The Sentry_Joe Pike

by Robert Crais

  Pike watched her. She was faced away from him with her butt in the air, bearing down on the towel with both hands. She was barefoot even though the floor had been covered with broken glass that morning. Pike watched the play of her back as she pushed and pulled on the towel, coming up and down on her heels. Her tan was deep. Even the soles of her feet were tanned.

  Pike stepped around the fan, then rapped on the wall—knock, knock.

  She casually glanced over her shoulder, then went on with the scrubbing. She smiled as if she had expected him, and liked it that he had returned.

  “Hey. How’s it look?”

  “Looks better.”

  “The wall is okay, but this floor is ruined. See how the paint worked down in the cracks? Those creeps ruined it.”

  Pike saw she was right. The paint had seeped into the seams between the Marmoleum squares and would be there until the floor was replaced.

  Pike said, “They won’t be back.”

  She paused again, then stood, pushing a rope of hair from her face. Her eyebrows arched, and Pike saw humor in her eyes, as if she already knew how his story would end and wanted to have fun with him.

  “And you know this how?”

  “These people in a gang, they have a leader like in any other organization. I spoke with the person they answer to.”

  She studied him for a moment, then deepened her voice, trying to sound like Marlon Brando.

  “You made him an offer he couldn’t refuse?”

  Pike wasn’t sure what to say, so he drifted past her to peer out the new window. The street appeared normal.

  “You got your uncle to go home?”

  “He’s not going to stay in bed. He gets dizzy when he stands, but he won’t listen. That’s just how he is.”

  Pike glanced at the tables, waiting to return to their places.

  “Help with the tables?”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  Pike nodded. He had done what he could, let her know she wouldn’t have any more trouble, and now there was nothing to do except see if Azzara was good at his word. They were finished, but, like the day before, Pike didn’t want to leave.

  “You did a good job.”

  “We won’t win any beauty prizes.”

  Pike drifted past her to the counter, and saw that his phone number was tacked to the order board.

  “Okay. You need anything, call.”

  She said, “Ring.”

  He turned back, and saw her smiling.

  “That was me calling.”

  She dropped the towel into the bucket, and appraised herself.

  “I’m wet, hungry, and I smell like turpentine. I want a beer. How about we go have a beer? There’s a great little place right over here, the Sidewalk Cafe. How about it? My treat.”

  Pike said, “Okay.”

  The Sidewalk Cafe was everything Wilson’s tiny takeout shop wasn’t, with a large bar, indoor and outdoor seating, and a spectacular location on Ocean Front Walk. The outside area was already crowded with regulars come to enjoy the sunset, but the waitress recognized Dru and smiled them to a table. Joggers, skaters, tourists, and beach people flowed past on the sidewalk between the café and a row of vendors and performers. A manicured grass park, swaying palms, and a deep expanse of sand lay beyond. Directly across from their table, two street performers painted silver pretended to be mechanical men, locking and popping in unison. An open briefcase at their feet held a cardboard sign: CONTRIBUTIONS WELCOME.

  Dru knew what she wanted and waved off the menu.

  “I’ll have a hamburger and a Blue Moon. They have the greatest hamburgers here, really thick and juicy. You want a hamburger?”

  “Don’t eat meat.”

  The waitress flashed a sparkling grin.

  “Me, neither. The veggie nachos are killer, and I love the Corita salad.”

  “Beer’s fine. Corona.”

  As the waitress left, Dru slumped back in her chair and grinned.

  “Dude. You totally look like a carnivore.”

  Pike checked the vendors and the people strolling past. Checked the beach and the people beyond the palms. Habit. He checked Dru Rayne. Round face, one front tooth overlapping the other, a scar on the bridge of her nose that matched the lines beginning to cut the corners of her mouth. Not a kid, but still in her early thirties. Ten feet away, bikini-clad skater chicks, hard-bodied swimsuit models, and beach bunnies out for the sun flowed past, but Dru Rayne held him like a magnet.

