The Best Bad Dream (2 page)

“Why am I not surprised by that?” Dee Dee said.

“Well, I suppose you can tell every damned Oriental from every other,” he replied.

“Oh for Chrissakes, Phil. You are such a freaking hick.”

Phil wanted to say something vicious back but he didn't have the heart for it. Instead he said, “You know what? I think I've had about enough of this Indian village. Why don't we get back down to the Blue Wolf? Must be around happy hour there now.”

Dee Dee thought it was a good idea. But she wasn't going to give him credit. No way. She was sick of his jive, his ideas, and truth be told, pretty much sick of everything else about Phil, too.

She gave him a hard little smile, and they headed across the street toward their metallic gray Hummer.

Just outside the pueblo, Michelle walked past the adobe outer wall and turned onto the unpaved lot where they'd parked their bikes. She figured if Jennifer's bike was gone, then she'd just taken off and they would probably meet back in Santa Fe at their hotel, La Fonda. But if the bike was still there . . .

And it was. The two choppers were sitting there side by side, gleaming, ready to be ridden hard back down the starlit highway to Santa Fe.

But no Jennifer.

Michelle felt something turn in her stomach. Of course, Jen could still be wandering around the pueblo, but Michelle doubted it. No matter how mad the two sisters were at one another, it wasn't like them to play games. They had always been two against the world, even when they were young; each knew that she couldn't survive without the other.

She had to go back to the pueblo and look around some more. Maybe Jen had gotten lost in the dark streets.

Then she found herself doing a very uncharacteristic thing, yelling, “Jennifer, hey Jen, it's time to go, girl. Jen . . .”

But her words were lost in the cold, clear air. Only an old, wrinkled Indian woman smoking at the parking lot entrance looked her way, but she didn't say a word.

Chapter Two

As Jack Harper drove the seven blocks from his home toward Culver City High, he felt a great relief. No cases to worry about, no reports to write, no trials to attend, no lawyers to hassle with. No more office politics. For two whole weeks he would get to be on his own, relax. The thought was almost too much for him to take in. The only thing that bothered him was that he hadn't really mapped out any particular thing he wanted to do for his vacation. For the first day he'd beat up on himself for not making plans to go to Spain, or maybe down to Mexico to go sport fishing. But hey, he could always do the latter next week. It was easy to call and get a fishing boat at Baja, or, for that matter, he could always call his old buddy Will Lazenby and fly over to Hawaii for some marlin fishing.

The truth was he was almost relieved that he didn't have any plans. Maybe he'd just hang with his son Kevin for a while, like he was doing today. Watch the kid play lacrosse, go to the batting cages with him, or play some hoops down at the beach. That was something he really enjoyed and he needed to be with his son more. Kevin was a sophomore in high school now, and who knew where he would end up when he went off to college. Jack may not have been the best
dad in the world, but the thought of not having Kevin around really shook him up.

He hoped his son would stay in town and go to UCLA, but Kevin was getting to be a great lacrosse player and might well get a full scholarship to an East Coast school. Scouts for the University of Virginia and Jack's old alma mater, the University of Maryland, had been hanging around his son's games.

If he ended up on the East Coast Jack would never see him. So he really ought to spend as much time with him as he could right now.

Jack stood on the sidelines with the other Culver City parents as Kevin cradled the ball in his midfielder's stick and made his way down the sideline toward the Brentwood goal. Jack was stunned by his son's speed. When he had played, Jack had been a good stick handler but wasn't all that fast. With Kevin the talents were reversed. His boy was blazing fast but he was sometimes a little careless with the ball.

Now Jack hoped that Kevin would see a wide open crease-attackman crossing in front of the goal. One good pass and a quick stick shot by Andrews, the attackman, and Culver City would win the first-round play-off game.

But Kevin was being dogged by a big defenseman and didn't see Andrews crossing and waving his stick high, calling for the ball. Instead Kevin tried a dodge, dropped the ball, and took a couple of steps cradling his empty stick, not realizing that the defenseman had already scooped up the loose ball and was heading to the other end of the field.

“Kev,” Jack yelled. “Kev, the ball.”

Kevin turned, looked at his stick, and Jack thought he could see his red face right through his helmet and mask.

