by Louisa Luna
7
cap sat up, awake and confused in a strange room. he kicked the thin covers off and looked at the clock blaring 5:23 in red. California, he thought. You’re in California, and your body thinks it’s 8:23. He scratched his face and head all over and yawned theatrically, as if he wanted to prove to himself he was truly awake now.
He got out of bed and went to the window, pulled the curtains open. It was still dark outside, the sky only hinting at lighter shades of blue in the distance. He turned on the lamps on the table and by the bed and took a shower, shaved with the kit he’d bought in the airport. So small, he thought, why is everything so small; he could barely hold the razor. Then he grinned, thinking if Nell could hear him she’d say, “They sure don’t make ’em like they used to, hey, Old Man Caplan?”
By the time he was done it was almost six, and he was in urgent need of coffee.
He stepped outside his room and leaned over the railing for a minute. The sky was brighter now, a yellow and orange pool gathering at the center, where the sun would be coming up soon. The air smelled like fresh, wet flowers.
He headed for the stairs, pausing by Vega’s room on the way. He glanced at the window on the chance he might see a light on. He knew Vega was an early riser or, more specifically, a seldom sleeper, could just shut her eyes for an hour or two and then get to work and be efficient, was able to deduce and surmise and think rationally with the right amount of hunch.
The curtains were mostly closed, but there was a gap in the middle, a couple of inches wide. Cap looked in. He didn’t even think about not looking in. His heart thumped and skipped—suddenly he was aware of it, and his eyes adjusted to what he thought he was seeing.
There, in the middle of the room, was Vega doing a handstand. The lights were off, but Cap could make out the shape of her body and could tell she was clothed. She was facing away from him, toward her bed, her hair draped onto the carpet below. And she wasn’t moving.
Cap stood still and watched her five, six, seven minutes. How could she hold it that long, he thought. The sun crept up behind him as he stood there, Vega’s bare arms wrapped in a soft gray light. He could see the contours of her muscles, and the taut tendons leading to her wrists.
Then she came down.
It was graceful but quick, one leg swung to the floor and then the other, and as she began to roll her spine upright, Cap panicked and jumped to the side, pressed his back against Vega’s door, and held his breath. Please don’t let her have heard me, he thought, letting the anxiety run a few laps. Please don’t let her think I’m a fucking giant perv. He froze for a few minutes, and the sun was rushing up now, hot on his face.
* * *
—
Vega heard something.
She broke from the handstand and came down quicker than usual, felt the weird chill of the blood escaping her head and wiggled her fingers. She went to the window and peered through the gap between the curtains, then opened them all the way.
No one.
The sun was up and blurry with heat. Vega let it warm her face for a moment and then closed the curtains fast, making sure there wasn’t any space between them this time.
She took a shower and got dressed, brushed her wet hair and tied it in a knot at the base of her forehead. Socks and boots. Shoulder holster, one arm, then the other. Springfield on one side. Mag on the other. Then she heard a knock.
She looked through the peephole and then opened the door to Cap. He held a cardboard tray with two cups and a white paper bag.
“Options,” he said, shaking the bag.
Vega nodded and cracked a smile, moved aside so he could come in. Cap set the tray on the table and opened the bag, pulled out a small brown sack and a Clif bar.
“Egg whites, turkey bacon on an English muffin, I think,” he said, flicking the lip of the brown sack open with his finger. “Or crunchy peanut butter power bar.”
“Bar,” said Vega, tightening the strap on her right shoulder so that the Springfield fit just under her armpit.
Cap tossed her the bar, and she caught it with one hand.
“How did I know?” he said, removing the sandwich from the sack. “And tea, China something?”
“Thanks.”
She went to the wall rack in the corner, where her jacket hung, pulled it off the hanger, and slid it on.
“We just showing up at Duffy’s?” said Cap, taking a bite of sandwich.
“Think so,” said Vega. “Before anyone goes to work.”
He nodded, mouth full, and chewed quickly, holding a fist over his lips. He swallowed and said, “What did LoSanto have to say about all that money?”
Vega tugged the bottom flaps of her jacket to straighten it.
“Six months ago, he got an anonymous email. Gave a handle, no name, knew who LoSanto was and where he worked, offered him a way to make some money. Gave him a number to call. Guy said he’d pay under the table for IUDs. LoSanto didn’t get along with Palomino, thought this was a good way to stick it to her, and doesn’t have a problem with making money.”
“He take them all at once?” Cap said, sipping his coffee.
“Over a few months,” said Vega, taking her keys and phone from the bedside table.
“Did he actually do the procedures?” Cap asked, wincing in doubt.
“No,” said Vega. “Said he just provided the equipment.”
“Why not bank the money?” asked Cap, handing Vega the tea as she passed him. “It didn’t look like that much.”
“It wasn’t, but the payer told him not to. Said to stash it instead and spend it piecemeal. LoSanto didn’t ask, didn’t care.”
Vega took a too-big sip of tea, and a few scalding drops landed on her tongue.
“He claims he never saw the payer, that it was a blind drop-off. Suitcase on a street kind of thing.”
“You believe him?” said Cap, as they left the room together.
