Racing the Light, page 25
The surrounding streets were clogged with end-of-the-day traffic. Pike reached the scene first. He was prowling past the Spring Street entrance when I arrived and waved me over. He’d already been up to the fourth floor where Richter and Locke had offices.
“Here and gone. Made a scene with Richter outside his office.”
“Was he arrested?”
“Not that kind of scene. Stuck a mic in Richter’s face and shouted questions. Deps thought he was a journalist.”
“So they let him go.”
“First Amendment. Richter’s people tried to laugh it off, but the deps are still buzzing about it.”
“About Josh or the questions?”
“Stuff about cash being found in Locke’s home. About pay-for-play deals and Skylar Lawless. Everyone heard. Other members. Reporters.”
Josh was planting seeds. Giving the reporters something to ponder.
“When was he here?”
“An hour ago. Maybe a little more.”
I thought it through and tried to decide what he’d do next. Josh had dropped his bomb and put them on notice. This was a stunt he could pull with public figures like Richter or Locke, but visiting Chow or Tarly might put him face-to-face with the meatball. Josh was smart enough to know this or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was so invested in bringing them down he’d lost sight of the danger.
Pike said, “What do we do?”
I dialed his burner again.
Voice mail.
I shook my head.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s doing. He could be anywhere.”
I was thinking up options when Jon Stone called. I signaled Pike as I answered.
“Is he at the bungalow?”
“Something weird happened.”
“Is it him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have eyes in there.”
“I do. Did. I’m getting nothing. A blank.”
“It’s him.”
“It’s probably a system malfunction.”
I lowered my phone and looked at Pike.
“Let’s go.”
61
Donghai An Bo
Bo was enjoying an early meal of two double-dipped lamb sandwiches at Philippe The Original. Bo was alone, seated on a stool at a communal counter and anticipating a baked apple and a large slice of lemon cream pie. Donghai An Bo was hungry. Earlier, he had lifted weights and climbed stairs for two hours at the Crystal Emperor’s most excellent gym. The weights were heavy. His calorie deficit was large.
His cell phone, resting on the counter near his plate, buzzed. The woman. Mr. Chow’s annoying assistant for his American operations.
Bo finished chewing and swallowed before he answered.
“Yes?”
“The devices you planted have failed.”
This woman knew nothing, yet believed she knew everything.
“What do you see?”
“I see nothing. They have failed.”
“Both devices have not failed.”
“They have failed. They have failed at exactly the same time. This suggests they have been caused to fail. Go now. I’ll send the others. Go.”
Donghai An Bo immediately left the restaurant. He would eat more later. After.
62
Josh Shoe
They drove slowly past the bungalows, looking for the people who’d been watching for Josh. Ryan’s head bobbed and swiveled, trying to see everywhere at once.
“I don’t see anyone, but I don’t know.”
Josh didn’t see squat. An army could be behind a car and Josh wouldn’t see them. Josh wanted to drop the podcast that night while Richter and Locke were scrambling to cover their asses, but it was too dark. Josh felt queasy.
Josh said, “I don’t know.”
This was their third trip past the bungalows. Ryan slowed to a stop at the base of the steps.
“Maybe they’re inside. I’d shit.”
“Yeah.”
Josh peered up the steps.
“The old man is home. I see his lights. The lady in the pink. The new kids. People are here.”
“People is good.”
“Yeah.”
Josh turned to his friend.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda scared.”
Josh nodded.
“Yeah. This is fucked up.”
“What if the jammer doesn’t work?”
“It works. Everything they have works. My dad probably built it.”
“Did he show you how to use it?”
Josh was getting pissed.
“It’s intuitive. You power up, you’re good to go. It works.”
Josh pulled out the box and pressed a little switch. The box vibrated silently for half a second.
“There. Good to go.”
“How do you know it’s on?”
“It vibrated.”
Ryan nodded. He peered up the steps into the darkness and nodded again.
“I vote yes.”
“We’ll work really fast. No screwing around.”
“Hell yeah. In your face.”
Ryan parked and they hustled up the steps with their gear. They hooked up the desktop and keyboard quickly, but powering up the equipment took forever. Josh had built most of the podcast in his car, working between his phone and laptop to piece together audio files, bumpers, and clips from Rachel’s tracks. He’d even recorded intros, outros, and narrative with the windows up and his sleeping bag over his head, but the files had to be transferred and the transfers took time.
