Bad Guys

by Linwood Barclay

  And if he was, even after my chat with him, I’d have to think of something even more drastic. Maybe even a call to Detective Trimble.

  “So, you doing anything after your lecture tonight?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” said Angie. “Might see some friends.”

  “Hey,” I said, like I’d just remembered something, “you ever keep in touch with any of your friends in Oakwood?”

  Angie gave me a look that seemed to suggest a bad smell was coming off me. “God, no. I don’t keep in touch with anyone from out there.”

  I nodded. “I thought you kept in touch with some of your Oakwood friends. You did do two years of high school there.”

  “No, Dad.”

  “How about other than students? You keep in touch with anyone from out there?”

  “Dad, when would I even get out there?”

  “You don’t actually have to go out there. You could talk, in one of your chat huts.”

  Paul and Angie looked at each other. “Chat huts?” they said.

  “Rooms. Chat rooms. You know what I mean.”

  This set them both off. Paul knocked on the table, said to Angie, “Hello, may I come into your chat hut?”

  Angie was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “Sorry, no, this is a chat condo.”

  “Oh, excuse me!” He wanted to get off another line, but he was laughing too hard to do it.

  “Okay, enough already,” I said.

  Angie, pulling herself together, said, “No, Dad, there’s no one from Oakwood I keep in touch with through my chat huts.” Paul slid out of his chair and onto the floor, clutching his side.

  Should I ask her flat out? Ask her why she’d been to visit Trixie? But if I asked her now, I’d have to come clean on the whole surveillance thing, and if I did that now, I wouldn’t be able to take one last crack at it tonight, to see whether I’d scared off Trevor for good.

  So I let it go.

  “I’ve got stuff to do,” Angie said, taking her plate to the counter. Paul managed to get up and followed her out of the kitchen.

  “I have to lie down,” he said, still laughing. “I think I’m gonna die.”

  Shortly before eight, Angie went downstairs, shouted, “See ya!”

  I scrambled out of my study, where I still tried writing books but more often built models of spaceships and other science fiction kitsch, like my recently completed models of the Green Hornet’s Black Beauty, and Gort, the iconic robot from The Day the Earth Stood Still.

  “Hey,” I yelled down to her. “You be careful tonight, okay?”

  “Oh!” Angie said. “I just realized. I don’t even have a key for the new car.”

  “Two came with it,” I said. “Hang on.” I’d left the second one in a dish where I keep spare change on top of my dresser. “Come to the bottom of the stairs.” She did and I tossed it down to her.

  “You look good, by the way,” Angie said, doing up the buttons on her blue coat.

  “Huh?”

  “Your clothes. I meant to say something at dinner, but got kind of distracted. They look good on you. Are you wearing new boxers?”

  “Check it out,” I said, undoing my belt, turning around, and dropping my khakis halfway down my butt.

  “Oooh! The ones with the chili peppers on them!” Angie said. “You’re hot, Dad, very hot. But please pull your pants back up.”

  I obliged.

  Angie had her set of keys out and was slipping the one for the Virtue onto her ring. She was having a bit of trouble with it, so I came down and got it onto the ring for her.

  And then I gave her a hug. “Remember, call me if you have a problem, and don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  Angie smiled. “You mean, don’t do anything you might do?”

  “Exactly.”

  She gave me a hug back. “I love you, Daddy.”

  And then she was gone.

  24

  I was keeping an eye on the clock. I figured I’d head out a little before nine, be down by the university twenty minutes after that, at the latest. Paul was up in his room doing, to my astonishment, some homework. I popped my head in, told him I’d be going out in a few minutes.

  “Where?” he said, still looking at something he was writing on his computer screen.

  “It’s a work thing.”

  “A work thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head. “I dunno. I think I need more details.”

  I was heading down the hall when the phone rang. Paul grabbed the extension in his room, and when he didn’t call me immediately, I figured it was for him. But by the time I was down to the kitchen, he shouted, “Dad! Phone! It’s Mom!”

  I grabbed the kitchen extension. “Hey,” I said.

  “Isn’t it awful about Stan?” Sarah said.

  “What?” I said. “What about Stan?” I assumed she was speaking of Stan Wannaker, the Metropolitan photographer. I don’t think either of us knew any other Stans.

  “Oh my God, you haven’t heard? I’m up here, at this thing, and I hear about it, and you haven’t?”

  “Okay, you’re connected. You’re plugged in. What happened to Stan?”

  “Okay, you’re not going to believe this. He’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “Stan. He’s dead. I just found out like five minutes ago. We’re all coming back home tonight. Nobody’s in the mood for any more of this touchy-feely management bullshit after something like this has happened.”

  “He did that thing with me yesterday,” I said, feeling very cold. “That photo shoot at the car auction. What happened to him? Did he have an accident?”

  “Someone beat him to death. Right behind the Metropolitan building, in the lot where the photogs park. Someone smashed his head in his car door.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was numb.

  “I mean, the guy goes all over the world, Sarajevo, Afghanistan, fucking Iraq, and he gets killed in our parking lot.”

