yeah, well, he was there,' Brad said, thinking: spread the consensus. 'Then he split. Nobody knows anything after that.'

  'Weird shit.'

  'Yep.'

  'Was going to call Lee, see if he heard.'

  'I just came from there. You know Pete. He's out there somewhere. Probably just lost his fucking phone.'

  'Yeah.' There was a pause. 'We going to be doing a pickup this week, though? If Pete doesn't show up?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Well, keep me in the loop, okay? I need the money.'

  Steve went away, leaving Brad to wonder what in fact they would do about the week's pickup. Hernandez seemed to have gone to ground. Steve wasn't the only one who needed the money. But could they just do it? Business as usual despite everything?

  He lay on his back a little longer, trying to work things out, and then decided he didn't want to be able to see the pictures on his wall. He rolled onto his front, eyes closed, breathing the familiar smell of his sheets. Like Lee said, until they found something, there was no crime. Brad nodded to himself reassuringly, his forehead rustling on the sheets, and gradually started to feel okay. He turned over onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling for a while and eventually sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He felt tired and yet rested when he stood up, and even a little hungry. He decided to head downstairs, see if there were some Fritos in the cupboards. There generally were. Things just appeared. He walked along the upper gallery and down the stairs and realized he seemed to be alone in the house. His mother had been there when he got home, and his sister too, playing Smash Mouth way too loud. He walked into the kitchen and was surprised by how tidy it was. Usually a contained chaos was the Metzger family MO. This afternoon it looked like Lee's place, tidy all over, the Sub Zero gleaming like new, nothing even on the kitchen table, which had long been the eventual resting place of everything in the household that wasn't nailed down somewhere else. He opened the cupboard that usually harboured potato chips and found it empty. Completely, without even any dust. So that's where they'd gone—to the supermarket. Done a spring clean, now time to restock. Figures. He opened the next cupboard. It was empty too. He quickly moved around them all, and found it the same everywhere. A very serious spring clean, evidently. Though it was September, of course. A fall clean, then. He heard a noise and turned to see where it was coming from. It was hard to describe, sort of like a quiet chewing sound. It sounded like it was coming from the back yard. Brad went to the window to look and realized it was night. He must have fallen asleep on the bed upstairs. Though…hadn't it been daylight five minutes before, when he looked out front to check for his mother's car?

  Brad walked quickly back to the front of the house. It was clean in here too, he realized. Very, very clean. No magazines, no newspapers, no television remotes, and out the front it was still day. There was something wrong about this arrangement, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. So he turned to deal with the other thing, the chewing/rustling he could still hear from out back. It didn't seem any louder but it didn't seem like it was going to stop either. He headed back into the kitchen and out through the big doors into the yard. It was very dark and cold outside but there was no wind. There were trees, however, ranks of tall trees which came right up to the back of the house. A few even seemed to spike up through the roof from the inside. He thought he could hear a stream too, somewhere not far away. There was an unusual smell. It was cinnamon, and sugar, and something else he couldn't get. He walked between the trees but nothing seemed to get any closer. There was a mole problem, though. Wherever you looked there were pathway
s running under the surface of the forest floor, like a network of swollen veins. They were moving. This was what was making the chewing sound, and as they shifted it was as if the ground itself seemed to become transparent. There were people under there, too. They were lying flat and their eyes were closed and most were missing something. The smell seemed to get stronger and Brad realized first that there was the scent of apples, and finally that what he could smell was a pie. A slim McDonald's apple pie, specifically, the kind that came with the warning that the contents were very fucking hot. None of the bodies had anything in their hands or in their mouths. There must be a pie somewhere, though. You could smell it. Anyone could smell it, Brad realized, his heart going cold. If someone came out here they couldn't help but work out what had gone on.

