Going to the Bad (23 page)

I called Ted, who'd been asleep, then Freddy, who was down at the site of the sludge spill. Neither had heard from Rod.

Freddy did offer me an update on the cleanup. He hadn't been able to get beyond the roadblocks, but judging from the trucks and other vehicles he'd recorded coming and going, a lot of manpower was working there tonight.

Just before hanging up, Freddy said he hadn't been able to get any contact info for Bouncer, but he'd try again tomorrow. The only thing he'd learned at the party was that Bouncer's mother owned a religious bookstore in the Rosedale neighborhood.

I offered Freddy my enthusiastic thanks and explained that Bouncer's mother had been an old accomplice of Carter King's. She was the one I was trying to find.

I was way too anxious to sleep, even if I'd felt safe enough in Rod's empty house to do so. I was also reaching the stage where
my body stopped fighting my desire to stay awake and started pumping me full of adrenaline to combat sleep deprivation. A nervous energy coursed through me like that of a kid on a sugar high.

I used the Internet access on my phone. Bakersfield had three Christian bookstores—one more than we had strip clubs. I easily found a listing for the one in Rosedale.

I left a note for Rod telling him to call me if he came home and drove to Rosedale.

The store belonging to Bouncer's mom projected respectability, tucked as it was between a Supercuts and a vitamin shop. The simple lettering on the large window read
CHRISTIAN BOOKS AND GIFTS
. Looking through the glass into the dimly lit interior, I saw the stock was low, probably from the holiday season.

More important, a light was on in the back office of the store. I parked at the end of the strip and walked along the alley behind the shops. A van was parked near an open door spilling light from the bowels of a store. I cautiously approached and peeked inside the van's back window. Several boxes with the label
LUTHERAN CHURCH OF THE REDEEMER
were stacked inside.

I heard voices and walked toward the open door of the building. This back room, like the alley, was never meant for the public to see. The plain white walls had been scarred and nicked by the flow of inventory passing through. A pile of flattened cardboard boxes, marked with the same lettering as those in the van, sat in a pile by a utilitarian steel bookshelf.

“I'm just saying, should it be this much work?” Bouncer unloaded black books from another cardboard box. He'd changed out of the tux and into jeans and an LA Lakers sweatshirt. “I mean, if you're going to put so much effort into it, why don't you do something legit?”

He spoke to a woman sitting at a plain metal table. More black books—probably Bibles—rested on each side of her.

She took a book from the stack on her left, cut out the first page with a razor, then placed it on the stack to her right. “If I can
get product at bargain-basement prices, I'm going to do it. Why should I care which truck it fell off?”

I couldn't see the page she'd cut, but I guessed it had a
PROPERTY OF LUTHERAN CHURCH OF THE REDEEMER
stamp. This explained why they were working in the middle of the night. Buying, transporting, and altering stolen merchandise is best done under cover of darkness.

Bouncer added more books to the pile on her left, then flattened the empty cardboard box. “But I worry about you, Mom. One of these days you're going to get caught, and you've already got two strikes.”

The woman had to be Laurie Bogdanich—yes, I'd consulted the paperwork in the van and tried really, really hard to memorize her name.

If I walked right in and introduced myself, I'd officially be a witness to what they were doing. I figured Laurie would be more inclined to speak with me if things stayed friendly.

I backed up and waited out by the van. A few minutes later, Bouncer came out for more books.

I made sure to approach from a distance and make noise as I walked. “Hi. Remember me?”

His head shot up.

“Don't worry, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to speak with your mom.”

He dropped the box in his hands.

“Maybe you can go tell her I'm here. It's not for a news story. It's personal.”

All at once he lunged forward and grabbed me. It was such an unnecessary thing to do that I was completely unprepared.

“What are you doing?” I struggled as he easily dragged me inside. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

His left hand let go of me long enough to grab a roll of duct tape from a shelf.

That's when I got worried. “Let go of me, you idiot.” I raised my knee and kicked backward into his shin.