Ryan said, “We’re hot.”
Josh pulled on a headset and they divided the work. Ryan built the web page and Josh cut the podcast. His hands shook and sweat dripped from his scalp, but he wanted to finish and get the hell out.
First thing he did was upload the videos and pix from Grady Locke’s loft and the vid of his confrontation with Sanford Richter. The Richter vid jerked and jumped, but the jumpiness gave it a gonzo cinema verité feel. Ryan copied the vids and posted them. Josh added the pix Skylar had taken of Grady Locke’s phone and the art she had made of his text exchanges with Tarly. Ryan locked the page. Done. Josh split audio tracks from the vids, dropped the clips into the body of the podcast, and listened to the result. The show was rough, but coming together.
Josh took off his headset. His hair was slick and grimy with sweat.
Ryan said, “What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
“It’s better than good, dude. It’s insane. And these vids?”
“Your idea.”
Ryan laughed.
“Holy crap, we’re awesome.”
Josh grinned. Then he laughed and they both laughed. They laughed so hard Josh didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t know anyone was in the bungalow until a burly man Josh knew as Donghai An Bo stood in the door pointing a black pistol at them.
Ryan jumped to his feet.
“Shit!”
Josh startled as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Bo looked slowly from Josh to Ryan to Josh. He gestured with the pistol.
“Get your fat ass up. Quickly now.”
Josh felt his crotch grow warm as his bladder emptied. His entire body trembled.
“No. I’m not going anywhere. Go away. I’m not going with you.”
Bo seemed to consider this. Then he pointed the pistol at Ryan and fired.
Josh shrieked.
Ryan staggered and made a gulping sound. He looked down at the dark stain spreading on his shirt like a blossoming rose. He looked at Bo. He looked at Josh. He fell into the table and slipped to the floor.
Josh pushed to his feet.
“Ry!”
Donghai An Bo hit him in the face with the pistol. Bo hit him hard three times in the head and the face. Josh covered his head but Bo kept hitting him. Then Bo twisted Josh’s hand behind his back and shoved him into the hall and through the bungalow and away from his dying best and only friend.
63
Elvis Cole
I pulled up beside Ryan’s car and left my Corvette in the street. Pike hadn’t arrived, but I wasn’t going to wait. The bungalows were peaceful. The street was quiet. I was at the bottom of the steps when I heard a muffled crack like a baseball bat striking cardboard. A smarter person would have waited. A wiser person would have set up an ambush at the bottom of the steps. A better person would have gotten there in time. None of those people helped.
A few windows were lit from within, but the steps were unlighted and dark. I drew my gun and ran toward the sound as Leon Karsey shouted.
“What’s going on over there?”
When Karsey shouted, a man passed through the light from Karsey’s window. The man was watching Karsey’s and the other bungalows in case a neighbor tried to interfere. I angled to his blind side and crept through heavy shadows to the corner of Josh’s bungalow. His door was open and the lights were on.
Karsey shouted again.
“I’m warnin’ ya!”
Karsey’s outside light snapped on, washing the space between his and Josh’s bungalow with a dim ochre glow. The man outside stepped back and raised a stubby black automatic toward Karsey’s door, ready to cut loose if Karsey came out. The man had a bum nose and club ears and the build of a mixed martial arts welterweight.
A shadow moved in Josh’s door and the gardener with the ponytail stepped out. He carried a stubby black automatic like the welterweight. Maybe stubby black automatics were the new thing and I had missed the memo.
Josh came out next with the meatball riding his back. Josh’s head drooped and dark smears striped his face like fingerpaint. The meatball seemed to be holding him up and steering. I didn’t see Ryan.
The gardener started down the steps and saw me. He stopped right in front of me and dropped into a clumsy crouch. The welterweight and the meatball saw me and the welterweight ran forward three steps and covered me with his gun. The three bad guys were focused on me. They thought I might spring into action and watched for a sudden wrong move. They were looking at me, so they didn’t see Joe Pike slip past the blue bungalow above. Pike was a silent shadow within the dark.
The meatball spoke quietly but firmly.
“Lower your weapon and walk away. Walk away and I’ll let you leave.”
Pike’s shadow moved again. Coming closer.
The welterweight edged to the side.
