Robert Crais - The Monkey

She looked at me with a little bit of the fear back in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“He isn’t liking it. He’s coming in late in the game and we’ve got bad cards.”

“You got no cards at all.” Poitras looked big and grim and ominous, like the Michelin Man with a bad headache. He said, “You should’ve put me in on this as soon as you suspected, Elvis.”

Ellen Lang said, “What’re you talking about? What’s wrong?” The first bright tinge of panic.

I said, “What’s wrong is that Duran can beat what we have. He’s kept himself away from it except for me and he can beat my story easy enough if people in the right place are willing to say the wrong thing. They will be. My statement gives the cops probable cause to go in to Duran’s, but Duran won’t have Perry in his home. He’ll deny everything, and all we’ve done is jeopardize Perry with nothing but a guy named Sanchez to show for it.” It came out harder than I liked, but I was angry with Poitras and too drunk to handle it.

Lou said, “That’s about it.”

Ellen Lang got white and the corner of her mouth with the red mark began to tremble. I put my hand over hers and squeezed. Her jaw clenched and the trembling stopped. “I’m all right,” she said.

The phone rang and Poitras went back into the kitchen for it. I poured some of the Chivas into Ellen’s coffee cup and put it in her hand. “It’s going to be fine,” I said. “Trust me. It’ll work out.” I gave her my everything-under-control smile. She didn’t look convinced. Maybe it’s tough for a drunk to look convincing. I saw the Eskimo put a size 18 hand on the boy’s shoulder. I saw them walk out to the long black limo. I saw the limo disappearing into the high desert hills. I saw Domingo Duran, jabbing his sword toward the hills, saying Then other men will come, and put your body there, where you will not be found.

I spilled another inch of Chivas into my glass, then went into the kitchen so Ellen Lang couldn’t see me drink it. Poitras was talking in that low mumble cops use that only other cops can hear and understand. After a while he hung up and said, “Okay. You left two in the house, like you thought. Fat guy in the hall and another one in the living room. The house is listed to a man named Louis Foley. The neighbors up there say Foley moved to Seattle two months ago and that the house has been up for sale. Your guys probably just pulled up the sign and cracked the lock box.”

“That’s great. They’ll promote you to Lieutenant along with Baishe for this kinda work.”

He looked at me. “You’re pushing it, Hound Dog.”

“And you’re acting like an asshole with that woman in there. She’s been through hell and all you got to say is a lot of bullshit about how I didn’t call you in and how we got nothing. Negative bullshit that she doesn’t need to deal with. She’s missing a child, Poitras. She’s lost her husband.”

I was very close to him. His big face was calm. He said, “Take a step back, Elvis.”

It was quiet in the kitchen with just his breathing and my breathing and the hum of the electric clock over the sink. The cat door clacked and the cat walked in. Staring at Poitras, I couldn’t see him but I heard him growl, low and deep in his chest at finding a stranger in the kitchen. I heard the snick-snick of claws on the floor, then the crunch of hard food.

Poitras said softly, “You’re drunk, man.”

I nodded.

He said, “You found the lady and you went in and the boy wasn’t there. You pulled the trigger. I know you, I know it’s because you had to. You wouldn’t have played it that way if you’d had a choice. But there weren’t any choices. It was lousy that the kid wasn’t there. You didn’t lose the kid. He just wasn’t there to be had.”

I felt my eyes grow hot. I took more of the Chivas.

He made his voice quieter. “You always get in too deep, don’t you? Always get too close to the client. Fall a little bit in love.”

“Go to hell.”

Poitras took the glass out of my hands and emptied it in the sink. He went out into the living room, bent over Ellen Lang, and spoke in that cop mumble. After a while she nodded and gave him a tiny smile. The cat walked over and sat by my feet. Snick-snick-snick. He stared up at me and purred. Sometimes a little love can be important.

Poitras came back and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded. “Even drunk you make a point.”

I put on a fresh pot of coffee while Poitras made more phone calls, most local but at least one up to Sacramento. Between the calls we went through it again, and this time Poitras took notes. When the coffee was ready I poured fresh cups and brought one out to Ellen Lang. She had fallen asleep with the old cup in her hand. I went up to the loft, turned down the bed, then went back down. Ellen woke when I touched her arm, then followed me up and climbed into the bed still wearing the robe and the socks. She curled into a ball on her side, knees up, hands together under her chin. Fetal position, only with her eyes open. Large, liquid Bambi eyes. Something stirred in the empty part of my stomach, the part the scotch didn’t fill.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“Don’t be,” I said. “I never fail.”

She looked at me and then she fell back to sleep.

I went downstairs and found Pike standing in the entry. Poitras was in the dining area, the coiled phone cord stretched taut from his coming out of the kitchen to see who had walked in. Poitras’ gun was in his right hand hanging loose at his side. He stared at Pike a couple seconds, then went back into the kitchen to get off the phone.

Pike said, “You okay?” He was wearing a cammie Marine Corps field jacket.

“Good. You want something to eat or drink?”

Pike shook his head as Poitras came back out of the kitchen. The cat stuck his head out, saw Pike, made a wide arc around Poitras, and padded over to rub against Pike’s legs. “Well, well. The big time cop,” Pike said.

Poitras’ face was empty the way a trafiic cop’s face is empty when he’s listening to you try to talk your way out of a ticket. “You ever wanna work out, bo. You know where the gym is.”

Pike’s mouth twitched.

Poitras’ shoulders flexed, filling most of the dining area with his bulk.

“Here’s to good friends,” I said. “Lemme see if I’ve got some Lowenbrau.” Mr. Levity.

Pike’s mouth twitched again, his dark glasses never moving away from Poitras. “You got the woman here?”

I said yes.

“You going to stay in all night?”

I said yes again. Poitras kept his eyes on Pike. Motionless. Two tomcats squaring off across a property line.

“You need me, I’ll be around.” Pike reached back to the door, looked at Poitras before he opened it. “We don’t see each other enough anymore, Lou.”

“Drop dead, Pike.”

Pike’s mouth twitched and he left, holding the door long enough for the cat to follow. The tension level dropped around three hundred points.

“I’ll have to have you two guys over for lunch sometime,” I said. “Or maybe a dinner party.”

Poitras flexed his jaw, put. 50-caliber eyes on me. “You tell me the next time that sonofabitch is going to be around.”

“Sure, Lou.”

Poitras went into the kitchen, made another phone call, then came back into the living room carrying a cup of coffee. His face was smooth and calm, as if Pike had never been. “There might be a way to work this Duran thing.”

“Unh-huh.”

“You willing to stay in it?”

I said, “Duran’s expecting me to produce the dope. Maybe I can. Maybe I can put the dope and Duran and the boy together. If I can do that, we own him. If I can do that without tipping him to what’s going on, we can get the boy back.”