They (16 page)

“Is this Vince Walters?” The voice was male. Vince didn’t recognize it; it surely wasn’t Detective Staley.

“Yes, this is,” Vince said, slightly irritated. There was a deadline on this project and this had better not be some goddamned secretary calling to schedule a meeting. Nobody knew his private number except for Tracy, his secretary Glenda, and Brian.

“I have some information on your mother’s death that I think you might find interesting.”

Vince was startled. “What?”

“You heard me right the first time,” the voice said. “I’ll only repeat it one more time: I have some information on your mother’s death that I think—”

Vince’s heart was racing madly and it took all his will power to lower his voice. “Who the hell are you and how did you—”

“If you want to talk to me, meet me in twenty minutes at the Holly Street Bar. You know where it is?”

Vince’s mind was racing. Was this a trick?

“Holly Street Bar and Grill in Irvine. On Jamboree Avenue next door to Tower Records. I’ll be in a corner booth. Twenty minutes.” The line went dead.

Vince held the receiver in his hand, the open dial tone humming. He put the phone down and rested his head in his hands. His stomach was doing slow flip-flops and his hands were shaking. His mind was a jumbled mass of questions that threatened to tumble out of him. How the hell did this guy know his name and who was he? How did he know mom was dead and how did he get my
private phone number
?

Vince looked out his office window into the business park Corporate Financial had their offices in. He’d gotten a police escort to work this morning, and with the news of the arrest of a suspect in yesterday’s attack Vince guessed that they might be scaling back their protection of him. After all, he was only an ordinary citizen, and it was probably costing the city of Irvine a lot of money to give him and Tracy what protection they’d been able to give. He wasn’t even planning to go to work, but he had a project deadline and decided to go in for a short day to tie up those loose ends.

Vince contemplated the repercussions of heading out to this meeting. Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in darting out real quick, would there? He’d be careful, would pay attention to everything around him, and he knew enough not to get himself in a sticky situation. It wouldn’t take long, either. Ten minutes to drive over, ten minutes back, maybe five minutes to get the bottom of this and he’d be back in his office. No problem.

He left for Holly Street Bar and Grill three minutes later.

HE WAS NERVOUS on the drive, checking his rearview mirror constantly. Several times at stoplights he was afraid every car that pulled up next to him was going to be an assassin. Several times he found himself flinching, one time almost ducking. He kept telling himself,
they’ve got the guy in custody, it was just some fucking nut and we’ll find out why he was trying to kill me later this afternoon
. That calmed him down, and he was able to drive to the mini-mall with a renewed sense of ease.

Once he found the mall, he swung into the parking lot and cruised until he found a spot. He killed the engine and sat in the car. He
looked out at the mini-mall, which was bustling with business as tee
nagers out of school cruised for action and soccer moms shopped with their kids. The mall housed a Ralph’s grocery store, a Target, a couple of gift shops, a Barnes and Noble Bookstore with an attached Starbucks coffee shop, and an assortment of fast food eateries. Holly St. Bar and Grill was situated in the middle of the structure, between Tower Records and Round Table Pizza. Vince got out of the car and started walking toward it.

He’d driven to the mini-mall in a numbed state of shock. All he could think about were two things: this was a scam to get him out of the office so they (whoever
they
were) could kill him; and who was the man that called? As he drew up to the restaurant his stomach began fluttering again. His hands were clammy. He gripped the brass door handle and pulled.

The restaurant was a classy version of one of those Bar and Grill restaurants that sell burgers and taco salads and chicken strips and also have a full bar. The restaurant was filled with tables and booths, all of which was situated around a full bar.
I’ll be in the corner booth
, the voice had said. Vince craned his head, trying to look over the sea of people. A pretty blonde hostess smiled at him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to meet someone,” Vince said, stepping inside.

He walked slowly to the rear of the establishment, looking for a corner booth. There were no booths back there save for one along the side against the wall. The booths had those high-backed seats that made it difficult to tell if a patron was actually seated there.

He reached the corner booth toward the rear of the restaurant.

Empty.

