Robert Crais - The Watchman

The girl turned away without another word, went into her bedroom, and closed the door.

Pike finished the water, then went to the bathroom. He shaved, brushed his teeth, then flossed with great care. After the flossing, he showered. He brought the clothes he wore that day into the shower with him, and washed them with hand soap in the running water. He wrung them out as best he could, hung them, then dressed in fresh clothes. He washed his sunglasses, put them on, then looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was getting long. Almost an inch on top, and now touching his ears. Pike liked it short. He would have to cut it soon.

The house was quiet in a way that made the emptiness seem larger. Pike checked the windows and doors, then shut the lights and took his place in the chair. He sat there for a while, in the dark, then went to the couch.

Pike put his pistol on the floor in easy reach, then stretched out and closed his eyes. The couch was still warm from her, and the impression left by her body was soft.

Larkin Barkley

Jethro Tull woke her. She emerged from her dream as the lion disappeared into the dry grass, and pulled the headset from her ears, thinking no wonder everyone in the sixties was stoned all the time, their bands singing about disease. But then, still more asleep than awake, she glimpsed the lion again, its scarred head pushing through the grass, its muzzle stained with blood, the heavy muscles in its shoulders bunching in the last foggy moments of her dream before it dissolved.

Larkin lay in the darkness, waking, then awake as she realized she had to pee.

The house was dark, so she figured he was sleeping or just standing somewhere in that creepy way, so she went directly into the bathroom. She closed the door before she turned on the light. His clothes were hanging from the shower rod, but she didn’t think anything of it. She peed, then drank water from the tap, using her hand as a cup. When she finished, she turned out the light, opened the door, and that’s when she heard him.

Soft, frantic grunts and a jerky, cloth-on-cloth swoosh came from the living room. She hesitated, listening as her eyes adjusted, then crept into the living room.

He was asleep on the couch. His body was clenched; his arms rigid at his sides as he jerked and trembled. Even in the poor light, she saw the sweat on his face as his head snapped from side to side and the grunts hissed past his teeth.

He was dreaming, she thought. Ohmigod. He was having a nightmare.

She wondered if she should wake him. She couldn’t remember if you were supposed to wake people who were having a nightmare or not. Maybe waking him would be bad.

Larkin moved closer, trying to decide what to do. His legs lurched as if he was running, but in that paralyzed way when you’re trapped in a dream. His hands flexed like claws, then shook and fluttered, and his eyes rolled wildly beneath the lids. Larkin thought, Man, this must be one monster of a nightmare. He looked like he was fighting for his life.

Then he spoke. She couldn’t make it out, but between the grunts and moans, she was sure he had spoken.

Dah…

It sounded like dah. Dah or duh.

She strained closer to try to make out what he was saying, but all she heard were mumbles and slurs.

Then, little by little, he calmed. The lurching slowed. His hands relaxed. His head stopped jerking.

Larkin was very close then, over him, when he mumbled again.

Duh…dah…

It sounded like daddy .

Larkin waited to hear it again, but he fell quiet, and she thought she was probably wrong. People mumbled nonsense when they dreamed. A man like him might have nightmares, but not about his daddy. It was difficult to imagine a man like him ever having been a child.

She watched him. He was calm by then, and his breathing was even, but his expression seemed pained. No, she thought, not pained. He was afraid. It had been a nightmare. Even men like him were afraid in their nightmares.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to reach out the way you always want to reach through the bars at a zoo to touch the big animals.

Larkin stood with him for a moment longer, then crept back to her room.

The next morning, Pike was cleaning his pistol at the dining table when the girl came out of her room. Pike had been up for three hours. It was ten minutes after eight.

The girl had the puffy, bleached-out look she had every morning, but today she wasn’t naked. She wore an oversize T-shirt draped to her thighs. She wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh. I can smell that all the way in my room. You get high breathing that stuff?”

Pike had broken down the pistol into its components. The barrel, bushing, recoil spring plug, recoil spring and its guide, slide stop, slide, frame, and magazine were laid out on a paper bag Cole brought from the Thai market. Pike was swabbing the barrel with powder solvent, which had the strong odor of overripe peaches. The girl didn’t like it. She complained about it the first night they were together when Pike cleaned his gun, and had complained every time since. Pike cleaned his guns every day.

He said, “There’s coffee.”

Pike’s phone was on the table. He was waiting for Cole so they could meet at the girl’s loft. Pike had also decided to call Bud. He was going to tell Bud about Pitman, and thought Bud might be able to find out what Pitman had done with the guns. Bud still had connections in the department. Even at Parker Center.

The girl said, “You were dreaming last night. You had a nightmare.”

“Don’t remember.”

“It was bad. I didn’t know if I should wake you.”

“That’s okay.”

Pike never remembered his dreams. When he woke from them, he could never go back to sleep.

He said, “I want to make sure I have something straight. Let’s go back to the beginning-”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Not again. I hate the beginning. The middle and wherever we are now aren’t so great, either.”

“How many days after your accident was it when Pitman and Blanchette came to see you?”

“Three days.”

“Not the day after, not the second day?”

“Didn’t we go through this?”

“There’s a lot to keep straight.”

“You know what it takes to find a clear spot on my father’s calendar? And his attorney? People can’t just drop over to our house. You don’t just see us. You have to make an appointment. It was the third day.”

Pike finished swabbing the barrel and picked up the frame. The solvent in the barrel would loosen debris while Pike worked on the other parts.

“Uh-huh. So they came over and they wanted to know about King’s passenger?”

“Yeah. About the accident, and what happened, and all. They wanted to know who was in the car with the Kings. Because of their investigation.”

“They didn’t know it was Meesh?”

“They only knew what was in the accident report. They wanted to identify the other man. Jesus, I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

“I’m going back to your neighborhood to see some people Elvis found. Then I’m going to see Bud.”

The girl didn’t say anything. She stood quietly for a moment as if she was thinking, then went into the kitchen.

Pike finished cleaning the frame. He saturated the swab with fresh solvent, then went to work on the slide, working the solvent into every groove and cut in the metal, and liberally over the breech face.

The girl returned with a cup of coffee. She sat at the table across from him without saying anything. When Pike glanced up, he saw she was watching him. She looked serious.

Pike said, “Want to help?”

“I hate guns.”