Sparkle (39 page)

Eddie had held open his bag and looked down. Mark looked, too. He saw the gun. They both looked up, and their eyes met for a split second.

“I’ll trade you,” Eddie said. “I want Jolie’s ball. Go,” he said to the driver.

The cab pulled away.

Mark stood dumbfounded. Then he sprinted for his SUV. He had no idea why he was following. It was like he’d gotten stuck on some fucking nightmare bus and it wouldn’t stop to let him off. He pulled quickly out of the zoo parking lot.

He was less than a block away from the zoo when he heard the siren.

Mark pulled over while Joe, closely followed by the police car, drove past in the opposite direction. Mark didn’t recognize the Sparkle van. He was too busy keeping an eye on Eddie’s cab.

Mark got on his cell and called the zoo office while he waited for traffic to start up again. “I have to go…run a little errand.” He struggled to keep his voice calm.

Eddie’s cab pulled over too, and watched Joe’s van and the police car drive past.

Man-sized mess.

But if Eddie went back to help Joe everything might be ruined.

Just let go.

Eddie couldn’t stop. For once, Joe would have to take care of himself.

After the police car passed, the cab driver pulled into traffic again.

Mark was following. Eddie knew he would. He looked around once or twice to make sure Mark was still there.

“Is that guy following you?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said.

“You want me to lose him?”

“Nope.”

Lavonne opened her eyes and arched her back gently. She yawned loudly, stretched her elbows out, hands behind her head, and curled her toes. She felt sore all over, but better. She’d slept well.

She missed Joe. Poor guy. Lavonne wished he were here right now so she could hold him, make him feel better, too.

She checked the clock by her bed: after nine. Usually, Lavonne only let herself sleep in this late on her day off. What was it today, anyway? Oh, yeah—Friday. That was a question she never had to ask herself, so she was definitely knocked out of orbit.

Lord help me.

She’d hadn’t experienced a week this intense in her life—and she’d lived through some pretty crazy stuff. Just one short week since she’d told Joe how she felt—one week, and everything in her life had changed.

Lavonne imagined stubborn Joe, sitting in an uncomfortable chair by Eddie’s bed all night. If she hurried, she could drop by before work, take him a decent cup of coffee and check on Eddie. The thought of doing Joe a favor he hadn’t asked for made her laugh out loud and gave her a rush of energy. Lavonne pushed herself out of bed.

The week’s events had made Joe vulnerable, forced him to ask for help again and again. Seeing him so out of character was comforting. No matter how close he came to losing it, Joe always made a real effort to do the right thing. A relationship with the guy was definitely going to be a lot of work; but if he got enough confidence to actually share his next love letter or bouquet, it might actually be worth the trouble.

Detective Bjorgeson sat at her desk staring hard at some meaningless form. She was not looking at it, just brooding, feeling her ire rise. When she was on the scent this hard, her manner changed. She wouldn’t be denied. No more joking around.

Louis was too close to the Jones brothers. Pinky patted her pocket unconsciously. The receipt Joe had given her—another supposed Detective Eddie score—was still there. She had no intention of passing it along to Louis, but her cop instincts wouldn’t quite allow her to do what she should and just toss the damn scrap in the trash. Three hot, active investigations, and one—the Walker girl’s shooting—was a slam dunk.

Eddie needed to be taken off the street. But lumbering, sentimental Louis was going to drag his feet as long as possible. For all the wrong reasons. And Louis was the boss. It wasn’t the first time—by far—that Pinky had been irritated with the big guy. But it was probably the worse.

Pinky reached into her desk and pulled out a Sparkle Cleaners card. She studied it for a long time. Then she got up without bothering to sign herself out and went out the door.

Joe bounced a curb pulling into the zoo lot, then drove the van as close as he could to Eddie’s bench. He didn’t bother to park. It wasn’t a parking zone, anyway. He just jumped out and started limping stiffly to where he was certain he would find his brother.

The cop stopped behind the van. She left her lights on but flipped off her siren. She spoke urgently into her radio before walking quickly and purposely after Joe.

Joe made it to Eddie’s bench in a matter of seconds. He looked around wildly. Where the hell is he? What the hell has happened to my brother?

