Silent City (23 page)

“His notes aren’t definitive,” Pete said. Maybe Amy knew more than she initially let on. “But I need to look at them again.” His mind flashed back to his few moments with the files, drunk and high off the adrenaline around the search for Kathy, unaware of the tragedy to come.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Amy reached for the door and clicked it open, turning to Pete.

“If you do, let me know,” Amy said. “I’d love to look them over and see what they can do to help.”

She passed him her card and nodded.

“It’s a good thing,” Amy said. “We can make a difference for once. The paper can actually do some good for a change. Imagine what it would mean for this city to finally have this guy behind bars, huh?”

“Yeah, what a wonderful world,” Pete said sarcastically. “I’ll let you know. It’s not like I’m swimming in appointments and meetings, anyway.”

Amy gave him a pitying smile and left, closing the door quietly as she walked to her car, avoiding the ceremony. The dashboard display told him it was getting late.

Pete reached for his car door but hesitated. He leaned back. He was parked in the far west corner of the lot. He could see the front door, but doubted anyone was looking far enough to notice him. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope addressed to him. It was from the Miami Times. A severance check. His suspension was not even over, but the paper had decided they didn’t want him back. Two months’ pay was what they deemed worthy. For the first time in his life, Pete was unemployed and with no prospects. He was alone, his two closest friends gone—one literally, another by choice. He couldn’t even go back to his apartment for fear a gangland killer would be waiting for him.

“Fuck me,” Pete whispered to himself as he stepped out of his car. He could feel the eyes on him the second he reached the funeral home entrance. He walked past a cluster of strangers and stepped into the lobby. He saw Mike’s parents, Steve and Mary, huddled near the door of the chapel housing Mike’s dead body, whispering to each other and looking at Pete. He swallowed hard and walked over to them. They stopped talking suddenly and made eye contact as he approached.

He’d met them a number of times over the decade he’d known Mike, but had never interacted with them beyond casual pleasantries. What did they know about Pete’s involvement in their son’s death?

“Hello,” Pete said, never sure what to say in these situations. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am about what happened.”

Pete noticed a flare of anger on Steve’s face, which quickly softened into sadness. Pete was surprised when he felt Steve enveloping him in a strong hug.

“Pete,” he said. “Oh, Pete. We’re glad you made it. We were wondering where you were.”

Pete felt another hand rubbing his back. Mike’s mother. They had no idea. He felt a sense of great relief, combined with shame.

Pete pulled away from the hug.

“I know,” he said, facing Mike’s parents.

“It’s just hard to accept this happened.”

“It was a terrible mistake,” Steve said, his deep baritone wavering slightly. “That boy never did anything to deserve that kind of death.”

“We couldn’t even have an open casket,” Mary, sputtered, choking back tears as her husband pulled her into his large arms. She looked off toward the ceiling. “Oh Lord, how does this happen?”

“I’m sorry,” Pete said, holding Mary’s hands. “There wasn’t a better person—a better friend.” Pete stopped talking, feeling himself begin to choke up. He didn’t want to cry anymore. “Spent” was the best way he could describe his life the last few days. Mike’s parents nodded furiously, hugging him and thanking him. His sense of shame quickly overwhelmed any relief he’d first felt.

He was a liar.

They stepped back into the chapel just as Pete felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Broche there, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He looked tired. The last few days had been exhausting for everyone, not just for Pete.

“Walk with me,” Broche said, heading toward the front of the funeral home. Pete followed. He saw Emily pop out of the chapel entrance. She looked at him for a split second, then turned away and went back in.

Broche wove past the small group milling outside the funeral home and walked to the sidewalk before lighting up. Pete stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Kathy’s still AWOL,” Broche said. “I’m hearing rumblings from my informants that she had more money than she let on in that bag. She may be gone for good. We still have nothing on the explosion, though. No evidence—fingerprints, tire treads, witnesses, nada. This whole thing is a mess, you realize this?”

Pete nodded. He was in no position to argue with the man that had basically saved what little life he had left. But he also wasn’t inclined to share the information he’d just gleaned from Amy, either. He waited for Broche to continue.