He let out a sigh and turned toward the front of the restaurant. He was scanning the tables, trying to make eye contact to see if somebody would meet his gaze and rise to meet him. None did. He glanced at his watch. It had taken him ten minutes to drive over here, and he supposed that from the time of the call and the time it took him to leave and get out of the building, close to twenty minutes had passed. So where was he?

He felt the presence of somebody behind him and he turned just as he heard his name being spoken aloud. “Vince Walters.”

The man had come from the short hallway in the back, which led to the kitchen and the restrooms. He was big, six foot two and muscular. Mean looking. Wearing faded blue jeans and cowboy boots, his white T-shirt sported the logo from the band White Zombie. A denim sleeveless jacket was draped over his large frame. The man had shoulder length black hair swept back over his face. Both arms were very heavily tattooed and he wore leather biker gloves. His mirror shades made it impossible for Vince to see his eyes.

“You called me here?” Vince asked, staring up at the big man’s impressive form, feeling himself tense up.

“Yes,” the man said. When Vince first laid eyes on him, the man’s features were intense. Now they softened a little bit as the man appraised him through the mirror shades. He cocked a thumb at the window, motioning outside. “Why don’t we go somewhere else and we’ll talk.”

Vince gritted his teeth. “No,” he said. “Whatever you want to say to me, say it now. You wanted me to come here, here I am.”

“Not here,” the man said. “I have my reasons.”

“And I have mine,” Vince snapped. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Now tell me what the fuck you want and—”

The man reached into his pocket. At first Vince thought he was reaching for a gun, but then relaxed as he extracted his wallet. The man flipped it open and rummaged through it. He pulled out a photograph. He held it up for Vince to see.

Vince gasped. There were two children in the photograph, both of them boys. They were sitting on a bench, mugging gap-toothed at the camera. They appeared to be between the ages of six and eight years old. The older boy had short black hair and wore blue cord jeans and a striped shirt. But the most recognizable boy in the photo was the younger one.

It was Vince. At the age of six.

Upon realizing that he was in the photo, Vince immediately placed the older boy seated on the park bench with him. His name was Frank. His parents had been Gladys and Tom, and they’d lived around the corner from Vince and his parents in those dim fog-clouded days when they’d lived in California. Vince remembered he and Frank often played together when both boys’ parents were visiting with each other. Frank had been rough sometimes, but was mostly okay. Vince remembered he’d wanted to be just like him.

The man holding the photo tapped it with one black leather gloved finger and took off his mirror shades. He had brown eyes and now Vince could make out the vague resemblance to the boy in the picture, the boy from his dim childhood. “That’s you and me in that photo, Vince. Our parents used to be friends, we lived around the corner from each other. I’m—”

“You’re Frank,” Vince said, looking at the bigger man with a sense of awe.

“Frank Black,” the man said. He put the photo back in his wallet and
shoved it back in his jeans. “No resemblance to the character Lance
Henrickson plays on the TV show
Millennium
.” He cracked a slight grin at the comment, then leveled a serious gaze at Vince. “I’m sorry to intrude on your life like this, old buddy, but I had to. You’re in danger.
Serious
danger, and we need to talk now.”

VINCE BEGAN TO suspect Frank was serious about the being in danger part when he suggested they exit out the back. Vince agreed—why the hell not? It was only Frank, his old childhood buddy and playmate from a time he’d almost forgotten. He’d popped back into his life to warn Vince that he was in danger, so obviously he had some information on who’d tried to kill him, right? Frank was somebody he could trust. Vince followed the bigger man warily down the short hallway to the rear door of Holly St. Bar and Grill and into the alley.

“Where’s your car?” Frank asked, putting his shades on again.

“Parking lot,” Vince said. He felt awkward standing in the alley in his business attire, especially standing next to the heavily tattooed, swarthy Frank Black.

“Anybody follow you out here?” Frank asked.

“Um, no,” Vince said. “I don’t think so. I tried to make sure of it.”