He was ready for it and jerked his leg out of the way. He was a bouncer, after all.

“I said I'm not here for a—” The duct tape went across my mouth in a crooked vertical line.

I hit at his face. I got one good scratch, but then he knocked my legs out from under me.

“What's going on?” Laurie appeared. Her face contorted as she watched her son grappling with me on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“It's that girl from the news.” He ripped off another piece of duct tape, but because of our struggling it ended up over one of his eyes. “The one who was asking about you at the club.”

“Why are you fighting with her?”

“Because he's an idiot,” I yelled through the corner of my mouth that wasn't taped.

“Because she's going to do a story about you.” He had me on my back, but couldn't get ahold of my arms. “It'll be three strikes and they'll send you to jail for the rest of your life.”

He tried again to rip off a piece of tape. I took advantage to send my elbow shooting into his ribs. He cried out and dropped the roll.

I ripped the tape off my mouth. “I'm not here to do a story.” All at once the pain registered in my brain and I shrieked. “Are my lips still there?”

Bouncer rallied and knocked me on my back again. I raised my knee and tried to kick him.

He intercepted my boot and held it in both hands. “How big are your feet? You're like some evil little pixie with boulders in your shoes.”

I reached up and ripped off the duct tape that was still attached to his face. Most of his eyebrow came off with the tape.

He cried out, but grabbed my wrists. “Help me tape her hands, Mom.”

Instead, his mother collapsed into a chair and took out a cigarette.

Bouncer looked up from attempting to pin my arms. “You know what the doctor said about smoking.”

“Sweetheart, it's Christmas, and you've kidnapped and assaulted a reporter—”

“Shooter,” I corrected while landing a punch across Bouncer's jaw.

“Sorry.” She exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You've kidnapped and assaulted a shooter, whatever that is. Point is, I'm having a smoke.”

“I'm not here to do a story,” I said. “I don't care about your business or where you buy the stuff you sell.”

Bouncer let up on me a little. “Then why are you here?”

I looked at his mother. “Carrie, you got arrested in 1984 with—”

“Laurie,” she corrected. “My first name's Laurie.”

“Sorry, I've met a lot of people tonight. It's hard to keep them all straight.”

“Remembering people's names is the only talent that matters.” She took a tall devotional candle from a box and used it as an ashtray. “Doesn't matter if you're a CEO or a . . . What did you say you were?”

“A shooter. I shoot video for the news.”

“Whatever business you're in, remembering people's names will make you successful.”

I wasn't in the mood to get lectured. “Did you sell stolen Bibles with a man named Carter King back in 1984?”

“I sold Bibles.” She grinned. “They may have been stolen, but the police never proved I knew that.”

“I'm looking for Carter.”

She shook her head. “When we got picked up, he made a
couple phone calls and had bail there lickety-split. Took off and never looked back.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

She took another drag on her cigarette. “Why you looking for him?”

I paused to think. She clearly knew something, but didn't want to get Carter in trouble. “I think he's in town. He and my uncle have some old business, and I think Carter's revived it.”

She gestured to Bouncer, who let go of me and sat back.

“He may be in town”—Laurie paused to take a drag on the cigarette—“but I don't think he'd be likely to stir up trouble. The one time I met up with Carter again, he looked like he'd pretty well settled down. Going the straight and narrow.”

I sat up. “When was this?”

“Back five or six years ago. Ran into him at Valley Plaza.”

I stood and walked to her at the table. “You saw Carter King at the mall, here in Bakersfield?”

She nodded. “Said he lived here. Had family in town.” She waved the hand with the cigarette at me. “His niece was a mess or something.”

“She's a meth addict,” I said. “And her mother, Carter's sister, has Alzheimer's.”

“He may be gone again. I don't know.” Laurie crushed the stub of the cigarette into the candle. “But he seemed settled, back when I saw him. Said trying to help his family was all that mattered now.”

“What did he look like?”

