I swallowed hard and nodded. "So, what happens next?"
His eyes wandered all over my face, as if he was trying to decide where to kiss next. I stood there, stock still and cold. I had a gun. Like an idiot, I'd let him re-holster it. I was giving in. I didn't know what else to do other than to let him keep talking. Maybe someone would remember I was down there with him, but it didn't seem likely. Maybe I would just have to go with him. There was no other way to protect Carter. I could feel the tears trying to get out as I could see my life changing. Forever.
"Next, we go get on one of your planes and we go to Portugal." I thought about Portugal. We'd flown over it or around it in January when Sam had—
Ricky was going on, smiling up at me, holding my hand. "You ever been?"
I remembered that Sam was upstairs. So was Carter. Maybe they hadn't forgot about me after all.
Ricky squeezed my hand. "It's nice this time of year, Nicky." He grinned. "Hey. Nicky and Ricky. It rhymes."
I nodded, trying to hold it together.
He continued, "Anyways, it's not too hot in March. I gotta little job to do and then maybe you can buy me some big house overlooking the ocean." He lifted my hand up to his mouth and began to kiss the tips of my fingers. "You and me, we can—"
He stopped talking. I thought I'd heard a small pop, but wasn't sure. His eyes opened wide in surprise.
When I saw the blood begin to spew out of his neck, I realized the pop was the sound of a bullet being fired from a muffled gun. For a split-second, there was a rage and a betrayal in his expression that burned itself into my brain.
Then he was gone. He fell against me. I held him, not knowing what else to do, knowing that I was being covered in his blood as his heart pumped once and then twice and then stopped.
I suddenly realized someone was trying to pull Ricky's body away from me and I wasn't letting go. "Nick," said an insistent voice from far away. "Nick."
My eyes had been closed. I didn't know for how long, but when I opened them, I saw Sam standing to my right and Carter to my left. Carter said, "Let him go, Nick."
I pulled myself together and finally realized what muscles to use and I did just that. Sam took hold of Ricky's body and let it fall, face-forward, across the back of one of the dead agents. He dropped a pistol with a silencer attached to it on the floor. I noticed he was wearing gloves.
With Carter pushing me and Sam pulling me, we headed out into the tunnel. Making a right, heading east, we ran until we came to the end. There was a set of rickety stairs that led to a door that was swinging open. We ran up the stairs and out onto the street. Carter pushed me into the backseat of an old Ford sedan. Sam jumped into the passenger seat and said, "Go!"
I looked up and saw that the driver was Andy Anderson, one of our employees. He was a former Bureau agent, who'd quit before he could be fired, and had grown up with Carter in Georgia.
He asked, "What happened?"
Carter replied, "Sam killed the son of a bitch, that's what happened."
"But not before he killed the three rogue agents," I added.
Andy sighed. "That's too bad."
"Not really," I said, feeling myself coming back from the shock of what had just happened. "They were using him to kill people as favors for some contacts of theirs."
Andy nodded. "What I meant is that I only wish we could have turned them in. They probably had a lot that the Bureau would need to know."
Carter barked, "Enough of that."
Contritely, Andy softly said, "Sorry, Carter."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"The safe house," replied Sam.
I suddenly realized we were heading up Market. "We have a safe house?"
Sam nodded. "Sure. 137 Hartford." That was the address of our old house. We were rebuilding it after it had been torched the summer before.
"You're fucking kidding me," I replied.
Sam turned and looked at me over the seat. "Nope. That was Mike's idea."
I looked up at Carter, whose mouth was open in surprise. He said, "When the hell was anyone gonna tell us?"
Sam chuckled. "Well, if you were ever in town long enough..."
Chapter 15
137 Hartford Street
Sunday, March 13, 1955
Just past 1 in the morning
As we turned into the newly paved driveway, the garage door opened, as if by magic. Andy pulled the car into the garage and the door closed, again, as if by magic. We piled out and walked up the new stairs that still smelled of pine and right into an office.
There were two men sitting at a long table. A telephone switchboard sat against one wall. One of the men, who was wearing an operator's headset, nodded at Andy as we walked into the room. He stood, walked over to the board and sat on the stool in front. He then plugged in his headset, pulled up a cord from the console, and pushed it into the board. After flipping the switch in front of the extended cord on the console, he made a call using the raised dial on the right end of the board.
After a moment, he said, "They're here." Looking me over, he said, "No physical harm." He paused for a moment and then said, "I'll tell them, Mr. Robertson." He flipped the switch again and pulled the cable out of the board. It recoiled and automatically snapped back into place
Looking at me, he said, "Mr. Robertson is on his way over."
I nodded.
Carter was looking around the room. One wall had a large city map spread across it. Another wall had a state map. And a third wall had a national map. There were flagged pins inserted into the maps in different locations.
I walked up the state map, pointed at the two pins in Hollywood, and asked, "Do these pins show where our agents are?"
The other man stood, walked over, and said, "Yes, sir. I can show you the whole facility, if you'd like, Mr. Williams, but you and Mr. Jones might want to go upstairs, have a shower, and put on some new clothes." I noticed he had a Southern accent.
