West Seattle Blues

by Chris Nickson

  “Do it,” he urged. “It’s more information for him.” He waited a heartbeat, studying the expression of fury on my face. “Besides, you know it’ll make you feel better.”

  He was right. I laughed and immediately the tight atmosphere cracked. I’d spent the last three hours so tense my body was almost humming. Now it all drained away. Dustin certainly knew how to reach the core of me, the center. Okay, the car was gone. If it came back again, great. There were still more miles in it. If not, it wasn’t the end of the world. There were other cars out there. For all I fretted about money, we had some savings in the bank. So we could afford one. Maybe I was hitting that acceptance stage.

  “Thanks,” I said finally. God, I loved him.

  Andersen was out but I left a message, detailing what had happened over the last couple of days and voicing my suspicions. After I hung up, I called another number.

  “Hey Carson, it’s Laura.”

  “Hi,” he said hesitantly, not sure what I wanted.

  “Have you heard anything more from Nick?”

  “No. Why? Has he been bugging you?”

  “Yeah. Well, I can’t prove it but I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized once more. “It was me who dragged you into all this.”

  We’d gone through all that so many times and rehashing it one more time wasn’t going to take us anywhere. “How about you? Everything okay? No regrets about agreeing to the gig?”

  “I’m getting by. Practicing for Tuesday.”

  “You’ll be great. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Maybe it’ll be okay.” But I could hear a little pride under those words.

  I poured another cup of coffee. Clearly Nick wasn’t going after Carson, but he was coming after me. Why? That didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t do anything for him. The phone rang and I reached for the receiver.

  “This is Detective Andersen. I got your call and I just wanted you to know that we picked up Nick about an hour ago.”

  I felt the relief ripple up through me like a wave. Those were the words I needed to hear. I leaned against the counter, all the tension of the last few days draining away. “God, that’s good news. Where did you find him?”

  “Downtown - he was on Pike, between First and Second.” It was a block filled with street people pan-handling and hustling, right next to the big tourist attraction of Pike Place Market. It always creeps me out to walk there.

  “What about my car? Anything on that?”

  He hesitated before replying. “We found it. That’s not so great, I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” I asked urgently. “What happened to it?”

  “It’s a write-off.”

  “Where was it?”

  “On a street by Kinnear Park, on lower Queen Anne. Someone saw smoke and called the fire department. It’s burned out.”

  I stayed silent for a moment. That had been a good little car.

  “It was stolen on Queen Anne,” I said eventually.

  “I already saw the report. There’s a crew going over it for fingerprints.” Then he said something to someone else, a muted blur of noise. “I need to get going now. I’ll see what I can get from Nick…but I wanted you to know that he’s off the street.”

  “Thanks.”

  I put the phone down. I might have lost the Horizon, but Nick was in jail. As trade-offs went, it could have been a lot worse. Now I just had to hope they’d find enough to keep him there. Forever would be good.

  At least I knew what had happened to the car, so now I could call the insurance company. The clerk was brisk enough, as efficient as a robot and with the same amount of personality. As soon as their adjuster confirmed it was totaled, they’d send me a check. Three hundred dollars. I’d bought cars for less than that before. But I’d been younger then and satisfied with beaters. These days I had a kid to think about. Whatever I bought had to be safe and reliable. That meant I was going to have to spend some extra money.

  “How would you like to go car shopping?” I asked Dustin. The last time I bought a vehicle, I’d taken my lesbian mechanic friend, but she was long gone, moved down to San Francisco with her girlfriend. I knew what car salesmen were like, a group of sharks with the scent of blood. They tried to beat women down with details that didn’t matter, hoping to dazzle us with words: Screw that. Dustin could fend them off while I took a look.

  There were a couple of auto dealerships in West Seattle, just down from Alaska Junction. If there was nothing at them we could head over the bridge and into town.