  “There was that guy,” I said.

  “What guy?”

  “Remember, when I called you from the auction, and Stan got in a fight with this guy? Uh, I know his name, Cheese Dick told me.”

  “How would Cheese Dick know anything about this?”

  “He was looking at Stan’s pics, the ones he took yesterday at the auction, and he said, he said, ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, ‘that’s Barbie Bullock.’ That’s what he said. That’s what he said the guy’s name was.”

  “Barbie Bullock?”

  “Yeah. Stan wasn’t even taking a picture of him, I guess Bullock was just kind of in the picture, you know? And he tries to tear Stan’s camera away from him.”

  “Did he know who Stan was?”

  “I mean, I don’t know, it’s possible. Stan did tell him he was a photog from The Metropolitan. Told him to back off.”

  “Did Dick Colby say who this guy was, this Barbie guy?”

  “He works for Lenny Indigo, that guy that got sent up? That name mean anything to you?”

  “Sure. We ran the trial coverage. Sears covered it. He ran half the criminal operations in town.”

  “That was the guy.”

  “I’m calling Dick, telling him this. He’ll be doing the story on it, he’ll need this info, he can pass it on to the cops.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I mean, if it was Bullock, there’s no way he’d be able to get the film back at this point. He’d have to know Stan would have turned it in by now. It’s been a day and a half.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want the film,” Sarah said. “Maybe he just wanted to get even.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was after nine. I had to get going. “Listen, Sarah, call Dick, tell him what I told you.”

  “He may want to call you, get more details.”

  “He’ll have to call my cell. I’m going out.”

  “Where? What do you have to do?”

  “Look, I’ll explain everything to you when you get home.”

 
; It was the wrong thing to say. “What do you mean, explain it to me when I get home? Whenever you say something like that, there’s something I need to know right now.”

  “Honestly, things are fine.”

  “Is this about Paul?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s about Angie.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What’s going on with Angie?”

  I took a breath. “First of all, I’m still worried about this Trevor Wylie. The guy’s been following her around.”

  “Look, so he runs into her once in a while. That doesn’t make him a stalker.”

  “No, Sarah, he’s actually following her around. In his car. When Angie goes someplace, he follows her.”

  “Oh God. Angie told you this?”

  “No, she—” And I stopped myself.

  “If she hasn’t told you, then how do you know he’s following her? Zack? Hello? Are you there?”

  “It’s a hunch,” I said.

  Sarah got very quiet. “No, not with you, it wouldn’t be a hunch. Zack, how do you know Trevor’s following her?”

  “I might have seen him, you know, following her.”

  “How did you see that? Good God, Zack, have you been following him?”

  “No,” I said, emphatically. “I have not been following him. Not exactly.”

  “Then who have you been following?”

  I said nothing.

  “Zack? Tell me you’re not following your own daughter.”

  I guess I must have hesitated.

  “Oh my God,” Sarah said. “You’re unfuckingbelievable.”

  “It hasn’t been to be nosy,” I explained. “I just wanted to be sure she was okay. It wasn’t like I was trying to invade her privacy, that was never my intention, you have to understand that.”

  “Zack! Honest to God! I don’t believe you! I mean, sure, we need to know what our kids are up to, but we don’t trail them around like they’re common criminals. Why don’t we just put cameras in their rooms? Bug their phones? Open their mail? Get search warrants for their lockers at school?”

  Actually, I thought there might be some merit in all those things, but didn’t mention it.

  “I never meant to do it, to follow her around. In fact, in some ways, I wish I’d never started this. There are some things you simply don’t want to know.”

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Finally, Sarah said, “Like what?”

  “No, no, never mind, you’re right, it’s a violation of Angie’s privacy. Who she goes out with, who she goes to visit, that’s entirely her business.”

  “Who’s she going out with? Who did she visit?”

  “You hear yourself?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Zack, what’s happening?”

  What the hell, I thought. “Do you have any idea why Angie would go out to Oakwood to visit Trixie? Late at night?”

  “She’s visiting Trixie? Trixie Snelling, of Whips and Chains Inc.?”

  “Yeah. I don’t remember them being friends when we lived out there.”

  “No, neither do I. You were the only one, having coffee all the time, being all neighborly. It got to where I wondered if I should be checking you for rope burns.”

  I ignored that. “You think Angie’s getting career counseling? Because, you know, if she were choosing between, I don’t know, bank president and dominatrix, I’d probably go with bank president.”

  “I have to get home.”

  “Not a word to her about this,” I said. “I don’t know how to bring this up, not without letting her know that I’ve been following her around. Which reminds me, I have to get going.”

  “Is that what you have to go do? You’re going to follow her tonight?”

  “Just to make sure Trevor’s not on her tail anymore. I had a word with him today.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “It was just a friendly conversation, that’s all. Friendly, but firm. The kid’s weird, Sarah. He’s not as harmless as you think.”

  “Go, then,” she said. “Just go, let me know what you find out.”

  “Okay. And tell Dick about this Barbie guy.”