  She touched his arm.

  “Thanks. For helping Wilson, and the rest. Really, thank you.”

  Pike nodded. When he offered no conversation, she filled in the gap.

  “I’m curious—what is it you do? For a living, I mean?”

  “Businessman.”

  Dru burst out laughing, then held up a hand, apologizing as she laughed, and covered her mouth with her free hand.

  “I’m sorry. Laughing is bad. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

  Pike liked her laughing. It was strong and confident, as if she was completely at ease. Pike liked her familiarity. He had spent most of his life seeking and maintaining control.

  Her eyes grew shy, as if something had been on her mind and now she was going to mention it.

  “May I ask you something?”

  Pike nodded, watching her.

  “The detectives who came to the hospital, remember how Wilson said they asked about you?”

  Pike stared past her, now watching the water because he knew where this would go.

  She touched his arm again, and Pike was pulled back to her.

  “They told us you used to be a police officer, but you left because you were dangerous. That detective we saw, the one with the big belly—”

  “Button.”

  “He said he can’t count the number of people you’ve killed. He said you like killing people so much you even went off to be a mercenary, and we shouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

  Her saying these things reminded Pike of his conversation with Miguel Azzara, only this conversation left him feeling open in a way he did not like. Pike had killed men. He had placed himself in situations where death was inevitable, but knew most people would not understand his motives or reasons. He rarely spoke of these things.

  She said, “Is that true?”

  “I used to be a police officer. I was a professional military contractor after I resigned. The part about the killing, that’s what people like Button want to believe.”

  She nodded, and he wondered what she was thinking.

  “Are you dangerous?”

  “Mendoza thinks so.”

  She smiled again.

  “Is that a joke? You made a joke.”

  Pike once more clocked their surroundings. He hadn’t been making a joke, but if she wanted to laugh, he was pleased.

  “What Button said, does it bother you?”

  “No. I like being with you. I feel safe. Is that weird?”

  Pike changed the subject when her hamburger came.

  “What about you? Will you go back to New Orleans?”

  Dru stared at the ocean for a moment, and seemed thoughtful. She had some of the burger and sipped the beer.

  “Pretty here. I’ve moved around so much since the storm, but nowhere like this. I was in Jackson, then Little Rock with my sister and her husband. My mom went to Atlanta. Everyone was everywhere—Wilson was in Houston for a while, then Dallas, then he went back to New Orleans, but, I don’t know, it was just too hard.”

  She trailed off and shrugged.

  “Did you go back?”

  “For a while, but I had no one to go back to. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and my family was scattered. I didn’t own anything, so I left again—stayed with my mom for a while, then my sister. Then Wilson came here, and he liked it, so I thought I’d give it a try. I like it here. I’d like to stay.”

  Pike enjoyed the play of thought on her face as she spoke.

  The robot men called it quit
s. The smaller man gathered their earnings, closed the briefcase, then lined up behind the larger, both taking the same exaggerated pose. They marched away in lock-jointed unison. No one watched them go except maybe for Dru. Pike couldn’t tell if she was watching the robot men or something behind them—maybe the lowering sun.

  She said, “It’s beautiful here.”

  She stretched, and spread her hands to the sky, as she smiled again.

  “I love the breeze we get. Everyone makes fun of the smog, but most of the time it’s clear. Don’t you love it? Don’t you love that fabulous ocean breeze?”

  Pike said, “Yes.”

  That’s when Pike saw a man outside the surf shop a few doors down from the restaurant. A life-sized statue of a surfer with a shark’s head stood outside the shop. The man was behind the statue. He moved when Pike turned. A small move like a buoy rocking on a wave, just enough to disappear behind the shark’s surfboard.

  The man was lean, dark, and probably Latin, though Pike couldn’t see him well enough with the bad angle to tell. With the quick glimpse, Pike made the man for his early forties, with a shaved scalp and furry arms.

