Lost Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  By that time it was almost closing, so James the bouncer came in to check the register and lock the doors. The two sad sacks at the bar had run out PDQ when the knife appeared. They didn't want any piece of whatever was going to go down. If they had any say Gary and James would have sent the kid with them but they didn't like tangling with Sparkle, so James kept an eye on the kid while Deaf Gary swept up, turned off the music, washed down the tables, put up the stools and Sparkle went to change.

  Cat, excited by the turn of a boring evening's events, found a plaid shirt that the big girl who used to work there had left. She smiled at the kid, thinking he was awful good looking. When she gave him the shirt he nodded, so she helped him off with the wet one and on with the dry one. Even with his build the shirt was too big for him, but then it probably would have been too big for anyone. The big girl who had danced there for a few months had been pretty damn big. When Cat couldn't get a rise out of him, she sighed and fetched Sparkle.

  "Hey, baby," Sparkle said when she came back into the lounge with Cat. "You warmer now?"

  He flinched away, but Sparkle wasn't offended. She picked his wet shirt off the floor, tossed it onto a chair. She looked for the knife, but didn't see it. Sparkle gave Cat a nod. The young stripper knelt in front of him and cooed as she buttoned the dry shirt and turned up the shirtsleeves.

  "There you go."

  "Up and at 'em," Sparkle said when he looked slightly presentable.

  Cat and Sparkle each took an arm, got him out of the chair, and walked him out of the joint. Cat waved off James who made sounds like he would be willing to go along for the ride; she chucked her chin up to Deaf Gary who made no such sounds. When they got to the car Cat made to get in, but Sparkle stopped her.

  "If there's trouble one of us catching it is enough."

  "I don't know, Sparkle."

  Cat was not convinced that Sparkle could handle this guy alone. Tired as he was, he was still a man and they could turn when you least expected it especially when the kindness you were giving was your best. Some men just hated kindness.

  "I got it," Sparkle said. "You go now."

  "Okay but you call me in an hour, or I swear I'm going to call the cops."

  Cat backed off. Sparkle put her new friend in shotgun, and then she got behind the wheel, slammed the door, and started the car. She took a minute to settle in because this was a vehicle for which she had some affection seeing as how her first husband gave it to her just before he passed. She was just starting to release the hand brake when she glanced at the guy beside her. He was paler now, his arms were by his side, his eyes were forward, but she doubted he was seeing much of anything. Sparkle reached over and pulled his seat belt around him. When that was done, she planted her hands at ten and two on the wheel and said:

  "Where to, handsome?"

  Even though the streets were empty this time of the morning, it took forty minutes to get where the kid wanted to go. Not only was Sparkle an incredibly safe driver, the address wasn't the easiest to find being as it was a world away from the stripper's stomping grounds. Once she found the place, Sparkle was impressed and fairly sure there had been a mistake because she was looking at prime real estate.

  Cars were parked on the main drag but none of them were clunkers. The restaurants were the kind of places where you sat on metal stools and ignored the pain in your butt because somebody decided it was cool to sit on a metal stool. In a place like that the servers were named Kyle and Kevin. They would show you perfect teeth as they handed you a bill heavy with profit margin. The boutiques featured expensive duds on whippet-thin mannequins without heads. This seemed appropriate to Sparkle since she figured the price tags would make a girl lose her mind anyway.

  The house she was looking for was on the corner of a walking street. It was so close to the beach that whoever lived in it could roll over in bed and wake up with a mouthful of sand. It crossed Sparkle's mind that her passenger was a rich kid fallen from grace and out of money; a prodigal son ready to ask forgiveness from the folks at home. He might not get forgiveness, but he would probably score a roof over his head and a credit card until he screwed up again. Sometimes that was all a body needed anyway - a place to rest and a time out. Since he hadn't filled in any of his blanks, Sparkle figured her story was as good as any.

