But when it still can – still does – wake when truly needed.
I throw myself on Ray. Dad powers into him at the same time. We fight together, fight like we have practiced for this moment all our lives. Fists raining down in perfect sync. Legs kicking out like they are under joint control.
Glenn twists. Grabs Dad's right arm. I break the hold. Punch his throat. He gags. Dad buries a hand in his gut. Glenn tries to vomit and gag at the same time. Does a little dance that would have been comical in other circumstances.
Glenn goes down. We follow him. Pounding. Kicking. Punching.
My teeth are bared. At his throat. I have a moment where a now-distant part of me – the part that still remembers what it was like to have family and friends and a meaning in life – wonders if I can really do this.
The second shot goes off. I feel Dad shudder beside me.
5
"DAD!"
My teeth unlock, my muscles stop their motion. I'm locked in the dream. In the conviction I have that I will never see him again. That this is all leading up to the terrible moment when family ends, when we lose each other forever.
I feel warmth on my hands.
I feel death come to call. Just like my dream. My nightmares.
"DAD!" I scream it again. Then, a whisper. As though I can reel his soul back to his body with a near-silent prayer. "Please, Dad."
"I won't. I'm okay."
It takes a moment for the words to penetrate. To realize the shudder I felt wasn't him after all. The gunshot drove not up, but down.
Ray coughs. Blood comes out of his mouth.
"What's... what's going on?" he says. He looks genuinely confused. "Why are you... why are you...?"
He dies.
Another corpse. But this is one I can't quite bring myself to care about. I care more about the blood that spatters on my hands than I do about the soul it represents.
Then I realize we've left someone at our backs.
Dad and I spin.
Glenn.
He's smiling.
Holding a knife.
6
MOST MURDERS ARE COMMITTED with guns.
Knives are too personal. Too close. If you shoot someone you don't have to feel their blood on you, don't have to look in their eyes as the life leaves them.
But from the look on Glenn's face, I can see he wants to feel our blood. He wants to watch the lights flee our eyes.
Instead, though, we watch as something flickers in his own expression.
I look down. His gaze follows. He frowns. "When did that happen?" He looks back up. His expression is nearly amused. A "well, if that doesn't just beat all" kind of look.
The first shot – the one that took a notch out of my ear – continued past me and buried itself in his gut. Red stains the front of his t-shirt in a widening circle.
"Dammit," he mutters. His gaze wavers. Then he fixates on us. On me. "You killed me," he says.
And leaps forward. Knife outstretched. Intention clear: to take us with him. Because evil is like that. Evil doesn't want to simply destroy, it wants to make everyone as miserable and hurt as itself.
I see that evil hurtling at me. Knife pointed at my chest.
And I don't move.
7
WE TOOK RAY DOWN WITHOUT hesitation. But now, with Glenn coming toward me, I can't move.
I always wanted his wife to be my mother. Wanted his daughters to be my sisters.
How can I do anything to hurt him?
How can I run from him?
How can this be real?
And all that aside, my body is finally realizing what just happened with Ray. Adrenaline pulses through me so hard it's like my body doesn't even belong to me. All I can do is twitch as Glenn rushes me.
Then he slams backward as something hits him in the shoulder. I don't even hear the explosion. It's buried in the moment, in the surreality of it all.
I hear the second one, though. The moment when Dad pulls the trigger of Ray's gun. The moment when a hole – surprisingly small – opens above Glenn's right eye.
The knife drops from his hand.
He falls.
It's over.
Dad holds me.
I cry.
"It's over, baby," he says. "They can't hurt us, Melly Belly."
I don't even mind that he calls me that. Not one bit.
8
WE LEAVE THE KITCHEN.
Two dead bodies, leaning against opposite walls with legs splayed out in front of them as though they're not dead at all but rather friends just lounging and chatting after a long time apart. It's gruesome and unreal and at the same time all too absolute and sickeningly true.
We walk out of the kitchen.
Through the living room.
I want to leave the house.
Dad senses it. Knows without me saying.
"I have to call this in. We have to explain now. We'll be able to."
I nod.
We leave. Stand in the driveway. I lean on Glenn's car. He has a nice Mustang. Cherry red. I keep circling the thought that he'll never drive it again. Behind it is a brown truck with a lift kit that I'm guessing belongs to the late and unlamented Ray.
Dad activates his mic. "Twenty fifty-five, calling dispatch."
I press harder into the Mustang. The metal is cool against my back. It feels good.
"Twenty fifty-five." Dad fiddles with a dial. "Twenty fifty-five, come in, dispatch." Nothing comes out of the radio.
I try not to care. Try to focus on the cool that's spreading down my frame, counteracting the overheat my body went through inside. The Mustang. I want it to be my world.
"Twenty fifty-five."
The Mustang.
The truck....
I jerk upward. "Dad –"
"Twenty fifty-five, please –"
I put a hand on his arm. Shake it. "Dad, where's the other car?"
He doesn't seem to notice me for a moment. "Why won't it work?" he says to himself. Then looks up. "Other car?"
