“You know you”—some rusty cogs whined in my head—“you torched my house, didn’t you? You’re the firebug.”
“I have to do what they say!”
I banged the bat on the floor. “How’d you happen to be under the freeway overpass when Ernesto shot himself?”
“Oh man.”
I hit the wall above his head with the bat.
“Okay!” Gustavo said. “I wasn’t under no pass. I was in a car.”
“What?”
“We were watching the house. Ernesto was supposed to bring Alejandra in, you know. Barocas want to talk to her. Next thing, Ernesto is getting in his car and driving. We follow him. That’s when he does it.”
Gustavo put a finger gun in his mouth and wagged his thumb.
“Who followed?” I said, starting to sweat. “Who was in the car with you?”
Gustavo shook his head.
“Who went down?” My voice was stretching thin. “Vargas?”
Gustavo said nothing. I threw the bat down and pulled him up by the shirt, held him against the wall. I didn’t see that he had grabbed something on the way up. But I felt it. He got me on the back of the neck.
100
THE BLOW—IT was a bottle—put me on my knees. I heard scattering behind me. I turned in time to see the door open and Gustavo run out.
I got up and shot to the door. He was already gone. The guy was faster than a ferret.
I was reeling. I grabbed the binder and got out to the street. Saw no one. And wondered if Gustavo would be scared enough to run back to Guatemala.
I made it back to Vine and saw Sister Mary’s car had a parking ticket. Wonderful way to cap the day.
I gave a glance over at Triunfo headquarters. Maybe I’d see Rudy Barocas. Maybe I could find a bat and talk to him.
Or maybe I’d see a pig fly overhead. That was what it was going to take. A flying pig who could talk and tell me what was going on.
I was just getting on the freeway when I got a call from Fran. Hysterical.
“There was a man here asking about you,” she said.
“What did—”
“I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Fran, why—”
“I’m so scared. Please come. I don’t know if he’s still out there.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“I don’t know what to do. Please hurry.”
“Are you locked in?”
“Yes, yes.”
“I’ll be right there.”
It took me fifteen minutes. I drove up and down her street a couple of times, didn’t see anybody watching the place.
Fran was looking like she might have a stroke.
I put my arms around her frail body and said, “Take it easy, Fran. I’m here. Nobody is going to hurt you.”
“Who was that?”
“Tell me what he looked like.”
“He was a Mexican man, young.”
“Did he happen to have a tattoo on his face?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I was scared. I shouldn’t have opened the door.”
“You did fine. You did what a normal person used to be able to do in this town.”
I walked her to the sofa and got her a glass of ice water.
She said, “Who are these people? What do they want?”
“Just blowing smoke. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“I can always tell when you don’t believe what you say.”
“Isn’t that just like a lawyer?” I smiled.
“I know you like a son,” she said.
“Your neighbor, the guy who was Army?”
“Mr. Gardner. Yes.”
“I’ll go next door and ask him to keep an eye out. Don’t worry yourself. They don’t want you, they want me.”
“But I worry about you.”
I sat next to her. “You’re a wonderful woman, Fran. I consider you family, okay?”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
101
IT WAS DARK when I got back to St. Monica’s. Quiet on the grounds. A couple of nuns walking near the parking lot gave me a curious look. The retreat’s car, but not Sister Mary behind the wheel. They no doubt knew I was the guy living in the trailer, but I hadn’t exactly been sociable.
I looked for Sister Mary in the main office, but no one was there. I decided to give her the news about being a scofflaw in person.
Back at the trailer I unfolded the notebook I took from Gustavo. It had a pad inside covered with writing, in Spanish. Probably a woman’s handwriting. Probably Alejandra Bonilla, if it came from the house where she was shot by Ernesto.
In the pocket of the front cover was a diskette. Who used diskettes anymore? My Mac laptop, one of the few technical devices I had with me, didn’t have a disk drive.
So I was holding something that was either explosive or worthless, and I had no way of knowing which.
I tried reading a few of the pages, just to see if I could pick up a random word. I managed to see Barocas a couple of times and Triunfo a few.
Maybe one of the nuns could translate for me.
A knock on the door. Father Bob, paying a neighborly visit. “How you doing?” he said.
“I beat up a guy today,” I said.
Father Bob, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Didn’t look like he was passing judgment.
“How’d it happen?” he asked.
“It was just one of those things that comes up.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“I’m listening if you do. Why don’t you come out and sit awhile?”
There were a couple of lawn chairs behind the trailers. You could see the dark outline of the hills and the sky and stars above that. I gave Father Bob the short version of what happened.
“How’d that make you feel?” Father Bob said.
“I don’t really want to analyze it,” I said.
“We are all made for community,” he said. “Not good to hold back.”
“That’s a little odd coming from you, isn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Because you live here. Alone. In a trailer.”
