Luthecker (10 page)

She finished off her bottle of water and made her way through the small living room space towards the bathroom in order to shower before her brother came home. Her suitcase lay next to the couch, where she slept, and she paused long enough to open it and pick out undergarments, a nice pair of shorts and T-shirt to wear. She stood up and took note of the flat screen television mounted against the wall.

Looking at the empty black screen she realized that she had not looked at a single financial report or breaking news segment, had not checked the market, had not even turned on a computer or watched a television at all since arriving in Los Angeles. The only things she had done since arriving were eat, sleep, work out twice a day, and alternate between obsessively cleaning her brother’s apartment and spending time with him. She knew it wasn’t just Michael she was trying to avoid, it was the whole world.

Perhaps it was the fatigue of a grueling run, but now all of a sudden she was curious. She eyed the TV remote on the coffee table. She picked it up, sat on the couch, and turned on the television.

The screen came to life as a woman spun a giant wheel as the game show host barked about dishwashers, vacations, and a new car that could be hers, “If…The Price was Right….”

Nikki wrinkled her nose in revulsion and clicked over to CNN. Emotions from that fateful morning at Kittner-Kusch came roaring back as she watched helicopter footage showing the smoking remains of an oil refinery half-screened with a black slick of oil the size of a small state floating on the ocean surface. These images were intercut with the screaming faces of angry Arabs on the streets. A strong male voice narrated the imagery with a well-rehearsed sense of alert:

“As of now there are no claims of responsibility for the vicious attack, and Saudi Leaders have expressed determination to bring those guilty to justice, as the death toll rose to one hundred and ninety-seven workers. The Royal Family spoke out today, an attempt to ease fears of the world community, stating that security measures at their remaining refineries had been stepped up, and that normal production capacity could be restored within a matter of weeks. Response from the White House has been swift, and the President has sent the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan Carrier group to the region in order to restore stability as quickly as possible. The markets continue to reflect fear and uncertainty, however, with the Dow down nearly nine hundred points, and oil trading at over one hundred and forty dollars a barrel- “

Nikki clicked back over to The Price Is Right.

She turned at the sound of the front door opening.

Ben Ellis walked in, wearing bright blue surfer shorts and a white T-shirt. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table as Nikki got to her feet.

“Are we finally down to watching game shows in the afternoon?” He commented, nodding to the television.

“What? No, I was just watching the news.” She replied, as she picked up the remote and turned the TV off.

“Did you see the price of gas?” Ben asked, more a rhetorical question than an actual one.

“Yes. I have.” Nikki answered anyway.

“Scary shit.”

“Very.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it.” Ben dismissed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Ben, this is serious.”

“I know it is.”

He read the look on her face, knew where she was headed with her response, and circumvented it before she could reply.

“It’s not that I don’t care, Nik. I do.” He continued. “But worrying about it doesn’t change anything. The only thing you can do is the best you can with your own life. Which right now is to go get something to eat. So c’mon. I’ve got a couple hours before my shift. It’s really nice out.”

Nikki smiled at her brother. She envied his ability to completely tune out the gravity of world events. He was right, there truly was nothing they could do about it, and to not examine it beyond that certainly made for a happier disposition. She walked over to him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s that about?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you. And for letting me crash here.”

“Whatever. Mi Casa, Su Casa. You ready to go? I’m hungry.”

“Let me take a quick shower. What are you in the mood for?” She asked as she took off her socks and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor to the bathroom.

“Pizza.” Ben called out in response as he sorted through mail.

“What a shock.” She answered, knowing all too well that pizza had been his favorite food since he was a kid. She entered the bathroom and quickly stripped off her sweat-soaked running attire, and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit her muscles and she relaxed, a smile running across her face. Whatever the future held next for her, she was happy to be out of New York, and happy to be with family.