If they wanted Josh dead they would’ve killed him. They wanted to know what Rachel had given him and they wanted it back. They wanted Josh to tell them what those things were, and produce them, and they wanted to destroy them. They would ask him the way they asked Rachel and they wouldn’t stop asking until they believed Josh had told them the truth. He’d be dead by then.
I said, “Leave Mr. Schumacher and walk away. Walk now and I’ll let you go.”
Leon Karsey’s shout echoed from his window.
“Meatball fuck! Last warning!”
Josh finally saw me. His drooping head came up. His eyes were vague and glassy and maybe it took him a moment to recognize me, but he met my eyes and did.
I said, “It’s going to be okay.”
No one else saw his face change. Veins bulged beneath the blood streaks on his forehead. His eyes shrank into furious knots. His face grew dark and large as if a volcanic pressure was building within him, and then the volcano erupted.
Josh threw himself backward into the meatball with a guttural grunt. He drove himself back, huge legs pushing and pumping, grunting as he pushed, unh-unh-unh. He slammed the meatball into the wall, then bucked and spun like a rhino trying to toss a rider so he could gore him to death.
The gardener and the welterweight hesitated, unsure what to do, then the gardener ran to help his boss and grabbed Josh. Joe Pike flashed from the shadows and hit the welterweight so hard he dropped as if he’d been shot in the head.
I slammed into the gardener’s side. The meatball scrambled away, dropped to a knee, and raised his gun. Maybe Josh didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t care. He charged forward as I grabbed the meatball’s gun and pushed it aside. I was trying to hold on when Josh hit us like a runaway bus. The meatball and I hit the ground together and grappled for the gun. The gardener reappeared beside Josh and slammed him in the head with his pistol. Josh staggered and fell, and Leon Karsey shouted a final time.
“Fucking meatball! I warned you!”
A high-speed rip of automatic-weapon fire lit up his window and thundered across the neighborhood. The meatball flinched. I worked my fingers under the meatball’s thumb and strained to pry his thumb off the pistol. I didn’t know whether Karsey was firing bullets or blanks or what kind of weapon he had, but the noise was horrendous. The gardener spun toward the sound and fired three fast shots—bapbapbap. I heard the bullets hit Karsey’s bungalow as Joe Pike shot the gardener.
Karsey cut loose again, a long chattering light show behind his curtain. I prayed I wouldn’t get hit.
The meatball kneed me four fast times and tried to roll away, but I wrapped him up with my legs and held on tight. His thumb began to give. Golden lights swirled and gathered overhead, but I only caught glimpses.
Then Joe Pike blocked the lights. He clubbed the meatball twice with his pistol, cocked his Python, and pressed the muzzle hard into the meatball’s ear.
The meatball stopped fighting. His eyes rolled as he looked up to see Pike.
Pike said, “Release your weapon.”
The meatball’s hand relaxed. I twisted away his pistol and scrambled to my feet. Sirens were coming.
A woman’s voice echoed down from above.
“Don’t move, Josh. Don’t try to get up. We’re coming. We’re almost there.”
Wendy Vann.
I looked up, but saw only lights. I stood and made my way into Josh’s bungalow and found Ryan Seborg in their studio. He looked small and pale and younger than he was. He looked like a twelve-year-old.
I said, “Oh, Ryan.”
I checked for a pulse. His shirt was a red mop and I knew he was dead, but I checked. I checked twice. I felt his neck and his wrist.
“Aw damn.”
I went out to check Josh. Pike was kneeling beside him. His eyes opened and closed, but he seemed hazy. His temple was bleeding badly. I pulled off my shirt, wadded it, and pressed it over the wound. I was scared to press too hard. His skull might be cracked.
Leon Karsey shouted.
“Is that Porky? Porky, you all right?”
Josh’s eyes fluttered. They rolled from side to side, but then they focused.
He said, “Ryan.”
“I know.”
“Ryan’s shot.”
“I know.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“We gotta drop the show. We finished.”
We.
“It’ll drop. You and Ryan did a fine job.”
I patted his shoulder.
He said, “Tonight.”
I patted his shoulder again.
“You and Ryan finished.”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel.”
