Busted (26 page)

It was past seven thirty by the time he finally finished. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it was touching the western hills. The office park was in the middle of old farmland that was surrounded by forest. Between the shadows of the trees and the masking of the hills, twilight had set. The moon, past full and starting to wane, was just up.

The lot has cleared out, leaving Joe’s car alone. He’d gotten in early that morning and had parked on the edge of the lot, in an area that caught the afternoon shade. The dark interior of his car was warm enough as it was, he didn’t need the sun helping.

That meant at this point in the day it was in the gloom. Normally he didn’t mind, but yesterday’s visit with his brother had rattled him badly. He’d been jumping at every shadow and glint of sunlight all day, and his nerves were shot. There were periodic security patrols through the office park, but a once an hour drive through didn’t help make him feel any better.

Something was wrong he thought as he walked over to his car. The gloom seemed deeper than normal, and his car looked off. It was sitting oddly. Lower than normal. He was walking straight towards it, which is why it took so long for Joe to figure it out. He was almost to the car when he realized. His left rear tire was flat. And so was the left front tire.

Joe stopped right at the back of the car. One flat was odd, but possible – there were occasionally nails and broken glass in the parking lot, and he heard of at least one flat tire a month. Two was definitely unusual. He wondered if he’d managed to drive over something and hit it with both tires.

That the car wasn’t listing was strange. He walked around to the other side of the car to check.

Both tires on the right were flat too.

One tire would’ve been fine. Two was, just barely, in the realm of normal for an accident. But four? Four was deliberate.

He stood up and looked around, suddenly nervous. Despite the gloom by his car the lights in the lot hadn’t come on yet. It was dark there, and he felt the shadows closing in on him. It was irrational, there was no reason for it, but it was like they were pressing in, trying to smother him. Even the sound of the cicadas, normally annoyingly loud, were muffled.

There was nobody there.

There was no reason there should’ve been. It was probably kids playing a prank, or a disgruntled former employee taking it out on him. He’d had to let enough people go over the years, and the folks he’d had to fire weren’t, on average, the most stable people. But still, it was just a petty act of vandalism. Nothing to be really afraid of.

He knelt down to check the right rear tire. If he were lucky they’d just let the air out of the tires. The security office had a portable air pump. It’d be twenty minutes and some inconvenience, but he could be on his way.

The tire had been cut.

Shredded, really. The side wall had been slashed in half a dozen places. The knife had been very sharp, judging by how clean the cuts were. The front tire looked the same, though Joe wasn’t sure. The shadows made it difficult to tell from where he was.

The claustrophobic feeling was building, his stomach roiled, and it felt like a thousand ants were crawling down his spine. He had to get up, get away from there. Someone was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure where or why or what, but they were there and he had to go.

The fear and the urge to run bumped up against something else. Joe wasn’t going to be chased, no matter how he felt. He’d run like hell if he had to, and he wasn’t going to pay games with some nutcase with a knife, but he’d be damned if he’d bolt like a frightened rabbit.

He got up and took a step back. Slowly and deliberately he turned away from the car and started walking towards the building. He felt an itching between his shoulder blades, and he could’ve sworn he saw a glint of silver from between the trees. A faint smell of something foul wafted past. He’d smelled it before, just before he’d found Stephanie and at the Pony yesterday evening.

Joe shrugged his suit jacket off, catching hold of the cuffs as he did. With one tug he pulled them through, turning it inside out. He put it back on, trying hard not to rush, though he felt like his life might depend on it.

It was stupid, he thought. Old superstition, from stories his Nan had told him, tales from Ireland. He loved them when he was little, loved staying with her. His mother’s mother, she’s been born in the US six months after her parents had emigrated. She had always wanted to go back and visit but never could. She’d settled for the stories, and passed them on to Joe. She’d died when he was eight.

‘Faeries,’ she’d always told him, ‘can’t see you if your clothes are inside out. It makes you invisible.’
 
It was the sort of thing you believed when you were a kid, and Joe had eaten it up.

He wasn’t six any more and he knew faeries weren’t real. But he knew monsters weren’t either, and he still only drank during the day, in his apartment. And right now he was wearing his jacket inside out. It was only psychological, he thought. It was all in his head that he felt better, that the smell had dissipated, the feeling of being watched fading. All in his head. That didn’t stop him from walking faster. Nor from staying as far from the trees as he could. The center of the parking lot was pretty far. It was still bathed in the orange light of the setting sun, too.