  She pulled her Caddy to a stop on the main street and set the brake, ignoring the signs that forbade parking. The kid had fallen asleep minutes after she threw a blanket over him. It wasn't that she was all mother-earth-nurturing or nothing, but he had started shivering so hard it looked like convulsions. The chattering of his teeth had actually turned to gnashing and it all bothered the heck out of her. She thought of taking him to a hospital, but that was more of a commitment than she was willing to make. Besides they would ask for health insurance or money and she was pretty sure he had neither. Sparkle also considered dumping him on the street, but that wouldn't be honorable. She had volunteered to drive him where he wanted to go and her word was still good as far as she knew. Eventually his teeth stopped clacking and he started talking in his sleep, saying stuff that was mostly incoherent. When she could understand it, the dialogue was only mildly interesting.

  Now here they were, near five in the a.m. in a fancy-Dan, high rent, beachside town. In the rearview mirror Sparkle saw a guy staggering down the street, weaving, bobbing, and finally stopping to pee against a building. Sparkle wondered where he'd been holed up drinking since the bars had closed hours ago. She looked back at her new buddy and put her hand on his shoulder.

  "Here you go, sweetie. Come on. Time to get your rear in gear."

  He rolled away from her. She tried again and this time he swung back and grabbed her wrist. His eyes were open and they were blue like sea glass, dull and dead looking. They closed as fast as they had opened.

  "We are not going to be doing this shit, that's for sure," Sparkled muttered.

  She pried his fingers away from her wrist. His hand fell to his lap, and he slept deeply again. She gave his head a pat, turned off the ignition, got out, and went round the back of the behemoth she called a car, running a hand over the long fin as she did so. Her wooden-heeled slides clattered on the concrete, and in the still of the early morning it sounded like the three hundred riding into the valley of death. In her haste to leave the club, Sparkle had thrown leggings on over her G-string. As she walked, she picked at the thing where it cut into her butt. She gave a backward glance. The kid's face was smashed up against the window and his mouth was open. He was fogging up the glass and probably drooling on it too. What a bummer. She just had the car detailed.

  Sparkle found the place she was looking for, double checked the address and then took a minute just to look at it. There was a time when she dreamed of living in a house like this with its low wall and a little gate that swung inward onto a stone walkway. There were small patches of manicured grass on either side of the walk that made her think of kids and puppies.

  To Sparkle's right was a patio lined with potted trees for privacy. They weren't fully grown so she could see comfy chairs and a couch surrounding an outdoor fireplace, a bar, and a stone bar-b-que. The house was a beach bungalow that had been spiffed up without losing its California character. Whoever owned it had a regard for classics and that was tops in Sparkle's book. She put her hand on the gate. It was time to finish up her good deed, dump the kid, and get home for some much-needed shut-eye. She opened the gate but never made it to the front door.

  In the rose-gray gleam of the early morning a tall woman jogged into view at the end of the street, her strides long and graceful, her body strong. She was broad shouldered and slim hipped. She paused at the low wall that separated The Strand from the sand, put one leg up on that wall, grasped the bottom of her shoe, stretched, and repeated it with the other leg. Sparkle had the fleeting thought that this woman could make a killing if she ever decided to dance, but when she stood up straight Sparkle knew that would never be an option. The clue was in the way she stood on
God's earth. Her hands were on her hips and her back was arrow straight as she looked past the sand to the water. Sparkle imagined that broad was sharp enough to see beyond the horizon. Hell, she probably knew who was pouring tea in China.

  Not that this talent was limited to a rich gal; it was a matter of life-smarts and Sparkle had them too. She recognized a sister under the skin when she saw one. If you were smart you knew everything in life was pretty much the same. Real peace and beauty were hard to find. When you found them they were fleeting, private things, and if you weren't careful those precious things got lost in the crap that dusted up with daily living. Forget war. Any day of the week was a battle to stay sane. Grab the good stuff when you could, fight to keep it when you had to. A hard run in the early morning, a minute communing with nature, dancing to a fine song, driving a '59 Caddy - that was the good stuff.

