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Sam picked up the thread. ‘If it is personal, then the money means nothing. Even though we’ve raised the full amount, my family could still die.’

94

As they exited Robertson’s office building, Preston turned to his partner. ‘This actor really got to you, didn’t he? You’ve been willing to accept his innocence from the start.’

Hogan shrugged. ‘It’s not him so much as the story.’

‘About his family being kidnapped?’

‘Yeah. Somebody also threatened Robertson’s family, but instead of money they demanded he take his own life.’

‘Pretty harsh.’

‘Fucking brutal, more like.’ Hogan exhaled noisily. ‘What would you do?’

Preston didn’t hesitate. ‘I wouldn’t trust them. If I’m dead, how do I know they don’t kill my family anyway?’

‘You wouldn’t trust them if they were strangers,’ Hogan proposed. ‘But what if it was someone you knew, someone who sent you proof of how they were destroying the lives of other
people you had a connection to?’

‘Like Parker and White.’

‘Exactly. So now your choice is to take your own life or have that life, and your family, destroyed.’

Preston bristled angrily. ‘That’s one sick fuck.’

Hogan looked at him in surprise. ‘I thought you hated the F word.’

Preston snorted. ‘If you’re right, this bastard warrants an exception.’

95

Sam gathered up Zack’s crumpled jacket and pants as the shower shut off.

‘I saw a dry cleaner’s just a block over,’ Sam called through the closed door. ‘I’ll take your suit and get it dried.’

The bathroom door opened, releasing billows of warm, moist steam. Zack walked out of the fog, his face flush from the heat, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was so skinny, Sam could see every rib and bone.

Zack wiped a knuckle across his eyes as he unashamedly dropped the towel, exposing more white patches on his upper thighs.

‘We could buy new ones,’ he said. ‘You still have a credit card, right?’

Sam shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind the walk. Get my head clear, you know? I need to figure out our next step. After the scene at Robertson’s, the cops will be looking for both of us.’

Zack crawled into bed. ‘I just need to close my
eyes for a bit.’ He paused. ‘Seeing Alan today . . . I swear I saw my daughter’s face in his eyes. Like he was already with her . . . holding my place.’

‘Take an hour. I’ll drop your suit at the cleaner’s, but then we’ll need to blow this place. We should probably ditch the car, too.’

Zack was no longer listening.

Sam dropped Zack’s suit at the dry cleaner’s and asked for a one-hour turnaround. The male clerk rolled his eyes and Sam had a flash of anger so violent he wanted to grab the snot by the hair and smash his face into the counter until flesh turned to bloody pulp.

Instead, he hissed, ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

The young clerk quickly shook his head.

Sam stormed back outside, not wanting his frustration to be directed at someone who didn’t deserve it. He so desperately wanted to be in control.

He stood in the rain, his vest soaking it up like a sponge. Half a block down, two dancing martini glasses in pink and green neon shone through the wet afternoon: a lighthouse in a stormy sea. Its promise of numbness called to him, but he shook it off.

The last thing he needed was to drown in a bottle while his family waited to be found.

A wave of hopelessness swept over him and he
felt the same fatigue that had driven Zack to bed. It wrapped around his shoulders like a coarse blanket, growing heavier by the second as the rain pounded down.

96

Detective Hogan hung his wet jacket beside his partner’s slicker and sat down at his desk. Unlike Preston, Hogan liked to keep his desk neat and orderly, with everything from reports to memos having their own place or in-box.

Because of this, he immediately spotted the new sheet of blue paper that waited in his memo box. The same memo on Preston’s desk could sprout leaves before he noticed.

Preston approached and handed him a cup of black coffee. ‘Last of the pot. Be warned.’

Hogan took a tentative sip and shuddered. ‘It tastes the same as a fresh pot.’

‘Damn, I was hoping it would mellow with age.’ Preston noticed the memo. ‘That about our camera?’

Hogan nodded as he took another sip of coffee and read over the slim report.

‘Components are mostly Taiwanese.’ He flipped the page. ‘But it was assembled and sold in Russia.’