For a second it looked as though Kev was going to hang his head and just stand there, but suddenly he lit out after the defenseman. The big guy was running in long strides but busy looking at opposing Culver City defensemen who were coming up to stop him.

He didn't see Kevin moving up behind him.

Now the Brentwood defenseman held his stick back a little, ready to make a pass to a lone attackman on his side. Which gave Kevin exactly the shot he needed. He whacked the big guy's stick so hard it fell from his hands, the ball rolled free, and Kevin scooped it up and headed back toward the Brentwood goal.

Everyone on the Culver bench was up and screaming as Kevin dodged one middie, then another, and ended up open in front of the Brentwood goalie. Two defensemen were closing fast on him and he barely had time to get off a low ground shot, which sailed to the left of the goalie's stick and into the net. Just as time ran out.

Immediately after the shot Kevin was decked by both defenders, a human sandwich. After the dust had cleared, he was up and being carried off the field by his ecstatic teammates.

Jack quickly joined him and the regular coach, Mike Mahoney. They pounded Kevin on the back as he was mobbed by mothers, fathers, and other Culver City lacrosse fans.

“Way to go, son,” Jack said. “That was just awesome.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kevin said. “Sorry I dropped the ball.”

“Don't worry. You kept hustling and it paid off.”

He tousled Kevin's black hair and felt a surge of happiness.

All around him parents were talking, chattering, and congratulating their sons for a great game.

Kevin stepped up to Jack and spoke in a low voice.

“Dad, I think I see the next Mrs. Harper checking you out.”

Jack laughed. “You do? Where?”

“Look just off to your left. Slowly, don't be obvious about it.”

Jack turned and looked across the green field to where he saw a brunette in her late thirties, wearing skin-tight Levi's and a form-fitting green sweater. And she had the body to fill it out. And those lips . . . even thirty feet away, Jack could see she had luscious, full lips. She smiled his way and he managed a half-smile back.

But then there was a nasty little surprise. A big, sandy-haired guy in his forties walked up behind her, took her hand, and they turned and walked away toward the parking lot.

“Well, there goes that fantasy, Jack said.
"HE
next time you find me a new Mrs. Harper please see if she's married first, okay, pal?”

Kevin laughed and shook his head.

“Well, she looked like she was alone, Dad, and you gotta admit she was staring at you with that lean, hungry look.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But she's probably a team mom.”

“Not for our school,” Kevin said. “Must be for Brentwood.”

“She looked too fancy for me even if she was single,” Jack said.

“Not my type.”

Jack carried the lacrosse bag to the car and had just locked it in the trunk when his cell rung.

“Hello.”

“Jackie, thank God it's you.”

Michelle? What's up? It was his Michelle Wu, the most gorgeous and trickiest woman he'd ever met. Michelle specialized in hot cars. She worked with a gang who stole them, gave them to her to break down, and then resold the parts all over Mexico and Latin America.

Jack had busted her three years ago and recruited her as a snitch, but it had become a lot more complex during their last case. Michelle had risked her own life to save his.

Jack was uncomfortable being in her debt. And even more uncomfortable because he had feelings for her that were strictly taboo, given her line of work.

Now he tried to gauge the degree of panic in her voice. How much of it was real fear, and how much acting? Michelle Wu was a consummate actress and drama queen.

“I'm in Santa Fe, Jack. My sister Jennifer and I came here for a little holiday. We rode up to Taos to see the pueblo and got separated. Now she's gone. Someone has taken her.”

“You sure she didn't just wander
off,
Michelle?”

“No way. She would never do that.”

“You contacted the local cops?”

“Yes, of course. But they say they can't do anything for twenty-four hours. They gave me that ‘most people come back on their own’ bullshit.”

“But they do, Michelle.”

“Jackie, I would never ask you to do anything that interfered with your work, but please come out here. Please. I know this is bad.”

“How do you know that, Michelle?”

“I can't talk about that on the phone, Jack. I can't. I'm at the La Fonda hotel in Santa Fe.”

“Michelle, I'm sorry but I—”

“Jackie, are you going to make me say ‘you owe me'?”

“You don't have to say it,” Jack said. Jesus, he was already stressed out. His vacation had barely begun.