  Huling Brothers was the big one, filling up three corners of the wide intersection at Fauntleroy and Alaska. Half the car salesmen I’d ever met seemed to be high school football stars whose lives had gone downhill ever since graduation. The one who latched on to us wore a Sears suit, jacket buttoned to hide the growing paunch, a bad haircut and a look of resignation locked deep within his eyes. It wasn’t until I began examining a Ford Tempo that he said more than a couple of words.

  I didn’t particularly like him, but he seemed honest enough. Dustin lifted the hood and checked the engine; I inspected the trunk and then the space inside. It was a four-door, just two years old and with low mileage. I sat in the driver’s seat. It was larger than the Horizon but still not too big. I didn’t feel swamped and I’d be able to get Ian in and out quite easily. Meanwhile he sat in Dustin’s arms, watching everything with curiosity. He loved playing with cars at home, and being around so many of them was like heaven to him.

  Finally I took the Tempo out for a test drive, heading out toward Lincoln Park before turning around at the ferry dock and driving back. It felt comfortable. The steering was tight and responsive. When I hit the gas, the pick-up was good. It was a safe car. And it might have made me seem lame, but I liked its jade green color.

  I wanted to buy, if the price was right, and so the haggling began. This was the part I always dreaded; I hated the back and forth. But Dustin came into his own. He was a salesman himself, even if it was books, not cars. He was used to the tricks everyone used and he had a few of his own. I sat back, with Ian on my lap, and watched him get to work. After fifteen minutes he’d brought the price down by four hundred dollars. Several times the salesman had scurried back and forth between his desk and the sales manager.

  I’d had enough. “I’ll take it,” I said suddenly, making them both turn. The price was fair, and I was the one who’d be paying. I took out the checkbook from my purse, filled in the amount and signed with a satisfied flourish.

  As we stood outside, waiting for the vehicle to be washed and driven around, Dustin grumbled, “We could have gotten it for less.” He wasn’t happy. He’d wanted to take them as far as he could. He’d wanted to win. It was his opportunity to show me what he could do.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy with this.” I could see the salesman standing in the cabin they used as an office. The poor guy had a smile on his face. I’d probably made his day and put a little more commission in his pocket.

  “I don’t know…”

  “It’s my money,” I reminded him, and tried to sweeten the words by adding, “You did great. I’d like to just drive for a while now and get used to it.”

  “Sure. We’ll be back at the house.” He kissed me and walked off, Ian waving over his shoulder, and smiling when I waved back. Dustin held himself stiff and upright. He was angry. I’d managed to bruise his ego. Men, they were so damn fragile. Between him and the sales manager it had been like watching a pissing contest. I loved him, and he’d done well, but for myself, I was satisfied with the deal.

  After they drove away I stood on the sidewalk, watching the world go by until the car arrived, all waxed and vacuumed and filled with that fake new car smell. Then I took off, down the hill and over the West Seattle Bridge all the way to I-5, heading north to the U-District, then back down through Wallingford before slipping on to Aurora at the north end of the bridge. It gave me a real sense of the new car and I liked it: I’d made a good decision
. The Tempo handled well and felt natural. As long as it didn’t break down anytime soon, I’d be content.

  When I parked by the house, I saw Dustin’s car wasn’t there. Maybe they’d gone down to Young’s in White Center, to eat. I started the coffee brewing and made myself a sandwich from some deli meat.

  I ate sitting at the window, gazing out at my new vehicle. I’d liked the Horizon. It had always run well, so I’d had no plans to trade it in anytime soon. It wasn’t nickel-and-diming me to death in repairs and it would have been good for a few more years. I certainly hadn’t forgotten who was responsible for all this. Maybe the police had picked up his prints from the burned out car. Then they could charge him with theft then send him off to the pen in Walla Walla for a few years. Or maybe it was back there.

  When the phone rang I picked it right up.

  “This is Detective Andersen,” the weary voice said.

  “Hi.”

  “I wanted to let you know, we had to let Nick go. I’m sorry. We didn’t have any evidence against him. We had nothing solid that would stand up in court.”