Cars braked hard below. Voices and more cars rolled in. I thought the police had arrived, but Wendy and Kurt double-timed up the steps with the red-haired guy and Wendy 2.0. Kurt had an M-4 rifle slung from his shoulder. He ran to the meatball and Pike stepped away. The bald guy with the earbud ran past Wendy to join Kurt. The bald guy and Wendy 2.0 both carried MP5 submachine guns. Maybe they expected a war. Kurt quick-tied the meatball’s hands behind his back, pulled him to his feet, and led him away. I didn’t know if the police were down below or even coming. I didn’t know where Kurt took him. I never saw the meatball, the gardener, or the welterweight again. I was never asked to testify at their trials.
Leon Karsey shouted.
“Fuck is going on out there?”
Wendy came over and knelt beside Josh. She smiled at him and rested her hand on his chest.
“Hey, Josh. Everything’s fine. You’re fine.”
Josh said, “Ryan.”
Wendy glanced up.
I shook my head.
“Inside.”
She said, “Holy hell.”
Wendy called to the red-haired guy and hurried into Josh’s bungalow.
I patted Josh’s shoulder.
“Hang in there, bud.”
“Ryan.”
“You hang in.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
Josh’s eyes suddenly cleared and he gripped my arm.
“The trunk. Ryan’s car. You take it. You. Not the cops. You.”
“What’s in Ryan’s trunk?”
“Proof.”
His eyes turned foggy and he moaned.
Karsey came out with a plastic bag filled with ice.
“For his head.”
I patted Josh’s shoulder again.
Wendy came back and touched me aside.
“You can go. We’ll handle everything.”
“The police will want a statement.”
“We’ll take care of it. Thank you. Thank you for this.”
Josh said, “Ryan’s hurt. Where’s Ryan?”
Wendy touched my arm.
“Thank you.”
I went back inside to Ryan, found his keys, and walked down the concrete steps past Josh and the others to the street. The steps seemed longer and the street seemed farther away. I transferred the large green duffel to my car and left Ryan’s keys on his driver’s-side floorboard.
An ambulance arrived a few minutes later. I watched them load Josh into the vehicle. Part of me wanted to follow them to the hospital to make sure he was all right, but I didn’t. I drove home to Lucy and Ben. I wanted to be held. Lucy held me. She slept with me in the loft for the first time in years, but it wasn’t what you’d think and it wasn’t the way we had wanted. I told her about Josh and Ryan and what happened and I cried. Lucy listened and held me as I wept. She pulled me close and held my head to her breasts. I needed to be held. She held me. We held each other.
“Here and gone. Made a scene with Richter outside his office.”
“Was he arrested?”
“Not that kind of scene. Stuck a mic in Richter’s face and shouted questions. Deps thought he was a journalist.”
“So they let him go.”
“First Amendment. Richter’s people tried to laugh it off, but the deps are still buzzing about it.”
“About Josh or the questions?”
“Stuff about cash being found in Locke’s home. About pay-for-play deals and Skylar Lawless. Everyone heard. Other members. Reporters.”
Josh was planting seeds. Giving the reporters something to ponder.
“When was he here?”
“An hour ago. Maybe a little more.”
I thought it through and tried to decide what he’d do next. Josh had dropped his bomb and put them on notice. This was a stunt he could pull with public figures like Richter or Locke, but visiting Chow or Tarly might put him face-to-face with the meatball. Josh was smart enough to know this or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was so invested in bringing them down he’d lost sight of the danger.
Pike said, “What do we do?”
I dialed his burner again.
Voice mail.
I shook my head.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s doing. He could be anywhere.”
I was thinking up options when Jon Stone called. I signaled Pike as I answered.
“Is he at the bungalow?”
“Something weird happened.”
“Is it him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have eyes in there.”
“I do. Did. I’m getting nothing. A blank.”
“It’s him.”
“It’s probably a system malfunction.”
I lowered my phone and looked at Pike.
“Let’s go.”
61
Donghai An Bo
Bo was enjoying an early meal of two double-dipped lamb sandwiches at Philippe The Original. Bo was alone, seated on a stool at a communal counter and anticipating a baked apple and a large slice of lemon cream pie. Donghai An Bo was hungry. Earlier, he had lifted weights and climbed stairs for two hours at the Crystal Emperor’s most excellent gym. The weights were heavy. His calorie deficit was large.
His cell phone, resting on the counter near his plate, buzzed. The woman. Mr. Chow’s annoying assistant for his American operations.
Bo finished chewing and swallowed before he answered.
“Yes?”
“The devices you planted have failed.”
This woman knew nothing, yet believed she knew everything.