“What makes you think I’m alone?”
“All right. If I wasn’t here, right now, then you’d be alone.”
He shook his head. “Not even then.”
“I guess it’s an advantage to believe in God sometimes. At least it keeps you warm at night.”
“God always has room for one more.”
“Thanks anyway.”
“So you going to tell me how you felt opening up a can of whoopin’ on that guy?”
“What does it matter? I did it. I did it because I thought I had to.”
“Not what I asked you.”
“Who asked you to ask me anything?”
He paused. “Occupational imperative, I guess. Don’t mean to be nosy.”
“Forget it. If anybody’s supposed to be nosy, I guess it’s you. Tell you what. If I ever want to talk about it, you’ll be the first to know.”
“The second,” he said.
“Whatever, dude. Father.”
102
NEXT MORNING I looked for Sister Mary shooting hoops, but she skipped it this time. I took a lukewarm shower in my trailer and shaved. Then I walked to the main building.
I was met by Sister Hildegarde, who still didn’t look like she was entirely on board with St. Benedict’s hospitality idea. At least where I was concerned.
“Are you getting along all right?” she asked.
“Just fine.”
“Staying long with us?”
“I’m very happy to be here. Thanks for having me. St. Benedict is a new hero of mine.”
She nodded. Unsmiling. “And you plan to stay how long?”
“Sister. Mother?”
“Sister is fine.”
“I have some problems I’m working out down below, I guess you could say.”
“I know all about that.�
��
Sister Mary came in through a side door. She looked at her superior like she knew exactly what she’d been saying.
“I have to go downtown today,” Hildegarde said to the young nun. “I trust the car has a full tank of gas?”
She said that to both of us.
“Gotta confess,” I said. “I mean, you know, come clean. I didn’t fill it. I’m a little short on cash at the moment, but I’d be happy—”
“Never mind,” Hildegarde said. “Perhaps you can work with Sister Mary on a plan for your departure.”
She started to leave.
“Oh,” I said. “Here.” I fished the keys from my pocket and handed them over. Hildegarde nodded sharply, left.
“Not one of the warm people, is she?” I said.
“Sister Hidegarde prefers the life of the mind,” Sister Mary said. “And politics. We are all gifted in different ways.”
“She got the ice gift.”
“Mr. Buchanan, I would prefer you not talk that way about my Superior.”
“Lake Superior.”
“Hey—”
“Got it.”
“She has the responsibility for this place, and despite a different view of religious matters, my duty is to help her. Plus our ovens are in bad need of replacing.”
“For fruitcake?”
“For fruitcake.”
I whispered, “Maybe you should take this as a sign from God and just—”
“Mr. Buchanan, did the car run all right for you?”
“Oh yeah, the car was just great. Um . . .”
“Something wrong?”
“I managed to get a parking ticket.”
She looked at me, shook her head, and started laughing. Laughed so hard she turned her back.
“I’m glad you find it amusing,” I said. “I’ll pay for it.”
She turned back around. “You can work it off.”
“Huh?”
“We have things that need doing. We will be happy to have you—”
“Look, I—”
“—help us out.”
“Yes. Fine. Whatever you want. Now can you help me?”
She waited.
“Can you find out what’s on this disk?”
She took it. “No problem.” She sat at the desk and woke up the computer. Slipped in the disk. I came around the desk and looked at the screen.
“Yeesh,” she said as a bunch of unreadable code came up.
“Not good,” I said.
“Let me play with it.”
“Think you can do anything?”
“Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Gimme a shot.”
103
MY LAWYER GAVE me an earful.
“I will have to pull out every IOU I have with the D.A. to keep you out of jail,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? You can’t go around breaking people’s cell phones and expect—”
“He got in my face.”
“I don’t care about faces. Just tell me you won’t do anything like this again.”
“Fine.”
“Where are you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“This is ridiculous. You have to trust me. You do, don’t you?”
I didn’t really know. He’d come into my case unannounced and unpaid. He was doing this for the publicity. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do a good job. His ego demanded that he win.
“What are my chances?” I said. “Realistically.”
“That’s something a criminal lawyer never guesses at.”
“Guess,” I said.
“Ty.” He took on the tone of an understanding uncle. “This thing is most likely going to trial. That’s when I will finally get to plead this case to a jury. That’s where I shine. And I will continue to have my investigators and forensics lab do everything they can, every day, to establish a reasonable doubt. I will do this because I believe you are innocent.”
“That makes two of us,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Ty—”
I clicked off. When he tried to call me back I didn’t answer.
Sister Mary came knocking a few minutes later. She had the disk and some papers in hand. “That disk, it was an old spreadsheet program, primitive,” she said. “I was able to translate it.”
