South by Southeast

by Blair Underwood

  “Cops,” I told her. “It’s not him.”

  Chela looked only slightly relieved, settling back in her seat. “Oh.” She raised her knees to her chest in the oversized seat, wrapping her arms around herself.

  I was careful about my speed and every turn signal, hoping I wouldn’t get pulled over and hauled to lockup. Every detail leaped to bright vividness: the shimmering stoplights, the glowing neon at the strip malls, random words on painted signs. My mind was preparing for the worst. At the stoplight, I handed Chela my lawyer’s business card.

  “Anything comes up with those cops, call Melanie,” I told Chela. “Stay with her.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll call Bernard.” Chela was ready to start taking care of herself.

  After fifteen minutes of virtual silence while I drove, we pulled up in front of April’s house. The driveway was empty, but April’s street was busy even at night, with cars speeding past quiet homes while residents walked their dogs by lamplight. Still, April wasn’t used to being vigilant, watching strangers’ every move. April had grown up in Tallahassee, and she’d once told me that she occasionally forgot to lock her front door, and she rarely carried a key.

  April wouldn’t have been ready for Escobar. He could have worn a costume and grabbed her before anyone noticed.

  Our police escort pulled up, parking a discreet distance away.

  “Coming with me?” I asked Chela as the car idled. “Or hanging with the babysitters?”

  “Yeah, right,” Chela said, opening her door.

  Nia flipped on her porch light and opened her front door before we had a chance to knock. She’d seen us through her window. Nia and April often left their front shutters half-open even after dark, a peep show to anyone who wanted to see them eating dinner or watching TV. I remembered my exposure with April as we’d made love in the kitchen, and I cursed myself again. How could I have been so stupid?

  Nia was so thin that I’d once asked April if she ever ate. She was about Chela’s height, with a severe jaw that looked masculine when she clenched it. Nia’s polite smile for Chela died when she looked at me, arms folded. I didn’t have to guess what Nia thought of me lately.

  Nia didn’t move to invite us in. “I don’t like you showing up here like this.”

  “I’m a bodyguard. I can’t help being careful. Did you get any strange mail today?”

  She shrugged. “Bills. Flyers. Strange how?”

  “An envelope with no return address? Weird message?”

  Nia lowered her chin to change her stare, losing her patience. “What’s up, Ten?”

  “Can I take a peek in your mailbox?”

  She gave a frustrated sigh, but she nodded. April’s mailbox, like mine, was beside the front door. An engraved detail from the black paint jumped out at me as I opened it: a cherub blowing a trumpet. I reached inside and checked for loose paper. None. At the bottom, my fingertips brushed a spare key.

  I almost cursed out loud. I fished out the key and gave it to her. “You two should know better,” I said. “That’s the first place someone would look.”

  Nia sharpened her you ain’t my daddy stare. Unlike April, who had been raised a hothouse flower, Nia was a foster kid who had fought her way from Compton to USC film school. Nia and I had gotten along fine once upon a time, but those days were gone.

  I sighed. “Until I see a body, I’m not sure that bastard is dead,” I said. “Feel me?”

  The resentment in Nia’s face melted away. She clutched the key in her fist. “Wait—you think he’s still out there?”

  I shrugged. “April said she was going home to work from here, and you say she hasn’t shown up or called. It makes the back of my neck tingle, that’s all. So keep your blinds closed, lock your door, and don’t keep a key out like an invitation.”

  Nia nodded, contrite. She glanced toward Chela, hesitating before she went on. “There’s no keeping April away from you, so don’t string her along. Step up or step the hell off, Ten.”

  “I will,” I said. “First, let’s track her down. Tell her to call me.”

  I was planning to head to Whole Foods next, to make sure her car wasn’t still in the parking lot where I’d left her. But as Chela and I turned to step off the front stoop, I noticed a bright white sliver beneath the welcome mat I’d missed without the porch light.

  “Wait,” I said before Nia could close the door. I pointed. “What’s that?”

