West Seattle Blues

by Chris Nickson

  “Maybe.” But he didn’t believe that. Neither did I.

  “You don’t know this guy Nick. You can’t trust him. You really have a thousand dollars to waste?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Don’t do it, please?”

  “He has to call for it to happen.”

  “He will.” I was certain of that. Nick looked to me like a man who desperately needed a grand.

  “I’ll figure it all out then.” He sounded weary.

  “Just keep him the fuck away from me.”

  Eleven

  That was it. Probably the end of a brief friendship. I’d still go and see him perform at the Tractor, if he wasn’t in jail by then. After that he’d fade away into the long list of those people I’d once known. God knows, there were enough of them over the years. People I’d interviewed at one time or another. Or promises to keep in touch that became memories. Meanwhile, I had a feature to transcribe about one man’s escape from Sarajevo, and all those who never made it out and the play he’d created.

  By the time Dustin came through the door, I hadn’t managed to type a word. I’d booted up the computer and done nothing more than stare at the screen, while Ian napped. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Nick.

  I never wanted to see him again. There was something empty, something dead in him and he scared me. In just a few seconds I’d understood that here was someone who could hurt people without even caring. I didn’t want him anywhere near me or my family. I knew I couldn’t stop Carson dealing with him, but maybe I’d planted that seed of doubt in his mind. I hoped so. I didn’t want him doing twenty to life for murder somewhere.

  Part of me wanted to head back to that shack over on Beach Drive and shake Carson until he saw sense. The other part, the bigger part, the mom part, just wanted to keep the hell away, to pull down the shutters and try to forget it all. Two people I’d talked to were already dead because of this. I could still see each of them as they sat and talked to me. That large knot of guilt I felt still filled my stomach.

  I perked up at last when I heard the key turn in the slider. We were sitting watching television, Rocko’s Modern Life. Ian didn’t understand a word of it, but the pictures held him spellbound, while I understood it all and loved every minute.

  I lowered Ian to the floor, making sure he was standing. I held up his arms as we began to walk toward the kitchen, then he was down on all fours, crawling so fast I could hardly keep up. I could hear his father, and the happiness in Dustin’s voice as he scooped up his son.

  “Have a good day?”

  “Not too productive.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I told him about Nick, watching the horror expand on his face.

  “What are the police doing?” he shouted.

  “They’re looking, they told me that. I saw one of their cars go by earlier.”

  “Jesus.”

  I’d had time to think since the phone call with Carson.

  “You know the only good thing?”

  “You mean there is one?” He sounded bitter.

  “Nick wouldn’t dare kill me now.”

  “If it’s actually Nick who’s killed those guys.”

  “It’s got to be,” I insisted. “Think about it. How many people can be crawling out of the woodwork at once? I don’t care what crap he’s coming out with; it has to be him.”

  “What does Carson think?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” And, for once, I truly didn’t.

  “And what about you?”

  That was a good question. Knowing it was almost certainly Nick who’d killed Rick and Kyle didn’t make me feel any safer. It wouldn’t mean he wouldn’t shoot me, if it came down to it. But I’d faced him down in the store, and I was proud of myself for that. And, with the cops searching for him he’d probably try to lie low for a while.

  “Not so hot,” I admitted after hesitating. “But not too bad, either.” I looked at him. “Does that make sense?” The main thing I wanted was to make sure nothing happened to Ian. If anyone even tried, I’d tear them apart with my own hands. The rest of it I could handle. “Let’s go out,” I said suddenly. If I was going to show bravado, I was going to do it all the way.

  “Out?” Dustin stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “But…”

  “I know, so we’ll go out to eat. Screw him.” I could see he wanted to ask if I was sure but he knew better than to speak the words.

  “Okay,” he said after a little while.

  “Right. How about Spuds?”

  “Sure.”

  Five minutes later we were on the road. I was quiet, but Dustin was chattering away, telling a tale about one of the bookstores down in Tacoma. I listened and smiled, determined I was going to banish all the darkness from my head for a while.

  The place was surprisingly busy, the counter area all pale, with shiny tiles. I’d never tasted real British fish and chips, but Spuds seemed like they’d be a lot closer to that than Long John Silver. I carried the tray upstairs and we found a table looking out onto Alki Beach and the water.

  “Heard anything more about the Elliott Bay job?” I asked as I broke up some pieces of fish and fries for Ian. He was hungry, already grabbing for them. “It’s been a while”

  “I stopped in again this morning and talked to the boss. The only reason he hasn’t been in touch is that he can’t pay anything like what I’m making now. He’s waiting to figure out the best he can offer.”

  “How much less would it be?” I put a thick fry in each of Ian’s hands and let him chew on them.

  “It’s over five grand,” Dustin replied slowly. That was a serious chunk of money.

  “What about bonuses?”

  “Probably not.”

  “We’d be taking quite a hit.” It was a serious consideration. But it felt good to be discussing everyday things that had real importance.

  “Between seven and eight thousand,” he said.

  It wouldn’t leave us broke. Between us we’d still earn enough to stay afloat and save a little.

  “The big question is: what do you want to do?” I asked.