Joe fished his cell phone out of his pocket while he walked. He should call security. He should call the auto club. Instead, he called Steve.

Steve picked up after three rings. “Detective Russell,” he said.

“Steve, it’s Joe. Listen, I’ve had some car trouble.”

“You looking to duck out on our date?” Steve asked. Joe could hear the amusement in his voice.

“As if. Besides, I already told you that your ass was too fat for me.”

“Ah, you wound me!”

“That’s what target practice tonight’s supposed to help with.”

Steve laughed at that. “So you going to be late?”

“Actually,” Joe said, hesitating. “I was wondering if you’d come pick me up. Car trouble.” It was stupid, he knew, not telling Steve what happened. The slashes weren’t accidental, and four slashed tires was more than just a prank. Someone did it on purpose.

“Ah, that sucks,” Steve said. “Do we have to wait for a tow truck or something?”

“I’ll talk with building security. They’ll call it in and have it taken care of,” Joe said.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Joe sighed. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

Joe hung up his phone, squared his shoulders, and walked slowly towards the main entrance of the building. Any shivers that might’ve run down his spine were just from the chill that was settling in as the sun set.

Really.

Tuesday
evening Joe was just pulling into the parking lot of the firing range when his cell phone rang. The call came through with no phone number attached. Joe smiled – Alex's timing was exquisite some times.

"Hey, sexy," he purred into the phone when he answered.

"Well, hello to you too. You come here often, sailor?" asked a very amused Steve.

Joe was mortified. "Oh, god, Steve, I'm sorry. I thought you were Alex."

Steve laughed. "It's okay. Lord knows I need the laugh."

"Bad day?"

"You have no idea," Steve said. There was something in his voice that worried Joe.

"Since it's five minutes until you're supposed to be here, I'd guess you're going to back out on me?"

"'Fraid so," Steve said. "You'll have to go on without me."

"Uh, Steve? No gun?"

"There's always rubber bands and paperclips…"

Joe snorted. "I don't think so."

"Seriously, they rent weapons to some people, and you're on the list. Your background check came up clean."

"Hey, you checked up on me?"

"Well, yeah. Of course."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"You got picked up—we're allowed. Besides, it means you get to go shoot things."

This, Joe had to admit, made sense. The shooting things part had its appeal as well. "All right."

Joe walked into the range. Phil was, as usual, manning the entrance.

"Hi Phil," Joe said as he dug his wallet out.

"Not with Detective Russell tonight?" Phil asked.

"He couldn't make it," Joe said. "He said I could rent a pistol?"

"Sure," Phil said, looking at the computer. "You're on the list. Need ammunition too?"

"Yeah. A box. Can I leave the extra here for next time?"

"No problem," Phil said. "You're on lane two tonight."

Joe passed over his credit card and signed the slip Phil passed back.

"Jackie'll have everything on the other side," Phil said.

Joe was buzzed through and, as Phil had said, there were a pair of earmuffs, safety glasses, a box of ammunition, and a small pistol waiting for him. Jackie was the range's armorer. Steve had briefly introduced them the past Thursday on Joe's second visit. He checked the pistol almost out of reflex, making sure it was unloaded. That got him an approving nod.

There were three other people already using the range, but the lanes on either side of his were empty. Joe set up a target, loaded his pistol, and started in.

He was in no rush. While he wasn't exactly comfortable with a gun, the first two times at the range had gotten him over the initial discomfort. He was working on accuracy, and that was slow. Think. Feel. Squeeze. Judge. Joe wasn't good, by any means. Most of his shots hit the target, and for now that was enough.

Half an hour after he started someone took lane one, the lane closest to the door. They were shooting up a storm – while Joe was working on getting more accurate, they were looking to dump as many slugs into the target as they could. Whoever it was was much better than Joe. For every shot he made they made four, and they all hit the target.

After more than an hour, Joe's hands were getting numb. That was enough for him. He took the last five shots in his pistol in rapid succession. Half missed the target, but it was fun and left the gun empty. Joe double-checked it to be safe, then grabbed the partly full box of ammunition and went to leave. The guy in the next lane was still going at it. He'd been there maybe half as long as Joe, and had easily used five times as much ammunition.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that it was Chris. He was scowling, his whole body tense as he fired shot after shot at the target at the other end of the lane. He hadn't changed this one recently. Its chest had a ragged hole in it. There were three holes dead-center in the silhouette's forehead too.

