Bleeding Hearts

by Teri White

  Blue had to stop at the liquor store for a bottle of special wine, so by the time he got home, he was already running twenty minutes behind schedule. And he wanted the meal with Sharon to be special.

  He left the car in the driveway and stopped at the mailbox to pull out a handful of envelopes: bills, some bank statements, invitations to a couple gallery openings. He thumbed through the collection indifferently as he started for the house.

  There was a slight noise in the bushes that lined the drive.

  Maybe Merlin, his peripatetic tabby, had returned from his latest bout of wanderlust. He’d been gone almost a month this time. Blue half-turned. “Merlin? That you? Have you finally come home, you horny old bastard?”

  The blow across the back of his head knocked him down. Dazed, but conscious, he fell forward into the grass. His face was pressed to the ground, and above him were voices.

  “You hit him pretty hard. He’s not dead, is he?”

  “Of course not, dummy. Can’t you see he’s still breathing?” A foot nudged at his ribcage.

  Blue waited for the punks to grab his wallet. Mugged in his own driveway. Shit. Some hotshot cop he was. They’d probably take his ring and the goddamned $3000 watch that was just a month old. Shit.

  And his gun.

  Double shit.

  He kept his eyes closed. Someone knelt next to him and rough hands patted him down. The gun was lifted. Blue swore to himself, thinking about the paperwork ahead. Losing his weapon was bad news. Maybe he ought to do something, make some noise, try to fight them off.

  The thought was there, but the body wouldn’t or couldn’t follow through. The brain couldn’t make the arms or legs move.

  “Get his feet,” one of the voices said.

  Hands grabbed him and tied his legs together with heavy rope. What the hell was going on? Since when did muggers tie their victims up? His hands were bound, too, behind his back. Blue started to get groggily worried. Something was happening, and he didn’t think it was going to be good.

  When he was effectively trussed up, the foot nudged him again, harder this time. “God, what stupid jerks these cops are. Get the car, Jody.”

  Jody. It all fell into place. Blue swallowed down a sudden rush of bile. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if dying were much too close.

  The lasagna was crummy. The cheese on top was charred and the middle was still cool. But at least the food and a couple more cups of coffee sobered Spaceman up. He didn’t feel any better, but he could see straight. Whether he liked what he was seeing was a different story.

  He stretched out on the couch while Mandy did the dishes, half-sleeping through some made-for-TV movie about a crazed rapist stalking Las Vegas. There was always something vaguely cheering about watching stories with crime set in some other city. He could watch without feeling responsible.

  The last thing he needed on this particular night was something else to feel guilty about. The Jerry Potter killing had hit him hard; he couldn’t stop thinking about the quiet gentleman they had spoken to. Neither could he stop feeling like people were dead because of something he, Kowalski, had done or failed to do. People kept dying and he wasn’t one goddamned step closer to stopping it.

  Mandy turned off the light in the kitchen and joined him on the couch. She was up emotionally, excited about the job, obviously ready for some heavy-duty fucking to celebrate.

  Spaceman wasn’t in the mood.

  He should have been out there someplace trying to stop Tom Hitchcock. Or trying to find Robbie. There were victims to be avenged and it was his job to be sure they were. Instead, here he was, trying to work his hand into the blue silk panties of a twenty-year-old girl.

  Where the hell were his priorities?

  He knew that it wouldn’t be any use to try talking to Mandy about it all. Rule number one was that he not talk about his work. He sighed and kept his hand where it was.

  For the second time recently, he was almost glad when the phone rang. Not that he would admit it. “Sometimes,” he said to McGannon, “your timing really sucks.”

  “There’s a problem,” McGannon said.

  “What else? I didn’t think you called just to wish me sweet dreams.”

  “Sharon Engels just called me. She was supposed to have dinner with Maguire at his place tonight.”

  “So? He got lucky.”

  “Maybe not. When she got there, no Maguire. His car was in the drive, there was mail all over the ground, and the house was dark.”

  Spaceman massaged his left temple wearily. “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t think anything yet. Except that maybe you should go over there and have a look around.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “That’s a pretty classy neighborhood. Maybe somebody broke in and Blue caught them.”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  “Call me.”

  “I will.”

  He hung up.

  The house was still dark when he got there. He checked the car quickly, but nothing seemed amiss. Spaceman collected the mail that was scattered across the lawn, then crouched down to examine the flattened grass. It looked to him as if something heavy had rested there. Half-crawling, he followed a faint trail through the yard. The object apparently had been dragged from its resting place to the curb. Spaceman stood there on the same curb, staring up and down the dark street for a few moments.

  At last, he turned and walked to the house, pausing only long enough to pick up a bottle of wine that was lying in the grass. The front door was secure, so he walked around to the rear, climbing a few steps to the redwood balcony. The sliding glass door had been jimmied. He pushed it open easily and went in. Nothing in the living room seemed out of place, so he walked up the winding stairs to the loft bedroom. The bed was made; there was a single silk tie draped over a chair. Nothing else was out of order, as far as he could tell.

  The house was very quiet.

  Spaceman glanced into the bathroom before going back downstairs. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, but it was in the front hall that he found it, written on the wall in a familiar bright purple.

