Falling Down (5 page)

A
ll righty then
, I thought next morning. Let's look at the odds of my dilemma. I mean, what are the odds that one chosen path is better than another? Have you ever noticed, while driving, that some days you hit nothing but green lights, and on other days, all lights are red?

What are the odds?

I mean, is it random, like flipping a coin, heads come up half the time? Is it your karma? Your mood? Distractions from your too-spicy Thai food lunch?

I never saw it coming.

That he'd actually leave without me.

That he'd actually
leave
me.

Like all unsuspecting lovers, in hindsight, I should have seen the signs.

He'd kept his own house, he'd lived in his own time zone. He'd appear to spend a week or a month with me, then he'd just leave.

What I always expected to happen, what I'd really wanted, really dared to
hope
would happen, was that one day I'd have Nathan permanently at my side, arms around each other, eating at Kingfisher or Ric's or Janos or Cuvee or Hacienda del Sol or Nonie or the Arizona Inn. The two of us seeing movies, hands across adjoining stadium seats at some mall cineplex. Okay, so I loved Robert De Niro and he liked
Finding Nemo,
so what, I'd see anything.

Of course, it never really happened that way.

In truth, Nathan Brittles, my two-year lover, my partner, he didn't care for movies or fine restaurants at all. I might watch or eat anything. He didn't. He'd said more than a few hundred times how he'd rather be back up on the rez. How he wanted to be
dineh
again.

Indian.

Navajo.

One who returned and lived the old ways.

 

Let's not dwell on this,
I thought.
I'll go see this Emich woman, then I'll drive up to the rez. Just one step at a time
. I heard that in a black church one day, in Yakima I think, back in my wild days. Had no meaning for me then.

 

I snugged into my oldest swim suit, black, with a racer back and the embroidered Speedo logo. Chlorine-resistant, but old enough that the chemicals had degraded the polyester. I snapped it against my butt and breasts, my nipples erect under the fabric, we used to call them high beams. The suit a size too small, but this morning it protected my heart, squeezed my heart inside so I didn't have to deal with it.

I slid into my pool, dove through layers of heated water toward the bottom and cooler water. Breath almost gone, I surfaced like a small whale and crashed back into the water. Without thought, I swam idle laps, easing into a backstroke. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk dipped and dived, riding a thermal, surveying me and my property for

I powered into a freestyle sprint for four laps, focusing my body and focusing my thoughts.

I
needed
my private investigator license back. I'd do whatever it took. I'd always run my life that way:

This morning I fixed the most important goal in my life.

I'd accept that Nathan had just left, unannounced, as he'd done many times. And that he'd come back to me.

That was my goal.

I'd meet Mary Emich later in the morning, I'd shuck her off quickly, I'd report to Bob Gates that I'd done my absolute best, but I really needed to get up to the Navajo rez today.

Goal fixed.

Head clear with determination.

And so I'd go running, then I'd see my Reiki master and psychic.

When I came back, Nathan might even be home.

Or not. I'd face that if I had to.

Later, I sat in the kitchen, munching celery stalks, still wearing the wet swim suit.

Yesterday, sure, there were problems in my life, but when I went along with Nathan to the reservation, after he'd adopted that boy into his family, then I figured we'd just work out who lived where and how much time we should spend together. Check that. How much time
I
should spend on the reservation to keep Nathan happy.

And today, everything's so…so complicated, which is to say, I no longer felt serenely confident in working out problems, in fact, I didn't believe there
was
a serious problem. I'd naively believe that my days as a licensed, working PI were over, my involvement with violence reduced to occasional random computer searches that no
longer bore any resemblance to the illegal hacking I'd done.

I stared at the television where I'd watched
Bambi
the night before.

Bambi, the innocent.

Today, I felt more like the hunter that killed Bambi's mother, I felt…I felt as though…I felt as though I was destroying my love for Nathan, but I felt powerless to make the choice of love, to join Nathan and leave police work behind, I felt impelled to get back my PI license and in that, my dear friends, I felt more like the hunter than the innocent deer.

Decision. Enough soul-searching, second-guessing, emotional games.

 

Eventually even Bambi has to grow up.

“S
o what's wrong?” Sandy said.

After she'd laid Reiki hands on me. After I'd cried for fifteen minutes.

She knew, even before I jogged into her yard and lay on her massage table, she knew something was wrong. But Sandy never probed and pressured, never asked too many questions unless you gave her permission. If you've never been to an astrologer or a psychic, my friend, if you've never given yourself over to tarot readings or to Reiki, don't jump to a quick dismissal.

Sandy was my new Reiki master, after Georgia Roan told me that she'd not work with me unless I left my Beretta at home. Not wanting to do that, not wanting to feel less vulnerable without the Beretta, our relationship ended suddenly and it took me quite a while to find Sandy.

Sandy places her palms on my shoulders. I lie on her massage table, but I could equally sit in a chair, or, and this is totally unfathomable to nonbelievers, I can be
any
where in the world and Sandy can connect.

Reiki is not like a massage, where you fall asleep. Reiki attunements send you to such deep relaxation that your body sags, warmth spreads from the Reiki master's touch, warmth radiates from the spot of physical contact.

