Crash Into You (21 page)

             
The hour whipped by.  She finished by leading the class in three deep, cleansing breaths.   For a moment, nobody moved.  Every person wore that glazed expression of deep relaxation after intense physical exercise.    After a pulse of silence, applause broke out.

             
“You need to make these regular events,” one woman said.

             
Aimee smiled, for once not letting her departure to Portland put a damper on the evening.  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said noncommittally.

             
Larissa, standing nearby, agreed.   “I think we should do this twice a week.  I can pay you thirty bucks a class.”

             
The thought of honest money for honest work was so seductive that she almost said yes right away.  But she couldn’t be irresponsible and promise something she couldn’t deliver.   “I’ll definitely think about it, Larissa.  Thanks for the opportunity.”

             
When she saw Mark, his hair damn with sweat, she was so proud.   “You did very well.”

             
“You were inspiring.  The class was nothing like I thought it would be.    Much more fun than I expected.”

             
Aimee playfully punched him in the arm. 

“I liked how you would walk around correcting people’s posture.   That was very nice.”

              “I’m glad you had fun,” she said.   “Actually that was very impressive.   First that you’d actually do it, and second that you did it so well.”

             
“We’re heading over to the One Horse Town,” Larissa said.  “You guys want a beer?”

             
Mark looked to Aimee, who shrugged.  “Sure, why not?”

At the saloon, Mark ordered a huge plate of nachos and beer for him and Aimee.  The table was loud and boisterous.   On the other side of Larissa was Sarah, a woman Aimee hadn’t met before the class, but whose natural flexibility Aimee envied.   There was talk that Sarah’s boyfriend would show up, but so far she was alone, eating a burger and fries and chatting to another woman, Babette, who was Carrie’s cousin.

Mark popped a nacho in his mouth, swallowed some beer,  and stood up.  “Come on.”

“What?  Where are we going?”

“I’m teaching you how to play pool.”   Mark held her hand and threaded his way through the tables to the pool table.

Larissa leaned into John and sighed contentedly.  “What do you think about that?” she asked, watching Lauren slide back the cue at the pool table.   The eight ball struck another ball, and it was a direct hit.  Lauren squealed, and Mark hugged her, then whispered something into her ear that made her grin and blush.

             
“I think that’s just fine,” John said.  He reached onto Larissa’s plate and took a nacho.

             
“Do you think they’re sleeping together?”

             
“Good lord, Larissa,” John said and took a swig of the beer.   “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

             
Larissa giggled softly.  “You must.  He’s our friend.  Doesn’t he look happy?  I bet they’re sleeping together.”

             
John looked at them.  “I suppose he does look happy.”

             
“That’s a good thing.  I think she’s good for him.  Though I should hate her.”

             
“Why on earth would you say that?”

             
“She’s gorgeous.   Those long legs and perfect butt.   Ugh.  Jealousy is such an ugly trait.”

             
John suddenly cupped Larissa’s cheek.  “You’re a damn fool, Larissa.  You’re the most beautiful woman in any room.”  Then he kissed her.

             
When she pulled back, Larissa glanced up at the front door.   “I may be the most beautiful woman in any room,” she said, “one of People Magazine’s Most Beautiful just walked through the door.”

             
John turned around and saw Robert Reid, the movie star, walk in.   Sarah, seated across from them, jumped up and ran to him.

             
“So that’s her boyfriend,” Larissa drawled, watching him flash that blockbuster smile.   “Oh my heavens.  I think I just died and went to Hollywood.”

Eleven

Seth slumped at his desk, his eyes gritty from lack of sleep.   He had been thoroughly rattled after the last call from Carlos.  No matter where he was, Carlos seemed to know.  And yet he didn’t kill him.   Of course not, Seth thought sardonically.  It was much for fun for the cat to toy with the mouse a bit at first.   He was alive at least in part because Carlos really wanted the money back, and without Seth to lead him there, he’d never find it.   But the gangster’s patience had a limit, which Seth knew quite well as he studied the latest crime scene photos attributed to an MS 13 hit.

              The documents in front of him blurred to a red mess.  Seth rubbed his eyes then took another swig of coffee.  Unsteady nerves jostled his hand and he tipped a splotch of coffee onto the stack of papers.  “Damn it,” he muttered, and looked at his desk for something to use to wipe it up.  A fistful of Kleenex only smeared the stain.

             
“You okay?”

             
Seth looked up to see his shift sergeant, followed by that sickening spurt of adrenaline and nausea.    The man was a pest, all over Seth lately, complaining he wasn’t getting his work done.  This morning he’d only commented, “You’re not looking too sharp, Sabich.”

             
To which Seth had muttered under his breath, “Fuck off.”

             
“Just spilled some coffee,” he said and walked past him to the break room where he grabbed the roll of paper towels.   

             
“I wanted to talk to you today,” he said.

             
“Sorry, I’ve been slammed with the MS 13 thing,” Seth mumbled, walking past him back to the office.  It was actually a cube, but he called it an office; he couldn’t bear the fact that after eight years on the job, he had not yet earned an office.  It was the largest cube though, like that was supposed to be some big consolation prize.

             
“There’s been some concern, Seth, that you’re falling behind with this thing.  You know, you begged for this assignment, you asked to be part of the gang activity task force.   Nobody else has seen you though.  You’re not showing up to meetings, you’re not answering phone calls.   You were supposed to have some phone taps for us ten days ago and I haven’t seen any of them.”

