Rose City Free Fall

by DL Barbur

  After a minute or two, I dried my eyes and pulled away from the curb again. Good thing there was no traffic out, I was liable to get pulled over acting like this. I took a deep breath, focused on my driving again for a little while.

  "I killed a guy back at the hospital," I said.

  Al nodded. "I know. We were listening to the Bureau's radio traffic on the way over. What happened?"

  I told him. I tried to keep my voice level and clinical like I was talking about a stock market deal or something.

  Al sat in silence while I explained. When I finished he sat in silence for a second, turning the syringe I'd taken from the dead guy over in his hands.

  "Bolle says he thinks he can run interference on this one. It shouldn't be hard. You're supposed to be in Federal custody so even if by some freak chance your name comes up as a suspect, nobody will take it seriously. Henry managed to get into the server that stores the security camera footage.“

  I was winding my way up the west hills. I needed some fresh air and had a spot in mind. I turned to look at Al.

  "Al, you're talking to me about covering up a murder. What is this? What's Bolle's game?"

  Al sighed. "The rules are different once you reach a certain level, Dent. Without even realizing it you’ve landed on a chess board where everybody has more money and power than you ever dreamed of. When that happens to most people, they wind up dead, or in jail, or nobody ever hears from them again. Bolle's been playing this game for a long time. He's good at it. You can tell because he's not dead or in jail. There's no going back now. I suggest you just go along with him."

  "Does he do any good?"

  Al was quiet for a long time. I pulled into the park at Council Crest. It was empty tonight. The wind was bitter cold and lashed with rain up here, but despite the clouds, there was still a decent view of the city spread out in front of us.

  "You've got to measure good in different ways sometimes, Dent. The FBI ten most wanted list is a joke. If I were to arrest ten people in this country, the ten who do the most harm every day, half of them would be names you read about in the newspaper, the other half would be people you've never heard of. But those people are untouchable, Dent. The best we can do sometimes is stymie their plans, embarrass them. We can't really make things better, but if we just sit and watch, they’ll get worse."

  I sat there for a minute, watching the rain hit the windshield. I just wanted to sleep for a couple of days. Maybe when I woke up all of this would have gone away, but even if it didn't, I would at least feel better.

  "What do you think I should do, Al?"

  He sat the syringe on the dash, folded his hands in his lap and took a deep breath. "I think you should stick with me and Bolle. I think we're your best chance of coming out of this alive, and out of jail. I also think you can help us. You may feel like you're making a deal with the devil, but I think it's the right thing. It's a good fight. It’s dirty and ugly and sometimes I feel like I can't even see the moral lines anymore, much less tell if I've crossed them, but in the end, it's always the right fight."

  I sat there as the rain poured down harder, all thoughts of getting out of the car and walking around gone. In the end, I did what I always did: I trusted Al. It surprised me a little, how easy it was to kiss it all goodbye: my badge, my career, my pride at being a cop.

  "Ok," I said. I put the car back in gear, started driving back down the twisting road.

  "Good," Al said. "I've been trying to figure out a way to approach you for the last year or so. It's funny how things work out sometimes."

  "Yeah. Was it hard? Leaving it all behind?"

  "You mean giving up a badge, and respect, to become almost a criminal? Because that's what we are Dent, don't make any mistake. Bolle may have FBI credentials, but those aren't going to help any of us if we lose. We'll wind up dead, or in jail, or just disappearing just like those other people.”

  I nodded my head.

  “Yeah, it bothers me sometimes, but you need to remember something,” Al continued. “It's the same fight we were supposed to be fighting before, the real fight. It's what I'm here on this planet to do and I think you are too. The rest is just window dressing."

  I thought about that for a while. In a way it was intoxicating. How many times as a cop had I ranted and raved that to really do our job, the kid gloves had to come off, that all the sheep just needed to mind their own business and let us do our jobs? To finally have a chance to fight with no rules, to be able to take the battle to the enemy by any means necessary, the thought was exhilarating.

