Jericho Point (11 page)

I hopped out, and his cell phone rang. I heard him say, ‘‘Right here.’’ His tone of voice told me it was work.

‘‘I know she did.’’ A glance at me. ‘‘Lavonne, I asked her to. My brother was working over at the Jimsons’ house.’’

I winced. She was irked that I’d gone over there. Jesse indicated for me to go ahead.

‘‘Impolitic?’’ he said. ‘‘That wasn’t my foremost concern.’’

The Don Quixote Arms was quiet. A soccer ball lay on a patch of grass in front of the building, but nobody was out. Word about Brittany Gaines had spread. P.J.’s roommate answered my knock, still wearing the
If I gave a shit
T-shirt and the zombified look. It was apparently his natural state.

He scratched his cheek. ‘‘He went to the library.’’

And I had hatched full-grown from the forehead of Zeus. ‘‘I’ll wait.’’

I walked in before he could think about why P.J. wouldn’t want me to do that. I strolled through the living room, checked the kitchen, and walked back toward the bedrooms. The apartment smelled like pepperoni and bong water. A draft was blowing from under a bedroom door.

I opened it. P.J. froze like a chipmunk in the high beams.

‘‘Forget your library card?’’ I said.

‘‘This isn’t what it looks like.’’

‘‘Get down.’’

He was standing on his bed with one leg out the window. His Suzuki was parked in the alley behind the building. When I walked in he gripped the windowsill.

‘‘I’m going back to Mom and Dad’s,’’ he said.

‘‘And a force field prevents you from using the door.’’

‘‘Brittany’s father is next door.’’ He lowered his voice, glancing in the direction of her apartment. ‘‘I can’t deal with him.’’

‘‘You mean you’re avoiding the sheriffs.’’

‘‘He’s a gorilla. And he’s looking for somebody’s head to rip off.’’

‘‘Yours? She must have made you out to be a prince.’’

He hiked himself farther onto the windowsill.

‘‘Hey.’’ I knelt on the bed and grabbed his arm. ‘‘Okay, two-minute warning. You’re coming close.’’

‘‘To what?’’

‘‘Seeing me get mad.’’

His blue eyes were pleading. ‘‘You don’t understand. She was hanging onto me, way overboard. Like, obsessing.’’

‘‘Obsessing about what? Your credit card scam?’’

‘‘No, following me. Popping up everywhere. Like I’d open the door and she’d be right outside. Or at the Laundromat I turn around and, boo, she’s behind me. Wanting to
talk
. It was freaking me out.’’

‘‘Did you lift my wallet?’’ I said.

‘‘You’re trippin’.’’

‘‘It had to be a few months ago, because that’s when the unauthorized purchases began.’’

‘‘But that’s when your purse was stolen. That woman, Cherry whatsit?’’

‘‘Good answer.’’ I let go of him. ‘‘Almost like you’d rehearsed it.’’

He hesitated, just long enough. ‘‘No.’’

I sighed and stood up off the bed. ‘‘So you figured what—I’d chalk it up to Cherry Lopez, and the card companies would eat the bills?’’

‘‘You have this totally wrong.’’

‘‘Go ahead, explain it. I’m at ninety seconds to mad, and counting down.’’

His eyes skipped around. He brought his leg in. ‘‘I made a mistake. I told her how your purse got stolen. Britt, she . . .’’ He looked pained. ‘‘She had a problem. She took things. Big-time. I don’t know why; she had plenty of money. Her dad’s rolling in bucks.’’

‘‘How did she get hold of all my information?’’

‘‘It was at my gig, the one you came to with Jesse. The Battle of the Bands.’’ He sat on the windowsill. ‘‘She got your wallet from your backpack. Took down your driver’s license, Social Security number, and the rest, and put the wallet back without you knowing.’’

‘‘And you set me up. You pointed me out to a kleptomaniac.’’

‘‘I made a bad choice. I know that. I’m sorry.’’

He had the face of an angel. And he was full of crap.

‘‘Only one problem with your story,’’ I said. ‘‘Karen Jimson wants to pump my butt full of buckshot for stealing checks from Datura. How are you going to blame that on Brittany?’’

His pained look sharpened. ‘‘I would never steal from the Jimsons.’’

‘‘Who killed her, P.J.?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

I held up the Avalon flyer. ‘‘Know these guys?’’

He jumped like a startled monkey.

‘‘I thought so. The one in the pimp hat turned my car into a Dumpster today.’’

Through the thin walls, we heard voices in the apartment next door. Before I could stop him he scrambled out the window. I climbed onto the bed and clambered out after him, but he was already loping down the alley, pushing his bike. By the time I dropped to the ground, he was jumping on. He started it up and gunned it out of sight.

