Indigo Slam: An Elvis Cole Novel

  Scully nodded. “A guy from Los Angeles.”

  I stared at Reed Jasper, and then at William P. Scully, and then I thought about Teri and Charles and Winona, waiting for Clark to come home. I wondered how much of this they knew, and I thought they must know some of it. Probably why they weren’t thrilled about my coming to Seattle. I thought how terribly afraid they must be of losing him to risk bringing me into their affairs. I thought about what it must’ve been like for them three years ago, and what it must be like to live a life defined by secrets and lies. Secrets never stay secret, do they? Not even when you want them to. Not even when lives are at stake.

  I looked Scully squarely in the eyes and spread my hands. “I don’t know where Clark is, or his kids, or anything about him.”

  Jasper stared at me, and you could see he didn’t believe me. Neither did Scully. “Look, Cole, it’s not our job to protect him anymore, but we feel what you might call a sense of obligation, you see?”

  I smiled my best relaxed grin, and said, “Man, this has to be one of the world’s biggest screwups.” I told him the exact same story I’d told Andrei Markov. “I came here looking for a drug connection named Clark Hewitt. I was just following a name, and the name’s the same, but my guy doesn’t have anything to do with Russians or counterfeiting or any of this other stuff.” I let the grin widen, like I was enjoying the enormous coincidence of it all. “All of this is news to me.”

  Scully nodded, but you could tell he didn’t believe me. “Who are you working for?”

  “You know I’m not going to tell you. The card says confidential.”

  “This is important, Cole. Clark is in grave danger. So are those kids.”

  I shrugged. They had been in grave danger three years ago, too.

  Scully said, “I think you know something. I’m thinking maybe Clark left some footsteps in LA, and if I’m thinking it, Markov will be thinking it, too.”

  I shrugged again. “I’d help you if I could.”

  Special Agent Reed Jasper nodded and stood. You could tell he didn’t believe me, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Sure.”

  “Can I go?”

  Scully opened the door. “Get the hell out of here.”

  It was twenty-two minutes after eleven that night when I walked out of the federal courthouse into a hard steady rain. The rain, like the air, was warm, but now felt oppressive rather than cleansing. Maybe that was me.

  The world had changed. It often does, I’ve found, yet the changes are still surprising and, more often than not, frightening. You have to adjust.

  I had come to Seattle to find a man named Clark Haines, and in a way I had, though that no longer seemed to matter. What mattered was those kids, alone in a house with a Russian mobster wanting them dead.

  11

  My left cheek was tight and discolored the next morning where Alexei Dobcek hit me. I had been up most of the night, trying to keep ice on my cheek, but the ice had been too little, too late, and I felt grumpy and discouraged, though not very much of it had to do with the ice. I packed my things, brought the rental car back to SeaTac, and boarded the plane. Grumpy.

  A sandy-haired flight attendant in her early thirties clucked sympathetically and said, “Rough week?”

  I grumped.

  She put her fists on her hips. “Pouting won’t help.”

  These flight attendants are something.

  I settled in beside an overweight man with very short hair and glasses so thick that his eyes looked the size of BBs. He smiled, but I didn’t smile back. Tough.

  I crossed my arms, frowned real hard, and thought about Teri and Winona and Charles as we lifted up through the northwest cloud layer into a brilliant clear sunshine that stretched from southern Washington to the tip of the Baha Peninsula and the Sea of Cortez. Maybe it would help if I stuck out my lower lip. I had flown to Seattle to find an ordinary missing father, and instead had found that Clark Haines was really Clark Hewitt, and that Clark Hewitt, along with being a drug addict, was a criminal, a former participant in the federal witness protection program, and was actively being sought by both the Russian mob and various federal law enforcement agencies. These are not good things to discover, and were even less good when one considered that, if the mobsters were after Clark, they would also be after his children. For all I knew, Clark Hewitt was dead and would never return, or, if he wasn’t dead, perhaps had no interest in returning. I thought that maybe I could get his kids into foster care without revealing their true identities, but this somehow seemed to leave them more vulnerable and exposed. The obvious solution was to take them to the police, identify them by their original names, and allow Jasper and Scully to see to their well-being. Charles and Winona and Teri would still end up in foster care, only an awful lot of people would know who and where they were, and the more people who knew, the greater the possibility that word would get back to the Markovs. This was yet another problem, and all these problems were making me grumpier still. Maybe I should try to get into a problem-free occupation of some kind. Hunting lions, maybe. Or raising the Titanic.