“I need you to promise me you’re not going to get crazy with all the free time you have,” Broche said, taking a drag from his cigarette and looking at Pete. “Your friend is dead. From what I can tell, your other friend doesn’t think speaking to you is on her to-do list.”

Pete paused for a second. He looked at Broche. His father had been a year younger than the 60-year-old detective, on the verge of cashing in his pension. Pete wondered if his father would have closed the case by now, if his health hadn’t forced him into early retirement and then killed him. Pete knew he wasn’t going to give up using what little resources he had to avenge Mike, but he wasn’t sure he could tell Broche that anymore. He’d expended what little goodwill he had left with the man.

“Yeah, I’m done with this whole thing,” Pete said. “What about Contreras? Any sign of him?”

“Nada,” Broche said. “We have enough on Contreras to nab him on laundering money. Seems like he had a nice operation going from his restaurant. A big bookie, that guy. A waitress from Casa Pepe’s gave us a statement after we barged in with the info about Javier being killed. Says she spoke to a private detective not long before. Wonder who that might have been?”

Pete didn’t bother to deny the truth. He knew Broche was baiting him. He deserved it.

“What are you gonna do now?” Broche said. “Don’t let all this be a waste. Let it be a lesson.”

“I don’t know yet,” Pete said, looking out onto the busy Bird Road traffic. “I just feel like sitting in the dark.”

He didn’t mention to Broche that he had, in fact, been sitting alone. But with a light on. Taking notes. Thinking over everything that had happened. He couldn’t stop. Mike’s death compelled him. His desire for vengeance replaced the strange curiosity that had entertained him before things derailed. His best friend was dead, this was true, but someone he could find had strapped the bomb to Mike’s car, and he wasn’t inclined to let that slide.

“Take a few days for yourself,” Broche said, putting a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Then start looking for work. The rest will fall into place over time.”

Pete nodded and shook Broche’s hand. He couldn’t bear to enter the chapel and see Mike’s casket, so he decided to head for his car. He was only slightly surprised to find Emily leaning on it, waiting for him.

“Hey,” Pete said, pulling his car keys out of his pocket absentmindedly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Emily said. Her arms were crossed. She looked at the funeral home entrance and then back at Pete. He waited a second before realizing she wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Look,” Pete started before Emily raised a hand to silence him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “I just wanted you to know—in person and not from a voicemail—that I can’t have you in my life anymore.”

Pete bristled a bit. He’d beaten himself up enough. He was a little tired of getting beaten up by everyone around him, deserved or not.

“You came here to repeat your message to me?” Pete said, his voice low. “Should I help you load up your car with your bags, just like old times? Because, really, this ‘leave me alone forever’ routine is getting old.”

“I just felt like I needed to say it to you directly,” Emily said, slightly surprised that Pete was being argumentative. “And I came here to make sure you were done with all this.”

“Done with all what, Emily?” Pete said. “I’ve got nothing. No job, no friends, no home. If this isn’t ‘done,’ then what the fuck is? If you’re asking me if I’m sitting in the dark drinking myself to death, then the answer might be yes. If you’re asking me to stop trying to figure out what happened to Mike, or to stop trying to bring the people that did this in for some kind of punishment, then no. Mike’s killer is out there.”

“He wouldn’t be dead if you hadn’t dragged us into this,” she said. Pete noticed her face contort slightly. She hadn’t meant to be so harsh.

“You’re right,” Pete said, taking a step toward his car. “And I have to live with that.”

Emily looked down at her feet.

“I don’t want to hate you,” she said. “But I don’t want to talk to you, either.”

Pete felt his hands gripping his keys. It hurt.

“Look at me,” he said. She did. “What more can I say? How else can I apologize? Don’t you think I’m torn up inside about this?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But you haven’t learned anything. If you die doing this, you make Mike’s death worthless, too.”

“It’s not about learning anything or any value,” Pete said. “It’s about finding the people that did all this. Killed Mike. Took Kathy. Everything. Then I can go do something else.”

