The Watchman (14 page)

“There’s nothing down here, man. I walked eight blocks in each direction, all the way to the bridges. Two blocks east is the river, but I covered those streets, too, then three blocks to the west. The people I talked to say this area is abandoned, that time of night. There aren’t any gas stations—I couldn’t even find a pay phone. It’s nothing but commercial space and construction sites except for three or four loft conversions like Larkin’s. I’ll talk to them.”

Pike grunted, ready to let Cole get on with it. Pike wanted to keep moving, but something Cole said was bothering him.

…That time of night, all these cars would be gone, and it’s pretty well lit…

Pike looked back at the crowd of workers and the catering van, then at the cars lining both sides of the street. He opened the accident report again and studied the skid marks.

“Was the Mercedes backing out when you hit it or was it stopped?”

The girl shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Cole frowned at her because now he was thinking about it, too.

“You told the police they backed out.”

“I don’t know what I told the police. I can’t even remember talking to them. Why does it matter?”

Cole said, “If they were parked, then what were they doing? Were they looking at something or someone in the alley? Had they just gotten into the car or were they getting out? You see how one thing leads to another?”

Pike glanced back at the street and realized what was bothering him. It didn’t have anything to do with why or why not Meesh and the Kings were here.

He said, “With the street empty, your sight line was clear. You hit them, which means they were in front of you. Seems like you would have seen them.”

Larkin widened her stance, revealing a tension in her shoulders.

“I’m not lying.”

The skid marks bore out her version of the accident, but Pike wondered why she hadn’t been able to avoid the collision. He thought she had probably been drunk or high, so he flipped to that page in the report. Nope. The tests had come back clean.

“Not saying that. Just trying to figure it out.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re accusing me. I can’t help I didn’t see them. Maybe they backed out really fast. Maybe I was looking at the radio. How much longer are we going to stay here? I’m scared and I don’t like it.”

Pike glanced at Cole and Cole shrugged.

“I have everything I need from here to go forward. I can take her back.”

Larkin squinted at Cole, still tense with irritation.

“Was there something here I missed?”

Pike said, “He’s taking you back to the house. He’ll stay with you until I get back.”

Pike started back to the Lexus, but the girl followed him.

“And when was all this decided?”

Pike didn’t answer. He didn’t see why it was necessary.

“You can’t come with me. You’ll be safer at the house.”

“I don’t want to stay with him. He’ll rape me as soon as you’re gone.”

Cole said, “In your dreams.”

She ignored him, staying with Pike.

“Listen to me, you—you’re being paid to protect me. You’re working for
me
. My father won’t like you dumping me off with the B-team.”

Cole spread his arms.

“B-team?”

Pike got into the Lexus, but Larkin stepped inside the door so he couldn’t close it. Her face seemed as brittle as a ceramic mask, and Pike suddenly remembered how she had looked up in the desert when she was unloading on her father. Only now she didn’t seem so much angry as betrayed.

Pike gentled his voice.

“I’m sorry if I should have discussed it with you. I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

She stood in the door, breathing.

“You can’t come with me, Larkin. I’ll see you this evening.”

Pike tugged at the door, nudging her. Time was still passing. It ran up his back with cleated boots, and here was this girl, blocking the door. Pike made his voice harder.

“Step away from the car.”

She didn’t move.

His voice hardened more.

“Step away.”

Cole said, “You want me to knock her out?”

The girl stepped back, uttering a final word as Pike pulled the door.

“Asshole.”

Pike drove away without looking back, heading for Culver City.

ONCE PIKE was alone, he felt the way you might feel when you float in a pool on a windless day, the sun hot on your skin, the sky overhead clean. He did not fear what he would find or think much about it. The men who set off his alarm would either be waiting for him or not, and you had to take such things as they came.

Twenty-five minutes later, Pike stopped under a sycamore tree on a residential street six blocks from his condo. Two girls and a boy scorched past on bikes. Three houses away, two older boys traded fastballs. A white dog bounced between them, barking when the ball flew overhead.