  “What?” I could feel an explosion building inside my head. I was gripping the phone tight, almost yelling. “He threatened me. He burned up my car. He tried to sell information about a murder. And you don’t have any evidence? What is this shit?”

  He gave a defeated sigh. “There was nothing to tie him to the car - no prints, no witnesses. As far as it goes with you and Carson Mack, it’s your word against Nick’s. We didn’t have any choice. It was the duty attorney who told us to kick him loose. It’s out of my hands, but I just wanted to call and warn you that he’s out there again.”

  “My tax dollars at work here, huh?” How long had he been in custody? A few hours? The safe feeling vanished like someone had pricked a bubble.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Benton. I really am. I’ll make sure a cruiser swings by your house very regularly. That’s about the best I can do.” He lowered his voice. “Believe me, I’d prefer the guy behind bars. Nick Baker is about as low as I’ve ever seen. The guy has quite a record. He only got out a few months ago after three years for armed robbery. There are convictions going back to when he was a teenager. Stealing cars, dealing drugs, beating up on people. Minor stuff, really. Then he had his first armed robbery conviction in ’86. Wouldn’t rat out on the other guys. They got away with ten grand. Not a fortune, but not too bad. He got out at the start of 1990.”

  “The start?” I asked suddenly. “When in 1990, exactly?”

  I heard him move some papers. “January, why?”

  “Carson’s son was killed in February.”

  “And we don’t know of any connection between Baker and Carson’s son besides what you and Carson told us. Nick’s a smart son of a bitch. That’s what makes him dangerous. I’m sorry.”

  I took a deep breath. Blasting Andersen wouldn’t help; it hadn’t been his decision.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “I figured you deserved to know first. Look, just watch yourself, okay? I’ll make sure the patrols are alerted. If you even see him, call me.”

  “I will.” As soon as the call ended, I rang Carson. It rang six times before I heard his breathless answer.

  “They arrested Nick,” I told him.

  “Man, that’s great.” I could hear the pleasure in his voice. “Maybe they can find out those names-”

  “They’ve had to let him go again,” I interrupted.

  That stunned him for a second. “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s not a joke. He stole my damn car and then torched it. They found him and now he’s back on the street. No evidence, they said.” I gave him the information the detective had passed on to me. “You’d better keep your eyes open. He might come back.”

  “I got my gun here on the table.”

  “Yeah, well…” I didn’t like guns. I never had. My father had been in the war and after that he refused to have one in the house. Seattle wasn’t a frontier town, he’d say if anyone brought it up. There weren’t any wild beasts to kill around here anymore. Nick’s face came into my head. Maybe my dad had been wrong about that.

  I put the receiver back in its cradle just as Dustin walked in, Ian hanging as limp as Raggedy Andy over his shoulder. He headed up to the bedroom and I heard his feet shuffling overhead as he settled our son into his bed.

  “Did you go out for lunch?” I asked, after he came down.

  “Drove around a bit…went down to the dog beach.” It was our name for a place down in Burien where we’d once seen a couple of stray animals running together. “I was kind of mad at you, and I wanted to calm down before we came home.”

  I could even understand that. After all, I was the one who’d asked him to come along, then I’d stopped him just as he was hitting his stride with the salesman shtick. Doubtless, it probably didn’t seem fair to him.

  “It was just…enough,” I tried to explain. “Look, the price was okay. It was fair.” I waited until he gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “It was like you had to beat him down more, no matter what.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” He stroked my shoulder. “Really, it wasn’t. This is stuff I know. Those courses the company’s sent me on, they’re all about sales techniques. I was just turning them back on him.” I’d never seen him at work, never understood persuasion and the tactics of the close or whatever it’s called.

  “I know.” Telling me this was his way of apologizing. And mine. “It’s done now.”

  He nodded and kissed me. Slowly I let go of everything and melted into his embrace. He was my husband. I loved him, but sometimes he could make me angry.

