Dead Things (12 page)

“Where the fuck is Alex?” People are ducking behind chairs, running toward the fire exit. The bouncer stands, a little unbalanced, and comes stalking toward me, his face contorted with animal rage. I step in and shove the Browning against his head.

“I’ve killed two people today,” I say, “and tore their souls into shredded fucking wheat. You really want to fuck with me?”

He hesitates, unsure of what to do. Whether because I’ve got a gun in his face or because I’m talking bugfuck crazy I don’t know. The fact that he got up from that blast and hasn’t backed down says I may have picked a fight with the wrong guy. I don’t really want to have to kill him. There’s been too much of that today already.

“Back off, Max,” Alex says, coming out from the back. The bouncer looks at both of us, glares at me and steps aside. Alex comes up to me, pointedly ignoring the gun. “What’s going on, Eric?”

On the drive over I did the math. Alex is the only person who knew where I was staying. And then there was that crack from Griffin about Alex half a million in bad debt, how he’d sold most of his club to get back into the black. The more I thought about it, the more plausible it sounded.

“You sold me out, you sonofabitch.” I’m slurring my S’s and the dizziness has kicked up a couple notches. That spell took a lot out of me.

Alex frowns. He takes on a tone like he’s talking a crazy man off a ledge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, Eric, you look like hell. I’ve been trying to find you since your call cut out. Let me get you some help.”

“Fuck you,” I say, loud enough to make him flinch. “You sicced that sonofabitch and his fucking band of thugs on me.” Alex blurs a little, the floor tilts enough to make me stumble but I hold on to the gun.

“I’m not doing anything, Eric. You’re bleeding. Your nose is broken. Your face is nothing but one big bruise. We need to get you some help.”

“You’re not fucking touching me. Griffin told me about you. Told me about your deal. Right before he tried to have me killed.”

“Griffin? Ben Griffin? The hell does he have to do with anything?”

“See, you know him. You knew he was around. You knew he was looking for me. You gave me to him to clear the half million you owe him, get your club back.”

“The fuck are you going on about? No. I mean, yeah, I know him. Everybody knows him. And yeah, I owe him money. But he sure as fuck doesn’t own any of this club. We’ve got a revolving account with him. He’s one of my suppliers.”

“What?”

“He sells me beer, Eric.”

Did I get the name wrong? I don’t think so. I can’t remember. There’s something else to say, but I can’t think of it.

“You didn’t fuck me over,” I say, somewhere between relieved and feeling like an asshole. I blink away the double image of Alex. My thoughts slide off each other. The room takes another tilt and I stumble, suddenly too woozy to stand up straight.

He catches me as I go to my knees, grabs the gun with one smooth motion. “No, man. I didn’t do anything like that. I wouldn’t do that.”

“He was with Boudreau.” My voice sounds very far away. “Changed his name from Duncan.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Let’s get you patched up and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

Alex thinks he’s just his beer guy. I laugh. “Boy does he have you fooled,” I say, and slip into unconsciousness.

Chapter 12

It’s 1994 and Vivian is patching me up again. We’ve been dating almost three years now. I’ve been in another fight. I’ve got another broken nose. Took on three guys in the parking lot behind a shitkicker bar on Pico because I wanted to hurt something.

I didn’t lose, but I didn’t exactly win, either. Story of my fucking life. I’m not stupid. I know I’ve got issues. Who doesn’t? The world pisses on everybody. I’m not special. That pisses me off even more. Angry young man, that’s me.

But Viv doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve the anger, the fights. Me showing up on her doorstep with cuts and bruises. Broken bones. More evidence I can’t rein in my own fucking temper.

“I’m sorry,” I say. For what I’m not sure. There’s so much to choose from, after all. Let’s settle on me being such a raging asshole. That should cover pretty much everything.

“You should be,” she says. “Fifteen years is a long time. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

My eyes snap open and 1994 slams into 2010.

“Vivian,” I say. I try to get up, but dizziness and weakness overwhelm me. She pushes me back down with a fingertip. I don’t fight it. It’s an awfully nice fingertip.

Short red hair, porcelain skin, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Time’s barely touched her.