  He sighed and took a long sip of his Coke. “The more I think about it, the more I want to do it. I’ve been going around this circuit with the same company for years now. It was fun at first, but now I’ve got you and Ian.” He shrugged. “And it’s getting harder to work up any enthusiasm for the books. All these blockbusters I handle, they’re not very good.”

  I knew that. I’d looked through a few of them.

  “If it’s what you want, you know I’m with you. It’ll be tight but we can get by.”

  “I don’t have to make a decision just yet. Are you sure on this?”

  “Yeah,” I told him and squeezed his hand with some greasy fingers. “I’m sure.”

  “You’re great; I hope you know that.” He leaned across the table and kissed me.

  “We’ll get by.”

  “And we’ll be happier.” He was smiling as if I’d just handed him the best present in the world. “What about you? Did you get much done?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “You know me, how much I hate transcribing.” That part was true, at least. “And the stories about Sarajevo…they’re heartbreaking.”

  “I guess we can’t even begin to imagine it, really,” he said. He was earnest, sympathetic. He was trying hard. He was a good guy.

  We ate in an easy silence and I started to relax. Maybe it was all over, with the cops out looking for Nick. They’d find him, they had to. He couldn’t hide forever. Ian was making a mess and I fussed over him. Half his food was either on the high chair or the floor. But he was happy, beaming first at one of us, then the other.

  I glanced out the window, down at the strip. And for a moment time stopped. I spotted Nick walking along, hands deep in his pockets. He paused by Dustin’s car, glancing in the window before moving on, then crossing the street and out of sight. It was long enough for me to be certain it was him, not m
y imagination.

  “What is it?” Dustin asked. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”

  “I…” I felt like I had to gulp in air, to try to breathe. My throat felt tight. “I don’t feel so good.” It was true. I thought I was going to throw up. “Let me go to the john, okay?”

  I soaked paper towels in cold water and pressed them against my face until the feeling passed. Then I leaned against the tiles, letting the coolness flow through my body. I stayed there a while, letting my breath slow down to normal.

  Finally, I pushed a hand through my hair, rearranging it to something near passable and returned to the table.

  “You okay?” Dustin persisted. There was concern in his eyes, and he placed his hand gently over mine.

  “Not really.” I pushed away the plate. There was no way I could eat anything more. “I saw him out there. He was just walking along and he looked into our car.”

  “What?” He stood up quickly, pushing the table away and craning his head to see outside.

  “It was him,” I said quietly.

  “You’re sure.”

  “Believe me, I couldn’t forget him.” I could hear how grim my voice sounded. Ian was looking back and forth between us. He knew something was wrong.

  “Home?”

  I nodded.

  As we left Spuds I peered around. A few cars passed us; one or two others were parked with their noses toward the beach, all of them empty. The people on the sidewalk paid us no attention. No Nick to be seen, but I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Any sign?”

  “No.” I rolled down the window and opened my mouth, tasting the salt in the air. We cut up 35th, then through the strange little cluster of run-down streets behind the steel mill that looked as if they’d been plucked from West Virginia. A couple of minutes later we came out on Delridge and it was once again the Seattle I knew.

  Home meant safety, and I made sure the slider was locked once we were inside.

  “You look beat,” Dustin told me. “Why don’t you get an early night? I’ll put Ian to bed and be along later.” He was right. I felt as if someone had been pulling everything taut inside me, leaving me ready to scream, and now they’d suddenly let go.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, and kissed the two men in my life. “Good idea.”

  But I knew rest wasn’t going to come without a fight. My body felt exhausted, as if I’d spent that last twelve hours on a Stairmaster, but my brain wasn’t ready to shut down. If I closed my eyes I saw Nick. In the grocery store. By Alki beach. He seemed to stroll unnoticed, not even caring who was after him. Who was he, anyway? I knew exactly why he scared the hell out of me, but not a thing about him.

  And he was out there right now. Maybe he wouldn’t kill me. He didn’t even have to, since he already had me so terrified I couldn’t function properly. As soon as I regained some confidence, there he was again to knock it all down. It was like he knew all this and he was deliberately keeping me off-balance.

  The night grew darker around me. I must have slept; when I looked at the clock it read eleven. It had been nine-thirty before. As soon as I opened my eyes, the worries crowded in again. I could feel Dustin next to me, the warmth of his body creeping toward me across the mattress. And I lay, as still as possible, until I managed to drift off once more.

  I became aware of someone close. Very cautiously, I looked. Light was coming through the windows, a rare sunny day at the end of March. I saw Dustin was standing there, concern showing on his face.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I guess.” I struggled up, pushing my legs out into the chilly air. It was almost eight; that meant I’d been in bed for twelve hours. I blinked and smiled. “Better than I did yesterday. Ian awake?”

  “Not yet. I just checked on him.” Dustin was dressed for work, in a polo shirt and chinos, neat but casual. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. Daylight helps.” I threw off the covers and stood. “I feel pretty good right now.”

  “Right now?”

  I shrugged. It was the best I could give anyone.

  “I called the police this morning and talked to that Detective Andersen, told him about last night.”

