No Accident (24 page)

“You’re surprisingly philosophical for a security guard,” Luke said.

“Yeah, the guys are ribbing me about it, but I don’t care.”

Luke nodded sagely. “Al,” he said, “I called you up here because I had a feeling you might be the right man for a special project and, after speaking with you, I now believe that you are.”

Alex waited for him to continue, and he did.

“What do you know about Alvin Bailey?” Luke said.

“Crash? I’ve only heard of him. Seems like sort of a legend around here.”

“He is, and deservedly so. The energy business is very competitive. The need for security is great. And Crash has always protected Liberty from its enemies, both external and internal.”

Enemies
. Alex thought that was a revealing choice of words, and Luke’s voice had now taken on a more formal tone as he extolled Crash—a tone of admiration and almost of reverence. Alex felt like he wouldn’t want to become one of Luke and Crash’s enemies. “People around here seem a little scared of Crash, to tell you the truth,” Alex said.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “If so, that’s fine with me
—a reputation can be just as effective as reality. But in reality Crash has a gentle heart.”

Alex nodded, but he had trouble squaring that assessment with some of the stories he had heard. At the bar last night, Alex’s coworkers had given him a lot more stories.

Luke continued. “I know this about Crash because I know him better than anyone else. I suppose his size and build can intimidate people—he got his nickname playing football. But he’s a complex man . . . loyal, scrupulously principled, by his own lights, at least. But at the same time he’s clever and practical, very grounded.”

Luke’s gaze drifted past Alex, and his mind seemed to have drifted as well. Alex wondered where Luke was going with this.

“Crash is in some trouble.”

Now we’re getting somewhere
, Alex thought.

“The police suspect he’s killed someone, a woman I loved very much.”

Petra P
, Alex thought, remembering the stories in the paper.

“And you want me to help clear his name?” Alex said.

“No,” Luke said. “Between you and me, I’m quite sure he did it. I want you to find Crash before the police do.”

Luke’s tone suggested he believed Alex’s obedience would be immediate and unquestioning. Alex slid his ankle off the table and started to stand up. “I’m not a hit man,” he said flatly.

Luke shook his head and motioned for Alex to sit.

“I don’t want you to kill him,” Luke said. “Just the opposite, I want you to bring him to me so that I can get him legal counsel and negotiate his surrender to the police.”

That was an answer Alex didn’t expect. “Luke, I don’t know you, but I’ve got to ask—you said you loved this woman?”

“I loved her very much,” Luke said. He spoke in a monotone, as if reciting a mantra. “I love her son, too, like he’s my own. Little Dmitri is with me now.”

“I don’t get it. Why not let the cops handle this? Getting involved will only make them suspect you.”

Alex threw in the bit about the cops to see if it rattled him
—he wondered if Luke had a hand in Petra’s death—but Luke didn’t look offended or surprised by the suggestion.

“I’ve been through that,” Luke said. “My fear is that if the police get to Crash first they’ll hurt him or kill him
—or the other way around—and I don’t want that.”

“Now you’re the one being philosophical,” Alex said. “If I were you, I’d want revenge, friend or no friend.”

“Mm. The urge for revenge is natural. But reverse the roles, and I know Crash would be thinking about how to protect me. He’s always put my interests above his own.”

“You make him sound like sort of a sucker.” Alex thought Luke must take
Al Franks
for a sucker. To Alex, the most likely explanation was that Luke had Crash kill Petra—for whatever reason—and now wanted Alex to find Crash so that Luke could stop Crash from snitching—permanently. And at that point, of course, Luke would need to stop
Alex
from snitching. This game was getting complicated fast.

“Crash is defi
nitely not a sucker. More like . . . a son. You see, he didn’t have a real family, was mostly in foster homes as a kid. Took out all his rage on the football field, and managed to get recruited to ’SC. That was about ten years after I graduated. Anyway, his junior year he finally wins the starting fullback spot, wreaks all kinds of havoc on the field, until one day he blows his knee out. Football was all he had. Next, he’s flunking out of school—and he’s no dumb jock, by the way—and then late one night he beats a convenience store clerk into a coma because the guy couldn’t make change right.” Luke shook his head at the memory. “Football players get away with a lot at ’SC, but this was off campus. Coach wanted to help but didn’t know how, so he called me.” Luke gave a little shrug as if that explained the rest of the story.

“And?” Alex said.