  The flight attendant stood over me. “Are we feeling any better yet?”

  I stared at her, and then I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Mm-hm. Could I bring you a nice cup of tea?”

  “A cup of tea would be fine.”

  She brought the tea, a couple of Tylenol, and a reassuring smile. Two hours and fifty minutes later we let down through a cloudless cathedral of sky and faint orange haze into the wonderland that is Southern California. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but I felt better about not knowing. The attendant smiled a goodbye at the door. “You look much better.”

  “I’ve achieved a measure of peace with my uncertainty.”

  “Sometimes that’s the best we can do.” I guess you develop a certain wisdom when you spend your life at thirty-five thousand feet.

  I kissed her hand, then picked up my car from longterm parking, and made the drive up through the city to Teresa Hewitt’s house.

  It was after three when I arrived, and that meant Charles and Winona would be home. I would’ve preferred to speak with Teri alone, but there you go. Tell me, Winona, can you spell “foster care”?

  I parked at the opposite curb, crossed to their front door, and rang the bell. I couldn’t see Joe Pike or his Jeep, but I waved to him anyway. He would be someplace near, and he would be watching. Unobtrusive.

  The Saturn was in the drive, and I figured that Charles would throw open the door and we’d go through the same opera again, but this time it wasn’t Charles. This time it was a half-bald guy two inches shorter than me with faded hair and skinny arms and glasses. I said, “You’re a hard guy to find, Mr. Hewitt.”

  Clark Hewitt made a soft smile that seemed confused. “I’m sorry, but my name is Haines. I don’t use the other name anymore.” He said it as if there were no value to its secrecy, or, if there had been, he’d forgotten. He was heavier now than in the picture with Rachel and the Brownells, and somehow less distinct. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt and ValuMart chinos and brush-burned Hush Puppies that were screaming for a retread. Winona ran up, grabbed him around the legs with an oomph!, and looked at me. “Hi, Elvis. Our daddy’s home!”

  “Hi, Winona. So I see.” Can you spell “reunion”?

  She dangled one of those ugly little trolls that kids have. It had purple hair and a horrible leer. “You see what my daddy brought me?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s a key chain.”

  Clark Hewitt beamed at her and patted her head. “Because she always has the key to my heart.”

  Winona giggled, and I wanted to shoot him. Clark looked back at me, and said, “You must be the detective! Please come in.” The detective.

  The house smelled of fresh coffee and baked cookies, and, as we entered, Teresa came out of the kitchen carrying a plate heaped with the cookies. Charles peeked out of the hall that led back to the bedrooms, scowling a
nd hunched, with his hands jammed into his pockets. He didn’t look happy, and he didn’t come out. Lurking. Teri said, “I left a message on your machine. Daddy came home this morning.”

  “I just got back. I haven’t checked my messages.”

  Clark Hewitt made himself comfortable in his easy chair. I didn’t sit. “Were you on a trip?”

  “Seattle. I guess we just missed each other.”

  “Ah. Seattle is a wonderful city, but I haven’t been there in years.” He gestured at the cookies. “Teri baked these cookies, Mr. Cole. Won’t you have some?”

  Teri said, “Chocolate chip raisin.”

  She held the plate close to Clark, who bent to smell. “Ah! My favorite!”

  Clark beamed at Teri and Teri beamed at Clark. Winona beamed at everyone. Charles stayed back in the hall and glowered, but that was Charles. Maybe this wasn’t the Hewitt house. Maybe my plane hadn’t really landed in Los Angeles, but had somehow jumped dimensions and brought me to an alternate Los Angeles and these people were the Bradys.