I wasn’t about to climb back in the window wearing a skirt and boots. I walked down the alley. Passing Brittany’s apartment, I caught a look through the bedroom window. Her roommate was dabbing her eyes with a tissue, talking to a man in his fifties. He was a tree trunk, with grizzled hair and arms that hung like clubs from his shoulders. Brittany’s father. Behind him another man paced the shadows. Taller, younger. I heard them say ‘‘coroner’’ and ‘‘autopsy.’’

I walked around to the front of the building. In the car, Jesse was still talking on the phone. Lavonne must have been giving him an earful.

The door to Brittany’s apartment opened. Holding the doorknob was the younger man I’d seen through the window. ‘‘Come here.’’

Sculpt a Greek god with a delinquent’s slouch, and this would have been him. He was mid-twenties, wearing tangled hair and a Limp Bizkit T-shirt. His eyes were sea green, pale and wild, and his gaze felt familiar.

I slowed. ‘‘Can I help you?’’

‘‘Eavesdropping on private conversations isn’t cool.’’

I stopped. ‘‘I meant no offense.’’

‘‘What are you, press?’’

‘‘No.’’ Not at the moment.

I was getting a weird vibe. He was a beefy slab of handsome, and those pale green eyes could have sold teen magazines by the truckload. But the slouch gave him a Napoleonic whiff. Chip on an arrogant shoulder.

‘‘Have we met?’’ I said.

His mouth creased, seemingly with scorn. ‘‘
Rock House
. I’m Shaun Kutner.’’

Yes.
Rock House
—the reality show. Hopefuls singing to industry big shots for a chance at a recording contract. Every week the hapless and half-assed belted their guts out, and every week the judges told them precisely how hapless and half-assed they were. It was a cavalcade of schadenfreude. Jesse found it appalling. I loved it. Of course I knew Shaun Kutner. He was infamous.

He saw it on my face, and his expression soured. ‘‘The one and only.’’

Twenty-six million people had watched it, live. Bright lights, raucous audience, the camera swooping across the stage. Shaun attacking a rock classic with angry authority. He worked the song, and worked himself up, and finished wet with perspiration. Not damp—sopping. With rings darkening his armpits, his shirt clinging to him like a leech, and rivulets streaming down his face and neck.

The judges weren’t shy. ‘‘Great vocal. But what’s with the sweating?’’

Curious now, I walked toward the door. He was the first tabloid headline I’d ever met: Sweaty Shaun Voted Off.

He raised his hands. ‘‘This isn’t the time. I’m jet-lagged, and we’re all grieving.’’

Jesus wept. He thought I wanted an autograph. The weird vibe returned, stronger.

‘‘Britt was my best buddy in
Rock House
prelims. This is devastating.’’

‘‘I didn’t know she was a contestant,’’ I said.

He jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘‘She got knocked out early, but she was my strongest backer. Before and after.’’

Inside the apartment voices approached, and a man said, ‘‘Who is it, Shaun?’’

His jade gaze held mine. ‘‘It’s Snoopy. From the alley.’’

The vibe twanged again, and I realized I’d seen him before, in person. But before I could say anything, a hand pulled the door wide. The tree trunk stood there. The muscles in his jaw were popping.

‘‘You want to talk about my daughter? You speak to me. Ted Gaines.’’

He had seen her body, I could tell. Though he was stump-solid, he looked as though a daisy cutter had torn up his insides. How he was still standing, I couldn’t imagine.

‘‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’’ I said.

‘‘You a friend of Brittany’s?’’

Behind him, the roommate dabbed at her nose with the tissue. ‘‘She came by Friday night. Around midnight, looking for P.J.’’

Gaines and Shaun shifted, seeming to fill the doorway. Shaun took his hands out of his pockets. Gaines’s eyes cooled.

‘‘What do you want with him?’’ he said.

Shaun said, ‘‘I bet she’s his lookout.’’

‘‘Not at all,’’ I said.

‘‘Yeah, you’re hanging around here so you can tell him when the coast is clear.’’ His gaze lengthened, past me, to the street. ‘‘Oh, man. It’s him.’’

Gaines stepped into the doorway. ‘‘Where?’’

‘‘The shithead. There.’’ He pushed out the door past me.

I turned. If P.J. had come back, he was in for it. But I saw no sign of him—and with awful certainty I understood. Shaun was charging toward my car.

Jesse had the phone pressed to his ear, baseball cap pulled low on his head. With sunset reflecting off the window, it was easy to make the mistake.

