Robert Crais - The Forgotten Man

"But you don't know that he was arrested?"

"No."

"So you don't know that a file exists."

"No."

"In Temecula."

"That's right."

Gittamon grunted, thinking about it, so Starkey pressed on.

"I guess what I'm looking for here is a personal favor, Dave. Like if I had a file, and someone with a legitimate reason wanted to see it, I'd let them take a look, no harm, no foul, no paperwork. Cop to cop. You see? No court orders, nothing like that."

"How do you spell his name?"

Starkey knew she was in.

"The sooner the better, Dave."

Gittamon picked up his phone like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Oh, I know a few people down there. Give Mr. Cole my best." Starkey felt herself flush as she walked away.

The kitchen was dim and silent, but a single lamp burned in the living room. The glass doors to the deck were open. I crept forward, feeling the muscles in my shoulders tighten, but then I smelled her scent, and knew who was waiting. The long day and hard miles were gone.

She must have heard me. She stepped in from the deck, and I felt my heart swell.

"I let myself in. I hope it's all right."

"Of course it is, Lucy."

George Reinnike vanished, and the world was at peace.

Lucy Chenier saw the gun, and looked away. When we were first together, she would have made a joke, but now the gun represented the violence that drove her away. I hadn't spoken to Lucy in weeks. I hadn't seen her in almost two months.

I unclipped the holster from beneath my shirt, seated the gun, then put it out of sight above the refrigerator.

"I've had a problem with mice."

Her lip curled in a forgiving smile. She wore a fall-orange turtle-neck sweater over jeans, the sweater perfect for her golden skin and auburn hair. The best color money could buy, she liked to joke.

She said, "Here, I brought you a Care package."

Two bricks of Community Coffee Dark Roast, two bags of Camellia red beans, and a six-pack of Abita beer were on the dining table. Baton Rouge staples. It couldn't have been easy, bringing all that from Louisiana. I took her effort as a good sign.

"CC Dark-this is great, Lucy. Thanks."

"I hope you don't mind my being here like this. Joe said you were on your way home, so I let myself in."

"C'mon, you know better than that. This is a great surprise. What are you doing in L.A.? How's Ben?"

Nothing in her body language warned me away, so I gave her a polite kiss, then stepped back to let her know I respected the boundaries she had imposed. Her lips smelled of raspberries.

"Ben's doing really really well. You're the class hero, you know-everyone at school has to hear about Elvis Cole."

I laughed, but only because she expected me to be pleased. Picturing Ben Chenier telling his ten-year-old buddies about me caused an ache in my chest. I wanted to tell her how much I missed them, but I didn't want to make either of us feel guilty. I changed the subject instead.

"Hey, would you like a drink? You want something to eat?"

"Yes to both, but let me see your hand. How is it healing?"

She turned my right hand palm up to inspect the puckered scar that sliced across three fingers and part of the palm. I had been cut when it went down with Ben. Forty-two stitches and two surgeries, but they said I would be ninety-five percent, no problem. So long as I didn't mind chronic pain.

"It's fine. They put in bionic motors and steel cables-I'm like the Terminator now, me and the governor."

She studied the scar, then folded my fingers, and gave back my hand. She pushed out a smile we both knew was fake.

"How about that drink?"

"Coming up."

She had flown out to meet with the prosecutors about Ben's part in his father's trial. Though I had been cut, Richard had been shot, and almost died. He probably would have been happier if he had. Richard Chenier had hired three mercenaries to kidnap his son, and five people had died before it was over. Richard had not personally pulled a trigger, but because he had set the kidnapping in motion, he was an accessory before the fact and a de facto accomplice. Under California law, Richard could be and was charged with the murders. He currently resided at the County-USC Medical Center, where he awaited more surgeries and, eventually, the trial. Lucy told me as she sipped her drink.

"The judge agreed to hear Ben's testimony on videotape, but I wanted to be sure they understand that's as far as I'll go. I will not bring him to court, and I will not allow him to take the stand."

"Why doesn't Richard save everyone the trouble and plead out? That would be easier for Ben."

She had more of her drink.

"This is part of the process. He's facing two first-degree counts and three in the second, but his lawyers want a reduction to negligent homicide on the firsts and a pass on the rest."

Lucy stared at nothing for a moment, then sipped again and shrugged.

"They'll probably end up at two counts of manslaughter if they can agree on the sentence. Richard has to do time. I'm sorry he was hurt, but he has to pay for this."

She finished her drink with a tinkle of ice, then looked at the glass as if its being empty was just another of life's inevitable disappointments.

She said, "You know what? I'm tired of being nice. I'm only sorry for Ben and what this is doing to him. Richard deserved everything that happened to him."

I reached for the glass.

"Here. I'll make another."

She held out her glass, and our fingertips laced. Neither of us moved. We were locked together like two grappling wrestlers frozen by tensions neither could overcome or escape-

– then Lucy dropped her hand, and pretended nothing had happened. I should have pretended that, too.

"When are you going back?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I have to see the D.A. again in the morning, then I'm flying out of LAX."

Tomorrow afternoon. I turned away to make the drink. I filled her glass with fresh ice, then cut a wedge of lime and sprayed it over the ice. I tried to pretend I was calm, but my hope was probably obvious. I stopped messing with the drink, and looked at her. Tomorrow left the night to be filled.

"Would you stay with me tonight?"

She shook her head without even considering it, but her voice was kind.

"Just make the drink, World's Greatest. And tell me what I can help cook."

We were both on uneasy ground. You take great care on the thin ice. Go slow, and you just might make it across. I smiled, sending word that we were okay again and I would not pressure her. I freshened her drink instead.

"How about spaghetti with a putanesca sauce?"

She waved her hand, looking pleased with my choice.

"Bring it."

"I've got Italian sausage in the freezer. We could grill it, chop it in the sauce."

Waved the fingers again.

"Bring it all."

The Watcher

Frederick worked his regular shift, opening the station as usual until he handed the pumps off to Elroy that afternoon. Elroy bitched about not having heard from Payne, and it was all Frederick could do not to string up the skinny bastard on the hydraulic lift and stab him in the eyes, but Frederick was too practiced for that-he pretended to be exactly the same Frederick that Elroy expected-unaware of Payne's fate, and unaware of the terrible vengeance that had been visited upon Payne by Elvis Cole, and the even more terrible vengeance that would soon be visited upon Cole in return. If Elroy suspected anything else, he gave no indication. Nor did Elroy see the pair of vise-grip pliers that Frederick lifted from the service bay as he was leaving. Frederick planned to torture Cole just as Cole had tortured Payne-by tearing away his skin with the pliers.