Dream Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Lacey felt a peculiar lightness of spirit as she pulled mugs from the cupboard. It was as oddly pleasing as her pique yesterday was disturbing. She was surprised at herself—for both. Normally she considered herself pretty even-tempered, not given to wild mood swings. What was it about this that was knocking her off her equilibrium? Las Vegas? Courtney? Sam, himself? She had no idea. But they started the real work today, so she needed to keep her wits about her. She resolved to do that as she set out the mugs, a spoon, and sugar and creamer packets.

  When Sam emerged, awake and freshly shaved, she poured both mugs full and took a seat at the table. Sam liked his coffee black, but she doctored hers with plenty of cream and sugar. He took the chair next to her and pulled the mug to him.

  “Did you sleep okay the rest of the night?” she asked as he sipped the hot brew.

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding surprised. “No more dreams.”

  “Good.” She’d suspected that, since neither of them had tossed or turned on the couch. It had been too narrow for her to miss any restlessness on his part, and she’d certainly slept well.

  “The hotel has a free breakfast buffet downstairs. We can check that out and still have plenty of time before we have to pick up Courtney.” She was pleased with herself for saying the girl’s name without a hint of disdain.

  “Let’s see that map again,” Sam said. He put his cup down to one side, and when Lacey handed him the map, he unfurled it across the table. “Show me where we are.”

  Lacey pointed to the blue ballpoint star she’d drawn last night. “Courtney’s here,” she said, drawing the path with her finger, “the motel is here, the body shop is here, and the park is here.” Each destination had a blue circle scribbled around it.

  Sam nodded as he perused the map. “That should give us a good feel for his home area,” he said. “I’d love it if I could get a fix on him as we’re driving around. I think it’d be tough with us cruising through, but you never know.”

  “We can hope,” Lacey said. “But if not, we’ve still got three locations where you might be able to zero in on him. I think our chances are good.”

  Sam took a swig of coffee and began to fold up the map. “Let’s hope so,” he said.

  After a surprisingly decent breakfast—scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon and sausage and juice—Lacey packed all her gear into her purse. She ticked off the items as she nestled them into her large bag: camcorder, digital recorder, notebook, map. She noticed that while Sam had worn his cowboy boots to breakfast, now that they were ready to go, he’d changed into his soft, knee-high moccasins.

  “Do those help you somehow?” she asked, pointing. “You always wear those when you do a walk.”

  “It’s probably only psychological,” he said, “but I feel more in tune when I can feel the ground under my feet.” He shrugged. “Silly, I guess.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not. You’re dealing with different dimensions, different realities. I would think feeling grounded to the earth would be a distinct advantage.”

  Sam didn’t say anything, but Lacey saw the corners of his mouth curve upward very slightly.

  They drove to Courtney’s. Lacey gave herself a pep talk along the way, promising to be more gracious than she had been, and was surprised to realize that she felt no animosity when she pulled her car to the curb and Courtney stepped out of the house. The place was a little crackerbox, badly in need of paint, and Lacey saw children’s toys scattered amid the weeds that sprouted half-heartedly in the dirt front yard.

  Sam got out and pulled his seat forward so Courtney could slide into the back.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  “Good morning,” Lacey said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She was aware again of Courtney’s willowy body, but saw it now more as pure youthfulness rather than competition.

  “First stop is the motel,” Lacey said. “You wanna give me directions?”

  “Sure. Go to the next street and turn right…”

  The motel was only a couple of miles away, back closer to the commercial area of town. Lacey appraised the place as she pulled the car into the parking lot. A featureless, two-story rectangle lacking in any attempt at style, it was very obviously a last resort for people who were only a few dollars away from homelessness.

  “Which one?” Sam asked as they all climbed out of the car.

  “That one. Number seven.” Courtney pointed to the third door from the far end.

  They walked over and peered cautiously through the one front window. Half-open mini blinds, several bent and a couple missing altogether, obscured some of the view, but they could see well enough to tell it was unoccupied. A double bed, a dresser and a simple padded chair were the only furnishings, and there were no personal items on the dresser, nothing on the walls.