She handed me the sheets. It was a list of names and addresses all over Southern California, some in Nevada and Arizona. Fifty in all.
“That was all,” she said. “No title on the spreadsheet. Just this.”
“Well done,” I said. “You are Xena, Warrior Nun.”
She shook her head.
104
AT FOUR, LATOURETTE called me again. This time I answered. “Your bail has been revoked,” he said.
“What? I thought you—”
“The Dragon Lady didn’t go for it. You have to come in. The judge has issued a bench warrant.”
I said, “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, No? You have no choice.”
“Let ’em try to find me.”
“Are you insane?”
“I’m not going back in. If I do, I’m never getting out.”
“You let me handle—”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Ty!”
I put my cell on silent mode and sat with my head in my hands for a while. This was bad. Very bad. Because I’d been stupid with a jerk on the street, a judge wanted me back in jail. But I meant what I said. Somehow, if I went in I was done. The case against me was too strong. Even with Latourette arguing for me, unless we got some actual evidence to show someone else may have killed Channing, there was no way to defend me. You couldn’t present an alternative theory without some basis. A judge would never allow it.
I needed time to think. I went outside to the basketball court and sat on a bench, as if some time in the sun would shed a little light on my situation. It didn’t. But Sister Mary found me sitting there.
She said, “Not good, huh?”
“I’m officially a fugitive from justice. They revoked my bail. There’s a warrant out for me.”
“Well,” she said, “then it’s a good thing you’re here.”
“I’m going to need a few things. Hair dye. And some clothes.”
“Disguise?”
“It’s a time-honored move for people on the run from the law.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said. “It sounds reckless and dangerous.”
I nodded.
“So,” she added, “you want me to pick those things up for you?”
105
A DAY LATER I had dark brown hair and the clothes of a factory worker. And at 1:30 I had a driver. Sister Mary didn’t think it was a good idea for me to take the car alone. Sister Hildegarde wouldn’t exactly find that wise. But she did say she’d take me anywhere I wanted to go.
A little company would probably do me some good, I thought. You stay enclosed in your own thoughts long enough, especially with the law after you, and it’s crazy time. I couldn’t imagine being locked up in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.
I also knew it happened all the time, and I could be next.
I called KTLA and got their recording, punched 0 for an operator, asked for Greg Beck. Got his voicemail and said, “I have a name to give you, maybe involved with Channing.”
He called back after twenty minutes.
“Everybody in this city is looking for you,” he said.
“I just want to see you,” I said. “Trade information. You have anything for me?”
“I might. But—”
“But what?”
“I want an exclusive interview.”
Everybody wants to be a star. “If I get out of this thing, I’ll throw in an autographed picture.”
“You know I can turn you in.”
“You want to?”
“No.”
“Then show up alone. I’ll be watc
hing.”
I told him to meet me at the corner of Devonshire and Topanga in the Valley. On the southeast corner. Then I had Sister Mary drive me down to the 7-Eleven on the opposite corner so I could watch for him.
“I never expected to be in this position,” I said. “Sitting with a nun in a 7-Eleven parking lot.”
“Me neither,” Sister Mary said. “Isn’t this aiding and abetting a fugitive?”
“Scared?”
“It’s a little Bonnie and Clyde.”
“You’ve seen Bonnie and Clyde?”
“Hello. Video generation.”
“It just didn’t seem to go together with . . .” I indicated her habit, then felt stupid and quickly added, “Slurpee?”
“Hm, and does that seem to go with . . . ?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good call,” she said.
I got us a couple of the blue kind. As she sipped hers, I could see her in the stands at a high school football game, an All-American girl.
“Where’d you grow up?” I asked.
“Oklahoma City.”
“Country girl?”
“Ha. What do you have in mind? Dust bowl? Okies? Wheat stalks in the mouth?”
“I mean, Oklahoma.”
“We have real cities and everything. Malls and movies theaters. Cars! Imagine that!”
“What? No Pony Express?”
“You’re a real snob, aren’t you?”
“Slurpees bring out the best in me.”
“Look, I grew up in north OKC. Private school. Dad’s a lawyer, too.”
“Yeah? Does he take cows for a fee sometimes?”
“You want Slurpee all over you?”
“I’ll stop. I couldn’t resist.”
“I admit I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. I mean, it was fine growing up in OK. My grandparents had a farm in Okmulgee. Salt of the earth sort of people. I appreciate that. But if I never hear another gush about OU football, it’ll be too soon.”
“You’re in Bruin country now.”
“I thought the Trojans owned this town.”
“University of Spoiled Children? Only temporarily.”
I slurped, then said, “So what made you want to become a nun?”
“I fell in love with God.”
“But the whole withdrawing from the world thing, I don’t quite get it.”
“You were in love with your fiancée. Jacqueline, wasn’t it?”
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