• • •

Ben took his sister to one of his favorite lunch spots, Cora’s Café on the corner of Ocean and Pico Boulevard. Less than five hundred feet from the roll of the ocean surf, the small fixture of Southern California beach culture had a quaint back patio with a faux plant canopy, vines and leaves structured to form walls and overhead cover that was just enough to provide adequate shade from the strong afternoon sun.

The two of them sat across from one another at a corner table, Ben waiting for his Margherita Pizza, Nikki her salad.

“You should stay in L.A.” Ben offered, as a waiter brought over water.

“It would be nice to have you closer.” He continued.

“I know. It would. But I don’t know.” She replied.

“Can’t you find something similar here to what you did in New York?” He asked.

“Maybe.”

A cool breeze blew through the patio, and he watched her as she looked off towards the beach.

“But you’re not sure if you want to go back to all that.”

She looked back at him, and gave him a weak smile.

“I don’t know what I want Ben.”

“I thought you wanted to go the tech route. Work for Apple or something. You were the best programmer out there. I never understood why you did the Wall Street thing.”

“They’re good at sucking you in. It’s easy money, and after being broke for so long...”

She trailed off, feeling no need to explain the history they both shared.

“But then I stood there and watched them carting away charred corpses on TV before my own boyfriend took me into his office and told me how we could have been up billions had we been on the right side of this.”

“I hate to tell you this, but he was always kind of an asshole. I’m really sorry, Nik.”

“It was all wrong. And I was part of it.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re being too hard on yourself. You always have been. And I think you’re better off without the guy.”

“Maybe.” She trailed off. “The only thing I know right now is I can’t go back to that.”

“So don’t.”

“But then what?”

“Whatever you want.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is.”

“You don’t understand. I feel awful. And empty.”

“Nik, you have no reason to feel bad for this. No reason at all. You did nothing wrong.”

Ben tried to think of a more elaborate, more comforting response. After a moment, he spoke.

“Let me tell you who you are. You’re my big sister. And you’re amazing, and you can do anything you set your mind to. Look - your whole life, you’ve always had a plan. One that’s been air tight, rock solid, whatever. So you got side tracked for a minute. You can still do anything you set your mind to. Lord knows it wasn’t in me to have the kind of discipline you have. Hell, you’re my hero. But maybe the lesson here is…not to plan. Maybe it’s time to have the courage to let things come to you.”

The waiter arrived with their food.

“Better yet, let me do the planning.” He added, the excitement of an idea suddenly dawning on him noticeable in his voice.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” She asked, wary, knowing already that “comfort zone” wasn’t exactly in her brother’s vocabulary.

“Okay - and hear me out - first, we get a bigger place.”

“I don’t know if I’m staying in Los Angeles -- “

“Hear me out.”

“And you love your place. It’s right on the beach.”

“I said hear me out. Stop interrupting. Okay- we get a bigger place. We get you a gym membership. You get in the best shape of your life, you hike, you read, you let me teach you how to surf-”

“Ben…”

“You let me teach you how to surf. You work with me at the bar. You come with me to some of my favorite Jazz clubs. You meet some new people that are nothing like the stuffed shirts in New York. You think, you feel, you smile, you take it all in, you have fun, and most important, you learn to be patient with yourself. And I promise you my sister, the answers about the next move will come to you.”

“You’ve been living in California too long.” She replied.

“It’ll grow on you.”

“Do I have to take yoga and meditate?”

“Stop ducking. That’s what I got. You in?”

“I’m kind of over it with bossy men right now.”

“I just want to help. And you already know you definitely can’t go back to that.”

She poked at her salad, considering his offer.

“I know. And I appreciate the thought. I really do, bro.” She replied. “But I still have my place in New York. I can’t just walk away from that. “ She offered as her last line of defense.

“Wow. That’s a tough one. How about renting it?” He playfully shot back.

She continued to mull it over.

“C’mon. You’ve got nothing else going right now. What’ve you got to lose?”