  “What did he say?”

  “They’d look into it. And they’d continue to make sure a patrol car comes by every hour or more.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.” Probably was all he could do. Until they found Nick, anyway.

  “I’ll stay home today.”

  “No, you go to work.” Every inch we surrendered was another inch Nick had taken from us. And I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of anything.

  “Laura-”

  “Dustin. I love you, but go. We’re going to live exactly the way we did before all this blew up. You’re going off to work. I’m going to play with Ian and write. If it’s dry, we’ll take a walk later, and maybe go to the store.”

  Until he looked into my eyes, he was ready to argue. Then he saw it was going to be a lost cause, full of wasted words.

  “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly.

  “If I need you for anything, I can call your cell phone.”

  “Just do. For anything at all.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll make sure I’m home early.” He kissed me tenderly and then he was gone.

  Ian was still asleep by the time I’d hurriedly showered and dressed. I picked him up, a thin cry emerging and growing as I pulled him away from sleep. But if I let him continue, there’d be no nap for him later.

  He was in a sullen mood as he ate, then kicking around and complaining as I dressed him. That didn’t matter, because we had things to do. We needed to hit the grocery store; the encounter with Nick had cut short our last trip and we were low on bread and milk. Before I opened the door I looked around, searching for him. I bundled Ian into his heavy coat and put on my thick jacket before strapping him into the car seat. Outside, it felt as if winter was trying to return; the sunshine was obviously a lie.

  “Ready?” I asked, but he turned away from me. It was going to be one of those days.

  I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened, not even a grating sound. I tried it again, then again, before banging my hand against the wheel. Shit.

  I popped the hood, the wind blowing cold against my neck. Someone had disconnected all the spark-plug wires and left them lying in a knot on the engine. I wasn’t going anywhere right now, and it wasn’t rocket science to figure out who’d done it.

  I unstrapped Ian and returned to the house, trying not to show him the anger I felt. Coats off, I settled him in front of the television for a few minutes before I called AAA. They promised they’d be out soon. Then I left a message on Detective Andersen’s voicemail. For a second I was tempted to call Carson. Instead, I snuck out on the deck and smoked a cigarette.

  Smoking calms you. That’s what they used to say. But I didn’t feel any more relaxed after I stubbed it out. Coffee didn’t help either, just left me feeling wired and buzzing as I played with Ian, pushing his toy garbage truck round and round the living room, raising and lowering the back section. At least that vehicle works, I thought wryly.

  When I heard a knock on the door, I froze for a moment, but then I saw the AAA van was parked outside. I handed him the keys and left him to get to work. Five minutes later I heard the engine of the Horizon turning over.

  “You know,” he said as I signed his form, “someone pulled some real crap on you.” He was an older man, with a gentle, quizzical face. The little hair left hung over his ears. He wiped oil off his broad hands with an old rag, making me think of the Maytag repair man from the ads.

  “Tell me about it. No problem now?”

  “You’re fine.” He looked over his shoulder. “You got a sweet little car there, really. You should keep it off the street.”

  “No garage.”

  He shrugged, took out a piece of paper and sketched a diagram of how to arrange the wires. />
  “Just in case it happens again,” he said with a little smile. “Then you won’t need to call me out.”

  “Thanks.” It was unexpected generosity, one of those little acts of kindness that helped restore my faith in humanity.

  I waved to him as he drove away, then began the routine all over again. Coats on first, putting Ian in the car seat, then taking a breath before turning the key. The engine caught immediately and we headed off to QFC.

  This time we made it around the store with no problem. But every few yards I kept looking around, wondering if Nick was following me. With the cart full, I scanned the parking lot in case he was waiting somewhere in a car, and hating myself for doing it. The little knot of fear worried at the pit of my stomach. No, I told myself, that’s just what he wants. Don’t let it get to you. But I couldn’t stop it.

  Back home, I hauled out the paper sacks, taking them through the chain-link fence that surrounded the garden. The routine of putting everything away and folding the bags into the recycling bin helped bring me back to a real world of everyday things.

  We played for a while. I helped Ian walk the entire length of the house. Then, after a brief rest, we walked back again, and Ian managed two paces by himself as I watched him. That was enough; he’d worn himself out and he was back to crawling. But there was a dangerous smirk on his face; he’d be back on two feet very soon.

  While he napped, I worked on my article about the play for The Rocket. Today I managed to focus, every thought slotting into place, the words flowing until I was finished almost before I knew I’d begun. I read it through, made a few changes and sent it off.

  I slipped out on to the deck for another cigarette, drawing the smoke down greedily. I was smoking too much, I knew. And I knew the reason. There was no Nick in sight, but he wasn’t going to leave me alone. It would be a long time before he vanished from my mind. Every time I sat in the car now, I’d hold my breath and hope it would start.

  Back inside, I took a Pentangle album from the shelf and put it on the turntable, that pure voice and the acoustic guitars creating a gentle carpet of sound. With the volume low I had a chance to read. Before Ian, this was something I’d done all the time. I’d devoured books, most of them from the library. Now I rarely had the opportunity. It felt like a luxury. Like gold.