  But that little voice in the back of my mind pointed out that Al was talking about my new boss covering up a homicide I'd committed as casually as some guys talked about their golf dates.

  I had a feeling that the free fall was over, that my parachute had finally opened, it was just that now I had no idea where I was going to land, or what would be waiting for me when I got there.

  While I was thinking, Al picked up the syringe again. "I'll have Alex analyze this, see if she can tell us what this is."

  It took a second for what he said to sink in. When it did, I jerked a little in my seat. "Alex? She's in on this too?"

  "A little. I've used her skills a time or two. Bolle is eager to bring her in further, but I just don't know. At any rate, Alex isn't stupid. I think she's figured out more than I've told her."

  "No," I murmured. "Alex isn't stupid." Memories of that night when I took her home rose up, and I pushed them back down just as quickly. It made me think of something else though; I swore and started digging for my phone.

  "What?" Al asked.

  "Audrey. I haven't been able to get a hold of her since all this started." I dialed her number again. Still no answer. I picked up speed, heading back to the bus station.

  "Look," I said. "I'm in. I want to work with you and Bolle. I don't know whether I trust Bolle yet, but I trust you, so I guess I have to trust him. But I've got to go check on Audrey. They got Casey, they made a play for Mandy. I know Audrey wasn't directly involved in the investigation, but I have to know they aren't making a play for her too."

  Al nodded. "I can't fault you for that."

  We pulled in to the transit center lot. The Mercedes was still there. Eddie had turned it around so it was facing out in its parking spot. I pulled in beside it. Al collected the syringe, clapped me on the shoulder and stepped out of the car. Bolle's window rolled down. He looked non-plussed, staring at me until Al got in next to him. Al gave him a nod and Bolle sighed.

  "Mandy is being loaded into a guarded, private ambulance as we speak," Bolle said.

  "Thank you," I said. It was good to know Mandy was safe. My worries about Audrey still gnawed at me though.

  "Dent has agreed to join us," Al said. "He's got one loose end to tie up, though. We haven't been able to get a hold of Audrey. He's going to go check."

  Bolle nodded. "Understandable. She wasn't directly involved and Todd likes to limit the collateral damage of his operations, not out of any moral conscience but to limit the attention they draw. I doubt she was a target, but I appreciate your need to feel that she is safe. Loved ones are important."

  Bolle sounded like a man talking about how global warming was important like he understood it in the abstract, but it didn't have any personal meaning to him. I itched to know a little more about him.

  "Thanks," I said again. "Let me tie this up and I'll get straight to work."

  Bolle nodded and said, “Take care of it, then get in touch. I wish I had enough people to spare to send with you, but right now we are desperately trying to re-acquire Todd, and I have another team sitting on Marshall."

  "That's ok," I said. "I don't mind working alone."

  His mouth almost quirked in a smile. "Indeed. Good luck." He rolled up the window without another word and the Mercedes pulled away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I parked a couple of blocks from Audrey's and walked in. It was a calculated risk. It limited my mobility and made
me more vulnerable to ambush, but I was betting that if somebody was watching Audrey's house, they would be focused on someone driving. In the darkness, if I walked in, I'd have a decent chance of spotting the surveillance before they spotted me. I'd gotten great mileage in the past out of not doing what people expected.

  All was quiet. Over the year we'd been dating, I'd made a mental note of all the vehicles that tended to park around Audrey's building. All the cars parked outside right now looked familiar.

  Audrey's car wasn't there. I wondered if it was still in impound. I let myself in the building and walked up to her door. I put my hand on my gun and let myself in, ready for a fight but knowing as I stepped through the door the place was empty. It just felt that way.

  Still, I pulled out my gun and light and cleared the place. It didn't take long because it was so small, but I did a thorough job of it. I was sick of getting ambushed.

