Текст книги "Liquid Smoke"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

FOURTEEN

Zanella toppled over the retaining wall and onto my patio, ripping the yellow tape down with him.

Something hit me with the force of a train, taking me to the pavement and knocking the wind out of me.

There was yelling. I twisted my face as I tried to regain my breath and realized it was Klimes on top of me.

Never underestimate a fat man.

He pulled my arms behind me and slipped cuffs on my wrists. He helped me to my feet.

“Not saying he didn’t deserve it,” Klimes said, his cheeks bright red. “But you hit my man, and I can’t have that.” He guided me down the boardwalk two houses down and backed me up to the wall. “Sit here. I’ll be back.”

I sat. Zanella was just getting up, assisted by two of the uniformed cops. His mouth looked like a child had used a blood-colored crayon to outline it. His eyes were a little unsteady, but he was searching for something. He finally saw me sitting on the wall, and his eyes gained focus. He started for me, but the two cops held onto him and Klimes got in front of him.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” Zanella yelled, exposing rose-colored teeth.

Liz stepped in front of me before I could respond. “Well done,” she said, shaking her head and removing her sunglasses.

“Maybe the best punch I’ve ever thrown,” I said. “First time I’ve ever sent anyone over that wall.”

“I’ll ooh and aah later. What did he say that required you knocking him on his ass?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” I said. “I’m not sure if I can remember it exactly.

“Paraphrase.”

“He was just being an asshole,” I said. “Said something I didn’t care for.”

She frowned and shook her head. “What a surprise. I told you he was a prick. I didn’t mean you could take a swing at him.”

I looked away from her. Klimes was talking to Zanella, who was still looking at me. I mouthed “fuck you” at him. His eyes bulged, and he surged forward again. The two uniforms grabbed at him, and Klimes put a hand on his chest.

“Why don’t you bring him over so I can apologize?” I said to Liz.

“Funny. I’ll be right back.”

She walked toward them. Zanella’s expression changed, and I could see his dislike for Liz form on his face as she got closer. Made me want to hit him again.

I watched their conversation. Zanella was animated, gesturing in my direction, as he wiped the blood from his mouth. Klimes and Liz were passive, each nodding occasionally.

I shifted my weight, trying to get comfortable with my hands behind my back. My right hand throbbed, and I was pretty sure I’d cut it on his teeth. I didn’t care. He’d asked for it, and he knew what he was doing. I should have kept my cool, but I’d been doing that for two days now. Zanella had proven to be the antidote for my anger.

Liz and Klimes walked back to me.

“He’s pissed, but he’s not gonna charge you,” she said. “He could, but Klimes talked him out of it.”

“Don’t make no sense, really,” Klimes said with a shrug. “He said some things he shouldn’t have, and you hit him, which you definitely shouldn’t have. But he doesn’t wanna have to explain to everyone how you dropped him.”

“I’d be happy to tell people,” I said.

“I’ll bet,” Klimes said, smiling. “Hey, Zanella’s okay. Just wound a little tight and doesn’t trust too many folks. Seeing too many dead people will do that to a guy. Specially a pretty girl like was in your place. But now we’re dealing with this and you and he are gonna have to be around each other.”

“No problem for me,” I said.

Klimes chuckled and motioned for me to stand up. I did and he unlocked the cuffs.

“Make no mistake, though, Noah,” he said, hooking the cuffs onto his belt loop. “Touch him again, and I’ll shoot you.” He aimed his index finger at me. “Got it?”

I examined my hand. Just scraped, no cuts. “Got it.”

Klimes waddled away.

“You’re lucky he’s a good guy,” Liz said. “Anybody else probably would’ve taken you inside and beat the shit out of you.”

Klimes and Zanella walked around the other side of the house, Zanella throwing one last look over his shoulder at me.

“He nearly crushed me on the patio,” I said.

“Big, strong guy.”

“I’ll say.”

The people who had come outside for the altercation were filtering back into the house. My house. The one with the dead girl in it.

“I’m guessing I won’t get to stay the night here,” I said.

“Macho and smart,” Liz said. “What a catch.”

In the past, she would have been chewing me out for what I’d done. Not that I didn’t deserve it. But now, she was cutting me some slack, probably knowing that the punch I’d thrown wasn’t just for Zanella.

FIFTEEN

Liz and I walked up the boardwalk, away from the chaos that had enveloped my house. We were surrounded by bikers, skateboarders, and runners, but I felt more at home among them than I did with the cops and techs in my living room.

“First things first,” she said. “You aren’t a suspect. Obviously, I was with you thenight before last and was at your place until eight yesterday morning. They’ve confirmed you were on the plane and the visit to the prison. Zanella may be acting like an asshole, but they’ve cleared you.”

