by Harley Fox
Lance and I are silent. I don’t know what to say. All I can think about is those guys we stopped yesterday. But before anyone can say anything else …
Knock knock knock.
“That should be him,” Jake says, and he gets up and goes down the stairs to open the door. I hear two muffled voices, and soon two sets of feet are coming up the stairs. Lance and I stand back up as Jake appears with Craig. I recognize him from the hospital. When he sees Lance and me I can see by his expression that he recognizes us too.
“Craig, this is Lance and Katie,” Jake says by way of introduction.
Craig nods. “I remember you two. You were at the hospital yesterday. I didn’t know who you were.”
“I figured out who you were,” Lance says. He isn’t smiling. Jake looks from his to Craig.
“Craig, do you want a beer?”
“Sure,” Craig says, pulling his gaze from Lance. Jake nods, leaves to go get it. The three of us stand in silence. I take a sip of my beer. Soon enough Jake returns, hands the drink to Craig.
“All right,” he says. “So now that we’re all here. Lance and Katie, like I told you, Craig’s decided he wants to help us stop his dad.” Craig nods, but doesn’t say anything. “I was thinking about it … Will is a suspicious man, but he trusts you, Craig. Right?”
“I should hope so,” Craig says, taking a sip of his beer.
“Right. So we can use that to our advantage. Maybe get you to lure him out somewhere and then shoot him.”
But Craig shakes his head. “Whoa, no. I told you. I’m not … I don’t want to be a part of anything that happens to him. I’ll help you guys get him, but beyond that …”
“So you’ll lead your dad out to his death, but you won’t pull the trigger yourself?” That’s Lance talking. He’s staring daggers at Craig, who looks affronted.
“Hey man, what’s your problem?”
“Your dad is my problem,” he says. “And by proxy, that means that you’re my problem.”
“Hey, if you don’t want my help then I’ll gladly leave,” Craig says, but both Jake and I start to protest.
“Whoa hey, boys,” I say. “Come on. We’re here to work together.”
“Exactly,” Jake says. “Let’s try to keep our heads clear. We all know what we’re here for. Craig,” he looks at him. “We appreciate you being here. Right?” He looks at Lance and me. I nod, and after a second and an eye-roll, so does Lance. “There. So … let’s keep working on a plan.”
“I can lure him out,” Craig says. “Maybe … take him out to dinner somewhere? And you guys can get him in the parking lot?”
A flashback to my first encounter with Lance suddenly pops into my head and I have to shake it away.
“No, nowhere public,” Jake says. “We need someplace where there aren’t a lot of people around … someplace private …”
“Like the desert?” I offer. But Craig shakes his head.
“Why would we need to go into the desert?” he asks. “What about those drug facilities? They’re all in these run-down parts of town. And one of them got burned down last night. I could see if he wants to check the other ones out, and I could meet you guys there.”
That’s not a bad idea, I think, but Jake chimes in before I can say anything.
“I think it would be good to have somebody with you,” he says. “Just to make sure things stay on track.”
I look at him, check out his expression. He’s suspicious. Craig tilts his head side to side.
“Okay. But, I mean, he knows who you are,” he says to Jake. “It’s not like he wouldn’t recognize you.”
“I could go,” I say, and everybody looks at me. “I could go with you, help lure Will Silver out there.”
“Katie, are you sure?” Lance asks, but I give him a level look.
“I’ve been training for this,” I remind him. “Besides, I’m the only one here who Will hasn’t actually interacted with.”
“He saw you at the hospital,” Lance points out.
“Yeah, but I don’t think he was focusing on me.”
Craig chimes in. “He didn’t mention you or anything afterward,” he says to me. “I think his mind was elsewhere.”
“Okay,” Jake says. “So why would Katie go with you? Could she pose as your girlfriend or something?”
Craig shakes his head. “No. Dad would have known about any girlfriend of mine. Besides, I would never bring someone like that to any of the facilities.”
We all stand, thinking. Every now and again I take a sip of my beer. Someone who would need to go to the place where they make drugs … a lab assistant? Someone from the FDA?
“What about a potential investor?” I ask. Lance slowly nods his head and Craig seems to think about it.
“That could work,” he says. “We could set up a meeting … dad could talk to you and feel comfortable.”
“Maybe you heard about the one last night burning down?” Lance adds. “And you want to check the other ones to make sure they’re all right?”
Jake asks, “Could we wait at one of the facilities and you guys come meet us there?”
But Craig shakes his head. “No, dad’s wary when people try to make decisions for him.”
“I could pose it to him,” I suggest, “and let him choose which one to go to. Then I can call you guys,” I look at Lance and Jake, “and you can follow us there.”
Craig is nodding. Everyone’s nodding.
“Yeah. That should work.”
“Okay,” Lance says, giving me a worried smile. “You sure you’ll be all right for it?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “You guys just make sure you get him.”
“Whoa, hey,” Craig says, lifting up his hands. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Right. Sorry,” I say.
“Okay,” Jake says. “When can we do this?”
“I could call dad now,” Craig says. “Set up the meeting for tomorrow.”