“What do you see?”
“I see nothing. They have failed.”
“Both devices have not failed.”
“They have failed. They have failed at exactly the same time. This suggests they have been caused to fail. Go now. I’ll send the others. Go.”
Donghai An Bo immediately left the restaurant. He would eat more later. After.
62
Josh Shoe
They drove slowly past the bungalows, looking for the people who’d been watching for Josh. Ryan’s head bobbed and swiveled, trying to see everywhere at once.
“I don’t see anyone, but I don’t know.”
Josh didn’t see squat. An army could be behind a car and Josh wouldn’t see them. Josh wanted to drop the podcast that night while Richter and Locke were scrambling to cover their asses, but it was too dark. Josh felt queasy.
Josh said, “I don’t know.”
This was their third trip past the bungalows. Ryan slowed to a stop at the base of the steps.
“Maybe they’re inside. I’d shit.”
“Yeah.”
Josh peered up the steps.
“The old man is home. I see his lights. The lady in the pink. The new kids. People are here.”
“People is good.”
“Yeah.”
Josh turned to his friend.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda scared.”
Josh nodded.
“Yeah. This is fucked up.”
“What if the jammer doesn’t work?”
“It works. Everything they have works. My dad probably built it.”
“Did he show you how to use it?”
Josh was getting pissed.
“It’s intuitive. You power up, you’re good to go. It works.”
Josh pulled out the box and pressed a little switch. The box vibrated silently for half a second.
“There. Good to go.”
“How do you know it’s on?”
“It vibrated.”
Ryan nodded. He peered up the steps into the darkness and nodded again.
“I vote yes.”
“We’ll work really fast. No screwing around.”
“Hell yeah. In your face.”
Ryan parked and they hustled up the steps with their gear. They hooked up the desktop and keyboard quickly, but powering up the equipment took forever. Josh had built most of the podcast in his car, working between his phone and laptop to piece together audio files, bumpers, and clips from Rachel’s tracks. He’d even recorded intros, outros, and narrative with the windows up and his sleeping bag over his head, but the files had to be transferred and the transfers took time.
Ryan said, “We’re hot.”
Josh pulled on a headset and they divided the work. Ryan built the web page and Josh cut the podcast. His hands shook and sweat dripped from his scalp, but he wanted to finish and get the hell out.
First thing he did was upload the videos and pix from Grady Locke’s loft and the vid of his confrontation with Sanford Richter. The Richter vid jerked and jumped, but the jumpiness gave it a gonzo cinema verité feel. Ryan copied the vids and posted them. Josh added the pix Skylar had taken of Grady Locke’s phone and the art she had made of his text exchanges with Tarly. Ryan locked the page. Done. Josh split audio tracks from the vids, dropped the clips into the body of the podcast, and listened to the result. The show was rough, but coming together.
Josh took off his headset. His hair was slick and grimy with sweat.
Ryan said, “What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
“It’s better than good, dude. It’s insane. And these vids?”
“Your idea.”
Ryan laughed.
“Holy crap, we’re awesome.”
Josh grinned. Then he laughed and they both laughed. They laughed so hard Josh didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t know anyone was in the bungalow until a burly man Josh knew as Donghai An Bo stood in the door pointing a black pistol at them.
Ryan jumped to his feet.
“Shit!”
Josh startled as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Bo looked slowly from Josh to Ryan to Josh. He gestured with the pistol.
“Get your fat ass up. Quickly now.”
Josh felt his crotch grow warm as his bladder emptied. His entire body trembled.
“No. I’m not going anywhere. Go away. I’m not going with you.”
Bo seemed to consider this. Then he pointed the pistol at Ryan and fired.
Josh shrieked.
Ryan staggered and made a gulping sound. He looked down at the dark stain spreading on his shirt like a blossoming rose. He looked at Bo. He looked at Josh. He fell into the table and slipped to the floor.
Josh pushed to his feet.
“Ry!”
Donghai An Bo hit him in the face with the pistol. Bo hit him hard three times in the head and the face. Josh covered his head but Bo kept hitting him. Then Bo twisted Josh’s hand behind his back and shoved him into the hall and through the bungalow and away from his dying best and only friend.
