Stemms scooped up his pistol, pointed it at me, and scrambled to his feet.
“Harvey?”
“I’m fine.”
Harvey reached inside his very nice jacket, and took out a pistol.
Stemms checked Kenny Loan, and made a face.
“He’s done. Asshole.”
Harvey said, “Fuck’m.”
Stemms kept his gun on me, and hurried to his partner.
“Get up, Harvey. C’mon. Let’s go.”
I glanced at the silver pistol on the floor, and wondered if I could reach it before I died. Stemms would shoot me, but maybe I could save Amber.
When I looked up, Stemms lifted his gun. He smiled.
“I’ll give you a shot. Go for it. You never know.”
I glanced at the gun again, and thought maybe I should, and I did. I dove for the little silver pistol, and braced for a bullet that never arrived.
The front door crashed in as if it were hit by a locomotive, and splinters peppered the room.
Pike shot Stemms twice in the chest.
Harvey put his gun to Amber’s head, and I shot him once in the face. The bigger man fell over dead.
I cleared their guns quickly, and pointed at Loan.
“Gun. Get 911.”
Pike took the Snubby, and called emergency as I rolled Harvey off Amber.
“You okay? Are you shot?”
She rolled onto her back, and took deep breaths, and finally sat up. Her thin top was wet with Harvey’s blood.
Pike was talking with emergency services.
I checked Stemms, then pulled off his jacket, and pressed it to Kenneth Loan’s chest. He was alive, but he was dying.
“Hang on. Paramedics are coming.”
He pushed my hands, maybe because he didn’t want to be saved, but I held the compress to his wound.
“Was it Hoop? You? Why was it so important?”
His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear him. I leaned close, and put my ear to his lips.
“. . . didn’t trust . . . didn’t trust . . .”
I didn’t know what he was saying, and he probably didn’t know, either.
Climbing to my feet took forever. I saw Pike. I went to him, and hugged him. I held him for a very long time.
He whispered.
“You okay?”
I nodded, but I held him tight, and he held me.
After a while I stepped away, and called Dani Cassett. She told me she’d arrive as fast as possible.
I walked over to Amber, and sat on the floor beside her.
“Okay?”
“Feels weird, like I’m inside a really big can and everything echoes. Even the lights look weird.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I thanked her.
“Thank you. For what you did.”
“I was really scared.”
“Yeah. That’s how it is.”
She was quiet.
“You know what’s really weird?”
I shook my head. I heard sirens. Coming closer.
“When they make the movie, I’ll be the hero.”
I had nothing to say. I put my arm around her, and we sat together until the police arrived.
54
TYSON CONNOR
CARL’S SISTER BROUGHT them swiss-and-pickle sandwiches with English mustard from England on rye bread from Art’s Deli in Studio City. If the rye bread wasn’t from Art’s Carl wouldn’t eat it. She also brought a phone from the house because Tyson’s mother had called.
“Elvis will pick you up in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t find anything.”
“Okay.”
Tyson wanted to get off the phone. Carl was next to him, and listening to every word. Carl thought everyone was crapping on him behind his back because he didn’t find any secret documents.
Tyson said, “I gotta help Carl. I’ll see you soon.”
She finally signed off, and Tyson put down the phone. They had spent the past four hours in the pool house, and looked each other in the eye maybe twice. Mostly they looked past each other or at the monitors.
Carl said, “You’re not helping. You’re just standing.”
“I wanted to get off the phone.”
“You didn’t have to be a dick and say you were helping. Now she thinks I can’t do it myself.”
“Carl.”
“What?”
Carl had been like this all day.
“I’m sorry. All those things I said. I’m sorry. I was a dick.”
Carl fitted the motherboard into the base frame, and snapped the cover onto the frame. The old PowerBook was almost back together.
“The King of Dickland, that’s what you were. Like, one day you’re up with this smokin’-hot porno chick, and I’m just a dweeb?”
“Amber didn’t do porn.”
Carl stepped away from the bench as if he were thunderstruck.
Tyson said, “She isn’t a porn star.”
“Dick!”
“I lied, okay?”
“DICK!”
“Can we please get past this? I’m going to jail.”
The Carl stared at the floor, then put the finishing touches on the PowerBook.
“Maybe you’ll get probation or something, and pick up trash on the freeway.”
“I miss gaming with you.”
“I totally kicked your ass.”
“I miss—”
Tyson stopped, and held so tight to the bench his elbows hurt. His eyes filled, and he began to cry, and he didn’t know what to say, and even if he did he couldn’t.
Carl looked at him, and glanced away, and looked back, and glanced away again, and then Carl held him, really tight, even though Carl didn’t look at him, and Tyson cried harder.
After he finished, Tyson stepped back, and blew his nose, and Carl booted up the old PowerBook.
“You should come play. The new hacks I did, they kill.”
“I don’t know if they’ll let me. I might have to wear one of those ankle things.”
Carl looked embarrassed.
“You want to play, we’ll figure it out.”
The PowerBook’s screen came to life, and the two lonely icons appeared. Carl rolled the cursor around the desktop, seeing if everything worked. The little trackball scratched when it rolled in its socket.
Carl leaned close, and rocked the ball back and forth.
“They haven’t cleaned this thing in forever.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It drags. A trackball does not drag. It isn’t designed to drag.”
Carl unscrewed the collar, and lifted the ball from its socket. He peered in the hole.