But it was true. He owed her.

“I gotta get some things together but I'll be there. By tomorrow, Michelle.”

“Thanks, Jackie. I wouldn't bother you but this is freaky, man. Please call me as soon as you make your reservations. You can always stay with me in my room, Jack.”

“No, thanks, Michelle. I'll get my own.”

“I knew you would say that, baby,” she said. “Thinks, Jack. This is really serious.”

Jack hung up the phone and looked across the parking lot at his son.

“Hey, Dad, you want to hang out and get some pizza at the farmer's market with the guys?”

“Not tonight, Jack said. Something's come up.”

Kevin's face flashed severe disappointment.

“Oh, man, he said. You gotta go? I thought you were on vacation.”

“I was. I mean I still am. This should only take a couple of days.”

Kevin shook his head.

“Yeah, right.”

“I have to call Grandpa. He'll come down and stay with you. You'll have fun together.”

Kevin sighed.

“I don't need Grandpa, Dad. I'm almost sixteen years old. I can stay by myself.”

“No way,” Jack said. “Hey, think of all that fried food he's going to make for you.”

Kevin made a “gag me with a spoon” face and his shoulders slumped as he got inside the car.

“Kev, I'm sorry. But this is someone I can't turn down.”

Kevin slammed the door and looked straight ahead.

Chapter Three

An hour later, Jack's father, Wade Harper, showed up in his battered 1965 Ford Mustang. Once dark green, the car badly needed a coat of paint. Gray primer showed through on both sides and the front bumper was cracked and about to fall off. The engine, however, was perfect, and Wade constantly claimed he was going to get the “old warhorse” cleaned up.

The joke between them, one repeated almost every time they saw each other, was that once the car was patched up, Wade would start showing it at Mustang shows, with all the other sixties guys who made a fetish out of the beloved model. Wade swore he would soon have the best-looking car at Bob's Big Boy's weekly classic car contest. But Jack knew better. If Wade actually fixed the car up and showed it at the old-car contest, that would be a tacit admission that he was sixty-four years old and that he had an “old guy” hobby. By not fixing the car up, he got to drive around like he was some kind of badass looking for girls and hot-rod races.

In short, Wade was having a lot of trouble admitting he was getting old, a lot closer to the end of the line than the beginning.

He lived in an apartment near the farmer's market and spent most of his retirement hanging out at EB's Wine Bar with a raffish
assortment of roofers, welders, criminal lawyers, rockers, and wannabe actresses who enjoyed the camaraderie of beer, wine drinking, gossip, and occasional romances that flowered after a few too many drinks. Still good looking and fairly trim, Wade was dating a forty-eight-year-old ex-dancer named Billie Stone who taught elementary school at Carthay Circle. She was crazy about Wade, but he worried that she secretly thought he was too old for her. Whenever Jack asked him if was going to marry her, his father would say, “If I do she'll get all my money. I mean when we get divorced in two or three years. You know how that goes. Then what am I going to leave you and Kevin?”

You could get her to sign a prenup, Jack said. But his old man just sighed and shook his head.

“Any good attorney can find ways to break one of those. Nah, I'm finished with marriage. Been there, done that. I'm fine living alone. Can't stand women more than three times a week anyway.”

Jack laughed. Maybe being a fucked-up renegade ran in the family. Maybe the scientists were right. It
was
all in the genes and there was little you could do about any of it.

As Jack packed for his flight to Albuquerque, he went over the rules with his dad.

“I want Kevin in bed at ten. Not staying up all night listening to your stories.”

Wade took a sip of Wild Turkey and laughed at Jack.

“You don't trust me to take care of my grandson, then maybe you ought to hire a professional babysitter!”

From the bedroom, Kevin gave a horselaugh.

“Yeah, like I'm a baby. I'll be sixteen soon, Grandpa.”

“That's right,” Wade said. “You gotta let the boy become a man, Jackie.”

“All in due time, Dad,” Jack said. “Ten o'clock bedtime for you, Kev. I'm not kidding.”

“No problem,” Kevin said.

“Yeah,” Wade said, lighting a Marlboro. “And if he's five minutes behind schedule I'm going to go in there and spank his butt!”