“The clerk came out of his coma, and I got some boosters to throw a little money his way not to press charges. I had Crash come work for me, first as a personal assistant, later as part of the security team, and pretty quickly after that as head of security. I took him under my wing, and I think sort of took over for Coach as a father figure. And as a result he’s been unfailingly loyal—”

“Killing your mistress is loyal?”

“My fiancée,” he corrected. “What I suspect is that Crash, somehow, did think he was serving me by . . . hurting her. Maybe he got a little confused. I’ve seen more of that lately . . . maybe concussions from his football days . . . but we are where we are. Don’t the Christians say ‘turn the other cheek’?”

Alex was too stunned to say anything. Luke seemed not to notice.

“So you’ll help me?”

Alex wanted to decline, to get away from Luke as fast as he could and forget the name Al Franks. Either Luke was deluded or else this was a trap
—and either way was dangerous. But Alex knew that this stroke of good luck was his best chance, probably his only chance, to get close to Luke and Crash and get the information that he needed—assuming he could then get away before he found himself in Luke’s crosshairs.

“You just want me to find him?”

Luke nodded. “And bring him to me.”

“I guess I can do that.”

Luke’s face opened up in delight, relaxing for the first time in their conversation. “I knew you would, once you understood things. The baboons who took you drinking last night—no offense, but that’s what they are—are capable of thinking only with their biceps. This job requires a philosophical perspective.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Luke smiled and pressed his hands together. “Now then, let’s discuss logistics. Do you own a gun?”

The pistol Luke gave Alex was for self-defense. That’s what Luke told Alex and what Alex told himself. Self-defense against Crash? Against the police who pursued him? Alex sure as hell wasn’t going to draw a gun on a cop. He acknowledged he probably couldn’t draw a gun on anyone. Luke didn’t elaborate on the dangers he was sending Alex to face, and Alex didn’t ask him to. As far as Alex was concerned, he was on his own errand, not on Luke’s.

And the target of Alex’s errand was Luke. Alex discussed it with Sheila after he left Luke’s office, and he intended to do just enough work to win Luke’s confidence and then get information on the accident. All the same, if Alex was going to be looking for Crash, he felt better having the pistol holstered under his jacket.

But it felt downright weird to have the gun with him now, driving around town to check in on his investment properties. He pulled his truck into the driveway of one of his houses
—the vacant house that Del had left to go stay in—and saw right away that the doorway was too dark. When Alex exited the truck, he confirmed that the reason was the front door was open.

He silently cursed Del. How could his brother be so irresponsible as to not close the front door?

As Alex got closer, he wondered whether he’d had a break-in. He’d had break-ins before—one time, by some teenagers who left some empty beer bottles and wrote the word ‘weed’ in feces on the living room wall; another time, by some drug addicts who left behind used needles but no written record of what the needles contained. It was likely that his dark doorway meant uninvited guests.

The gun felt all right now. Alex put a hand under his jacket, so that he could reach the pistol if he needed to, and with the side of his foot eased the front door all the way open. Nothing jumped out at him from the living room, or the kitchen. When he entered the bedroom, he recoiled. A man lay curled up on the floor, bleeding onto the carpet. His face was bruised and one eye was swollen shut. He was groaning. Alex kneeled down by him.

“Del,” he said. Who had done this to Del, to his little brother?

“Alex?” Del’s good eye searched the shadows until it found Alex’s face. “He was breaking in. I tried to jump him, but that didn’t really work out.”

“Did you see who did it?” Alex said.

“No. He was big, though. And one of his hands was darker than the other.”

Alex thought for a moment. “Like from a birthmark?”

“Maybe. His hands were flying pretty fast. He kept asking about some guy named Al Franks.”

Alex felt his stomach drop to the floor. Alex regretted thinking Del had left without closing the door and, for that matter, regretted kicking Del out in the first place. Brothers were supposed to have each other’s backs, and when Del had been beaten in Alex’s own house, Alex hadn’t been around.

“Oh, Del, I’m so sorry.”

“Nothin’ you could do. It was a random nut.”

“No. The man was looking for me.”

Del opened his mouth in surprise, and Alex saw that the man had chipped one of Del’s teeth. “Oh,” Del said. “I told him my brother owned the house. Was that bad?”

It’s not good
, Alex thought, but he didn’t reply because he didn’t want to make Del feel more guilty than he already did. It was Alex who had put his brother in danger, not the other way around. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Don’t tell Mom, all right?”

Alex lifted Del under the arm and gently pulled him upright.

Taking a gun into an emergency room would have been bad, so before Alex helped his brother out of the truck and into the emergency room, he slipped the gun under his seat. Del was too out of it to notice. Before Alex let go of the gun, he let his fingertip linger on the crosshatching on the grip, and he thought about the man with the birthmark on his hand.

