Beneath the Cracks (16 page)

"I brought you a triple shot skinny cinny
and a croissant."

Triple shot, non-fat, cinnamon latte, my
favorite.

"They sent a little cup of raspberry jam for
the croissant."

Some of my anger melted away.  Orion
was nothing if not an observant little shit, right down to noticing
exactly how I ate my cheesecake Saturday night, using the white
chocolate wedge to scrape off the raspberry topping to eat it
first.

"What am I gonna do with you?"

His head dipped, "I suppose I'm hoping that
you won't be pissed at me, for starters."

"Why didn't you tell me the truth,
Johnny?"

"When was I supposed to do that, on the
multiple times that you wanted to see me or talk to me over the
past four months?  Or how about Saturday night when you were
itching to get rid of me?  Oh I could've tried last night,
when you were too drunk to have the common sense to come in out of
the cold.  Forgive me for letting my feelings for you come
before the job, Helen."

"If you really wanted me at OSI, last
night…this morning should've never happened."

His gaze melted into an odd hybrid of panic
and remorse.  "Don't say that.  Don't tell me you regret
–"

"I said,
if
you really wanted me at
OSI."

"Oh."

"We'll discuss this later."

"Will we?"

"I have work to do.  Remember?  It
wasn't all that long ago that you taunted me about those who work
for a living as opposed to people like me, lazing about enjoying
life."  If he
really
knew me, he’d know that enjoying
life for me lately amounted to little more than the premeditation
of a very specific murder.

"When will I see you later?"

"I'll call you when I get home tonight."

Johnny's hands spanned my hips and pulled me
closer.  "Does that mean I get to talk to you or I get to see
you?"

"We shouldn't be doing this here."

"Why not?  There's no reason to hide
anything, Doc.  You're a cop.  I'm a private security
guy.  Even if people knew the truth about what I do, as you so
astutely pointed out, the bad idea of a relationship with one of my
employees is a non-issue now, isn't it?  I should be thanking
Shelly for snatching you up first."

No reason at all, except that I was supposed
to be a grieving widow.  Maybe not a widow per se, but a woman
still conflicted by what the ex-husband had done.  That part
was actually true. 

"Helen, you are not having second thoughts
about this.  I won't let you."

"I'll call you tonight."  I twisted way
from his grasp and started to return to Conall, Finkelstein and
Briscoe who weren't even feigning disinterest in my little
conversation with Johnny.

His fingers tangled with mine and reeled me
back into his arms.  Johnny swooped in for a lingering kiss
before he let me go.  "See you later, sweetheart.  Be
careful out there.  And don't forget to eat your
breakfast."

"I told you I hate that alpha male
bullshit."

Johnny grinned unrepentantly.  "Feel
free to go alpha female on me any time."

"Not one word," I warned Briscoe and Conall
when I rejoined them.  "Let's get to work."

Despite the fact that I'd been in Darkwater
Bay for months, there were parts of the city as alien to me as
another planet.  Where most of the John Doe victims and
Detective Cox were found was one such neighborhood.

Part of Downey's charm was that it was such
an old neighborhood, recently undergoing revitalization by newly
affluent younger people.  The city spent piles of money
restoring old cobblestone streets, and private families had dumped
equal amounts of effort into sprucing up the old Victorian
homes.  Business owners had followed suit, and many modern
façades had been removed in favor of restoration of the original
and historic appeal of the old architecture.  As a result,
Downey blossomed into the charming city it once was, prior to being
devoured by poverty and subsequent decades of economic decay.

Not all of Downey got bit by the same
bug.  Nestled throughout the charming neighborhoods that
harkened to their historical roots, some areas still looked like
bombed and burned out slums in Beirut.  The contrasts were so
stark, the effects became jarring as Briscoe drove today, through
winding streets that eventually delivered us to the business area
in question in the matter of the deaths of our multiple John Doe
victims and Detective Cox.

"Has anyone plotted the locations of the
dumpsters on a map of this area?"

"Yep," Briscoe said.  "We already know
that the Downey vics were all placed within a one mile radius of
Northeastern Street."

I glanced at the rusted poles with barely
legible street signs.  "This is Northeastern."

