To Sleep Gently (9 page)

"Where are you going?"

Dempster looked at her. The odd stir of excitement he felt inside angered him. He wanted nothing to do with her, yet here he was taking a step toward the Tercel. "I'm busy," he said.

"Busy hanging out at Essentials every day?"

This angered him more, but still he took another step. He didn't want to, he cursed himself for doing it, but it was as though he had no control of himself.

"I'm fed up with this neighborhood," she said. Her tone was casual. "I'm fed up with this whole town. Nothing to do, always hanging around, waiting for something to happen. And nothing ever happens." She looked at him. "I'm dying for something to happen."

"So, go do something about it," he told her.

"Well, I can't do it alone."

"That's your problem."

"Don't you wanna give me a hand?"

"In what way?"

"In having a good time. Having some fun. Finding something to do that doesn't involve so much damn waiting."

"Sorry," he said, "I think you're on your own." Yet, still, even as he said it, he took another step forward.

"You wanna hop in?" she asked.

"Not especially."

"Sure you do." She reached across and opened the passenger door.

"Let's go get some lunch." When Dempster didn't budge, she told him, "It's just lunch. You have to eat sometime."

Staring at her, he let his eyes ask many questions, though he sadly found that these questions were mostly directed at himself. Before he knew what he was doing, he was climbing into the Tercel and closing the door.

She pulled away, looped through the parking lot, and they left De Vargas Mall.

After a minute she said, "You still have no name."

"I have a name, just haven't given it to you."

She smiled, gave him a sidelong glance. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I've already seen yours, Carly."

A small flinch, her confidence suffered a momentary lapse. Then it quickly returned; she smiled. "You a detective or something?"

"Closer to a something," he said, and eased back in his seat.

"A something that still has no name."

"I'm Jack."

"A something named Jack." She nodded. "I guess that'll do."

For a few moments they didn't speak. The car was filled with the rattling purr of its engine and the wind whipping through the open windows.

"You weren't working," he said.

"You're observant," she told him. "Nope. Not today."

"So why were you hanging out there?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I was getting my check. And buying a book."

"What book?"

She reached into the back seat, then dropped the paperback into his lap.
Astrology, Karma and Transformation: The Inner Dimensions of the Birth Chart,
by Stephen Arroyo.

"Looks interesting," he said, not very interested.

"'Life is not the mere play of blind chance,'" she said with a sensual smirk on her face, "'but has an existence that is dependent upon conditions.'"

"Bhagavad Gita?"

"Buddha."

"Where are we going?"

"This way," she told him, emphasizing with a head gesture.

"We getting something to eat?"

"Don't you wanna take a ride?"

"I don't like when people answer questions with questions."

She made a right turn onto a street called West Alameda. "Let's just drive a bit," she said. There was a knowing grin on her face, faint and delicate, but assertive.

The street seemed to stretch on forever. It was lined with houses of various shapes and sizes in sundry states of condition. To the right were hills with small side roads that twisted and wound up into nebulous residential worlds, hidden by trees and mounds of dirt. To the left the ground sloped downward at a steep grade. Rooftops peeked over the edge as though Kilroy Was Here, some of them reflecting the sun at a more than uncomfortable brightness. Off in the far distance, a series of mountains stood so majestic that the sight of them was like a beautifully executed oil painting.

"How long you lived here?" he asked.

"Three years."

"Where you from?"

"The merry ol' land of Oz."

He looked at her, and realized how much she frustrated him.

She smiled. "I'm from Kentucky."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have an accent."

"Oh my God, what are the police going to say?"

They went for a minute without speaking. As the houses became sparser and the land opened up around them, Carly made a right turn onto a dirt road that Dempster didn't catch the name of.

"Where we headed?"

"There's a really beautiful spot up this way," she said. "You can see the whole city." Another sidelong glance. "You don't mind, do you?"

He shrugged. "You're driving."