Alex realized that whoever beat up Del must have been from Liberty, because he asked Del about Al Franks, not Alex Fogarty. But the man with the birthmark couldn’t have been sent by Crash, because Crash had fled. And now that Luke had decided Al Franks was a stand-up guy, Luke also had no reason to send a goon out to Al Franks’ house. So somehow Al Franks had made his way onto someone else’s enemies list.

*
* *

“Do you have to leave?” Sheila said in a whisper. They were in bed. In the shadows, Alex could make out clearly her shoulder and the strap of her nightgown that had slipped off it. Seeing the line of her body made him want to stay.

“I have a meeting with your husband,” Alex said.

“Don’t call him that.” Her voice told him not to be cute.

“Sorry,” he said.

It was a few minutes before daybreak, and just enough light came through the blinds for each of them to track the glistening action of the other’s eyes atop the pillows.

“Are you angry with me?” she said.

“No,” he said.

“If you’re having second thoughts about our little project, I hope you’d tell me.”

“I’m not,” he said. Then, still in a whisper, he said, “How do you think you and your
—how did you and Luke go wrong?”

“Ah
 . . . so that’s it.” She pulled the sheet higher over her body. “You’ve met him now; he’s a charmer. When people first meet him, they come away thinking he’s a saint. He’s hard to get to know, really, and when you do, he’s very needy, very narcissistic.”

Alex didn’t say anything. It was heartening to hear a little about Luke’s faults
—especially from Sheila’s lips—because Luke had been so impressive in person. Luke came off as so polished, so confident, so successful—Alex didn’t know whether to shake his hand or break his nose.

“I’m not saying I’m perfect,” Sheila continued, “but
the affairs . . . eventually I reached my end. People are just a means to an end for him, and that includes me.” After a pause, she added, “And you.”

Alex remembered Beto’s claim that Luke liked to sleep with teenage girls. “Were there a lot of affairs?”

Sheila lifted herself up onto an elbow and turned toward him. She firmly set back in place the lacy strap that had looked so inviting as it hung loose a moment before. “This is some pillow talk,” she said. She said it in a daytime voice that felt like it was breaking a truce.

Alex looked up at her from the mattress and responded in a quieter voice than hers. “It’s really none of my business. Meeting Luke just got me thinking.”

Alex saw her eyes searching the shadows for his face. Finally, she spoke into the shadows. “Alex, don’t tell me whether you love me. But I’d like to know that you trust me.”

Sheila’s mention of the word “love” sent a nervous twinge through Alex’s gut, and he was relieved to immediately be let off the hook. “I’d like to trust you,” he said.

“I trust you,” she said softly. Then she drew her body against his, from his knee to his chest to his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. “I need to trust someone.” He held her until she fell asleep again.

*
* *

Sheila woke up a little while later, when the day had brightened just enough to fill her bedroom with a cool, ambient glow.

Alex was crouching next to the bed, stroking her hair. She smiled. He had gotten dressed. She mouthed the word “hi.”

“I wish I could stay with you,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I have something I want to give you.”

Sheila’s eyes brightened, and she lifted her head off the pillow.

Alex lifted his hand to show her what he had, and in the dim dawn light, without the benefit of any hints, it took her a moment to recognize it as a small silver pistol.

“Don’t freak out,” he said.

“Too late.” Her eyes remained fixed on the gun.

“Have you ever used one?”

“I don’t think I need one,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I don’t think so either, but just in case.”

“Just in case what?” She looked at him with both skepticism and alarm.

“I finally met Luke and I’ve learned more about Crash. Frankly, I think they’re both nuts. And we already know they’re violent.”

Her face softened and she sighed in resignation. “
Some men just buy women jewelry . . .”

“I didn’t buy it. Beto gave it to me.”

Sheila’s eyes widened.

“Don’t ask,” Alex said.

Sheila sat up in bed, pulling up the sheet to cover herself. “We hunted a little growing up, but with rifles, and I haven’t touched a gun in years,” she said.

She took a longer look at it. It had a slim profile and rounded edges. It looked like a ladies’ gun. “Doesn’t it look a little underpowered?”

“Hopefully you’ll never use it.”

“But you’re the one looking for Crash. Shouldn’t you keep it?”

“I’ve got one of my own now,” Alex said. He laid Beto’s pistol on the nightstand and kissed her on the forehead.

She laughed roughly and dropped back onto the bed. “I would have settled for flowers.”