  There was a glassy rapping sound then, and he turned to see his mother and sister had returned from the store and were in the kitchen. His mother was unloading groceries and his sister was tapping on the window, trying to tell him they were back with Fritos and he didn't need to go looking for pies, that it would be better if he did not. He wanted to tell her it was okay and that so long as the pie remained hidden he was safe and everyone was safe. But the more he tried to walk back towards the kitchen, the smaller it seemed to get, and she began tapping on the window harder and harder and the sound was not so much like a tapping as the ringing of some bell, in a rhythm that was familiar and trying to tell him something. The smell of apples became overpowering suddenly, too sickly, nauseously strong and then—

  'Fuck,' he slurred, jerking upright. He'd fallen asleep on his side and so banged his head on the wall. He flapped out with his hand, knowing now that the ringing sound was his phone. Finally found it where it had slid off the bed and fallen to the floor.

  The screen said 'K CELL.'

  'Hey,' he said. He opened his mouth and eyes as wide as he could, trying to wake up, half of his mind still somewhere else.

  Karen didn't say anything. It sounded like she was crying.

  'Babe, what is it? What's the problem?'

  She sniffed, hard. He could hear her swallowing.

  'Oh my God,' she said. 'They found Pete.'

  Chapter 16

  Lee sat on one of the couches in his parents' living room. The detectives sat opposite, the big windows behind making them appear as silhouettes. This was fine by Lee. It rendered them anonymous. He'd already figured the one with the moustache was the boss. That was all he needed to know.

  'Do you want me to stay?'

  Ryan Hudek stood in the doorway. He was dressed in chinos and a pale blue Lacoste and had reacted imperturbably to the arrival of policemen at his house. On being told they were looking for his son he had asked why, and stepped aside when it had been explained—after he had checked ID. Lee was glad his father was in the house. He felt curiously young this afternoon.

  'No, that's okay,' he said.

  His dad gave him a small upwards nod of the head. 'I'll be around,' he said. 'If you change your mind.'

  The moustached detective looked down at his hands and waited until the sound of Ryan Hudek's footsteps had receded down the hall. There was the sound of the door to the back yard opening and then sliding shut again with a quiet thud. Then he looked up and straight at Lee.

  'Okay,' he said. 'Sorry to come hunt you down at your folks' place, but you weren't at home when we called around there.'

  'No,' Lee said, evenly. 'I was here.'

  'Right. Very understandable. Friend of mine turned up dead, a good friend, I'd want the support of friends and family.'

  Lee said nothing. Instinct told him not to volunteer answers to non-questions.

  The detective paused, started again. 'I'm sorry to bring you the news about Peter Voss.'

  'You didn't,' Lee said. 'I heard an hour and a half ago.'

  'Someone called you? Who was that?'

  'Couple people. Word went around fast. I still can't believe it.'

  'You can't remember who the first person was?'

  Lee pretended to think. 'Sorry. I was pretty shaken up.'

  'Of course. When was the last time you saw Peter?'

  'Pete,' Lee said. 'Nobody called him Peter. I saw him, guess it would have been late Friday morning.'

  The detective frowned. 'You didn't see him at the Luchs party?'

  'I don't think so. I got there a little late. Time I arrived, he'd gone, I guess.'

  'So you'd be surprised if we said we had someone who'd seen you talking to Peter at the party.'

  'Not majorly, but I don't remember it. Pete and I talked the whole time. I don't, like, make a note of the occasions. Why—did somebody say that?'

  'No.'

  Lee shrugged. 'Okay. Kind of a weird question, then.'

  'So you saw him Friday. Under what circumstances?'

  'At the mall, just before noon? We split some fries, then he went. Had to go meet some guy, or something. Seemed to be a thing he didn't want to be late for, anyway.'

  The first part of this was true. Lee had seen Pete at the Belle Isle mall that Friday morning, but from a distance and they hadn't spoken. Voss had been on his own, however, so nobody was going to know the difference.

  'Did he seem to have anything else on his mind when you spoke? Did he seem unusual in any way? Worried? Distracted?'

  'Not really. I mean, Pete was always kind of out there. We talked about how we'd hang out at Karen's on Saturday, early. He had some other party for later on that night, but he wasn't specific about it.'

  The other detective spoke. 'You think it's possible it might have involved whoever he was going to meet after you on the Friday?'