“Yeah. He wasn’t going to lie to me,” Vega said.
“He give you a name?”
“Yeah but might be a fake. Email and number too.”
They headed to the parking lot, the staircase rattling under their weight.
“Ride together?” said Cap.
“Yeah,” said Vega, walking to her car. “LoSanto claims he hasn’t had contact in at least six months since he left the job. If that’s true, doubtful we’ll get any hits from the email or cell.”
Vega unlocked her car, and she and Cap got in.
“I sent everything to Otero’s detective, guy named McTiernan. He’s going to pick LoSanto up.”
“Everything?” said Cap, buckling his seatbelt.
The car was filled with the smell of Cap’s egg sandwich. Vega didn’t eat a lot and didn’t care for the smell of food unless she happened to be eating it. She started the car and quickly powered down the windows.
“Almost,” she said, taking another sip of tea.
It was only a little cooler now, but she didn’t mind the heat on her throat.
“Almost?” said Cap, a little tease to his voice. “Holding back from the client, hmm.”
Vega pressed her cup into the holder, put on her sunglasses and seatbelt. She allowed him to mock her a little, and still she knew she had to tell him the truth behind her thinking. She had brought him here, and he was the closest thing to a partner she’d ever had.
“There’s a lot they’re not telling me,” she said. “They answered my questions, but there’s still a lot that doesn’t fit.”
“Like why you, why the DL, why the cash,” said Cap.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“So you figure,” Cap said, lifting the edge of the lid off his cup, steam framing his face, “they hold back, we hold back.”
“Something like that.”
Vega had not matched her thoughts to words until t
hat moment. She recalled Boyce’s arrogance, Mackey’s sheepishness, Otero’s eventual complacency, the that’s-the-way-it-is-ness. She knew she would tell them what they needed to know only when they needed to know it and use whatever resources they’d give her in the meantime.
She realized Cap was staring at her while he sipped his coffee. Studying her.
“You okay with that,” she said, allowing the last word to inflect up just the tiniest bit to indicate a question instead of an assumption. Or an order.
“Me?” said Cap boisterously. “I’m the cop, remember. I don’t tell anyone anything. Not a goddamn thing.” He took a bite of his sandwich and held it up to Vega in a toast. “I’m great at that.”
Vega pulled out of the space and turned the car around, headed for the lot’s exit. She knew he was being funny but she didn’t have an urge to reward him this time, so she didn’t. She was thinking of the next thing, and the next, of Duffy and his son, the men that licked their thumbs and counted out the money for LoSanto, and the girls they were standing on while they did it.
* * *
—
They were at Duffy’s door and heard yelling. Two voices—one male, one female. Mostly profanity. Cap and Vega glanced at each other.
“You can start,” said Vega, pressing the bell.
“You planning to finish?” said Cap.
Vega dropped her arms to her sides, and the fingers on her right hand rippled like a little wave.
“Sure,” she said, and then the door opened.
It was the young girl, still in pajamas. She wore Beats headphones and didn’t speak, just stood to the side so Cap and Vega could come in.
The yelling stopped suddenly. Cap and Vega walked into the living room, and there was Duffy in blue coveralls ready for work and Mrs. Duffy in leggings and a windbreaker.
“Hi,” said Duffy, his face flushed and glinting from a light sweat. “This is, uh, my wife, Tamsin.”
“Max Caplan,” said Cap, giving her a sturdy nod and wave.
Cap thought there were certain moments when it felt like an imposition to stick out his hand and expect physical contact, and this was one.
“This is Alice Vega,” he said.
Vega nodded, didn’t wave. Not a waver, thought Cap.
Tamsin Duffy had short blond hair with eyebrows and lashes so fair they blended with her skin, which was a pale pink, her eyes seemingly too big for their sockets.
“What is this about?” she said to Cap impatiently.
Cap quickly tried to unpack the moments that had come before he and Vega arrived. Duffy and Mrs. had been fighting, but why—either she was upset that Cap and Vega would dare question her angel or that the little shit had really stepped in it this time. Or maybe she was just a wheel gripper in traffic all the time, why-me-why-me twenty-four-seven-three-six-five.
“We think your vehicle may have been left unlocked on purpose,” said Cap plainly.
Tamsin frowned, eyes became even bigger.
“We don’t do that,” she said. “We never leave our cars unlocked…”
“Understood,” said Cap. “I don’t either unless I’m very distracted. As we explained to Mr. Duffy last night, we’d like to ask your son if he might know anything about that.”
Tamsin shook her head but not saying no. She huffed out a sigh and then screamed, “Logan!”
The house was silent except for a television on somewhere. The poppy tunes of toy commercials. No one appeared.
“Goddammit,” she said through her teeth, then left the room, down a hallway.
Cap heard her yell again: “Logan! Get the fuck out here.” Then, the slap of a palm against a door. Then, the door opened and Cap heard, “What the hell, psycho?”
Dylan Duffy rubbed his mouth and stared at the ground.
Whispering, then the boy in a high adolescent whine: “I don’t even drive.”
“They’re the police and they need to talk to you!” yelled Tamsin.