Sandy was my priestess, I was her altar.

Or to come down from that soap opera feely-touchy
way of talking, quite simply, Sandy had a power. Sandy had
the
power to give you relaxation. She also did traditional massage.

This morning, I needed every kind of relaxation.

Massage is a bond between giver and taker. If you don't really communicate stress to your masseuse, you never get maximum relief. It's as simple as that. Massage is also about pressure. Physical pressure, sure. Like you feel physical discomfort and the masseuse presses and pokes your body until it hurts good.

A time of pure pleasure, a banishment of pain.

But of course it's only temporary.

My cell rang. Thinking, believing that Nathan would call, I'd violated one of Sandy's basic rules. Turn the cell phones
off
.

“Nathan?” I said. Sandy frowned, shook her head.

“No. It's Bob Gates.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, Bob.”

“Something's just gone down,” he said.

“I can't deal with you now. Not right now.”

“There's a crime scene,” he said.

“Abso
lute
ly no way.”

“We'll need to talk. Once I get some input, we'll at least need to talk.”

“When?”

“Keep your cell on.”

I disconnected.

 

“You want to tell me what's going on here?” Sandy said. “Damn! Laura, your body just went ballistic. You, Laura, what's wrong? Laura, just cry, sweetie, just cry it out.”

She swiveled her body to cuddle behind me, her head sideways on my sweaty back, one hand stroking my forehead. We lay there together for so long I wondered if I was dreaming.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said finally.

“Do you want to talk at all?”

“I've got four hours to change my life,” I said.

“Geez laweez. That's kinda…kinda cosmic. You ever cross over? From one way of life to something different, something you'd not even imagined was out there?”

“No. But. I've got to leave. I'm going over to Tohono Chul Park.”

“I've got two clients there!”

“Do you know Mary Emich?”

“What are the odds?” Sandy said. “That I'd know both of you. So. What's the story, is Mary Emich a friend?”

“Never met her.”

“Why are you seeing her?”

“I don't really know.”

“Okay,” Sandy said. “Guess she's not a friend of yours.”

“Just somebody that needs help,” I said.

Sandy gently laid her hands on my shoulders again.

Relaxed, almost asleep. Wishing I hadn't even mentioned Emich's name. It's the stress, my friend, the body wants to release its secrets in order to heal.

“Help with what?”

“Computers. Something. I don't know, really, what she wants. Listen, Sandy. Actually, I don't want any more clients right now.”

“She comes here. Friend of hers from the park brought her. Peggy Hazard. Both of them lay out on the same table as you. So. Mary needs some help?”

“I don't want another client.”

“All right.”

“But I
need
another client.”

“Laura, you're so irrational today. We're not going to solve anything, just let me tell you some things about Mary, then you decide what to do. You know Tohono Chul Park?”

“You'll see her, okay?”

“Uhhh,” I said.

“You just lied,” Sandy said. “I felt the aura.”

“What's she like? This Mary Emich.”

“Just call the park. Ask for the director of Visitor Services.”

“What's she like?” I said again.

“First, listen to her voice,” Sandy said. “Then you'll know. But I've done her chart. I can tell you what I think.”

Chart, meaning astrology chart.

What a way to run a business, depending on the stars to tell you if a client is good or…or whatever.

“Whatever use is that?” I said.

“She's a very complex, a very bright woman,” Sandy said.

Launching into Mary Emich's chart without blinking.

“She's got a hop-scotch mind and loves to engage in ping-pong conversations. Why do I say this? She's a Libra, that's an air sign, with her moon in Gemini. Another air sign.”

I sat up on the table.

“That's gibberish,” I said.

“Listen, just take it in, just…for god's sakes, Laura. Just turn off your head for a while. Okay?”

“I survive because of my head.”

“Oh, pul
eeze,
” she said. “You survive because you analyze with your head, you draw up an agenda of choices with your head, and your gut tells you the right choice. The only thing really private about your investigating is that you make your decisions, you keep your life bottled up inside, and you keep insisting that your head is what's making the choices. Survival is
here
.” Thumping my gut, my heart. “Thinking is up here.” She laid a hand on my head. “It's not up to me if you go see Mary Emich. You've got a whole lot more than another client on your mind. But I know Mary. Maybe you can help her.”

I rummaged around in the clothes I'd removed, got the Beretta, laid it on the massage table.

“What do you think about this?” I said.

“It's a gun.”

“You look at it. Do you see protection? Violence? What?”

“I see a tool,” Sandy said. “Shane said that. In the movie, he's teaching little Joey how to quick-draw, and Joey's mother tells Shane she doesn't want guns. Shane says a gun is just another tool. I saw that movie when I was twelve years old. I talked about it with my dad, he said Shane was right. I loved my dad. So that's what I thought then, that's what I think now.”

“Sandy. I'm going to see this woman, but I'm going to blow her off. Okay? Then I'm driving up north to find Nathan.”

“Oops,” Sandy said. “Whoa! Major stress. Lover leaves you.”

“Please. I won't, I can't talk about that right now.”

“Okay. Mary Emich. Ascendant in Virgo, earth sign.”

Determined to make me hear her out.

