Blood & Spirits (7 page)

He bangs on the door twice and gets no answer, so he yells, “I’m looking for Calvin Hocker! I’ve got some questions, and I don’t want to kick the door in!”

The door opens just enough to let the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun slide out. From the other side of the door he hears a woman’s voice. “Calvin’s not here, so get off my porch.”

Frank takes a step back and puts his hands up. “I’m not looking to hurt you, Ally. I just think you might be mixed up in something that’s more than you know how to get out of. Can you put the gun down and talk to me for a minute?”

It takes a few tense seconds before she pulls the gun back in, but then she opens the door and her face is streaked with tears. “Who are you, and why do you care?”

Allison, as it turned out, was not his girlfriend by choice. She was afraid of him. Breaking down to Frank, she says that she knows he was involved in setting the fire, she’s even heard him bragging about it. She’ll testify or swear out a statement, whatever he wants, as long as he’ll protect her from Calvin.

“He wasn’t always like this. He’s been really different lately. Hooked on some new drug, and running around with Carl McCreary. He’s beat me up pretty bad a few times, and I think he’s gonna end up killin’ me.”

It seems, Frank thinks to himself, that Calvin hasn’t really changed. Not from the guy he remembers anyway. He can’t let this girl get hurt any more, just for being stupid in choosing what man to lay down beside. Anyone with a soul couldn’t let this go on.

She shows him to the shed in the back of the house where there are drums of kerosene and more than a few automatic rifles, under a tattered rebel flag hanging on the wall.

He pulls out his cell phone and dials, holding it to his ear as Allison cries on his shoulder.

There’s ringing in his ear and then a voice crackles over the line, “Detective David Lewis.”

He turns his head away from her before he replies. “Lewis, I’ve definitely found your man, and I’m pretty sure what I’ve got on him will let the fire department’s arson investigator charge him; you’ll just have to pick him up. I’m bringing his girlfriend in to talk to you.”

***

“Allison!” Calvin screams as he enters the house. “I can see the tire tracks out there! Who was here?”

He crushes a cigarette out in the ashtray next to the sofa and listens impatiently. There’s no answer, only the hum of Calvin’s grow lamps.

“Allison! You’d better answer me! It’s gonna be bad if you make me have to come find you!”

There’s a loud knock at the door. He pulls back the thick yellowed curtains and looks out the front window to see his yard full of flashing red and blue lights.

“Allison, goddamn it! What did you do?”

A voice rings over a megaphone outside his door. “Calvin Hocker, this is the police. Come out with your hands above your head.”

He kicks the television off its stand, and it explodes in a shower of sparks on the floor. Looking at his pistol on the sofa he has a moment of pause, wondering if he could get out alive.

He shakes his head. There were too many of them out there. He’d have to play this one out. It was just an inconvenience. There’s no way he’d be left to rot in there for long. Jail would only be a brief pause, and then she’d pay for making this happen.

He lights another cigarette and opens the door. A long drag and exhale with a big toothy grin for the cops, and steps out with his hands up as instructed. They fall on him like a human wave. There’s only grunting and pain for a moment, and then the handcuffs are on and he’s hoisted to his feet and drug to the car where Lewis is waiting for him.

“Calvin. Long time, no see.” Lewis smiles, mocking him.

“Not long enough. Don’t you have something better to do faggot? Some asshole that needs fillin’ out there somewhere?”

It gives Lewis more pleasure than he’d like to admit pushing him down into the car. “Calvin Hocker, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you…”

***

I’m lying in bed, falling in and out of sleep, when I hear my phone ring. Picking it up and looking at it, the Caller ID says it’s Frank. He knows I should be asleep; this better be good.

“Talk to me.”

“Lewis says they’ve got the guy who lit the house up in a cell downtown. You want me to get you in to question him?” Frank seems smugly proud of himself. I think he has a right to be this time so I say nothing about it.

“Yeah, set it up for tomorrow night.” I sit up in the bed, put him on speaker, and begin to type it into my phone so I won’t forget, and it occurs to me that Frank can help me with my other ‘Lewis issue.’ “And while you’re at it, tell your buddy Lewis that I had nothing to do with Mikey Moran’s death. He wants me to come in and answer questions. You and I both know that I haven’t spoken to Mikey in more than a year.”