I figured Zanella couldn’t help acting the way he did. You are what you are.

A shirtless guy on rollerblades, bouncing to his iPod, sliced between us, the aroma of coconut oil swirling off him as he flew by.

A dull pounding was working my temples, a headache on the way. “Was she killed here?”

“Klimes said it doesn’t look like it. Whoever did it brought her here already dead.”

That explained the blood on the patio, but it didn’t explain why. I thought of Darcy standing on the boardwalk, pressuring me to go see Simington. Tough and feisty.

“Any sign of a struggle?” I asked.

“They’re checking.”

I let out a long, slow sigh. A lot had gone on in the last twelve hours, and I didn’t like any of it.

“Obviously, I won’t be involved,” Liz said. “Because of me and you. I called John. He’ll keep an eye on it, stay in touch with Klimes and see where it goes.”

Two middle-school-aged girls shrieked as two boys chased them up the sand, spraying them with water pistols.

“They brought her to my house for a reason,” I said as the kids ran behind us.

Liz nodded. “I thought the same thing. Sending a message.”

“A loud one. Darcy only came to see me about one thing. Means it has to be about Simington. Which is what I told Klimes and Zanella.”

“So a dead Darcy is someone’s way of telling you to stay out of it and away from him.” “Oops.”

We did a U-turn and headed back toward the house. The dark clouds were still threatening but had failed to deliver a single drop of precipitation.

“How was San Quentin?” she asked. “Did you meet him?”

“Yeah. Simington’s a swell guy.” I waved a hand in the air, dismissing any of our conjecture that Darcy or Simington had been a fraud. “He’s my father, Liz. No doubt.”

She looked at me, her eyes heavy with concern. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I don’t either.”

“What was he like?”

“Looks like me. He wouldn’t fight with me. Seemed to know how I was gonna feel about him. I was too numb to take in anything else, really.” I paused. “And he had my name tattooed on his wrist.”

She didn’t say anything, waited for me to continue.

“He also gave me a name.”

“A name?”

“Landon Keene,” I said. “He said to start with that and see if I found anything.”

“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” she said. “I’ll run it and see if it pops.”

“I honestly don’t think he wants off death row,” I said. “He didn’t talk specifically about killing anyone, but he seemed at ease with what he’d done and where he is now.”

She nodded. We kept walking.

“I met a cop who doesn’t want him off, either,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow in question. I told her about Kenney and what Miranda had told me.

She didn’t seem surprised. “If he thinks Simington killed his nephew, it’s a wonder he didn’t just kill Simington himself.”

“Yep.”

“So that makes two then,” Liz said. “Two what?”

The breeze off the water ruffled through her hair. She pushed it away from her face.

“Two people who don’t want Russell Simington leaving San Quentin,” she said. “That cop and whoever killed Darcy Gill.”

SIXTEEN

We’d arrived at my place just as Carter came barreling down the boardwalk on an old beach cruiser. He hit the brakes and skidded to a halt next to the wall.

He looked at the house, then me. “They find the meth lab?”

“Yeah. The jig is up.”

Liz rolled her eyes. Carter smiled at her. They tolerated each other because of me. Being in the middle of them wasn’t always easy, but I was learning to manage it a little better than in the past.

“I’ll leave you two to … do whatever you do,” Liz said. She put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“What the hell is all this?” Carter asked after she walked away.

“Remember the girl who came to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“Dead. Inside.”

He looked at me for a moment like he was trying to figure out if I was kidding. When he realized I wasn’t, he said, “You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Where were you?”

I hesitated. “San Francisco.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Went to meet the guy she said was my father.” “He lives up there?”

I took a deep breath. Telling Carter the whole truth would be a welcome relief; I could have used his help carrying this burden. I should’ve told him right away.

“He’s a resident of San Quentin,” I said.

“You serious?”

“Unfortunately. He’s on death row.”

He dropped his bike to the sidewalk and sat down on the wall next to me. “Oh, man.”

I told him about my trip, and the end to any uncertainty that I was related to Russell Simington. I told him who Darcy was and why she’d come to see me. Something entered his expression halfway through my explanation, and I was pretty sure it was hurt. I was too chicken to address it.

“And now she’s dead?” he asked when I’d finished.

“Yeah.”

“Probably not a coincidence.”

“No.”

Out on the water, a couple of surfers were trying to make the small waves last a bit longer, bouncing and pivoting against the white water.

“How long have we been friends?” Carter asked. “A long time.”

“There’s not much I’ve ever not told you,” he said. “There’ve been some things you didn’t want to know, but other than that, I think you know more about me than any other person on the planet.”