‘Boxy but good, comrade,’ Preston said in a remarkably good Russian accent.

‘Our techs also say this model was never available for export.’

‘Which means?’ Preston asked.

‘Whoever owns it either bought it while visiting Russia or had Russian friends ship it over.’

‘That narrows it down. How many Russians in Portland?’

‘More to the point,’ Hogan added, ‘who has Russian friends and also needed some leverage on Mr White?’

‘The mall robbery?’

‘Calico suspects the contents of the mall were hauled directly to the docks and shipped to Russia. She’s been checking the yards for details on outgoing vessels.’

‘She have a local organizer in mind?’

Hogan nodded and turned to his computer. ‘She had two candidates . . .’

The first set of records appeared on screen and as his eyes reached the name at the top, Hogan’s mouth broke out in a grin.

‘Got him.’

97

Sam returned to the dry cleaner’s, his anger buried in a dumpster of self-pity, and slumped on a vinyl chair in the corner.

As he waited for Zack’s suit, his cellphone rang. He snapped it open.

‘I’m here.’

‘You have the money, Sam?’ asked the altered voice.

‘Yes.’

‘All one million?’

‘Yes.’ Sam paused. ‘Do you still want it?’

‘Of course I do. It’s good to have friends, isn’t it, Sam?’

Sam didn’t know how to answer.

‘We’ll meet tonight,’ continued the voice. ‘I’ll call later with instructions.’

‘Will my family be there?’ Sam knew the question was expected of him even if he could no longer trust the answer.

‘Yes. You will see your family again. Very soon.’

‘Can I talk to them?’ Sam blurted. ‘Can I talk to Hannah?’

‘Don’t push me, Sam.’

The sudden menace in the distorted voice lifted Sam out of the darkness and filled him with such burning rage that it forced its way out from between clenched teeth. ‘Why are you doing this? What could I possibly have done that was so goddamn awful you had to involve my family?’

The store clerk looked up at Sam’s tone and quickly vanished into the back room.

The caller’s response was not immediate, but Sam could hear him breathing. Then the line hissed with static and, ‘Everything was so fucking easy for you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sam sputtered. ‘Have you seen my life?’

‘You shouldn’t have come back.’

‘I came back because I failed.’ Sam gripped the phone so tightly he could hear its plastic shell creak. ‘I failed to make my mark. I blew it. To have a dream that can’t be fulfilled is a fucking curse. Ask Hannah. She’s had to live with my sorry ass when all I could get was rejection and crappy—’

The phone squawked sharply. ‘You know nothing of rejection, of suffering, of—’

Sam snorted. ‘Well, that’s a crock—’

‘Tonight,’ interrupted the voice sternly. ‘Bring Parker.’

The line went dead.

Sam shook Zack awake.

‘We have to move. Time’s run out.’

Zack opened his eyes. They were red and raw.

‘He called?’

‘We meet tonight. With the money. He wants you there.’

Zack sat up and rubbed his eyes. He inhaled deeply through his nose and released it slowly from his mouth. ‘What’s our plan?’

Sam held up the freshly pressed suit.

‘They couldn’t get all the stains out, but it’s dry.’

‘Where are we going? Supper at the Benson?’

Sam shook his head. ‘Somewhere less elegant, I’m afraid.’

98

Zack and Sam descended the long wooden staircase, their torsos dry inside makeshift ponchos made from knee-length plastic bags taken from the dry cleaner’s.

At the bottom of the stairs, they walked to the underbelly of Burnside Bridge. The homeless huddled in the centre of the span, away from the rain. But even with dry ground beneath them, the wind and damp trampled through the open court with frigid abandon.

Davey, his upper body wrapped in a black plastic trash bag, saw them approach and moved to meet them.

‘Did you find him?’ he asked.

‘He wasn’t the one,’ Sam said.

Davey blinked rapidly. ‘You sure?’

Sam nodded. ‘He’s dead, Davey. He was one of us. A pawn.’

