by Teri White
“You would forgive him.”
“Yes.” Lowe was obviously very pleased with himself. “Even after all he’d done, I was willing to accept him back. To give him one more chance at a decent life.”
“But he refused your generous offer?”
Lowe missed the sarcasm. “He did. And worse. Told me in plain words just how ugly and degraded his life had become. About the drugs. About … unspeakable things. I just thank the good Lord that my wife never had to hear the things Peter told me that night.”
“Okay,” Spaceman said briskly. “I can understand how you felt. But that’s all in the past now. Your son is dead. What arrangements do you want to make for the body?”
“I’m not interested in making any arrangements at all.”
“Lowe, despite the problems he caused you, Peter was your son. Your responsibility.”
“You must have some kind of potter’s field out there, don’t you?”
Spaceman nodded wearily, then remembered that the man couldn’t see him. “Yes, I guess we do.”
“Put him there. Put him anywhere you want. He’s not a part of us anymore.”
“Don’t you want—”
“That’s all I have to say.” He hung up.
Spaceman slowly followed suit. He was thinking about the bloody, ravaged body he’d seen in the park, and about the cold, hard voice of Lowe. “The world sucks,” he announced.
Jefferies, a skinny black man, looked his way and laughed softly. “That supposed to be some kind of news?”
“No, but I keep forgetting how damned much it sucks, until somebody reminds me.”
Nobody said anything to that.
Spaceman had a report to type from another case, the killing of one wino by another over the disputed ownership of a bottle of Thunderbird. Said bottle, in fact, being the death weapon. It wasn’t a very long report, but he was a slow typist, so it took a while.
Just as he was finishing, the phone rang.
“Kowalski,” he answered, yanking the completed report from the grip of the ancient Smith-Corona, and tossing it toward his out basket.
“Hi.” It was a woman’s voice, not Mandy’s.
“Yes?”
There was a sigh from the other end. “I thought you might recognize my voice. But I guess ex-wives are very forgettable.”
“Hi, Karen.” Just what he needed to put the finishing touch on a morning that was already the pits. “The check’s in the mail,” he said automatically.
“The check came last week,” she replied. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh?” He shifted the phone to his other ear and initialed an earlier report that he’d forgotten to initial the first time around, causing McGannon to send it back. “What’s up?”
“We have to talk. Can I see you? Maybe for lunch?”
“It’s not a good day, Karen. Things are closing in.”
“It’s never a good day for you. But this is important. It’s about Robbie.”
“I haven’t forgotten his birthday.”
“This isn’t about his birthday, either.” Her voice sounded strained.
“Then what?”
“Damnit, I can’t talk now; I’m at work. Can we just meet for lunch?”
“All right, all right. Is Denny’s okay?”
“Fine. How about—” She paused, probably checking her watch. “Forty minutes?”
“Be on time. I’m really pressed.”
She hung up without saying any more.
Spaceman sat still for a moment, frowning. Karen never called him, except to bitch about the child support check being late. He hoped to hell this wasn’t anything important; there was no room in his day for a major hassle.
Chapter 7
He woke without knowing where he was.
Panic filled him in the first terrifying moment; as he stared at the ceiling of the unfamiliar room, his breathing quickened. He began to hyperventilate.
Remembering what the shrinks had told him, Tom closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight, and tried to relax. Consciously, he slowed the workings of his lungs. The fear that was gripping him began to fade.
And then he remembered: I’m free.
A smile began as he rolled over and opened his eyes once again. “Hey,” he said.
Jody sat up in the other bed, looking like he’d been awake for a while. “Hey, yourself,” he responded listlessly.
Tom felt a rush of feeling for his little brother. Jody was the only person in the world who really understood him. Who really loved him.
With the happiness in his chest pounding hard enough to hurt, Tom got out of bed. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s have a really big breakfast.” He grinned. “No oatmeal, though. They serve that every damned morning back at the hospital.”
“We can go a couple blocks over,” Jody said. “There’s a good place on Figueroa.” His voice was flat.
Tom called first dibs on the bathroom, then stopped in the doorway. “You okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
“You just seem kind of down.”
Jody looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Tom nodded and went into the bathroom.
While the water in the shower slowly warmed up, he brushed his teeth and urinated. He noticed that there was still some blood caked beneath his fingernails.
When the water was finally hot, he stepped in under the spray and began to scrub. He used lots of soap, almost the whole of the little bar the motel provided, rubbing with the worn cloth until his skin was red and stinging.
Last night already seemed very far away. All that remained with him clearly was the memory of the excitement he’d felt, the almost unbearably beautiful agony of the moment. He’d never known such feelings, such complete release when it was over.
Just thinking about it made his groin ache.
He stroked himself slowly with soapy fingers. Then, abruptly, he pulled his hand back. Hell, no time for that now. He turned off the hot water and let the sudden icy blast hit him full force. It helped.
Jody got out of the bed and walked over to the mirror.
