by Nick Keller
Bernie glowered at the phone for a second not knowing how the hell he knew that. He assumed William would not call his old man for any trivial reason. Then he wondered what that reason would be. He shook his head and responded, “Gee, dad, how did you know?”
“An educated guess.”
Now Bernie was reminded of Jacky Lee Hobar, who’d said that same thing just last night. Bernie said, “Well, you’re right, Mr. Erter. This is not William. This is,” he paused, and said, “his friend. Your son is missing, Mr. Erter, and I’m the only one looking.”
There was a terse pause. “Missing.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you a cop?”
Bernie tilted his head. “Let’s say I am.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me where he is. I need to know.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know.”
Bernie made a concerned face. It bothered him how balanced Oscar sounded in light of this information. “He came to you the other day.”
“Yes.”
“What was he looking for?”
“Belonging.”
“Belonging?”
“Yes.”
Bernie grimaced. “Look, this is no time for riddles, pal.”
“I mean that quite literally.”
Bernie melted a bit, giving in. “Okay, did he find it—this belonging?”
“I think he did, yes.”
Again, he had to wonder what that meant. It seemed serial killers communicated in ways unique to them, always speaking in basic truths using a code so simple they always came across as childlike and innocent. One of life’s ironies, he supposed. “You gave him advice, didn’t you?”
“Fathers do that for their sons.”
“Uh-huh.” Bernie clicked his tongue. “What did you say?”
“Nothing pertinent.” There was another pause before Oscar said, “How hard are you looking, officer?”
“Heh—hard enough to call you. Look, did he say where he was going?”
“If he had, I would gladly tell you.”
Bernie’s knuckles squeezed against the phone. “Think, Mr. Erter. Did he say anything that might even just hint at where he is?”
Oscar thought for a moment, said, “No. Believe me, I wish he had. Nevertheless, I need you to find my son.”
“Is that your advice for me?”
“I’m sure we can both agree, that’s your job.”
Bernie chuckled, incensed. “So, if I were asking for advice?”
“It’s very simple, officer. Always look over your shoulder.”
Bernie pulled back and looked at the receiver in his hand wondering if that was honest-to-God advice, or a threat. He brought it back to his ear. “Is that it?”
“All I can say is that help will always come from the unlikeliest of sources. Now, if you would please, go find my son.”
No sooner had Bernie hung up the phone feeling like he’d wasted his time than a blood-curdling screech came from directly over his head, upstairs. He hit the deck fluttering papers off his desk with his gun pointed straight up. Footsteps thundered down the stairs then came running down the hall. Bernie followed the sound through the wall with his gun. Jacky exploded into the office space, both hands clamped onto his smart phone. His face was white as a ghost.
Jesus—was that kid still here?
He’d spent the night upstairs in Bernie’s apartment, sleeping on Bernie’s bed. Bernie jerked his gun away and holstered it.
Jacky screamed, “I found him! I know where Professor Erter is! I found him!”
46
Final Grave
The infernal blipping of the EKG machine had been replaced by the sound of running water. Graves had run a garden hose in through one of the bay doors of the warehouse all the way from one of the houses across the street. He’d put the end of the hose over the lip of that towering, five-thousand gallon tank and was filling it. It had been running all night bringing the level up and up—two feet, four feet, eight, now ten. William didn’t have to guess what was next.
Graves stared at him from the foot of the table. He hadn’t made a sound in hours, just sat there looking at him through that misshapen face, occasionally fingering the lobes of his cancer. William had grown resilient to his company, blocking him out completely in his mind, just staring up at the high ceiling of the cavern, waiting for help to come, if it would come at all.
Finally, Graves’s low, almost soothing voice broke the silence. “I’ve seen death a thousand times. I’ve heard its whisper. It whispers, you know, like a breeze.”
William rolled his eyes tiredly, looked away.
“It leaves no doubt or question, as one dies. It’s a very clear thing, death. It hides from no one. It loves everyone, like a gentle kiss, and poof—it takes you away in a tiny gesture of love.”
Bernie came storming from his office and out onto the sidewalk with Jacky at his side, both frantic, Jacky’s eyes never looking away from his phone, poking it with a finger, and running at the same time.
“Twenty-first Avenue,” Jacky squealed.
“Great, Lincoln Park.” Bad part of town.
“He sent it seven hours ago, man. Seven hours!” the kid shouted, his words breaking apart with guilt.
“Calm down. We know where he’s at. We’re going to …” Bernie stopped at his driver door, his blood running cold. Jacky didn’t take the cue. He just ripped at the passenger door handle, but it was still locked.
He looked across the roof of the car with eyes glistening and tearful, almost in a full panic. “Mr. Bernie!”
Bernie grumbled low, “Awe, fuck.”
A hundred feet down the street was Captain Heller’s unmarked sedan. The door was open and the captain stood looking at him with a stern glare in his eyes. A woman stood to the passenger side, small, well-muscled, dark skin, dark hair. She looked downright pissed off.
A squad car was parked in the middle of Whittier Boulevard cutting off traffic. Its lights flared silently, shifting blue, white and red. The driver was out, had his gun leveled at Bernie. A young guy. It was disconcerting.