  Nia and I bent low to examine it together: it looked like the edge of a standard envelope, nestled at the bottom center of the mat, hidden except for half an inch. Even less.

  “Hadn’t seen that—” Nia said, reaching down, but I gently blocked her wrist.

  “Let me,” I said.

  I don’t know how I kept my fingers from trembling as I lifted that welcome mat, hoping I was wrong about what I would find. The concrete under the mat was stained nearly black with mildew, but a fresh white envelope lay waiting.

  My name was typed across the center, and nothing else.

  “Oh, dear Jesus,” I whispered, the truest prayer of my life. My heart pounded a flood of hot blood through my veins. Please don’t let her be dead.

  “Why is somebody leaving your mail here?” Nia said, but I barely heard her.

  “Oh, God, Ten,” Chela whimpered, pulling closer.

  “Let’s get inside,” I said, lifting the envelope by its edges, trying to leave any fingerprints intact. It took all of my self-control not to rip it open on the porch, but I didn’t want Escobar to see us. We filed inside quickly. As I slammed the door, I told Nia to close the blinds.

  I laid the envelope on the cluttered dinette table, easing my unsteady fingertip to open the unsealed flap. This note was two lines:

  A simple transaction—a life for a life. No police. No delays. Meet me at the tar pits at midnight. If you fail to follow these instructions, both a lover and a father will die for your sins.

  My fragile new world spun. I read the note a second time, trying to will the words away. My unblinking eyes stung fire.

  “What?” Nia said, anxious.

  All actors are born liars. I folded the note with a shrug. “Some crazy fan.”

  Somehow, Nia couldn’t hear my heartbeat or feel my stomach blister. She couldn’t see my knees trying to fold beneath me. Until that moment, I’d thought that losing Dad would be the worst feeling of my life. I would have sacrificed half a dozen strangers on Hollywood Boulevard at high noon to keep April safe. Maybe more, and now it was too late.

  Escobar might have bugged the room. I would have.

  “What the hell?” Nia said. “Now crazies are dropping off your mail here?”

  Before I could remember language, my phone rang in my pocket. Did he have my number, too? I wore my calm mask, but I reached for my phone with numb fingertips. LAPD, the phone display read. I closed my eyes for a second’s rest. I was falling deeper into the hole. “Hardwick,” I said.

  Nelson’s voice scolded me. “Haven’t you found some place for Chela by now? I thought you’d have sense enough to know we aren’t bullshitting.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but silence was my only alternative. Everything I couldn’t tell him roared in my mind. Nelson knew and admired April’s father, so he might be on my side if I could tell him April was gone. But I didn’t dare trust him.

  Nia gave me a what the hell look as I moved to the kitchen doorway and peered through the jalousie windows above the countertop where April and I had made love. A black-and-white cruiser was pulling up a few yards beyond April’s back door. I was trapped in the house.

  If Escobar was watching, April might be dead already.

  “What now, Nelson?” I could barely raise my voice to be heard.

  “We got a copy of the will.”

  Standing in April’s hallway, I pinned the phone to my shoulder while I folded the note from Escobar to stick it into my shoe. Then I grabbed a handful of twenties from my wallet and stashed them in the other shoe. I would be running soon
. “Whose will? Mother’s?”

  “I need you to walk out the front door with your hands in plain sight,” Nelson said. “Leave your kid and girlfriend inside. Then you’re coming in the car with me.”

  “You’re outside April’s house?”

  “Don’t try to stall me, asshole. You heard me.”

  My mind nearly went blank, veering back to April. I tried to remember what I would ask him on an ordinary night. “What’s the problem with the will?”

  “Okay, I’ll play along,” Nelson said. “She left it all to you. Pretty big haul, if her accounts don’t get seized. So, Sugar Pants . . . you’re going to come tell us the truth about the nature of your relationship with our vic. We can chat about it all night.”

  If I’d been capable of any more shock, the news about Mother’s will would have done it. Nelson was probably bluffing, but he might not be. Anything was possible that night. The images from Escobar’s death scenes tried to trample my thoughts. I almost spoke the words aloud: Escobar has April.