"Glenn's Mustang is here. Ray showed up in a truck. We came in Knight's car." I point at each vehicle as I name them off. "Where's the cop car? Where's the person who's been shooting at us all night?" When Ray and Glenn tried to kill us, I thought that Glenn must have been the guy following us around all night. But then... then the cop car would have been here. He would have had to leave it here.
So where is it?
And at that moment, lights wash over us.
A cop car.
And I know whose it is. Whose it has to be. Because on this night, it can belong to no other person.
Glenn wasn't working alone.
But a question remains: is Jack inside the car? Or is it someone else?
9
THE CAR SCREECHES TO a halt. The door flings open.
Sarge gets out.
His gun is already pointed at us.
I can feel Dad's surprise. His dismay. His world tilting on an axis he always thought would be rock-solid. I can almost hear his thoughts: Sarge, how could it be Sarge? Not Sarge!
The guy who led them...
(and was in a perfect position to pick the corrupt ones)
... the guy who was the best of them...
(and hid in plain sight because of it)
... the guy who continually hounded them to make the next R&R bust...
(and who just stole the drugs from evidence and re-dropped them in the Ocean's Tomb when it happened and so got the money for the drugs as well as the credit for the bust, a win-win)
... the one Dad trusted.
Sarge's gun never waivers. And there's no chance of us getting the drop on him. None at all. He's the best of the cops. The best thinker, the best planner...
... the best shot.
"Why?" says Dad.
"It's nothing personal, Latham," says Sarge. He stays about fifteen feet away. Too close for him to miss a shot at, but too far for us to rush him. He knows what to do.
He's the best.
>
"I really hoped the night would turn out differently," he says.
"Me, too," says Dad.
They are quiet for a moment. Nearly a thoughtful time. Like old friends reunited and not sure what to say. Unsure how to begin, and unsure how they might have changed in the years that have passed.
"Well," Sarge finally says.
"Could you...." Dad's voice trails off. He laughs bitterly. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'd let Mel go?"
Sarge's gun actually falters a bit. He frowns. "Let her go?"
At that moment, Dad's radio activates. "Ah," whispers Jack. A quiet, "You're ready to see!"
Sarge takes no notice. He might as well not even have heard Jack speak. "Let her go?" he says again. "Latham, Mel's dead. She's been dead for a month."
PART SIX:
LAST CALL
June 30
PD Property Receipt – Evidence
Case # IA15-6-3086
Rec'd: 6/29
Investigating Unit: IA/Homicide
Journal
Day THIRTY
SHORT ENTRY.
Dad's on his way to work.
I won't let him go without me.
1
DAD FALLS BACKWARD. A huge, lurching step that makes Sarge's words into more than sound. They are a physical attack. An attempted destruction of body, of mind... of self.
I don't move. I can't. I'm rooted to the spot.
"No," says Dad. His voice is a whisper. "She's not dead. She's... she's right here." He gestures at me.
Sarge frowns. Looks right at me. Shakes his head. "No, Latham. Sorry." He looks truly sad, disbelieving at the same time. "Is this what's been happening? Damn, I just thought you didn't want to be part of the deal anymore. Didn't know you'd just lost it."
"Deal?" I say.
(or do I say it who is saying it who is speaking who –?)
Another frown from Sarge. "But I kind of saw this coming. It's why I sent Ray and Bob to watch you. Just the way you screamed after I shot that dealer in the head – the asshole who tried to double cross us, who shot your daughter... the way you were screaming when the other guys took you from the alley. Screaming..."
... and as he says it, Dad's radio activates. Jack speaks in time. The voice from my dream. ""You killed my baby! I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"
When Jack speaks, his voice shifts. The change is subtle, but by the time he screams "kill you all!" I finally recognize who he sounds like. The cadences, the patterns.
Jack sounds like my dad.
I fall back. Hit the Mustang.
It's no longer cold against my back.
Sarge takes no notice of Jack's voice. A voice that only sounds for me, for my dad. "We thought you might want to back out of the deal, even before we had to kill those dealers. But then your daughter happened along, ended up in the crossfire." He sighs. "I guess if you weren't already going to back out, it was a done deal after what happened to her." He smiles a shark-smile, all whites and killing hunger. "Bad day to buy a prom dress, huh?"
(A beat cop's daughter doesn't shop on Rodeo Drive, doesn't even shop at Nordstrom. She shops where the deals are. And that's the garment district. I've been to the garment district for cheap jeans, for homecoming dresses. I was going to get my prom dress here, until things got weird with Liam and I didn't end up going.)
[Why didn't I end up going? Why didn't I go to the prom with Liam?]
I can't remember. No matter how hard I try.
[Because I'm not here. I can't remember because I'm....]
"Dead," Dad says. He looks at Sarge. "You know Liam's dead, right?"
Sarge nods. "Yeah," he says. His voice emotionless. "He found out what we were into. I thought he'd be able to handle it – it was all for him, after all. All for him to have a better future than a cop can afford. But then... Mel."
Dad shakes his head. Still denying. "No. No, he spoke to her. I heard her voice."
