Michael Prescott - In Dark Places

"Why're you lyin' about me?"

The voice was slurred and distant, but she knew it at once.

"Justin?" she said.

Gray had a pretty good buzz goingnothing major, just enough to take the edge off after a long, hard day. That six-pack he'd picked up had hit the spot. After a year in stir, he'd worked up a serious thirst. He'd polished off four of the sixteen-ounce cans. Maybe five. He'd lost track. Shit, there was more where that came from.

Only trouble with beer was that it didn't stay with you very long. As his daddy used to say, you don't buy beer; you rent it. In compliance with his father's wisdom and his own biological needs, he was now standing at a urinal, reading the pathetic graffiti scratched into the men's-room wall.

Dumb racist epithets. Queer jokes and queer come-ons. Gangsta slang and other attempts at establishing street cred by obvious wanna-bes. All in all, just a mess of stupid crap written by peewee paintheads and fake-ass homeboys who spent more time wanking off than getting laid, teenage punks still squeezing their zits and wearing their puny hard-ons like badges of honor. This shit was just a goof to them.

Gray voided an amber stream and wondered how them fairies would like to meet a real man, a bona fucking fide major violator with blood on his hands.

A famous man. Or infamous, notorious, whatever the fuck the right word was. He was all over the news, and everyone in this city was saying his name.

He didn't expect to be caught, though. He'd taken precautions. Okay, maybe he'd been a little more alert before he got those beers in him, and maybe the beers had even been a mistake. But he was pretty sure he'd covered his tracks well enough to keep the boys in blue off his back, at least for now.

He ought to be feeling fine. Trouble was, those bogus news stories still had him mighty peeved. Every time he thought about the lies and the games and the crap they were putting on the air, he got ticked off all over again.

"Motherfucker," he said as he finished peeing. He zipped up and left without washing his hands. Personal hygiene had never been his strong suit.

In the alcove outside the rest rooms, there was a pay phone.

He stopped, staring at the phone, thinking about the business card he'd swiped from the doc's office weeks ago. A card that listed her cell phone number. A number he remembered, having dialed it just last night.

He moved to the phone. If not for the beers, he wouldn't do this. He knew he ought to show more sense. But fuck it all, he hated being jerked around, and that sexless bitch of a shrink had been yanking his chain from day one.

He dropped coins into the slot and dialed.

"Motherfucker," he said again, with feeling, as the phone rang on the other end of the line.

The ringing stopped, and over a rush of background noise he heard the doc say, "Yes?"

"Why're you lyin' about me?"

"Justin?"

"I don't got enough on my record, you gotta add stuff I didn't do?" The noise intensified, obliterating her response. "Doc? You there?"

"I'm here."

"You at a nightclub or something?"

"I'm looking for you."

"Where?"

"Never mind that."

"Everybody else thinks I hightailed it for the Mojave, and you're trolling the clubs in Hollywood, I bet. Thinking outside the box. I like that. But I ain't dumb enough to go back to my home turf."

"It was worth a shot."

"Sure it was. You're smart, Doc. I like youor I used to, till you started fibbing on me."

"Justin, where is she?"

"Your darling daughter? The one all the news reports say I kidnapped? I ain't got her. I never touched her."

"Justin, slow down"

"Why? So you can have this call traced?"

"They can do an instant trace on most calls these days."

"Okay, now at least you're being honest. Truth is, I don't care about no trace. The boys in blue can't snatch me. I'm too quick for 'em. LA's finest show up, and I'm Swayze, I'm a ghost. Great thing about LA is, you can jump on a freeway anywhere. That's what makes this town the bank robbery capital of the world."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a sucker's game, knocking over banks. They always get you on the security cameras. Besides, the cash is always traceable or rigged with those explosive doohickeys that blow red dye all over the place"

"Where is my daughter?"

"Oh, we still jawing about her? Straight up, Doc Robin, I got no idea."

"You took her; you have her"

"Wrong and wrong. She's probably out playing tea party with one of her little girlie friends."

"Do you want me? You can have me for her."

"That's downright noble. I'm getting all choked up; I really am. Look, if I had to guess, I'd say it's the other guy who's got her. The guy that clocked you."

"I'm not interested in your lies."

"No lie, Doc Robin. I told you true. You said you believed me."

"And you had a screwdriver against my throat."

"So you bullshitted me? Gotta say, I don't care for that. I'm real big on trust issues. Being a shrink, you should know."

"If you saw this other man, describe him."

"I told you, I couldn't see much with the lights so low. Fuck, you looked right at his face before he decked your ass. You flashed him with that penlight doodad."

"It's a good story, Justin."

"You're the one who's spreading lies, saying I attacked you, grabbed your girl."

"Stop it, just stop it . I won't let you play with my head. There was no other man. You knocked me out, and you stole my wallet so you could find Meg"

"I copped the wallet because I wanted cash."

"You went to my home, you took her"

"Doc, I'm a free man again. I got higher priorities than snatching the fruit of your womb."

"Please give amp;" Her voice faded.

"What's that? I can't hardly hear you."

"I said, please give her back."

"Can't give what I don't have. Hey, that ain't no club I'm hearing. Those are arcade noises."

"You used to hang out in video arcades. I took a chance you might be at one now."

"Did you, now? Smart thinking, Doc." He eased away from the pay phone, stretching the cord taut. "Tell you what. You and me, we put our heads togetherwe can solve this thing."

"What are you talking about?"

He peered out of the alcove, then smiled as he spotted what he was looking for. "You gotta have some idea who your enemies are. One of ' em is Mr. Cool. Hell, I bet you got somebody in mind already. Ex-boyfriend? Another patient?"

She hesitated. "I'm not going to talk about this."

He'd heard her pause after he said the word patient . "Sure, makes sense," he said. "You work with psychos all day long. Only a matter of time till one of 'em goes postal on you. Come on now, give it up. You got one patient in particular who'd be willing to engage in serious violence? Snuff a Deputy Dawg, decommission our favorite shrink?"

"There's someone who might have a motive amp;"

"Motive's one thing. He got the cojones to do it?"

"He's killed before."

"Now we're getting somewhere. See, you and me make a great team. But I need details. It's the only way I can help you."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"That's a good question, Doc. No good reason, I guess."

"You're playing with me. More mind games."

"Scout's honor, I'm not."

"I still think you're the one I'm after."

"No, you don't. You're starting to figure out that things are more complicated. I'm not the bad guy here, not this time. Think about it. If I'd wanted your scalp, I could've gone brutal on you right in your office." He smiled. "Or for that matter, I could ice you right where you're standingnext to the Quake video game."

Gray chuckled as, yards across the main floor of the arcade, Robin Cameron's head jerked up in sudden fear.