63
Elvis Cole
I pulled up beside Ryan’s car and left my Corvette in the street. Pike hadn’t arrived, but I wasn’t going to wait. The bungalows were peaceful. The street was quiet. I was at the bottom of the steps when I heard a muffled crack like a baseball bat striking cardboard. A smarter person would have waited. A wiser person would have set up an ambush at the bottom of the steps. A better person would have gotten there in time. None of those people helped.
A few windows were lit from within, but the steps were unlighted and dark. I drew my gun and ran toward the sound as Leon Karsey shouted.
“What’s going on over there?”
When Karsey shouted, a man passed through the light from Karsey’s window. The man was watching Karsey’s and the other bungalows in case a neighbor tried to interfere. I angled to his blind side and crept through heavy shadows to the corner of Josh’s bungalow. His door was open and the lights were on.
Karsey shouted again.
“I’m warnin’ ya!”
Karsey’s outside light snapped on, washing the space between his and Josh’s bungalow with a dim ochre glow. The man outside stepped back and raised a stubby black automatic toward Karsey’s door, ready to cut loose if Karsey came out. The man had a bum nose and club ears and the build of a mixed martial arts welterweight.
A shadow moved in Josh’s door and the gardener with the ponytail stepped out. He carried a stubby black automatic like the welterweight. Maybe stubby black automatics were the new thing and I had missed the memo.
Josh came out next with the meatball riding his back. Josh’s head drooped and dark smears striped his face like fingerpaint. The meatball seemed to be holding him up and steering. I didn’t see Ryan.
The gardener started down the steps and saw me. He stopped right in front of me and dropped into a clumsy crouch. The welterweight and the meatball saw me and the welterweight ran forward three steps and covered me with his gun. The three bad guys were focused on me. They thought I might spring into action and watched for a sudden wrong move. They were looking at me, so they didn’t see Joe Pike slip past the blue bungalow above. Pike was a silent shadow within the dark.
The meatball spoke quietly but firmly.
“Lower your weapon and walk away. Walk away and I’ll let you leave.”
Pike’s shadow moved again. Coming closer.
The welterweight edged to the side.
If they wanted Josh dead they would’ve killed him. They wanted to know what Rachel had given him and they wanted it back. They wanted Josh to tell them what those things were, and produce them, and they wanted to destroy them. They would ask him the way they asked Rachel and they wouldn’t stop asking until they believed Josh had told them the truth. He’d be dead by then.
I said, “Leave Mr. Schumacher and walk away. Walk now and I’ll let you go.”
Leon Karsey’s shout echoed from his window.
“Meatball fuck! Last warning!”
Josh finally saw me. His drooping head came up. His eyes were vague and glassy and maybe it took him a moment to recognize me, but he met my eyes and did.
I said, “It’s going to be okay.”
No one else saw his face change. Veins bulged beneath the blood streaks on his forehead. His eyes shrank into furious knots. His face grew dark and large as if a volcanic pressure was building within him, and then the volcano erupted.
Josh threw himself backward into the meatball with a guttural grunt. He drove himself back, huge legs pushing and pumping, grunting as he pushed, unh-unh-unh. He slammed the meatball into the wall, then bucked and spun like a rhino trying to toss a rider so he could gore him to death.
The gardener and the welterweight hesitated, unsure what to do, then the gardener ran to help his boss and grabbed Josh. Joe Pike flashed from the shadows and hit the welterweight so hard he dropped as if he’d been shot in the head.
I slammed into the gardener’s side. The meatball scrambled away, dropped to a knee, and raised his gun. Maybe Josh didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t care. He charged forward as I grabbed the meatball’s gun and pushed it aside. I was trying to hold on when Josh hit us like a runaway bus. The meatball and I hit the ground together and grappled for the gun. The gardener reappeared beside Josh and slammed him in the head with his pistol. Josh staggered and fell, and Leon Karsey shouted a final time.
“Fucking meatball! I warned you!”
A high-speed rip of automatic-weapon fire lit up his window and thundered across the neighborhood. The meatball flinched. I worked my fingers under the meatball’s thumb and strained to pry his thumb off the pistol. I didn’t know whether Karsey was firing bullets or blanks or what kind of weapon he had, but the noise was horrendous. The gardener spun toward the sound and fired three fast shots—bapbapbap. I heard the bullets hit Karsey’s bungalow as Joe Pike shot the gardener.
Karsey cut loose again, a long chattering light show behind his curtain. I prayed I wouldn’t get hit.