His panic intensified to a level that threatened a blackout. He was cold with sweat, hyperventilating, dizzy, and disoriented, dripping tears and snot. He scrambled awkwardly into a standing position on the bench, his twisted logic telling him he could see farther that way.

“Eddie!” Joe tried to yell, but his throat was so dry that it came out more like a loud croak. “Eddie!” He looked around, but he had to move his whole body to do it, since his neck was getting stiffer and stiffer.

“Sir!” the cop said, “I need you to get down!” A few passers-by stopped, not knowing what to make of the suddenly tense scene. “Sir! Now! Get down! Lie down on the ground with your hands on your head!” She was standing about ten yards away with her hand on her holstered gun.

Two more police cars pulled into the lot with blaring sirens.

Joe couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked around wildly, but his field of vision seemed to have shrunk to a pinhole. He raised his voice as loud as he could. “What? No! Are you f-f-friggin’ crazy? You d-ddon’t understand! I just need to find my brother! Eddie! Eddie!”

As Eddie’s cab pulled up at his house, Mark pulled his SUV to the curb half a block away. He watched Eddie get out of the cab and walk into the house, watched the cab pull away. He looked up and down the street. No one was around. He got out of his SUV and opened the hatch in back, where he kept his box of tools, rummaged around for a minute before he found what he was looking for: his hoof knife. Its thick, eight-inch German steel blade had a wicked, gracefully curved ninety-degree hook at the end. It was the perfect tool for trimming a horse’s tough hooves, and Mark was an expert with it. It might come in handy. If nothing else, it was scary looking.

Mark put the knife in his jacket pocket. He’d forgotten what was in there already. Eddie’s ball.

Chapter 59

Two other cops ran up to where Joe was standing on the bench, stopping a few feet away.

“Get down, now!” the cop who’d been chasing him warned him once more. She had drawn her gun, but was pointing it at the ground. “I’m not going to tell you again, sir!” she said. “Get on the ground!”

It was all too much. Joe looked at the scene, and his universe became deathly calm. All sound faded, and he was free from his body, looking down from above. The world had mercifully slowed down so much that it almost—not quite—stopped. He felt a slight breeze in his hair. He was up high, so high, and everything suddenly made sense. The sun was really warm now. It was a beautiful day.

He was watching a ball game from far, far away. The cops were no more mysterious than any other players on the field. Joe sized them up, read them, and he knew for sure what was going to happen. But there was no one to make a bet with to prove it.

Joe’s cell phone rang: Lavonne’s ring. He’d programmed it in when she first gave him her number. Funny thing was, this was the first time she’d ever called. Part of him said to leave it alone, but he wasn’t going to listen. For once, Lavonne was calling him, and he was going to answer. One way or another, Joe was going to break free of whatever it was that had held him for so long. He reached a shaking hand into his pocket.

“Stop!” the cop said.

Joe pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The cop raised her gun and fired.

Joe crumpled off the bench and onto the ground.

“Lavonne,” he said weakly into the phone, “you’d better come to the zoo.” It snapped shut and disconnected as he dropped it.

Then everything went black.

Eddie was on his way upstairs to Joe’s room when something hit him that took his breath away. He stood stock-still and clenched his jaw. He tried to stop it, but his head was suddenly filled with a clattering din that knocked him out of his meditative state.

Something had happened to Joe.

Eddie forced himself to start breathing. He rubbed his head roughly and continued up the stairs, carrying his bag. He had to let go, trust, and keep moving. Now more than ever.

Outside, Mark stood at the front door. He looked up and down the street. It was empty. He knocked on the door, quietly.

He tried the handle. It was open. He went inside.

The EMT crew arrived at the zoo in less than five minutes. Although Joe hadn’t moved after being shot, the police had searched and handcuffed him. After that, they’d basically left him alone and turned their attention to keeping curious zoo visitors and employees back.

But Joe’s cell phone, on the ground beside him, kept ringing—two different rings. One would stop and the other would start, over and over. It was starting to bother the cop who’d shot him. She picked it up and answered.

“Who’s calling?”

“Detective Louis,” the voice on the other end said. “Is Joe there?”

“Detective?”