  “This little piggy is missing. One more for you, Kowalski.”

  Spaceman read the words again and then once more. It didn’t help. He sank down onto the couch, so tired all of a sudden that his legs wouldn’t hold him.

  “Shit,” he said, without emotion.

  Then he reached for the telephone.

  Chapter 32

  He had never really known how long twenty-four hours could be. The day and night following Maguire’s disappearance dragged unbelievably, and not because he didn’t have enough to do.

  He was in charge of the team that canvassed the neighborhood, setting up roadblocks and knocking on doors to find out if anyone had seen something that might give them even a vague hint of where to go. Nobody had. They might have been living in palaces instead of slums, but the people around here didn’t seem any more observant than the inner-city folks.

  The press had finally jumped on the case and they were playing it for all the thing was worth. On the front page of the Times was a rehash of the murders ten years ago of the elder Hitchcocks, the story updated to include Tom’s hospitalization and escape. Each of the current murders was discussed at length, with heart-rending quotes from Chris Blair’s aunt. The Lowe family was “unavailable for comment.” Steven Lawrence was named as having “no known relatives.” Lovers, apparently, didn’t count in the obits.

  Jerry Potter’s sister had nothing to say.

  The least space of all was devoted to the missing cop, but they hadn’t had much time on that angle yet. Spaceman knew what would happen when they found out that Maguire was not only a cop, but a millionaire several times over as well.

  He tossed the paper aside with a grunt of disgust and looked up to see McGannon standing next to his desk. “You need to get away from here for a while,” McGannon said.

  “Yeah, you’re right.
Maybe I’ll take a trip to Mexico. Lie on the beach; swim some. Take in a bullfight. Fuck a few señoritas.”

  “Go home and sleep for a few hours.”

  “Oh, that’s what you meant.”

  “That’s what I meant. Go.”

  “You want to know something?” Spaceman searched for a cigarette and realized that he was all out. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping all day. Like this is just some kind of dream. The whole world seems kind of vague.” He then realized that he was talking nonsense and shut up.

  “Go home,” McGannon said again. “Consider that an order, if it helps.”

  “Yes, sir.” Spaceman saluted.

  He left the office and walked around the corner to the diner. Joe gave him change for the cigarette machine, and for once, was mercifully out of good advice. While Spaceman was tearing into the cigarettes, the door opened again and Sharon Engels came in.

  “I was looking for you,” she said.

  “Well, you found me. Why don’t you become a detective? I can never find anybody.”

  “Can we talk? Just for a minute. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  He smiled. “Sweetheart, if you knew how much caffeine is already coursing through my fucking veins, you’d withdraw that offer.” Nevertheless, he sat down. “Gimme a glass of oj,” he said to Joe.

  “Better choice,” the old guy approved.

  Sharon slid onto the stool next to his. “Any word on Blue?”

  “No.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” His shaking fingers finally got the cigarettes open. He offered her one, which she refused, and then lighted one for himself. “I think Maguire’s in a hell of a mess.”

  “Is he alive?”

  Spaceman shrugged, picking up the glass Joe had set in front of him.

  “Just a shrug? What kind of an answer is that?”

  “It’s the best goddamned answer I have right now.” He downed the juice in one long drink, then set the empty glass back on the counter. “You and Maguire have a little something going, is that it?”

  “We’re friends.” She sounded fierce. “Damn it, there hasn’t been time yet for anything else. There might be more, if we have the time.”

  “I hope you do. Nothing would make me happier.”

  Sharon looked at him; her eyes were very dark. “You don’t sound like you care at all.”

  “I care. Sure I do.”

  “Well, no one could tell by looking at you.”

  “Sorry about that. What should I be doing? What would satisfy your sense of propriety? Should I throw a chair through the goddamned window over there? Or maybe I should shed a few tears about how rotten it all is?”

  After a moment, she patted his arm. “I’m an idiot. Sorry.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said. “I have to go.”

  Instead of going directly home, Spaceman drove slowly up Hollywood Boulevard, looking for his son. Twice he parked the Jeep and trudged to the sidewalk to show the snapshot to groups of young freaks.

  Nobody knew anything.

  Inside his apartment, he pulled off the sweat-stinking suit and dropped it into a heap on the floor. He was standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of Alka-Seltzer, when there was a knock on the door.

  He sighed, too tired even for despair, and went to answer it in his shorts.

  Karen was standing in the hall, but not for long. As soon as the door opened, she pushed by him, and then she was standing in his living room. “You bastard,” she said in a small, tight voice.

  He shook his head a little, hoping to clear away some of the cobwebs, but it didn’t help much. “What?”

  “I’ve been calling and calling, and you haven’t answered one of my messages. You haven’t called or anything!” She paused and inhaled deeply, obviously trying not to cry. “Where is Robbie? Why haven’t you been looking for my son?”

  “My son, too,” he said. Unable to stay on his feet any longer, he almost fell into a chair. “And I have been looking.”

  “In your spare time, right?”

  “Whenever I goddamned could. Karen, have you seen a paper or watched the news? Do you have any idea at all what’s going on in this city?”