  “I’m coming right now,” I said instead. “Please don’t make a scene and embarrass April at her home, man.” It hurt to say April’s name. My hand shook as I clicked off the phone.

  Chela was on my heels as I walked toward the door. “Well?”

  I gave Chela the keys to the rented SUV and the rest of my wad of twenties. In my rush, one of the bills fell to the floor. “It’s LAPD. Call Melanie, have her investigator take you to Bernard’s. I mean it. Don’t go home under any circumstances. I’ll call you when I can.” I glanced back at Nia. “If you hear from April, let me know right away.”

  “The hell I will,” Nia said with angry eyes that seemed to know everything. “You’re the last person she needs to call.”

  The truth hurt enough to make me stumble on my way to the door.

  “What about the note, Ten?” Chela said, still following me.

  I gave her a lie of a smile, mostly for Nia’s benefit. “I’ll take care of it,” I said, pinching her cheek. “Do exactly as I said. Call Melanie right now.”

  Chela stared up at my face with wide eyes. I let her see a private glimpse of my sorrow, dropping my mask. I didn’t trust Nia to do what I asked, but Chela needed to be more careful than she’d ever been. With a whimper, Chela hugged me, and we held on tight. I kissed the springy curls on top of her head.

  We both knew I might never see her again.

  A small crowd of neighbors gathered at a safe distance to watch. A second unmarked Crown Victoria, this one blue, had joined the first, blocking my SUV near April’s driveway. Nelson waited with his arms folded. The other two detectives stood on the sidewalk beyond the driveway. No guns drawn. No handcuffs.

  God help me, I might still have a chance.

  I walked with my arms akimbo at a pace that wouldn’t worry anyone. “I didn’t know about the will,” I said to Nelson. “She never said anything. But what does it change?”

  “Trained police look for something we call motive,” Nelson said. Despite his sarcasm, there was no smirk on his face. He didn’t look much happier than I felt. Maybe he’d never believed I killed Mother, and now his faith was shaken.

  I stopped walking within six yards of Nelson. If I didn’t spook him, I might be able to talk my way out. He had rank over the other two; on his word, they would let me go.

  “Why would I be stupid enough to make it such an obvious murder?” I said quietly. “She was half-dead already. I could have made it look natural.”

  “You still had the problem of the dogs,” Nelson said. “Rat poison and natural causes don’t add up. I gotta frisk you, Tennyson. You know what to do.”

  I glanced back toward the house before I spread my hands across the car’s warm hood. Nia and Chela were both peeking through the blinds, but I didn’t have the luxury of shame.

  “I would have made it look like suicide,” I said. “She took the dogs with her.”

  Nelson’s hands carefully patted me down, not gentle and not rough, pure regulation. He pulled out my wallet and cell phone, confiscating them.

  “You’re right,” Nelson said. “You could have played it that way, but maybe you didn’t. We’re getting warrants on your house and the car, so we’ll know more soon.”

  “You don’t have enough for warrants.”

  “I was surprised myself, but the judge thinks differently.”

  I pursed my lips. I let Nelson see the sorrow I’d shown Chela, surrendering. “Don’t cuff me here. Not in front of April and my kid. Let me drive myself.”

  Nelson glanced toward the gabled house, where he imagined April stood watching near Chela. Even trained skeptics are wired to believe in fairy tales.

  Nelson puffed out his cheeks, sighing. “Hell no, you can’t drive yourself. You’re not touching your car, Ten. But no cuffs. Just get in my car. Front seat.”

  I felt as if I’d been holding my breath since I saw the note from Escobar, and a thin band of oxygen finally wound into my lungs. Nelson was riding alone, and my hands would be free. My only options were terrible, but at least I still had options.

  Nothing except death was going to keep me from finding April.

  And finishing my business with Escobar.

  NELSON TURNED BACK toward the Robbery-Homicide Division. The other two plainclothes cops had stayed behind with my car. Nelson was pushing the speed limit, only pausing at stop signs. Neither of us wanted the ride to last long. We both knew it would end badly for one of us, or maybe both of us.