I knew where he was heading, and I couldn’t hide from it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carter asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know how to explain it, I guess.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Noah. Shit like that won’t ever matter to me.”

The fact that he knew exactly why I hadn’t told him made me feel worse.

“I know,” I said. “It just caught me off guard, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

He nodded slowly. “I could’ve gone with you or something. So you didn’t have to do it alone.”

“I needed to do it alone.”

“Sure. Okay. But you still could’ve told me. Man, I knew something was off with you.”

There weren’t many people in my life who mattered enough to me to make me apologize for much. But Carter was one of them. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t ready to tell anyone.” “You tell Liz?” he asked, glancing at me.

I didn’t say anything, wishing I could get the right thing to come out of my mouth.

“Figured,” he said, looking away.

The surfers who had been in the water were out of the ocean now, walking up the beach, the end of the day.

Carter stood, pulled his bike off the pavement, and swung a leg over the seat. “I wouldn’t have kept something like that from you, Noah. For any reason. There’s no one else I’d trust with that kind of thing.” He paused, lifting one of his massive feetonto the pedals. “We’ve never judged each other, dude. You really think I was gonna start now? Because some guy shares your DNA?” He shook his head, then shrugged. “If you want my help, let me know.”

He pedaled off.

SEVENTEEN

I hung out on the boardwalk for an hour, moping and worrying. I watched cops go in and out of my place. Occasionally, one of them would glance in my direction and give me a hard look, a silent warning that he knew what I’d done to Zanella.

I tried to look scared.

Klimes came out when they appeared to be shutting down for the night.

“Gonna have to keep you out tonight,” he said, huffing and puffing. “Should be able to let you back in tomorrow, though.” “Can I get my hands on my laptop?”

“No can do. Still gotta dust it, and the tech boys will probably have a peek at the hard drive.” “You already cleared me.”

“Not about you. Whoever offed the girl might’ve used the computer.

“Think they checked their email before shooting her?” “Or did some shopping on eBay. Who knows?” “Come on.”

He grinned. “I’m a thorough son of a bitch, Noah.”

I didn’t like it, but Klimes was being a good cop.

He asked, “What do you need it for?”

“Just wanted to run a name.”

He motioned to the alley. “Come on.”

I followed him to a brown Crown Victoria. He opened the passenger door and waved me in. He went around to the driver’s side.

He squeezed in behind the wheel and pointed to the laptop mounted on the dash. “That work for you?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Guy named Landon Keene. Can you look him up on Google?”

“Don’t talk dirty to me,” he said, smiling and navigating on the computer. He hit a few buttons, then shifted the screen in my direction. “There you go.”

Two items popped up under the name. One was a high school football roster in Florida, listing Landon Keene as a sophomore lineman. The other had Landon Keene as a hairstylist in Alabama. I guessed that neither of those two was the Landon Keene who Russell Simington had told me about.

I swiveled the screen back to Klimes. “Thanks.”

“Anything you wanna tell me about?”

“No,” I said, not wanting to get into it. “Another thing I’m working on.”

Klimes pursed his lips. “Alright. Ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“This girl. Gill. Was she tough?”

I thought of her approaching me in the water and tailing me up the beach. “Seemed like it.”

He thought about that, focusing on something over my shoulder.

“What?” I asked.

“ME didn’t see any sign of a struggle,” he said. “You think she got surprised?”

He rubbed a hand over his sweaty face. “That or she knew the cocksucker who shot her. Waits for her to turn around in conversation, then whammo. Maybe knocks her out, then does her with the gun.”

“Somebody went to a lot of trouble, then,” I said. “Killing her like that and taking the time to bring her to my house.”

“Yep.” Klimes shifted in the seat, the vinyl screaming beneath him. “You were the only reason she came down here?”

“Far as I know. That’s what her paralegal said, too.”

“Mind another question?”

I shook my head.

“You think you’re gonna get your … this Simington off the row?”

I appreciated him not referring to him as my father, but it didn’t change anything.

“No. I think Darcy thought she could, though.”

“Doubtful,” he said, shaking his head. “Just doesn’t happen. So I’m glad you don’t have any wild ideas.” He looked at me. “And I hope that means you’ll stay out of the way.”

“She’s in my house, Klimes.”

“We’ll get her out,” he said, grinning. “I promise. But after that, I hope you’ll let us do what we are paid so shittily to do.” I laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he said, then waved me out of the car. “Zanella’s gonna be here any second. Scoot.”

I got out and shut the door.

The window slid down, and Klimes leaned over, his rotund face looking up at me. “You owe me.” “How do you figure?”

He held up three fingers. “I let you use the computer, I gave you the ‘she didn’t struggle’ info, and I flattened you before Zanella could take your head off.”