  I stayed on my feet, and I didn’t take the cookies. “Clark, you and I need to talk.”

  He selected a fat, round cookie and settled back in the chair. “Mmm.”

  “Clark.”

  Winona perched on the couch and Teresa put the plate on the coffee table near her father. “Come out here, Charles, and have a cookie with Daddy.”

  Charles made a single cough. “Eff’m.”

  Teresa’s face flashed into a hard white mask, and her voice came out as rough as a rat-tail file. “Charles.”

  Charles coughed again, stomped down the hall, and slammed his door. Daddy might be home, but I guess everything wasn’t hunky-dory with the Bradys.

  Clark chewed and swallowed and smacked his lips as if he hadn’t heard. Maybe he lived in one world and they lived in another and the two worlds overlapped only on occasion. “I’m sorry the kids bothered you with all of this, Mr. Cole, but it’s my fault they were worried. A business opportunity came up and I had to leave on such short notice that I couldn’t get home to explain.”

  “Such short notice that you left three underage children to fend for themselves.” No one had mentioned my face. No one had asked about the swelling or the bruise.

  He eyed the plate for another cookie. “Well, I tried phoning, but I always called at the wrong time.”

  Teresa said, “He phoned during the day when I was out.”

  “You told me you don’t go out.”

  She frowned. “Well, to the market and to pick up the kids. You know.”

  Clark snagged a second cookie. “I guess I should’ve tried more often, but there was so much to do.”

  Winona said, “We’re going to be rich. We’re going to buy a house and a Sega and a really big TV.”

  Clark chuckled. “Well, let’s not buy that house just yet, but life is certainly looking up. Yes, it is.” He gave Winona a hug and smiled at Teri, but Teri wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at me. He said, “Our luck is about to change, and, boy, we deserve it. I’ll be printing documents for a group of international investors with a long-term contract. A contract spells job security. None of this seasonal employment. No more of this moving every few months.” He tickled Winona and she giggled. “We’ll be able to buy our own home and settle down and not move around so much. Won’t that be good, Teri?”

  Teri nodded without looking at him. “Yes sir. Yes, it will be good to stay put.”

  Winona twirled the little troll. “Can I have my own room? I want my own room!”

  Clark laughed. “Well, we’ll see.”

  I stared at Teri, and Teri stared back. Her lips were a thin tight line and her eyes fluttered and she mouthed the words “Well, we’ll see” as if they’d had this conversation a thousand times, and she knew deep in her soul that it was just talk, that the money would never come, and they would move and move and move. Then she seemed to get the fluttering under control and said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  I said, “Clark, could I see you outside, please?”

  Clark said, “It’s hard being a single parent, but these little guys are just such a help. Their mother would be so proud.” Maybe he hadn’t heard me. Maybe he was so filled with wonderful plans and the intricacies of big deals that the words had just flown right past him. Or maybe he was high.

  I leaned toward him. “Markov.”

  Clark’s eyes focused for the first time, and he stood. “Well, kids, I’m sure Mr. Cole is very busy, so I’ll see him out to his car. Everybody say good-bye.”

  Teri and Winona said good-bye, and Clark followed me out to my car. The heat had risen and the sun was bright and hot and the grass on the front lawn looked wilted and spotty. A stocky Hispanic woman walked past on her way up to Melrose. She carried a shopping bag in one hand and used the other to shield her eyes from the sun. She did not look at us. “Clark, I know who you were and what you did. I was in Seattle. I spoke with Wilson Brownell and a U.S. Federal Marshal named Reed Jasper. I also met Andrei Markov. I did not tell Jasper where you were, or what name you were living under, though I think you should contact him.”

  Clark Hewitt was shaking his head before I finished. “I couldn’t do that. I don’t want anything to do with those people.”