  “I’ve got something I need to tell you,” I said, as we stopped to breathe.

  “What?” He still kept his arms around me.

  “The police let Nick go.”

  At first he studied me to see if I was joking. Then he started to storm around the room, banging his palm on the table against the back of the couch.

  “Jesus, why?” He made his hand into a fist and opened it again. “What the fuck are they doing?”

  “That was pretty much my reaction,” I told him. “Andersen called. Apparently it was the attorney’s orders. Not enough evidence to hold him.”

  Dustin ran a hand through his hair. “So what are we supposed to do?”

  “Watch out, I guess,” I told him. “At least he gave me some warning. They’re going to have patrol cars drive by to check.”

  “Well, that’s a big fucking deal. I feel so much safer now.”

  It’s not you that Nick’s after: the thought flashed through my mind and I pushed it away. That was unfair. He was angry for me and he didn’t want me hurt. He didn’t want anything to happen to Ian. And he didn’t want me dead.

  I sighed. “It’s all they can do, Dustin. I called Carson and warned him.” He nodded. I could almost see his thoughts: Carson was a guy on his own, who could look after himself. “Maybe the guy will just take off now. His scam didn’t work and the cops will be keeping an eye on him.” It was wishful thinking; I knew that even as I said it. I was going to have to keep looking over my shoulder. The guy was out, he was free. I was going to keep him from my kid. But I couldn’t let him run my life. I just couldn’t.

  Dustin shook his head in frustration.

  The next morning, the new car was still there. I’d woken twice during the night and glanced out the bedroom window to check. It was Saturday, the weekend, time to kick back and relax. That was the usual view, but it was just another day to me. That was life as a freelancer.

  I got up early. Ian had woken, at some stupid hour, screaming and yelling. I fed him, feeling him suckle while I watched the sky begin to lighten on the horizon. These days his teeth were sharp enough to hurt but I wasn’t going to give up on breast feeding yet. I’d read the studies which explained that it made a difference later. I was going to do everything I could to help him along. He fell straight back to sleep but my mind was already sparking. I pulled
a robe around me, padded into the kitchen and made coffee. I didn’t have any work on hand right now and I felt empty.

  By the time the guys were both up and ready it was past ten. I’d long since showered, dressed and eaten breakfast. A lemon-colored sun was trying to break through the clouds outside, another one of those teasing hints of a Seattle spring. Dustin wanted us to head up to La Conner to see the tulips, and it seemed like a good idea. I’d lived in the Northwest all my life, yet I’d never been there. They were supposed to be wonderful, a colorful ocean of flowers. The best thing outside Holland. By eleven we were ready to roll. The stroller and diaper bag were all packed and in the trunk. Ian had been bundled into his coat. As we drove away in Dustin’s car, I looked at the Ford Tempo in the mirror.

  Once we were off the freeway it was a pleasant drive out through farmland. Stuck in the city, it was easy to forget just how much open ground there was in Washington state. Miles and miles of it, flat and green. Mount Adams and Mount Baker on the horizon, still heavy with snow. Somewhere off to the west was the water that led to the Pacific Ocean. There was so much of it I’d never seen.

  A sign popped up: La Conner seven miles. We passed a broken-down old barn with a faded Burma Shave sign on the side that made me think of the Tom Waits songs. It was like traveling back in time, heading into the Depression. We could round a corner and encounter the Waltons.

  Dustin was smiling in anticipation as he drove. First it was building raised beds for vegetables and changing jobs. Now it was flowers. I was starting to wonder what was happening to him. Was this what a mid-life crisis looked like?

  He took the turning and headed out toward the tulip fields.

  We were a week too early, and nothing here was going to rival the Netherlands. A few blooms were showing, but it wasn’t the sea of color they promised. Not even a tide pool. And the daffodils had already passed their peak, the yellow frail and aged. We drove and kept hoping, but all we saw was disappointment.