One In A Million (The Millionth Trilogy Book 1)

by Tony Faggioli

  He ducked as one clawed hand smashed the wall where his head had just been, shards of brick and cement cascaded over Kyle’s face and down the back of his shirt.

  He couldn’t help himself. In a panic, he called for The Gray Man, but it was no use.

  That’s okay. I may die here, but Tamara will be safe. It’s okay.

  In pure desperation, Kyle pushed and clawed, kicked and punched at the behemoth upon him. It was like punching a bear. The creature only grunted, exhaling hot sprays of breath that reeked of hot mud.

  I’m going to die. This is it. I’m—

  The thought was shattered by a sensation in Kyle’s chest that welled up like a balm against his terror and resignation. The blue came across him like a shield and erupted like a wave of lava over the creature. The creature’s shrill cry was so loud it almost pierced Kyle’s eardrums, and he scrambled backwards away from him.

  “You little bastard!” it spat at him. “I will eat you one tiny bite at a time. I will butter your soul with the sorrow of those who will mourn you!”

  It charged again, but it was seriously hurt now, bleeding some sort of tar from multiple wounds. Kyle dodged to one side, this time easily escaping any blows, as a clawed fist grazed the hair over his right temple.

  Kyle spun around, and this time, at last, the blue came, filling his right hand, which he balled up and smashed over the creature’s head.

  It fell forwards, motionless for a moment before it rolled over slowly, and the slot machine faces came on again, spinning before finally stopping on the image of the old Arab man, his eyes full of relief as he looked up at Kyle. “Thank you,” he said softly. “But it’s my job to stop what I started.”

  The creature exploded in a mass of red light that enveloped the alley, the sky and the streets beyond. Blinded, Kyle grunted and fell backwards against a stack of empty cardboard boxes that collapsed and sent the rats that were nesting below them scrambling in all directions.

  Then? Silence.

  Looking up, Kyle saw the clouds in the sky above the alley drifting by. The ringing in his ears slowly subsided, allowing the sounds from the street beyond the alley to bleed in. Managing to get to one knee, Kyle stood up straight, his back cracking as he did. He felt as if he’d just gone twelve rounds with Joe Frazier.

  If not for the old Arab man’s help, he’d be dead. He was sure of it.

  Leaning his face against a water pipe, he treasured the feel of its coolness.

  Kyle shook his head. “God?” he asked. “Are you there?”

  A car horn honked in the distance as a lone seagull wailed overhead.

  That was all he got.

  JUST HEARING the detective’s voice brought Tamara to near panic.

  “You better protect him! You better promise me you won’t hurt him.” There was conviction in her voice, but it was cracking with emotion.

  “Take is easy. Tell me what’s going on, Mrs. Fasano,” Detective Villa replied.

  “No. First you promise me that you’ll keep him safe.”

  “I’ll do my best to—”

  “Screw that! You better promise me!”

  Tamara heard hesitation in his voice before he finally blurted out, “Fine. I promise.”

  “He’s gone to find his first girlfriend. From high school. I have no idea why. Her name is Victoria. She lives in Monterey and owns a business there, I think. He may know her home address too.”

  Again she listened as he hesitated, the silence on the other end of the line so long that for a second Tamara thought the call had dropped.

  Finally he replied, “What gives you that idea?”

  She swallowed hard. “I just got a card in the mail from him, this morning, for my birthday.”

  “What’d it say?”

  “It doesn’t matter what it said. He didn’t do it, Detective Villa.”

  “Look, Mrs. Fasano, I don’t have the time to debate his innocence right now. I understand that you think he’s innocent—”

  “Because he is!”

  “—and that may be true, but his running away from us is not helping him. I think you know that. You’re a smart woman, which is why you’re calling me.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Detective.”

  “I’m not, Mrs. Fasano,” he replied, sounding exasperated. “To be honest, I don’t have time for that shit.”

  She was shocked at first, and then opened her mouth to reply before he interrupted and continued.

  “You want to save your husband? Fine! But we don’t have the time to dance around no more. Do you know if he was having an affair with this woman too?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Guilt followed, and she added, “I don’t think so.” She realized that neither statement was a ringing endorsement for Kyle, but the time for half-answers and half-truths was just about over. So far he hadn’t pried about the birthday card, which was good. If he did, she would have to tell him one more lie, and then it would be done.

  “So do you know when he last contacted her?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  She held her breath for a second, and then she said, “I think he probably just left for there. I’m not sure, but the card didn’t have any postage on it, which means that someone dropped it off in the mailbox by hand. I got it about two hours ago—”

  “Why did you wait so long to call?” he scolded her.

  “Will you let me finish?” Tamara snapped.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I only just opened it, and then I had to search for your business card.”

  Silence. Her heart sunk. He had to buy it. He had to. She had to get to Monterey first, to Kyle, before they did. No matter what.

  When he next spoke next it was with the overly calm and measured tone of a suspicious mind. “Okay, Mrs. Fasano. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to send a cruiser over to your house right now for that card.”