“This is Detective Louis of Seattle PD Homicide,” the voice said. “I’m calling for Joe Jones. Who is this?”

The cop knew damn well who Louis was. “This is Patrol Officer Gonzales,” she said. “If this is his phone, Mr. Jones…has been shot.”

Chapter 60

Joe and Eddie’s house was cool and dim. Mark knew Eddie was there, but he didn’t know where—or what he was up to. He only knew he had to get the gun and dispose of it properly. As for Eddie? He didn’t know. The chances of him being able to communicate anything meaningful to the police, either in his own defense or against Mark, were slim. But he was really, really starting to hate the guy. And the deeper he got into the whole fucked up situation, the more he was truly starting to believe it actually was all Eddie’s fault.

One thing was certain. If he was going down, he was going to take Eddie Jones with him.

“Hello?” he called out, trying desperately to keep his voice calm and neutral, and from quavering with the overwhelming fear he felt. The place was silent as the zoo’s snake house after hours.

“Eddie? Hey, Eddie, where are you?”

Mark moved into the kitchen. It was empty. He opened the door to Eddie’s basement and slowly walked down the stairs. He held Eddie’s ball in one hand. The other was in his jacket pocket, on his hoof knife.

It was even darker downstairs.

“Hey, Eddie. I’ve got your ball. I’m ready to trade with you. You don’t want a gun.”

When he was reached the bottom stair, the door at the top slammed behind him. He yanked his hand out of the pocket with the knife to grab the railing, nearly fell down turning around, and ripped a hole in his pocket with the wicked curved blade.

“Funny, Eddie! You got me that time!” He crept back up the stairs. He felt a cold anger welling up in him. Maybe it was really time to end things. For the both of them. “Come on, Eddie. You said you wanted to trade. So let’s trade.”

When he reached the top he stopped. He turned the knob warily and pushed the door open a crack. He backed down one step, grabbed the handrail, reared back, and kicked the door with all his might. The heavy slab bounced off the wall, flew back and nearly hit him in the face. He pushed through clumsily and went into the kitchen.

Everything was quiet.

“Let’s just trade and I’ll go, okay?” His voice sounded unsure even to himself.

Another door slammed upstairs and Mark visibly flinched. Now he was truly livid. He took the ball out of his pocket and held it like a weapon. He took a deep breath, strode through the living room to the stairs and looked up.

It was dark up there, too. Why was the house so fucking dark? He looked around for a light switch, found on one the stairs up to the second floor, and flicked it on. It threw some light, but it didn’t do a damn thing for his trepidation.

He headed up gingerly. His knuckles were white around the ball. It was gloomy and clammy cool in the narrow upstairs hallway. The door to Joe’s room was the only one that was shut. Mark tiptoed over, pushed it open, and peeked inside.

Eddie stood across the room with his back turned, rummaging through Joe’s drawer. The bag was lying in plain sight on the bed. Open. Mark could see the gun from where he stood.

He shook his head. He put Eddie’s ball in his jacket pocket, walked over and grabbed the bag containing the gun.

“Hey, Eddie. Bad move.”

Chapter 61

No time like the present.

The killer looked down and saw two hands. Strong, capable hands that had closed around throats, plunged knives and pulled triggers. Rid the world of deserving victims fat and thin, young and old. So many fear-wrenched and tear-washed faces. So much remorse for the things that had been done and couldn’t be undone. It was a dangerous mission, to bring justice to guilty ones who couldn’t be dealt with in any other way. It was a danger that required constant vigilance and absolute ruthlessness. If those hands could talk—well, if they could talk they’d probably have to be cut off and disposed of.

Eddie Jones, dangerous or not, genius or retard, had to go. Now. He might be miles away, he might be utterly clueless, but the killer’s nearly infallible intuition said he was way too close. Whatever bizarre urge had motivated the janitor to go to the thrift store, to shake the door of the dressing room the killer had sheltered in, had sealed his fate.

But along with every picture of Eddie’s impending demise, a mental image of the little Silver girl popped up and blocked it, staring, calm and unreachable. Maddening. She was a stain against an otherwise spotless history of justifiable homicide.

Her image forced the killer to fight against spitting the taste of ashes from a dry and bitter mouth.