‘Oh!’ Davey looked down at the ground, his left toe digging into the dirt. ‘He’ll come back for me
now. Burn me again. Make my skin melt. Make me scream.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said. ‘He believes you’re dead, but we still need help.’

Davey’s eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

‘We need you to look at the yearbook again. You said Alan brought friends to help out. We need to know who they were.’

Davey’s excitement returned. ‘OK. That’s easy.’

Zack and Sam followed Davey to his makeshift lean-to and waited as he dug into his pack and retrieved the yearbook.

‘I thought you were keeping this stuff in the tunnels,’ Zack said.

Davey shrugged. ‘Safer with me now.’

Davey opened the yearbook and turned to the mugshots of over 500 students. He placed his finger on the first face and began to move along the rows, mouthing each name as he did so.

He stopped at the first face he recognized as one of Alan’s helpers. Zack looked down at it and shook his head.

‘Don’t know him,’ he said. ‘How many were there?’

‘Three.’ Davey tapped his temple.

‘Find the next one,’ Sam said impatiently.

Davey dragged his finger along the mugshots again. This time he stopped mid-way through the book.

Zack looked, sighed, and shook his head.

At the Qs, Davey stopped again, his finger
hovering over the face of a husky youth with round, black-rimmed sunglasses and lifeless chestnut hair that hung in greasy strands to his shoulders. Beneath the veil of hair, his face had an odd, plastic-like quality and his nose lay as flat as a retired boxer’s. His eyes were hidden beneath the dark glasses and his thin mouth emoted nothing.

‘You remember him, Sam?’ Davey tapped the photo. ‘He was real book smart, but clumsy as an ape. I had three Fresnals blow after he handled them.’

Sam looked at the photo, a dim memory coming into focus. ‘What’s up with his face?’

‘He was burned,’ said Zack, his voice trembling. ‘He originally told me that he accidentally tipped a pot of boiling water over himself when he was a toddler. When my Kalli was born, I became paranoid about making sure the pot handles were always turned away from the edge of the stove.’

Sam snapped his fingers. ‘That’s right. We used to get him to score all the booze for us before the cast parties. When he pulled his hair back, the cashiers were too embarrassed by his face to ask for I.D. Came in real handy.’

Davey broke out in a grin. ‘Yeah, that was cool.’

Sam continued. ‘I drove him home one time after a party and met his old man. Now there was a scary dude. His arms were burned, too. Real
serious stuff. Industrial accident, I think he said. What was the kid’s name again?’

‘Lucas,’ said Zack.

‘You knew him?’

‘Remember I told you that Vadik and his daughter were sent to me by an acquaintance?’

‘That’s him?’

Zack blanched at Sam’s accusing tone. ‘We haven’t spoken in years. He came to me about ten years back. He was broke and in a bad way. I guess I felt sorry for him. I did what I could, but his injuries were more extensive than he had said. He’s burned everywhere but the injuries took place over a long period of time. I was able to do some decent work on his face, but there really wasn’t enough good tissue left on his body to do much else. I thought we parted on good terms, especially when he sent Vadik’s daughter to me.’

‘Fuck!’ Sam kicked the ground in frustration. ‘He was in the car with Vadik, but his face didn’t register. How can a twisted little fuck blame us for his life? Ironman was a real bastard, but what did we do?’

‘Maybe he simply wanted to
be
us,’ Zack said as he worked it through. ‘But every time he tried to fill our shoes, he failed.’

‘So destroying us will make everything better?’ Sam asked bitterly.

‘Or maybe he’s just finally figured out exactly what he is.’

‘A monster,’ spat Sam.

Zack nodded. ‘He’s cleaning the slate. Ironwood, the football player with a future and a mean streak a mile long; you, the egotistical golden boy aiming for a Hollywood career. Even I was being recognized for my work as a surgeon. You saw the newspaper clipping on Robertson’s computer. He wants to erase us.’

Sam ground his teeth. ‘On the phone he said everything was easy for us, but he refuses to see what that led to. Ironwood was washed up at nineteen and my biggest role of late is a fuckin’ commercial for the Beavers. I can see him being jealous of you and Alan, but why the rest of us?’