Emily frowned. She stared past Pete, past the funeral home. Her eyes looked tired.

“What can you do?” she said, some contempt in her voice.

“I’m not sure,” Pete said. Emily stepped back. He opened the door and got in. He turned to her, the driver’s side window sliding down. “You have every right to hate me.”

With that, he closed the door and started his Celica’s creaky engine. Pete felt a slight rap on the driver’s side window.

Pete waited for more. But it wasn’t forthcoming. He nodded. She backed away from the car as he pulled out of the parking space and turned to leave. He watched her as he drove by, standing alone in the dark parking lot, her pale skin in stark contrast to the darkness around her.

I
t had started to pour halfway from the funeral home to his father’s house. It took Pete an extra moment to notice her, huddled by his front door with a hoodie over her head, as he walked over from the carport. He recognized the lanky figure as Kathy. She was soaked. He scampered over and stood in front of her, letting the rain pelt them both, for a moment before she spoke.

“I had nowhere else to go,” she sputtered, rain on her face and in her mouth.

Pete said nothing, but motioned for her to follow him. He got the key in the door and opened it quickly. He flicked on the parlor light and she doffed her hoodie without asking, letting it drop. Pete looked at the clothes on the floor, then at her.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Pete said, turning and entering the living room. “Do you need a towel?”

“Sure.”

Pete darted to the bathroom and returned, handing Kathy a large gray towel. She began feverishly drying her face and hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” she said, her voice muffled slightly by the towel.

“I’m not. But I guess you’re going to tell me,” Pete said, walking into his father’s kitchen and rummaging through the cabinets. He found what he was looking for—a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and two glasses—and set them on the counter, the bottle and glasses clinking as they made contact. He pulled an ice tray from the freezer and dropped a few cubes in each glass. “Though, I imagine this isn’t a social call.”

Pete returned to the living room and placed the two glasses—now relatively full and on the rocks—on the dining table, which was close to the front door. Pete felt strange drinking liquor in his father’s house, but he didn’t really care at this point. Everything made him feel strange these days.

Kathy sat down next to Pete, picked up the other glass, and took a long sip.

“You’re right,” she said. “I had to do some digging to find you. You weren’t at your apartment.”

“That’d be stupid.”

“Probably, yeah,” she said.

The house was silent for a few seconds as Pete took a sip of his drink. He let the glass touch the table before he spoke again. “What do you want? The last time I saw you, you were pointing a gun at me.”

“I know,” Kathy said, slinking back into her chair. “I’m sorry for that. I just—I was just losing it. I’d been trapped for days; your friend’s car—which we’d been driving in for hours—had just blown up. It was too much. I saw the money as my out, and I didn’t really feel like spending hours talking to the cops about everything that had happened.”

Pete put his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He had no sense of what to do next, and finding Kathy on his doorstep was the last thing he wanted.

“Why are you here?”

“He’s alive.”

“Who’s alive?”

“Contreras,” Kathy said. “He’s alive, and he’s been following me—sending me messages. Not written notes and shit, but little things. Newspaper clippings in my car while I’m at the store. Following me in another car. I just know he’s around. It’s driving me nuts.”

Pete moved his hands away from his face and gave Kathy a surprised stare.

“Are you telling me that Contreras has been following you and you led him here, to me?” Pete said. “This is just a sick joke, right?”

Kathy took another long swig from her glass. She was thinking.

“I don’t think he’s been following me the whole time, I don’t know,” she said. “I just know we need to do something. I can’t live like this. I made a mistake. I want my life back.”

Pete got up without warning and walked toward the back of the house. He returned a few minutes later, a large box in his hand. He dropped it loudly on the table. He tossed a tiny, portable USB drive next to it.

“Let’s get our lives back.”

• • •

“Oh my God, Nigel!”

“What?” Pete said. He was sitting by his laptop at the dining room table, reading over the text file containing Kathy’s notes on the Silent Death when he heard her screech. She’d taken a break to use the bathroom. He walked briskly over to where the squeal had come from to find her petting her cat—the cat Pete had basically adopted since discovering him a few weeks back while searching her apartment.