The trees loomed over them. Millions of shadows flickered about. The terrain was rough and they bounced around in their seats. The car created giant clouds of dust behind them as they ascended the hill, crested the peak, and drove slowly into a large empty opening where not a single house stood, and the trees were few and far between.

Carly cut the wheel hard to the right and the car turned until the windshield's view was filled with the city. Endless rock formations dotted the nearby landscape. Within it the houses rose up from the ground like turtles emerging from their shells, while beyond this the city was larger than Dempster had imagined. It filled almost every window of the car, and looked like a highly complex and perfectly constructed model with an additional breath of life thrown into it.

Carly switched off the engine.

They sat for a minute in complete silence.

Then: "I love it up here," she said, gazing through the windshield. "It's so peaceful. I like to come up here when I need to check out from the rest of my life." She looked at him. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

He hesitantly met her eyes but only allowed himself a quick glimpse and turned back to the view. "It's gorgeous," he said, and called himself an asshole. He told himself the best thing to do was to get out of the car and go for a walk. Walk all the way back to his own car, forget all of this, and go check in on the guys and make sure the house wasn't burnt down.

He looked at her again and saw her watching him. His throat constricted and he refused to look at her. Instead he looked at the door. He wanted to open it, begged himself to open it. Begged himself to get out and walk away, make the long trek back to his car, back to the mall. If the timing worked out he might still be able to meet Mike for lunch. He begged himself to do this.

Instead he looked at her, and was immediately mesmerized by her deep blue eyes.

She leaned towards him.

He looked at the door handle and begged himself once more.

"Look at me."

Then her eyes entranced him again.

She moved closer.

He moved closer. He felt lightheaded. Dizzy. And suddenly his arms were around her, and he was kissing her. The sensation, the feeling pulsating through him—he shuddered with passion as his hand caressed her waist.

Her hand stroked his chest, tickled his belly, and found its way between his legs. She began maneuvering him through his pants. And he responded. Her lips were suction cups, and as she moved her hand, rubbed herself against him, he felt the temperature of his body rising.

"Cum for me," she whispered, working him faster, her breath hot vapor against his face.

A part of him wanted to push her away, but he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to, and really didn't want to. Because he wanted it. He wanted it so bad that it was like a disease inside him.

That's what it is, he thought. You got her inside you like a fucking disease.

But he wanted nothing more than to come before the eyes of this woman. Her grip tightened, encouraged his passion to rise. She worked him faster until he reached the boiling point. Then he let out a moan; his body writhed and instinctively he kissed her, as he pumped beneath the movement of her hand.

He drew deep breaths and her magnetic blue eyes riveted into his own.

Then, after the fact, he seized her hand and pulled it away, continuing to look into her beautiful blue eyes. No matter how he tried, he couldn't find any words.

She backed off, her face now a mess of confusion. "What's the matter?"

Still, he couldn't talk.

"What's wrong?" Her tone was irritated.

Next thing he knew he had opened the door. He climbed out of the car, turned around and looked at her. "Get out of here," he said.

"What's up with you?"

"I said beat it."

She stared at him. She was very calm but her eyes were wide. "I don't get it," she said.

He felt himself being pulled into her again. Those eyes were fucking powerful. "Please," he said, "just go."

A moment passed. Then, with a subtle shrug, she started the car, backed out, gave a frustrated wave, and made her way down the lonely dusty road. He watched the car until it was out of sight.

Chapter Eight

Dempster arrived back at the house at three thirty on the nose, and found the guys hanging out in the kitchen. Jimmy and Evan sat at the table, seemingly chummy, as though nothing confrontational had transpired that morning, while Clark stood near the sink telling some anecdote or other, making more hand gestures than a deaf Italian, the left hand with a cigarette between its fingers.

The moment he stepped into the room, the conversation ended.

Dempster took in the sight of all three of them, crossed over to the table and sat down.

"What's up?"