  “April has to come in to talk to us next,” Nelson said.

  “Why?”

  “You said you had an alibi all night long,” he said. “It’s showtime, brother.”

  I leaned forward, head hanging. Sagging muscles would help me build rapport with Nelson, and it took less energy than pretending. Once, I would have thought April getting hauled in to talk to the police was a bad day all by itself. Escobar’s note itched against the sole of my foot. I couldn’t trust Nelson with April. Even if I could, I couldn’t bet her life on it.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I won’t do that to her.”

  Nelson pursed his lips with a frustrated swing of his head. “You’re back to no alibi.”

  My eyes fell shut. We had been in the car for ninety seconds, and I was still no closer to free. Once we hit smooth traffic flow or the freeway, my plan would get much more complicated. The green light ahead flipped to yellow.

  As Nelson slowed, my heart sped.

  “If April’s the only way, then I don’t have an alibi.”

  “Fuck you, Ten,” Nelson said. “I’ll bring her in without you. I need this closed. I knew this shit was coming one day. When you go down, you take everybody with you, huh?”

  The light ahead turned red. The battered painting truck in front of Nelson’s car hit the brake lights, and Nelson’s foot shifted away from the accelerator. The car would be fully stopped in twenty seconds, close enough to stopped in ten.

  My muscles tightened. I could bash Nelson’s head against his window, which might kill him, or I could try to knock him out. Killing him would be easier than fighting him.

  “Something’s come up, Nelson,” I heard myself say instead, my voice graveyard quiet. “You’re a good cop. I know you hate this. Hate me. But we’re damn near family, you and me. So I’m going to trust you more than you’ve ever trusted me.” He was quiet, mouth a little open, as if too stunned to speak. “April’s life is on the line. There’s something I have to do, and I’m running out of time to do it. I swear to God that by tomorrow morning, it will all be over, and you can have what’s left of me. But right now . . . I’ve got to go.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I unlocked my car door while he was still ten yards away from a full stop behind the truck. The car lurched, stopping as Nelson turned to me. His regulation Smith & Wesson was on me before my door was halfway open. He’d angled himself to keep his pistol low and close, out of my reach.

  Behind us, a car screech
ed its brakes. I expected impact or a gunshot, but neither came.

  “Close that goddamn door,” Nelson said. “Hands on the dashboard. You’re not this stupid, Ten.”

  I stared straight ahead into the lines of red brake lights. “You can shoot me—that’s your choice. Follow your head or your heart. We’re way past bullshit here.”

  “Do not test me, bruh. I’m counting to three. One . . .”

  “All Preach’s life, he tried to teach me. Trust him, one last time.”

  “Two . . .”

  “She’s my woman, Nelson. I have to do this.”

  “I will shoot you.”

  “She’s worth dying for.” I swung my right leg out of the car, my foot pressing against the asphalt. My feet dragged, waiting to hear the gun’s report. When I didn’t hear anything, I closed my car door behind me and walked past the stalled traffic in the next lane. My legs were asleep, slowly waking with each step.

  Then I was running.

  Nelson flung his car door open. He didn’t want to shoot me, but he could tackle me from behind. Nelson’s footsteps closed behind me, conditioned and quick. Nelson was fast; his breath huffed across the back of my neck as we ran between the crowded lanes. I darted to the shadowy sidewalk.

  Nelson brushed my back as I changed direction, trying to grab a handful of my clothes. I pushed off from him, and he stumbled long enough for me to get out of his reach. An empty garbage can crashed behind me, tangling him.

  “You’re lying to me, I’ll kill you myself. You’re lying to me, your life is over, you sonofabitch!” Nelson shouted, his voice receding.

  I ducked around a corner and was gone.

  I left the ampm more than a mile from where I’d begun, with a new throwaway cell phone and enough minutes to last the rest of the night. Or my probable life span. Whichever ended first. I found a mom-and-pop doughnut shop, took a booth in the rear, and kept my face away from the door and windows. A patrol car sped by with sirens fussing, but I paid no attention.