He looked the same. Maybe his eyes were a little bloodshot and his face pale, but beyond that Jody Hitchcock seemed to be the same man as he’d always been. Which was ridiculous, of course.
A shiny nail clipper was lying on the top of the dresser and Jody picked it up. He carefully removed a hangnail that had been bothering him for a couple of days.
His reflection in the mirror stared out at him. Jody could almost see the blood that should have covered his hands. “Shit,” he whispered to the glass image. “What the hell is going on?”
The figure in the mirror had no answer.
Since the restaurant was so close, they left the truck parked at the motel and walked over. On the way, Tom breathed deeply of the hot, fume-filled air. To him, it was freedom he was inhaling and that made it sweet, no matter what.
Then he frowned a little. The morning newscaster on the television had talked about fires burning around Los Angeles, out-of-control flames, fanned by the Santa Ana winds blowing hot and fierce. According to the news story, arson was suspected in some of the fires. That bothered Tom. This was his city, and nobody had the right to destroy it.
The Original Pantry Cafe was crowded, and so it took several minutes for them to get a table. Jody said he never ate much in the mornings, so all he wanted was some orange juice and scrambled eggs. Tom, however, gave in to his hunger, ordering a pile of buttermilk pancakes, some eggs and ham, toast, and coffee. He was stunned to see what the prices were. It had been so long since he’d been in the real world. He had a lot of catching up to do.
The coffee was strong and hot. He sipped it carefully while waiting for the food. “We’ve got a lot to do,” he said.
Jody was folding and unfolding his napkin. “What?”
“First of all, we have to lose the truck.”
“My truck? Why”
“Because w
e’ve used it enough. For my break and for all the rest. Somebody just might remember it.”
“That’s my truck,” Jody said. “It’s a good vehicle.”
Tom didn’t like the tone of Jody’s voice. He looked at him for a moment. “We have to lose the truck,” he said again, very quietly.
Jody frowned, but didn’t say any more about it.
The food arrived and for several minutes they ate in silence. Tom poured more syrup over his plate. “Then we need to pick up some new wheels,” he said, as if there had been no pause in the conversation.
“You mean steal a car?” Jody asked, playing with his eggs more than eating them.
“No, asshole, we’ll walk into a dealer and buy a new Caddy,” Tom said. “Of course steal one.”
“And then?”
Tom just smiled. He pushed a piece of pancake around in the blueberry puddle.
After another moment, Jody leaned across the table toward him. “About what happened last night,” he began softly.
“Yeah?”
“Are we going to do that anymore?”
“Do you want to?”
“Not the way it ended.”
“Forget about the way it ended. What about the rest? You liked that, didn’t you?”
Jody didn’t say anything.
Tom concentrated on cutting a piece of ham. Then he looked up and smiled again. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we’ll do it some more.”
Chapter 8
Karen was already sitting at a table near the back when Spaceman walked into Denny’s five minutes late. She glanced pointedly at her watch, but didn’t say anything.
She looked good. In the years since their divorce, Karen had worked hard to get her act together, and it was clear that she had succeeded. There wasn’t much left of the girl he’d married: a plump eighteen-year-old, with a puppy dog’s eagerness to please. Now, with the extra weight long gone, the dishwater hair lightened to a radiant gold color, and a wardrobe that was too costly for a cop’s wife, Karen was a different woman.
Maybe, he mused, if she’d been more like this during their marriage, the divorce never would have happened. He didn’t know whether that should make him feel bad or not. Then he decided not. Life, as his old man used to say, was life, which was philosophy enough for Spaceman.
The waitress scurried over as soon as he sat down. She knew he was a cop, and most waitresses liked cops. He rewarded her promptness with a smile. Karen, obviously aware of the byplay, sighed, then ordered a chef’s salad and iced tea. Spaceman went for a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. It was his favorite lunch.
When they were alone, Karen opened her purse, a large duffel of soft butterscotch leather, and removed a lighter and cigarettes. Her fingers were steady as she lit a Virginia Slims menthol. “Thank you for coming,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke across the table toward him.
He couldn’t quite tell whether the tone of her words was sarcastic or sincere. He never could with her. “You made it sound important.”
She nodded, looking distracted. “Yes. Yes, it’s about Robbie.”
The drinks arrived and he took a long gulp. “You said that before.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? What the hell does that mean?”
Now, suddenly, he could see the tiny lines of tension etched around her mouth. “It means just what I said. He’s gone. G-o-n-e. He hasn’t been home for three days.”
“Three days?” Spaceman realized that he was beginning to sound like an echo, and he gave himself a mental shake. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” he suggested. “Give me all the facts.”
“Just the facts, ma’am? What the hell is this, your Joe Friday imitation?”
He sighed patiently. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“Okay, okay, but don’t play cop with me. This is your son we’re talking about, not just one of your damned cases.”
Spaceman didn’t say anything.
Karen smoked in silence for a moment, watching something across the room. “When was the last time you saw Robbie?” she asked finally.