The side table had two ammo boxes on it, both empty. Joe watched Chris unload the last rounds in his gun and reach for more. He came up empty.

Cursing, Chris tossed the two empty boxes into the trashcan by the door and put his gun away. Even as upset as he was, he was careful with the weapon. The target practice hadn't been enough to exorcise whatever demon he had; when he got to the door, instead of opening it he punched it, hard. Joe winced. The door was metal and it had to have hurt. When Chris wound up for another shot he knew he had to do something before he broke something.

"Hey!" Joe shouted, loudly enough to be heard through the muffs Chris still wore.

Chris spun around. His eyes widened when he saw Joe standing there.

Not waiting for Chris to do anything, Joe walked by him and opened the door. He turned and motioned Chris through and into the hallway. When the door shut they both took off their earmuffs.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked. His tone was harsh. He was still upset from the day and it was spilling out. Joe didn't deserve it, but he couldn't stop.

Joe saw Chris' wince right after the words had left his mouth. Normally Joe would have snapped right back, but this time he didn't. Chris was tense, and upset, and looked like a man who was furious without a ready target.

Chris was Steve's partner, and whatever had made Steve cancel must've involved him, too. Joe remembered what Steve had been like after dealing with Stephanie's family's murders; just from the way Steve sounded on the phone, whatever they'd dealt with today was worse.

Steve had his family to go home to, had Mary to lean on. Chris didn't have anyone, not really. Joe didn't know what he was going through, but he understood what it was like to be miserable, to have crap to deal with and nobody there to help. That had been his life growing up, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. He didn't know what he could do, and he hated to admit it, especially when things with Alex were so confused, but he had… feelings for Chris. He couldn't leave him alone when he was so miserable.

"I'm just finishing," Joe said, trying to sound mild. "Let me drop these back off, then we can go."

"Go?" Chris asked. He was suspicious that something was up. He and Joe hadn't managed to exchange a civil word since they'd met, but Joe was sounding downright reasonable. "Go where?"

"Is Toby at Steve's house?"

When Chris nodded, Joe felt relieved. "Then we're going out. You need to relax."

Joe started down the corridor towards the exit. He put his hand on Chris' shoulder blade, gently guiding him in the same direction.

The hand felt warm on Chris' back in ways that were far out of proportion to its actual temperature. He felt himself lagging just a little, enough to give the light touch a little more pressure.

Joe was right, he was tense and he badly needed to let go. He couldn't though, he had no way to. Home was with Toby, and while Chris loved him deeply, holding Toby couldn't help him, not when he felt like this. Steve had his own way of dealing with it, one he couldn't intrude on even if it would help. It wouldn't, though, not for this. And even when he'd still been married, Megan would've been no help. She would've just complained that he wasn't paying enough attention to her.

"Where?"

"It'll be a surprise," Joe said. He gave a little smile, though since he was behind Chris there was no way he could see it.

Joe dropped his stuff off with the armorer and they were buzzed out. Chris started to fish his car keys out of his pocket, but Joe put a hand on Chris’ to stop him. That put Joe's hand very near his crotch. Joe tried very hard to not think about it. So did Chris.

"We'll leave your car here. It'll be fine. We'll take mine."

Chris looked unsure as they got to the little silver coupe. He wasn't used to giving up control over what was going on. Not like this. Not so quickly.

"Passenger side," Joe said as he felt Chris slow. "Maybe I'll let you drive sometime, just not tonight."

That was an innocent remark, Chris was sure of it. Joe wasn't being suggestive, and there wasn't any innuendo there.

He just wasn't sure what it said about him that he wished there was.

Joe drove, but Chris was too caught up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to where they were going. It had been an exceptionally bad day, one he was trying hard to forget, though he couldn't. He'd thought maybe some target practice would have helped, but it hadn't, no matter how many times he imagined the target at the end was someone real. He'd actually been relieved when Joe had decided to drag him along somewhere. Chris wasn't sure where they were going, but anywhere had to be better than the empty house that waited for him.

"We're here," Joe announced, rousing Chris out of his reverie.