Behold the Child (6 page)

"Excuse me?"

"You got too much heat on you, Sam. That's all there is too it."

"I'm out?"

"You're out."

Kenzie shook his head slowly. "I'm one of the best cops you've got and you know it, Captain. Hell, I just took a dead investigation and kicked it alive again. I deserve better than this."

"Yeah, you probably do. And I'm grateful for the stuff you dug up on how those two cases tie together."

"You damn well ought to be. Those dope-dealing bastards were funneling kidnapped children to a serial killer."

"Look, I know it, Sam. With what you gave us we tied together nearly thirty child murders in four western states and we'll put some of those gang members away for life. More importantly, whatever this mysterious child killer was up to, you have now most assuredly dropped a turd in his swimming pool. We may not know who he is yet, but he's got to be feeling the heat."

"I did my job."

"And probably saved some lives."

"And now you're firing me for it."

Kramer reddened. "That's because you did it when you were supposed to be following up on stolen cars. The chief doesn't like cowboy shit like that and neither does IAD."

"Fuck them."

"No, Sam, this time it's fuck
you
."

Kenzie kicked the chair. He knew he was being juvenile, but he was unable to stop himself. "You know something, Cap? IAD can kiss my Irish ass."

"You want to tell them that?"

"I ought to. Cops shouldn't mess with cops."

"From your mouth to God's ear," Kramer snarled. "Welcome to the real world, Kenzie. You know the score. Parker Center doesn't give a damn about what you've done for the department in the past. Right now, you're just a liability."

"I can't believe this."

"You're on an extended rest leave, with reduced pay."

Kenzie was stunned all over again. "Even after what I just contributed to that case, Cap?"

"That's it."

"I can't come back to work."

"Nope. Now sit down."

Kramer sat down heavily, his face grim. Cap Kramer grimaced and rubbed his temples, like a man growing a brutal headache. "Off the record, Sam. You want to hear it straight up?"

Kenzie nodded. "Sure."

"Greenburg, the shrink?"

"Oh, shit."

"No, he liked you Sam. He thinks you're a damned good cop and said so in his report. But he also said that you might become a 'loose cannon,' because of your abusive childhood, and that the department should keep a close watch on you. He probably meant well, but that was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"And so?"

"So I think it would be best if you put in for an early retirement. The Chief is willing to pull a few strings, maybe get some disability thrown in along with the lowered pension and benefits package, but only if you retire."

"Shit."

"Oh, come on Sam. You can't be all that surprised. Two suspects dead, a little girl got killed and you got your guts shot out. Then you embarrass the department by doing something else off duty that opens a new file on a big case. That's a publicity disaster of the first order. What did you think would happen?"

"I don't know, Cap," Kenzie answered, honestly. "I just wanted to come back to work again, that's all."

Kramer lowered his voice a bit. "Did you follow my advice? Send a few copies of your resume out of state?"

"Yeah," Kenzie said, absently. "And I put you down as my reference." He sat back in the metal folding chair, surprised and close to tears. He felt like he'd just been given a death sentence. "I already got an offer from my one-horse home town in Nevada. They think I've made them famous."

Captain Kramer smiled reassuringly. "Sounds nice and quiet."

"Don't do this, Cap." Kenzie pleaded with his eyes. "Help me out here."

"Can't do it, Sam. We all have to hang it up sometime, right? If these Nevada people call me, I won't mention a word about IAD or the downside of that shoot. I'll just give you a rave review."

"Thanks."

"Hell, Sam, it's not so bad."

"Oh, it's not, huh?"

Kramer grinned. "Hey, look at it this way. You are going to go back to the desert and be near the mountains. You can go fishing and hunting all you want, screw the old lady all night while you collect a nice pension with benefits, and just to keep from getting bored you can sit by some highway handing out parking tickets."

"And nobody shoots at me any more, either."

"Exactly."

Kenzie shrugged. "Sounds terrible, you ask me. Now I know why so many retired guys just open a bar or eat a fucking piece."

