Robert Crais - The Watchman

Pike wanted to call Stone, but assumed Stone told him not to call for good reason. Bud and the feds had probably pushed Stone for information. He wondered if Meesh had done the same.

The sixth message was again from Bud, this time sounding drained.

“Here’s what I have so far-the stiffs from Malibu weren’t identified. I don’t know about Eagle Rock, but I’ll find out tomorrow. LAPD and the Sheriff’s haven’t connected you with the shootings. I spoke with Don Pitman-Pitman’s the DOJ agent. He’ll do what he can to take care of you with the locals, but he wants to talk to you-he absolutely must talk to you. You gotta call me, man. I don’t know what to tell her father. He wants to call the police. Joe, if you’re still alive-call.”

A dry male voice had left the last message.

“This is Special Agent Don Pitman with the Justice Department. 202-555-6241. I got your number from Bud Flynn. Call me, Mr. Pike.”

Mister.

Pike ended the call, then sat listening to the neighborhood. He wondered what Bud meant, saying the stiffs in Malibu weren’t identified. Pike had thought the shooters would be identified as soon as they reached the coroner, which would give him a lead to Meesh. Pike had been thinking about Meesh because something Larkin described was bothering him. Her accident had occurred downtown in the middle of nowhere, but Meesh had fled on foot. Larkin told him the Kings had driven away, but Meesh fled on foot. This didn’t make sense to Pike, but there was still much he didn’t know. He wanted to ask Larkin about it.

Pike unscrewed the interior light so it wouldn’t come on, then left the car. It was full-on dark now, and Pike enjoyed the darkness. Darkness, rain, snow, a storm-anything that hid you was good. He circled the house to check the windows, then slipped back onto the porch and let himself in.

Larkin was no longer in the living room, but her bags were gone and he heard her in the kitchen. He took off the long-sleeved shirt, then sat in one of the wing chairs to wait. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was getting a bottle of water. He heard the rattle of the refrigerator as she wrestled a bottle from its plastic wrapping. He heard the door close with a plastic kiss and a zippery crack as she twisted off the cap. Her shadow played on the bright kitchen wall, so he knew she was moving, and he heard the dry slap of bare feet. She came out of the kitchen and was halfway into the living room before she saw him, and startled so abruptly a geyser of water squirted into the air.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.”

She was gasping the way people do, but she made an embarrassed laugh.

“Jesus, say something next time. I didn’t hear you come back.”

“Maybe you should put on something.”

She had taken off her clothes except for a sheer bra and lime green thong panties. A gold stud glinted in her navel. She straightened to face him full-on, lifting her ribs.

“I got hot. I told you it would be hot without the air. You want a bottle of water?”

Pike said, “Don’t do this.”

She went to the couch, sat, and put her bare feet up on the coffee table, staring at him between her knees.

“Do what? Are you sure you don’t want to go to Paris? It’s cooler in Paris.”

She stared into his eyes with the crooked smile slashing her face as if she and only she had discovered that everything in the world was about sex and Pike had never seen anything like her before.

Pike said, “Who’s Don Pitman?”

Her crooked smile vanished.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“I need to know who these people are. He called me.”

She closed her eyes. Her feet dropped from the table.

“He’s one of the people from the government. It was Pitman and another one-Blanchette. Kevin. Kevin is a lawyer from the Attorney General.”

“Are they running the show or do they work for someone else?”

Her shut eyes squeezed tighter, like she was in pain but trying to control it.

“Not now. I cannot talk about this anymore.”

“I need to ask some things. I’m going to have to talk to these guys, and Bud, and your father.”

“No more. Not now.”

She leaned forward to put the bottle on the table, and her breasts showed round and full in her bra in the dim ochre light.

“I have a tattoo on my ass. Did you see it this morning? I wanted you to see it.”

Pike stared at her.

“It’s a dolphin. I think dolphins are beautiful. You see them racing through the water. They have that wonderful smile. They look so happy, going fast. I want to be a dolphin. I want to be like that.”

She came around the table and walked over to Pike and stopped in front of him. Pike shook his head.

“Don’t.”

She knelt and placed the flat of her hand on his shoulder, covering his tattoo.

“Why did you have arrows? Tell me why. I need to know that about you.”

Pike moved just enough to lift her hand away. He took her arms and gently pushed her back.

“Please don’t do this again.”

She stared at some point between them for a time, then returned to the couch. Pike studied her dark outline, half her face in a murky glow from the kitchen, the other half in shadows. Her eyes glistened in the light from the window.

He said, “It’s going to be all right. You’re safe.”

“I don’t know you. I don’t know these government people or Meesh or the Kings or anything about laundering money from South America. I only wanted to help. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what happened to my life.”

The glisten spread to her cheeks.

“I’m really scared.”

Pike knew it was a mistake even as he went to the couch. He put his arm around her, trying to comfort her the way he had comforted people when he was an officer, comforting a mother whose son had been shot, calming a child who had been shaken in a traffic accident. And when he touched her, she snuggled into him, her hand going to his chest, then lower.

Pike whispered, “No.”

Larkin ran into the front bedroom, bare feet slapping. The door closed.

Pike sat on the couch in the dark quiet house. He had been awake for thirty-five hours, but he knew if sleep came it would not last more than an hour or two. He took off his sweatshirt, then floated soundlessly through the house, going to each room, listening to the night beyond the windows, then moving on. When he reached Larkin’s door, he heard her crying.

A slash of light from the edge of a shade placed a bar on the floor at his feet.

Pike touched the door.

“Larkin.”

The crying stopped, so he knew she was listening.

“The arrows. What they mean is, you control who you are by moving forward, never back; you move forward. That’s what I do. That’s what we’re going to do.”

Pike waited, but the girl made no sound. Pike felt embarrassed and wished he hadn’t tried to explain.

“You know me better now.”

Pike turned away and shut every light in the house. He returned to the living room. He stood in the dark, listening, then fell forward and silently caught himself in the push-up position.

He did push-ups. He clicked off one push-up after another, alone with himself, waiting for the night to pass.

Staying groovy.

The windows grew light by five-thirty the following morning, filling the Echo Park house with the brown gloom of a freshwater pond. Pike had already washed and dressed by then. He wore jeans, his sleeveless grey sweatshirt, and the running shoes. He was standing in the living room. From his position, he could see the length of the house from the front door through the kitchen to the back door, and the three doorways branching off the tiny hall to both bedrooms and the bath. He had been standing in this spot for almost one hour.