The meatball kneed me four fast times and tried to roll away, but I wrapped him up with my legs and held on tight. His thumb began to give. Golden lights swirled and gathered overhead, but I only caught glimpses.
Then Joe Pike blocked the lights. He clubbed the meatball twice with his pistol, cocked his Python, and pressed the muzzle hard into the meatball’s ear.
The meatball stopped fighting. His eyes rolled as he looked up to see Pike.
Pike said, “Release your weapon.”
The meatball’s hand relaxed. I twisted away his pistol and scrambled to my feet. Sirens were coming.
A woman’s voice echoed down from above.
“Don’t move, Josh. Don’t try to get up. We’re coming. We’re almost there.”
Wendy Vann.
I looked up, but saw only lights. I stood and made my way into Josh’s bungalow and found Ryan Seborg in their studio. He looked small and pale and younger than he was. He looked like a twelve-year-old.
I said, “Oh, Ryan.”
I checked for a pulse. His shirt was a red mop and I knew he was dead, but I checked. I checked twice. I felt his neck and his wrist.
“Aw damn.”
I went out to check Josh. Pike was kneeling beside him. His eyes opened and closed, but he seemed hazy. His temple was bleeding badly. I pulled off my shirt, wadded it, and pressed it over the wound. I was scared to press too hard. His skull might be cracked.
Leon Karsey shouted.
“Is that Porky? Porky, you all right?”
Josh’s eyes fluttered. They rolled from side to side, but then they focused.
He said, “Ryan.”
“I know.”
“Ryan’s shot.”
“I know.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“We gotta drop the show. We finished.”
We.
“It’ll drop. You and Ryan did a fine job.”
I patted his shoulder.
He said, “Tonight.”
I patted his shoulder again.
“You and Ryan finished.”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel.”
Cars braked hard below. Voices and more cars rolled in. I thought the police had arrived, but Wendy and Kurt double-timed up the steps with the red-haired guy and Wendy 2.0. Kurt had an M-4 rifle slung from his shoulder. He ran to the meatball and Pike stepped away. The bald guy with the earbud ran past Wendy to join Kurt. The bald guy and Wendy 2.0 both carried MP5 submachine guns. Maybe they expected a war. Kurt quick-tied the meatball’s hands behind his back, pulled him to his feet, and led him away. I didn’t know if the police were down below or even coming. I didn’t know where Kurt took him. I never saw the meatball, the gardener, or the welterweight again. I was never asked to testify at their trials.
Leon Karsey shouted.
“Fuck is going on out there?”
Wendy came over and knelt beside Josh. She smiled at him and rested her hand on his chest.
“Hey, Josh. Everything’s fine. You’re fine.”
Josh said, “Ryan.”
Wendy glanced up.
I shook my head.
“Inside.”
She said, “Holy hell.”
Wendy called to the red-haired guy and hurried into Josh’s bungalow.
I patted Josh’s shoulder.
“Hang in there, bud.”
“Ryan.”
“You hang in.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
Josh’s eyes suddenly cleared and he gripped my arm.
“The trunk. Ryan’s car. You take it. You. Not the cops. You.”
“What’s in Ryan’s trunk?”
“Proof.”
His eyes turned foggy and he moaned.
Karsey came out with a plastic bag filled with ice.
“For his head.”
I patted Josh’s shoulder again.
Wendy came back and touched me aside.
“You can go. We’ll handle everything.”
“The police will want a statement.”
“We’ll take care of it. Thank you. Thank you for this.”
Josh said, “Ryan’s hurt. Where’s Ryan?”
Wendy touched my arm.
“Thank you.”
I went back inside to Ryan, found his keys, and walked down the concrete steps past Josh and the others to the street. The steps seemed longer and the street seemed farther away. I transferred the large green duffel to my car and left Ryan’s keys on his driver’s-side floorboard.
An ambulance arrived a few minutes later. I watched them load Josh into the vehicle. Part of me wanted to follow them to the hospital to make sure he was all right, but I didn’t. I drove home to Lucy and Ben. I wanted to be held. Lucy held me. She slept with me in the loft for the first time in years, but it wasn’t what you’d think and it wasn’t the way we had wanted. I told her about Josh and Ryan and what happened and I cried. Lucy listened and held me as I wept. She pulled me close and held my head to her breasts. I needed to be held. She held me. We held each other.
