One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel (14 page)

"Bob, the secret is this. If you tell anyone else about my friend, in fact let them know that either one of us were here, I will come back and hurt you so bad your house plants will die."

"Okay, okay. . . ."

"Have we reached an understanding, Bob? You don't talk about this again, for any amount of money, not to anyone."

"Sure. Yeah."

I released him just as a toothy salesman entered with a thin hooker in tow. The tracks on her arms had healed, but they were both roaring drunk. They toasted to better days. Before I left, I gave Bob my last tainted hundred-dollar bill, smiled brightly and patted his very white cheek.

"Hey, and you have a really nice day."

Sergeant Bill Keller sat hunched over the front desk of the hyper-modern glass-walled North Hollywood station like a sleepy brown bear, listening patiently as an old woman with steel-wool hair whined on about a horde of rude middle school kids who cut across her lawn twice a day, damaging her petunias. I closed the door quietly but my boots made a racket on the polished tile. Keller looked up and immediately recognized me, not from my work but because I'd been dating Darlene Hernandez, a distinction that had earned me the nickname "That Lucky-Assed Civilian Son of a Bitch."

"Morning."

"Callahan." Keller scribbled my name on a press pass and slid it my way. The woman continued talking but dropped her voice, went paranoid and backed away without looking up. Keller rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Ma'am," Keller said patiently, "someone will be here in a minute to help you fill out a complaint. Just wait over there."

The woman issued an exasperated sigh, spun around and trudged away in untied tennis shoes. She left an odd odor floating in the air; old lady dust and fertilizer. I pinned the guest badge on my shirt as Keller reached over, slid something wooden to one side, and buzzed me into the station proper.

The door slid open and I went into a perfectly air-conditioned area. Two wide corridors branched off into smaller lanes containing brightly lit offices. The pristine walls were covered with photographs and citations. I'd been here before, of course, both for work reasons and to visit Darlene during happier times. So the officers and plainclothes folks nodded politely.

At the end of the hall there stood a large elevator with faux gold-plated doors. I have no idea why a Valley police station would choose to look like a low-rent whore house, but it takes all kinds. I pushed the button and chewed on a toothpick until the car arrived. After a ping the doors slid open. Two female patrol officers got out and walked off, whispering in low tones. I went up one floor, paused for a moment to gather myself. I hadn't seen the lady in a while.

I got off the elevator, went down six doors, turned right, and found Darlene, wearing a beige blouse and dark pants. She was facing away from me, rifling through a tall file cabinet. In the short time since I'd last seen her, she'd lost weight, and her brown hair was a bit longer. Darlene had stripped the office to bare essentials, and I couldn't help but notice that my picture was no longer on her desk.

Her shoulders tightened as if she sensed my presence, but the woman didn't turn. I studied her from behind for a while, that strong back and the way her brown hair whispered along the nape of her neck. My heart melted at first, but when she faced me Darlene Hernandez wasn't smiling.

"Close the door."

I did.

"Sit down."

I sat.

"Do you know how much trouble you can get me into by sending me illegally obtained state and federal records? Jesus, Mick, how the hell does Jerry get all this stuff?"

I shrugged and tried charming. "He's a genius."

Charming didn't work. Darlene had a sharp, red flame in her eyes. They were damned pretty eyes, though. She checked to make sure the phone was on the hook and the speaker button was off. I waited, and managed to resist the urge to kiss her. Good way to get my nose broken again.

"Mick, don't you dare joke around. I had a look at those files, and if they got wind of what was in them, Internal Affairs would be up my ass in a heartbeat. I'd be racked just to find out where they came from."

"It's that bad?"

"Bad? Some of that stuff is from fucking Homeland Security! Don't you ever send me something like that again. You can delete the shit out of it and it will still be somewhere in the E-mail account and on the hard drive."

