Ryan Jahn - The Last Tomorrow

He drives his car slowly past the cops, holding a hand up at them as he does, then makes a u-turn and parks behind them.

It’s true. He does deal with dangerous men all the time, but they’re men he understands. He understands their motives and he knows how to handle them. He doesn’t understand cops, doesn’t understand what gets them out of bed. And the fact that so many of them are easily as crooked as any criminal he’s dealt with makes him fear them as well. They’re crooked but have the law behind them.

What’s not to be afraid of?

He steps from his car and walks toward the detectives in theirs.

‘How you guys doin?’

‘Get in the car.’

‘Is this gonna take a while? If it is I should water my plants.’

‘Get in the goddamn car.’

He nods his understanding, pulls open the back door, slides into the seat.

If anybody else did this it would be kidnapping.

So what’s not to be afraid of?

The cop behind the wheel, the older of the two, starts the engine.

‘Where we goin?’

‘Somewhere we can talk.’

‘We can talk at my place.’

‘No.’

The curtness of the one-word response marks it as punctuation: a period at the end of a conversation. The car pulls away from the curb.

They drive in silence for what feels like a long time, and every moment he’s in the back of this silent car Fingers grows more tense. He tells himself to be cool. He tells himself not to let these guys shake him up. That’s clearly what they’re after, they want to get him fizzy, but he needs to remain calm. He’s determined to remain calm.

You got this, man. You know what you have to do.

They stop in front of the Shenefield Hotel, rolling up to the rear bumper of an LAPD radio car. Two uniformed cops stand on the street beside it, smoking. Then one of them glances over, flicks his cigarette out to the street, and walks over.

3

Carl stands by the open door of his car and watches the two uniformed cops escort Darryl Castor into the Shenefield Hotel. One of the hotel rooms on the sixth floor has been converted into an interrogation room, which they’ll be using later. For the next couple hours, however, they’ll let him sit. Let him think over every reason they might be holding him. In Carl’s experience, both personal and professional, the best way to get to a man is to let his mind turn on itself.

Darryl Castor steps out of sight.

Carl falls into the car and pulls the door shut behind him.

4

The hotel room is nothing like a hotel room. The bed has been removed, as has the dresser. Any painting which might once have hung on the wall is now in a storage closet somewhere. A square metal table sits in the middle of the room, four chairs surrounding it. A reel-to-reel recording device sits on the table. The windows are covered in dark curtains which allow no light to enter from outside. All clocks are absent, making it impossible to tell what time of day or night it might be.

Fingers enters the room, escorted by two uniformed officers. One of the uniformed officers pushes the door closed and locks it.

Fingers turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings, then looks toward the police officers, both of whom are standing silent by the door.

‘What now?’ he says.

‘Wait.’

5

Carl looks at the twelve young detectives sitting before him. His eyes sting. His legs feel cramped. His stomach aches. He tries to ignore all of this. He needs his mind clear. He needs to be able to think.

He closes his eyes and exhales in a long sigh. He tries to think about nothing but the case at hand. He needs to get these guys on the street. There’s someone in this city doing James Manning’s bidding and they need to find him.

He opens his eyes.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘Let me tell you why you’re here.’

1

Eugene stands in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel with a ringing telephone pressed against his ear. With each ring he dreads the answer more. From now on everything will have to line up or he’s dead. Yet he knows if he does nothing he’s also dead, so he must try. He doesn’t feel up to this. He isn’t the type of person who does what he’ll have to do if he’s to make it out of this alive. He isn’t the type of person who does much. He likes simplicity in his life, calm, which is perhaps the reason he was never in a serious relationship, and the reason he was happy working as a milkman. He had a simple life and a simple job with a simple routine. He liked the job and he liked the routine. And he liked having a dream — a perpetually unrealized dream. But now all that’s gone and he’s being forced to make decisions a man like him was never meant to make.

‘Hello?’

He swallows. This is it.

‘I have Evelyn Manning.’

‘Who is this?’

‘The person who has Evelyn Manning.’

A long pause, then: ‘I don’t believe you.’

Eugene swallows. His mouth is dry.

‘Open your hotel-room door,’ he says. ‘I’ll wait.’

2

Lou sets the telephone down on the table and walks to the door. He unchains the door and retracts the deadbolt. He wraps his hand around the knob and turns it and pulls. He looks out into the corridor. It’s empty. He’s about to close the door and tell the man on the phone to go screw when he sees something hanging from the outside doorknob. He looks down and sees a small locket. He pulls the locket from the doorknob and clicks it open. He finds himself looking at a picture of the Man with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his smiling teenage daughter. He steps back into his hotel room and closes the door. He walks to the telephone and picks it up.

‘Who is this?’

‘I’ve already given you the only answer you’re gonna get.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want the Man on a plane. He leaves for Los Angeles today with ten thousand dollars in cash. I’ve made a reservation for him at the same hotel you’re staying in. The reservation is in the name of Humphrey Smith. When he checks in, there will be a note at the front desk for him. It will contain further instructions. This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t even a conversation. This is me telling you how it’s gonna be. I hope you have a good memory because I’m not repeating myself. I suggest you call him as soon as I hang up and tell him what I’ve told you.’

Click.

Lou pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a moment before setting it into its cradle.

He’s been wondering all morning what happened to Evelyn. Now he knows.

This is turning into a nightmare job.

He walks to his suitcase and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He uncorks it, takes a swallow. It’s harsh and warm. As soon as he swallows he can feel acid boiling at the back of his throat and taste bile. He replaces the cork and tosses the bottle into the suitcase. He finds a calcium antacid and chews it. He walks to the telephone. He picks it up. He doesn’t want to make this phone call but knows he must.

An operator answers.

He tells her, ‘I’d like to place a long-distance phone call.’

3

Eugene sits on a couch in the lobby, the same couch on which he sat while waiting for Evelyn on the night of their date. He hides his face behind a newspaper and watches the elevator. He tries not to think about Evelyn. There never could have been anything serious between them. He was deluding himself. He knows that.

He tries to read the paper but can’t process even so much as a single sentence. His mind won’t let him focus. Each word sits on the page alone, unconnected to any other by either logic or grammar.

The elevator doors open. A pale, thin man with slicked-back black hair steps from within. He wears a pin-striped suit. His back is very straight. He walks to the front desk and speaks with the gentleman there.