Guardians of the Night (A Gideon and Sirius Novel)

by Alan Russell

  “We’ve all heard about drone strikes on terrorists,” I said, “but what about targeted assassinations?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to comment on that.”

  “You can’t comment, or you won’t comment?”

  “The end result is the same, isn’t it?”

  “The Dumbledore must have been commissioned with certain tasks in mind.”

  “You’re welcome to speculate.”

  “Is it true that the latest incarnation of the Dumbledore is roughly sparrow sized?”

  “I can’t comment.”

  “Does your Dumbledore come with a stinger?”

  “Do bumblebees have stingers?”

  Corde reached for his phone and took a look at the display. Whatever was texted seemed to please him.

  “Are we done here, Detective?”

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your games,” I said.

  CHAPTER 8:

  ANGEL OF THE MORNING

  Corde walked me out to my car. Our voices roused Sirius, and I saw the back window of the car was steamed up. My partner had been doing some heavy breathing. Sirius’s opinion of Corde hadn’t changed during our absence. On seeing him, he began growling.

  “No,” I said, but not very forcefully.

  I got the sense Corde wanted me to be on my way, which was reason enough to linger. “How many acres do you have here?” I asked.

  “Thousands,” he said, “but I only own fourteen of them. That’s the good thing about being on the canyon. No one can develop the land all around me, so it’s just like it’s mine, without the necessity of paying property taxes.”

  Several rabbits were warily munching on a lawn that was a stone’s throw away from us. Corde raised his hand like a gun and pointed their way.

  “Rabbit stew,” he said.

  “I better warn Harvey not to show up around here. I wouldn’t want him to end up in your collection of stuffed animals.”

  Corde’s lips pursed. The big bwana didn’t like being mocked. “Maybe I should have a second trophy room. I could display Harvey and an angel or two. And let’s not forget Tinker Bell.”

  “I never do.”

  “You’d be surprised at all the wildlife around here,” Corde said. “In making hiking trails, all I had to do was expand on the existing game trails. The wildlife follows canyon corridors that connect all the way to the Santa Monica Mountains. I monitor what travels along those corridors. I haven’t seen a mountain lion yet, but there are plenty of coyotes, bobcats, raccoons, and foxes, not to mention eagles, owls, and hawks.”

  “How are you able to do your monitoring?”

  “Oh, camera traps, infrared, and the like,” he said waving his hand and grinning. The subtext, I was certain, was that he flew UAVs along the trails.

  Corde’s phone made a noise. He studied the display and then pressed a button.

  “Dinner,” he announced. “I have four of the best chefs in L.A. on retainer. Every night is a gourmet experience. Such a shame you won’t be partaking.”

  I thought about Wrong Pauley and the meal we never got a chance to have.

  “Usually I go with what the chef recommends,” he said, “but tonight I had a hankering for a particular appetizer and called it in. You ever have ‘angels on horseback’?”

  His smile was meant to goad me. “I can’t recall,” I said. “Did you ever have ‘spotted dick’?”

  Unfortunately, he knew the dish. “I don’t like pudding,” Corde said, “but I do like angels on horseback. And when you have a craving, you know, you just have to satisfy it.”

  I had a craving too. As I approached the oncoming vehicle, I signaled for it to stop.

  A white kid was driving a banger. He turned down his stereo when I got out of my car and approached him. “You got the order?” I asked. “My boss wanted me to be sure you didn’t forget the angels on horseback.”

  The kid checked the order. “Yeah, they’re here,” he said.

  “I’m supposed to pick up the food. The boss wants to have a picnic.”

  The kid started handing over the packages. These weren’t paper bags and to-go wrappers, but containers with fitted lids that were ready to be reheated or even frozen. I’d had plenty of Christmas presents that weren’t as nicely wrapped.

  “It’s on the tab, right?” I asked.

  The kid nodded but then was emboldened to add, “My tip’s not on the tab, though.”

  I pulled two twenties from my wallet and handed them over. “That work for you?”

  He took the money without complaint, made a U-turn, and drove away. I looked around and smiled wide. You never know when you’re on camera, and I kind of hoped Corde was monitoring my face at that very moment. I was going to recite Gloria Swanson’s old chestnut about being ready for my close-up, but at the moment I was feeling more like Elwood P. Dowd.

  “I’ve never heard Harvey say a word against Akron,” I said, quoting from the film, and then got back into my car where my not-so-invisible friend nudged me with his muzzle.

  “Do you think Harvey would be as charitable about L.A.?” I asked.

  Sirius wagged his tail. Who needs a pooka when you have a dog?

  As it turned out, angels on horseback consists of freshly shucked oysters wrapped in smoked bacon, with a drizzle of lemon juice. Lisbet made more happy sounds. They bordered on Meg Ryan’s dining scene in When Harry Met Sally.

  “Where did you get this food?” she asked for the third time.

  I hadn’t wanted to tell her until we finished. As Lisbet speared a last morsel, I decided it was time to ’fess up.

