by Rob Cornell
“Not at all.” Walkowitz gestured toward the back office. “Please, we can all sit and chat in my office.”
They followed Walkowitz in and took the pair of chairs before his desk, which looked like a standard purchase from an office supply catalog—a lot of pressed wood with fake wood grain.
“You just move into this office?” Lockman asked.
“We upgraded from my home office. My wife and I. But that was a good six months ago. We had plans to do more decorating, but it’s all we can do to pay the lease with the economy the way it is. We upgraded just in time to be too late.”
“Business bad enough you’ll take money from little girls?”
He frowned, but did not look the least bit miffed. Jessie, on the other hand, jerked in her seat and gave him the lip curl to end all lip curls.
“I’m not a little girl.”
Lockman waved a hand. “Be quiet. I’ll handle this.”
Walkowitz adjusted his glasses. “I take it you are the father she was looking for?”
“You should know. You’re the one that tracked me down.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Only you didn’t track a thing, did you?”
The PI’s mustache twitched. He adjusted his glasses again. “I went where the investigation took me. The information I provided the young lady here was accurate, was it not? What else matters?”
“I don’t want to play. Do you understand?”
“No. Sorry.”
“The problem here is you think you can mouth-dance your way out of this. But the only word that matter to me is a name.”
“What name?”
“Who told you where to find me?”
“You came a long way to ask an unanswerable question. I found you the old fashioned way. Detective work.”
Lockman slammed a fist on the desk. A picture frame fell flat with a snap. A crystal paperweight hopped a fraction of an inch across the glossy surface. “Bullshit.”
“Don’t spaz,” Jessie said.
Walkowitz’s mouth turned to a thin line under his mustache. He slipped his glasses off, set them gently on the ink blotter in front of him. “You sound awfully upset at being found. I can understand blaming me. But I’m just the middle man. Don’t you think you should discuss this with your daughter?”
Lockman let his breath ease through his teeth, leaned back in his seat. “This is really how you want to play this?”
“I’m not playing anything. You’re making me into the enemy because you can’t run away from your responsibilities anymore.”
“Jessie. Go wait in the car.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to talk with Mr. Walkowitz here alone.”
“Duh. Why?”
Walkowitz crossed his arms. “He thinks he can intimidate me. Might even threaten physical harm. Don’t worry. Let the adults work this out.”
Jessie gaped at Lockman. “You’re not really going to hurt him, are you?”
“It’s like he said. I’m probably going to use some harsh language here in a second. I’d rather you not have to hear it.”
She looked back and forth between the men, shook her head. “This is some macho thing, isn’t it? Mom’s always complaining about Alec’s macho act. Guys are all alike.”
“Go, Jessie,” Lockman said.
She huffed, but stood and left the office.
Lockman stared Walkowitz down until he heard Jessie unbolt the outside door and the door close behind her.
“You were only half right. I’m not going to threaten physical harm. I’m literally going to fuck you up unless you answer every one of my questions straight.”
“That,” Walkowitz said, “sounds like a threat.”
Lockman swiped the crystal paperweight from the desk. In the next instant he threw it straight at Walkowitz’s face and hit his target square.
Walkowitz’s head snapped back. The paperweight careened off his nose and thumped to the floor. Blood welled from a cut across the detective’s nose. He cried out and covered his face with both hands.
Lockman launched off his chair and reached across the desk. He grabbed Walkowitz’s tie through the V-neck of his sweater vest and yanked the PI forward.
Walkowitz gagged and took his hands off his face to tug at his tightening collar.
With his face inches from the PI’s, Lockman said, “I don’t threaten.”
One of Walkowitz’s hands left his collar and fell behind the desk. Lockman heard the drawer slide open, was ready when the gun came up. He grabbed Walkowitz’s wrist and knocked his hand hard against the edge of the desk.
The gun toppled out of his hand.
Walkowitz now grunted and jerked, his face turning deep red. He clawed at Lockman’s arm, panic overwhelming logic. The guy obviously didn’t know how to fight or he might have tried digging at Lockman’s eyes or striking him in the throat. Soft, in other words. Easy to break.
“I don’t believe in torture,” Lockman said. “But I do believe in showing a display of strength. Now you know the score. Can I let go?”
Walkowitz coughed. He pleaded with his eyes. It was enough for Lockman. He let go of the tie.
Walkowitz fell back in his chair gasping and working his fingers into the knot of his tie. He pulled the tie loose and whipped it to the floor as if it were to blame. His angry glare came next, but Lockman didn’t worry. The man’s pride depended on him at least acting pissed off, even if he had actually pissed himself.
Like Jessie said. Macho stuff.
“You need a drink of water or something?”
Walkowitz shook his head.
“You let me know when you’re ready to go on.”
The PI dabbed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. He looked at the blood on his fingers and groaned. Lockman gave him credit for staying cool, though his hands shook slightly.
“Can I reach in my drawer for a handkerchief?”