             
“I’m working my informant,” he said as he sopped up the spilled coffee.

             
“I think your informant is pulling your chain.”

             
Seth shook his head, trying to contain the anxiety that was burning through his nervous system like gasoline.

             
He felt, rather than saw, the sergeant’s attention sharpen.    Trying to avoid looking at him, he threw the sodden paper towels into the trash.  

             
“I got work to do here, sarge,”  he said, gesturing at the pictures of the cut up man who had been smeared in pig entrails.  

             
“You don’t have an informant, do you?”  The sergeant’s face was so calm and steady, so certain.

             
Blazing heat swept up his face.  “That’s crazy,” he muttered, but his voice was too high.   He tried to force himself to calm down, don’t let his parasympathetic system get the better of him.    Because if the sergeant suspected there was no informant, it was just a tiny leap to realize that Seth was the informant, the one who was running interference for the MS 13, planting lies about their activities and covering for them.  Not only would he be fired, he was pretty sure that was a federal offense.  That meant life in prison, if not the death penalty.

             
The sergeant stepped back to the wall of the cube, slinging his arm over the corner.  “You okay, Seth?”

             
“I’m fine,” he said loudly.  “I’m busy as hell.  You’re all over me, my informant is scared…  I’m just trying to finish this up.  I want to put an end to the gangs and I’m trying to do my part to get it done.”

             
“Well get it done,” the sergeant said with that ethereal calm.  “I’m watching you.”

             
He started to walk away but Seth, struck with a sudden brainstorm, stopped him.   “I… Look, the truth is, I’m having some family problems.  I’m sorry.”

             
“What kind of problems?”

             
Seth glanced around the mostly empty room.   “My girlfriend left me. Look, Frank, I need to tell you something.  It’s eating me up inside.”

             
His demeanor changed, sharpened.  Seth was heartened by the sudden concern in his face.  “Tell me.”

             
“I think my ex girlfriend has become … involved… with a lieutenant in MS 13.”

             
The words had pierced all that weird calmness.  His eyes widened with surprise.  Obviously he’d knocked him back on his heels.

             
“I’m going nuts with this thing.  You know?”

             
“You have to tell internal affairs right away.”

             
Damnit.  That was a grievous miscalculation.  Fatigue, nerves and the cheap scotch he’d resorted to keeping in his desk drawer were starting to betray him.

             
He shook his head sadly, as if genuinely caught in a conundrum he couldn’t solve with IA.  “I can’t go to IA on pure speculation.  I don’t know for sure, and I can’t get distracted from my investigation.”

             
“That’s bullshit.  People go to IA on speculation all the time.  I have to go if you don’t, Seth.”

             
Seth ran his hand through his thinning hair.   “Can you just give me the weekend?  I’m planning to fly out to Portland to see if I can get some info about Aimee’s whereabouts.  I’ll be back on Monday and I’ll go see IA first thing.”

             
His boss eyed him, his mouth a grimace. 

             
“Boss, I’ve been working my ass off to nail these guys.  Look at me, I’m a mess, working twenty-four hours a day, not sleeping, barely eating.  You said so yourself.   I’m just asking for a shot to resolve this before I destroy her life.   Can’t you give me that?”

             
A tense moment passed when he glanced over and saw another detective listening to the conversation.  He met Seth’s eyes, unflinching.  Yeah, so what, he wasn’t the most popular guy around here.   But damn it he was still a cop, and cops were supposed to stick together.

The sergeant folded his arms over his barrel chest and eyeballed Seth levelly.  “I don’t like this, but I’ll give you till Monday.”  

              “Thank you.”

             
“If you’re not at Internal Affairs by oh-eight hundred Monday morning, I’m going myself. Capisce?”

             
“Yeah, I understand.    Oh, one last thing.   I know it’s a pain in the ass, but could I have an advance on my paycheck?  You know, for the trip to Portland.”

It was not yet noon when he arrived at the house on Ontario Street.   He hadn’t been back here in weeks, too afraid of Carlos coming in during the night and gutting him like a fish.  Instead of driving home his Jeep, he had used his MPD-issued but non-marked sedan, hoping it might throw off Carlos and his goons.

             
He parked around the corner, then took a long look around.   Nobody obvious was waiting for him.   He got out, lingering at the door for just a second to see if anyone would charge from the shadows, but it looked all clear.

             
At the door, his fingers shook but he managed to unlock the door and step inside.   The service revolver in his hand shook a little as he nosed forward, still expecting an ambush.

             
The house was clear.   He grabbed the wireless phone from the kitchen and the pre-paid disposal cell phone he carried in his briefcase and dropped them on the sofa next to the gun.

             
One more time.   He had tried to call Kimberly and Rob in Portland numerous times, but they insisted Aimee wasn’t there. After a while, they just refused to  pick up.  He suspected she was there, but it was possible.. just possible.. that she wasn’t.   She would, after all, know that Portland was the first place to look for her.  And he had no more time to mess around with this.  He had to get the cash to Carlos immediately.

             
If Aimee was having some wild adventure, she was probably in contact with the guys next door.  They had always been thick as thieves, regardless of what Bryan said.    Seth didn’t like to gather intelligence this way, but since Aimee had stupidly taken her laptop when she left, he didn’t have much choice.