  “Funny thing about this dinner,” I said, and then told her my abbreviated hunting and gathering story.

  My story didn’t settle with her as well as the meal. “I thought after you got in trouble for that letter to the public defender, you weren’t going to do anything silly that might cause problems.”

  “This won’t be a problem,” I said.

  “How can you be so sure? Can’t this man say you stole his dinner? Can’t he prove you stole his dinner?”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Are you certain? I seem to recall how you said that public defender couldn’t possibly take offense when you wrote him the Sirius letter.”

  “This is different. Corde is someone who wants everyone to know he’s the smartest guy in the room. His ego wouldn’t allow this story to get out. He wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of people laughing at him, knowing I ate his dinner.”

  Lisbet was shaking her head. “Even if you’re right, I just don’t understand men and their pissing contests.”

  I turned to Sirius. “Explain it to her, would you?”

  It was possible Lisbet was reacting as she was because I hadn’t yet told her about Wrong Pauley and his angel and his death. Because of that, she also hadn’t heard the complete Drew Corde story.

  “If this man is the egotist you say he is,” she said, “do you think he is just going to turn the other cheek at what you did?”

  “You’ve convinced me. I’ll send him a thank-you note for a wonderful meal.”

  She gave me an exasperated look.

  “I’ll even include a postscript saying how much you enjoyed the food, and close by asking him for the name of the chef.”

  Despite her misgivings, Lisbet was having trouble fighting off a smile.

  “And let’s not forget my P.P.S. of, ‘The angels on horseback were to die for.’ ”

  Lisbet started laughing. “You really are an incorrigible shit.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  Sirius’s barking didn’t come at a good time. When I went to see what was wrong, I told him, “I am about to change your name to coitus inter-puptus. What’s up with you?”

  My partner went to a window an
d barked once. I went to where he was standing and cracked open the curtains.

  “There’s nothing there,” I said.

  Sirius looked for himself and then stared at me expectantly.

  “What?” I asked.

  I went back to Lisbet’s bedroom. “Now where were we?” I asked.

  Without a word, with only a helping hand, she showed me exactly where we’d been. Maybe two minutes passed before Sirius started barking again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He continued barking.

  “Maybe it’s your high notes,” I said.

  She slapped my chest and said, “Go see what’s wrong.”

  I went out to the living room. It was clear Sirius was trying to tell me something, but I was too dumb to figure out what was bothering him. When I returned to the bedroom, I said, “Third time’s a charm?”

  This time we finished our lovemaking undisturbed. Lisbet and I had reached the point in our relationship where once or twice a week we slept over at each other’s place. It hadn’t been easy for me to agree to this because it had meant telling Lisbet about my burning dreams. I made my confession when the dreams became more infrequent. To date, Lisbet has only been at my side a few times when I’ve had furnace blasts from the past. She didn’t seem to have a problem with my nocturnal inferno; I was the one who was ashamed. I didn’t like feeling weak or vulnerable; the dreams turned me into jello.

  With Lisbet’s head resting on my chest and my arm cradled around her, I told her about Wrong Pauley and then gave her the full Drew Corde story. She listened, letting me tell the stories in my own way, and saved her questions and comments until I finished.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such an incredible story,” she said. “Right now I’m feeling numb. How terrible it must have been for Mr. Pauley, watching an angel die.”

  “It wasn’t an angel,” I said. “Pauley only thought it was an angel.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I haven’t heard of any other angel sightings.”

  “Maybe that’s something most people would keep to themselves.”

  “The angel Pauley thought he saw could have been—anything. Maybe it was a light reflecting off something. Or maybe it was a new OZ gizmo.”

  “If that’s the case, why didn’t Corde just admit it?”

  “Imagine the repercussions of a defense contractor admitting that he was illegally flying drones in the city of Los Angeles. That’s the kind of thing that could potentially derail his governmental gravy train.”

  “It still doesn’t explain the death of Mr. Pauley.”

  “Everyone seems to think he died of natural causes.”

  “Including you?” Lisbet asked.

  “I’d be foolish not to take into account the hard life he’s led and the damage it must have taken on his body and liver. But what I don’t like is that the surveillance systems in the area conveniently went black at the time of his death. Those are the same systems that also malfunctioned at the time Pauley saw the angel.”

  “I think God has chosen you in this matter, Michael.”

  Lisbet has faith that I lack. I admire her assuredness of a benevolent God, and her piety. She believes. I test my faith by tossing pebbles at stained glass windows and hoping they don’t break.

  “I sure hope God has more than me on the side of the angels.”

  I was spared the fire dream, but that’s not to say I had a good night’s sleep. My cell phone and Peter Gunn awakened me from a deep slumber, but I didn’t get to it in time, and no message was left. A few minutes later Peter Gunn began playing again. My display showed Private Name, Private Number, which meant caller ID was blocked. I picked up anyway with a groggy, “Hello.”