  Dru smiled lazily.

  “This is nice, being here like this.”

  Pike said, “Yes.”

  She couldn’t see Pike’s eyes behind the dark glasses, and didn’t know he was watching the man.

  The man sauntered out from behind the statue and fell in with a group of passing tourists. He wore an unbuttoned pale orange short-sleeved shirt over a white T-shirt, dark jeans, and sunglasses. The shirt and the bald head keyed a memory, and Pike realized the man had passed them before. Pike had not seen him double back, which made Pike suspicious because Pike had outstanding situational awareness, which meant he noticed everything in his environment. In Pike’s world, the things you didn’t notice could and would hurt you.

  As the man drew closer, Pike saw a tattoo on the side of his neck. The ink suggested a gang affiliation, but Pike couldn’t see it clearly enough to tell. He wondered if Azzara had lied, and now Mendoza’s friends were upping their game, or maybe Azzara had not had time to call off the dogs.

  The man left the crowd to take a position behind a street vendor selling hats and T-shirts. Now he was on a cell phone, and Pike wondered whether he was talking or only pretending.

  Pike said, “We’d better go.”

  Dru’s face drooped in exaggerated disappointment.

  “Wow. This is a short date.”

  “Is this a date?”

  “It could be.”

  Dru made an effort to pay, but Pike put down cash and told her they didn’t need to wait for change. When he glanced over again, the man in the orange shirt was gone.

  Pike was trying to spot the man when Dru noticed, and turned to see.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Pike stepped in front of her, hoping the man hadn’t seen.

  “Don’t look.”

  She stepped to the side, trying to see—

  “Is it one of those guys?”

  Pike slid in front of her again.

  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  She was frightened, and now Pike felt irritated with himself. He took her hand. It was soft, but firm beneath the softness.

  “We’re fine. Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  Pike squeezed her hand once, then let go, but he could feel her tension as they walked back to the shop.

  On the way, he touched her back to stop her twice, pretending to window shop so he could check for shadows, but the man in the orange shirt was gone and no one else was following.

  When they reached the corner, Pike paused again. He checked the cars lining the curbs, the rooflines, the nearby shops, and the gas station across the street. Wilson’s sandwich shop was quiet and undisturbed, but now Dru walked as if she were brittle. Her confidence and ease were gone, and Pike felt a sense of failure. He had lost control of the moment, and Pike did not like losing control.

  She said, “Are we okay?”

  “We’re fine. I overreacted.”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t look like the overreacting type.”

  He followed her to her car, the silver Tercel parked directly behind the sandwich shop.

  “Want me to come in with you?”

  “I’ve done all I can with this place, believe me. I have to see about Wilson.”

  Pike nodded, the two of them facing each other, neither of them moving to leave.

  “Listen. Thanks. I mean it. I know I keep saying it, but thanks.”

  “Can I see you again?”

  Her smile returned.

  He said, “A date.”

  She smiled wider, but the smile vanished in what Pike read as a wave of uncertainty.

  He said, “What?”

  She pulled a slim billfold from her pocket, flipped through a card carrier, and showed him a picture of a little girl. The girl wore a fluffy dress and stood beside a green couch.

  “This is Amy. My sister’s taking care of her until we know whether or not I can make it out here.”

  Pike said, “Pretty.”

  “Love of my life. She’s three now.”

  Dru stared at the picture a moment, then slipped the billfold back into her pocket. She looked at Pike, then glanced away with a shrug.

  “I dunno—I guess I just wanted you to know.”

  Pike nodded, sensing she was afraid he would not want to get involved with a woman who had a child. He asked her again.

  “Are you going out with me or not?”

  Her white smile flashed again. She dug out her cell phone and asked for his number. Pike told her, and watched as she sent him a text.

  “This is my number. Call me. I’d love to go out with you. On a real date.”