  Shit.

  “You… you can’t… I’m… um… I’m not home.”

  “Can’t we pick it up from whoever is there?”

  “No. No, I have the card with me.”

  “Uh-huh. And where exactly are you, Mrs. Fasano?”

  “Why? I mean, what does it matter? You have what you need.”

  There was a soft sigh at the other end of the line. “Mrs. Fasano. You’re being evasive, and I think I know why.”

  “What?”

  “You think you can help him, but you can’t.”

  “I’m trying to help you, you idiot!”

  He chuckled. “By what? By giving me the first name of maybe two thousand Victoria’s who live in the Monterey area?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “Fine. But you still never answered me. Where are you now, Mrs. Fasano?”

  “What does it—”

  “I’ll send a cruiser to wherever you are to pick you up. We need that card.”

  It was painfully obvious that he was calling her bluff, so she lashed out. “You can’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Listen, Detective—”

  “No, ma’am. I’m done listening. Now it’s your turn to listen to me. Because now you’re starting to get a little too smart for your own good; you’re lying to me, which is really stupid.”

  “I’m not lying…”

  “Really? By giving us just her first name and probably withholding her last? Tell me, Mrs. Fasano, how is it that you know this woman has a business? You’d need a full name to look that up, unless he told you that in the card too. Did he?”

  She hesitated and he read her mind.

  “Be careful how you answer, Mrs. Fasano. Because when we get that card, we’re going to check. And if that card disappears, that card you say is with you in your car right now, the car I am going to tell you to turn around this second and drive to the police station, well, Mrs. Fasano… be careful and think about your kids here.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “You have the only
piece of solid evidence in this case right now. It needs to get to the right people,” he said coolly.

  Her mind began to race.

  “Mrs. Fasano? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. I mean… no. It doesn’t say anything about her business in the card.”

  “So what’s her last name?”

  As panic began to overtake her, Tamara felt her throat clench. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying something she didn’t want to. Then he surprised her.

  “Mrs. Fasano, I’m going to help you out here, okay?”

  “How?”

  “Her last name is Brasco.”

  The word shattered her like a brick through a window.

  Oh my God! They already know.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Never mind. Just trust that we’ll find him. What you need to do is simply turn around and go to Central Station on 1st Street downtown, okay? Ask for Detective Murillo or Detective Klink. Give them that card. I’m really trying to help you here. Go to the station and stay out of this.”

  One more lie wouldn’t hurt. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m almost there.”

  “Where?” he sounded startled. “Monterey?” he asked firmly.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s funny,” Detective Villa replied, “because so are we.”

  She was wrong, lies always hurt. They multiplied and came crashing down on your head in the face of the truth. She knew this. She preached it to her kids constantly. But she’d just proven that, when push comes to shove, none of us listen to our own advice.

  “No,” she squeaked.

  “So turn your car around and go back. Now.”

  She looked at her GPS. She was still three hours away. She said nothing. Instead, she punched it, taking the car to 100 mph as she sped up the highway. When he spoke next it was from a million miles away. “Mrs. Fasano, you’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

  She bit into her lip, enraged and beyond control. “Don’t forget that you promised me you wouldn’t hurt him!”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Fasano. And I won’t… if I can help it. But keep in mind that since the moment he went up into that hotel room with that girl? Your husband’s been doing everything he can to hurt himself.”

  Tamara’s heart sank, and her hands began to shake on the wheel. She was going to be too late. It was over.

  All she had left was a desperate plea, which she flung at him with all the hope she had left in her heart. “Detective, please listen to me…”

  “Go ahead, Mrs. Fasano.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “He loved his dad so much, Detective. Please. You have no idea.”

  Again, it sounded like she’d caught him off guard. “What?”

  “His father… Detective, his father was everything to him.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fasano,” he said, “but what does that—”

  “He swore. In the card.” She halted, a short sob escaping from her mouth before she was able to continue. “He swore on his father’s soul that he didn’t do it.”

  Silence again, this time longer.

  “Got it,” Detective Villa replied, the click as he hung up on her sounding very much like the click of a gun.

  “Kyle!” she screamed, desperation scraping her voice across the glass of the windshield, the dark sky outside swallowing the road ahead of her, as if she were driving into an abyss of utter blackness.

  CHAPTER 29

  The overturned big rig took a mind numbing three hours to clear, and even then traffic in both directions was forced to use one lane, alternating turns with the help of one very pissed off looking California Highway Patrolman. In the meantime Napoleon stewed: the greeting card that Fasano had purchased at that CVS had been sent to his wife. The calling card just a ruse. This guy was just full of tricks and it had Napoleon a bit worried: what was next?

  Once near the accident site Napoleon could see why: it was a lumber spill that was going to take a lot longer to clear completely. Once past it, they took the 101 to the 68 and were now following the highway signs to the Naval School and beyond. From his GPS, Napoleon knew he had a choice coming up: either veer left and head up to the Quarry Park area where Fasano’s ex-girlfriend lived, or go to the boardwalk where her wine shop was. He looked at his watch: it was just past six.