Pike got out of the car, took off the long-sleeved shirt, then went to the trunk. He looked through the things Ronnie had left. He drank half a bottle of Arrowhead water, then collected his SOG fighting knife, a pair of Zeiss binoculars, the little .25-caliber Beretta, and a box of hollowpoints for the .45. He wouldn’t need anything else.

Pike got back into his car, then drove to a Mobil station located on the other side of the wall outside his complex. He parked behind the station next to the wall. Pike bought gas there often and knew the staff, so they didn’t mind. Before he left his car, he fitted the .25 to his right ankle and the SOG to his left. He made sure the Kimber was loaded, then clipped it behind his back.

Pike went to the office and waved at the man behind the counter.

“I have to leave my car here for a while. That okay?”

“Whatever, bro. Long as you want.”

Pike moved quickly. He dropped into the condo grounds behind a flat building that faced an enormous communal swimming pool. A lush curtain of banana trees, birds-of-paradise, and canna plants hid a sound wall baffling the pool equipment, and continued around the pool and walkways. Pike slipped behind the greenery and made his way across the grounds.

People were still out and about, but Pike moved easily, twice covering almost two hundred yards to avoid an opening thirty feet wide. Pike didn’t mind. He enjoyed the freedom of not being seen.

Pike worked his way from pod to pod, around three parking areas, and finally to his condo. He did not approach his door, or try to enter. He took a position behind the rice paper plants at the corner of his building, and settled down to watch. It was a good spot with a clean view of the parking lot and the buildings that faced his own. If they were waiting, they would be inside his condo or positioned with a view of his door. It wouldn’t make sense for them to be anywhere else.

Pike studied the cars in the parking lot, and the curtains on the far windows, and the wall of plants that was exactly like the wall of plants in which he was hidden. Pike never moved, and for the first time that day did not feel the passing of time. He simply
was;
safe in his green world, watching. He watched until he knew the shadows between the branches and how the lowering light dappled through the leaves, and which residents were home across the way and which were not. Two hours later, Pike was finally satisfied no one was hiding, but he still didn’t move. If someone was waiting for him, they were inside his home.

Pike watched the world grow golden, then burnish to a deep copper, then deepen with purple into a murky haze. Cars came and left. People banged through their gates, some wearing flip-flops on their way to the pool. Pike watched until it was full-on dark and his world behind the green was black, and then he finally moved, rising with the slowness of melting ice. He crept along the side of his condo, checking each window as he reached it, and found that the second window had been jimmied. Raising the window had tripped Pike’s alarm.

Pike peered inside but saw only shadows. Nothing moved, and no sounds came from within. He removed the screen in slow motion, then slowly raised the window and lifted himself inside.

The room was dark, but the doorway opening into his living room was bright. Pike had left on the lamp. He drew the Kimber and crept into the living room, moving with absolute silence. No one sat on his couch or on the Eames chair in which Pike read. The only movement came from the fountain in the corner—a bowl with water burbling quietly over stones. Pike listened beyond the water, straining to feel the sense of the space, but the only sounds were the water and the whisper of the air conditioner.

Pike found no one. They had tried to be careful so Pike wouldn’t know, but an address book was missing from the kitchen, and the phone in his bedroom was in a place Pike never left it. The clothes in his closet were not in their usual positions.

Pike returned to the living room. His television sat in an entertainment center opposite the fountain, along with a CD player, a TiVo, and other electronics. A security camera Pike had installed himself fed into a hard drive stacked among the equipment. Pike turned on his television, then watched the recording. Single-frame captures taken in his living room had been made at eight-second intervals, so the pictures appeared as a jerky slide show. A man with a pistol entered from the same room through which Pike had entered. He wasn’t wearing a mask or gloves or face-black; just a dark T-shirt and jeans and running shoes. His hair was longish, and straight, and dark. He was Anglo or Latino, but Pike couldn’t tell which. The pictures showed his path in sharp jumps—first as he entered, then across the room, then at the stairs. A man could cover a lot of ground in eight seconds. Then the man was at the front door, and now a second man entered. This man was smaller than the first man, and wore a dark shirt with the tail out over jeans. His hair was also longish and dark, but his skin was darker, and Pike decided this man was Latino.