I moved. Gaines wrapped a hand around my arm. ‘‘No, you don’t.’’

‘‘That’s not P.J.’’ I tried to pull free.

‘‘He has to answer for this.’’

Shaun pounded down the walkway. I shouted Jesse’s name. Shaun steamed up to the car, yanked open the door, and grabbed Jesse by the arm. He heaved him out of the Explorer.

I saw Jesse slam to the ground. Then things flared solar white, and I was shoving Ted Gaines into the wall and running for the car. Shaun was standing over Jesse, his face crimson, shouting. ‘‘Bastard. Cocksucker.’’ He drew his leg back and kicked him in the ribs.

Blue light shot my vision. I felt Ted Gaines running behind me. Jesse was on his back on the dirt, and I saw that his leg was jammed between the door and the frame of the car. He couldn’t go anywhere and couldn’t get up. Shaun kept shouting. ‘‘Shit for brains. She’s dead on account of you.’’ He swung his foot again.

Jesse gritted his teeth. The kick connected. And he swept an arm out, locked his elbow behind Shaun’s leg, and rolled against him.

‘‘I’ll break your knee,’’ Jesse said.

Spittle flew from Shaun’s mouth. ‘‘Fuckhead. She only went to that party because of you. And now she’s dead.’’

‘‘Five more pounds of pressure. You’ll hear it crack.’’

Shaun wrenched back and forth, but Jesse had too much upper-body strength. Shaun was caught. He grabbed the car door. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks burning. I saw what he was going to do.

Jesse saw it too: slam the door and snap his leg. He popped Shaun’s knee at about the same moment I bodychecked Shaun into the side of the Explorer. After that, Ted Gaines had me in a wrestling hold. Shaun was barking in pain, limping in a circle.

Gaines pushed me against the car. ‘‘You ain’t gonna interfere.’’

I pointed through the window of the car at the wheelchair. ‘‘That’s his. You understand?’’

Gaines stared at it. ‘‘What?’’

Shaun limped. ‘‘Dickhead. I’ll kick your face in.’’

Jesse’s face was pure fury. He struggled to sit up, flinching and putting a hand against his ribs where Shaun had kicked him. Gaines took in the fact that he hadn’t tried to stand up. His hands fell away from me. He looked horrified.

Shaun broke for Jesse. Gaines blocked him.

‘‘No. The guy’s in a wheelchair. It’s not Blackburn.’’

‘‘The hell it’s not.’’

Gaines held him back. Shaun glared at Jesse. Uncertainty spread across his face. He threw up his hands and backed off.

Gaines reached down. ‘‘God, son, I’m sorry. Let me give you a hand.’’

‘‘No.’’

Jesse’s leg was still jammed in the door. He pushed and pulled, trying to free it. I stepped toward him.

‘‘I’m fine.’’ He looked at Shaun. ‘‘The hell’s wrong with you?’’

Shaun rubbed his leg. ‘‘You broke my knee.’’

‘‘If I had, you’d be on the ground, screaming.’’ Jesse wrenched his leg loose and sat up. ‘‘She altered the angle with that body slam. You lucked out.’’

‘‘It hurts. I oughta sue your ass.’’

‘‘Bring it on. I love shooting fish in a barrel.’’

‘‘You making fun of me?’’ He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘‘Know what? Screw this.’’

He limped away. I went after him.

‘‘Hey. Come back here.’’

He headed for the apartment, daubing his forehead. ‘‘He was sitting right there in your car. What else was I supposed to think?’’

‘‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’’

‘‘My best friend’s dead and now my knee’s fucked. So yeah.’’ His shirt was dampening under the arms. He wiped his upper lip, and stopped. ‘‘Get off your high horse. If P.J. didn’t kill Britt, one of his hophead buddies did. Tell him he’s on notice. I see him, I take him apart.’’

He walked away.

Next to the car, Jesse sat on the curb beside Ted Gaines. The back of his Blazers Swimming shirt was muddy.

‘‘You okay?’’ I said.

He nodded.

Gaines rubbed his forehead. ‘‘You got no idea how sorry I am about that. But Shaun’s taking it hard.’’ He sagged. ‘‘We all are. God.’’ His shoulders huffed. ‘‘God, my girl.’’

Covering his eyes, he lumbered to his feet and halted toward the apartment.

When he closed the door, the dimming light and the wet street and the empty evening spread out around us again. The wind blew cold over our backs.

‘‘Fuck this whole day,’’ Jesse said.

He slid along the curb and jacked himself up to sit in the door frame. His face looked strung with pain.