"Uh-huh," Briscoe said.  "Lovely, ain't
she?"

Through the potholes in the asphalt, I could
see the older cobblestone street decaying.  Weeds lined the
vacant lots and grew between gaping cracks in the sidewalks. 
Dilapidated liquor stores peppered the blocks, shaded by trees that
were mostly dead; only a few of the hardiest branches survived
years of neglect. 

Numerous windows were shattered, covered by
plywood that had graffiti spray painted on the gray, weathered
surfaces.  Other windows were broken, with the cracks taped
with wide swaths of duct tape.  The buildings not constructed
with cinder block had few chips of remaining paint clinging to the
wooden siding.

Everything appeared bleak and sad, a once
thriving community that now sputtered and choked on its last
breath. 

"Let me guess.  Even the businesses
using the dumpsters saw nothing, know nothing, and aren't
interested in talking to the police."

"You're quick, Eriksson."

"Before we hit the homeless shelter that Cox
targeted, would you show me exactly where his body was
recovered?"

Briscoe snorted, but agreed.  "If you
wanted to see the crime scene, you could've come on over when I
called you Saturday night.  Although I think it's pretty
obvious why you weren't so eager to end
date night
."

"Knock if off, Tony," Crevan jumped to my
defense. 

Briscoe turned left on Third Avenue, another
block that revealed more of the same types of rundown buildings and
turned right between a diner and a pornographic book store. 
The small alleyway terminated in a painted brick wall. 

"Has anyone analyzed the graffiti down here
for specific gang affiliations?" I asked.  Several symbols I'd
seen on the drive over were repeated, and visible in bright orange
paint on the wall at the end of the narrow alley.

"The only
gang
activity in these
parts is the whiskey-swillin', leather-wearin' variety," Briscoe
said.

"Bikers?  Where do they hang out?"

"Little further down the way."

"And how far is the shelter Cox targeted
from this location?"

"Three blocks over on the corner of Sixth
and Northeastern," Crevan said.  "Why?  Is that
significant?"

"Hmm."  I peered over the dash from my
perch between the captain's seats in the surveillance van Briscoe
and Conall brought to keep tabs on me.  "I think this is where
you should let me out, guys."

"No way, Eriksson.  We ain't got
indefinite range on that wire you're wearin'," Briscoe
argued. 

"Then you can stay in range by slowly
following me while I work my way through this neighborhood over to
the shelter."

"I don't know," Crevan said.  "It seems
like a lot more could go wrong if you're out walking through this
neighborhood alone, Helen."

I pulled the holster off my shoulder and
removed the gun.  Plenty of space to secure it in the back of
my baggy jeans.  "Trust me.  I know what I'm doing, and I
know what I'm talking about.  I need to be seen trolling the
street looking for Preacher.  It gives credibility to my
search.  Don't kid yourselves, guys.  Word travels fast
in a neighborhood like this one.  You've got three minutes to
do your sound check, and then I'm outta here."

"I thought you said you didn't do this
part," Briscoe grumbled, remembering my resistance to going to my
first crime scene in Darkwater Bay.

I jabbed his shoulder with a fist. 
"Things have changed.  Hurry up.  I'm eager to get out
and start talking to people."

They poked around and wasted ten minutes of
my life that I'd never get back before I was allowed to climb out
of the side door of the van.  The odor in the alley made my
nose constrict in revolt.  Death, rotting garbage and old
urine, probably emanating from a discarded mattress perched at the
end of the alley, contributed to the bouquet.  I shivered in
the chilly October breeze and wondered how summer's heat must
multiply the stench in such places.

I left the Rolex on the stand beside the bed
this morning, and had no clue what time it was.  Turning back
to Conall, I tapped my wrist.

"Almost nine thirty.  If you need the
time, get out of sight and use your cell.  Don't forget the
code word if you sense trouble."

I rolled my eyes. 
Raspberry
.  Yet another bit of ribbing I had to endure
thanks to Orion's public display of affection.  At the same
time, I wondered what he was doing this morning.  My pulse
quickened.  Not because I thought of Johnny; at least that's
what I tried to tell myself.