“Eric.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Fixing you,” she says. “Again. Do you know where here is?”

It looks like a storeroom with shelves and boxes loaded with booze, cans of peanuts, cleaning supplies. I’m on a folding table with a rolled up jacket under my head for a pillow.

“We’re at Alex’s bar?” I say.

“Hey, you’re not as concussed as I thought.”

I should say something more, but what? Apologize? How do you apologize for disappearing the way I did?

“Viv, I—”

“Have a broken nose,” she says, cutting me off. “A fractured rib, lacerations, contusions, a missing tooth, broken capillaries in your left eye and a couple minor gunshot wounds. You’re lucky. Bullets just skimmed the surface. By the way, nice tats.”

“Thanks. Kept me alive today. You say a couple gunshots?” I only remember getting shot once.

“Right forearm, and a really nasty one on your back.”

“Oh, that. Ghost tagged me.”

“Do I want to know how that happened?”

“Probably not.” I flex my arm, look at the neat stitching cutting through a tattoo of intertwining snakes in a band. I can’t remember what that tattoo does. Just to be on the safe side I’ll want to get it touched up.

The wounds are sore, but not what I’d have expected from a gunshot. When I breathe I don’t feel that hitch from the broken rib that’s been bugging me since Florida. I prod my nose with a finger and it explodes with pain, making my eyes tear up. “Jesus fuck that hurts.”

“Quit your whining. It’s not like you haven’t broken your nose before. Quit poking at it and it’ll heal up fine.”

The pain subsides slowly. All things considered, including the nose, I’m in pretty good shape. I should be in a lot more pain and a lot more fucked up.

“You’ve gotten better.”

“I should hope so,” she says. “Spent enough on the medical degree.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“What, you think I couldn’t make it through med school?”

“What? No. God, no. I was just—” I let the sentence trail off. I’m not sure what I was thinking. Things had changed. Alex runs a business, Viv’s a doctor. Lucy, well . . . before she died Lucy was a success.

And then there’s me.

“Just thinking how much things have changed around here. Feeling a little lost is all.”

Her face softens a little. “I’m sorry about Lucy.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s get you up.” She helps me sit upright. I’m still dizzy, but it’s nothing compared to earlier. She hands me a juice box. “Drink this.” I suck it down in record time.

“You got another?” She’s already handing me one before I’ve finished my sentence.

“So,” I say, slurping the last of the juice, “med school, huh?”

“Top of my class.”

Not surprising. Viv’s scary smart. Smarter than me, that’s for damn sure. Like Alex she wasn’t big on power, but she was good with memory enhancement spells and things that required control and finesse. Couple that with an already brilliant mind and I could never win a goddamn argument with her.

I flex my back. Even the soreness I felt a little while ago is fading. “Private practice?”

She nods. “Through UCLA. I do some work at County, too. I can’t do miracle cures, but I can speed things up.”

I point at my taped up nose. “Like fixing busted noses?”

She gives me a smile that’s got all the warmth of the North Wind. “I could fix that easy.”

“Right.” Of course she’s still pissed off at me. I would be if I were her.

“Oh, I’ll take care of it. I just don’t have what I need here. Look, Eric. Yes, I was hurt. And angry. I wanted to wear your balls for earrings. But it’s been a long time. I’ve moved on.”

I haven’t.

The thought comes so suddenly and so unbidden I know it’s true. Everyone’s kept moving forward, following their path, changing with the times. They’ve grown up and I’m still the angry young man playing with dead things. I’ve just gotten better at it is all.

I think, I know, that I’ve had this hope in the back of my mind that someday I could come home and everything would be fine. That I could pick up where I left off. I know it’s not possible. I can’t bring Lucy back, I can’t bring my parents back.

But maybe I can get Vivian back. Stop running, get a second chance. If she can forgive me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“I was delirious. This one’s more heartfelt. And conscious.”

“Don’t, Eric. I can’t accept that apology. Not yet.”

“Fair enough. But maybe we could—” I don’t get a chance to finish. The door opens with a knock.

“Hey,” Alex says, stepping inside with a shopping bag. “How you doin’, tiger?”

“I’ve been worse,” I say.

“You were pretty messed up when you came in here.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. How’s your bouncer?”