She let the breeze catch her face again, allowing it to push back strands of hair from her face, all the while listening to the roar of the waves in the distance.

She turned back to her brother.

“What the hell. Why not.” She finally agreed. “I place my life in your hands.” She continued, mock wary.

“Awesome. We’ll start looking for a new place tomorrow. But tonight- “

“Not tonight- “

“Tonight, there’s a new club I’ve heard about. It’ll be perfect.”

“Ben…”
“I’ll get done my shift early. We’ll roll out at midnight. Be ready. Doll up strong, it’s a pretty hot place.”

“Doll up strong…?”

“Just be ready. It’s going to be fun.”

“Just don’t get us arrested.” She added, trying not to smile, actually starting to eat her salad. Her brother always knew what to say, what to do to change her mood, and for the first time in a long time, she felt genuinely excited.

The phone in her purse started to vibrate, loud enough for both of them to hear. They both paused and he watched as she reached down to the bag next to her feet, pulled the phone free, and checked the caller ID. It was Michael. Her heart sunk, the anger, the hurt suddenly fresh and real all over again.

“Maybe you should take it.” Ben suggested.

She stared at the phone a moment before she pursed her lips with determination, and with a brief shake of her head, she declined the call and dropped the phone back in her purse.

“No. Not yet.”

She looked at her brother, a wry smile on her face.

“I hope you have some cute friends, ‘cause I’m dollin’ up way strong.”

CANVASSING

“N
ope. Never seen him before.” Said the grey haired black man defiantly, before shuffling off down Union Street, towards the homeless shelter. His clothes were worn and ragged, and the smell and stain of many months of wear without wash caused Agent Stern to recoil.

“Why the hell are we askin’ these guys?” He braced Wolfe, as he put the artists’ sketch of Luthecker back in his folder, watching as the latest person to refuse to look at the picture disappeared around the busy street corner.

“Because these guys, they’re the eyes and ears. Nothing happens on the street, that they don’t see or hear about.” Wolfe replied.

“Homeless people? Gangbangers? They’re not gonna tell us shit. They protect one another. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are we wasting our time? This is fucking beat cop work.”

Stern scanned the streets of down town Los Angeles. Becoming more and more gentrified, the mixture of Staples Center Arena neon and the silver steel curve-linear design of the Disney Hall amphitheatre contrasted with the turn of the century Union Station train stop architecture and homeless shantytowns that ran through the alleys, all of which lay in the shadow of the steel and glass high rises.

“Just be thankful it’s not Iraq.” Wolfe replied.

Stern looked at him.

“Where you’d be getting shot at. And you’re getting paid a helluva a lot more than a beat cop.”

“It still sucks. And I don’t the mind shooting, long as I can shoot back.” Stern replied.

“Does that jarhead macho-shit work with the ladies? ‘Cause let me tell you, it’s bullshit here.”

Stern ignored the comment as an idea quickly dawned on him. He looked at Wolfe.

“That’s it.” He said.

“That’s what?” Wolfe asked.

“Why don’t we pay them? Coalition’s got the scratch. Shit, it worked in Iraq.” Stern offered.

“Because this isn’t Iraq. It’s the United fucking States. And if shit like that got out, and it would, that the Fed was allowing a private security company to pay informants to chase down a suspected terrorist who escaped a CIA interrogator while on American soil, three years ago, who was still on the loose, you know, people just might start asking questions. The wrong people. And that just might blow the lid off of a whole lot of things, things that could create way more problems than they solve. Jesus, don’t you remember the cocaine fiasco in the eighties?” Wolfe responded, the last part alluding to alleged CIA drug trafficking in Southern California during the Reagan era.

“No. I don’t remember the eighties. I’m twenty-fucking-six.” Stern answered.

Wolfe just looked at his partner, and shook his head in disbelief.

They stood in silence a moment, both men looking over the hordes of people, of all social and economic classes, stop and start along the sidewalks and intersections.