"God damn it, Kenzie, don't even joke about that." Kramer was feeling touchy about the subject of suicide. Lou Fields, an old friend of his from Vice, had just checked out that way. He'd tied a string to his foot, placed a shotgun by the bowl and shot himself in a motel bathroom.

"Sorry, Cap," Kenzie said. He wasn't.

O'Halloran's was mobbed when Kenzie got there. The cops he knew took one look at the expression on his face and gave him a wide berth. Kenzie's face burned with shame. They knew. In fact, they had all probably known for weeks, if not months, that he was toast. Kenzie couldn't blame them; he'd been part of the gossip mill too, in his time. He was going down for the count, career over and lights out. Nobody wanted his bad luck to rub off on them.

He started with a 'depth charge,' a shot of Jack Daniels whiskey dropped into a tall mug of draught beer. The booze lit a pilot light in his diaphragm,
poof
an instant dot of warmth. Kenzie ordered another shot and a mug, and the world started to get rosier still. But as the soothing chemicals flooded his brain, Bob Young walked by and slapped him on the back as he left; a macho sign of unspoken respect. Moments later, Paul Little and Rich Martinson did the same thing. Time passed, and one after another the active duty guys shook his hand or slapped him on the back as they went home. Kenzie began to seethe; in fact, the injustice of his situation soon became almost unbearable, but he knew there wasn't one damned thing he could do about it.

Things became a blur after that. Someone challenged Kenzie to a chugging match. He won, but by then he could barely walk, so he started building a bar sculpture made of lightly burned swizzle sticks. Later, Kenzie threw up in the alley. He called home to tell Laura not to wait up. He promised her that he wouldn't drink and drive. After that, things got really sketchy. Somehow the remaining cops took it upon themselves to throw Kenzie an impromptu going-away party. O'Halloran locked the bar at 2:00 AM so they could keep on drinking. The bartender called some of the single guys, woke them up and ordered them to come back and join the free-for-all.

Around three in the morning, a couple of guys from Vice picked up some working girls they knew and drove them over. Kenzie was now passed out, face-down on the floor. The boys decided he deserved a farewell blowjob. They took up a collection and dragged Kenzie and the youngest girl into the back room. They closed the door to give them a little privacy. Someone put on a collection of 1980's rock music and cranked the volume to the max.

Kenzie woke up to discover his pants down around his ankles. His head was pounding and his guts were rolling. He fought to focus his eyes. The lights were dimmed low, and the girl fondling his penis wore way too much makeup. Kenzie drunkenly wondered if she were underage.

"What's going on?"

The little Latino girl looked up from his lap, and even through the alcoholic fog Kenzie felt his gut tighten with alarm and his pulse jump. His penis went limp. Her face was familiar; she looked exactly like the girl in Oso's house. She grinned at him. The way the shadows crossed her features and ran down her neck it looked like her throat was punctured and pulsing blood . . .

"No!"

The girl jumped back and fell on her ass. Kenzie grabbed his trousers and stumbled to the door. He could not turn the knob. Outside the room, the pounding of the rock beat drowned out his rising screams. He looked back at the girl. She had edged back into the darkness near the broom closet, and now her features were almost completely hidden. She seemed to be laughing at him. He saw the flash of her crooked teeth and then a fountain of blood spurting straight up into the air. Then the door opened and he lurched out into the room with his pants down.

The bar was full of cops and hookers kissing and screwing and brawling like kids at a frat party. Kenzie, feeling along the wall with his palms, made his way out into the alley. He threw up again.

And that's the last thing he remembered.

"Jesus, it's cold out here. That's everything, right?"

Laura didn't answer. She threw her straw purse onto the passenger seat and got into the station wagon. She never once looked back at their house.

She slammed the door.

Kenzie had cut down on the drinking. It hadn't helped. Coming home with lipstick on his dick had been the last straw for Laura. She had not spoken to him for days, really
spoken
to him. Oh, she said whatever was necessary, but not a syllable more. Therefore the mandatory garage sale, the trips to Goodwill, packing the house up; those things became more than just difficult, they were completely depressing.