  At first the sounds on the line were unintelligible, but through the static and distortions I suddenly realized that I was hearing the sound of a couple’s lovemaking. And then I heard a dog barking, and in the background was the laughter of three or four men.

  The caller clicked off, and I stared at my phone. “Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” said Lisbet.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Go back to sleep. It was a wrong number.”

  Her head dropped back down on her pillow, and her steady breathing resumed, punctuated every so often by a little snore.

  I did a slow burn. There was no doubt in my mind that Drew Corde was responsible for the recording. It hadn’t taken him long to exact a measure of revenge. Somehow he had found where Lisbet lived and had gotten the number of my cell. Corde must have followed me to Lisbet’s place with one of his eyes in the sky. I had brought the evil upon us.

  Cops are used to trying to help victims. We’re not good at being victims. Corde’s violating the privacy of our bedroom shamed me. I could feel the heat in my face. Under the sheets I clenched and unclenched my fists. I wanted to go outside and look at anything suspicious, even if it was the moon. I wanted to take a shower. I wanted to go rattle one particular man’s cage.

  After an hour of stewing, I soundlessly exited the bed and bedroom. Sirius was resting near the window where he’d heard the strange sounds. I had a feeling he had placed himself there so as to be in a position to protect us.

  At my approach he raised his head and his tail thumped once. I got down to his eye level, scratched him, and quietly said, “Sorry I’m deaf. Sorry I was too dumb to realize you were doing your job. You’re a better partner than I, Gunga Din.”

  Sirius took that opportunity to slip me a kiss. Because Lisbet was sleeping, I couldn’t scream like Lucy, but I could whisper her outrage when Snoopy planted one on her: “ ‘I have dog germs. Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some iodine!’ ”

  My partner had heard it all before and knew my protesting was most false. I went over to the sofa and stretched out, and surprised myself by falling asleep. Later, I awakened to a figure creeping around in the shadows.

  “You’d make a bad burglar,” I said.

  She came over, leaned down, and kissed my forehead. “Did you have a dream?”

  I shook my head. “I was having trouble sleeping and didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Lisbet took a read of my face. She had a talent for knowing when I wasn’t telling her the full story, and I suspect she was able to see that was the case.

  I attempted innocence: “What?”

  “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “Coffee would be good, thanks.”

  “It’s already brewing. I’m talking about real food.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend any time dining, and it probably showed. A wagging-tailed extortionist joined us. He knew Lisbet was talking about breakfast.

  “Don’t worry, Sirius,” she said. “I’ll make sure you get a good breakfast.”

  “What about me?”

  “You ought to learn to ask nicely like Sirius,” she said, and went to the kitchen.

  “I hate it when you make me look bad,” I told him.

  I shaved and showered, and then put on a fresh shirt. Lisbet’s and my relationship had reached the point where each of us had toiletries and a few items of clothing at the other’s place.

  Lisbet was just finishing making breakfast when I took a seat at the breakfast nook. She was singing to the radio as she plated scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sections of cantaloupe onto three plates. I carried our plates over to the table. Sirius was finished with his plate even before we took our seats.

  “Did he learn his eating manners from you, or vice versa?” asked Lisbet.

  “I’m not sure.”

  I took a big bite of food, and then a second, before belatedly getting Lisbet’s point. The night before the two of us had talked about having a leisurely breakfast together, but I had forgotten about that. Somewhat guiltily, I put my fork down.

 
Lisbet smiled at my attempt to be mannerly. “So where are you so anxious to be off to this morning?”

  “Corde’s girlfriend is an actress,” I said. “Last night I heard her say she had to be on the set this morning at five. I’m hoping I can question her there.”

  “What actress?”

  “Elle Barrett Browning,” I said. “That’s some stage name, huh?”

  “Actually, I remember reading in People it’s her real name. I think they revealed that in the issue where she was named one of the sexiest women in the world.”

  Lisbet sounded a little bit jealous, so I said, “Is that the issue where you’re on the cover?”

  “You’re not totally hopeless.”

  “I suppose those kinds of articles are what passes for hard-hitting journalism these days. Who says investigative reporting is dead?”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Corde likes his trophies. I suspect that’s what brought them together. But he prefers his trophies mounted and silent. She’s not like that.”

  I recollected what had been said and how the conversation between the two of them had seemed a bit strained. I was hoping they were on the outs and that could be exploited.

  But what was really on my mind was the raucous laughter I’d heard on the recording. I felt as if I’d let Lisbet down, and it didn’t feel like the right time to tell her what had happened. Being tight-lipped didn’t mean I wasn’t making good use of my mouth. My plate was now empty.

  “You don’t have to linger, Michael,” said Lisbet. “I know you have important work you need to get to.”

  Juice Newton started singing “Angel of the Morning.” Even over the radio Juice’s voice sounded good. It had been years since I’d heard that tune.

  “She’s playing our song,” said Lisbet wistfully.

  “What do you mean?”

  Lisbet backtracked a little. “Aren’t you investigating angels?”

  “I am, but I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

  “I think it’s best if we save this discussion for another time.”