  Lacey glanced over at Sam. He scanned the room through the window, then leaned in for a closer look.

  “You want to get inside?” she asked.

  He didn’t pull away from the window immediately, but seemed to absorb as much as he could through the glass.

  “Yeah,” he said finally.

  Lacey turned to Courtney. “I’m assuming you had more stuff than what’s here,” she said.

  Courtney nodded. “I just grabbed what I could carry. I had a real bad feeling.” Her thin body shivered involuntarily.

  “Did you owe money?” Lacey asked.

  “Yeah. Almost two weeks. About $150.”

  Lacey nodded. “Okay. You two hang here. Let me see what I can do.”

  She strode down the walkway to the office at the front. Pushing through the door, she heard the tinkle of a bell above her head. A grimy wood-grained counter spanned the side wall, and a rotund man in a plaid shirt leaned one meaty arm on it. He had about a day’s growth on his cue ball head.

  “Help you?” he asked. He appraised Lacey openly, not even trying to hide his interest.

  Lacey opened her wallet and flashed her license at him. “I’m a private investigator, looking into a disappearance. I’d like to take a look inside unit seven for a few minutes. Can you open it up for me?”

  The man didn’t move. He watched as Lacey put her wallet away, his small eyes dark and beady.

  “Can’t help you,” he said.

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Lacey kept her voice even. “You don’t have the key?”

  A surly smile curled his lip, then disappeared. “There’s money owing on that unit.”

  Lacey shrugged. “Not my problem. I don’t want to rent it. Just want to look at it.”

  “Can’t help you,” he repeated, and turned his considerable bulk away. He focused his attention on a TV playing quietly in a connecting office, his back to Lacey.

  She fumed. This was extortion, pure and simple. Small-time to be sure, but extortion all the same. Doing anything about it would involve calling the police, waiting for a unit to arrive, going through the he-said-she-said, which he would lie about, then maybe—maybe—getting into the room. But maybe not.

  “All right,” she said through gritted teeth. “How much is owing?”

  The man turned back, his eyes bright. “Three hundred.”

  “Huh uh,” Lacey said. “I’ve got the former resident right outside and she said it was one-fifty.”

  The man shrugged. “Plus deposit. I had to cart all their shit to storage.”

  Lacey met the man’s stare. He didn’t blink.

  “Two hundred,” she countered.

  He took a step closer to the counter. “Two-fifty.” He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her.

  She held herself perfectly still for a moment, breathing only shallowly. The man’s arrogant expression didn’t change.

  “Fine,” she ground out. She pulled out her wallet again and got her credit card. She slid it across the counter and the man scooped it up and headed for the back room.

  “Huh uh,” she said again. “Right here.” She tapped the credit card machine on the counter.

  The
man hesitated, then finally relented. He punched some buttons on the register, then slid the card. He passed it back to Lacey along with a receipt to sign.

  She double-checked the amount; two-fifty as agreed. She signed the receipt, but did not hand it to him.

  “The key?”

  His eyes glittered, jumping from her face to the receipt under her hand. He turned to the back wall and pulled a key from a nail where it hung, then slid it across the counter.

  “Have it back in ten minutes or I call the cops.”

  “Twenty. Or I can call Adrian DelMonico of Vice right now.”

  The man’s jaw tightened. “Twenty.”

  She grabbed the key and turned in one quick motion. She was out the door before he could react.

  “We’ve got twenty minutes,” she said to Sam and Courtney as she unlocked the door. She swung the door open, stepped inside and pulled out her video camera.

  Sam moved past her and prowled the room. She filmed him as he edged around the bed, stood before the chair, then went into the bathroom. Lacey could see him on the screen, standing there, head down.

  Courtney eased up next to Lacey.

  “You know what Sam does?” Lacey asked her quietly. She kept her eyes on the screen.