He thought. “Couple months ago, I guess.” Still trying to remember, he stirred the Coke with the straw. “Yeah, it was on opening day. When I took him to see the Dodgers play.”
“Have you even spoken to him since then?”
Spaceman started to feel like he was being accused of something. “I don’t know. Maybe I called him. Probably I did.” He couldn’t remember calling.
The food arrived. He poured catsup on the fries and smeared some mustard on the burger. “Robbie didn’t seem to enjoy the game much,” he said. “In fact, the whole damned day seemed like nothing but a big pain in the butt to him.”
“So your tender feelings got hurt and you didn’t call him again.”
“I’ve been busy, is all.” He wondered if what she were saying might be true. If so, it didn’t seem to say much for him in the fathering department.
He picked up a couple of fries and chewed them while thinking about opening day. It was an annual trek for them, going out to see the Dodgers begin the season. They’d done it since Robbie was four.
But this year had been different. Robbie and he didn’t seem to have anything to say to each other anymore. The boy was obviously his son; it was there in the square jawline and the green eyes. But lately the jaw always seemed to be set stubbornly, and the eyes were full of dark secrets.
During the drive to Dodger Stadium, Robbie slouched in the passenger seat, ostentatiously lighting one cigarette after another, and staring at the traffic. Any comment offered by his father was answered with either a grunt or a sigh.
Things didn’t get any better at the game itself. Robbie perched on the bleacher seat like he was sitting in the dentist’s waiting room. Even when the Bums managed to pull the game out in the bottom of the ninth, he didn’t seem to give a damn.
They made the ritual stop for pizza on the way home, but Spaceman was frankly glad when the day ended, and Robbie seemed just as relieved when he jumped out of the car and disappeared into the house.
The next time he was slipped a couple of tickets to see a ballgame, he had taken Mandy, who hated baseball, but loved sitting on the sunny side of the stadium in her halter top, soaking up the rays.
Spaceman took another bite of the cheeseburger and chewed slowly. “Hell,” he said. “Teenagers, they all get screwy.”
“Do they?”
“Sure. I see it all the time.”
She shook her head. “You see the bad kids. Robbie’s not like them.”
“I know that.” He didn’t know it, not really. Any kid could make a dumb mistake and screw up his life.
Karen stared at her plate, then pushed the half-eaten salad away. “I thought at first that maybe he was just staying with a friend. I mean, it’s summer, so what the hell. But when he didn’t show up again last night, I called some people. Nobody’s seen him.”
“At least nobody would say so. They stick together. Did something happen before he left?”
“Such as?”
“Such as anything. Like maybe the two of you had a fight?”
The skin over her cheekbones turned pink. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
“I’m not saying that at all, Karen. Anyway, so far nothing’s happened to be anybody’s fault. I’m just asking questions.”
“No, we did not fight. Not any more than usual. You’ve never tried living with a sixteen-year-old day in and day out. It’s not easy.”
“I guess not.”
“And it doesn’t help that you never seem to be around.”
He finished the burger in one more bite, chewed, and swallowed. “That was your choice, honey, not mine.” His voice held more of the old bitterness than he would have thought possible.
Shit, I’m supposed to be over that by now. I’m not supposed to care anymore.
Karen spoke coldly: “It was you who decided to sleep around. Somehow, my definition of marriage did
n’t include sharing you with every little bitch who had the hots for a cop.”
He slurped Coke through a straw.
After a moment, Karen swept a stray blonde lock out of her face. “That is not why I’m here. No matter what happened between us, you’re still his father. You should care.”
“I care, damnit. Maybe I don’t come around too often, but you’ve got no right to say I don’t care. I do.”
“You know that. Maybe I know, too. But I’m not sure Robbie does.”
“All he had to do was call, whenever he wanted anything.”
“Probably he doesn’t even know what he wants.” The words shook a little, and her eyes were suddenly too bright. “Maybe that’s why he left.”
A sudden image, sharp-edged and too real, flashed through Spaceman’s mind: Peter Lowe’s body. Just another dumb kid, looking for something, probably not even knowing what it was.
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Shit,” he said.
Karen looked up sharply. “What?”
He just shook his head.
“Can you do something?”
“I’ll file a missing person sheet on him.” Spaceman shrugged. “We get so damned many of those things. Especially on kids.”
“So? Does that mean nobody will do anything?”
“What can be done, will be. I’ll look for him myself, of course. Whenever I can.”
She bristled. “Whenever you can?”
“I also have a job to do. Damnit, I have half a dozen open cases.”
“Cases that are more important than finding your son?”
“Stop deliberately misinterpreting every goddamned word I say.” He thought again about the dead boy, but he didn’t think she needed to hear about that at the moment. “When was the last time you saw Robbie?”
That turned out to be four days ago, before she left for work. Apparently words were exchanged about taking out the garbage. Words that weren’t particularly nice, on either side.
As she recounted the conversation, her smile was wryly bitter. “That’s about par for our relationship lately.”
“You don’t have any idea where he might have gone?”