“Wants to rip you a new asshole, knows it’s a bad idea.” Alex shrugs. “Shit happens.”

He steps behind Vivian, wraps his arms around her in a hug and gives her a kiss on the cheek that’s a lot more intimate than just friends.

If either of them has any clue how I’m feeling about this they’re doing a good job covering it up.

So much for second chances.

“I got you some new clothes. Moved your stuff to a different hotel. Hid your car. Have you considered getting something that doesn’t steer like the Titanic?”

“How’d you know which room I had?”

He holds up my motel room key. “Found this in your pocket.”

Of course. My paranoia ratchets down a notch. “Where’s the Caddy?”

“At the new motel. Parked in the back. You always drive it with a screwdriver in the ignition?”

“Present from Griffin,” I say.

“Oh. Speaking of which, he’s why I moved it. Figured if you weren’t just being delirious and he’s the badass you say he is, might not be a bad idea to get it out of the way. Turns out you’re right.”

I tense up, my heart hammering in my chest. “Did he come here? What happened?”

“He and three guys with guns. Side of him I’d never seen before. He made noises. Wanted to know where you were. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this whole place warded for privacy. He wasn’t going to find you.”

“Helps you’re a good liar,” Vivian says.

Yes, it does. I don’t know if I’m having doubts because I really think Alex would hand me off to Griffin, or if I just want something to hate him for besides Vivian.

“Thanks,” I say.

“I got your back. Know that. Please. Now, what the fuck happened?”

I tell them about being grabbed at the payphone, getting tagged at my motel room. The fight, me getting away. I leave out a few details, like how I got out of Griffin’s house.

“Jesus,” Vivian says. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

“I’ve had worse,” I say before I can catch myself.

Her eyes narrow and she does this thing where she bites her lip when she’s thinking. I’d forgotten how cute that was.

“I’ll look into that,” Alex says. “I don’t like the idea of doing business with a guy who’s picked up where Boudreau left off.”

“He seems less crazy than Boudreau,” I say.

“Doesn’t make him less dangerous. I’ll ask around. He’s not the only one who’s got people, you know.”

“What, you’re gonna have your waitresses tail him?”

“No, Max.”

“The bouncer?”

“Ex-LAPD.”

“I should probably apologize to him, huh?”

“Might not be a bad idea,” he says. He hands me the shopping bag. “I got you some new clothes. I figure you walking out of here half-naked in bloody pants would just confuse the customers.”

“I thought I scared them all off,” I say.

“This is the late night crowd. Trust me, these folks, you’re not gonna scare off.”

I look into the bag, pull out a cell phone.

“No more payphones,” Alex says. “Get with the fucking 21st century.”

I snort, toss it back in the bag. There are jeans, shoes and socks, a t-shirt and a hoodie with a Lakers logo on the front.

My shirt and tie are little more than ribbons. I ball them up and toss them into a wastebin. I put the t-shirt on. Pulling it over the stitches in my back and my broken nose isn’t fun, but it’s a good fit.

The Browning is in its holster at the bottom of the bag. I leave it there and toss my shoes in with it. A good polish and they’ll be fine.

I swap my torn-up suit pants for the jeans and pull on the tennis shoes. I’m transferring the contents of my suit coat into the pockets of the hoodie when I catch Vivian’s expression.

“Jesus,” she says as I pull out the pocket watch, her eyes going wide. “You still have that thing?”

“What is it with you people and watches?”

“I had the same reaction,” Alex says. “He’s got good reasons for keeping it.”

Vivian looks from Alex to me and back again. “I’d love to hear them.”

“The watch is an entropy trap. Causes aging, withering. Sucks time out of things.”

“Like living things,” she says, “I remember. Tell me you haven’t used it on anyone. That accident with the cat was appalling. You said you were going to get rid of it.”

“I lied.”

“Viv,” Alex says quietly. He puts his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it away.

“Would you rather I had just tossed it in a dumpster and let some other poor bastard find it?” I say. “Imagine a normal getting their hands on this thing. Any idea the kind of disaster that would be?”

She closes her eyes. I can almost hear her counting to ten. “Fine,” she says. She won’t look at me.