“Mikey Moran. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. He’s dead? What happened?” Frank’s gonna be hard to live with for a little while. He just made a bust, and his head swelled. I try to shake it off. Why should it bother me that he’s happy? Maybe it’s because I’m so miserable?

“According to your old partner he was found yesterday, all shot full of holes at the old train yard. I’ll bet he was skimming from someone who took offense. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I don’t know what he’s gotten mixed up in since he stopped driving for you. Do you even know what he’s been in to?” I sigh as I lie back down. I know he hears it. It should tell him that I’m done with this conversation.

“Word I’ve heard was he was working for some new guy in town, Molder, on small time intimidation and protection bullshit. Probably drugs, poor guy. But that’s what you get when you fuck with me. He’s lucky I let him live after I caught him. You don’t steal from my girls.”

“I’ll try to point Lewis in a better direction, but he never wants to hear anything about you from me. I can’t promise he won’t still want you to go see him.” He’s such a trooper. He’s earned his bonus this month, and he knows it.

“That’s fine. Just do something to keep him outta my ass for now, please. I’ve got a lot on my plate as it is.

“HOCKER! YOU’VE GOT A VISITOR,”
the Deputy Jailer Kenton calls from the door to C block. “Get down here!” He clangs his nightstick against the door to show his impatience.

Not seeing anything after a couple of minutes, he calls again, “Last warning, Hocker! Let’s go!”

Calvin takes his time slowly standing from his bunk, putting down the nearly shredded paperback copy of “Raise the Titanic” with a number two pencil as his book mark. He gives himself a look in the foggy mirror above his toilet and gives a nod to Marshall, his cell mate.

Descending the stairs painfully slowly for effect, he waves at the other prisoners in their cells. He acts like a celebrity. At the bottom of the stairs he gives a wide smile to the guard. He knows this is his ticket home, and he can’t help but piss off anyone in authority here that he can before he goes.

“Put your hands through the door, Hocker. I’ve got to put your jewelry on before you go see the nice man waiting for you.” Kenton holds the cuffs out and Calvin smiles at him as he slips his hands through the open rectangle in the door.

“Don’t worry, fat ass. When I sue this place for millions and put everyone here out of work, I’ll make sure you still have a job mowing my yard. I won’t let you starve. I know how hungry a big brown fella like you can get for fried chicken.” He spits the last two words onto the window in the door.

Kenton tightens the cuffs down on him a little tighter than is comfortable. “You better hope I don’t run into your redneck ass on the outside.”

Calvin just laughs. The door opens and he’s led in cuffs down the hallway and through another set of doors, ending up outside a door marked ‘private.’

Kenton opens the door and pushes Calvin toward it. He stops himself and looks back at the guard, easily three times his size. “Now watch it, big boy. You don’t want to give me a reason to be upset with you.”

A smirk crosses his face as he turns and steps into the small windowless room with the confident swagger of a man holding the world by the shorthairs. It only takes him two steps into the dimly lit space to realize he doesn’t know the man seated at the table. The door slams shut and he can hear the lock clank behind him. This wasn’t right.

He can tell this man is not a lawyer or a cop; he is a predator in a black leather trench coat. His eyes widen a bit, giving away his panic.

The man at the table smiles at him charmingly. The smell of fear like this is always an added bonus. “Hello there, Calvin. My name’s Garrett. You know something… or someone really, that I need to know more about. Have a seat.”

Garrett points to the chair and Calvin walks briskly over and sits down. Now he’s gone beyond fear. He’s deep in the throes of terror.

“I’d offer you a cigarette, but these days even the jails are nonsmoking.” He lets a sharp sigh. “Almost seems sacrilegious, doesn’t it? No more last smoke for the condemned man.”

Calvin doesn’t answer, as Garrett leans closer to him. Not only is he not in control of his body, it seems that this man is, and he can’t even scream for help. He can only stare into the man’s eyes in panic and pray silently in his head. He’s sure he’s about to die.