I looked at Carter and realized his coat and shirt had splotches of blood that he'd gotten from holding me in the car.
"You are?" I asked.
"Lionel Hansen. I started in January."
Andy added, "He was a cop in Gainesville, Florida, before he was let go."
I nodded. "I'd shake..."
He smiled. "That's fine."
"Thanks for your help."
"You're quite welcome, sir."
With an edge to his voice, Carter asked, "Is the house laid out the same as it was before the fire?"
Andy nodded. "Mostly. There are some hidden rooms here and there, but you shouldn't have much trouble finding your way around."
Carter huffed and then asked, "How the hell do we get out of this room?"
Andy said, "I'll show you." He pressed on a panel and a door just to the left of the state map slid open.
We followed him into the front part of a kitchen, which was more like the kitchen in our office than the one we'd had before. It opened into a dining space that had a modern table with eight chairs.
The living room was dimly lit and seemed to be sparsely furnished in Danish Modern. There were heavy curtains drawn across all the windows that faced the street. The one in the kitchen had been bare.
As we walked up the stairs, we came to one bedroom. It was in the same location and about the same proportion as our old one but different somehow. There was a made-up bed and a built-in closet with built-in drawers. Andy said, "You'll find clothes that Mike had brought over from your house. There should be everything you need. The shower works—"
Carter angrily shoved Andy and said, "Get the hell outta here."
Andy shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, son."
"Get the hell outta here," repeated Carter, in the scariest voice I'd ever heard him use. They had a pretty bad history from childhood. I hoped that wasn't going to unravel. But I knew who Carter was really mad at and it wasn't Andy. It was Mike.
Andy walked out without saying anything else. He closed the door behind him car
efully. Carter lifted his leg up and kicked the door knob with the bottom of his big shoe. The thing clicked in response but, surprisingly, the door wasn't damaged in the least.
I emptied my pockets onto the bed and began to strip out of my clothes, dropping them right where I stood. I didn't want any of the furniture to get blood on it. Once I was buck naked, I bundled all the clothes up, making sure the blood was on the inside.
By that time, Carter was in the bathroom and turning on the shower. I walked in and saw that the layout was similar to the old one but, again, the proportions were different and I couldn't quite figure out how.
He was still dressed, so I reached up to pull his coat off of him. At first, he pulled away with a huff. He then relented and let me undress him while the water in the walk-in shower ran. Once he was stripped, I emptied his trouser pockets and carried the contents back into the bedroom. I then balled up his clothes, like I'd done with mine, and carried them into the bedroom, dropping them on top of my stack.
Returning to the bathroom, I found Carter standing under the shower head. I walked up to him and leaned in. He sighed. "Are you OK, son?"
I nodded and let the water cascade off him and onto me. "I'm not as much in shock as I think I should be."
"I'm glad he didn't hurt you."
I looked up and said, "It wasn't me he was gonna hurt, it was you. Those agents had asked him to kill you. But he didn't." I then added, "For whatever reason."
Carter got quiet. We stood there under the water and didn't move or speak for a very long time.
. . .
Once we were dressed, we made our way down the stairs. We found Mike sitting at the dining table. Andy was there as was Dawson Runson, a short fireplug of a man, who was a former lieutenant in the Washington, D.C., Metropolitan Police. He was also Andy's lover. I wondered where Sam was. I guessed he was back in the office with the switchboard. As I walked up, all three of them stood.
Carter had remained at the foot of the stairs. He moved into the big open space in the front part of the living room. In a very even voice, he said, "Mike, come over here."
Mike laughed but didn't move. "Surprised?"
Carter very quietly said, "Come over here. Right now."
I could see what was about to happen and I wasn't going to get in the way. Carter was rubbing his jaw.
Mike slowly walked over. He said, "You get one free punch, Carter."
Carter was rolling up his sleeves. "Fine. Come over here."
Mike walked closer. When he was about ten feet away, Carter ran at him and tackled him to the ground. The house shook slightly as they both fell on the wood floor.
Andy and Dawson both moved forward. I stuck out my arm and said, "No."
They held back as Carter got Mike pinned to the ground. Mike was a strong man. He always had been. And he had an inch of height on Carter, but he was no match for Carter's years of bodybuilding and physical training.
I watched as my husband leaned into Mike's face and, in the most authoritative voice I'd ever heard him use, said, "I already warned you about things like this, Mike. So, on Monday, you are going to report to Nick and me at 10 a.m. in Nick's office. You will give us a full report on all your activities. If you fail to report at that time or in full, I will personally fire you even if Nick won't. I will also file a complaint against you in Sacramento and I guarantee you will lose your license. I'm equal owner of Consolidated Security and don't think I won't follow through on this because I fucking will. You got that?"
Mike didn't reply.
"Do you understand, Mike? This is my last warning."
"Nick?" asked Mike.
"Yeah?" I didn't move.
"What do you say about this?"
"If Carter doesn't fire you, then I will."
Mike was quiet and didn't say anything.
Carter asked, "Do you understand?"