  Audrey's cello was gone, as was the bow I'd given her. I checked and her suitcases weren't stacked in the back of her closet where they were supposed to be. I pulled open drawers, didn't see the amount of underwear and stuff like that I expected to see. I checked the dirty clothes hamper next. Empty.

  Her toothbrush was gone from the bathroom.

  She clearly hadn’t been kidnapped. She’d left of her own accord.

  I stood in the middle of the living room, feeling like the last piece of my life had been jerked away from me. I couldn't think about anything for a minute. There was just a mounting sense of suffocation.

  I tamped it down before it reached critical mass, reached that tipping point where I'd just sit down on the couch and refuse to get up again, or just put the Glock in my mouth and pull the trigger.

  I dialed Audrey's cell. It went straight to voice mail.

  It beeped and I just sat there with the phone pressed to my ear, letting the voice mail record silence. I didn't know what to say. The only thing that occurred to me was to scream "where are you!" but that didn't seem like it would help. I finally put the phone down without a word.

  A wave of fatigue washed over me. Despite the coffee, I felt like I was asleep on my feet. I looked at my watch. Almost midnight.

  Mandy was safe. Casey was gone, but there was nothing I could do about it. Audrey was gone. Presumably she was safe, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about that either.

  I swayed a little on my feet, tried to remember when the last time I'd gotten some decent rest.

  "Hell with it," I said. I took my coat and boots off, put my Glock and phone on the coffee table, and lay down on the couch.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The phone jolted me awake. I was groggy, but had the presence of mind to make sure I was picking up the phone, and not the gun before I pressed it to my face.

  "Miller," I said. It came out as a croak. My breath tasted like a large animal had been using my mouth for a toilet.

  It was Al.

  "It's Marshall. He's moving. Some Cascade Aviation employees dropped off a new van at his place. He’s in it and driving south on Interstate Five."

  I was on my feet and moving, gathering my stuff.

  "Ok. I'll get on the five and head south. How much of a lead does he have?"

  "He's just over the Marquam bridge."

  I did some fast math. By the time I got on the freeway, he'd have a substantial lead. Well, I’d always liked to drive fast.

  It was just after three in the morning. Audrey's neighborhood was silent. Even the dog that usually barked at me when I walked by was quiet. I could hear the cars hissing down the freeway almost a mile and a half away. It was dry and cold and clear. I could see the stars through the haze of the city's lights, unusual for this time of year.

  Once I hit the interstate, I dialed Bolle's number.

  Big Eddy answered with a grunt.

  “Where is he?" I asked.

  "Hang on. I'm transferring you to Henry."

  There was a burst of static, then Henry said, "Dent?"

  "Yeah, it's me. Where is he?"

  "I’m about a mile behind him,” Henry said. “I’m in a van on the interstate. We just left the city limits of Portland. We've got Eddie, Bolle and Al in a Mercedes, right behind us. We ‘pooned him when he pulled out of his place and fell in behind him. I was hoping you'd pull up with us and we'll take turns staying in visual contact."

  Strictly speaking, we didn’t need to keep Marshall in visual range. We could let all the electronic toys work their magic. But following a dot on a screen wasn’t the same thing as keeping eyes on your target. Marshall could dump all sorts of things along the way, and we’d never know it.

  It wouldn’t take that long to roll a body out of a back of the van. He’d done it before.

  I sped up a little more. "Have you got me on your tracking screen?"

  Henry was quiet again. I got to listen to his heavy breathing for almost a full thirty seconds before I lost my patience.

  "Listen, bud,” I said. “It's three o'clock in the morning and I don't have time for this. I know you're tracking my cell phone. Am I gaining on him or not?"

  "Yeah," Henry finally said. "You're gaining. Slowly, but you’re gaining."

  "Fine. Let me know if anything changes." I snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the seat beside me.

  I needed to sleep. Everything had a far away, dream-like quality. I would have killed for a good cup of strong black coffee.