  “Yeah, sort of. Kyle told me.”

  Lacey zoomed in a little, filling the screen with Sam’s quiet presence. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing shallow as he took in the feel of the room.

  Lacey wondered how much emotion a bathroom could contain.

  After a few tense moments, Sam raised his head. He looked out the small bathroom window, then re-entered the main room. He stopped again in front of the chair.

  “Frantic,” he said in a low voice. Still filming, Lacey moved closer. “Worried. Scared. Mind racing. Trying to think of possibilities. A way out.”

  He angled his body toward the bathroom again. “Desperate thoughts. Suicide. But he can’t do it. Too scared.”

  Sam turned and scanned the room with open eyes. After sliding past the sparse furniture, they rested finally on Courtney.

  “He’s sorry,” he said.

  Courtney pulled in a ragged breath.

  Sam’s body slumped forward. “That’s all.”

  Lacey switched off the camera. She checked her watch; they still had five minutes.

  “You got it all?” Sam asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Let’s go on. What’s next?”

  Lacey checked her notes. “The airport.”

  Courtney gave Lacey directions as they drove. The girl hunched forward from the back seat.

  “He was… actually considering suicide?” she asked Sam softly.

  The Navajo nodded. “He knew he’d screwed up royally,” Sam said. “He had no way out. And he was worried about you, about… what might happen.”

  Courtney sat very still for a few seconds, then leaned back in her seat. Lacey watched her in the rearview mirror. The girl blinked back tears and stared numbly out the side window.

  The North Las Vegas Airport was a poor stepchild to McCarron. More dirt than asphalt, it had three runways that accommodated small regional carriers as well as tourist flights, both planes and helicopters. Busy in its own way, it handled all the smaller traffic while McCarron took on all the major airlines.

  “Turn left here,” Courtney said as they neared a small cross street. Lacey turned and understood the draw for young males. The road paralleled one runway and provided a slightly tamer version of the scene in Top Gun where Tom Cruise raced an F14 Tomcat on his motorcycle.

  “Where would he stop?” Sam asked.

  “There’s a dirt area up here on the right,” Courtney said. “You can pull off there.”

  Lacey found it and guided her car off the pavement onto the gravelly surface. She parked and they all exited the car.

  While Lacey and Courtney leaned against the car, Sam walked the pullout. He paced it from one side to another, stopping to watch a small four-seater take off. Lacey tracked him with the video camera.

  He walked the full circuit of the pullout twice. Lacey saw very little hesitation in his manner or his step. Finally he shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Lacey switched off the camera and they all climbed back in the car for the next leg of their investigation.

  “Body shop,” Lacey said as she pulled out onto the road. “Which way?”

  Courtney directed them to an industrial area of manufacturing and heavy machinery. Large fenced lots littered with vehicles and equipment, huge warehouses and what looked like junk yards. Courtney steered them into one such yard, cars parked everywhere around a three-bay building and plenty of large containers in the back, a hand-painted sign proclaiming Big Joe’s Body Shop.

  There didn’t seem to be any effort at organizing the parking, so Lacey just picked a bare spot and shut down her car.

  The three of them walked in through one of the open bays. Two bays had cars in them, one up on a rack and another in some stage of being taken apart or being put back together—Lacey couldn’t tell which. One man attended each car, and seemed to have absolutely no interest in the potential customers. After a few minutes, a third man emerged from a back office, wiping greasy hands on a rag.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked. He was tall as well as heavy with a full beard. His shirt had an embroidered name tag that read Big Joe.

  Lacey stepped forward.

  “We’re investigating the disappearance of one of your workers,” she said. “Kyle Arredondo. When’s the last time he was here?”

  Big Joe stopped wiping his hands for a heartbeat, and his eyes narrowed. He examined the trio, his eyes resting on Courtney. He began wiping his hands again, the rag now almost as black as his fingernails.

  “Three, four weeks ago,” Big Joe said nonchalantly. “I don’t know exactly. It’s been slow for us lately, so I didn’t have any work for him.”