Kenzie sped down the highway, trying to beat the morning traffic. He went through the downtown loop and caught the San Bernardino Freeway. He decided to occasionally offer the olive branch via small talk and wait her out. There were starting their lives over, after all. Laura would eventually forgive him.

"You have the map you printed out, right?"

She nodded, reached for the stereo and popped in a classical cassette. No country music, just Mozart. Kenzie sighed. This was going to be a long drive.

They stopped three times, to pee and grab a fast bite to eat. The computer had been programmed to show them the most direct route possible, so they often found themselves on back roads or alone on the highway for long stretches of time. Bored, Kenzie imagined their vehicle from above, speeding through the deserted wasteland like a shiny bug across the water.

Kenzie had always loved the pungent odor of the sage flowers and the wide open expanse of rock and sand. As a boy, he had often ridden alone for hours, bareback and alone, just enjoying the absolute silence of the high desert. He found himself becoming obsessive about checking their water supply; re-filling the two large plastic containers at every stop, just to be on the safe side. His childhood in Nevada had also prepared him for how harsh and unforgiving nature can be. He knew that a few coincidences could put them in a morgue, dead of heatstroke and thirst. One wrong turn, one dead cell-phone battery, one blown water pump and they could be cooked and rotting before anyone found them.

On the outskirts of a little town called Jackpot, Laura began to speak to him again. It was a small thing, just a quick joke that made reference to his clumsiness and their first anniversary, but it let him know that the war was over. Her Highness had forgiven him at last. Two beers and two bags of pretzels later they were talking about keeping some chickens on their property in Twin Forks. Relieved, Kenzie took another look at the map. The next leg of the journey, one of the longest, took them several miles out into the empty desert, away from the main highway.

"I haven't been this way since I was a kid, Laura, but this seems weird to me. Are you sure about this map quest thing?"

Laura, with mock seriousness: "Computers never lie, human!"

Kenzie frowned. Something about the route seemed bizarre, but he did not want to risk starting another argument. When Laura leaned back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes to rest, he quietly asked the pimply kid pumping gas. The kid shrugged and said to show the map to his boss.

"Beats the shit out of me," the gas station manager said. He was a sunburned, bellicose hick in stained overalls, and Kenzie doubted he'd ever been as far away as Elko. "Hardly anyone ever goes north on that road, I can tell you that much."

Kenzie rolled his eyes and gave up. He bought an extra bottle of water from the small store, had the attendant look over the engine hoses and the water pump, then filled the tank and started going north on the obscure, bumpy back road. After a few miles, the world behind them vanished into seemingly endless clouds of beige dust. The vast desert ahead seemed bleak as lunar landscape. The far mountains, where they were supposed to rejoin the main highway, never seemed to get any closer; they just shimmered, changed color and danced away like a mirage.

Laura fell asleep. Kenzie nervously eyed the odometer, trying to keep track of the passing miles. If they were lost, he wanted to know about it as soon as possible. The car radio turned to static and rather than play a cassette or CD, Kenzie just shut it off. He found himself gripping the wheel tightly. Soon his fingers ached. The only sound was the bumping and rumbling of their four wheels on the hard, pocked ground.

Ten miles, fifteen, twenty. No highway. First two and then
three
miles further than they were supposed to have needed to go. And still the far mountains receded and teased like a chimera. Kenzie considered waking Laura, but decided to let her sleep. There was nothing for her to do except panic.

They
were
lost.

When several dust devils appeared, swirling up from the road ahead like tiny, pale twisters, Kenzie felt the first real flash of alarm. Within a matter of minutes the horizon blurred and then completely vanished. The sandstorm whipped the car to the left and right and spun it like a top. Kenzie brought the vehicle to a halt, closed all the air vents He pulled up the emergency brake. Laura woke up and rubbed her eyes.

"What's happening? Where are we?"

Kenzie forced himself to remain calm. "Just a sandstorm," he said pleasantly. "No big deal, but I can't see a damned thing. I just thought it would be smart to pull over and wait it out."