  “The Markovs suspect that there’s some kind of connection between us, and they know I’m from Los Angeles. That means they might show up here, nosing around, and even if they don’t they’re still out there, waiting. Jasper wants to help.”

  Clark raised a hand as if I were telling him about a great place to buy discount tires but he was about to tell me of an even better place, his discount tire secret. “Thank you, but everything is going to be fine. We’re going to leave soon.”

  “You should leave now, Clark. If you don’t have the money, call Jasper. He’ll help. So will I.”

  Clark shook his head.

  “Are you high?”

  He blinked at me, then shook his head. “Oh no. I don’t do that.”

  I took a breath and let it out. I wanted to shout at him to knock off the bullshit, but Winona and Teri were standing in the front door, watching us. I said, “I know why you lost the job at Enright Printing. I spoke with Tre Michaels.”

  He didn’t answer. He was pale, with dark lines under his eyes, and he looked tired. His eyes seemed sad, and I thought he might cry. “Are you going to tell?”

  “Of course not.” Like we were six years old.

  Clark Hewitt’s eyes filled and he blinked fast. “Please don’t tell.”

  My head hurt and my scalp felt tight and the tightness was moving down to my neck. “Do your children know about any of this?”

  He shrugged.

  “Do they know what you were, and why you move around so much?”

  Another shrug.

  “They must know something, Clark. It was only three years ago. You changed their names.”

  He looked at the ground. Talk about denial.

  Charles appeared in the window, stuck out his tongue, and gave us the finger with both hands. He seemed to be looking more at his father, but maybe it was the angle. “Clark, I can help you get into a substance abuse program. There are people at the country and at a couple of private places I know who can help. You’ve got these kids to think about.”

  Clark glanced at Teri and Winona. He smiled at them like we were discussing the weather. “We’ll be fine. Everything is going to be okay real soon. I won’t leave them again.”

  I took out a card and wrote a name and number on it. “I want you to call this number and speak with a woman named Carol Hillegas. If you don’t enroll in a program I’m going to call Children’s Services. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Clark took the card, but didn’t look at it. “I understand. I won’t leave them again.”

  “Clark.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll call and I promise I won’t leave them again.” He reached into his pocket and came out with an enormous
fold of cash. “I want to apologize for the trouble, and I want to thank you again for taking care of my children. I think you deserve a bonus.”

  I stared at him.

  He fumbled with the bills, riffling through a roll of hundreds that was even larger than Teri’s. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Teri noticed Charles in the window and said something. Charles gave us the finger still harder, and started crying. Teri disappeared from the door, reappeared in the window, and grabbed Charles by the arm. He shoved her and ran, and she chased him. She was crying, too. Winona was still in the door, smiling and oblivious and waving. Her face was filled with light.

  I said, “Just call the goddamned number.”

  Clark Hewitt was still fumbling with his bonus money when I crossed the street, climbed into my car, and drove away.

  12

  Fourteen minutes after leaving the Hewitts, I carved my way through the trees along Woodrow Wilson Drive, then turned onto my little road and saw Joe Pike. Pike’s Jeep was parked at the front of my house, and Pike was leaning against the rear hatch, as motionless as a tree or the house or the earth. I put my Corvette in the carport, and met him at the kitchen door. Pike said, “Nice eye.” No hello, no hey, are you all right? “Clark do that?” You can always count on your friends for humor.

  “How long you been here?”

  “I left my position when you and Haines came out of the house.” You see? He’d seen everything.

  I let us in, put my overnight bag on the kitchen counter, took two Falstaffs out the fridge, gave one to Pike, then drank a long pull of mine.

  I turned on the kitchen tap and cupped the water to my face. I drank most of what was left of the beer, then took a deep breath and let it out. I had pulled the drapes when I left, and the house was dim and still from the close air. Dim and still was good. When it was dark it was easier to pretend that there weren’t three kids on the run from the Russian mob with a junkie for a father. Maybe that was why Pike never took off his dark glasses. Maybe it was easier when you couldn’t see so much.