“Look deeply into my eyes. Lose yourself. This won’t hurt a bit. I just want your mind.”

***

The little girl’s eyes dart from side to side. She brushes the dirty, caked on black hair from her forehead and tries to stand, hitting her head on the top of her cage.

Somewhere in the distance a howl goes up. It’s a menacing sound, and – worse -- it’s definitely not an animal.

Her delicate hands wrap around the bars of her tiny prison, and she squints, determined to make out what is in the darkness around her.

It’s pitch-black, and smells of stagnant water. She knows there is something in the inky thickness that is tightly constricted around her, watching her. Something is there and it means to hurt her, and she is wet with a panicked sweat.

She lets go of a bar with one hand and darts her eyes quickly from looking down at her pocket to scanning the dark around her, not wanting to give whatever is there an opportunity to strike at her unaware. She fumbles in her pocket and finally finds what she was looking for.

Yanking her hand back up to head level, she holds out a brass key.

“Help me!”

***

My dreams are getting worse. For a ghost, Rachel haunts me more when she’s not around than when she is. It took months to adjust to having a child in the house, even if she is dead, and now the silence is strange. I want so badly to hear her playing or watching cartoons. Everywhere I look I feel her influence, things she’s touched, or questions she’s asked. If I don’t get that girl back soon I think I’ll lose my mind.

I throw on my clothes and head downstairs, thankful to be back home. There’s plenty of action, noise, and pleasant odors when the wealthy degenerates come to play. At least this much is as it should be.

Walking through the front sitting room it stands out that Julie isn’t there, and Leslie is filling in for her. Maybe she went out for food or something, but it’s not normal for her to go out with letting me know first.

The kitchen door swings shut behind me and I grab a bottle out of the warmer. Checking the time/date sticker a contented sigh escapes me. It doesn’t get any fresher without using my fangs. It’s a bit piggy of me, but I down the whole damned thing. Julie will get more, and she won’t mind. I’ll just feel bad, knowing I made her work a little harder.

I head out the back door and into the garage where I’m met with a sad and sorry fact. I own six cars and not one of them is here. Not even my ’72 VW. How does this even happen?

I pull out my phone and call Julie. If she left, she almost certainly took a car, and since she and I are the only ones who like to drive the VW, I’m guessing she’s in it.

Three more times I try. No answer. I don’t like this.

I’m pondering my next step, thinking I’ll call Frank, when he pulls into the driveway in my Charger. He idles up next to me slowly, with a big smile.

As soon as he’s out of the door, I’m on him, “Why aren’t you driving your own car?”

He looks at the empty garage and my purse in my hands and starts laughing. “Awww… Stuck at home on a date night?”

“Cute. Where’s your car?”

He stops laughing, but it’s written all over his smug face. “It’s in the shop getting new tires, where I told you it would be last week.”

He’s right. I remember now. “I don’t have time for this. Give me my keys. I have plans for later tonight that are financially important, and I still have to go find out what’s going on with the arsonist you had arrested. Everything still a go on that?”

“Yeah. But if you see Lewis, I haven’t talked to you. Remember, he wants a little face time with you.” He starts laughing again as he walks up to the back door.

I try to stay calm. My nerves are shot to hell lately and something that small and petty I can normally laugh along with. I mean, it is kinda funny that a girl with six cars could be stuck home standing in an empty garage. But in that moment, I really want to slap the shit out of him.

I need Rachel back home safe now. I don’t like feeling like this.

I start the car and point it downtown. Everything else is a blur. The music and the vibration of the engine are soothing and then I find myself looking out at the river, sitting at the foot of Broadway.

At least everything here is familiar. The diners in the ‘Tower of Seafood’ behind me were loudly enjoying their food, drink and company. The lights were on at the International Cross Stitching Museum, illuminating the playful statues on their front lawn. And even Homeless Cop was here tonight, wearing his hat and jacket that had been standard Pekin PD uniform issue in 1964, happily plodding along pushing his shopping cart.

I’m surprised at how much I’ve grown to appreciate sameness as the decades past. How much I’ve become resistant to change.