“Good. The sooner the better.”
“It’s perfect timing, too,” I tell them. “Lance and I just stopped two guys who tried to kill Jeannette and Nathan Willow.”
Both Jake and Craig freeze, looking at me.
“What?”
“Who?” Craig asks. “What happened?”
She filed a testimonial against Craig, but I don’t know what for. And those two guys yesterday. “Yesterday, two guys came with guns and were going to kill Jeannette and Nathan Willow,” I tell him. “But we stopped them. Will called on one of their cell phones. That’s how we knew he was behind it.”
Jake looks at Craig, who looks surprised, flabbergasted.
“I … are they okay?”
“They’re safe,” I say to him, not giving any more information. I’m watching him, observing his movements, his subtle reactions. He’s breathing hard, almost panting. He runs a hand through his hair. Jake is still staring at him.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Craig finally says.
Jake just nods, still staring at him.
“Well,” he finally says. “I guess you should go and call your dad, huh?”
“Huh?” Craig seems to snap back to reality. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll go do that.”
He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his bottle of beer, but Jake takes it from him, puts it down on the dining table. Craig turns to go.
“Uh, Jake, I’ll call you with the time of the meeting,” he says. To all of us, “See you guys tomorrow.”
We nod in farewell, and Craig heads down the stairs, the three of us standing silent as we listen to his footsteps descend, and then the front door open and close. Jake quietly walks over to the top of the stairs and goes down. We hear him lock the front door, then come back up. He joins us.
“I don’t trust him,” he says right away.
“Why was he acting that way about Jeannette and her kid?” Lance asks.
“Because he told Jake that he didn’t set those guys on them.”
“It’s not
just that,” Jake tells us. “Apparently, this Nathan Willow kid … might be Craig’s kid.”
My eyebrows fly up. “What?”
Jake nods. “He said he got drunk one night and … forced himself on the kid’s mom.”
Jesus. Jake goes on.
“And if he set those guys on the kid and his mom and then lied to me about it …”
“I don’t know if he was lying,” I say, making both Jake and Lance raise their eyebrows. “I mean, I used to be a therapist. I’m pretty good at reading people. And when I dropped Jeannette almost getting attacked … well, Craig’s reaction seemed genuine.”
Jake doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know. All I’m saying is be careful when you’re with him. He’s dangerous, and his dad is Will Silver. If they’ve got something planned, then you’ll have to think fast. But if not, and this is legit … well, this may actually be the end of Will Silver.”
Merryn
I turn the page of one of Trista’s police handbooks. Then turn the next one.
I’m not really reading it. I can’t concentrate. I feel restless here, in her apartment, in her bedroom. I’m lying on my side on the bed, the book being held propped up by my hand. But as I flip from one page to the next, only seeing blocks of text, pictures and diagrams explaining tactical movements and different types of weapons, my mind wanders.
I’m thinking about Jake. And that dream I had last night. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Whether he’s thinking about me. Whether he’s sorry for what he did. For how he treated me. I haven’t heard from him. Part of me wondered how I would react if he tried calling or texting me. Whether I would accept his call, or tell him to that he hurt me and to fuck off. Or maybe I would just ignore the call altogether. But I haven’t been given any of those chances. I haven’t heard from him at all.
I let the book flop down onto the bed, rolling onto my back, feeling the heavy weight of my belly press down into my stomach and bladder. I need to pee. Well, I always need to pee. I stare up at the ceiling, looking at the dark purple light and how it colors the paint. After a few minutes I can’t hold it back any longer and I roll back over onto my stomach, push myself up off the bed, and leave the bedroom to go pee.
When I’m finished in the bathroom I hear the scraping of metal on glass and look over to see Trista’s mom’s bedroom door standing open. I approach it and see Trista sitting in the chair next to her mom, feeding her baby food straight from the jar. The floorboard creaks under my weight and Trista stiffens, her head half-turning. But she doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. She resumes feeding her mom.
Trista and I have hardly spoken. We don’t have much to say to each other, I guess. Besides, I feel like I’m intruding on her space. She took me in, which was a kind offer, but I feel like she’ll appreciate it when I’m gone.
Trista’s mom’s mouth opens in response to the spoon touching her lips, and she dutifully eats the food that Trista gives her. When it’s all gone Trista wipes her mom’s lips clean with a napkin and stands up, turns around, glances at me without smiling and leaves the beside. I step to the side and allow her to pass. She doesn’t look at me as she does.
I watch as she goes into the kitchen, putting the baby food jar in the sink.
“Do you want dinner?” she asks me. “I can heat up some soup.”
My stomach rumbles at the mention of food, but I do not feel like eating soup in this quiet apartment. Instead my mind wanders, and I think of how delicious it would be to bite down into hot meat and cheese and bread.
“What do you think about going out for a burger?”
Trista doesn’t say anything right away. She hesitates, then turns around, standing at the sink. She looks at me.
“You’re going to get a burger?”
“I’m asking if you want to get a burger with me,” I say. “There’s a place not far from here. It would be good to get out and go for a walk.”