“Yeah, heard you,” said the boy dismissively, as he emerged from the hallway with his mother behind him.
Black T-shirt, blue jeans, cheeks speckled with acne. Tamsin’s face was red, eyes about to pop like those of a squeezed stress doll.
“Hi, Logan,” said Cap, congenial but not enthusiastic. “I’m Max Caplan. This is Alice Vega. We’d like to ask you some questions about your dad’s car.”
“I don’t have a license,” said Logan, pushing limp bangs off his face.
“Right,” said Cap. He glanced around the room. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
Cap glanced around at everyone, thought they looked about as friendly as a firing squad. Vega sat first, and Cap thanked her in his head, and then he sat next to her on the couch. Duffy leaned back on the one-shelf bookcase, and Logan dropped dramatically into the wicker chair. Tamsin Duffy wasn’t moving and wasn’t planning to move, arms crossed, angry at the wind.
“So,” said Cap, clapping his hands together lightly. “Before we start, Vega, can you do the thing with the video?”
Vega didn’t flinch, stuck her chin up to signal agreement, and then held up her phone, tapped the screen, and nodded at Cap, as if they’d done this many times before.
“Hope you don’t mind,” said Cap politely.
Duffy and his wife glanced at each other, and Duffy shrugged. Logan sat up a bit straighter.
It was a cop trick. Once you record people, they usually go one of two ways; either they panic and start confessing or they panic and ask for lawyers. Cap had a hunch the Duffys wouldn’t think they needed a lawyer just yet.
“Okay,” said Cap. “So, Logan, do you ever go into your dad’s car without your parents for any reason?”
The boy clenched his jaw and forced air through his nose so hard Cap was surprised he couldn’t see two streams of steam.
“I already told you,” he said. “I don’t have a license.”
“Right, no license,” said Cap, turning toward the line of Vega’s screen, as if he wanted to make sure she got that particular detail. “But what if, say, you leave your phone in there or something, would you grab their keys maybe and go in there to get it?”
Logan shook his head.
“Sorry,” said Cap. “Could you say the word ‘no’ if that’s your answer? For the recording,” he added, nodding back to Vega.
“No,” said Logan quietly. “I don’t have keys.”
“Uh-huh,” said Cap. “Mom, Dad, you ever give Logan the keys to get something out of the car?”
Duffy cleared his throat and said, “Sure, sometimes.”
“Ma’am?” said Cap to Tamsin.
Get everyone to tell the same story, he thought. Tamsin’s eyes reduced slightly in circumference while she thought about it.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I have this dish on a table by the front door. It says ‘keys’ on it. My daughter got it for me because I’m always losing them,” Cap said, smiling fondly at his audience.
Duffy grinned politely, and the muscles around Tamsin’s mouth softened.
“You all have a place like that?”
Duffy spoke: “Those hooks.”
He pointed to a small silver hook rack next to the front door.
“Oh, wow,” said Cap. “I’m going to have to tell my daughter about that. Now that is organized.”
“We don’t always get them up there,” conceded Duffy shyly.
Cap squinted at it. “And the hooks are thin so you can hang the, what are they, the fobs on them.”
“Yeah,” said Duffy.
“So, Logan,” said Cap, turning his attention back to the boy. “You ever recall a time, maybe once or twice, you took the keys from that hook there and opened the door to your folks’ car?”
Logan shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Any time recent
ly? Last couple of weeks?”
“No,” said Logan, right away.
“You want to think about it for a minute?” said Cap, pressing his palms together. “Because we’d like you to be sure.”
Logan got a snotty look, as if he suddenly felt like picking a fight.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I said that already.”
“You did, didn’t you,” said Cap good-naturedly. “Sorry about that.”
Logan didn’t respond, just gave Cap a bratty stare. Cap turned to Vega and said, “He said that already, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did,” said Vega, a little reproachful, like Silly Absentminded Caplan, always forgetting something.
For some reason her tone filled Cap with joy and made him want to laugh, but he stifled it.
“And you’re fifteen, correct?” said Cap.
“Yeah,” Logan muttered.
“You have your learner’s permit?” said Cap.
Logan huffed out a sigh.
“No.”
“Why not?” said Cap, feigning confusion. He looked to Duffy and Tamsin. “Where I’m from, they make kids wait until they’re sixteen to get their permits. But it’s different here, right? Fifteen, fifteen and a half?”
Tamsin glared at her husband, who said, “We’re waiting till Logan’s sixteen to get started. No point rushing.”
Logan seethed, his mouth cinched up like a drawstring on a gym bag.
“Okay, then,” said Cap cheerily. “No big deal. Where was I now?”
He turned back to Vega. She peered at him from behind the phone.
“You’re asking Logan if he’s sure he hasn’t been in the car in the past couple of weeks.”
“Right,” said Cap. “That’s right.”
Cap was quiet. He stared at a spot above Logan’s head. He could see Tamsin and Duffy fidget in their spots and imagined their internal dialogue: What’s he doing? Are we done? Is he going to ask anything else? Logan started squirming. The TV was still on somewhere, blaring the sounds of car wheels screeching and windshields shattering.