  Lee considered. 'Could be, I guess. But he didn't say anything about it to me.'

  'And you heard nothing after that?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Peter's mom said her son seemed to have an unusual amount of cash last week. Bought himself new clothes, expensive gifts for her and his father. You know anything about that?'

  Lee shook his head.

  'Nice place you got over in Summer Hills.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Looks expensive.'

  Lee shrugged. You want to ask me a question, ask it direct.

  'How much information did your caller have? The first who told you about Peter. Whoever that was.'

  'Nobody knew details. Just said that Pete was dead.'

  Moustache made a show of referring to his notes. 'The body was found up in the Santa Ynez mountains, just shy of the Los Padres National Forest. It was hidden a few hundred yards off a hiking trail. Somebody blew most of his head off and tried to bury him but made a crappy job of it. Didn't dig the hole deep enough.'

  'It's always the way,' the other detective said, meditatively. 'Just fucking lazy, most of these people.'

  'Anyway, so, coyotes sniffed it out. By the time they'd dragged it up and been at it, it was in even more of a mess. Luckily some kids on bikes found it pretty quickly. But still. It was pretty bad.'

  'Yeah, really,' the other guy said. 'Tore up. Heat, death and vermin. It's a bad combination.'

  'Do you mind?' Lee said, loudly. 'This guy was my friend.'

  Moustache looked up. 'Oh, I'm sorry…'

  'No you're not. Just show some respect. For me, and for him.'

  The cop stared at him and Lee stared right back.

  'I apologize for our insensitivity,' the other one said, after a long, long beat. 'Occupational hazard.'

  'Just don't talk to his parents the way you have me,' Lee said. 'Or you'll be living in a world of hurt.'

  For just a moment, he felt a little rocked. Was Moustache actually the lead guy after all? For a second there, you wondered whether it was his pale friend who was the boss.

  'We've already been there,' the cop said. 'But point taken.'

  'Okay,' Moustache said, quietly, 'if we need anything else, we'll be in touch. You want to just check your cell phone for me, see who that first call was from?'

  'Sure.' Lee got his phone out, hit buttons, compl
etely someone who wasn't even a little bothered what the answer was. He found it and nodded. 'That's right. It was Brad. Of course.'

  'Bradley Metzger?'

  'Yes. Karen called him, he called me straight after.'

  'Because you three guys were friends. Good friends.'

  'That's right.'

  The cops stood up together and Lee saw them to the door. As they stepped out of the house, Moustache turned. 'Oh yeah, one thing you could confirm. Did Peter usually carry his cell phone?'

  'All the time,' Lee said. 'Why?'

  'Can't find it,' the cop said. 'Not on or near the body, not at his house. His mom tried calling it, and it rings, so I guess the battery's not run dry yet. You didn't find it at your place or anything? He didn't drop it there sometime?'

  'No,' Lee said. 'He had it when I last saw him Friday. In the mall.'

  'Well, they're slippery things. Can fall out anywhere. We'll keep an eye out for it.'

  Lee watched as they walked down to their car. He waited until they'd backed out of the driveway and then stood a little longer, staring out into the world, thinking:

  You lied to the cops. The world's different now.

  'Not so tough, were they?' said a voice.

  Lee turned, startled, to see his mother standing just behind him in a silver robe. He hadn't even realized she was in the house.

  She wasn't wearing sunglasses and her eyes looked floaty but she did appear to be seeing him.

  'You did very well,' she said. 'The respect part was a nice touch.'

  She ran her finger down his cheek, very briefly, and then wafted out of the room, to go who knew where.

  •••

  'It's me.'

  'Hey babe. You okay?'

  Karen sighed. 'Well, kinda. You know.'

  'Yeah. Where are you?'

  'Out by the pool. Just sitting around. If I stay in the house Mom keeps coming by to ask how I am, which is nice of her, but, you know.'

  'Yeah.'

  'She's going to go see Pete's mom later.'

  'I didn't realize they knew each other so well.'

  'Well, I don't think they do, but, you know, Pete's dead.'