  Sparkle shook her head. She had forgotten herself - something she seldom did - and that meant the jogger got the drop on her. She walked between the rows of houses like she owned the whole damn place. When she lifted the hem of her shirt to wipe the sweat from her face, Sparkle saw her middle was toned just not as toned as Sparkle thought it would be. The woman had a little softness there. Her expression was steady and unreadable, neither welcoming nor suspicious. Her cheeks were still flushed with the exertion of her run, her eyes stayed steady on Sparkle, and there wasn't a hint of anything in them: not distrust, not anger, not curiosity. It was as if people she didn't know showed up on her doorstep all the time.

  Sparkle didn't meet her half way 'cause she'd already put out enough energy for the kid in the car. The woman spoke when she was a yard back, but she kept her voice low. That was a good thing on a walking street like this in the early morning. The houses were so close together that even a whisper would be heard loud and clear in the neighbors' bedrooms.

  "Can I help you?"

  To her credit, she didn't give Sparkle the once over. That happened a lot when Sparkle wasn't on her home turf given the way she looked: big hair the color of gold tinsel, boobs the size of a watermelons, the pink sweatshirt and the multi-colored leggings hugging her butt and skinny legs did not exactly mark her as a well-to-do matron. Still, Sparkle didn't kid herself. This woman saw the cheap slides and she probably saw the bumps the rhinestones made in the spandex where it pushed against her G-string.

  Sparkle didn't miss anything either. She saw the short hair that had been cut by someone who made a fortune making it look like it grew that way, the strong jaw, the wide deep-set eyes that took in everything and more with a glance. That was cool; that was unusual. Sparkle would have thought her a lady except she was too strong to be fussy about form, too sure of herself, too wise about the ways of the world to wear rose-colored glasses. She came from the same mold as Sparkle, they just got painted up a little different when God popped 'em out.

  "Are you all right?" The woman spoke again now that they were face to face.

  "I got someone in my car," Sparkle said. "He says he needed to get to this house. Does it belong to you?"

  "It does," the woman answered. "Did he give you a name?"

  Sparkle shook her head. "Nope, and you don't have to give me one either. I'm just doing a favor."

  "I'm sure it's much appreciated. Where is he?"

  Sparkle pulled her head back and to the left. Her fake lashes swept over her cheeks as she rolled her eyes toward the white Caddy with the red upholstery.

  "He's not feeling too well," she said.

  "That so. Did he say what he wanted?"

  The woman started to walk, Sparkle pivoted and went with her.

  "Just said he had to get here, then he passed out."

  The woman’s fancy running shoes didn't even squeak on the pavement while Sparkle's heels clacked with each step. A dog barked behind a door. A car drove by on the main drag. The sun unhinged from the horizon, and by the time they reached the Caddy all the rosy pinkness of sunrise was tucked away for another day.

  "That's him," Sparkle said.

  The tall woman bent down and looked through the steamed-up window only to stand back so quickly she nearly toppled Sparkle. Without apology she peered through the window again before she opened the door carefully.

  The kid had rolled over so that his head was near the big, black steering wheel. The tall woman slid inside, resting her hip on the red leather as she reached for him. She turned him gently, awkwardly gathering him in her arms. Her voice was low and kind of cracked when she said:

  "Go knock on the door of my house. A man named Archer will answer. Tell him Josie needs him. Tell him Billy's home."

  5

  Day 1 @ 8 A.M

  "More coffee?"

  Sparkle gave the man with the pot the once over for the third time. The first time was the minute she laid eyes on him standing in the doorway of that fine house wearing his boxers and an unbuttoned dress shirt. He had been expecting the tall woman, but wasn't flustered to find a woman he didn't know on the doorstep. That made him one cool customer in Sparkle's book.

  The second time was when he got the kid out of the car and carried him inside the house. She liked a strong man, and a guy with some padding, and a dude who did what needed to be done without a lot of fuss. He had buttoned his shirt and thrown on a pair of jeans. Archer reminded her of her first husband: solid, silent, and a mighty fine man.