  She shook her head.

  “There happens to be a madman out there. A madman who kills people.” He tried to tally the number, including the hospital aide, excluding Blue. “At least five in the last couple of weeks.”

  “I don’t care about that. I want my son.” She pushed one hand through her hair helplessly, glaring at him. “You never change, do you? Always have to be the hero. Always have to save the world. Well, what about your own son? Can’t you care as much for him? Can’t your heart bleed a little for Robbie?”

  “He ran away, damn it. Robbie is not a little boy. He ran away of his own free will, and from what I’ve been able to find out, he’s probably shacked up with his girlfriend right now.”

  She was pale. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I heard. But I’m still looking.”

  “Find him then!” She was screaming now.

  “I will. But right now I have to find that maniac.” He didn’t raise his voice, mostly because he didn’t have the energy.

  “Let somebody else do that.”

  “It’s my case. He’s killing these people because I put him away ten years ago. Now he’s out again, killing again, and I have to stop him.” He touched his chest with one finger. “Me.”

  “Not you.”

  “He’s kidnapped my partner.” Maybe, just maybe, he’s even killed my son. Spaceman thought the words, wanted to scream them at her. But he didn’t.

  Karen turned and walked into the kitchen. He watched as she searched for a clean glass, managed to find one, and swallowed a pill. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she said, walking back into the living room.

  “I’m still looking for Robbie,” he said wearily. “But I have these other things to do, too. Please, Karen. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I’m gonna crack up. Then I won’t be any good to anyone. Go home.”

  “Maybe I should hire a private detective.”

  “Fine. Do that. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll give you a couple names.”

  She stood there for another moment, then turned and left, slamming the door.

  Spaceman stayed where he was and finished the flat Alka-Seltzer.

  When he finally got into bed, he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, then switched on the radio and listened to the news.

  In the middle of a report on a new fire outbreak in the hills, Spaceman finally lost consciousness.

  Chapter 33

  Blue forced himself to wake up.

  For a long time, it had been easier just to stay asleep. That way he couldn’t feel the pain from the ropes still holding him, or from the kicks inflicted on his body. But part of him finally accepted that crawling into a hole and trying to pretend that none of this was happening wouldn’t help at all. He had to get a grip on things.

  So he opened his eyes.

  A giant green dragon leered down at him.

  He closed his eyes again. Careful, man, he thought. Careful, you don’t want to blow it now. Hold onto a little bit of sanity. He took a couple of deep breaths and opened his eyes again. The dragon was still there. Blue shook his head slightly, refuting the absurdity of it all.

  “There really is a dragon,” a voice said suddenly. “It isn’t your imagination.”

  Blue managed to turn his head slightly, enough to see the young man sitting just a few feet away. “Hello, Jody,” he said, although it wasn’t easy to talk with a tongue that felt about twice as big as it should have.

  Jody looked surprised. “How’d you know my name?”

  “I know all about you, Jody. Except for one thing.”

  “What?”

  “How the hell did you ever get yourself into such a mess?”

  The face went blank, shutting out Blue and what he was saying.
“I better tell Tommy you’re awake.”

  “Oh, yes. Tell Tommy. He’s the boss around here, right?”

  Jody didn’t say anything.

  “Can you at least tell me where the hell I am? And why there are dragons and elephants watching me?”

  “You’re in the Humpty Dumpty Fun Palace,” Jody said shortly. He started out of the room, then paused. “But I don’t think it’s going to be much fun,” he said. Strangely, there wasn’t any hint of sarcasm or even threat in the words. There was only a sort of weary resignation.

  “He’s awake.”

  Tom was sitting outside, reading a paperback western. He looked up at Jody’s words. “For real this time? No more drifting?”

  Jody shook his head. “No more drifting.”

  “Good.” Tom stood, stretched. “Too fucking hot.” Then he went inside.

  After a moment, Jody followed. Tom was standing over Maguire, not saying anything when Jody joined them. “Well,” he finally said, drawling the words out like a cowboy. “Whattaya think?”

  Maguire met his gaze. “I think it’s funny that you don’t look like a fucking maniac.”

  Tom’s foot moved swiftly, colliding yet again with the tied man’s ribs. Maguire grunted, but didn’t say anything. “We have a real smartass pig here,” Tommy said. “A regular funny guy.” He kicked again. “How funny do you feel now?”

  Maguire’s face was pale and bright with sweat. “Not terribly,” he gasped out.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. Nothing makes me sicker than a cop cracking jokes.”

  “Could I have a drink of water? Please?”

  “Nice manners. You say please.”

  Maguire seemed to speak through gritted teeth. “Miss Puddingham would be proud of me.”

  Tom was running the toe of his foot up and down Maguire’s ribcage lightly. “Who the hell is that?”

  “The mistress of the Puddingham School of Deportment for Young Ladies and Gentlemen. I graduated with honors when I was seven.”

  “Which were you? A young lady or a gentleman?”

  “Ha, ha.”

  Tommy just shook his head. “You’re the crazy one here. I could kill you just as easily as look at you. Why don’t you act like a man that close to dying?”