After another long, tense moment, Mike replied, "I do and it's about the hell time. You two have got to start paying attention to the company. There's a lot happening that you don't know about."
Carter leaned in and, in that same quietly menacing voice, said, "Shut up, Mike. You don't talk. You don't get to reprimand us on how we do or don't run our company. You work for us."
Carter was about two inches from Mike's face at that point. I had a passing thought that one of them might very well end up fucking the other. As that thought circled around again, I realized that was as much at the center of things as anything else.
Finally, Mike said, "You're right."
Carter sat up and nodded. "Now, you can tell us how we're fucking things up."
Mike shook his head. "No. On Monday, maybe. But not right now. We have somewhere we need to go."
"Where's that?" I asked.
"Ricky's place."
"His home?" asked Carter as he stood.
"You could call it that," replied Mike, taking Carter's hand. As he did, Carter pulled him up and then wrapped his arms around Mike in a tight embrace. They both stood there for a long time. As they did, I heard Andy whisper to Dawson, "That's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
His lover replied, "Fuck, yeah."
I had to admit they were right.
Chapter 16
Corner of 6th and Brannan Streets
Sunday, March 13, 1955
Half past 2 in the morning
Somehow, all six of us had squeezed into the old Ford. Besides Carter and me, our party included Mike, Sam, Dawson, and Andy. Mike sat in the back with us. I was, more than usual, packed in between Carter and Mike. It was tight and I was having a number of different reactions to the situation, running the gamut from annoyance to arousal. It was a weird night and, as we pulled up in front of that very familiar spot, I knew it was about to get weirder.
After we tumbled out of the car, I stretched and took in the sight of the old warehouse. I looked at Mike. "I thought you said there was now a factory here."
"There was. It closed down in January after a mysterious fire."
I nodded, realizing what that meant. Ricky had, most likely, been the one who started the fire.
As we slipped in through a side door about fifty feet down Brannan Street, Dawson asked me, "Is it true that you and Ricky used to hang out here?"
I nodded. Mike, Andy, and Sam had brought flashlights. As they swung them around, I noticed that the factory floor had been stripped of whatever equipment had been there. It didn't look much different than it had back in '39 except for the big hole at the back end where the fire had done most of its damage.
As we walked over to the stairs that led to the second floor offices, I did see something new. A shiny steel staircase was in place. Before it had been wood and some of the steps had been broken or missing. I wondered how none of the five of us who'd made the place a hang-out hadn't ever broken anything coming or going.
Climbing the steps, Mike said, "We've known about this place for a couple of weeks."
"Has he been living here?" I asked.
"Not really."
We reached a narrow landing at the top of the stairs. Andy pushed the door open.
Sam, who was bringing up the rear, said, "Tell him, Mike."
"Tell me what?" I asked.
Mike asked, "Remember that house you broke into down in L.A. back in January?"
"Sure." We were doing a job for a Hollywood movie star and I'd been looking for the reel of a blue movie that everyone, including Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, had assumed destroyed.
"There's something like that in here but instead of Joan Crawford, it's all about you."
We were in an outer office that had a secretary's desk. Old carbon paper was scattered all over the floor. Andy had his hand on the back office door but hadn't opened it yet.
"What do you mean?" asked Carter.
I sighed. "I know what he means." I looked at Andy and nodded.
He opened the door and flipped a switch. A couple of overhead lights came on. We all moved into the room. As I looked around, I stopped an
d let what I was seeing sink in. I was shocked by the images that were staring at me.
My face was plastered all over the walls. There were black and white and color photographs and they were pasted over every available surface, including the ceiling.
The first one that came into focus was a photo of me sitting alone at an outdoor cafe on Columbus that had been closed since '50. It had been taken in early '48 and I remembered the case. I'd been tracking a cheating husband. I could even see my own camera, hidden in my lap. I'd caught the man leaving an apartment nearby with a woman who wasn't his wife. The divorce had been ugly.
There was a series of photos of Mack and me sitting by a window just inside Gene Compton's Cafeteria at Market and Van Ness. I remembered that night. Carter was at the firehouse and Mack was having his usual guy troubles. It was in the early spring of '49.
I noticed that there were no photos that included women. They were all of me, by myself, or me with one of my lovers.
I walked over and looked at one that included Jeffery. It was from '47 and right before I'd met Carter. The look on my face said everything. Jeffery was in the middle of telling me something that he thought I should hear and I was listening but not paying attention, a state that I'd mastered by that point in our relationship
There was a photograph of Mack and me crossing Market Street, dodging streetcars. We were secretly holding hands, believing that no one could see. That was in the first week after we'd been discharged from the Navy at Treasure Island.
Ricky had obviously been tracking me for nearly ten years and I'd never once noticed it. I could feel the weight of that awful realization as it sank in deep.
One of the most recent color photographs was from the grand opening of our office building back in January. Carter and I were posing for a newspaper photographer. Without thinking about it, I reached up and pulled it off the wall. It came loose easily. It was covering up an older photograph of me crossing Mission Street. I folded it over and stuffed it in my coat pocket.
The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13) Page 16