I stared back. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry my ass. Don't give me those puppy eyes. You knew better than to do that. You and Jerry are a couple of con artists. You just wanted my hands a little dirty so I'd have to do something to help you out."

My cheeks felt hot. I hadn't wanted to recognize it consciously, but Darlene was probably right. Jerry and I had trapped her into having this conversation. "I'm no expert, but knowing Jerry he probably burned the trail after he sent them. He can clean your computer, too."

"So I'd be receiving stolen property, breaking all kinds of known and unknown security laws, and then compounding the felonies by tampering with evidence. That's why you're a talk-show host instead of a cop. I'm better off playing stupid."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Mick, if I didn't love you, I swear. . . ."

I perked up a bit. Darlene frowned. "Forget I said that, damn it."

"But you did. You said you love me."

"Don't grin."

"Sorry."

"I mean it, wipe that smile off your face or I will."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Darlene eyed me with proverbial steam coming out of her ears. I looked down and away, back again. "Honey, I need your help."

"The last time I helped you my cousin Larry got shot and people died. I still have bad dreams about that."

"Me, too."

"Let's get the hell outside." Darlene was at the door before I hit my feet. She held it open and waited out in the corridor. I followed meekly. I must have masochism buried deep in my psyche, because her anger never failed to light my candle.

Darlene went charging on ahead of me, arms swinging. When she got upset it was like Olympic speed walking just trying to keep up with her. We went back out through the empty lobby. The old woman was gone and the desk job had rotated to a female officer I didn't know. I tossed the badge on the desk as I passed.

Out the doors, down the steps. A hot afternoon. Rows of cars packed onto narrow strips of concrete. Drivers on cell phones, sighing and swearing and honking their horns.

I followed Darlene nearly two long blocks down Oxnard. The air was thickening with afternoon smog and the heat announced an early summer. The news had just reported that the world now had the highest temperatures registered in over four centuries. Darlene stopped. Her head swivelled back and forth until she settled on a nearby taco stand. The place was nearly deserted. Darlene reached the window first and ordered two diet colas. We went to the furthest table and sat with our heads close together.

"Now what the hell is going on?"

I told her everything. About Bud Stone, the girl, my promise, the beating, all of it. Well, I left out the part about Brandi having a terrific ass. Darlene took some ice out of her cola and rubbed it on her neck. I wanted to volunteer for that duty but kept my mouth shut. Sometimes I'm smarter than I look.

"I don't believe you, Mick. We don't see each other for a few weeks and you're already up to your neck in alligators."

"And I just came here to drain the swamp."

"Let me get this straight. An old friend calls you up, and the next thing you know you're watching his lover, tangling with the mob, getting beat up in your own front yard, and threatened by some shadowy international organization that wants you to locate a mysterious package. Oh, and trying to find two ex-cons who took down a drug dealer and may be dangerous themselves. Did I leave anything out?"

"Well," I said weakly, "I got fired."

Her jaw dropped. "That's a joke, right?"

I told her about Judd Kramer and his betrayal. Darlene sagged and her face softened a bit. "That stinks, even for a Hollywood agent."

"Tell me about it. I know it's silly, but this feels kind of like being cheated on, although maybe by a very ugly woman."

Darlene flashed a grin. It was a very nice grin. "So, what now?"

"Well, I've got a bit of money saved, so that's good. And the house has gone up in value. There's no rush."

Her features tightened a bit. "Will you have to leave Los Angeles to get work?"

"I have no idea," I said honestly, "I might have to go. Hey, I do miss the desert. What I learned this time around is that I'm not really an LA kind of guy. If it wasn't for the work, to be honest, you'd be the only reason I'd stay here."

She stroked my arm, and a number of different emotions played across her features. Then her eyes hardened. "No. No promises, Mick."

"And I'm not asking for any. I was just saying."

"I know what you were saying."

"No you don't, you don't know what I was about to say, you know what you think I was about to say, and that's probably different from what I would have said."

"What the fuck?"