“
Think
!” Frank breathed, clenching his teeth. He faced Vince, glaring down at him through the mirror shades, putting him on the spot. “This is serious Vince, deadly—”

“If it’s so serious, why are we—”

“Our lives are in danger, Vince,” Frank turned to him. His face was intense, menacing. His raven hair blew over his shoulders from a slight offshore breeze. “Yours, mine, maybe others. The same people that killed Laura—”

At the words
the same people that killed Laura,
Vince felt as if a freight train slammed into him. He gasped. “What do you know about my wife!”

“Everything,” Frank said, gritting his teeth. “Now, the longer we stay here arguing about this, the more of a chance we may be spotted. Do you want me to help you or not?”

Vince almost hesitated again, then nodded. “Yes.” He had to know what Frank meant by Laura being murdered.

“Okay.” Frank accepted this easily enough. “Now, let’s go through this again. Were you followed?”

Vince didn’t think he was, and he retraced his thoughts of the drive over. As far as he could tell he hadn’t been followed. He shook his head. “No.”

“Okay.” He looked up and down the alley. “We need to go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“We can go to my place,” Vince suggested.

“I wouldn’t mind that, but I don’t think that would be safe,” Frank said, turning back to Vince. “Is there a public park around here?”

Vince tried to think of where the closest public park would be. There was a nice park near his home in Mission Viejo, but that was a good fifteen minute drive down the San Diego Freeway. He had to factor in the time spent away from the office as well; he didn’t want to arouse suspicion by being gone so long. He wracked his brain for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said.

“Then we’ll find one,” Frank said, stepping into the alley, motioning for Vince to follow him, away from the parking lot. “I parked on the other side of this strip mall. Why don’t we drive around until we find someplace quiet and we’ll talk?”

Vince shrugged and reluctantly followed the big tattooed man down the alley, his heart beating heavy in his chest with impending dread.

FRANK BLACK DROVE a car that didn’t fit his image: a dark, four door Saturn sedan. There was a baby seat in the back, positioned in the middle. Frank looked more like the type of guy that would drive something sleek and powerful; a Corvette, a TransAm, a Camaro, a Jaguar. Something sporty and powerful. A Saturn suggested he was a family man; it also eased the tension from Vince. A guy driving a Saturn with a baby-seat in the back wasn’t the kind of guy that was going to lure you somewhere so you could be murdered. Vince was about to ask Frank if he was married and had a kid, but decided not to. He wanted to hear about Laura more than anything.

They drove around Irvine for ten minutes, making small talk as Vince navigated Frank around the city, trying to find someplace they could pull over. Frank didn’t want to talk in a public place like a bar or restaurant, and he was reluctant to go to Vince’s home, and especially his office. Vince thought it was odd that a man that looked like he wouldn’t be afraid of anything could be so nervous and scared about talking to him about Laura and the mystery surrounding his mother’s death. But then his mother had been pretty paranoid in the end, hadn’t she?

For the first five minutes, Vince’s heart raced with nervousness. He still didn’t know what Frank was up to, what his motives were, and he was tense every time the big man moved or said anything. His stomach knotted itself as they drove; Vince had an insane thought that the man was going to drive him out to a remote section of Irvine or Laguna Hills and do something hideous: beat him up, torture and kill him. Why he thought this he hadn’t the slightest idea, but he supposed it had to do with the strange nature in which the man had suddenly stepped back into his life. Why would you track down a boyhood pal you hadn’t seen in over twenty-five years and then behave real paranoid around him? It didn’t make sense.

Frank checked the rearview mirrors constantly as they drove. Apparently his paranoia wasn’t limited to just Vince being followed.

Vince relaxed more as he realized Frank was following his street directions in finding a quiet spot to pull over. Vince remembered a small park that was near a library and the Town Hall. He directed Frank to it and they drove in silence as the Saturn purred down the suburban streets. It was a nice, warm day. The sky was blue with specks of white fluffy clouds scattered about, and there was a nice offshore breeze blowing from the west. It was probably close to eighty degrees and it was only twelve o’clock. Vince figured he could get away with being away from the office until at least two, so he hoped Frank would tell him what was on his mind so Vince could go about the task of asking his
own
questions.