"Spent the whole morning going over the route," Clark said, smoke seeping from his nose. "Found a couple alternative routes but it still looks like the best way is what we discussed last night."

"That's what I decided too," Dempster said. He looked at Evan and Jimmy. "You guys talk with Mister Skeele or Charlie Powers today?"

"Yeah," Evan said. "Charlie told us we have a new fence. Guy named Frazier."

"Any of you know anything about him?"

"Nothing other than Mister Skeele's worked with him before and he's from Illinois, moved out here about a year ago."

"Did Charlie give you his information?"

"Yeah. Not much, of course. It's written down over there by the phone."

Dempster rose from his seat. He looked at the information scribbled on the yellow legal pad beside the phone. It merely said Frazier, then was followed by an address in Corrales and a telephone number. It wasn't any more information than they'd had on Kolata—the original fence—but somehow Dempster wasn't satisfied.

"Did he tell you anything about why Mister Skeele got rid of Kolata?"

"Not much," Evan said. "He didn't sound clear on it himself. Apparently Mister Skeele learned that Kolata has gotten involved with some cop, but that's about all he was able to tell us."

"All right, I'm gonna talk to those guys pretty soon. I'll see if I can't get any more information about what's going on."

"Is it that big of a deal?" Evan asked.

Dempster threw him a contemptible look. "It can be, yes."

Evan's eyebrows bounced once in a twitch, then he looked down and studied the table. Dempster wanted to grab him by the neck and shake some sense into him. Smack him around and ask him how dumb he could be.

"What about Gardner? Any word from him today?"

"No, not a thing. We're all going to the Eldorado tonight for a drink. Putting on our best clothes, gonna look like high-class businessmen."

"All right." He went to the refrigerator and got himself a soda. "I'm gonna stop by and check it out tomorrow. Let me know if there's anything different from what we learned last night—anything I should look into or be aware of."

"Of course."

He popped the tab on his soda and listened to it fizz. The hiss sparked his memory to the sound of heavy breathing. Carly beside him. Lips brushing his ear. The sight of her blue magnetic eyes.

He left the kitchen.

2

Half an hour later Freddy called him on his cell phone.

"You have nothing to worry about with Frazier," he said. "I've worked with him several times before. He's good. Made more connections out here in a year than he did in five back in Naperville."

"Guess I'm wondering," Dempster said, "why you didn't go with him right from the get-go."

There was a pause, a sigh, then another pause, more drawn out than the first. "Kolata and I go back a long time," Freddy said. "Granted, we've never been especially close, but we'd worked together on and off for over twenty years."

"I don't remember him."

"Well, you don't know everyone I've ever worked with."

"So why'd you dump him? What's this I hear about a cop?"

"Retired cop," Freddy told him. "Or shall I say terminated. Guy named Paul Campion, kicked off the force a few months back for brutality. Other officers as well as several witnesses caught him torturing a robbery suspect off Central Avenue—had the guy handcuffed and pressed against his squad car. He was shocking him in the testicles with a taser."

"Sounds like a fun guy."

"He already had an ugly track record of torture and abuse," Freddy said. "This kind of sealed the deal for him."

"Guy that messed up, why isn't he behind bars?"

"Just lucky, I guess. Who knows how these things work? The problem I had was not that the man Kolata hooked up with was a psychopath. It's that he was a cop. And as the saying goes: once a cop, always a cop. A corrupt cop is even worse. And then add to that the fact that he's a psychopath, and you'll begin to see why I no longer wanted Kolata involved."

"I'm beginning to," Dempster said. "But we weren't dealing with Campion, we were dealing with Kolata."

"If you deal with Kolata," Freddy said, "you now also deal with Campion."

"This is all news to me."

"Me too," Freddy said, tone indignant. "It wasn't long ago that Kolata and I set all of this up. It's only in the past few days that the two of them have officially come to this new business arrangement."

"So you opted them out."