No expression crosses her face. Her eyes look like they’re staring at something in the distance, no matter where she’s looking.
“I shouldn’t,” she finally says. “My mom …”
“You’ve left her alone before, haven’t you?” I cut her off. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She hesitates before speaking again. I step forward and give her a smile when she looks at me.
“It’ll be good,” I say in a lower voice, now that I’m closer.
Her eyes are on mine. Finally she nods.
“Okay,” she says.
So we get our things together and leave the apartment, Trista checking in on her mom one last time before we go.
The evening is cool as we step out. Trista locks the doors behind her. People walks the streets, groups of friends, families, couples holding hands. The sky is dark, streaked with purple and black. Streetlamps are on, illuminating bright spots of light on the sidewalks and street below.
Trista and I walk side by side. It feels good to be outside. It feels good to move my legs, to get some fresh air. My belly hangs heavy on my body and forces me to sway side to side as I walk. Trista and I don’t talk as we head on our way to the burger place, but that’s fine. I’m just glad to be out of doors.
It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to The Burger Joint. Trista pulls the door open and we step in. An Elvis song is playing on the speakers tucked into the top corners of the space. The place is pretty busy as we stand in line, staring up at the menu.
I lean over to Trista, standing beside me.
“Hey,” I say, and she half-turns her head in my direction. “This is on me.”
“Oh,” she says, looking at me properly now. “You don’t have to do that.”
“No, you took me in. This is the least I can do.”
Trista doesn’t say anything to that. We reach the front of the line and I order a double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a vanilla milkshake. Trista gets a cheeseburger with fries and a Coke. I pay for our meals and we stand to the side as they’re made. Trista is given an empty drink cup that she takes to the soda fountain, filling it with Coke. When our meals come on trays we take them and find an empty table, sitting down.
I’m feeling ravenous as I pick up my burger and bite into it. The combination of meat and grease and salt fills my senses as I chew and swallow mouthful after mouthful. Trista takes solemn bites of her burger, every now and again putting it down to eat some fries or take a sip of her drink.
When my burger is halfway done I put it down, having not stopped eating since I picked it up. I grab my milkshake and take a long drink, setting the foam cup down and looking around.
“Have you been here before?” I ask her.
Trista nods, still chewing a mouthful. I wait for her to swallow before she speaks.
“I came here with Flynn a few times,” she tells me.
“Oh,” I say. Trista’s hardly talked about Flynn since I found out that they had a fight. Well, she’s hardly talked about anything at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know … if this is weird or anything …”
But she’s shaking her head. “No, it’s okay,” she says. She takes another bite of burger and looks around at the place, the other customers. “I like the vibe here,” she says with her mouth full. “This place isn’t ritzy or anything. It’s not trying to impress anyone. It just is what it is.”
I look around too, and I can see what she means. The other customers aren’t the type you’d find in any high-end restaurant. The decor needs to be updated, looking as though it came out of the seventies. The seats at the booths and tables have been worn down from years of people sitting down in the same spots, probably never having been replaced since they were first installed.
I nod. “Yeah, I like it here too,” I tell her. This seems like the kind of place where my clients would hang out. Maybe I should suggest it to them.
We continue eating, and when I’m finished my burger I open up a few of the ketchup packets they gave me and squeeze out the red goo onto the wrapper, forming a place
to dip my fries. Trista finishes too and we continue sitting together, munching away in a comfortable silence. Being around Trista’s not that bad, I decide. I was probably just taking it out on her because of everything that’s happened.
I hear a loud roaring sound outside and look to see a red Porsche pull into a space in the parking lot. The car turns off and a man in a beige suit steps out and struts to the door of the restaurant. He opens it up and his loud voice immediately follows:
“… three points on the Lakers. Yeah, that’s what I said! Ha ha, no, you retard, like hell I would bet on them!”
He’s speaking into a Bluetooth headset, wearing sunglasses even though it’s dark out. The conversation in the restaurant seems to falter as both Trista and I watch him saunter up to the front counter.
“… Yes, you retard!” he almost shouts as he steps up to the counter. The teenage boy behind it looks uncertain about what to do. “No … no, three points. God, my palsy grandmother would make a better bookie than you! Let me get a double cheeseburger, kid.”
The boy behind the counter blinks a few times.
“Do … do you mean me?”
“Yes!” the man shouts. I see that others in the restaurant are watching him now too. “God, is everybody here a fucking retard?”
The cashier starts ringing it up as the man in the suit continues his phone conversation. When I look to Trista I see her glaring at him, an icy look in her eyes.
“Boy, this guy’s a dick, huh?” I ask her. She shakes her head, still watching as he thrusts a hundred-dollar bill in the cashier’s direction.
“I’ve seen that guy,” she says, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“At the precinct. He was brought in for driving while on drugs. He almost plowed through a school playground in the middle of the afternoon. He was in the holding cell for half an hour before his lawyer came in and got him out. Charges dropped, no stain on his driving record. He bought his way out of it.”
I look back to the guy. His tray of food is brought out and he grabs it out of the worker’s hands before turning to find somewhere to sit.