Jack's voice speaks from Dad's radio. And now I hear not only his voice, but Liam's. The voice of the dead, spoken as he died. And my voice comes out as well, as though Jack –
[who is he, who is Jack, what's HAPPENING?]
– had been there, recording it all.
("Liam," I say. "What happened?"
"YOU KNOW!" he screams. Then whispers, "You know." Then, sobbing, "I can't live without.... Mel, please talk to me."
Only this time I hear it differently. Not "I can't live without.... Mel, please talk to me," but "I can't live without Mel, please talk to me." Speaking not to me, but to my father. To a man who will help – perhaps stop – his pain. The pain of losing his love, a month ago.)
[Was I even there?]
In fact, now I think of it, no one has addressed me directly all night. No one has called me by name....
("I like these, too," says the lady at the Exxon food mart, pointing at the candy. "My favorite," I say.)
[Did I say it? Or did my father? Did Dad say it and only imagine it was me, only imagine there was a me?]
("I would've pegged you for..." she squints at me[/my father]. "Jerky. Peppered.")
[Peppered beef jerky. The kind of thing a big man, a cop, would eat.]
(Ray, at Glenn's house, says, "You let 'em in, you dumbass?")
['Em. Them.
But could he have been saying, "You let 'im in"? Him? Singular?]
(What about the bartender? "Can I help you, Officer? Something to drink? Maybe something for your partner?")
[Who was he talking to? If not me, who was he talking to?]
(And now I hear Sarge's voice. Saying, "Damn, I just thought you didn't want to be part of the deal anymore." Talking not just to my dad, not just to a cop... but to a fellow criminal.)
[That's who he was talking to. The bartender was talking to my dad, and he knew what had happened because –
(I suddenly wonder if there are dirty cops in this area.... Maybe Froggy's expecting a shakedown.)
– he let the cops use his roof for the hit. He knew. And it was a subtle jab at Dad when he asked about "his partner," because he also knew Dad's partner was killed.]
[So what was I doing there that day?]
(I remember earlier, when Liam called the morning of the ridealong: "I'm sorry about what happened. I'm so, so sorry."]
[He was going to take me to prom. He thought it was his fault.]
(In the alley, after he shot himself, Liam's last words: "You told me to come. Is this what you wanted?)
[No. That's not why I(/my dad?) wanted him there. I(/we) wanted to tell him what happened. What really happened. That it wasn't his fault. I was just shopping for a prom dress in a place I knew. In a place I knew because my father had taken me there. And in a place he knew, so he set up meets and drops there. Just like the cops all knew about the fish market, about Red Rocks, a perfect drop point where other cops would never look.]
I am starting to believe. Starting to lose myself.
[But I did things. I touched things.
Yes. So in sync with my father. All night. Knowing his thoughts. Fighting as one. Because there was only one person thinking, only one person fighting?]
(Fighting with him, both of us moving as one.)
(Pulling the dumpster, each of us feeling like we were only pulling with half strength –)
[Each of us only half a person?]
(And when I climbed down into the Ocean's Tomb – the place where I killed a full-grown man with the strength and skill of a trained –
[police officer]
– fighter? Underwater, batted around? And Dad lost his gun. We thought it was stolen by Jack.)
[But not stolen. It was simply lost. Simply lost in the surf under the Tomb. Because I was wearing it. In fact, the climb down was tight, because I was wearing a full rig, the ten extra pounds of a police belt around my waist. And after the dunking the radio didn't work, either. Dad[/I?] couldn't call dispatch. Only Jack could use the radio. Only a phantom can use a broken thing.]
And Beardo
?
(Beardo: the man whose car we commandeered. So helpful-seeming. Until Dad mentions his sick passenger. Then... suspicion. Because what does he see in the empty space where Dad gestures? Not a sick passenger.)
[He doesn't see anything.]
My mind scrabbles for last reasons this is wrong. Last rationales. Perhaps the last rites of a doomed soul.
(What about my memories of Liam?)
[All things Dad knew. Because he's known Liam as long as I have. He was there for most of them. I've told him the rest.]
[And my injuries?]
This is the final test. The ricochet so close it burns my neck, the bullet that notches my ear.
I feel neck. I feel ear.
Nothing. Whole flesh.
I look at Dad.
He has a burn mark on his neck. An ear that bleeds freely from a glancing bullet wound.
[What about Knight? Zevahk, Voss? If he's the one, then when did he...?]
And I remember. Remember sleeping the day away. Plenty of time for a man to set in motion a series of deaths and clues that will both exact revenge and hopefully bring him back to reality.
(Voss's screams on the radio? "Please! PLEASE DON'T DO IT PLEASE JUST LET ME GO –")
[And now I think...
... think...
... no, more than thought. Memory...
... a man looming over Voss's crippled form.]
("You killed my daughter, Voss. We all did," says the man. And it sounds like Jack. Jack and another voice, more familiar.
Then the man breaks the neck of the helpless Voss. Takes his body and drops it down the Tomb, then follows it in and secures it under the rocks. "Rot," says the man. "Rot in here. Rot in Hell."
He kills Knight. Stages the body in a way that will start this all. Because on some level the man knows this must end. He must wake himself up.
The Ridealong Page 14