  The third time she looked a little higher, from butt to chest to chiseled face. In another era he would have been a boxer with those narrow eyes and wide mouth, a nose that was just a little off center and all of it coming together in perfect harmony. Best of all, he was serving her a steaming mug of Joe like she stopped by for a brew every morning.

  The mug was blue and didn't have any writing on it like greatest dad in the world or some such thing. His shirtsleeves were rolled just below his elbows. There was a plain gold band on his hand and on his feet were Huarache sandals. He was older than his wife and he had no interest in any woman who wasn't tall, athletic, and a lawyer named Josie Bates.

  All this was fine with Sparkle. She was whipped, they were happy, and she wasn't looking to make new friends. It was nice to know she could still appreciate a good man, though, and it was never a bad idea to have a lawyer in the old address book, so she accepted the invite inside and the coffee. Archer took the seat at the head of the table. Josie went to his right so that she was looking at the door behind which Sparkle's passenger was passed out, this time on a bed.

  "That's pretty much it," Sparkle said. "He comes in looking like a drowned rat, pulls a knife, and says he wants a ride. I don't know where he came from, and I've seen enough knife fights to know he'd use it if he had to. Anyway, your guess is as good as anyone's. He could have been dumped off the dock, fallen in, or taken a midnight swim."

  "He didn't say anything in the car?" Josie asked.

  "He just gave me your address." Sparkle took a long drink of coffee then twirled the mug a little as she thought. "While he was sleeping, he mumbled a bunch of stuff. It was like he was having bad dreams." Sparkle raised a shoulder, picked up the mug with two hands, and kind of talked to the rim like she was alone. "The shape he's in? Who knows what he was chewing on? Oh, and he said 'what have you done?' Yeah, I heard that twice."

  "Any names to go with all that? A person or maybe a place?"

  "I heard something like Twala or Wala? Sorry, that's really all I got."

  Sparkle took a drink and cursed herself for drinking so much brew this time of the day. A second wind was coming and that just made her mad. Being off schedule like this would throw her for a loop for a week. She put the mug back down and asked:

  "So what is he to you? Your kid or something?"

  "Might as well be," Josie said.

  Archer put a hand on Josie's neck and rubbed lightly. The smile they shared was a little sad and a lot relieved.

  "We've known him since he was what? Twelve or thirteen? He was kind of a lost kid," Archer said. "Everyone in town looked out for him, but he and Jos
ie had a real connection."

  Josie shook her head, dismissing the idea that she was better than anyone else in town.

  "No big thing. We thought he was being treated poorly at home. We were right, just not for the reasons we thought. He's got a brutal history. He's been through a lot."

  "More than we know, obviously," Archer said. He looked at Sparkle. "It's a long story. He's been gone awhile."

  "I got time," Sparkle said.

  It had been a long time since she didn't want to leave a place and not just because of the house. These people were a real family. There was lots of love and not the lip service kind, the real kind where they had each other's backs. She was surprised Billy ever left.

  "I had a case with a young girl. . ." Josie began.

  Sparkle put her elbows on the table, laced her hands, cradled her chin, and listened to Josie Bates tell Billy's story. Her coffee cooled as she heard about Hannah Sheraton, accused of murder, only to find her own mother had done it and framed her. Josie Bates handled her case and then became the girl's legal guardian. Billy Zuni, a latchkey kid, befriended Hannah, but Billy's own circumstances were as dark as the girl's. It just took them a while to figure it out and by the time they did Billy was beyond their help.

  Archer took over, painting a gruesome picture of what followed: assassins coming from Albania - a country none of them had ever heard of - to carry out a decade's long vendetta for something that happened when Billy was a baby. The men didn't kill Billy, but they murdered his sister and two other people.

  "Hannah and Billy ran away," Josie said.

  "Hell, I'd run too if some crazy people wanted to kill me. Where'd they go?"