Bernie turned around. There were two more squad cars half a block behind cutting off the westbound side. Bernie switched back to Heller and said, “Cap.”
“Bernie, you lied to me, pal,” Heller called back.
Jacky ping-ponged his gaze back and forth, scared shitless.
“No, Captain, I never lied to you,” Bernie said.
“Nevertheless, you’re under arrest, Bernie,” he called. “I have to take you in.”
“For what?”
“Warrant’s for breaking and entering the house of Doctor Graves. The state’s prepared to press charges. Or you could just come with us quietly.”
“Breaking and entering?” Bernie called back pathetically. “You gotta be kidding me, Cap.”
“No, I am not.”
Jacky said, “Mr. Bernie?”
Bernie growled under his breath, coming to a resolution. He knew all too well how the police worked. They’d take him downtown, stuff him in an interrogation bay and make him sit for hours. There’d be questioning, reports drawn, lawyers, the whole shebang, long before they would give him a chance to talk. Only then the truth would surface. Then they’d ask why Bernie hadn’t come to them in the first place. And William would sit and rot in that sicko’s lair the whole time. William didn’t have time for this shit, and neither did Bernie. He muttered, “Get in the car, kid.” He thumbed his car fob. The locks beeped. Jacky opened the door, slunk in. Bernie fobbed again. The engine started in a low purr. That young cop down the street adjusted his grip on his gun.
“Bernie,” Heller warned.
Bernie gave him a grin. “You know me, Cap. I don’t do anything quietly.” He jumped into the Chrysler and slammed the door before Heller could react. Tires screamed as he stomped it in reverse.
“Shit!” Heller and Nia were in their sedan in a flash, jerking the car forward.
<
br /> Bernie’s engine roared, tires spinning toward the two squad cars behind. He heard a tiny pop from down the street, felt something bite his shoulder. Bernie screamed. That young cop shot him—little bastard!
Jacky ducked under the dashboard and screamed, “Shit, shit, awe man, shit—”
Bernie spun the wheel, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Hold on!”
WAM—they clipped one of the squad cars jolting them sideways. Bits of car fanned into the air and rubber chocked against pavement. They nosed toward an adjoining street. Bernie slammed the gearshift home and stomped on it. The remaining squad car power slipped around in pursuit, tires spinning, leaving deep, rubber marks smoldering on the street.
Bernie clutched the wound feeling warm ribbons of blood ooze through his fingers. “They shot me!” he shouted in disbelief. “They goddamn shot me!”
Jacky had his own problems, bracing one hand against the door, the other on the dash screaming insanities. Inertia pinned him down.
The street was narrow. Cars parked along the curbs zipped by. Up ahead, more lights flashed in the midmorning light. More cops coming this way. A game of chicken.
Bernie growled, now fully angered. He slammed the Chrysler onto the curb and through a gated parking lot jerking twenty feet of chain-link fence with him. The approaching squad cars slammed brakes, went sideways. Two of them rubbed bumpers as the Chrysler navigated around them and roared ahead, sparks rooster-tailing from the metal fence.
He couldn’t make the 710. Humphries Avenue approached. There was no access point to the highway. He’d have to adjust.
He ripped the wheel to the left crossing oncoming traffic. A horn blared. The squad cars, now in full pursuit, screamed after him. He put the pedal to the floor, engine revving to the max.
Jacky still screamed, “Shit. Watchit! There, look out! Over, over! Jeezal peezal!”
“Shut up, kid!” Bernie shouted, still clearly in agony as they sped down the street.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bernie,” Jacky screamed over the sound of roaring engine. “I talk and talk when I’m nervous. I can’t shut up!”
The bridge over the 710 came up on them. Biting his lip, Bernie ripped the wheel to the right coming off the street. Jacky’s muttering became a prolonged screech as they sailed through the sky, down the embankment sloshing dirt over the hood as they came down, banging violently and careening toward the highway. On the shoulder, Bernie fought the wheel to correct. Traffic was fast moving allowing him to fade into the right-hand lane, everyone tapping brakes and jostling against his sudden presence.
Jacky went silent, holding his breath. He was no longer nervous. This was sheer fear. But they’d lost the squad cars.
Graves scooted his surgeon’s stool around the table sidling up next to William’s face. He said with a child’s need, “What is it like to die? What process truly transpires when we hear that whisper-call come for us?”
William remained silent, refusing to answer. He would no longer placate the monster—man or otherwise.
“Did your father ask these questions, William Erter? Do you think his need to know was a greater thing than mine?”
William turned a nasty look at him, insulted.
Graves smiled displacing the tumors on his face, squeezing them together. “We fight it, don’t we?” he murmured. “This thing called death—yes, we do. I’ve seen that, too. The struggling, the convulsions. I’ve watched those in the throes of death twist and snap the very bones within them, hoping only to free themselves from that one, tiny thing. But you, William Erter. Oh, you …”
The 710 would take them right past the L.A. County Fire Department and the Sheriff’s fleet station. Bernie kept his eyes peeled ahead as he maneuvered through traffic. He hoped he wouldn’t gain any more attention, at least not until he got closer to William’s location. That would be five miles through midtown, midmorning traffic.
