by Amy Faye
Erin shifted to sit up and closed her eyes, folded her hands. She didn't have anything to say to God. It was God who took Mom away. Erin hadn't been inside a church since the funeral, and she wasn't planning on taking the practice back up.
She prayed anyways, if only to get the man to give her just one more minute. Erin heard the noise of steps outside, and then everything exploded all around.
A gunshot sounded, and an instant later she heard the door slam open. In the time it took for her brain to register what she was hearing she heard the noise of a grenade hitting the ground, heard the loud pop that made it so she wouldn't be able to hear anything else for the better part of half an hour.
Her eyes were closed, but even that couldn't keep out the bright white flash of light that burned itself onto her retinas in spite of her closed eyes. A trillion miles away, someone shouted something about getting down. She didn't move. Arms scooped her up and set her on her feet.
She opened her eyes, her vision swimming, on Roy Schafer. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him. She blinked, hoping that would help her hearing, but it didn't.
She shouted as loud as she could that she couldn't hear him. It sounded a little louder than a whisper over the sound of the ringing in her ears.
Roy pulled her in tight, held her there for what felt like an eternity, but when he pulled back she wanted that eternity back. As soon as her hearing came back, she would be back on her way to the hotel, and he would be getting the hell out of town.
So the longer that her hearing stayed gone, the longer that they stood there together in that stinking meth-lab warehouse, the better, because as much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, she wasn't going to get another chance at it.
Thirty-Eight
The ride back to her apartment was silent. Not the least of which because she was alone. She could still see the absurdly large truck Roy had somehow come into possession of, following at the somewhat discreet distance of two cars back. As if she would have rebelled and started off again if he were too close.
If anything she wanted to have his bumper pressed up against hers the whole way. As if the closeness would be enough to make sure that she never ran into trouble like this again. She let out an unsteady breath as she pulled into the hotel parking lot.
Schafer's truck pulled in behind, found one of the dozens of empty spots around her, and he got out. Erin couldn't find it in herself to get out of the Jeep, but she at least managed to work up the energy to turn the engine off.
She laid her head back and set her eyes on the sky, barely visible through the row of trees that blocked out the side of the hotel parking lot.
"Are you okay?"
"What happened?"
"What do you mean? You were there."
"How did you find me?"
"It was a bit of luck, to be honest."
"Figures."
"We didn't take long finding Hutchinson. He's not a hard man to find, with his notoriety. We showed a few pictures around and found him with plenty of time to spare. At which point we threw him in the back. He starts the usual talk—you can't arrest me, you're making a mistake. I didn't do it. The usual shit, right?"
"Sure."
"Well, then he says he needs to go find you. There's gonna be trouble. I figured there was nothing to it. He's trying to bullshit me."
"But you decided to come check on me anyways?"
"He offers me a full confession to the Angels' various crimes—drug trafficking and a couple of murders down the coast—if we can just drive by and check on you. Just make sure you're okay. His club isn't any of my business, but that's not the usual spiel any more. So we went to check on you, and I see you driving with some guy in your passenger seat." Roy's face split into that pretty-boy grin. "I got a little jealous."
"How sweet of you."
"Are you hurt?"
Erin looked down at her body. She hurt where she'd been thrown to the floor, a little scrape on her knee and a bruise on her hip. There was a red stain where he'd cut her belly open, just a bit, but it was going to be fine. Probably already closed.
"Not really."
"You want to go upstairs?"
"Calm down, boy," she teased. "I'm a little tired for that."
"I didn't mean—" he pursed his lips to stop his lips twisting into a sour smile. "Are you going to be alright?"
"I don't know."
He reached a hand through the open window and cupped the back of her head.
"You're going to be fine, babe. I know it. You're a tough cookie."
"You think so?"
"I know it."
"Thanks." She didn't feel tough, and she didn't particularly feel like she was going to be fine. How long would it be before the nightmares stopped? How long would it be before she could go to sleep without triple-checking the locks? How long before—
Erin stopped that line of thought.
"We're going to take a few days to question Craig. Get what he knows about the situation out. We'll get everything we need to know from him." He didn't add and then we're going to leave but she heard it anyways.
"Yeah?"
"I promise. We got the guy who did all of this, and we're going to put together proof enough to convince anyone. Maybe even you."
"Good."
She was too tired to have any sort of feelings at all about it. The week had worn her out. It would be days before she felt anything but tired, she knew. If she could move on to the next case, maybe it would be a knock out of the park. Maybe she'd be able to hammer one, and then the next, and by the time she realized she wasn't ever going to feel right again, she wouldn't care any more.
"Are you gonna be alright?"
"I'm going to be fine." She finally found the energy to push the door open and stepped out onto an unsteady leg. "And I still don't need your help getting into bed, Romeo."
"Look, I'm just saying, if you did, though—"
She cut him off with a smile and a laugh. "I know, you're more than willing. Maybe some other time."
She limped her way back to the elevator and hit her floor, unlocked her door with the keycard, and fell into bed.
The next few days passed slowly. Agonizingly slow. Roy kept her updated on everything with his texts, but they were too busy pulling together evidence. Officially, they were just wrapping up loose ends.
Back in '95, when Erin was first settling into her new west-coast life, Papa Hutchinson had found Jesus in all the wrong places, but apparently hadn't found out about the church's view on narcotics use.
In his drug haze, he'd been more than a little critical of his eldest boy's dating habits. What started as cops getting called a few times turned into beatings, turned into a girl getting stabbed. That diary page came from Craig's father.
He was, himself, on his third wife at the time, so the hypocrisy wasn't lost on any of them, but the eldest boy, Jared, had taken it hard. At some point, for reasons nobody cared to speculate, he'd decided that his girlfriend had absolutely deserved to get what she'd got.
Now that his brothers had spread around the country, he found out that they were dating, and just like poor Chrissy, they were corrupting his innocent brothers. Craig had been dealing by then, and by the time he managed to find his brother, it was too late. He assured Craig that was the end of it, until he found out about Becca, and then all bets were off again.
He'd failed to kill Becca's twin sister, a couple of days later. He didn't succeed in finding the right 'twin sister' until four days later. In the mean-time, he managed to find out that one of the other brothers had been hiding a relationship from him, as well, so his work was cut out for him.
Craig was arrested for distribution and trafficking in a class-A controlled substance, among other, lighter charges.
Roy offered to stay—there was a place in the L.A. field office, working narcotics, and he could get a steady job. Erin couldn't imagine him working narcotics. She told him to stay in Quantico. If he'd worked half as hard to be in
that position as she had to be where she was, she wasn't going to derail his career for a relationship.
She let out a breath, looked down at the paper in front of her. At least, if he'd worked half as hard as she had to be where she thought she was. She closed her eyes a minute, stifled the panic at the thought of what she was going to do if things turned ugly. She touched the pistol on the table, to remind herself that she still had it.
She folded it up and put it in the envelope, then looked down at the plane ticket beside. She had to get going now if she was going to make it to the airport. The next flight to Virginia was leaving in three hours, and she still had to tender her resignation.
It was a waste to ruin one person's career so that she could keep working in L.A., because now all she could think about was what would happen if she got mixed up in something like this again. It would be a struggle just walking into the station.
She would, though. Because it was the respectful thing to do, and maybe Erin the bitch could give it a rest for a while. It was going to be a long plane ride, though, so she was going to keep her options open.
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