In the next picture, the first man had returned to the kitchen, and the second man was kneeling at the door. A small black case was on the floor, and the second man seemed to be holding the doorknob with both hands. The pictures progressed, and Pike realized the second man was making keys. The first man returned from searching the house as the keymaker tested the keys.

Pike froze the picture. It was the best view yet of the first man, showing a three-quarter shot of his face. Pike took out the pictures Bud had given him, and compared them. The keymaker wasn’t among them, but the first man was one of the three men who invaded Larkin’s home. He wasn’t the man who beat the housekeeper, but he was present.

Pike backed up the images until he found the best angle on the keymaker, pressed a button, and a laser printer in the entertainment center hummed. Pike tucked the new pictures away.

The remaining security captures showed the two men leaving.

Pike turned off the television. He stood in his empty home, listening to the fountain. It was the good sound of a stream in the deep woods, natural and comforting.

Pike powered up his cell phone and called Ronnie.

Ronnie said, “Yo.”

“I need you and Dennis on the house. Two men, twenties to thirties, dark hair straight and on the long side, five-eight to five-ten. The shorter guy is probably Latino.”

“They at your place now?”

“No, but they’ll be back. They made keys.”

“Ah. You want’m field dressed?”

“Just let me know.”

Pike reset the alarms, reset the surveillance camera, then went to his fridge. He opened two bottles of Corona, poured the beer down the sink, then placed the empty bottles on the counter. The counter had been clean when the men were here, but now the bottles stood out like tall ships on the horizon. When the men returned, they would see that Pike had been home. They would tell themselves if he came home once, he would come home again, and they might decide to wait.

Pike wanted them to wait.

Elvis Cole

LARKIN CONNER BARKLEY wouldn’t talk to him. Cole asked about the property owners and tenants near her loft, but he might as well have spoken in a foreign language. Her lips pulled into a pensive bud, and she stared down the street as if Pike’s car had been a shimmering mirage.

“I can’t believe he left me like this. He
dismissed
me.”

Cole said, “The nerve of him. That cad.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve hinted at sex, but I still have to refuse.”

Larkin crossed the street without waiting for him and went directly to Cole’s car. Some people didn’t appreciate humor.

Cole decided to give her some space, so they drove back in silence. He couldn’t blame her for being tired of answering questions and talking about the same things over and over, and he didn’t want to get down on her for showing the strain. He still had questions, but the answers would keep until later.

On the way back to Echo Park, he stopped at a small grocery store in Thai Town, figuring the odds were better she wouldn’t be recognized at a small ethnic market. He expected her to give him an argument when he asked her to come in with him, but she didn’t. She seemed calmer by then. She quietly inspected the strange labels and odd packages while he filled two bags with food, milk, a kid’s drawing pad, a plastic ruler, and two bottles of plum wine. The only time she spoke was when she saw the wine.

“I don’t drink.”

“You can watch me. You want anything special? Fruit? Some kind of dessert?”

“I don’t want anything.”

She said nothing else. Her slack expression returned, and Cole felt even worse for her. Back in the car, he dug around in the glove box for his iPod and dropped it in her lap.

“You know how it works?”

“He won’t let me have it.”

“He’ll let you have this one.”

Larkin held it, but made no attempt to listen.

When they got back to the house, she took a bath. She didn’t tell him she was going to take a bath or anything else; she disappeared into the bathroom and soon the water was running. Cole put away the groceries, then brought the pad and his notes to the table. His notes completely filled the backs of each page of the accident report, and described in detail every building and business in Larkin Barkley’s neighborhood. Cole set to work drawing a map, building it block by block, one block per page. He divided each block into boxes to represent buildings and labeled each building with its address. He listed the names of the businesses as well as their phone numbers and any other notes he had made.