“Same old Carter. Older, but still that same smile. I swear he could sell sunscreen to a crocodile with that smile.”

The fondness in her words made me wonder if they'd been romantically involved, but it seemed awkward to ask in front of her son.

My hesitation left an opening for her to try to end the conversation. “Is that all? Can I consider us square?” She stood up. “Or am I going to have a problem with you knowing about my business?”

“No. We're square.”

Back in the van, I called Callum to tell him I'd found Laurie Bogdanich, as well as to ask if he'd seen Rod. I'd avoided doing it so far because Callum is notoriously grumpy when woken.

“Sorry to wake you,” I said when he finally answered.

“I was dreaming that chief meteorologist was an elected position in Kern County.” Callum's voice sounded groggy and slow. “No problem because our weather guy is so popular, except in my dream some other jerk with the same last name decided to run and confuse everybody.”

I told him about Laurie and that Carter King had been living in Bakersfield for years. Then I told him about Rod.

His voice changed. “What do you mean you don't know where he is?”

I explained everything—all the reasons he was probably fine as well as all the reasons I was worried.

When I'd finished, he said, “You're right, there's nothing to really indicate Rod is in danger, so wait until morning. He'll probably turn up at the hospital or the TV station and you'll feel silly for worrying.”

Collum paused. “Unless you want to try an end run around Handsome. Maybe go direct to a cop you trust who'll be more sympathetic.”

Only one cop might be considered sympathetic to me. I'd first met him a year ago at the same time as Handsome Homicide. We'd helped each other again last summer when I'd tried to prove an accidental drowning was actually murder.

Despite the late hour, I found his cell phone number and dialed.

“What the hell, Hawkins?” Detective Lucero's usually playful voice sounded strained and hoarse. “It's four thirty in the morning, and Christmas morning, no less.”

Note to self, people will forget they like you when woken in the middle of the night.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I can't find Rod and I'm nervous.”

He said a swear word I'd never heard before, and I'd heard some doozies.

After I explained that my uncle had been shot, Lucero's voice changed. “Your uncle? The old guy?” He waited for me to say yes, then continued, “He's a character. I'm sorry, I didn't hear. I'm off all this week for the holiday.”

I told him about how I'd come home and found Rod's car and cell phone at the house. He took notes, then put me on hold.

Finally Lucero's voice returned. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm getting dressed and heading in to Sheriff's Department headquarters. Can you meet me there in an hour?” Lucero was actually a detective with the Rural Crimes Investigative Unit. He wouldn't normally work from headquarters, but this wasn't a normal situation.

“Thank you. I can't tell you how grateful I am.”

When I hung up, I saw that I'd got a text from Freddy asking that I call him.

“Dude,” he started. “I've got sort of a situation-type thing going on.”

“What's that?”

He hesitated. “So, it's possible I lost that little dog.”

“It's possible? You don't know?”

“Calm down, I know.” He took a breath. “I definitely lost him.”

“How?”

“I took him back to the station, like you said, but after I geared up to go back out, the little dude kept trying to get in the van. He's like a newshound, literally.”

My voice rose. “You brought him with you to the sludge spill?”

“I totally figured he'd stay in the van, but, like, a couple minutes ago, he jumped out when I had the door open.”

“Can you find him? On those stubby, little legs he couldn't have gotten far.”

“I'm trying, dude.”

At this time of the morning, it would take an easy ten minutes
to reach the Sheriff's Department headquarters. Instead of the fifty-minute nap I'd been planning to take in the news van, I decided to go help Freddy and Thing.

I drove to where Highway 178 emptied out onto Seventeenth Street. Almost twenty-four hours earlier a tanker truck carrying sludge had crashed into a car. Five more cars and a smaller truck had crashed behind it. The injuries had been relatively minor, but the tanker had spilled its load of sludge. The cleanup had been expected to be finished by midafternoon. Now, almost twelve hours later, the roadblocks had actually been pushed out from the crash site, not in toward it.