“You don’t strike me as the type to have more than one gun handy. Go ahead.”
Walkowitz retrieved a white handkerchief from his desk drawer, folded it in quarters, and pressed it against his nose. “Who the hell are you?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I know your name, both the one you’re using and your real one. I know your address in California. And now I know you’re violent. That’s about it.”
“Looks like that good old detective work didn’t work so well after all.”
“Cut the shit. We both know someone else told me where to find you.”
Obvious all along, but Lockman’s gut still seized when the PI confirmed it. “Who?”
Walkowitz took the handkerchief from his nose and surveyed the bright red stain on the stark white. “I don’t know.”
“I thought you wanted to cut the shit?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know. After the girl hired me, I started with the basic searches. Mostly computer stuff. I no sooner have your name typed into a few search engines and this guy visits me the same night.”
“He just shows up.”
“Yeah. He looked like a spook. I figured him for FBI or CIA. But he never said one way or the other.”
It took every effort to keep his voice even. “Describe him.”
Walkowitz tossed the handkerchief on the desk next to his glasses. “You’re not the first to threaten me this week. He had me pretty convinced not to say anything about how I got my info.”
“He’s not here. I am.”
“Figured you might say that. I’m a small time PI. Mostly do insurance work. Started this business with my wife after an injury on the force convinced me I didn’t belong in the life. This cloak and dagger stuff is beyond me. Whatever you’re involved with, I want to be left out.”
“I understand. But I can’t leave here until I know who talked to you.”
“We never had children, my wife and I. But I love my wife very much. She’s not good on her own.”
“Don’t.”
; The PI’s eyes watered. “I’m just one little man.”
Lockman looked over his shoulder, toward the door where Jessie had left. He stood. Closed the office door. He turned off the voice pleading with him not to hurt this poor man who had found himself in the middle of something beyond his control.
“You’re going to torture me while your daughter waits outside?”
“I’m not going to torture you.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Walkowitz rolled back in his office chair. He threw a frightened glance toward the floor where his gun had fallen. “What? Why?”
“Because whoever spoke with you can’t know I found you. If you can’t help me find him, I have to make sure you can’t help him find me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Lockman pulled off his shirt. The over-conditioned air chilled his skin into gooseflesh.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want blood on my clothes.”
Walkowitz glanced at the gun again.
“You’ll never make it in time.”
The PI’s shoulders bobbed as he began to sob. “Please.”
“Describe him.”
“Please, don’t.”
Lockman walked around the desk and stood over Walkowitz. He tensed the muscles in his arms and abs. “I can crush your windpipe or snap your neck. I’ll let you choose.”
“Your daughter is right outside.”
“Describe him!”
Walkowitz spun in his chair and flopped to the floor, fumbling for the gun. Lockman kicked the chair out of the way and yanked the portly PI to his feet by his collar while Walkowitz reached out with splayed fingers in vain.
Lockman swung the PI around and slammed him against the wall. He pressed his forearm against Walkowitz’s throat. The smell of sweat and urine wafted from the PI.
“This man. Did he threaten your wife?”
“Yes.”
“He promised to kill you both.”
“He said he would make me watch my wife get raped before they killed her.”
“And you believed him?”
“He knew I was looking for you based on a few searches. For all I know, he’s listening to us now.”
“You think this place is bugged?”
“I don’t know.” He crumbled into sobs. Snot and tears glistened on his face and dampened his mustache.
Lockman’s stomach turned. The taste of bile singed the back of his tongue. He released Walkowitz, walked away.
Walkowitz slid down the wall and sat there weeping like a bullied child.
“I’m sorry,” Lockman said. It sounded ridiculous and hallow even to him. “I’ll leave you be.”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
Lockman picked up his shirt and pulled it on. “Never meant to. But I had to try.”
“What about my wife?”
Lockman stared at Walkowitz with narrowed eyes. “I’m cold blooded. But no killer.”
“But him. Will he kill her?”
“I don’t even know who he is. But if they have anything to do with what I used to do, I’d quit your lease and move the business out of state.”
Walkowitz covered his face. “Jesus Christ. This can’t be happening.”
“There’s another option.”
The PI took his hands away and stared at Lockman.
“You could describe this man to me, help me find him, and I could make sure he never comes near you or your wife ever again.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ohmigod, what did I get myself into.
Jessie ran. She ran as hard as she could, first toward home, then veering off course, no plan on where to go, only that she had to get away from him.
A brute. A monster.
Why hadn’t she done as she was told and waited in the car? Only, if she’d done that she wouldn’t know how much of a psycho her dad really was.
Instead of leaving, she had opened and closed the front door to the detective agency, then waited in the reception area, peering in at her father and the detective.
She almost cried out when her dad threw the paperweight at the detective’s face and started choking him with his tie. She had to clamp her hands over her mouth and barely caught the squeal against her palms.
But things got much worse after he closed the door. With only her ears and her mind’s eye to construct the scene, she grew sick to her stomach.