  “Where would he normally work?” Lacey asked. She could see Sam scanning the interior of the building, trying to get a lock.

  “Over there.” Big Joe pointed with his chin toward a back corner. Lacey could see a welding setup, tanks and tools and masks against the wall.

  “Do you mind if we have a look around?” Lacey asked. “Just for a couple minutes?”

  Big Joe looked less than welcoming. “Who are you, exactly?”

  Lacey got out her wallet and showed her P.I. license. “We’re private investigators. Kyle’s been missing now for over a week. Do you remember anyone ever coming here to talk to him?”

  As she’d hoped, her question put Big Joe on the defensive again rather than the offensive. “Yeah,” he said. “Her.” He nodded toward Courtney. Lacey felt the girl shift uncomfortably behind her.

  “Anyone else?” Lacey kept her eyes on Big Joe but was aware that Sam was moving off toward the welding area. “Did anyone ever come here looking for him, maybe arguing with him or threatening him?”

  Big Joe shook his head. “Not that I know of. Why? You think someone offed him?”

  Rather than answer the question, Lacey looked around. “What kind of work do you do here? Collision repair? Customizing?” She stared pointedly at the car that was half disassembled.

  Big Joe’s eyebrows slammed down in an angry frown. “What do you care?” he asked gruffly.

  Lacey swung her gaze back to him and shrugged. “I don’t,” she said. “Just curious. Did Kyle ever ask you for an advance on his pay? Maybe want to borrow money from you?”

  “No,” he bit off. “I don’t give advances and I don’t loan. This ain’t no bank.”

  No, it’s a chop shop, Lacey thought. She would guess that many of the parted-out cars parked out back had their VINs filed off, and that more were hidden in those containers. Anyone who worked here would know which side of the law the place operated on. Another less than stellar choice by Kyle.

  She tried to think of more questions to distract Big Joe when she noticed Sam returning from the back corner. He shoo
k his head once.

  “We’re going to be here in town for a few days,” Lacey said as she pulled a card from her wallet. “If you should happen to think of anything later on, or remember anything you’ve forgotten, I’d appreciate a call.” She handed him the card. He was still perusing it as Sam stepped up next to her.

  “Yeah, sure,” Big Joe said. Lacey figured that translated roughly to “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “We’ll let you get back to work,” she said. “Thanks for your time.”

  Not waiting for a reply, she turned and led the way back to her car.

  “Anything?” she asked Sam as they all buckled in.

  “Nothing new,” he said. “The same kind of feelings, just not as strong. I got a sense that he was able to forget about things for a while as he worked. But not for long.”

  “Okay,” Lacey sighed. “One more stop. The park.”

  In the glaring light of late morning, the park looked less than enticing, but not menacing. The grass was dull, its color bleached out by the hot sun, the only spots of relief in the cooler shade of the trees. Off one end of the parking lot was a row of concrete picnic tables, interspersed with metal barbecue grills on poles set in the ground. Those seemed to be the only amenities.

  Three men huddled at the furthest picnic table. One, wearing a ragged army jacket, glanced nervously over his shoulder at the white car. Lacey noticed two other people asleep in the shade of a tree. Further out, a lone man walked aimlessly.

  “Not exactly a hub of the community,” Lacey muttered. To Courtney, “I don’t suppose you know of any particular location he frequented?”

  Courtney shook her head.

  “All right.” Lacey looked to Sam. “I guess we’ll just walk.”

  It was immediately evident why no one spent an inordinate amount of time out in the sun. The heat was oppressive, and became more so with each passing moment. The trio walked the perimeter of the park, going from tree to tree to reduce the effect of the sun. Overhead, the drone of Air Force jets seemed to add to the heaviness of the air.

  Lacey watched Sam, but he gave no indication of any feelings he was getting. Minimal results for their efforts this morning. She hoped her visit to the police station this afternoon would prove more fruitful. Between Vice and Homicide, maybe at least one of them would have some—