“Libra and Gemini are what they call dual signs. Libra's symbol, the scales of justice. Always seeking what is fair and balanced. Gemini. Twins. Off in two directions. Gathering information. So right off the bat, you have four people going in different directions. I'll bet she never met a conversation she didn't like but oh so charming. Next, let's add the fact that both Gemini and Virgo are ruled by Mercury, the fastest-moving planet in the Zodiac.”

“Stop,” I said. “You want me to see her? I'll see her.”

“Just let me add that Virgo Ascendant means she loves being helpful, also, when there is an abundance of Mercury in the chart, she could be awash in nervous energy always on the move both physically and mentally.”

“This is exhausting me,” I said.

“That's because it's
you
writ all over.”

“Me?”

“Let. Me. State. This. Very. Plainly. No way are either
of you ever, ever,
ever
going to make a snap decision. It just isn't in your makeup.”

“You talking to me?” My Robert De Niro impression.

“The need to weigh everything,” Sandy said. “Every
single
thing. About a dozen times, and even then you might change your mind.”

“Listen,” I said. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“Birthdays.”

“If I give you somebody's birthday, you can…what do you call it?”

“An astrology chart. Yes. You want advice about somebody?”

“Maybe,” I said. Fishing in my bag, I handed her Kligerman's info sheet.

“Hey. What a hunk. This guy married?”

“Nope. But he's a cop.”

“Okay. I'll make up his chart. If. If you'll promise not to blow off Mary until you talk to her.”

“It's a deal,” Sandy said. “Now get back on the table.”

But after the massage, after I said goodbye, she held me with both arms. Not a hug, but hands on my upper arms, her arms extended, her eyes searching my face.

“When you're ready to do the work,” she said. “Call me any time.”

“I'll spend an hour with Mary Emich,” I said. “Then I'm done.”

“Not with Mary. With yourself.”

“I'll do my own work,” I said shortly.

“Ummm,” Sandy said. “You're a private investigator. Out in the world, I have no idea whose privates you investigate. But if I'm wrong, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting this aura from you about trouble with Nathan. If you ever need me, come by. If you ever need just to vent, I'm open twenty-four seven.”

“I've got to go,” I said.

 

Tohono Chul.

An island of serenity inside a state of chaos.

Where art and nature connect.

I went there whenever I really
really
needed to be serene.

I Googled the Park website.

 

Director of Visitor Services.

Mary Emich.

Marketing

 

Using one of my untraceable cell phones, I called the park's central answering system, got switched to her voice mail.

“Hi. Thanks for calling Mary Emich, the director of Visitor Services at Tohono Chul Park.”

I waited through the rest of her message.

A distinctive, clear, happy voice. Careful enunciation, more than a hint of an Irish lilt. I left a message, I'd be there later in the day, meet me in the grotto.

I loved the grotto.

I started to hang up, but a woman answered.

“Who is this?” Mary Emich said.

“A friend of Bob Gates.”

“Yes, but…who
are
you?”

“My name?” I said, the conversation going in a strange spiral.

“I need to make sure,” Mary said. “I need to know you're…” Sound of papers rustling. “Laura Winslow?”

“Yes.”

“You'll be here today?”

“Yes. But…what is this about?”

“I can't talk on the phone.”

“Does it involve your daughter?” I said.

A long, I mean, a really long silence.

“She's not my daughter,” Mary said finally. “But yes, it's about a young girl. I want you to help me.”

“Help you how?”

“Keep us both alive.”

“I don't, what are you saying, what does that mean?
Help keep you alive? I work in computers. That's all I do.”

Another call. The Cosmic ring, a triad that moved down a full note and then up and up. C. B. C. D. I'd set it to ring Cosmic for Bob Gates.

“Wait,” I said to Mary, and disconnected. “Bob?”

“You want to know about the
maras
?”

“No. I do not want to know more.”

“It's an official request from TPD. You specifically. You've been requested.”

“By who? For what?”

He gave me an address.

“Jordan Kligerman wants you to help us out.”

“Help with
what
?”

“Some men at a crime scene. They have, I don't know what they're called, some kind of computer phones. Plus all of our CSI photographers are at other scenes, so bring your Nikon.”

“Bob. What's this got to do with a bad cop? You know, what you came to see me about?”

“For your ears only. One of the dead people was an undercover cop. The only person we've got inside the
maras
. Three years and change, he's been working his way up the cartel as one of their money launderers.”

“A white-collar guy?”

“No. Another drone. Born in Guatemala, parents killed by the right-wing death squads. This guy's one of the
maras
contacts with financial institutions. All done by computers, I don't know, stuff bounces around the world, you can move millions without making eye contact.”

“But if he's dead, why me?”

“They're not all dead,” Bob said. “And there's some kind of cell phone gadget, our people at the scene don't know what to do with it.”

“A cell phone gadget,” I said. Shaking my head.

“Will you come?”

“Meet you there in twenty,” I said.

“Not me. Lead detective's a friend. And listen. You don't have to give an answer about joining TPD, but I'd like just to introduce you to Kligerman.”

“I'm leaving today.”

“Tonight. Late evening. Just for a drink.”