“Why is there a helicopter?” Jacky sounded nervous, on the verge of a breakdown.
So much for not attracting attention.
“Helicopter?” Bernie said, ducking and looking skyward. There it was, a police chopper trailing them from directly above. “Shit, why do you think there’s a helicopter? We’re fugitives,” he snarled, banking around a wolf pack of slow movers.
More flashing lights caught his attention in the rearview mirror. “Uh oh,” he mumbled. The cops were coming. They were still way back there, sirens blaring, scooting traffic out of their way. “We gotta get off this highway.”
An exit was passing. Going to miss it. “Hold on!” He wrenched the wheel over, gunning the accelerator. Jacky cried out in shock. Cars behind him engaged their brakes, some jolting to a stop. He banked onto the off ramp and thundered down toward an intersection. “Where are they?” he yelled.
Jacky craned around, looking back. The cops were jockeying for him. “Coming, coming!”
“Hold on!” The light turned yellow. He slammed the pedal down laying on the horn. It turned red. He growled through clenched teeth. Drivers began moving into the intersection. “Stop, stop!” he shouted. The Chrysler roared through the light. They leaned against the turn, tires howling on pavement. Everyone braked. The Chrysler zipped past an SUV, missed clipping it by a foot, probably less. Bernie shook his head, morose. It was probably full of kids.
That was close. Too close.
He straightened the car and blasted forward. Cop sirens halted traffic. They screamed through the intersection way behind. They weren’t terribly close, but they were in hot pursuit. This was getting out of hand.
Eastern Avenue was coming up. That would take him to Lincoln Park.
A huge city trash collection truck was pulling out of an alley just ahead, blocking the street, reverse indicators beeping. Jacky saw it, eyes going big. Bernie roared toward it, picking up speed. “Mr. Bernie Mr. Bernie Mr. Bernie!”
Bernie pursed his lips, scrunched his face and charged by in a powerful rush. The truck’s air brakes howled out and the thing came to a snarling halt.
The cop cars thundered up to the truck, separated from the pursuit, sirens wailing, all braking, rubber squealing.
Bernie pounded the brake pedal sliding the Chrysler to a harrowing stop. Jacky rocked forward, then back, looking at him wide-eyed. “What!”
“You have to get out, Jacky.”
“Why?”
“This is too dangerous for you, now go.”
Jacky just looked at him with his mouth open, eyes glazing over.
The trash truck switched gears, began rolling back into the ally.
Bernie shouted, “We don’t have time to argue. Get out!”
“What about Professor Erter?”
“I’m going to get him, now go!”
“Okay, okay—” Jacky said and threw himself out. “Move it move it!”
Bernie squealed the tires leaving in a rush. Jacky turned to face the squad cars with his hands up, elbows locked , grabbing sky. They moved around the trash truck coming to a stop, each car flanking him. The cops got out, guns up. A sedan came sidling up behind. The door flew open and Captain Heller got out. His eyes went to Jacky, realized Bernie had used him to end their pursuit. Bernie was gone like a shot. Heller yelled, “Goddammit!”
Graves’s eyes showed a deep, sincere admiration as he stared into William, only inches away. William could feel his rank breath roll over his face. It disgusted him, made him cringe. Graves said “You’re an incredible specimen. You die with such …” the word wouldn’t come to him. He finally whispered, “reverence. You accept fate, don’t you? It’s …” he grinned hardly able to contain the storm of emotion raging inside him. “It’s a wonderful thing, watching you die. You’re stronger than the others. You have given me such amazing enlightenment, William Erter.”
William turned his head toward him, stared into him with hate. “You think I’m stronger than the others? No, Graves. I just have an advantage. I have my father in me. I am him. In fact, I’m worse than he ever was.”
> Graves never blinked. He only returned a mesmerized look, yearning to hear more.
William continued, “I want to kill every single human being I meet, every day of my life, every moment of the day. I picture doing it in my head. I plan it out. I dream about it. It’s more than a hunger. It’s more than an impulse.”
William laid his head back down looking away from Graves, staring up at the ceiling. When he spoke, his words were simple, very basic. “I’m a bad man. There’s evil inside me. I know this. But I haven’t accepted it. I never wanted it. My dad was right. I never believed him, never wanted to. But he was right. I fought it. I struggled against it. And now, I pay the price, Graves. It haunts me, and tortures me, and tears me apart. It has done more to destroy me than you ever could. Because now, I know what it is to die every day. You didn’t teach me that, Graves. My father’s legacy taught me that … his very seed. That’s my advantage.”
He looked back at Graves, looked deep into him seeing the man behind the monster, the weak, incapacitated human being, and said, “But I want to tell you something, Graves. I need you to hear me. I want to look in your eyes and see the truth happen.” He paused, swallowed, collected his thoughts, and said, “When I get out of this … I’m going to fucking. Murder. You. I’m going to slit your rotten throat. I’m going to skin your rotten flesh off its rotten bones. I’m going to drink your rotten blood and shit you back out so the whole world will know what you really are, Graves.”