  There was little traffic on the road. Most of it was heavy eighteen wheelers making the long haul down to southern Oregon and California. I wondered what it was like to be one of those guys. Just you and a truck, some Johnny Cash on the CD player, singing about murderous women and the coming apocalypse. It didn't sound so bad. Maybe something I would keep in mind for a future career.

  I caught a late night blues show on the Community College radio station out in Troutdale. Robert Johnson, "Hellhound on My Trail." Maybe there was a God. If there was, he had a sense of humor.

  The miles rolled by easy, we were out of Portland and heading south before I knew it. I always liked road trips, they gave me plenty of time to think, which was usually a good thing.

  Now I wasn't sure it was so good. The weight of everything was crashing down. I fingered my chest, where usually I would feel my badge through my shirt, but tonight nothing was there.

  In my mind, I kept seeing those empty drawers in Audrey's apartment.

  I pulled out the other phone, the clean one I'd bought. I dialed Audrey.

  She wouldn't be up, but at least I could leave a message, give her a number where she could contact me. It rang and I started thinking about what I was going to say.

  "Hello?"

  I jumped in my seat when she answered, almost swerved into the other lane.

  She sounded sleepy, confused. I could see her in my mind's eye, sitting up in bed. What bed I wasn't sure, but I could see that long red hair tousled and flowing down her shoulders, beautiful in spite of being woken up in the middle of the night. I felt a jab of almost physical pain, a mixture of lust and loneliness that was so sharp it almost took my breath away.

  "Auds, it's me. Dent."

  "Dent." It was a statement, almost, not quite a question.

  "Where are you?"

  It took her a long time to answer, so long I thought the connection had been broken. But then she answered. "Home."

  I wanted to tell myself that she went back in her apartment, that by some cosmic joke we had just missed each other at the apartment, that she had walked in the door only minutes after I had walked out. But I knew better.

  "New Mexico." I knew the answer, but I had to say it anyway.

  "Yeah, Dent. New Mexico. Home."

  There was static on the line. The asphalt hissed under the tires of the car and I stared straight ahead, concentrating on that broken white line between the lanes, counting the dashes as they went past.

  When I got to fifty, I said, "I didn't do it, Auds. That stuff they said, it wasn't true."

&nbs
p; The inside of the car felt hot and close all of a sudden. I turned off the heater, but that wasn't enough, so I rolled down the window.

  "I want to believe that," she said. Over the phone line, I heard a muffled voice, rising inflection like a question was asked. Where was she? Things hadn't been going well with her parents for a long time. A friend's house? Who would that be? It bothered me that I didn't know.

  "But you don't," I said past the lump in my throat.

  She put her hand over the phone, muttered something to somebody that sounded like "It's ok," and then she was back. "I want to believe that, Dent, but it's hard."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "You come home and tell me matter of factly about ambushing a man and breaking his knee and arm like some guys come home and talk about a stock trade. Then you're in jail for beating up your partner. I have to wonder if after a while, the violence… the violence just doesn't stop with you.”

  She stopped but I didn’t say anything, just waited to see if she would continue.

  “I'd like to think I'm wrong, but they arrested you, Dent. Weren't you the one always telling me that all the conspiracy theories were wrong, that if somebody went to jail they deserved it?"

  I saw two sets of tail lights up ahead. If my guess was correct, it was Henry's surveillance van and Bolle’s Mercedes. Part of my mind was tracking details like that, the other part wanted to put my fist through the windshield in front of me.

  "Dent?" Her voice sounded far away.

  I realized I was just driving along, staring ahead, with the phone at my ear. My mouth felt paralyzed like I'd been struck dumb.

  The last time I'd cried was at my mother's funeral when I was twelve. I'd held it together through the service, through the graveside, rode back silently to the trailer. Then I watched my dad plant himself in an old lawn chair in the back yard, twist the cap off a bottle of Jim Beam and throw it out into the grass. I'd walked out of the trailer then, still in my new suit, and just started walking.