  She put her cell phone away, then went up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Pike cupped the small of her back as her body pressed into his. Pike was moved. She had given him a secret piece of herself when she told him about the child, and now, when she stepped back, he felt compelled to do the same.

  “What Button said—Button doesn’t know anything about me.”

  Pike fell silent, thinking how best to explain about the way he had lived his life and the choices he had made. Rescuing a businessman’s family from Nicaraguan narco-terrorists. Stopping the bandits who looted farms and villages in Central Africa. Pike had chosen his jobs as a military contractor carefully, and speaking about them now seemed pretentious and self-serving. He finally gave up.

  “I tried to help people. I’m good at it.”

  Pike couldn’t think of anything else to say. He let it go at that, and felt embarrassed for bringing it up.

  Then Dru laid her palm on his chest, and it felt like she touched his heart.

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  She climbed into her car, then looked up at him.

  “Do you ever take off those sunglasses?”

  Pike took off his sunglasses. The light made him squint, but he fought it to let her see.

  She studied his eyes for a moment.

  “Good. Very good.”

  She started her car and gave him a parting smile.

  “If you’re going to be dangerous, you might as well be dangerous for me.”

  Pike watched her drive away, then scanned the length of the alley. Nothing.

  He put on the sunglasses, then walked around the end of the building and returned to his Jeep. Reaching the door, he saw what looked like a flyer wedged under the windshield wiper. Closer, he saw it was not a flyer, but a folded piece of paper. Pike clocked the surroundings again, and now his inner radar pinged with the weight of eyes.

  He lifted out the paper and unfolded it.

  GREEN MALIBU

  FOUR SPOTS AHEAD

  Pike saw the green Malibu parked four spots ahead just as the man in the orange shirt stepped from the secondhand clothing store. The man pointed a thumb at the Malibu. Jerry Button pushed out of the passenger door. A se
cond man got out of the driver’s door. He was all hard angles and edges, like a mirror that had been broken and taped back together. He looked impatient, and studied Pike with thoughtful eyes as they walked over.

  Button said, “This is Joe Pike. Pike, this is Jack Straw. He’s with the FBI.”

  Straw said, “You’re screwing me up, brother. That has to stop.”

  8

  The man in the orange shirt walked away when Button and Straw got out of the car. He did not look at them or Pike again.

  Button said, “Let’s take a ride. Better if we’re not seen.”

  The Malibu was a brand-new rental, but smelled of cigarettes. Pike sat in back, with Straw behind the wheel and Button in the shotgun seat. Button twisted to see Pike as they pulled from the curb. He looked as if he had hoped never to see Pike again, but here they were, and now he was irritated.

  “That business between you and me, we have to forget that now, okay? Special Agent Straw is out of the Houston Field Office. Turns out he has an investigation running, and we’ve stepped into the middle of it, thanks to you.”

  Pike looked into the mirror and found Straw watching him.

  “The man in the orange shirt.”

  “I’m going to tell you some things I’d rather not, but I can’t divulge where I have people placed. You understand why?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Okay. Hang on, and let me get pulled over. Easier to talk.”

  Straw drove three short blocks inland and parked behind a row of upscale beachwear shops. The moment they stopped, he rolled down his window and lit a Marlboro. Pike and Button rolled down their windows, too.

  Straw turned to face Pike, and showed his credentials. Special Agent R. Jack Straw. Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “Okay?”

  Pike nodded, wondering what this was about.

  Straw tucked away his badge case and considered Pike through the smoke.

  “What did you think of Mikie Azzara?”

  Pike was surprised, though he showed no expression.

  Straw read his silence anyway, and smiled.

  “Not your traditional Mexican Mafioso, is he, all sleeved-out and nasty? He’s the new generation, and we’re all over him—”

  Straw checked his watch.

  “—which is how I know you met with him two hours ago at the Starbucks on Abbot Kinney. After which you hooked up with Ms. Rayne and went to the Sidewalk Cafe. They make a good pizza. My favorite meal since I’ve been here.”