“Jeez Louise.”
“What?”
The Carl snatched up a pair of tweezers, and lifted a tiny golden microchip from the socket. He held it under a light, then examined it under a magnifying glass.
He smiled, and showed the chip to Tyson.
“Do, or not do.”
“What is it?”
The Carl smiled even wider. Hyuk-hyuk-hyuk.
“Evidence.”
PART V
FATHER’S DAY
55
ELVIS COLE
I WAS ABOARD a jet bound for Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport when they arrested Ivar and Lillian Hoop. I was renting a car when the news broke in Los Angeles, and did not learn of their arrest until I reached the hotel in Baton Rouge. One of those national cable news channels was playing when I got out of the shower. The anchor finished a piece about salmonella, and segued to the shocking arrest of the Hoops. I didn’t want to see it or think about it. I didn’t care. I turned off the news, finished dressing, and met Lucy an
d Ben at a lovely restaurant overlooking the Mississippi River. We had a wonderful time.
Ben flew back to L.A. with me two days later. I didn’t have to pick him up in Baton Rouge, but I wanted to see Lucy, and spend time with Ben where he lived. Baton Rouge was a great little town. Seeing it through Ben’s eyes made it special.
Detectives from LAPD and senior prosecutors from the D.A.’s office interviewed me for seven hours over two days following the events at Jasmine Reed’s apartment. Dani Cassett sat with me during all seven hours. Jasmine flew home to be with Amber, and I had a chance to meet her. I liked her a lot.
The case against Mr. and Mrs. Hoop was made by Carl Riggens. The memory chip he found contained a detailed account of a conspiracy between Ivar Hoop, an attorney named Sheldon Fitz, a since-deceased employee named Dennis Ng, and a young Sheriff’s investigator named Kenneth Loan to identify and frame a credible suspect for Adele Silvani’s murder. The research detailed by Ivar Hoop was shocking in its scope, and horrifying to read. Marquis Nelson had died of cancer in prison, an innocent man no one believed.
I avoided all news about the Hoops until their confession, which came as a surprise. It was Lillian Hoop who convinced her husband to detail their conspiracy. Ivar had thought it a silly and dangerous idea, but Lillian insisted, believing Fitz, Ng, and Loan could not be trusted. She felt a record of their involvement could be used as a weapon if one was needed. Kenneth Loan did not learn of the chip until the PowerBook was stolen. This explained what he tried to say when he was dying. I liked knowing, and once I knew, I stopped thinking about it.
Eleven days after the events in Jasmine’s apartment, the glass sliders were open to my deck, a fresh breeze stirred the air, and I felt relaxed and content as I answered the phone.
“Hey, it’s Dani. Get this—”
Sergeant Cassett.
“What’s up?”
“Three weeks ago, Chippies found a stiff on an on-ramp in Eagle Rock, young male, strangulation, evidence of an assault—”
“Sex crime?”
“Uh-uh. ID’d as a Jesse Guzman, twenty-two, on parole. Worked as a busboy at a club called Jade House.”
I’d never heard of it.
“Uh-huh.”
“Disappeared during a shift one night, no one knew why, the next day he’s on the ramp. Guess what?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“We got a hit from the DNA under his fingernails. Floyd Ranson Harvey. You believe those guys? All the bodies they dropped?”
Cassett had called to share her excitement, but the news felt like an intrusion.
Then she said, “How about we grab drinks and dinner tonight? My treat.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. Got plans.”
It occurred to me Cassett had been calling a lot.
I said, “How about next week?”
She brightened.
“I thought you were giving me the brush.”
“No way, Sergeant. Busy tonight, but I’d love to see you next week.”
“I’d like that, too. But not if you call me Sergeant.”
The guest room door opened, and Ben Chenier thundered down the hall. He was bigger now, and moved like a horse. He saw me on the phone, and pulled up. I held up a finger, and finished with Cassett.
“Deal. Gotta go, but I’ll call.”
I put away the phone, and joined him. Ben had pulled on shorts and a faded LSU T-shirt. He tanned golden-dark like his mother, and he was almost as tall as me. He would be taller.
Ben grinned.
“Don’t hurt me.”
I laughed, and we walked out onto the deck. A red-tail floated high over the canyon.
“We’ll start slow, then go as slow or fast as you want.”
Ben was studying martial arts, and had become a dedicated student. We’d been playing with close-in Wing Chun moves, a fighting art where opponents were only inches apart, and in constant contact.
I placed Ben in position with his feet spread and hands up, then stood very close with my hands at my side.
“Ready?”
He grinned. Ready.
I said, “Touch my nose.”
As he reached for my nose, I rolled his arm gently toward his body.
“Again, opposite hand, and keep it going.”
He reached for my nose with his other hand, I rolled him again, and he reached again, and we picked up speed. Our arms rose and fell, twining and flowing like kelp in gentle swells.
Ben grinned and picked up the pace. I grinned, and nodded.
“Show me whatcha got.”
His hands and ours were a rolling blur, faster and faster, and then he tried to surprise me. He came in low to poke my belly. I rolled him down and away without missing a beat.
“Saw it coming yesterday.”
“No way!”
“I’ll show you.”
I showed him, and sometimes he listened, and sometimes he didn’t. Those moments we shared were precious. They filled me with joy, and hope, and a belief I had done something lasting and real.
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Robert Crais, The Wanted
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