We laughed. Her eyes turned moist. So did mine. Darlene looked at me in a way that skinned flesh from my heart. She said, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you more."

"I doubt that, Callahan."

"And I love you." The bravery elicited no response. My stomach rolled sideways. I just swallowed my pride and continued on. "Darlene, why do we keep screwing this up?"

"You're the counselor, counselor."

"Because we're scared of what we're feeling, I suppose. Because we're so wounded. I know I'm scared. Aren't you scared?"

"No comment."

"I'm a mess." I stretched, shook my head. "Darlene, I wanted to be a player again, have another television show. I thought that was the most important thing to me, getting back in the game. Now I'm not so sure."

"You're too good to quit."

"I can always just stay in private practice. Never get rich that way, but it's rewarding."

Darlene shrugged. "You'll do whatever you have to do, same as me. You know something? Cops get a good retirement, that is, if they don't turn bitter, commit suicide, or get blown away on the job. But for just living day to day, I'd probably make more money typing memos at a movie studio."

"And you'd go completely insane."

"Not much doubt about that."

I leaned forward to touch her arm. She didn't pull back. "What do you really want from your life, honey?"

"Does anyone ever know the answer to that?"

"Probably not. I think we just consider and decide. Absolute certainty seems to be for the less intelligent. Not that I'm all that impressed with myself lately, either."

"Mick, you're a better man than you think. You deserve to be happy."

"So do you, with or without me." My voice trembled, so I blinked comically and sat back. "Good God, did I just say that?"

Her lip twitched. "A moment of true selflessness from the great Mick Callahan. Call the
Daily News
."

I laughed. "It is so good to see you."

She nodded. "Likewise."

I bought some time, played with my straw. "I really am sorry to be here under these circumstances. I didn't ask to be a part of another drama. I owed an old friend a favor, and now it's turning into a train wreck. No good deed goes unpunished, and all that. I hate to ask, but can you help me out?"

A moment crawled by. "I'll see what I can do," Darlene said.

My shoulders sagged with relief. "I really appreciate that, believe me. If you can assist me in running these two guys down, I'll take it from there and leave you out of it, I promise."

"I can tell you this much. As of nine-thirty this morning there are APBs out for both Toole and Faber. LAPD is calling it something milder, but off the record, warrants are in the works."

"Warrants for stealing from a dealer?"

"For murder one."

I grunted. "Who got killed?"

"That drug dealer the Vegas dudes say your friend supposedly took down? Gordo? Faber and Toole are ex-cons, remember? They have jackets. And their fingerprints were all over that house."

I blinked. "I still don't get it."

"Gordo is dead, Mick. He was found cut to pieces early this morning."

It took me a minute to absorb that statement. Too many uncomfortable questions resulted. Did Bud Stone murder the guy, or Faber and Toole? And why would they be in the house of a dealer rumored to make snuff films? Were they there before or after Bone?

It couldn't have been all at the same time. Well, unless they were in it together, and Bone had lied to me from the start.

"They were there, too," I said stupidly. "Faber and Toole. Before, after, maybe at the same time. Jesus."

"Yeah, and the brass likes Faber and Toole for the killing because of those aforementioned prints."

I whistled. "When I step in it, I really step in it."

"You sure do. And unfortunately, you also just told me about your pal Bud Stone. And that just put me in the position of either betraying the man I love or willfully withholding evidence in a murder investigation."

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything." Darlene shook her head and sighed. "But please tell Jerry to stop sending me shit. Let me come to your house."

No good deed goes unpunished, all right.

Now, Robert Burns wrote "the best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft a-gley." That's in a lovely, though nearly incomprehensible Scottish poem my stepfather claimed was one of my mother's favorites. I can't vouch for that, I don't remember her, but it stuck in my mind. I take it to mean that just when you figure you've got the bases covered and have a sense of how to dig yourself out of the poop, the other damned shoe drops.