“Woulda been hard for him to take my head off while he was sitting on his ass.”

He waggled a thick finger in front of me. “Whatever, son. You owe me. That Keene name rings a bell, I expect you to ring mine.”

Klimes was sharp. He hadn’t taken my bluff. I liked him. I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Deal,” I said, doing it anyway.

EIGHTEEN

The lights on the Coronado Bridge shone brightly in the early evening. The long gone sun had forgotten to take the heat of the day with it, and the wind blowing in my window as I crossed over to the island felt like an industrial-strength hair dryer.

Liz’s house was perched on a nice little curve of street that fronted San Diego Bay. She was on the rooftop deck when I pulled up, and she waved me in the front door.

She was sitting in a beach chair, facing the lit-up buildings across the water. Her long, tan legs were stretched out in front of her, and she wore an old Chargers T-shirt and blue running shorts. She motioned with her beer to the small fridge on the corner of the deck.

“I splurged for you,” she said.

I opened the fridge and found a bunch of Red Trolley bottles. I grabbed one and sat down in the empty chair next to her. “Thanks.”

We sat in the dark for a while, drinking but not talking.

When it came to our relationship, Liz being a cop had a lot of drawbacks. But one of the things I appreciated most was that she understood silence was a necessary thing. It didn’t mean anything was wrong or one of us was mad. It was just a way to decompress. Most people didn’t understand that.

“Was it odd?” she asked as I grabbed us a couple of new beers.

I knew she was talking about Simington.

“Yes and no,” I said. “In a lot of ways, it was like going to see someone I didn’t know. Someone who wanted to hire me or something. Detached.”

She nodded.

“But it was strange that he looked so much like me,” I said, shaking my head. “Some people think Carolina and I look alike. But this was like looking down the road thirty years.”

“Except you won’t be in jail,” she said.

I didn’t say anything and took a drink.

“You know that, right?” she asked, glancing over at me.

I kept drinking.

“Don’t confuse what he looks like with what he is, Noah. You’re not him.”

I’d said as much to Simington through the window, but that had been more of a defense mechanism than true belief. It was hard for me to separate the two.

“I’ve killed people,” I said.

She pulled her legs in and sat up in the chair. “You think that makes you like him?”

“I think it means we share some of the same … abilities.”

“No one has ever hired you to kill anyone. And if they tried, you wouldn’t do it.”

I shrugged, watching the lights bounce off the water.

“You were on the right side when those things happened,” she said. “You never set out to kill them just for the sake of killing them. Or for money.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. It seemed trivial to distinguish between right and wrong when a life ended because of something I’d done. I wondered if there had been underlying reasons for the things I had participated in. Had I been more of a willing participant than I’d realized? Maybe sought out those situations to enact some sort of latent feelings I had? I’d killed when I thought my life was in danger, but now I was second guessing whether killing had really been necessary.

“Simington killed for a paycheck,” Liz said. “I did some checking this afternoon. He was a brutally cold killer. Putting a bullet in the back of a head is a barbaric way to take a life. He’s done it. You haven’t. And he did it for no other reason than someone paid him to. He wasn’t making a moral choice. He was doing his job.”

I appreciated her belief in me, and while it didn’t satisfy me, I didn’t want to spend the evening dissecting my screwed-up psyche.

I reached over and held her hand. “Anything interesting in what you found on him?”

She hesitated. “You sure you wanna hear it?” “No. But tell me anyway.”

“What Darcy told you was basically true,” she said. “The arrest reports made him as a hired gun. He drove these two guys out in the desert and took ‘em out. The two vics had just crossed over a few days earlier.”

“Was Simington a coyote? Bringing them over the border?”

She nodded. “At one time, it looks like. But a lot of that was guesswork because Simington wouldn’t give up any names.”

That didn’t surprise me. The stoicism and calm I’d seen in him at the prison weren’t fake. He seemed at ease with where he’d ended up, with no need to take anyone else with him.

“He was also in debt,” Liz said.

“Surprise.”

“Huge debt, though,” she said. “Half a million.” “Wow.”

“Appears he had a nasty gambling habit.” “Darcy mentioned he worked in some casinos.” “Yes, he did. And I did find one interesting consistency.”

“What’s that?”

“All three casinos that employed him are owned by a guy named Benjamin Moffitt. He owns Bareva out in Lakeside and a bunch of others.”

“Any mention of a Landon Keene?” I asked. “Nope.”

I felt her fingers fold into mine, and we lapsed into silence again. The black water rippled in the distance, warped images of the skyline floating on top of the bay.

I didn’t know what Liz was thinking about. But I knew where my thoughts were.

Benjamin Moffitt would be my starting point.