  This was a tourist town, and that meant tourist hours. He Googled the wine shop and it was open until eight, seven days a week. Depending on how successful a business owner she was, Victoria Brasco could be grinding out the last hours of the day selling wine, or she could be at home right now in the hot tub while her employees closed up.

  Shortly before getting to Monterey, Murillo had texted Napoleon to tell him that Monterey P.D. had been informed that Napoleon and Parker were coming, but they were short-staffed due to a carjacking gone bad that had left three dead. A Detective Medina was on call if they needed support or felt that an arrest was imminent. Remembering the delayed ATM notification from Beaury, Napoleon texted Murillo back with a hearty “thanks for getting my number right this time, jackass” and then asked him to track down the Brascos’ phone numbers. It’d taken a while before Murillo texted him back with the information and a curt “callate guey”, shut up dude.

  But Napoleon had no intention of calling Victoria just yet. If Fasano was hiding out with his old flame the last thing they needed to do was tip them off that they were coming.

  “Let’s go to the wine shop first.”

  Parker seemed surprised. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s closer by. We can clear it and then bounce to the house if we have to. It’s about efficiency, rookie. Do I have to teach you everything?”

  The Parker shrug followed. “Well… you are training me.”

  “Yeah, but shit, talk about a blank slate.”

  Parker laughed as he squinted at the road signs ahead. Napoleon noticed that for a nice town, Monterey lacked proper street lighting, especially over intersection signs.

  They made their way downhill to Del Monte Ave, then merged right and drove through a tunnel to Cannery Row. Even at this hour the area was fairly busy and parking spaces were sparse. After driving a few blocks they doubled back and took a metered space in front of an abandoned dirt lot, an odd sight for such a beautiful area along the ocean.

  “Too much car time, man,” Parker complained as they got out and stretched.

  “Ya think? We’ve been up and down the damn state three times in just as many days.”

  “And still—”

  “—nothing.”

  “Yep. Feels like we may be getting close, though.”

  “True dat,” Napoleon agreed, though he had a strange feeling that wasn’t a good thing. They walked down the west side of the street past a few bars and restaurants, all of them advertising clam chowder. To this day, Napoleon equated eating a bowl of clam chowder with eating a bowl of hot puke. A series of collectible shops, clothing stores and nail salons greeted them next.

  Before long they were at the boardwalk, the InterContinental hotel ahead and Bubba Gump’s off to their right. The wine shop was across from the waiting area at Bubba Gump’s. It was a perfect place to sit and wait for Mrs. Brasco to get off work.

  Napoleon motioned for Parker to stop and step inside one of the stores, the Bombay Company, with him. They said nothing. Napoleon whispered for Parker to scan the crowd with him. After a few minutes, when they were absolutely sure Kyle Fasano was nowhere in sight, they headed into the wine shop.

  The store was well lit, with a soft yellow glow that created a warm ambiance, and was divided neatly in half, with white wines along the left wall and reds along the right, and a mix of specialty wines and cheeses in the middle aisle.

  Along the back wall was a tasting counter with a raucous crowd of wine drinkers. The girl serving them was a brunette and looked to be in her late twenties. Too young to be Victoria Brasco.

  Napoleon and Parker were abou
t to step to the counter when a thin man with a tapered mustache, long blond hair and blue eyes stopped them.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  Perhaps it was the way he stuck out his chin, as if he were a member of the wine aristocracy, but Napoleon decided at once that he didn’t like him, so much so that he forgot to answer him, which left Parker to pick up the slack. “Yes. Is Victoria Brasco in?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. No. She stepped out.”

  “Hmm,” Parker replied. “Do you expect her back?”

  “Oh, yes. She usually comes back to make sure the store’s locked up and all.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  The man pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, exaggerating his distaste at being asked such a personal question about his boss. “Wellll… she went for a walk with a friend.”

  “A friend?” Napoleon pried.

  This was the man’s limit. “May I ask who you gentleman are?”

  Napoleon had his badge out before the man even finished the sentence. “Detectives Villa and Parker, Los Angeles Police Department.”

  “Oh. My.”

  “Yes. We just need to contact her. It’s important. Her safety could be at risk.”

  He was like a broken record now. “Oh. My.”

  Napoleon could feel his jaw tensing by the second.

  Parker pushed on. “Do you know who the ‘friend’ was?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m just a little shocked. She said he was an old friend that she hadn’t seen in years.”

  The man’s words felt like fists on Napoleon’s chest. Shit. Shit. Shit. We missed him. Again. It was just before seven.

  “How long ago was this?” Napoleon interjected.

  “About an hour ago.”

  Right about when we were getting into town.

  “Do you know which way they went?”

  “Yes. Down the road, to the beach I think. Victoria mentioned Tully’s, I think.”

  Napoleon grew tense. “Tully’s?”

  “It’s a bar, about a block down on the left, by the Steinbeck statue.”