Those horrible words from her father’s mouth...
I’m going to kill you.
I don’t want to get blood on my clothes.
When she heard the violent thumping against the walls and floor, and the detective’s cries for mercy, Jessie simply couldn’t take anymore.
She had run out the door.
Now, tears hot on her face, she continued to run, thankful that at least she was on familiar ground. No vampires or shape-shifting men in business suits, or torturous biological fathers to contend with here. Just an uptight mother and a douchebag step-father. Normal stuff.
Who are you kidding? Normal just took a flying leap off Mount Kilimanjaro. There is no getting back to normal.
Winded, gasping, she stopped running. She stood on the sidewalk in front of a twenty-four-hour grocery. One of the nearby street lights blinked in a struggle to stay lit. Jessie’s eyes felt raw from all the tears. Her cheeks hurt.
She wanted to forget the last twelve hours. Even if for a little while. Give herself a chance to come down from the madness. To come to grips with the fact that vampires were real. Vampires and who the hell knew what else?
Going home wouldn’t do. Having her mom ream her while Alec stood smugly by with his arms crossed? Screw that.
After catching her breath, she headed for Ryan’s house. They could hang in his basement, gank beers out of the downstairs fridge, play Xbox. Maybe make out. Maybe even let him feel her up like he’d been begging to do for weeks. She wondered what Mom would think about that.
She picked up her pace. Anxious to see Ryan now. And maybe she was wrong. Maybe she could bring normal back from the dead.
Yeah, like a zombie.
Which were probably real, too.
* * *
Lockman set Walkowitz’s gun on the desk between them, but kept his hand on it. “I want you to trust me.”
The PI had picked up the handkerchief again and had his nose pinched in it, distorting his voice. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I take my hand off this revolver, you have two choices. Point it at me and chase me out of here—”
“Or shoot you.”
“—or put it back in the drawer and forget about it.” Lockman lifted his hand.
Walkowitz dropped the handkerchief on the desk and picked up the gun. He thumbed back the hammer and aimed at Lockman’s chest. “I should.”
“Maybe. But that isn’t going to help you. There are people after me, dangerous people, who want me alive. I don’t think they would appreciate you interfering with that.”
“Who’s after you? What’s this all about?”
“I answer those questions and you’re involved. You want that?”
The PI chewed on his lip. He gently un-cocked the revolver and put it away. “I can describe the guy who gave me your info. That’s the best I can do. After that, I never want to see you again.”
“Deal.”
Walkowitz drew a yellow legal pad from a stack of files and flipped to a blank page. From a coffee mug crammed with pencils and pens of various colors he chose a pen and clicked it. He slid the pen and pad across the desk. “You want to take notes?”
An unbidden memory rippled up from the deeper end of Lockman’s mental pool. Kate, teaching him to draw, and Lockman realizing he could take the skill into his own life, using it on a few occasions to draw faces from witness descriptions.
“I can do one better than that.” He traded the pen for a mechanical pencil from the mug. “Start with the shape of his face.”
&n
bsp; Walkowitz described while Lockman prompted him with questions to get more detail. And he drew. It didn’t take long. But it turned out Lockman could have skipped the drawing. He recognized Walkowitz’s description almost instantly. He only kept on with the sketching in hope that the PI would mention a feature or mark that proved Lockman’s suspicion wrong.
Instead, he ended up with a perfect portrait of his old boss, Victor Creed.
Lockman dropped the pencil and tossed the pad of paper onto the desk. Something shuddered inside of him as if he’d swallowed an earthquake.
Walkowitz turned the pad around and stared at the face staring back. “That’s him. Fucking bastard.”
Bastard? No. That had been Lockman, the bastard child, and Victor had been like his adoptive father. A role model. A teacher. A friend.
A traitor.
“What’s the matter?” Walkowitz asked, but his voice came from some other universe. “Do you recognize this man?”
Lockman stood. He ripped the sketch out of the pad, crumpled it, and shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks for your help. You’ll never see me—or him—again.”
He rushed from the office and lost his breath when the humid air struck him after all that time in the cold.
Of all the people to betray him.
He took a few controlled breaths and tucked his rage down, saving it for the right time. Now he had to get Jessie home and make sure she was safe. Then he could finish this.
He got all the way to the car and in behind the wheel before he realized she wasn’t sitting in the passenger seat where he expected her.
He checked the back seat. Got out of the car and walked a circle around the car, looking in all directions. No sign of her anywhere.
Had Dolan tracked them down? Taken her?
But if they had come for him, why didn’t they ambush him in the office? Had they learned the direct approach did not work so well against him?
A stupid move, sending her out alone.
“No, no, no.” He punched the rental’s quarter panel and dented it. Pain sparked across his knuckles.
Now what? If Dolan had Jessie, all Lockman could do was wait for Dolan’s next move. Waiting did not agree with him.
There was the chance Jessie had decided not to wait for him. Hadn’t she said the detective’s office was within walking distance from her house?