  “Why do they call him that, anyway?” Sarah asked. I told her about the thug’s rumored collection. “But doesn’t a grown man who collects Barbie get teased a lot?” she asked.

  “Sounds like you’d only do it once,” I said.

  25

  I flew out the door, jumped into the Camry, and zoomed through four yellow lights on the way downtown to the Mackenzie campus. I approached the university from the north side, found Edwards Street, and drove along slowly until I found the covered walkway that came out by Galloway Hall.

  It was dark, and I slunk down a bit in my seat, keeping my eye on Angie’s secret exit. I didn’t have to worry too much about her spotting the Camry. It was such a generic-looking car, and there were so many of them on the market, that it didn’t attract any attention.

  It was almost 9:30 P.M. As it turned out, I’d parked right in front of a diner, and I was craving a coffee. Was there time to run in? I decided to chance it, since I could keep an eye on the back of Galloway Hall from inside the diner.

  I got out of the car, went up to the cash register that was at the head of the counter, and ordered coffee to go from a fat guy in a white apron. I had it in my hand and was back sitting in the Camry before there was any sign of Angie.

  As I sat in the car my thoughts kept returning to Stan. It was unthinkable, that he could be dead. There was already so much going on inside my head, so much that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so much that I had seen and found out, that I felt incapable of processing this latest information.

  I was on overload.

  Suddenly, bright light shone out of the walkway. It intensified, and then the Virtue emerged, tentatively, because the passageway was so narrow. It was like seeing the car come out of a sideways mail slot. I could barely see Angie behind the wheel, but I could make out the silhouette of a second person in the car, in the passenger seat. Was it a boy or a girl?

  And then there was no need to guess. The passenger door opened, and the same boy I’d seen her with the night before got out and unhooked the chain that prevented Angie from driving over the curb and onto Edwards. Once Angie had pulled the Virtue through, the boy put the chain back in place and returned to the passenger seat.

  But before Angie pulled away, her friend leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. And then she turned her face into his, and then their arms were around each other, and I thought, Does she even have the car in park? Or is she making out while the vehicle’s in drive, her foot pressed down on the brake?

  I probably wouldn’t tell Sarah about this part. I didn’t think I’d ever tell anyone about this part.

  Thankfully, they broke it up after a few seconds, and Angie drove west. I pulled in behind them, my coffee stowed in the cup holder, staying a few car lengths back. When I could, I let another car slip in between us, just so long as I could keep the Virtue in sight.

  Angie had the roof open and waved her right hand out in the breeze. The boyfriend put both hands through the roof, and then, for a couple of seconds, there were four hands waving in the breeze.

  “Jesus Christ, Angie! Keep your hands on the wheel!”

  All parents, I decided right then, should spend some time following their teenagers who’ve recently acquired their driver’s licenses. For sure, I was going to find a way to have a word with her about this.

  The Virtue turned left, went a couple of blocks, turned right, then left, then straight on for a few miles. They wandered into the Heights, where the city’s movers and shakers lived in their million-dollar homes. Then they double-backed down to the waterfront, then over by the university again. It didn’t take long to figure out they were simply joyriding, taking a spin in the new wheels.

  And when’s the last time, Angie, you made a contribution for gas money? At least, in a hybrid, she was wasting less
of it. But it galled me, how kids could drive around for hours without any thought whatsoever to who was footing the bill. And another thing—

  Shut up, Zack. Like you never did anything like this when you were a teenager.

  The important thing was, throughout this tour of the city, I hadn’t seen Trevor Wylie or his dog Morpheus or his black Chevy once.

  Maybe he’d tried. Maybe he’d followed her from home down to the university, and had been waiting for her at the main entrance, where you picked up your parking ticket. Maybe Angie’d outsmarted him by sneaking out the back way. I wish I knew. If he was still out there, but lost, it meant he’d probably be back at it tomorrow night. But if he’d packed it in, if he’d realized he was pushing a bit too hard, maybe I could let my guard down a bit.

  My cell phone rang.

  I struggled to drag it out of my jacket pocket and didn’t have a chance to see who was calling before I hit the button and put the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Dad?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Angie,” I said. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  Ahead of me, I could see through the rear window of the Virtue that she had a phone to her ear.

  “Where are you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I called home, got Paul, he said you were out.”

  “Yeah, I’m just out doing a few things. What’s up, honey?”

  “Okay, you know how I told you I had this weird feeling, like maybe someone was following me?”

  I felt a bit queasy. “Uh-huh.”

  “Like, I know it’s nuts, but I’ve had this car following me for a while, and I’m starting to get that feeling again.”

  “Okay. Uh, tell me more.”

  “Yeah. It’s some piece-of-crap car, sort of like our Camry? We’ve just been cruising around, trying out the new car, and I’ve noticed this car keeps showing up in my mirror.”

  “Can you see that it’s a guy?” I asked.

  “Well, not exactly, I’m just assuming, you know? Like, how many female pervs drive around at night following people?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Don’t panic. Maybe it’s not the same car. Maybe you’re just on edge or something. It’s probably my fault. I’ve freaked you out with all this talk about what happened to my friend Lawrence.”