The posture stooped into the wind when I
stepped out of the alleyway.  Left or right?  Up the
street, I could clearly see evidence of the biker gang Briscoe
mentioned.  Long rows of Harley Davidson motorcycles lined
Third Avenue approximately three blocks to the west.  It took
me in the opposite direction of Northeastern Street.

Patrons from the diner sifted out, pulling
coats tight for protection against the damp chill.  If I were
wise, I'd forget the bikers for a bit and start searching for my
"brother," the soon to be well known Preacher.  It made the
most sense to start at the diner instead of my other immediate
option, the adult bookstore.

On the other hand, where better for a
preacher to reach lost souls than to harass the patrons of
pornography?

I turned west on Third and marched straight
to the entrance of the purveyors of skin.  The door stuck and
required a harsh yank to pry it out of its moisture swollen
wood.

An obese man with not many more teeth than
strands of greasy hair grinned at me.  "You here to apply for
the live show, sweetheart?"

I limped across the dirty floor toward the
counter.  "Do I look like an exotic dancer to you?"

"If you got tits and ass, that's all that's
required for the job."

I pulled the photo out of my pocket. 
"I'm looking for my brother.  Somebody said they thought they
saw him out front, preaching to your customers."

The man barely spared a glance at the
photo.  "Yeah, I seen him, but his vice of choice wasn't my
place.  Just like every other guy on this block, J-man didn't
mind a bit of a view if you know what I mean."

"J-man?"

"Yeah, you know, Jesus-man.  Some
called him that, some called him –"

"Preacher," I said.

"Uh-huh.  I take it you never heard the
J-man thing before now."  He eyed me critically.  "You
don't look like a sister.  You sure you ain't his mama?"

I imagined Briscoe's gales of laughter over
that one.  "Pretty sure.  He's my little brother. 
When you said this place wasn't his vice of choice…Preacher wasn't
drinking again, was he?"

"That boy liked his whiskey rot-gut, from
what I saw."

"I see.  I don't suppose you know of
any free clinics around here where he might've been getting his
medication."

"Nope.  No free clinics.  There's
a shelter up on Sixth that's got one of them clinics on wheels that
shows up once a month to pass out methadone.  That the kind of
meds Preacher took?"

I cleared my throat.  "No."

"And you ain't sayin'," Fat Man
chuckled.  "You don't look like you're livin' far from the
streets yourself.  You could make decent money in one of my
booths.  I'd even spring for a dye job to get rid of that
gray."

"That clinic on wheels, do they pass out any
other kind of medication?  You know, like…for voices…and
stuff."

"It ain't no secret that Jesus-man thought
God talked to him, missy.  If he weren't downin' the booze
from Uncle Nooky's, he was railin' against it out front."

"Uncle Nooky's?"

"Roughneck bar up the street.  I ain't
sayin' anything bad about the place, mind you.  Some of
Nooky's regulars are my best customers.  Damn, but they'd get
a kick outta watchin' you dance.  How tall are you,
sweetheart?"

The ear bud crackled to life.  Crevan's
voice floated into my head.  "Don't even think about going to
Uncle Nooky's alone, Helen."

"Thanks for your help.  Gotta pass on
the dance thing.  I'm having a good day if I can manage to
walk."  I turned around and limped for the front door.

"We got somethin' that might get rid of that
pain, you got," he called after me.  "Let me know if you
change your mind."

On the sidewalk, I muttered, "Did you guys
hear that?  I think he offered me drugs for my
pain
.  No wonder Cox thought the drug angle was his
best bet.  It's no surprise he decided his vice of choice was
booze."

"Helen, do not go to that bar," this time it
was Briscoe issuing stern commands.

"Relax.  You guys will hear everything
that happens.  And I don't expect my disguise to attract any
interest from them at all, despite what Fat Man thinks."

"Fat Man?"

"Mr. Porn Pig," I muttered.  "And isn't
this hour a little early for a bar to have so much business? 
There must be sixty bikes up the street."

"If you step one foot near the place, I
swear to God, I'm callin' Johnny," Briscoe warned.  "I mean
it, Eriksson.  That bar is off limits unless you walk in there
with backup and a badge and gun in plain sight."